Masks of Scorpio (8 page)

Royba gave me that puzzled look again. “This great hulk tells me he knows you, Ros. Is that—?”

“Jak? Oh, yes, he knows me — or thinks he does.”

I said, “I was inquiring after the name of the Ship-Hikdar and what happened to the captain—”

“That lady was Vylene Fynarmic of Fallager.”

I knew of Fallager, it was a prosperous town up in Turko’s kovnate of Falinur.

“As for the captain, Vanli Cwopanifer was — was—” Here Royba glanced around as though seeking the right words. “We were caught in the gale and a spar fell and crushed his head. He was — he was insistent upon maintaining command. Yet it was clear to all of us that he was makib, and this insanity led him into strange actions.”

This is, as any first lieutenant, any ship’s officer will tell you, a horrible predicament. Cwopanifer had kept up a string of orders, the gale had broomed upon them, the ship had lost her spars and her masts, and then the damned Pandahem voller had leaped on them. It had all been over before most of the crew were aware.

Looking up to the rearing side of the flying sailing ship, I could see the hands already hard at work. They were carefully cutting the tangled lines and hauling spars and yards inboard. If I knew my sailors of Vallia, they’d be jury-rigged in no time. I turned to Dayra.

“Ros. Can you take command here? I must go across to have a word with the lady Vylene Fynarmic.”

“Of course. And tell Sosie from me she is getting fat.” Dayra laughed. “No. Better not. Her Claw is ferocious!”

“This Ship-Hikdar,” I began. “Is she—?”

“No.” Ros shook her head. “She is a Sister of the Sword.”

“And they’re a right tearaway bunch!” I said, whereat Dayra looked at me as though demanding to know how I presumed to such knowledge of any secret society of women.

She went into the steering cabin to conn the voller herself as we rose above
Val Defender’s
deck. I slid down a rope and dropped exactly plumb less than three feet from Vylene Fynarmic.

She looked at me calmly.

“I believe we owe our escape to you and to Ros the Claw,” she said in that firm hard voice. “You have my thanks, sincerely. Although,” she added matter-of-factly, “we were ourselves maturing plans for a break. Those cramphs would not have held us for long.”

“That is true, lady—” I was saying.

She interrupted. “I am told you are called Jak. Can you hand, reef and steer? We can use you aboard.”

“I am not exactly at liberty at the moment—”

“Nonsense! You’re a Vallian. Well, then. That is settled. Report to the Ship-Deldar. He will post you to a watch.”

“But—”

“That is enough, Jak! We are an emperor’s ship!”

It had to happen, I suppose, sooner or later.

A strapping fellow clad only in a red breechclout was lustily hauling on a spar as it was angled inboard.

The jagged end lashed and he staggered back into me. I caught him and stood him up on his feet. He turned, already shouting his thanks. He was florid, handsome, with bright eyes. He saw me. He knew me.

I knew him.

“Majister!” At once, crack, up he went into that rigidity of attention the old hands can always muster.

“Majister! Lahal and Lahal!”

“Lahal, Nath the Cheeks,” I said. And then, and I shouldn’t have but I couldn’t help it, I said: “And now I suppose everyone will know I’m the blasted emperor.”

“The emperor!” The buzz went around faster than the wine cups on pay night. “The emperor — the Emperor of Vallia is aboard!”

You had to give this lady, Vylene Fynarmic, full credit. Oh, she was a splendid person! A Sister of the Sword, first lieutenant of a proud sailing ship of the air out of Vondium. She looked me straight in the eyeball.

She said: “I give you the lahal, majister.” Then, still in that same hard voice: “So you are Dray Prescot.”

She stood there on her own deck, in command, and I had some inkling of what must be in her mind. She saw Nath the Cheeks standing as stiff as a lance at our side.

“You! Nath the Cheeks! Get the lead out! About your business, you fambly, and no lollygagging!”

He was about to rap out a reply when I said in a carefully neutral tone: “Oh, Nath the Cheeks and I are old campaigners. We were together in
Vela
at the Battle of Jholaix. Nath was a nipper, then.”

He bellowed: “Quidang, majister!” and fairly bolted back to putting his weight into shifting the splintered spar... Vylene looked after him with a grim set to her jaws.

