The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice

by Andrew McGahan

  By mid-afternoon Dow could count close to fifty vessels sailing east together, grouped into seven fleets. It seemed unimaginable to him that there could be so many warships in all the world, and yet he knew too that even this was not the full sum of the Ship Kings’ might. There were four kingdoms not yet present – and then there was the Home Fleet, which was meant to be the largest of all. It was a sobering prospect for a New Islander whose famous ancestor had once fought against these same fleets. Eighty years later, how could any Isle ever hope again to challenge such massed strength?

  And yet … There was also an unruliness to the scene; a fractious rivalry between the flotillas. It was visible in the way each knot of ships jostled defiantly with the others around it, as if marking out and defending some unseen boundary upon the water. Battleships crossed provocatively in front of other battleships, and all the brave banners and swollen sails began to look to Dow like the puffed-out chests of men arguing. Some ships even had their gun ports open and their cannon rolled out. A readiness for violence was in the air, as if just one careless manoeuvre might initiate genuine battle.

  Even the Chloe’s normally sensible crew were not immune to the tension. Otherwise stoic officers were suddenly yelling quite unnecessary commands to the men aloft, and deckhands dashed to and fro on the slightest pretext. Dow half expected the Chloe to run her own guns out as a precaution, but no such order was given. Captain Vincente at least – still hidden away, holding meetings in his cabin – was keeping a leveller head.

  Then there came a new cry from the crow’s nest, the lookout pointing excitedly to the east. At first, all Dow could see was another collection of sails lifting into view – an eighth fleet coming to join the others. But no, this wasn’t just five ships, or ten. More sails appeared, until there was a great line of them spread right across the horizon; twenty, no thirty vessels and more, a second armada rivalling the one already gathered.

  And at the centre of the line a strange shape now hove slowly up, a dense mass of sails, too numerous for any normal ship. Higher and higher they rose, set on masts outlandishly tall. And between the sails loomed walls, white as marble, and above those walls, towers … The realisation was a sinking in Dow’s stomach, an awed intake of breath. He was looking upon the Home Fleet, and at its heart was the great capital ship of the Sea Lord, the Twelfth Kingdom.

  Slowly the two armadas drew together, and the very sea seemed hemmed in every direction by sails and masts. There were so many ships it was impossible to count them all before they had shifted into some new arrangement, and one must start all over again. But the closer the Chloe came to the Twelfth Kingdom, the more Dow’s whole sense of scale changed. Once he had thought of the barges of New Island as being large craft, then he had considered a battleship as being truly large. But now …

  The capital ship approached ponderously, far astern of its swifter and nimbler escorts, but dwarfing them anyway. Dow’s first impression was of the Stone Port fortress. Indeed, if someone had sliced off the peak of West Head, with its mighty keep intact, and somehow set the mountaintop afloat and ringed it about with sails, then it might have looked a little like the vessel that confronted him now. But no … that was to suggest much too natural and organic an appearance. The Twelfth Kingdom was all too palpably a man-made thing, and that was what made its size so staggering.

  Orders were yelled to the men aloft on the Chloe, in preparation for a change of course. Both armadas, Dow realised, were turning southwards, so that they could run in parallel. As the Chloe came smoothly about, Dow moved to the left hand rail, in perfect position to see the Twelfth Kingdom coming slowly side on to him, no more than a mile away.

  In profile, the ship was revealed to be – in its lower part at least – a colossal floating platform, a barge effectively, but one grown beyond all proportion. To judge by the vessels nearby, it was more than four times the length of even the largest battleship, and it rose six decks high above the waterline. Four of those decks bristled with gunports, a broadside of several hundred cannon, while in the stern were castle-like fortifications with yet more gun decks that faced rearwards. Similar fortifications rose above the blunt bow, with cannon likewise aimed ahead. Also in the bow were not one but four immense bowsprits spearing upwards and out, and as for the ship’s masts, it was difficult, amid all the sails, to count their number. Were there twelve? No, there were sixteen, arranged in rows fore and aft.

