by L J Chappell
He carefully moved the pack aside and pulled the grey bag out.
He paused for a moment, and then reached inside. He pulled out a sword in a scabbard, then a cloak, a purse of coins, some kind of mask, a small folded bag, a pair of gloves and a wallet with three keys inside. At the bottom, and by far the largest item inside, was the crown. At least, he assumed it was the crown – it was the right size and shape, but it was wrapped inside a thick blanket. He unfolded the blanket to check and found a second layer of material inside: a pale-coloured cloth. Inside that was the crown: he could feel its shape, though it felt even heavier than before. He unwrapped it and examined it more closely.
As well as weighing more, the colour and the transparency were different from before. And no matter how closely he looked he couldn’t find the scratch that he’d made with his nail.
It was clearly not the same crown.
As he held it, unmoving, he could feel and hear nothing apart from the loud beating of his heart. There was an obvious but outrageous and unthinkable conclusion: his mind stalled, seemingly unwilling for a moment to translate the idea into a simple and expressible thought. But a string of unanswerable questions occurred to him as he nervously wrapped the Crown and returned the grey bag to where he had found it.
If that was the real Emerald Crown, then how had Kiergard Slorn taken it? And why? What did he want it for?
4
Ubrik and Garran had already risen and left for breakfast by the time Lanvik woke the next morning. He swivelled his legs round, stood up and stretched. Kiergard Slorn came out of their washroom and greeted him: ‘Good morning, Master Wizard.’
‘Good morning,’ Lanvik nodded back.
‘You will find plenty water for washing but unfortunately it is icy cold. It may have been warm earlier, but I assume there is a limited supply.’
‘Ah well,’ Lanvik shrugged. ‘I’m used to washing in cold water now. It helps me wake up properly.’
‘You looked in my bag last night,’ Slorn continued, in the same casual tone. Lanvik didn’t reply, and he explained: ‘You didn’t put things back exactly the same way I left them: close, but not the same.’
‘I looked in your bag last night,’ Lanvik confirmed.
‘And?’
‘When will they notice the switch?’
‘You could tell the difference?’
‘Yes, and not just because of the scratch,’ he admitted.
‘Your cursed scratch,’ Slorn shook his head. ‘Hopefully no-one will notice before the next Festival in three years. The cement and fitting I used should have been firm within a few seconds, but with all these people tugging at it, I fear the Crown is likely to come loose far sooner. If the switch has been discovered, it could make things difficult so hopefully word will not reach Stormhaven before we sail. But even after they discover it is gone, I doubt they will be keen to advertise the fact.’
‘Like the Empire and their missing sacrifice.’
‘Exactly. And like the rest of the Company, in fact. There’s no reason why they should learn of it until they need to.’
‘Of course not.’
Lanvik picked up his wig. It was beginning to itch when he wore it, presumably as his hair grew back. Or perhaps he was supposed to wash it? He had no idea.
There was a dirty mirror in the washroom, and he studied his distorted and half-obscured reflection. Even with a perfect image, though, he could still only have seen the front.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Slorn.
‘Your hair? It’s growing, but it still looks like stubble rather than hair, as if you’re a mage who has forgotten to shave for a few days, rather than a normal Human with short hair.’
‘Oh.’
‘Perhaps after our journey south, when we leave the ship, you will be able to discard Thawn’s wig.’
‘I hope so.’ Lanvik fitted the wig in place. ‘How’s Vander? Have you seen him?’
‘Yes. He’s moody and taciturn today, especially with me, but at least he’s not trying to escape any more. He seems more resigned to the fact that he’s been rescued.’
‘Well, there’s not much point escaping now – he’s missed the sacrifice. If he’s really determined to go through with it, then he’ll have to wait three years.’
‘Indeed.’ Kiergard chuckled. ‘Will you look after the Emerald Crown for me, aboard Captain Redwolf’s ship?’
‘Pardon?’