She turned to me. “You had best come below, majister. They are fixing my cabin last, when we are airworthy once more. But I can find you a stoup.”

“When,” I said as we descended the companionway, “did you last eat?”

“Just before we were captured.”

“Then everyone is starving?”

“When the ship is ready to fly, then we will eat.”

I had to agree. But my insides were railing at me like a pack of bloodthirsty werstings.

She found a bottle, and at least I could slake my thirst. She wore the rags of her once-proud uniform.

The breeches were tattered, and the bodice was ripped. There were bruises on her shoulders. Her rank insignia had been torn off.

“What grade of Hikdar are you, lady?”

“Ley-Hikdar, majister.”

She was four rungs up the ladder of promotions within the Hikdar grade; when she reached zan, ten, she might become a Jiktar. Now we had latterly amended the rank required to command the larger ships of the air. Once an ord-Hikdar could command a large flier. This had bothered me, used as I was to the idea of a person commanding a regiment of soldiers being of the same rank as a person who commanded a goodly sized ship. So, now, Jiktars commanded the great sailing fliers of Vallia.

I said: “I cannot promote you immediately to Jiktar, lady, much though I would wish to do so. The Lord Farris has final jurisdiction in the Air Service. But I can and do right gladly promote you to ord-Hikdar.

At once.”

She took that calmly, with a grave nod of her head. Strong-willed, resolute, she knew what she was about.

“Thank you, majister.”

She told me a little more of the terrible time when the late captain had gone insane, and the Pandahem voller had bounced them. Any sailing ship, whether of the sea or the sky, has always to be particularly cautious of a powered vessel. I tried to lighten the tone of these proceedings.

“Well, you can see now that I am unable to sign on with your ship’s company. I have things I must do here.”

“Of course.”

“I would be grateful if you would furnish me with pens and paper. Now I have the opportunity, I will write letters. I would ask you to deliver them for me.”

“With pleasure.”

So, down I sat at her desk, with pens and much of the superior Kregan paper, and wrote. To whom I wrote and what I wrote will, in general, be obvious. I wrote cautioning Drak that armies were being raised in Pandahem against him in southwest Vallia, which he knew, and went on telling him much of what had occurred, and that he could rejoice that his sister had... At that point I fell to chewing the end of the pen and staring vacantly about the ruined cabin. That Dayra had reformed, seen the error of her ways, rejoined the fold? That was not quite as we saw it.

In the end I wrote that Dayra worked actively for Vallia and that the great rascal Zankov had suffered a broken back, and if he was not dead then the spirits of Hodan-Set had missed their mark. Also, I told Drak that he must summon regiments of our best from Hamal. Down there we had been triumphant; now it was up to the Hamalese to work out their future. I would write, as well; but if Drak was to be Emperor of Vallia — as he was, as he was, the stubborn prideful fellow! — then he had to show Vallia and the world that he was the emperor.

After a dozen or so letters Vylene came in to see how I was getting along. She carried a pewter plate on which reposed four exceedingly hard and gritty biscuits. She put the plate down with a clatter on her desk.

“I decided we should all take a short breather and have something to eat. Some of my girls are faint with hunger.”

With perfect composure, I said: “I give you thanks, lady.” The way I spoke, the cut of my jib — both gave me intense pleasure. I’d remained calm, cool, perfectly polite. By Djan! That, I tell you, was a great victory!

In one corner of the cabin stood a brightly painted wooden tub with an earthenware inset, filled with good rich earth of Vallia. A pathetic-looking stump stuck up from the middle. She saw my glance.

“Those devil-spawned rasts of Malpettar took all our palines, and cut down my bush.”

About to make a reply that, I felt, could not be the right one — for any ship’s company sailing without palines to suck and chew on and to find the surcease those remarkable berries can bring, is a ship’s company in deep trouble — I was saved by Dayra’s breathless entry. I stood up.

With all the cracking relish of a ship’s captain, Vylene snapped out: “You do not enter here without knocking and waiting, Ros the Claw! Now go—”

“To hell with that! We’re all starving — and all we get is this!” She threw a biscuit onto the desk. “Hard tack! Weevilly biscuits and no palines!”

Vylene handled herself well.