  But it was amidships that the true wonder of the Twelfth Kingdom lay – for rising from the platform was a superstructure that Dow could only describe as a palace, its walls fashioned of white stone. In seven tiers it lofted above the main deck, and great towers stood at each of the four corners, rising even higher. The lower tiers bore still more gun decks, but the upper tiers were resplendent with grand balconies painted in gold, and lined with glittering glass windows. And roofing the uppermost level, between the four towers, there rose an immense dome that shone as golden as brass.

  How such a dome could be constructed as high above the sea as the Chloe’s own crow’s nest, Dow could not comprehend. But there was so little about the Twelfth Kingdom he could comprehend. Did it have a thousand guns? It may well have. And only now did Dow think about what that meant – of the multitude of gunners that would be needed to man them, not to mention all the other seaman it would take to sail such an impossible craft; and then too there would be the court of the Sea Lord himself.

  Why, the vessel must be host to five thousand souls at the very least. It was a town riding upon the ocean – a city. It took an effort for Dow to remind himself that the great thing was, nevertheless, a ship. So stately was its progress that there was little indication that it moved – there was no wave at its bow, no wake at its stern – and yet move it did.

  And all around it sailed the combined armada. Much faster than the capital vessel, the various fleets – rivalries forgotten now in the presence of the Sea Lord – began a series of intricate manoeuvres, so as to keep the Twelfth Kingdom at their centre. The great craft itself pushed resolutely southwards, but the frigates and battleships sailed first south, then east, then north, then west, describing vast circles of which the capital ship was always the hub; eighty fully arrayed warships proceeding expertly and without collision in a display of seamanship that left Dow consumed with admiration.

  And the ships kept coming. By dusk, flotillas from the last four kingdoms had taken their place in the grand parade. Even when darkness fell, Dow could not tear himself away from the railing, for now each ship came alight with lamps – the Chloe too, its rigging bejewelled with a hundred lanterns and more, red and green and blue, in festive celebration.

  The armada became a carnival of colours revolving across the black ocean, a great wheel whirling slowly, miles and miles across, as if to replace and improve upon the stars, hidden by the clouds overhead. And in between the brighter constellations, smaller lights moved, a host of boats going this way and that between the larger ships, as messages and salutations passed back and forth between the kings and captains.

  It was only near midnight that exhaustion finally began to pluck at Dow’s eyelids. A misty drizzle was falling by then, blurring the fleet, and the last of the boats had returned to their ships. He took a final long look at the Twelfth Kingdom. Its many windows were blazing gold from within, and orange fires burned high on its towers, and the whole immensity of the vessel was surrounded by a pearly halo of glowing rain.

  It was achingly beautiful, all of it, and he, a boy of the forests with no business at sea, had lived to behold such a wonder. If he had left his home and his family for no other reason than this night alone – Dow decided wearily – it had been worth the sacrifice.

  But even as he turned to go, he heard voices approaching. He’d been standing in a deeply shadowed spot near the forecastle, so as to not be dazzled by the Chloe’s lamps, and now two figures were making their way to the same area of darkness, in soft conversation as they came.

  It was Diego. And
with him Ignella.

  Swiftly – without quite knowing why, only that he did not want to meet them – Dow ducked away behind the forecastle stairs where the blackness was total. He peered out between the steps. Had they seen him? No … the two were absorbed in their discussion. Diego was talking urgently all the while, his head bent confidentially towards Nell’s, his voice low. But Dow could hear him clearly enough as they approached his hiding spot.

  ‘… and with this latest news from the north the Sea Lord has no choice anymore; he’ll have to concede. Even the fact that he was forced into this winter session shows how weak his position is. It can’t be put off anymore. Tomorrow Valdez and Castille will demand resolution.’

  Dow, who’d only ever known Diego to be haughty and disdainful, was surprised by the lieutenant’s tone – for once he sounded earnest and excited. The pair had now come to the railing that Dow had just left, and turned to look out at the lights of the armada.

