Dark Empress (63 page)

“That alone is enough to hang him, captain.”

Ghassan nodded.

“I imagine so, but Samir believes that you can fight the fleet and win. I am, I must say, considerably more sceptical over the matter, but when my brother is sure, he is usually correct, as I’m sure you’re all aware. I myself am here for two reasons: firstly to give my evidence, as I just have, and secondly to seek sanctuary and safety with my brother, since I have nowhere else to go.”

Culin stood as Ghassan stepped back and frowned.

“I have no doubt that Samir and his brother are telling the truth, gentlemen. As you know, I have men in every port and some even hidden in places of authority in M’Dahz and Calphoris. Everything I have heard supports this story. The fact remains, however, that whether his intentions were good or not, Samir has brought our enemies to us. For that he should by all rights be put to death.”

Ghassan winced at the comment, but Culin was already going on.

“However, if he is right, we have an opportunity here and in that case, we really need any man we can get, and certainly one as wily and lucky as Samir.”

He turned to the brothers.

“I am tempted toward leniency, Samir. Convince us we can win.”

“Very well, Master Culin. Let me give you the full tale. I have been looking for a way to break the growing naval control of the Sea of Storms ever since I first took command of the Empress. Asima, while believing she has been playing me has, in her betrayal, been the very linchpin of my plan.”

He stepped forward once more under the suspicious gaze of the councillors.

“I had to find a way” Samir continued, “to bring the governor’s fleet to battle with our own on favourable terms and this was far from easy, given the number of ships available to them, compared with our twelve. I could never have persuaded you to launch an assault on Calphoris, so I had to bring them here to provide you with no alternative. Once we clear the sea of the governor and his fleet, we can retake what is ours, and perhaps even more.”

The hoarse, wicked-looking old chief councillor snorted and pointed at Samir.

“We still have twelve ships, Samir, while they still have scores! What you have done is exterminated us, not saved us!”

Samir smiled.

“Not quite. What the governor does not currently know is just how many people I have placed in prime positions on board his ships in the last few years. Some of my less savoury friends from M’Dahz have been serving on board the Imperial darams for years, awaiting this very opportunity. As you know, I always plan things well in advance.”

In the silence that followed, a light voice chuckled and then began to laugh out loud. Master Culin leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“Captain Samir, I would really hate to play you at dice. You have just answered for me one of the greatest mysteries of the past year.”

The other councillors looked at him in surprise. Culin laughed.

“On no less than four occasions in recent months documents have come into my possession that made no sense; documents referring to the hiring and transfer among the Imperial coastal forces of people that I wouldn’t trust to open a door for me without stabbing me in the back and stealing my purse. I could never figure out why the governor was putting such dubious and dangerous people in such important positions.”

Samir smiled.

“I am a little disappointed in my associates leaving a paper trail, but you are correct, master Culin. If my moves have all paid off, the odds will be considerably improved. Several of the enemy ships should be in a position to switch sides and join us, and a number of others will find themselves the victim of sabotage. I do not like leaving things to chance.”

He noted the thoughtful looks on the faces of a number of the councillors.

“We have a chance. We have needed this chance for months, and now it is before you. It is up to the masters of Lassos as to whether they take it. We have a few hours; possibly even days, before we have to move against them, so we will go to Surafana’s house, which lies empty, and settle in there until you reach a decision. You know where to find us.”

Samir turned and sauntered casually through the door and out into the entrance hall, Ghassan following close on his heels and closing the door behind them just as a loud debate began to kick in around the table.

Ghassan frowned as they stepped out into the fresh air and looked up the road toward their destination.

“That Culin seems to be supporting you, but I think you’ll need to watch him. He’s clever.”

Samir nodded.

“He is clever… very clever and very well informed too, but that, Ghassan, is exactly what I’m counting on. Now come with me and I shall introduce you to the supporting cast in my little production.”

In which BelaPraxis is honoured

The house of the former head of the council, the recently deceased Surafana, was more an eyrie than a mere home. A grand residence constructed on a narrow ledge, much of the building was held up by great supports formed from the boles of trees, driven at an angle into the cliff. The approach had taken Asima’s breath away, partially from the sheer impressiveness of the structure and its positioning, but also with the thought that this house that looked to be held up against impossible conditions was about to be her home at least for a few hours.

It was not that she feared heights, or at least she’d never realised that she did, but this was something else; like being dangled over an immense drop with nothing to cling on to. Samir had chosen well. The only remotely safe exit from the building was the route by which they entered and there was no way she would be leaving without permission. Equally, of course, if things went badly at the meeting, this was clearly the most easily defensible position on the island.

And so she had been bundled into the house with no ceremony, waited while the pirates chose a room for her, and was then escorted to a very secure chamber with only one door and a window that looked out onto a precipitous drop to the roofs of the town more than a hundred feet below.

The escort had left the door open and one of their number sat on a chair opposite, his eyes locked on the makeshift prison cell. For the first five minutes of her incarceration, Asima had sat in one of the three chairs at the single table in the room and stewed over the situation. Once again, as so often in the last few years, she felt largely helpless and that aggravated her. Not being in control set her teeth on edge. Of course, her plans had now changed once more, so things were still quite uncertain.

Whether the old crone in the desert was right with her uncanny sight and her prediction of Asima’s rise to power or not, Asima was sure in herself of her future. Even if Gods and fate had nothing to do with it, she would make damn sure it happened. And now Samir was about to put her in a position to make it happen without realising it. She wasn’t sure exactly what she would need to do, yet, since that depended on how events unfolded. However, when they went back out to sea, she was sure she could find a way to sell him out to the Imperial fleet and deliver him to the governor.

