Liavek 8

by Will Shetterly

  "You've got to do something!" Marcoyn raged. "You know Prince Jeng! Talk to him!"

  Derec looked at Marcoyn for a long moment. Marcoyn dropped his unfocused eyes, then his fist.

  "We fight under the flag of Ka Zhir," Derec said, indicating the ensign flying overhead. "We have Zhir protection. The trading fleet is here, aye, but it's under the two hundred guns of Fort Shzafakh and another two hundred on the mainland. They daren’t attack us, Marcoyn. Not openly."

  Marcoyn chewed his nether lip as he thought this over. "Very well, SuPashto," he said.

  Derec stiffened. "Captain SuPashto, if you please, Mr. Marcoyn."

  Marcoyn's eyes blazed dull hatred. "Captain," he spat. He saluted and turned away.

  The other crewmen, the small, dark Zhir standing beside the tall, fair Farlanders, had watched the confrontation, trying hard to conceal their rising fear. Derec's quiet tones had seemed to calm them. He stepped forward to the break in the poop,

  "They daren't touch us, boys!" he shouted. "Not openly. But there will be Two Kingdoms men ashore on leave, and for now we'll have no shore parties. When we must send parties ashore, we will go armed and in large groups. Now," he ventured a ragged grin, "let's show them what we've learned. As soon as our anchor's down, I want those sails harbor-furled, without a dead man in ′em; I want our old chafing-gear down; and I'll have some parties detailed to renew our gilding. Mr. Facer, see to it."

  "Yes, sir."

  Derec nodded curtly and stepped to the weather rail. He watched the northern fleet grow closer.

  •

  The admiral's summons came at sunset. Derec was half expecting it; he'd seen Zhi-Feng's barge take him ashore to his quarters in the Lower Town. Derec put on his best clothes, strapped on his rapier, and thrust a pair of pistols in his belt. He called for his gig and had himself rowed to the admiral's apartments.

  The admiral was dressed in a gorgeous silk robe, and his hair and beard had been curled and perfumed. Gemstones clustered on his fingers. He drank wine from a crystal goblet as big as his head. His belt had scales of gold.

  Derec scarcely noted this magnificence, his attention instead riveted on the admiral's other visitor, a portly man plainly dressed. He fell to his knees and raised his palms to his forehead.

  "Rise, Captain," said Prince Jeng. "Forgive this melodrama, but I thought it best not to let anyone know we had met." He sat in a heavy cushioned chair, eating red licorice. Derec rose. Jeng looked at him and frowned.

  "Problems are besetting the two of us, Captain SuPashto," he said. "The same problems, actually. My father, and the trading fleet."

  "I trust in your guidance, Highness."

  Jeng seemed amused. "That's more than I can say, Captain. Neither I nor anyone else really expected His Encompassing Wisdom to recover; and I'm afraid the old man's found my regency a bit … premature … in diverting from his policies. He didn't want a naval war with Liavek in his old age, and now he's got one, and if the war hadn't been so successful, half the Council would have got the chop." Jeng grimly raised the edge of his hand to his throat. "But since we're winning," he added, "he's not sure what to do. At this point I think we'll fight on, so long as we stay ahead." He picked up a stick of licorice and pointed it at Derec like a royal scepter. "That makes you valuable to him, and so you may thank your victories for the fact that you and Zhi-Feng haven't been beheaded on your own quarterdecks."

  "I owe my victories to your kindness and support," Derec said. "May Thung preserve Your Highness."

  "Thank you for your concern, SuPashto, but I doubt I'm in real danger," Jeng said. "I'm the only heir the old man's got left. The first went mad, the second died trying to invest his luck, the third played a losing game with His Scarlet Eminence and got his neck severed for losing … there's no one left but me. The worst that will happen to me, I think, is exile to an island. It's everyone around me who'll lose his head." He smiled. "His Encompassing Wisdom might want to perpetrate a massacre just to show everyone he's back."

  Zhi-Feng looked a little green. "'Gods keep us from harm," he murmured.

  Jeng chewed meditatively on his licorice wand. "The problem presented by my shining and beloved ancestor, may Thung preserve him, may be finessed," he said. "The problem of your trading fleet is not so easily dealt with. Briefly, they want you dead."

