Malspire (11 page)

“She likes you. She said you were kind and tried to please her and her father, but you were like a fox trying to entertain a hen. She told me you're a true hero. I agree with her.”

“Shut up, Ajator,” I said, but not in anger. Ajator laughed. I smiled too. How could I not? His smile, the twinkle in his eye. The man had a good heart and deserved happiness.

“She's coming aboard the Grand Oak as my guest for the return trip to Norlan.”

“I see. She will be safe then.”

“Indeed!”

“And so will you.” This thought at least was a little comfort to me. The two people in the world that meant something to me would be safe for a while on a battleship and then at port in Norlan away from the frontiers and war. I wanted to ask about the stranger, but Ajator had obviously seen him in private and it was none of my business anyway. If Ajator wanted to share it with me, he would have.

“I had best return,” I mumbled as we walked along the dock.

“Why so morose? We'll meet again soon, and we'll hunt together for rebels and pirates. Soon we'll be captains of our own ships, and then we'll wreak hellish fire upon the Empire's enemies, eh?”

“Yes. Soon we shall. Farewell.” Again I smiled to put my brother at ease.

“One more thing, Mal,” said Ajator. He stepped closer and in a quieter voice so as not to be overheard, said, “Are you a member of the Ship of Mariners?”

Ajator was referring to a club which was meant to be secret but everybody knew about it. The organisation had lodges all over the Empire. Members had secret signs and performed secret rituals which I assumed they found amusing. I myself was not interested in being asked to join and doubted I would ever fit the mould for membership anyway.

“Of course not. Are you?”

“No.” Ajator looked troubled. “I was though. I was asked to join a few months ago by a fellow I had drinks with in the city. Odd man, but a good drinking partner. Name of Obein Klarans. Flame red hair, lost his ear and two fingers in a fight. Intelligent man, but not boring.”

"Why did you leave? Did the masks and handshakes not amuse you?"

“At first, yes.” Ajator responded frowning at some further thought.

“Tell me Ajator, what's bothering you?”

“Something happened. But...” Ajator paused.

“But what?”

"I might be mistaken. I felt the group, including Klarans were not all they seemed to be after a while. Talk would often be of the Empire and rebellion and I somehow felt questioned."

"Questioned?"

"As though they were trying to ascertain my feelings for the rebellion."

"Nothing odd about that. On the Sea Huntress we have little else to talk about other than the possibility of Captain Crosp having an unfortunate accident."

"Yes, but when I said that the rebels had a point, things took an odd turn."

"What? Use your head, Ajator. We all know that war isn't simple. The rebels fight for an idea. They fight the blood system, a system you know that I don't hold with, but we also know our place and know that we fight for an even greater plan. Don't expect others to understand this though! The Secret Servants probably have agents in the Ship of Mariners and they will keep a close eye on you if you say things like that."

"You don't understand, Mal. Shortly after, Klarans approached me and openly offered me a place in the rebellion. He told me that I would be able to keep the title and lands when the rebels win the war. He openly admitted to being a rebel agent!"

"Oh, I see. It's a test."

"A test? I thought of that. At first I thought that they were testing my loyalty to the Emperor after my statements, but he seemed so sincere."

"So what did you do?"

"I don't like these games of shadow and secrecy and tests. You know me. I left the Ship of Mariners. If they can't think for themselves then it's not for me."

"Good. What if he was sincere?" I had to ask. I knew it was not so, but my darker side just had to pick that thread.

"That has me worried," said Ajator and meant it. "Perhaps I should report it to the Secret Servants."

I did not like the thought of that. Stay as far away from the secret police of the Emperor as possible was my gut feeling. "Leave it be, Ajator. Don't dwell on it. Thinking too much has always been a problem of mine. Perhaps it runs in the family and only now have you fallen victim to this malady.”

“Ha! You say that I don't think?”

“You have the looks, Ajator. You don't need to think. I really must go now. I'm expected.”

