Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (29 page)

“And we get stuck with the squall,” Cobiah said, finishing Macha’s sentence with a sigh. Ignoring Henst’s scowl, Cobiah crossed the room to greet Isaye, but he’d made it only halfway there when a resounding voice boomed out from the big table.

“Ah, there you are, Captain Marriner.” Sidubo Nodobe spoke without rising from his chair, but his thundering basso voice rumbled in the pavilion. “We feared you were forced to abandon the meeting.” There was no other voice like that in all of Lion’s Arch—possibly in all of Kryta. Nodobe was Elonian by birth, and when he spoke, it was with a flair for oratory and the distinct, ringing timbre of
the people of Vabbi. It was too bad that the warm color of his skin and the generous tone of his voice didn’t reach the man’s features. Nodobe’s smile was brilliant, but his eyes were cold and sharp.

“I wouldn’t miss the meeting, Captain Nodobe,” Cobiah replied formally. “I, and the
Pride
, are here to serve Lion’s Arch.” Cobiah curved his path toward the table, trying not to let his voice reveal his annoyance. Isaye nodded and strode toward the table as well. Their hellos would just have to wait.

“Then we are fortunate, for today, Lion’s Arch needs you. And here you are, ready to face the many problems plaguing our town.” Nodobe spread his hands in welcome. Cobiah stopped himself from obviously looking between the man’s fingers for a hidden knife. Nodobe smoothly took control of the meeting, directing everyone’s attention as if he were wholly, smilingly in charge. Although it rankled, Cobiah wasn’t going to let the man see his irritation. He smiled and took a seat, waiting for the others to gather around the table.

Once the last of the captains was seated, Cobiah spoke up before Nodobe could get started. “Lion’s Arch is growing more rapidly than we expected. The larger the city becomes, the more we will be a target of Dead Ships, pirates, and other predators. Raiders already patrol the roads from here to the Shiverpeaks, seeking to take out easy prey. We need to capitalize on the natural defenses of our location, and build more. We need to put those guns on the north cliff. Finish the fortress in the bay—”

“Claw Island?” Nodobe’s laugh was condescending. “A doomed undertaking. The sooner we abandon it in favor of realistic improvements, the more certain it is that our little town”—he spread his ebony hands, revealing dusky palms—“will grow into something mighty.”

“Mighty?” Macha’s eyebrows shot up like hovering seagulls. “What do you mean, ‘mighty’?”

“A force to be reckoned with.” Nodobe lowered his hands and pressed the palms against the table. “Prosperous. Strong. Independent. Isn’t that what we all want?”

“Point of order.” Tarb, the burly asura with the war hammer, rapped his knuckles on the table. “Seconds are not allowed to contribute unless directly requested. Macha, be quiet or leave the room.” He fixed Macha with an icy gaze, and she returned it in kind. Behind Tarb, Gamina gulped and stared at the floor, shifting from foot to foot in a nervous sort of dance.

“Agreed.” Cobiah made no apology for Macha’s outburst. He kept his eyes on Nodobe and said, “The simple fact of the matter is that unless we defend the port, it won’t matter how ‘prosperous’ the businesses are in Lion’s Arch. They’ll be rubble.”

Nodobe shook his head. “Cobiah, you’re overestimating the threat. The town has survived several attacks in the last six years. We can easily survive more. Our defenses are already adequate.”

“Is there such a thing as an adequate defense against the dragons?” Hedda, the heavyset norn woman, tapped long fingernails on the table. She’d painted them red, possibly with the blood of her enemies, but more likely with a bucket of ship’s primer.

Farther down the table, Moran sounded unconvinced. “The town’s been attacked, all right, but by small groups of ships. Not a full-on assault like the one that destroyed Port Stalwart.”

“No one’s been to Orr and returned. We don’t know what they might throw against us. There’s no proof the Dead Ships are the worst thing Orr can bring to bear.” Hedda frowned.

“They’re puny, rotten wrecks.” Grimjaw ran his claws through the fur on his forearm in an idle gesture. “You’re scared of ships that barely sail and gunnery that barely fires. The Orrians are about as efficient as a devourer with a torch between its tails.”

“Perhaps,” Nodobe said. “We know that nothing we do will stop them from raiding. But we’ve also seen that Orrian ships seek out locations they can overwhelm. They’ll choose an easier target than Lion’s Arch. Hylek villages along the coast. The smaller, private docks at the edge of the Maguuma Jungle. Perhaps the Krytans’ new dock at Port Noble. We won’t be their first choice—”

“That’s your argument? Let them kill somebody other than us?” Cobiah said, mocking him. “These are walking corpses; they’re not ogres or grawl. They don’t get weaker with every attack; they get stronger. With each battle, they add more undead to their ranks—and more firepower to their armada.” An awkward silence settled over the table as each captain pondered this point of view.

