Rise Of Empire (67 page)

“No.” Hadrian shook his head. “He’s a warrior. Most Tenkin men are. Thing is, Tenkins never leave the Gur Em.”

“The what?”

“You’ve never been to Calis, have you? The whole eastern half is a tropical forest, and the thickest part is a jungle they call the Gur Em. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a Tenkin outside of Calis, which makes me think Staul is an outcast.”

“Doesn’t sound like the type Merrick would be doing business with.”

“So Bernie remains our number one.” Hadrian thought a moment. “You think he had anything to do with Drew’s death?”

“Maybe,” Royce replied, taking a sip of rum. “He was on the mainmast that night, but I was too sick to pay attention. I wouldn’t put it past Bernie to give him a little push. He’d need a reason, though.”

“Drew and Bernie were both at a card game earlier that night. Drew won the pot and if Bernie is a thief …”

Royce shook his head. “Bernie wouldn’t kill him over a gambling dispute. Not unless it was really big money. The coppers and silvers they were likely playing for wouldn’t qualify. That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill him. It just wasn’t about gambling. Anything else happen at the game?”

“Not really, although Drew did mention he was going to talk to Grady the next morning at breakfast about someone coming aboard to help find a horn. Drew thought it was kinda
funny, actually. He seemed to think the horn was easy to find. He was going to go into more detail at breakfast.”

“Maybe Drew overheard something Defoe preferred he hadn’t. That’s a more likely reason. But a horn?”

They came across Wyatt at the ship’s wheel. His plumed hat was off and his white linen shirt fluttered about his tan skin like a personal sail. He had the
Storm
tight over, playing the pressure of the rudder against the press of the wind. He was staring out at the headland with glassy eyes as they approached, but when he spotted them, he abruptly cast his head down at the binnacle and quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his forearm.

“You all right?” Hadrian asked.

“Y-yeah,” Wyatt croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. “Fine.” He sniffed and wiped his nose.

“There’s a good chance you’ll find her,” Royce assured him.

“See?” Hadrian said. “You’ve even got Mr. Cynical feeling optimistic about your chances. That’s gotta count for something.”

Wyatt forced a smile.

“Hey, we’ve got a question for you,” Royce said. “Do you have any idea what the
horn
is?”

“Sure, you’re looking right at it,” Wyatt declared, gesturing toward the point. “That’s the Horn of Delgos. As soon as we clear it, the captain will likely order the ship to weather round the point and then tack windward.”

Royce frowned. “Let’s assume for just a moment that I’m not an experienced sailor, shall we?”

Wyatt chuckled. “We’re gonna make a left turn and head east.”

“How do you know?”

Wyatt shrugged. “The horn is the farthest spit of land south. If we stay on this course, we’ll sail into the open sea. There’s nothing out there but whirlpools, Dacca, and sea serpents. If we weather round—er—turn left, we’ll sail up the eastern coast of Delgos.”

“And what’s up that way?”

“Not much. These cliffs you see continue all the way round to Vandon, the only other sea port in Delgos. Besides being the headquarters for the Vandon Spice Company, it’s also a haven for pirates, or more accurately
the
haven for pirates. We aren’t going there either. The
Storm
is as fine a ship as they come, but the jackals would gather like a pack of wolves and dog her until we surrender, or they sink us.”

“How does the spice company manage any trade, surrounded by pirates?”

“Who do you think runs the spice company?”

“Oh.”

“Beyond that?” Royce asked.

“Dagastan Bay and the whole coast of Calis, with ports at Wesbaden and Dagastan. Then you drift out of civilization and into the Ba Ran Archipelago, and no one goes there, not even pirates.”

“And you’re sure this here is the horn?”

“Yep, every sailor who’s ever been in the Sharon knows it. It’d be impossible to miss old Drumindor.”

Though the coast was still many leagues off, the ancient dwarven edifice was clearly visible now, standing taller than anything Hadrian had ever seen. He smiled at the irony, knowing dwarves had built it. The massive towers were close to eight hundred feet from the raw rocky base, where waves crashed, to the top of the dome. It appeared to be equal parts fortification and monument. In some respects, it resembled
two massive gears laid on their sides, huge cylinders with teeth jutting seaward. From the top of each tower, smoke rose. Midway up were fins—arced openings like gigantic teapot spouts that pointed toward the ocean. Between the twin towers was a single-span stone bridge connecting them like a lintel over the entrance of the harbor.

“Can’t even miss her at night, the way she lights up. You should see her during a full moon when they blow the vents. It puts on quite a show. She’s built on a volcano, and the venting prevents too much pressure from building up. Ships in the area often arrange to pass the point at the full moon just for the entertainment. But they also keep their distance. The dwarves that built that fortress sure knew what they were doing. No ship can enter Terlando Bay if the masters of Drumindor don’t want them to. They can spew molten rock for hundreds of feet and burn a fleet of ships to drifting ash in minutes.”