I said my goodbyes and left quickly as a carriage pull up which I thought could have been Veinara and her father. I did not want to see her for fear of betraying my true feelings of anger and disappointment. I felt betrayed, but it was nothing a bottle of Deep Lorcant wine would not drown and so I headed back to the Sea Huntress, giving little further thought to my brother's words, but in time I would come to regret that. In time I would wish I had stayed with my brother, for Ajator, myself and the house of Ardalrion were set on the road to disaster.

Chapter Four

Some things you never forget. When a pistol, no more than three inches away, is pointed at your face, you come to realise how very small you really are. An ant under the gaze of a cruel child, a flea stuck between thumb and forefinger, a fly trapped beneath a cupped hand. I had never felt so small as I now did, staring down the double barrels of the long pistol at the stranger's eyes in which I saw only death.

That morning we had been at sea. To the north was the Quarvor Sea, to the south was the vast Inner Ocean. Dividing these greater waters was a string of islands and rocks that started as the lands of Calandia and ended in Umuron where I could see how the harbour was being fortified as the Sea Huntress returned from her patrol. The entrance had two newly finished gun towers. Not large but under the circumstances, still impressive considering how few resources where being spent on the war in the west. I thought back to the first time I had entered the port of Norlan. The entrance to the port is called the Gates of Norlan where two giant warrior maidens of old stand guard, naked and proud with great-swords granting a minimum of modesty. They are called Emla, and Anla. Old sailors called them Betlan and Pennan - common names as used by common girls. It was regarded as lucky to blow them a kiss on entering or leaving port. I liked them as they were from a more honest era. They neither hid, nor showed any shame at being naked, but instead stood as a warning to an enemy that here, even the women would overcome them. It was either that or Norlan women were easy.

"Angels, Malspire," Ajator said one day when again I had suggested that Emla and Anla were perhaps advertising Norlan's finer goods. "They're angels standing guard against the dark gods, put there by Emperor Sabnor-Arn the Ferocious."

"He was a notorious womaniser!" I teased him, knowing how Ajator disliked any criticism of an emperor.

"Where did you read that?"

"Hollmoor's History of the Emperors."

"That boorish tome? You read too much, and worst of all is the subject you choose. That book should be banned."

"I think it might be. The library is thankfully run by librarians, not officers. Amazing what you can find if you're willing to delve into the back shelves."

I knew that Ajator had read no more than a few pages before discarding it with an incredulous bah! It was far too plainspoken for his idealistic views on the world, and anyway, it was not on any reading list. Sometimes I could only see the rot in the world and however hard I tried to show Ajator, my dear brother only saw the silver. Soot and silver, Malspire and Ajator. Even I sometimes doubted that we were truly twins. Never Ajator though. He never once showed any doubt and I loved him for it.

All along the walls and up the straight backs of Emla and Anla, buildings had grown from the black granite. Behind the statues was the wide gulf of calm water harbour and behind this, the city grew further into a maze of climbing structures and winding canals like a vast termite’s nest, but with people running here are there about their business. Carvings and statues adorned every wall. There were plazas and bath houses, markets and shops. There were bakeries, sick houses, smithies, inns, taverns, manufactories, temples and plain old dwellings built one upon the other. It was a magnificent achievement of engineering over a period of thousands of years, and I could certainly believe that the city could boast a million souls all living on what was just a small island of rock now lost somewhere beneath it all.

The poorer regions of the city, called the Waters, were built using good old timber. These regions grew inwards from the edges of the harbour, and the best times where to be had not on land but the planked streets built on floating barges and stilts. It was run down, filthy, impoverished and stinking, but we loved it.

"All fart and no shit," a drunk had once described the city true. "Down here in the Waters we get plenty shit!"

And so our education was not just in naval etiquette and tactics, but also in brawling, drinking, gambling and life. Life was to be lived and not suffered, I would often tell myself, but without my brother by my side, it was easily forgotten. Without my brother, I was just a cripple, a shadow, the Undertaker.

I returned from my daydreaming as the captain called out orders to the men on duty from behind me on the aftcastle, and then I saw The War Tempest at anchor in the deep waters. The flagship was usually found here. Flags of salute were run up followed shortly thereafter by a four gun salute for High Admiral Barron Villor who's flag flew from the mighty ship's mast.