  "I expect no less, Highness."

  "They have demanded that you and your ship be turned over to them. This demand has thus far been refused. You are too valuable to the war effort."

  Derec felt his tension ease. "I thank Your Highness."

  Jeng's eyebrows rose. "I had little to do with it, Captain. His Encompassing Wisdom cares little for my counsel these days. We may thank the old man's common sense for that—he's not going to throw away the war's biggest asset, not without some thought, anyway. No, the problem is that your northern admiral is proving damnably clever."

  "May I ask which admiral, Your Highness?"

  "I have heard you speak of him. One Captain-General Collerne."

  A cold wind touched Derec's spine. For the first time in this interview he felt fear. "Aye," he said. "A clever man indeed."

  "You know him well?"

  "My first captain. Brilliant. He designed Birdwing and taught me everything I've learned about the sea. He got me my master's warrant. He's the best sailor I know."

  Jeng looked at Derec coldly. ''I'd advise you to leave off this admiration and learn to hate him, Captain SuPashto. He wants your hide, and he won't leave the Sea of Luck without it."

  Yes, Derec thought, that was Collerne. Brilliant, unforgiving, a demon for discipline. He would not countenance mutiny, not even against the evil man who had supplanted him in his longed-for command.

  "I must trust to Your Highness's protection," Derec said simply.

  Jeng's eyes were shards of ice. "My protection is worth little. Let me tell you what your damned captain-general did. Once he realized we wouldn't give you up because of your value to the war, he offered to fight in your place. In exchange for you and the other ringleaders, he's offered us his two best ships, Torn II and Double Crowns, to fight under our license and flag for the next year. Collerne himself has offered to command them." Jeng sucked his licorice wand. "The implication, I believe, is that if we refuse him, he'll offer his ships to Liavek instead."

  Derec's mouth turned dry. ''Can he do that, Your Highness? Does his commission extend that far?"

  "If it doesn't, he's taking a remarkable amount of initiative. The fact is, he's made the offer, and the King's considering it."

  "Highness," the admiral said. There was sweat on his perfumed brow. "We—Captain SuPashto and I—we have experience in this war. We've fought together for six months. Our crews are well drilled and every man is worth three of this Collerne's."

  Jeng looked bleak. "I shall attempt to have some friends on the Council point this out to His Encompassing Wisdom. But in the meantime I'll try to get you both out of the harbor. If Collerne can't find you, he can't kill you."

  "Very well, Your Highness," said Zhi-Feng. He looked somewhat less anxious.

  "Your fleet is ready?"

  "We need only take on water," Derec said. "Birdwing has six months' provision. The rowing fleet carries victuals only for six weeks, but we can take food from captured ships if necessary. Or buy it ashore."

  "I will have water-lighters alongside at dawn," Jeng said. He threw down his licorice and straightened. "I'll try to … persuade the harbor master to send you a pilot. If he's not aboard by nightfall, warp your way out the back channel. I'm afraid now the New Mole's completed, the chain bars the main channel at sunset, so you can't escape that way."

  "Your Highness is wise." The admiral bowed.

  Jeng's face turned curious. He looked at Derec. "How do they treat mutineers in your navy, SuPashto?" he asked.

  "They are tied to the mast of a small boat," Derec said, "rowed to each ship in the squadron and flogged in view of each ship's company. Then they are taken to the
admiral's ship, hung from the mizzen shrouds, and disemboweled. Before they can die they are garroted. Then their bodies are preserved with salt and hung in an iron cage 'til they weather away."

  "That sounds most unpleasant," Jeng said mildly. "Were I you, I would provide myself with poison. When the time comes, you can cheat your countrymen out of some of their fun." He shrugged. "Life is full of experiences, my philosophers tell me, but I think I can attest that some are best avoided."

  Desolation stirred in Derec like a rising autumn gale. "I will follow your advice in all things. Highness," he said.

  When he returned to the ship, Derec didn't look up. He knew the ghosts were there, dark shadows that smiled at his approaching doom.

  •

  The water-lighters arrived just before dawn, and just afterward a messenger from the palace. Birdwing was to remain at anchor in the Inner Harbor until the complication with the Two Kingdoms fleet was resolved. If the galleon moved, she would be fired on by every gun on Great Kraken Island.