“We’re familiar with how that works,” Royce said coldly.

Wyatt cocked an eyebrow. “Bad experience?”

“We had a job there once,” Hadrian replied. “A dwarf named Gravis was angry about humans desecrating what he considered a dwarven masterpiece. We had to get in to stop him from sabotaging it.”

“You broke into Drumindor?” Wyatt looked impressed. “I thought that was impossible.”

“Just about,” Royce answered, “and we didn’t get paid enough for the trouble it gave me.”

Hadrian snorted.
“You?
I was the one who nearly died making that leap. You just hung there and laughed.”

“How’d you get in? I heard that place is kept tighter than Cornelius DeLur’s purse,” Wyatt pressed.

“It wasn’t easy,” Royce grumbled. “I learned to hate dwarves on that job. Well, there and …” He trailed off, rubbing his left shoulder absently.

“It will be the harvest moon in a few weeks. Maybe we’ll catch the show on the way back,” Wyatt said.

The lookout announced the sighting of sails. Several ships clustered under the safety of the fort, but they were so far out that only their topsails showed.

“I would have expected the captain to have ordered a course change by now. He’s letting us get awfully close.”

“Drumindor can’t shoot this far, can she?” Hadrian asked.

“No, but the fortress isn’t the only danger,” Wyatt pointed out. “It isn’t safe for an imperial vessel to linger in these waters. Delgos isn’t officially at war with us, but everyone knows the DeLurs support the Nationalists and—well—accidents can happen.”

They continued sailing due south. Not until the point was well astern and nearly out of sight did the captain appear on the quarterdeck. Now they would discover which direction the
Emerald Storm
would go.

“Heave to, Mr. Bishop!” he ordered.

“Back the mains’l!” the lieutenant shouted, and the men sprang into action.

This was the first time Hadrian had heard these particular orders and he was glad that, as ship’s cook, he was not required to carry them out. It did not take long for him to see what was happening. Backing the mainsail caused it to catch the wind on its forward side. If the foremast and mizzenmast were also backed, the ship would sail in reverse. Since they remained trimmed as they were, the force of the wind lay balanced between them, leaving the ship stationary on the water.

Once the ship was heaved to, the captain ordered a reading
on the ship’s position, then disappeared once more into his cabin, leaving Lieutenant Bishop on the quarterdeck.

“So much for picking a direction,” Hadrian muttered to himself.

They remained stationary for the rest of that day. At sunset, Captain Seward ordered lights hauled aloft, but nothing further slipped his lips.

Hadrian served supper, boiled salt pork stew again. Even he was tired of his menu, but the only complaints came from the recently pressed, who were not yet hardened to the conformities of life at sea. Hadrian suspected most of the veterans on board would demand salt pork and biscuits even on land, rather than break the routine.

“He is a murderer, that’s why!”

Hadrian heard Staul shout as he entered the below deck with the last of the evening meals. The Tenkin was standing slightly crouched in the center of the crew’s quarters. His dark tattooed body and rippling muscles were revealed as he removed his shirt. In his right hand he held a knife. A cloth wrapped his left fist. His chest heaved with excitement, a mad grin on his face and a sinister glare in his eyes.

In front of Staul stood Royce.

“He killed Edgar Drew. Everyone knows it. Now he’ll be the one to die, eh?”

Royce stood casually, his hands loosely clasped before him as if he were just one of the bystanders—except his eyes never left the knife. Royce followed it as a cat might watch the movement of a string. It took Hadrian only a second to see why. Staul was holding the knife by the blade. On a hunch, Hadrian scanned the room and found Bernie Defoe standing behind and to Royce’s left, a hand hidden behind his back.

Staul took his attention off Royce for a moment, but Hadrian noticed his weight shift to his rear foot and hoped his
friend noticed as well. An instant later Staul threw the knife. The blade flew with perfect accuracy, only when it arrived, Royce was not there and the tip buried itself in a deck post.

All eyes were on Staul as he bristled with rage, shouting curses. Hadrian forced himself to ignore the Tenkin and searched for Bernie. He had moved. Spotting the glint of a blade in the crowd, he found him again. Bernie had slipped up behind Royce and lunged. Royce spun. Not taken in by the plot, he faced his old guild mate with the blade Staul had provided. Bernie halted mid-step, hesitated, and then backed away, melting into the crowd. Hadrian doubted anyone else noticed his involvement.

“Ah! You dance well!” Staul shouted, and laughed. “That is good. Perhaps next time you trip, eh?”

The excitement over, the crowd broke up. As they did, Jacob Derning muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Good to see I’m not the only one who thinks he killed poor Drew.”

“Royce,” Hadrian called, keeping his eyes focused on Jacob. “Perhaps you should take your meal up on the deck, where it’s cooler.”