  ‘And that’s not the best part,’ Diego went on. ‘The messenger also brought a letter from my uncle, requesting that Vincente grant me leave so that I can join the Valdez fleet – and Vincente had no choice but to agree. A boat is coming for me at dawn. But it’s not just leave – the truth is I’m never coming back to this wretched ship at all. My uncle wants me to take an ambassadorial post on the Twelfth Kingdom. Can you believe it? I’ll be there tomorrow in the Great Hall with the Valdez delegation.’

  Nell – gazing out at the shifting lights – cut a calmer figure, her hands, as ever, thrust deep within her coat. ‘An ambassadorial post? So you’ll be serving on the Kingdom from now on, not a ship?’

  Diego straightened a little. ‘What’s wrong with that? You know I can’t stay on the Chloe forever. I won’t get anywhere patrolling backwaters like New Island. I have to make a name for myself.’

  Her response was cool. ‘Of course you must leave the Chloe – but what name can you make sitting in an ambassador’s chair? It is captains who gain fame for their deeds upon the seas, not ambassadors.’

  ‘Oh – well, it’s only for a year or so. My uncle has promised me a first-officer position after that – and then soon enough my own ship. Mine won’t be a desk-bound career. You know that. But in the meantime, the Kingdom is where true power lies, not off in the wilds of the ocean. How can serving close to that power, especially after tomorrow, harm my prospects?’

  Nell sighed. ‘It can’t, I suppose …’

  ‘And then once I have my own command, you can follow.’

  She glanced up at him. ‘Oh yes? A lot might change between now and then. There are many fine ladies upon the Kingdom.’

  Diego laughed. ‘There’s no danger of that. In fact – if you doubt me – how about this? You too will be in the Great Hall tomorrow, so between sessions I will introduce you formally to my uncle.’

  The offer caught Nell by surprise, it seemed to Dow. She shuddered uneasily. ‘I don’t think he’ll want to meet me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Think. How can he?’ Her question was light, but tinged with severity. ‘He’ll be the first to tell you that you’re only doing yourself harm, trifling with a girl so far below your station.’

  ‘I’m not trifling,’ Diego responded, with a heat and sincerity that Dow disliked greatly. ‘And anyway, he knows as well as I do where you come from. Your background is entirely suitable.’

  But the self-judgement in Nell was unremitting. ‘Once, maybe. But not now.’ And her hand, freed from its pocket, traced a line on her face, as if following the scars there, hidden by the dark.

  Diego bent closer to her. ‘You know I’ve never cared about that,’ he said hoarsely, and now the devotion was plain in his voice, no matter how much Dow did not want to hear it. ‘Nothing ever changed for me. You were the one who went away, remember – and you’re the one who won’t give me a final answer even now, after all I’ve promised. If my uncle disapproves, let him. He’ll owe me whatever I want when this is all over.’

  ‘It’s never been done,’ Nell said stubbornly.

  ‘Why should that matter to us?’ And now Diego sounded more like his usual arrogant self. ‘Traditions and taboos are for the lowly in life. The powerful can do what they like. And once my uncle has had his way, then no one will dare attack his nephew. Or his nephew’s wife.’

  Her head lifted. ‘Even if we defy not one age-old custom, but two, the second as unheard of as the first?’

  ‘Even then. I’ve sworn it, haven’t I?’

  She took a fierce, almost hungry breath – but then she sagged, and stared back out into the rain. ‘It’s hard to believe.’

  ‘Trust me. Tomorrow, you’ll see the beginning of it.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Nell pondered, shaking her head, and Dow – his heart in a storm of confusion – sensed a deep reluctance in her yet. ‘What about the report Vincente will make to the Lords?’

  Diego shrugged. ‘He’s too popular with the captains and kings of the minor realms – and too close to the Sea Lord. He would lead action against us, if not stripped of his command. Luckily, this idiocy about the attack at Stone Port gives us the perfect chance to discredit him.’

  ‘But won’t it be your word against his?’

  ‘It’ll be everyone’s word against his – except for the simpleton boy, if he actually has the nerve to repeat his lies in front of the Lords.’