  There was a hush on the Birdwing after that. Derec bought fresh food and wine from lighters offering wares alongside—he never let the hucksters aboard, fearing Two Kingdoms agents—and he kept the crew at their tasks, brightening the ship's paint and overhauling the running rigging; but the men were subdued, expectant. Dark shapes hung in the shrouds, filling the air with the stench of death. Red stains bubbled silently on the white holystoned planks. Derec kept his eyes fixed firmly on the horizon and sent the wizard ashore to buy poison. Levett returned with a vial of something he said was strong enough to kill half the crew.

  On the evening of the second day, the summons from court arrived. Derec was ready. He spoke briefly with his officers concerning what was to be done after he left, put on his best clothing, and dropped two small pistols in his pockets.

  With an escort of the Zhir Guard, quaintly old-fashioned in their ancient plumed helmets, he was rowed to the quay, then taken in a palankeen up the steep cliffs to the palace. There were new heads above the gate, illuminated by torches: a pair of the Council had died just that afternoon. The wall beneath them was stained with red. Local witches clustered beneath, hoping to catch the last of the ruddy drops in order to make their potions. A chamberlain took Derec through the halls to an anteroom.

  "Wait within," the chamberlain said, raising his palms to his forehead. "His Everlasting and All-Encompassing Wisdom will grant you audience as soon as the Council meeting has concluded."

  "May Thung protect His Majesty," Derec answered. He turned to the door.

  "I shall send refreshment," the chamberlain said. Derec opened the door, stepped inside, and froze.

  Glowing eyes turned their cold light on him. The ghosts were there, Varga with blood and seawater dripping from his clothes, the corporal with brains spattered over his clothing, the others with blackened faces and starting eyes, the garrotes twisted about their necks. Terror poured down Derec's spine.

  Young Sempter stood before Derec, five paces away. His brass-buttoned jacket, too big for him, hung limply on his boyish frame. His feet, the feet that had kicked their shoes off as he died, were bare. There was a hole in one stocking. Sempter's mouth worked in his beardless face, and he took a step forward. Derec shrank back. The boy took a step, and another. His pale hand came up, and it closed around Derec's amulet of Thum Bel. He tugged, and the thong cut into Derec's neck like a garrote. Derec smelled death on the boy's breath. The boy tugged again, and the amulet came free.

  "Take him," Sempter said, and smiled as he stepped back.

  Strong hands closed on Derec's arms. His pistols and his vial of poison were pulled from his pockets. His rapier was drawn from its sheath.

  The image of Sempter twisted like that in a distorting mirror, faded, became that of Levett. The others were Zhir Guard. Their officer was holding Derec's sword.

  Levett held up the amulet of Thurn Bell. "Never let another mage know where you keep your power, Captain," he said. He pocketed the amulet. "The rest of his men will surrender easily enough. They're fools or boys, all of them."

  Derec's mind whirled as cuffs were fastened before him on his wrists. A chain was passed from the shackles between Derec's legs. The Guards officer unfolded a scroll and began to read.

  "By order of King Thelm and the Council, Captain Derec SuPashto is placed under arrest. The Royal Authority is shocked"—she was remarkably straight-faced in conveying the King's surprise—"to discover that Derec SuPashto is a mutineer and rebel. He is commanded to the Tiles Prison under close guard, until he can be turned over to Two Kingdoms justice." She rolled up the scroll and placed it in her pocket. Her face was expressionless. "Take the prisoner away. "

  Derec looked at Levett. Mist seemed to fill his mind. "There were never any ghosts," he said dully.

  Levett looked at him. "Illusions only," he said.

  The man behind Derec tugged on the chain. Derec ignored it. "You planned this," Derec said. "All along."

  "Something like it." Levett looked at him from three paces away, the distance beyond which Derec could not manipulate any power stored in the amulet. "I regret this, Captain. Necessity compelled me, as it compelled you during the mutiny. I want to return to our homeland and to live in peace with my family. Collerne can guarantee that, and you can't."

  The guard, impatient, tugged hard on Derec's chain. Pain shot through Derec's groin. He bent over, tears coming to his eyes.

  "This way," the guard said. Stumbling, Derec let himself be dragged backward out of the room. A push sent him staggering forward. With five of the Guard and Levett, he was marched from the palace, beneath the dripping heads of traitors and into the night.

