When the sun fell each day, Halbrick dismissed them. Halas made his way into Cordalis to find Cailin, but his time with her was not as joyous as it had once been. He spent every moment dreading lock-up, knowing that the few hours a day they had was not enough. Since signing up, Halas, Desmond, and Garek had spent less and less time with their other friends, preferring their quaint little fellowship. There was a sort of camaraderie that had not been there before. Now Cailin dominated his time. When not training, he was with her. He wondered what Garek and Des were doing. He wondered how Desmond managed to train with them. Desmond’s parents were merchants, and quite well-to-do. They had their own store in Lord Bel, and maintaining such a place was, to hear it told, very difficult. With Desmond’s mother being as she was, Halas didn’t know how Des was able to get away.
He looked over at Cailin. They sat together near one of the green-glass gardens, huddled together for warmth. Many such places failed come winter, but this one seemed no worse for wear. Halas had picked her a blue forget-me-not, saying it was a stern message. She held the flower to her nose to smell and let out a tremendous sneeze. A tendril of snot coated the flower, and her eyes watered. “Well, I certainly won’t forget that!” she declared, laughing. “It’s beautiful. Do you think this will preserve it in the winter?”
Now she was quiet, and somber. The time seemed so short, but already it was the fifteenth of September, and Halas was to leave early on the morrow. He took her hand. “Are you going to miss me?”
“I should hope so. Are you?”
Halas chewed on his lip, pretending to look deep in thought. Cailin smacked his arm, and he laughed. “Do you think I will?”
She reached before her and began to absently tear at a blade of grass. “I think you will. Garek and Desmond have bland imagination. They won’t be any fun.”
“Desmond is always ready with some quip or another, and he brings it out in Garek. They’ll suffice.”
Cailin nodded. “I suppose you’re right. But do they do this?” She leaned over and kissed him, opening her mouth for his. He put a hand on her breast, and she grinned. “If only it weren’t so cold out here.” Halas’ hand had drifted down to her thigh. She clamped her legs over it. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s get an inn. Come on, up with you.” She took his hand and dragged him down the street, leading him out of Lord Bel and into the Drifts. They had only two hours before lock-up, and Halas was wary of going so deep into the city. The Drifts were not the safest place to be even in daylight. He felt the prick of Nolan Dooley’s blade, and shuddered.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.
“Absolutely. I mean to give you a fantastic send-off, and rooms here cost next to nothing. Jaenelle told me Rufus once took her to a place called Rough ‘N Tumbler, and they paid three coppers for two whole weeks. Paid for the room and service.”
“Would that we had two weeks.”
“Don’t be so melancholy, Halas. Not tonight. Let tonight be our night, before I must give you over to King Melick. I want to enjoy it.”
The next morning Halbrick walked with Halas and Garek into the city, and to the Naval Offices. They marched up the stairs to Captain Brennus’ office and knocked. Cloart answered. “Oh, hello there. Guess it is the sixteenth.”
“Is the captain here?”
“Nope. Just me again.”
“Oh. All right then.”
The first mate led them inside. Desmond was already there, sitting on a sofa against the far wall. Lazily, he bent his wrist in a sort of half-wave and winked. Garek grinned and sat down beside him. Aside from the sofa, the room was richly furnished. Paintings and documents hung on all sides, framed with cherry and silver. Opposite two armchairs was a desk much like Conroy’s, though unlike the older man’s this one was clean and tidy. Only a few pieces of parchment were visible on its surface, and those were neatly stacked and organized. An oil lamp sat in one corner. Cloart took care to avoid this as he put his boots up on the desk. Halas immediately decided that they were the foulest smelling things he had ever known.
“So, let’s get started then. Ye’ll be setting off with the Blade, eh? Today I’ll be assigning ye your uniforms, signing your waivers and whatnot, all that technical stuff. We’re leavin’ in two days.”
That came to Halas as a surprise, who thought they were leaving today. He blinked pointedly, and Cloart laughed. “I wondered why ye had your packs!” the man guffawed. “Didn’t ye wonder why ye came here, stead of the docks?”