“Go away at once, Ros the Claw, and I will forget this incident. You are subject to naval discipline aboard my ship. If you have come to appeal to the emperor—” Here she half-turned to look at me, and I fancied the gleam of a tinge of uncertainty caught at her.

At once I said: “The lady Vylene commands here, Ros.”

“But my guts ache!”

“As do everyone’s. We shall be leaving soon. Now—”

Dayra simply turned around and rushed from the cabin.

Not prepared to continue this scene, I sat down again. What Vylene was thinking of my choice of traveling companions made uncomfortable reflections. It was clear that the alias of Ros the Claw well-concealed the identity of the Princess Dayra. As it should do, of course...

Vylene did say, being human: “These Rosy ones, beloved of Dee Sheon. I must crave your forgiveness, majister.”

I said, “If I write to the empress, can you make arrangements to deliver the letter into the right hands?”

This was an appropriate moment for the subject.

She looked at me, a strong, competent, firm-faced woman in her rags of uniform.

“I am of the Sisters of the Sword. I will call Sosie ti Vendleheim for you.”

I nodded and sat down to the sweetest writing task any man may have in two worlds. Sosie came in and stood quietly waiting. She was just such a Sister of the Rose as so many of them were, lithe and limber, flushed with the graciousness of youth and high spirits, wearing her tatters with panache and with the marks of hard toil upon her. When I had finished I turned and said: “Sosie.”

“Majister.”

“I entrust to you this letter for the Empress Delia. You, I believe, will see it delivered safely.”

“As Dee Sheon is my witness.”

As she spoke she made that small secret sign. I nodded, satisfied, and handed the sealed packet across.

When she had gone I stood up and stretched and said to Vylene: “I thank you for your courtesy, lady.

Now I must be about my business.”

“You will take the flier?”

“Aye, Vylene. Aye, I will take the flier. She will be invaluable.” Then I outlined some of what was going on across in Port Marsilus, and finished: “So they continue to recruit an army there to invade southwest Vallia.”

“We are on patrol against just such a threat.”

“Good. But you’ll be sailing for Vondium directly.”

“Yes. The yards will soon refit us.”

I said: “One last boon before I go.” I touched the green cloth about my waist. “Have you a length of scarlet cloth in exchange for this?”

Well, that was swiftly provided.

Out on deck I saw Dayra with her head down talking to Sosie ti Vendleheim. My Val! but they looked splendid! As I walked across ready to go overside into the voller, Dayra looked up. Sosie moved away, discreetly, stuffing a packet into the remnants of her russet tunic. Dayra smiled at me.

“Well, Jak! And are you ready now?”

“Quite ready. You?”

“Oh, aye,” and here she put the little finger of her left hand into her mouth and wriggled the nail around her teeth.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you—?” I began.

“Yes. But you know how roast ponsho gets between the teeth!”

“You little minx!”

She laughed and hoicked a leg up and so slid down into the voller. When folk’s insides sound as cavernous as a bat hell then there are tricks aboard a ship to provide the necessaries... I was still sharp set — sharp set! I was starving. But young Dayra had gorged good roast ponsho...

The folk crowded to the bulwarks to look on us as we shot off, waving and calling the remberees.
Val
Defender
was already in process of resuming some semblance of a fighting vessel of the air. Her crew were in good heart. I settled back as Dayra at the controls sent the voller slicing through the bright air of Kregen. If a man can ever be content, which by nature he cannot, I suppose that was a moment of minor contentment as Dayra turned and extended a hand.

“Here.”

I took the wrapped bundle, a yellow cloth folded over, and unwrapped it, and so looked at a chunk of roast ponsho, a heel of bread and a dip of butter. The ponsho was cold; but it was superb. Eating, I looked at Dayra, and out across the cloud-castled sky, and sighed, and chewed. Life, life... A funny old business, by Zair!

She said with an abruptness that revealed her indecision: “I am glad you wrote to mother—”

“I would not have thought Sosie would tell you that.”

“Why not? I sent a letter, also—”

“I see. So Sosie knows—”

“Well, of course! We went through Lancival together.”

“Then I am glad you wrote to your mother. She has been through perilous times since I last saw her. The quicker we can settle this affair of Pando’s up, and sort out that army in Port Marsilus, and burn a few more temples to Lem the Silver Leem, the quicker we can go home.”