  ‘He’s certainly ignorant,’ Nell mused, and to hear, Dow lent forward as far as he dared. ‘But he’s no simpleton, and no coward either.’

  ‘He’s irrelevant. We’ll be rid of him soon enough.’

  ‘I wonder. Things happen around him. What are we to make, after all, of an omen like an Ice Albatross?’

  ‘Superstition.’

  ‘Am I not a scapegoat?’ was her answer. ‘What recourse do I have, other than to superstition?’

  ‘You have me. And that’s why you’ll say yes – because I’m the only one who can give you what you want.’

  And so saying, Diego took her by the arm, and led her away out of the shadows, back towards the officers’ realm of the stern castle.

  3. THE ELEVEN KINGS

  The next morning, as Dow breakfasted with Johannes and Nicky, a midshipman poked his head through the fire curtain and announced that Dow was to report immediately to Captain Vincente on the main deck.

  ‘This will be your summons to the Twelfth Kingdom,’ said Johannes. His manner grew abruptly solemn and he stood, offering his hand to Dow. ‘Good luck to you upon that monstrous ship, Dow Amber.’

  Dow shook his hand, and then Nicky’s too, puzzled by the sudden formality of the pair – it was unlike them – but perhaps they were just nervous on his behalf. He was certainly nervous himself. He shrugged on his timberman’s jacket, and made his way topside.

  The morning that greeted him was grey and dull, but not cold. Indeed, even though this was the first day of winter, the air of the Millpond was strangely humid and clinging. Glancing out across the flat sea Dow saw that the magical armada of the night before had become a clutter of becalmed ships, drear and colourless with their sails furled and banners all hanging limp. Only the Twelfth Kingdom at their centre still held the eye, a louring presence that rendered all its attendant vessels toylike.

  At the Chloe’s railing, sailors were labouring to launch one of the ship’s boats, and it was here that Dow found Captain Vincente. Waiting with the captain were Commander Fidel and – Dow was somewhat disturbed to see – the smaller figure of the scapegoat girl.

  Both the officers were in full ceremonial uniform, but it was Nell who struck Dow most. She had put aside her men’s clothing and, for the second time in Dow’s knowledge of her, was attired in a dress. This one, like the other Dow had seen her wearing, was long sleeved and high-necked, but whereas the first dress had been black, this one was darkest purple.

  ‘Ah, Mr Amber,’ said Vincente, as Dow came up.

  ‘Excellency,’ Dow returned, saluting.

  ‘Or I should say, Seaman Am
ber. You are to be congratulated. And with no less a witness to your success than an Ice Albatross.’

  The words were amiable, but the captain’s gaze was probing. Dow said nothing. He had not spoken with Vincente in over a month, and was disconcerted now, as always, by the sheer authority of the man, for all that the captain was short, and pot-bellied. And yet – as Dow had overheard the previous night – that authority was not unchallenged, or without enemies.

  ‘At ease, Dow,’ Vincente said at last. ‘I’ve called for you because we are about to embark for the Twelfth Kingdom and the opening session of the Lords of the Fleet. There I will report upon the events at Stone Port, and you will accompany me, if you’re willing.’

  Dow’s eyes strayed to the mighty ship, a mile away across the sheet-like waters. Did it seem more ominous to him now, rather than magnificent? ‘Aye, Excellency.’

  Vincente smiled, mistaking Dow’s look. ‘Aye, the Twelfth Kingdom is a wonder, no doubt, but don’t get too carried away by its size and splendour. What matters is not the vessel itself, but rather what happens within its Great Hall. I don’t want you too overcome with awe to speak when you stand before the eleven kings. So – is your memory clear as to what you saw that night?’

  Dow didn’t need to think, the vision of the strange boat moving inexplicably through the Rip was as vivid to him now as when he’d first seen it. ‘Aye, Excellency. Perfectly clear.’

  ‘Good. We’ll cast off as soon as the boat is ready.’ He inclined his head. ‘Commander Fidel will be joining us – and Nell too, for it’s customary for captains to bring their scapegoats to such councils.’