They hadn’t. Desmond grinned sheepishly.
“Well let’s get started, then. Here are your uniforms.” He scuttled over to the corner, hefting four boxes. “Ye don’t need ter keep them clean, really, or wear them much. We only wear em when we leave and when we arrive somewheres. Gotsta look your best then, ye do. We also wear em in battle. It helps to know who’s who in one of them, ye know.”
“Very true,” Halbrick said.
“Battle?” Halas looked at Garek; his brother’s face had gone white.
“Dontcha worry bout that,” Cloart said. “Nobody ever sees battle. Ain’t nobody’s got the wrong sense to attack us anymore. Here, we’ll start with your oaths.” He indicated Desmond. “You were here first, so we may as well keep to that. Get up, raise your hands to your heart, and say your name.”
“Desmond.”
“Surname, boy. Say I, Desmond, and then your surname.”
“Oh, sorry. I, Desmond Mallon.”
“Now repeat after me. Solemnly swear to uphold the King’s Peace, and the King’s Law, within Ager and without. So long as he does not order me to any action which should dishonor myself or the law, I swear to serve my captain faithfully up until the end of my contracted service, where…upon I return to Cordalis and resume my normal life and duties. I will not desert, disobey, or question my king or my captain, within Ager or without. Without, my captain’s word is law. I will serve him as I serve the king, loyally and dutifully.” Apart from the one slip, Cloart said the words easily; it was likely he had long since lost count of the new sailors who passed through this office.
Desmond repeated the oath with Cloart, as did Halas and Garek. They all signed a sheet of paper bearing the oath on it, after Halbrick read it over and determined that nothing was out of place. Cloart folded the print and tucked it into his belt. “Now, on to the matter of payment.” To Garek, he said, “You’re to receive a sum equal to one thousand detricots for time spent aboard ship, paid direct from the coffers of King Melick himself. Upon returning, in six months or so, Captain Brennus will give ye a note which ye can take to Lord Straub, the king’s Lord Treasurer. He will see to it that you’re paid.”
“We get this when we return?” Halas asked. A thousand detricots was no small amount. From their crop, it was still a loss, but Halas thought their father would be relatively pleased.
“Your brother does. That’s your Draft Fee. You’re also set to make a few crowns direct from Brennus. During the journey, the captain takes note of your service. Eight hundred is the base sum. Beyond that, what ye make depends on how well ye perform aboard ship. Bonuses will be awarded for potential hazards ye might face. Storms, pirates, what have you. Should ye be any trouble, payment is docked. Brennus is hard with that, so watch out, but he’s fair. Anything bad happens, he’ll get to the root of it.”
“Now, is there any way we could receive some of this payment before departure?” Halas said, thinking of his father.
“Halas,” Halbrick warned.
“No, it’s okay. Lot of folks ask about that. It’s not happening, boy. I’m very sorry, but more than once we’ve had men try to collect and disappear. You’ll be paid for your services, after your services. Not before. Are ye their father?”
He pointed at Halbrick, who nodded. “And you,” Cloart said, again indicating Des, “where’re your folks?”
“They would not come,” he said.
“Then I s’pose they void thi
s right.” He turned back to Halbrick. “This may be tough to hear, but in the event of death or serious injury, ye have the right to seek financial recompense from the Lord Treasurer, in funds up to, but not exceeding, a sum equal to one thousand and five hundred detricots.”
Garek looked worried again. Halas felt the same. Death. Could we die out here? Surely not, we’re to be surrounded by sailors and soldiers. We’ll be safer than ever. Unconvinced, he put a hand on his brother’s arm. “Don’t worry, Garek, it’s just a formality,” Halbrick said.
“A what?”
“Nothing bad of any sort will happen. You’ll both be all right.”
Halbrick signed something, and Cloart made this slip disappear as he had the other. “As for belongings, you’re allowed as much as ye can carry in one pack. In the event of an attack, weapons may be provided, but they’re shit, so bring your own. Bring armor as well, if ye have it. Ye don’t have any armor, do ye?”