On making port, I made my way to the closest inn where I intended to find a woman. Others of the crew had done the same, and they nodded as I took a table to one side. Harl, Willan and Jodlin were there together with the tattooed Tabor and young Paggod as well as others of the crew. Sudlas was lurking in the shadows as ever. Sudlas was a strange one, quiet and unsettling. I suspected that the man had sworn an oath to the Ardalrion Navy in order to escape a prison sentence which was not an uncommon story. Sudlas always wore a worn top-hat and scruffy waist coat when in town. It looked comical, but there was nothing comical about the man.

"Landlord," I called to the stout barman who waved over a wench to take my order. "I'll have a room and a woman."

"Food, drink?"

"Wine and pork. A free drink for all those men as well," I added, indicating my fellow crewmen. Those that noted, nodded and knuckled their foreheads in appreciation.

"As you wish," said the skinny barmaid. Moments later she returned with a clay jug and cup. "The pork is on its way, sir. Women come along later."

"Good," I said and poured myself some wine. It was still early in the day, but I was not needed back on the ship for the next few days and wanted to relax. Wine and a woman would do that. It was good to be away from Crosp and his pathetic lackeys who would be making their way to finer establishments by now. Crosp would undoubtedly be on his way to the Naval Office first to send yet another letter complaining of me. Ajator was far away at the moment in the east aboard The Grand Oak as far as I knew, probably fighting beastmen from the Outer Oceans. I thought of the Ship of Mariners and how they had tested Ajator. Rebellion was infectious and it was understandable that such an organisation would want to nip any in the bud. It just occurred to me that testing the son of a lord admiral could be seen as quite the insult. Did they have reason to think there was the slightest chance that Ajator was somehow corrupted? Probably not. It was probably just stupidity or perhaps part of the initiation. Then why did it worry me so now?

The wine was sweetened. I preferred dry. The Naval Academy of Norlan had tried to teach me the finer points of wine tasting and the difference in grape varieties, but to me, it was pointless. You either liked a wine or you didn't. Drink enough and they all taste the same - flippant, I knew, but there was a tried and tested truth to it.

A bowl of steaming pork cuts was placed before me and I knew I was going to get my fingers messy, but before getting a chance, the door opened and in came a thin man in ragged city clothing a size too small. He was dragging a case and had a tatty bowler hat upon his head of long, greasy black hair. I would have guessed that he had just arrived from the city, but he was no navy man. Perhaps a merchant's agent? Then I saw the particularly long, double barrelled pistol just inside his coat. As the stranger turned to look at his surroundings, I also saw scars on his face. This was no office worker either, odd. Somehow he did not fit. Something in the air now felt wrong. I saw Sudlas tense and retreat further into the shadows. This more than anything told me that there was more to this stranger than met the eye - something dangerous.

"I need a cheap room for three nights," said the stranger as he reached the counter. "Clean sheets too!"

"Of course, sir. Let my lad take your kit up for you."

"Leave it be. I'll take it up myself."

"Can I offer you a drink?" I said before I could stop myself, wanting to know more about this man's business. I knew I should have ignored him, but the words just came out, and no sooner had I said them than I regretted them.

The man's head snapped round to look down at me. His eyes lingered on the deformities for a long while and I felt the familiar sensation of being the focus of disgust.

"Swive away," the stranger simply said. I noticed a missing front tooth, the rest of them brown and rotting.

Seamen rose and Jodlin growled. I put up a hand to stop them, and the stranger sneered when he saw this.

"Forgive me," I said cautiously, "but I only offered a drink in friendship."

The man looked mockingly at the crew, then back to me. "Friendship? You disgust me. Cripples are the lowest of the low, food for cockroaches and shit crust. You should have been drowned at birth and burnt to ash. Whoever had you must have had a lemon up her kun. A man should not have to see such filth, such boot scraping. I feel sick at the sight of you and bile rises at just the thought of your kind. You're not even human and I doubt even an ape would keep your company. You have no right to breathe the same air as me. I'll have no drink from such a shrivelled prick as you. Friendship? I ain't your friend."