And there were Pelasians among the fleet too. It was all coming together; she couldn’t quite see how, yet, but conditions were falling into place. And when she finally achieved her goals and left Prince Ashar’s corpse to the jackals while she sat on the veranda of the palace in Akkad, she would make the world pay for what it had put her through in recent years.

She smiled.

Oh yes. Streets would run with the blood of those who had got in her way.

Five minutes of musing relaxed her a little and she began to become impatient for news. Samir and Ghassan surely would be brief with the council. And then they’d come here and she’d see how the next small step in her plan fell into place.

Irritably, she stood, glancing at the pirate guard, wondering whether he would come and restrain her if she moved out of sight. He merely watched with scant interest. Of course, she could hardly escape from here.

Stretching her legs, she began to explore her cell. This was some sort of storeroom. From what she understood, the master of this house had been one of the council who had passed on recently. After his death, it appeared that the house had remained empty. A quick look at the dusty surfaces told her that no one had bothered tending to the interior, though the lack of valuables, decoration and useful items suggested that other island occupants had been through here like locusts, taking anything of value.

Arching her eyebrow in interest, she began to open and close cupboards and drawers.

Junk. The room was full, but full of junk; trinkets, knickknacks and miscellaneous rubbish. Every door she opened or drawer she pulled on revealed more of the pointless accumulations of a lifetime hoarding. She sighed. Not even anything that could keep her entertained while she waited. At least there could have been…

Her thoughts fell into silence as she opened a deep drawer at waist height in a tall cabinet and the next piece of her scheme fell into place. Asima smiled as she carefully and delicately picked up the hand-held torsion bow that lay abandoned amid the junk. It was loaded with a narrow, needle-like iron bolt, just under four inches long, which was exceedingly lucky, given that there was no supply of ammunition with it. She frowned at it and shrugged; she’d not a lot of experience with missile weapons, but she’d handled one of these before and it was nice and simple.

Taking a quick glance around the doorframe, she saw the pirate guard, still watching the room with a bored gaze. He couldn’t see the cupboard around the corner and she smiled as she picked up the weapon, being careful to keep it angled so that the ammunition stayed in place. Just to be sure, she put her finger on the bolt and slid it back and forth a little. It was free and unjammed. A flick removed the catch that prevented misfires. Nodding to herself, she held it carefully in position behind her back and then returned to her seat, making sure she kept her front to the guard. He paid hardly any attention to her, merely looking up briefly as she reappeared from around the corner.

Slowly, ever so carefully, she manoeuvred the bow from behind her back so that it rested on her knees under the table. Every movement was kept tightly controlled and masked by innocent actions such as a scratch, a glance around or a yawn.

By the time she heard the activity at the front door, the weapon was securely held in both hands beneath the table. This next move required subtlety. She dropped her head dejectedly, apparently resigned to her fate and broken by captivity. Of course Samir wouldn’t fall for that for a second, but it might distract him from what was really going on. With someone as sharp as Samir, it was a matter of throwing enough signals and suspicious activity at him that he didn’t know which way to turn. Samir was sharp enough, but the iron bolt on her knee was sharper still and so was Asima’s aim.

“Faerus and Orin will be here any time now with the most trusted senior members of their crews. The next few days will be a time that both the council and the governor will remember for many years.”

Samir’s voice was light and betrayed a little excitement as he entered the front room of the house, helping Ghassan as he went. The taller brother was staggering wearily. Not a shock after what she’d done to him, but it still surprised and irked her that what was undoubtedly a killing blow seemed to have done such little to him. Next time the opportunity came her way, she would make it slower and considerably more certain. He may survive a single blow, but see how long he lasted with no skin.

“I’ll wait here, Samir” her attempted victim said in a tired voice. “I’ll have a drink while we wait, but I just don’t have the patience or energy to deal with Asima right now.

Samir nodded.

“I’ll only be a few minutes, then we can get down to planning.” He turned to one of the other crewmen in the room. “Jabir? Can you break out the drinks? I’ll have one in a minute when I return.”

Asima’s fingers tensed on the trigger as Samir strode toward the doorway. His face was a strangely unreadable expression. There seemed to be mixed hope, anger, irritation, desire and humour in roughly equal amounts. Despite some heavy competition, it won out as his most irritating look of all time.

“Asima…” he began as he turned and closed the door, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

She raised her eyes very slowly until her gaze met his. Her steely dark eyes held his as he squared his shoulders.

“As I’ve said, and I’m considered a man of my word, I will not harm you, despite everything you have done. When our business here is concluded, we will go our separate ways and, Gods willing, our paths will never cross again. I am bound by the promise I made when I took you back from Pelasia to try and help you achieve your goal.”

Asima shrugged.

“You are a liar, Samir. You veer wildly between vowing to help me on my path back to power and stealing me away whenever I get close, in order to save your precious ‘innocents’. Innocents are merely criminals that haven’t been caught yet, Samir. A man in your position should know that. Everyone is disposable… no exceptions.”

Samir shrugged.

“There are innocents, in relative grades, I’ll admit, but I know they exist. You, however, Asima, are unable to recognise them, since I now realise that you were never one yourself, even when we were carefree children. Ghassan believes that you have become this person because the world turned its back on you. I personally believe that you were always this person, but it took certain events to trigger your release from the prison of youth.”

“Enough talk, Samir. I recognise that I have a struggle ahead of me, but it will be considerably easier without you standing in the way.”

Purposefully and smoothly, like the most professional Pelasian assassin, she stood, the chair sliding back and toppling behind her as she brought the hand bow up in a graceful arc and pulled the trigger to release the bolt at neck level. It was a speedy, smooth, bold, and deadly accurate move, the weapon aimed precisely for the centre of the throat.