“I’m afraid not,” Halbrick said.
“No one ever does. Good armor’s hard to come by these days. In any case, bring your uniforms, clothes, foodstuffs, that sort of thing.” He rolled back in his chair and ticked the items off absently on his fingers. “Oaths, payment, provisions, uniforms, conduct—I think we got everything, fellas. I’ll see ye at the docks.”
“Well,” Halbrick said. They were back at the cottage. Desmond had followed. “Since you won’t be leaving for two more days, I’d like to get some extra training in. But first, let’s have a look at your uniforms. Come on then, open them up.”
They each held one of the three boxes Cloart had given them. Halas had his opened first. Inside were four identical uniforms. They were a silvery sheen with light trim and curved hats. Emblazoned on the breast of each tunic was the sigil for the Agerian Navy, a simple crested wave. Halas pulled his on. It was warm, warmer than his own clothes were, anyway, and fit snugly around him. How had they managed to get it fit? Taking the shirt off, he tucked it back into the box. Garek kicked his own box over to the cottage walls, grabbing his stick.
Halbrick had encouraged them to attack him whenever possible, when appropriate, of course, and now Garek did so. Halbrick faced him and threw himself at the ground, but Garek hurled the stick at his father, bouncing it off of his shoulder blades. Halbrick hit the ground awkwardly, rolling to his feet and lunging at Garek. Halas and Desmond had their own sticks in hand, but Garek was in the grass, facedown, Halbrick’s elbows keeping him in place.
“Had enough?” he said, letting Garek up. He came up spitting dirt, and struggled to his feet.
Halas and Des glanced at each other before they attacked. Halbrick was still behind Garek, and when the boy tried to jump out of the way, his father grabbed him by the shoulders and held him as a shield. Try as they might, wherever Halas or Des attempted to strike, Halbrick would jerk Garek to block, always keeping them at bay. Desmond slowly stalked around toward Halbrick’s back, but Halbrick threw Garek at his brother, rolling away and coming up with his stick, twirling it as he struck. Desmond hit the ground, knocked dizzy, and Halas’ stick actually snapped in half as Halbrick smashed through it, dropping him to his knees.
“Very good!” he shouted. He was surprisingly kind about their shortcomings—at every moment, Halas expected him to scream at them, or at least Garek, for failing.
They went inside for lunch. Halbrick heated a thick stew of cabbage and rabbit, which they all hungrily devoured. Halas was grateful for the two-day reprieve, though he was far from sure it was the best thing for him. What if he had second thoughts and tried to run? It certainly seemed like the sensible thing to do. Why the blazes had he signed up for this dreadful trip in the first place? What was he thinking? All through the meal he silently berated himself. “We should be careful,” Halbrick said, “and eat sparingly. No telling when we will run out.”
Garek ignored the comment and kept eating. Desmond coughed.
That evening Garek and Desmond went into the city. Halas waited until they were gone before he took out his father’s sword. He couldn’t bring himself to call it Silvia. Halas had been nearly old enough to remember his mother when she passed, and thinking of her still pained him. She had been sick, Halbrick had later told the two boys. Halas only wished he knew more of her, instead of just a blurry face and a distant feeling.
He walked outside, drew the sword from the sheath Halbrick had also given him, and lifted it high in the air as he had been shown. Halas swung the sword down, practicing several stances and moves, though only for a few minutes. He sheathed the sword when he heard voices. Walking to the wall of the cottage, he went around back. There was Halbrick, talking to someone. The men’s backs were to Halas. “Hello there,” said a familiar voice.
“Hello, Mister Conroy.”
Both men turned. Conroy was smiling, but Halas thought he looked sad. Halbrick’s face was, as usual, unreadable.
“And how are you this lovely evening?”
It was strange, Halas thought. He’d never before seen Conroy anywhere but his own home, and now he was here, walking the grounds with Halbrick. Everything seemed very surreal, very out of place. Halas smiled politely. “I’m fine, sir. You?”
“Your father and I were discussing his plans for the winter. I thought it prudent that he stay with me, until he should come into some money. However, he refuses to accept my charitable offer. Try to persuade him, will you?”