‘I believe the good captain will honour me with a cabin onboard his ship. The cabin has a lock and we have paid for safe passage, but Captain Redwolf has a reputation for not being completely trustworthy or honourable. So it might be imprudent to keep any items of value in that cabin. My closest associates might also appear an obvious and tempting target.’
‘Bane and Magda?’
‘Exactly. I was going to ask one of them to keep it, but now that you also know that I have the Crown, you are a better choice.’ He paused. ‘And you have the advantage that your pack is mostly empty, so you have plenty space to carry it.’
‘Of course,’ Lanvik agreed.
They moved the Emerald Crown with its cloth coverings into Lanvik’s pack.
‘Good,’ Kiergard said. ‘Now – are you ready?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then let us join the others for breakfast.’ They left the room and locked the door.
Apart from Ethryk and Vorrigan, who had gone out early to see to the wagon and the buffalo, the entire Company enjoyed a slow and lazy breakfast. They seemed relaxed and carefree but Lanvik could feel a nervous apprehension as well: he guessed that would only lift once they were clear of Stormhaven and Tremark. Until then, there was a gradually increasing risk that something would go wrong, that messengers or guards would appear from Darkfall demanding that they be detained.
In contrast, Vander seemed to have relaxed and recovered somewhat from the prolonged restraint and detention that he had suffered for most of the previous day. Certainly he seemed to be talking freely with everyone else. He was young and personable, with a warm smile, an engaging sincerity bordering on naivety, and a loud barking laugh.
‘We should go down to the ship,’ Kiergard suggested at last, ‘unless anyone has things to do in Stormhaven.’
Everyone collected their things and they walked down to the harbour, after settling up with the owner of the hotel. Even the weather seemed to share their increasing good humour: the snow had stopped, and the thick purple-grey cloud that had weighed down on them for the past few days had been replaced by a deep, clear blue sky. Even though they could now see the sun, however, it actually felt colder.
In daylight, with a clear view, the harbour seemed even larger busier than it had last night, but somehow dirtier and less majestic. The brightly decorated Morning Cloud stood out among the plain whites, browns and reds of the other ships moored there.
‘Why did we not spend last night aboard the ship, if we have booked passage?’ Vander asked.
‘The ship would have been busy and noisy through the night,’ Slorn told him. ‘And we have only booked passage from today.’
‘And it would have been freezing onboard,’ Tremano pointed out, ‘with no hot water.’
‘As it surely will be for the next few nights,’ Lisamel added.
‘Thank you for that encouraging thought,’ Bane said.
When they reached the edge of the quay, Kiergard shouted up: ‘Captain Torbin!’
A few seconds later the Captain strode out onto deck. He smiled to them, and nodded to two of his men to push out a gangplank: ‘Come aboard,’ he called back.
‘Thank you.’ Kiergard jogged casually up the gangplank. Lanvik nervously followed him. The plank was only a few inches wide, rose and fell with each wave, bounced up and down as he walked and had no handrail or guards to prevent people from simply falling into the water on either side.
He tried to walk as quickly and as straight as possible and was relieved to reach the deck.
‘Welcome back aboar
d,’ the captain greeted them. ‘Is this your entire Company?’
‘There are two more to join us,’ Slorn told him.
‘And they know when we sail?’
‘They do.’
‘Then they had better be here on time.’
‘I’m sure they will be.’
‘You remember the way to your quarters?’
‘I’m certain we do,’ Kiergard assured him. ‘Bane,’ he said. ‘Show Lanvik and Vander where the cabins are.’
‘We should all settle in while we wait,’ Magda suggested.
‘This way, then.’
With Bane in front, they descended a staircase that was little more than a wooden sloped ladder to the deck below. A doorway in the forward bulkhead led to a compartment of cabins on both sides. On the way, they passed a couple of open hatches with vertical ladders leading down to at least one lower deck.