  No palankeen waited: he would walk down the long switchback path to the Lower Town, then through town to the prison. The cool night breeze revived him. The officer lit a torch and gave it to one of her men. The party was silent save for the clink of the guards' chain coifs as they walked.

  The Lower Town was growing near, tall buildings shuttered against the violence of the streets. Anyone with sense went armed here, and in company. Derec began to murmur under his breath. The party passed into the shadows of the crowded buildings. The street lamps were out, smashed by vandals. Derec's heart beat like a galley's kettledrum.

  A pike lunged from an alley and took the Guards officer in the side. A dark body of men boiled from the darkness. The shackles dropped from Derec's wrists, and he lunged for the guard to his right, drew the main gauche from the man's belt, and slid it up under the chain coif to cut the astonished man's throat. Feet pounded the cobbles. Steel thudded into flesh. The torch fell and went out. Derec spun, seeing in the starlight the stunned look on the guard who was suddenly holding an empty chain where once a prisoner had been. The dagger took him in the heart, and he died without a sound.

  A dark figure reeled back: Levett, already dead from a rapier thrust through both lungs. Marcoyn's bulk followed him, boarding axe raised high; and then the axe came down. Derec turned away at the sound of the wizard's head being crushed. Facer stepped out of the darkness, his face sunburned beneath his leather-and-iron cap, his sword bloody.

  "Are you well, Captain?"

  "Aye. Good work. Drag the bodies into the alleys where the City Runners won't find them."

  "Fucking traitor." There were more thudding sounds as Marcoyn drove the axe into Levett again and again. Finally the big man drew back, grinning as he wiped a spatter of blood from his face. Liquor was on his breath.

  "Got to make sure a wizard's dead," he grunted. "They're tricky."

  "Best to be certain," Derec said, his mind awhirl. He'd posted the men here and knew what was coming, but the fight had been so swift and violent that he needed a moment to take his bearings. He looked at the dead wizard and saw, in the starlight, the amulet of Thurn Bel lying in the dust of the alleyway. He bent and picked it up. Never let another mage know where you keep your power, Levett had said; and Derec had always followed this prescription, though Levett never knew it. He'd inve
sted his power in one of his brass earrings, one so old and valueless that no captor looting valuables would ever be tempted to tear it from his ear.

  The bodies were dragged into the alley, piled carelessly atop one another. Wind ruffled Derec's graying hair: somewhere in the melee, he'd lost his cap.

  "To the ship, Captain?" Facer asked. He held out Derec's sword and the Guards officer's brace of wheellock pistols.

  Derec passed the sword belt over his shoulder and rammed the pistols in his waistband. "Not yet," he said. "We have another errand first." He grinned at Facer's anxiety. "We have to wait an hour for the tide in any case, Lieutenant."

  "Yes, sir." Doubtfully.

  He led them through the empty streets of the Lower Town. Even the taverns were shut. Working people lived here, dockworkers and warehousemen: they didn't roister long into the night. Derec searched for one narrow apartment, found it, knocked on the door.

  "Who is it?" A young, foreign voice.

  "Captain SuPashto of the Birdwing."

  "A moment."

  The Tichenese wizard, Tevvik, opened the door, a lamp in his hand. His long hair was coiled on his head, held in place by a pin in the shape of a blue chipmunk. He recognized Derec and smiled. "An unexpected pleasure, Captain," he said. His Zhir was awkward.

  "We're sailing for Liavek immediately. You're to accompany us."

  Tevvik looked surprised. ''I'm to be exchanged?"

  "Something like that."

  Tevvik thought about this for a moment, and shrugged. "I think I'd rather stay, Captain. I've developed a profitable business here."

  From over his shoulder, Derec heard Marcoyn's growl. Derec was tempted to echo it. Instead he decided to be frank. "We're escaping arrest," he said. "You're accompanying us because you're a water wizard."

  Tevvik's eyes widened. "You mean I'm being abducted?" He seemed delighted by the news.

  "Aye. You are."

  The wizard laughed. "That puts a different complexion on matters, Captain. Of course I'll accompany you. Do I have time to fetch my gear?"

  "I’m afraid not."