Halas thought about it for a moment. “Do it for me, Father. I will worry about you through the entire voyage, hungry and cold and alone. Please?”
Halbrick frowned. Halas had hit a soft spot. He thought he could see a momentary twinkle in Mister Conroy’s eye, but then it was gone. “I will consider it,” said Halbrick. “For you, Halas.”
“Thank you.”
“Excellent! I’ll have the gnome prepare you a room. Good night, you two.”
“Good night,” they both said. Conroy trotted away, and Halbrick lit his pipe, inhaling deeply.
Halbrick had very few things of value, and the next morning, he, Halas, and Garek carried three cases to Conroy’s manor. The gnome had made up his spare bedroom, a room almost as large as the whole Duer Cottage, with a mattress and pillows of soft down and a private washroom. They set the cases down and Conroy ordered the gnome to put their contents away. Halbrick seemed uneasy, but Halas and Conroy assured him that this was for the best. Garek wisely said nothing.
Conroy cooked them lunch. Halas had never seen someone prepare a chicken like he had. He explained that that was how they did it in the country of Nesvizh, and they left it at that. After the meal, he led the three into his museum, where a sword was laid out. It was an iron broadsword, a simple and plain thing completely unlike the other weapons of Conroy’s that Halas had seen. Conroy handed it to Garek. “This is for you,” he said. “It came into my possession first in Arvid, out in Springdell. I left it behind shortly after, but confound it all, the sword came to me again in King Melick’s own Red Hall. I know it shall find its way to me once more, and I want you to take care of it for me until that time.”
“Really?” Garek said, dumbfounded. He took the sword gingerly, holding it aloft. “Are you sure?”
“I am. Keep it close.”
“Thank you! But what of Halas?”
“I already have a sword,” Halas muttered, feeling a little ashamed. He had asked his father about a sword for Garek, but hadn’t even thought to ask Conroy.
“Oh,” said Garek, not looking at his brother, still admiring the sword, dull though it was. “All right then.”
They stayed the evening there, and soon Halas grew tired. He asked where he and Garek would be staying. “The gnome has made up a room for you two, as well,” Conroy said. This house was far larger than Halas had ever thought; part of it even went underground. The gnome led he and Garek through carpeted hallways lined with paintings and other artwork until they came to their room. All their possessions were still at the cottage, however, and once they knew where there room was,
they left the manor and the city. Passing through the Gate, Halas remembered something. “Cailin!” he yelled. “She thinks I’ve gone! I have to go see her, Garek. Would you bring my things to Conroy’s for me?”
“Course I will. You owe me, though.”
“Thank you!” He made as if to run off, but stopped. “That sword I spoke of—it is under my bed.”
With that, he left, racing through streets and alleyways. The sun was setting when he arrived at Cailin’s home and knocked on the door. A portly old man answered, scratching his belly with one hand and holding a cheap cigarette in the other. He cocked his head at Halas. “Who’re you?”
“Is Cailin here?” Halas asked.
“No. She’s out. Who’re you?”
“Where is she?”
“Who the blazes are you?”
“My name is Halas, Halas Duer,” Halas stammered. “Please, sir, I need to know where Cailin is.”
“You and me both, son,” said the man. “If you see her, tell her that her father wants her home, now. Just wait till her mother gets hold of her, the little brat,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him.
Halas turned around, half expecting to see Cailin standing there, her beautiful black hair flowing in the dim light. He looked around, and realized then why she had kept their relationship a secret. She was afraid of her parents, of her father who had spent many long nights hurting her mother. Halas clenched his fists, but there was nothing to be done, so he sat down on the porch and waited. He wanted to find his father’s sword and put it to good use. After having heard of what Cailin’s father did to her and her mother, he felt it would be justified. He imagined himself bursting in just before the man could strike her, and tearing him apart. She would see him as a hero. He had often dreamed of rescuing Cailin from bandits, monsters, and the like, but they were idle fantasies. It disturbed him to think now that she may have been in actual danger, and he could do nothing.
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