‘We have four cabins,’ Bane explained, for the benefit of Vander and Lanvik. ‘Each cabin has four berths: two up, two down. Lanvik, you can be in here,’ he opened a door on the right. ‘And Vander in here,’ he tapped the next door on the same side. ‘If you have any strong preference about sleeping on the top or the bottom, then sort it out with the others. I don’t think most of us really care. If there’s a problem, then we have a couple of spare berths, so we can move people around.’
There was a tiny room beside them for washing, and toilet facilities were apparently directly below. The others assured them that there was no problem with any smell, as the area was regularly sluiced out with seawater.
Lanvik would share a cabin with Karuin and Vorrigan: he picked a lower bunk, and put his pack underneath at the back as casually as he could. Although the Emerald Crown was well wrapped inside, he found himself worrying that it might make some revealing sound if it knocked against anything else; or that its shape might somehow be visible through the material of the bag.
He went back up on deck, to wait for Vorrigan and Ethryk.
All around them, the port became gradually busier in preparation for the mass exodus of pilgrims. As the morning drifted on and the sun rose higher in the sky, Lanvik started to become concerned. What could be taking the others so long? He started imagining that they had been detained … that Master Pendisson had tracked them down and that Imperial guards were already in Stormhaven. As they waited here, their companions might already be languishing in a cell somewhere, after revealing details of the ship.
His fears were unfounded: Vorrigan and Ethryk eventually joined them, two hours after the others.
‘Welcome aboard,’ Captain “Torbin” greeted them.
‘It’s good to be back,’ Vorrigan told him.
‘And judging by your grin,’ Kiergard Slorn said, ‘you have not only sold the buffalo and the wagon, but made more money than you first paid?’
‘Oh yes, indeed,’ Vorrigan agreed. ‘A very satisfactory transaction.’
‘Is your entire Company aboard now?’ the smiling round-faced captain asked.
‘Indeed they are, Captain,’ Kiergard told him. ‘Indeed they are.’
‘Well then, I would say our business in Stormhaven is complete. We were scheduled to sail at high tide but if you have no objections then we are ready to depart now.’
‘That suits us admirably, Captain,’ Slorn smiled.
‘Very good,’ the Captain nodded. He gave orders to check that all hands were aboard, and for everyone to prepare to cast off.
While they had been waiting, Lanvik had watched other vessels leaving the harbour. Some had been pulled out by rowers on small boats or by their own longboats, and others had left under sail. Now, under Captain Torbin’s watchful eye from the quarterdeck, the ship’s crew cast off: while some men unfurled two of the sails, others gradually fed out the mooring ropes and allowed the vessel to pull away from the harbour wall.
With most of the Kiergard Slorn’s Company watching from on deck, together with a number of the ship’s crew, Morning Cloud inched a slow path out of the harbour, first a little to the left and then a little to the right, the half-furled sails barely fluttering. Crewmen stood at either side and at the front, signalling necessary adjustments back to the man at the wheel until the ship passed through the harbour mouth.
They picked up speed as they passed the breakwater into the rougher waters beyond: each time the crew lowered more sail, the ship surged a little faster through the water when the wind caught it. Once they had rounded the headland that protected the bay, they turned south, rolling on the waves as they wrestled with the crosswinds and the currents. There were a number of other ships visible, mostly heading in towards Stormhaven harbour. Some were close enough to make out details and to see the crew working on deck: others were tiny black shapes in the distance.
Some of the ship’s crew stayed on deck, watching until Stormhaven was out of sight. The members of Kiergard Slorn’s Company stayed out longer as they sailed south along the coast of Tremark. This departure would probably be the most interesting thing to see for days.
Magda pushed in beside Lanvik. ‘Ethryk has now retired,’ she told him: ‘He does not enjoy travel by sea. Nor does Menska, but Ethryk suffers more. How are you finding it so far?’
‘I don’t remember ever being at sea before but I’m well enough, considering that we have only just left port. To be honest, I am more disconcerted by our good Captain. Obviously “Captain Redwolf” is a title that he has invented for himself but even so – he is not at all what I imagined.’