I had heard it before. I had been insulted in every possible way for my deformities, but the bastard's tone struck deep and I was forced to bite back hard and swallow the sudden rage within me. Without further word, I turned back to my drink. The stranger turned away with a grunt of contempt. The anger. The rage. It did not diminish as I had hoped, but lingered, twisting and turning in my belly. Breathe. Just breathe and let it pass. It was like a fire within. It was all too much. I held onto my quivering hand with the other under the table. It was rage. RAGE! I lost control.

Before I knew what I was doing, my gutting knife was in my hand and I threw myself at the stranger. The man looked sideways just in time, or had he known what was going to happen? The stranger turned and put out a foot, then let me and blade flash past him and stumble to the floor in front of the counter. Screaming in anger, I slashed backwards only to come face to face with the long double-barrelled pistol now only inches away. The men moved, but far too slowly. The look on the man's face was knowing and calculating, smug even. He was a killer and he had judged me rightly as a bit of sport and fun. The man smiled and applied pressure to one of the triggers. My heart pounded in my chest. The anger now turned to fear. Did the man not care that the others would surely have him should he kill me? No. He was either that good or insane; perhaps a bit of both. I then thought I would foul my breaches when all of a sudden there was a knife at the stranger's throat who released his finger from the trigger.

"Easy now fella," hissed Sudlas into the man's ear. "I knows what you can do, but you knows that even you can't twist your way out of this one. I'll cut you as soon as breath." Sudlas made the last word sound like a hiss. I had never seen Sudlas look so threatening.

The man looked longingly down at me and for the briefest moment I could see him considering his odds should he pull the trigger. The look of death was on him like I had never before seen in a man. His cold, shark eyes said that he killed for joy. I was not the first, I knew that.

"It would be a mercy killing. Put the dog out of his misery," said the killer with his raspy voice, an ugly voice. Everything about the man was ugly.

"If he dies, then so do you. You'll find no mercy here. I'll cut you a new grin from ear to ear," said Sudlas.

After a tense silence the stranger slowly lifted his pistol. "I Think I'll take a room elsewhere then," he said, putting the gun back inside his coat.

I moved back and got to my feet. Sudlas released the stranger, who took his case and dragged it past the angry crew, some of whom now held pistols and weapons at the ready.  The men then joined me as I slumped back into my chair. I had been a hair trigger's whisper from death.

"You alright, sir?" said Harl. Jodlin looked furious.

"I think so. My thanks to you all. Especially you Mister Sudlas."

"Dangerous one that, sir. Kills for sport does his kind."

"Do you know him?"

"No, sir. Saw it on his face though. Also saw part of a tattoo on his arm. He's Cult of the Black God and blood is their only joy. They make assassins, sir. Madmen trained to kill. We had trouble with them back in the Waters. Took an effort to run that lot into the sea."

I had heard of the Cult of the Black God or Sciorl as the demonic creature was known in the books of lore. I now also knew a little more about the secretive Sudlas and could guess that the man used to run with the gangs of the Waters. The city guard only enter the Waters when forced to and so the locals pay protection money. Sudlas had probably worked for one of the bosses as did most lads.

"What do you think his business is here in Umuron?"

"As I said, sir. They breed assassins. Expect a death."

With that, I made my way together with Harl and Jodlin to the Naval Office where we informed the desk clerk of what we had discovered. After an interview with a provost officer by the name of Raits, we were thanked and sent on our way. I could only hope that the stranger had been sent to kill Crosp. Then it struck me that perhaps the stranger had been sent to kill me. What if his actions had been calculated to provoke me into attacking him? He would have been within his rights to shoot me and walk away a free man. Who would send such an agent? Crosp hated me, but it was not his style. Of course the Duke had enemies, but why target me, his lesser son? There could be any number of reasons. Would Crosp hire a killer? He had tried to have me killed in the past, something not forgotten, but could not prove. I had asked Jodlin about the flaying whip, but Jodlin had simply looked ashamed and told me that he did not pick the tool. It was given him by Qenrik and Qenrik did what his master wanted. Qenrik probably fouled the whip at Crosp's request; a dog that shits on his master's command.