“I don’t agree with either of you. Make more money? Pfaugh! Build more walls to hide behind? Bah! I say we buy enough ships to storm Orr and destroy the dragon that lives there once and for all. Anything else is just wasting our time.” Grimjaw snarled, his long canines glinting hungrily. “Cowards, both of you.” He glared at Cobiah and Nodobe. “You humans have got to get your fingers out of your noses and try to find your spines.”

“That’s uncalled for!” Isaye’s voice was loudest among the chorus of captains shouting Grimjaw down. The table erupted into catcalls and shreds of arguments. Captain Tarb finally pounded his fist on the table and raised his bellow over the others, shouting them into silence so he could speak.

“In my three years’ docking at Lion’s Arch,” Tarb
barked loudly, “I’ve heard nothing but ‘island fortress’ this and ‘ultimate protection’ that. Cobiah, you say these defenses are critically important, but you also say they’ll take years to finish. How long can we sit around waiting for stone and lumber, construction and shoring, before we turn our attention to a better market plaza? Or hire more guards to keep our ships and cargo safe? I’m all for keeping those monsters out of our harbor, but I’m not willing to wait ten years to build a bank.”

Nodobe leaned back in his wicker chair. “A bank is extremely necessary to the town’s growth, Tarb. You’re quite correct. Port Noble doesn’t have a bank, so we’d be solidifying our place as a preferred port for neutral shipping concerns. Traders interested in dealing with bulk goods, or large sums, would be more likely to come to Lion’s Arch.”

Cobiah grabbed the table’s attention, not wanting to give the smooth-spoken Elonian an opportunity to sway the audience. “Moran,” he tossed in quickly. “You’re quiet. What are your thoughts?”

“I’m thinking that most of you are blind idiots, to tell the truth.” Ever blunt, old Moran sighed and scratched his scalp beneath his thick shock of gray hair. “All plans and no foundation. Where’s the money to pay for the defenses, or the bank, or the attack ships . . . or, by the Mists, your furless Aunt Maybell’s parlor house, if that’s what the town needs! Every one of you is snapping jaw about how you’re going to spend money, but nobody’s said word one about how we’re going to
get
it.”

“I believe I can help with that.” A smarmy voice from the doorway made Cobiah turn sharply in his chair. The voice came from Yomm, the asuran merchant. With a smug tilt to his chin, Yomm trotted toward the long table. He wasn’t alone, either; a norn was with him, walking
slowly so as to keep pace with the merchant. With a start, Cobiah recognized the norn as Bronn Svaard. Further, Bronn was carrying a sack over his shoulder, much like the one Sykox had been carrying earlier that morning. But this sack was not filled with machine parts and engine tools. Bronn dropped it on the table at an insistent wave of Yomm’s hand, and the entire group heard the unmistakable
clink-clink
of coins.

“I’m here to buy a seat at the table.” Yomm’s long ears flicked back determinedly. He met each captain’s eye with unflinching resoluteness, defying them to say no. Everyone froze for a moment, shocked by the shopkeep’s brass. This was unheard of.

“Yomm, you blithering idiot,” Grimjaw snorted. “You’re no captain. You’ve no ship! Don’t waste our time with this skale-headed bilge.”

Shooting the arrogant charr a black look, Cobiah tried to soften the blow. “I know you’re worried about the discussion on fixed prices, Yomm, but he’s right. The law says you must be an established captain before you can pay the regency fee and join the council.”

“You think I don’t know that?” The asura’s green eyes narrowed haughtily. He rounded on Grimjaw without fear. “It so happens that I’ve purchased a ship, you slack-jawed mouth-breather. Her name is the
Nadir Shill
. And, before you insult my intelligence any further, I’ve hired a crew as well.”

“He has,” Bronn added blithely. “He’s hired me and my brother, Grymm.”

“Only two?” Grimjaw guffawed. “Smallest crew ever! What’re you sailing, Yomm? A cork with a toothpick mast?”

“That’s no business of yours, mongrel.” Stiffening at the charr’s laughter, Yomm nevertheless waved the
argument away. “I’ve obeyed the law in letter and spirit. I’ve brought the entire regency fee, in cash, and my first mate to boot. You can’t keep me out any longer.”

“Not entirely true, Yomm.” Isaye’s voice was serenely neutral. Cobiah was grateful for her ability to stay calm; it was a rarity among the captains of Lion’s Arch. She continued. “There’s one more thing. You also need the approval of a majority of the council in session.”

“Well, by the Mists, he’s got mine.” Moran stared at the bulging sack of money. “That coin will go far toward any of the plans you lot have proposed, so I’m all for it.” The old captain was clearly amused by the discomfort around the table. “He’s got my vote.”