Magda laughed. ‘You may find it even harder to believe that Captain Redwolf is a pirate, and that this vessel is really his famous pirate vessel, Night Princess.’
‘He’s a pirate?’ Lanvik repeated. ‘How can he be? What does he do – sit on his enemies until they surrender?’ He was equally unconvinced by the ship: rolling gently from side to side, it seemed just as slow, fat and unwieldy as its captain.
She laughed, patted him on the back and walked back along the bulwark towards Kiergard Slorn.
Morning Cloud sailed for perhaps an hour and a half on a south easterly course, taking them eventually around and behind a small barren island, battered by waves, that was out of sight from the coast. They dropped anchor, and furled the sails again.
Three new figures appeared from below: another Madarinn, lean and muscular with the golden hair that came with advancing years, flanked by two deck officers.
Captain Torbin addressed him: ‘You have command, sir.’
‘Thank you, Mister Torbin.’ And the affable, red-faced “Captain Torbin” disappeared from the quarterdeck.
This, clearly, was the genuine Captain Redwolf. He barked a few commands, and the ship itself began to undergo a transformation similar to his own.
The crew rolled up the canvas decorations that hung over the sides of the ship, to reveal a simple frame of struts underneath. It was apparent now that the top deck jutted slightly out above the water on both sides, rather than the hull bulging out beneath it as the canvases had implied, giving the ship a jolly and cheerful look. Some of the crew were slung over the sides on ropes to dismantle the frame, while others changed the ship’s flags and colours. Things were happening everywhere – this was clearly an operation that they had practised and performed many times before.
A little more than twenty minutes later, with all the evidence of their transformation folded, stacked and stowed out of sight, it was evident that their transport was no fat and lazy merchantman after all, but a lean frigate, masquerading under assumed flags and false documents.
‘Weigh anchor,’ their new captain addressed one of the deck officers. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
As sails were lowered on all three masts, they pulled away on their southwards course again. Their narrower hull was more stable and cut through the waves far faster than before: Tremark rapidly disappeared behind them. With a few hours of daylight remaining, they tracked south and east until they sighted the coast of Mehan’Gir. They altered course to sail parallel to th
at thin strip, far to their port side – the only land visible. A strong tailwind whipped light snow around the ship, and as it became colder, the deck gradually emptied of anyone who didn’t need to be there.
Lanvik lay on his lower bunk down below and yawned. He had no real understanding of how long their voyage might take – he was unfamiliar with both the name and the geography of their destination – but from the way the others had been talking, it would be several days. So he could rest, perhaps. Sleep properly. Concentrate on recovering his memories.
He had the cabin to himself: Karuin and Vorrigan were elsewhere, perhaps exploring the ship or talking with some of the others. He thought of the Emerald Crown in his pack, under the bed. It should be safe there, he supposed, but he couldn’t completely stop himself from worrying. After a few minutes he sat up, reached under the bunk, opened his bag and removed the Crown, wrapped in cloth. He put it under his pillow instead. While he slept, it would be safe there: no-one would be able to take it without waking him.
It was a little awkward and uncomfortable, but the Crown itself was solid and rigid and he was confident that the weight of his head couldn’t damage it. He would just need to get used to it being there if he wanted to get any sleep.
He would also have to get used to his bed continually jolting up and down with the swell.
Had he travelled by boat before? Urthgard and Tremark were on an island, so he supposed that he must have done. And the Eastern Continent – the Land of Mists, Ceran’Don – was entirely surrounded by water. That was where mages came from, so he must have travelled across the open sea to leave it.
Unless mages had secret ways of travelling across water without using ships.
Unless he didn’t come from the Land of Mists at all.
Unless he wasn’t even a mage.
If his memory came back, even in pieces or flashes, then he would have a much better idea of who he was, how he’d come to be in that prison, why he’d been in Urthgard: where he was supposed to be, and what he was supposed to be doing.