Nodobe thoughtfully rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “The laws of the town are clear, and the shopkeep has obeyed them. Even if we don’t like his methods, we cannot deny that Yomm already has a great deal of investment in the city. I suppose . . . very well. I accept him in our number.”

Dubious, Cobiah frowned. “Well, I don’t.” He glared at Yomm angrily. “Look, Yomm. If we allow anyone with coin and a seaworthy bathtub to buy their way onto the council, the city’s going to be overrun by greedy profiteers. Maybe King Baede will send a hundred captains to buy seats and then vote to annex Lion’s Arch back into Kryta.” The idea spawned several uncertain grumbles around the table, and he added, “Yomm, you’re only doing this to get back at Grimjaw. You don’t care about the city. You just want power. I find that unacceptable. My vote is no.”

“By the Khan-Ur’s metal claws, I actually agree with a human.” Grimjaw snorted, his dark stripes rippling with amusement. Leaning back, he thumped one boot and then the other onto the table’s surface, tail flicking in
annoyance. “I vote we don’t let the little gouger make idiots of us all. And I
still
say we go attack Orr!”

Cobiah wasn’t sure he enjoyed being on the same side as the arrogant charr. With a sigh, he looked toward Hedda and Tarb and tried to predict their reactions. Hedda looked thoughtful, eyes lingering on the money satchel with obvious interest. Tarb, on the other hand, never stopped staring at Yomm. His expression was difficult to read, but his ears flicked back and forth against his shoulders as if twitching away a wasp.

“I suppose,” Hedda said at last, “we could see our way clear to accepting his regency and allowing Yomm on the council.” She shrugged, the motion rippling down her fleshy arms. “What harm can a little thing like him cause? It’s not like he’s buying the whole city. The rest of us can disagree with him in council.”

“That’s two nos and three yeses,” Cobiah tallied. “Tarb? Isaye?”

Tarb sat in silence, arms crossed over his chest. When he realized all eyes were on him, the asura captain grumbled under his breath and shifted belligerently in his seat. At last, he proclaimed simply, “I vote no.” His lips twisted in sour disapproval.

“Tarb’s Dynamics, like me,” Macha whispered conspiratorially into Cobiah’s ear. “Yomm’s Statics.”

Cobiah turned and gave her a blank stare.

“Colleges,” she prompted. When Cobiah’s face remained expressionless, Macha clenched her fists to her ears in frustration. “Asuran colleges? They have fierce rivalries. It’s a well-established fact in asuran society that we sabotage each other whenever given the opportunity . . . Coby, don’t you ever
listen
to my stories when we’re at sea?”

“I listen to the ones where stuff blows up.” He grinned
unhelpfully. Macha squeezed her eyes shut and muttered something under her breath. He turned toward Isaye and asked, “Three and three. Your vote will decide, Isaye.”

Isaye ignored their whispers. Thoughtfully, she stated, “You aren’t a sailor, Yomm. I understand your dissatisfaction with the process, but it doesn’t change the reasons we chose captains to run it and not the townsfolk. Captains are capable of commanding a crew in life-threatening situations. Lion’s Arch is under threat from Orrian attack. Only those who can—and have—put their lives on the line against the Dead Ships have the right to make decisions for this port. We pay for that right in more than gold. Many of us have paid for it with the blood of our sailors.”

“I could be useful against the Dead Ships!” Yomm blustered. Angrily, he rushed on. “Sailing isn’t everything. I could import weaponry for the townsfolk—”

“That doesn’t help us,” Isaye repeated gently, shaking her head. “Orrians come from the sea. We need ships in the harbor to defend the village. Invested captains who can and will fight for the town where we need it the most. Villagers flailing about with swords aren’t going to stop a Dead Ship’s attack. Yomm, you don’t sail. You’re not a real captain.”

“I don’t sail, hmm?” Yomm crossed his arms and his tone turned nasty. “I . . . well—” Suddenly struck with inspiration, Yomm jabbed a finger toward Cobiah. “Ha! Neither does he! When was the last time anyone saw the
Pride
leave the harbor? Half of her crew’s out on other ships or looking for work. Like you, Isaye, with that Krytan tub of yours. Or this big bookah.” Yomm jerked a thumb toward Bronn, ignoring the norn’s snort of surprise. “Cobiah Marriner spends all his time in the city. Everyone knows his engineer’s insane, his
crew’s disbanded, and his first mate’s a murderous scallywag who’s been in more fights than a drunken skritt. If Cobiah’s your idea of a ‘real captain,’ then by the sparks and atherions of the Eternal Alchemy, I’m one, too.” Yomm tossed his head and dared the council to disagree.