Scimitar Sun (21 page)

He moved very slowly, holding it open for her to see. He understood her caution; her sole duty was to protect the emperor’s life, a duty about which she was deadly serious. The only attempt she had failed to intercept had taken the life of the empress, Clairissa, and though Lady von Camwynn was not responsible, that failure weighed heavy on her.

The tip of the paladin’s blade explored the interior of the satchel, and then whispered back into its scabbard. She stepped aside and nodded to the emperor, who had stood motionless and emotionless throughout the exchange. The emperor was not about to quibble if a lesser noble was foolish enough to get himself killed by the royal bodyguard.

“This,” the count continued, stepping forward and withdrawing the stolen prototype plans from his bag, “is, I believe, something that could pose a significant threat to the empire, Your Majesty.” He flattened the parchment on a nearby table, then backed away a few respectful steps as the emperor approached it.

“What manner of vessel is this?” The emperor’s fingers brushed the fine parchment, his eyes fixed on the intricate design.

“I am not entirely sure, but it is very nearly finished.” The emperor’s eyebrows shot up, and Norris had to force himself not to smile. “I questioned the purpose of such a radical design, but received only ambiguous claims that it was an experimental prototype, a variant of a smaller design that Mistress Flaxal found interesting and wished to develop to satisfy her own
curiosity
.”

“How large is it?” the emperor asked.

“Over eighty feet, Majesty,” Norris said, pointing to the numbers along the legend that indicated the scale of the drawing. “But it is more than thirty feet wide, and the two-hull design gives it a lateral stability unprecedented in single-hulled craft.”

“Lateral stability? You mean it won’t heel under sail, correct?”

“Quite correct, Majesty, which would make it a very stable platform from which to fire weaponry.”

“Are you suggesting that this is some type of warship, Count Norris?”

“I am not a nautical architect, Majesty, and my suppositions are simply based on my observations.” He unrolled the second parchment, a full rendering of the ship’s rigging under full sail. “I might suggest that Your Majesty’s royal naval architect inspect these plans and render an opinion. We do know that the seamage employed catapults and incendiary missiles in the assault on Bloodwind’s stronghold, effectively decimating a heavily armed fleet of corsairs. And in my humble opinion, such a craft as this, equipped with these fire-throwing devices, could be manned by her force of natives and employed as an armed blockade of the Shattered Isles, or…” he paused and scowled, lowering his voice, “an assault force.”

 There was a knock on the door, and the emperor’s secretary entered without preamble.

“Majesty, it is time for the audience with Fengotherond’s Minister of Trade.” He bowed low over the appointment book that never left his hand. “Tea has been arranged upon the south lawn.”

“Very good, Moushi. We will be right along.” The emperor shrugged into the dress jacket his valets held for him, and let them fasten the cuffs and buttons to their satisfaction while he spoke. “You have a formal report, We assume.”

“Right here, Majesty,” Norris replied, retrieving a bound scroll from his bag. “Complete with diagrams of the seamage’s stronghold and the approaches through the reef.”

“Excellent. Please leave it with Us. We will look at it, and consult Admiral Joslan and Our naval architects.” He waved a hand, indicating that Norris was dismissed. “You have done well, Emil. We thank you.”

“I live to serve, Your Majesty,” he said, backing out of the chamber. He could not hold back his satisfied smile as he wound his way out of the palace. The meeting had gone even better than he had planned. Regardless of Huffington’s appeal for subtlety, he
knew
the seamage was up to something; how could she not be, after what he had seen? The threat of the Shattered Isles had not died with Bloodwind, and it was imperative that the emperor recognize it.

≈

*So, the result of this meeting with the landwalker emissary, who did not even acknowledge the existence of the mer — let alone their incursion into our territory — was that they will send another emissary, probably in
another
warship!* Redtail thrashed his tail, propelling himself in a tight circle.

*The seamage did seem upset when she arrived,* Shellbreaker signed, eliciting a nod from his fellow sentry, Finwag.

*Her temper was short with us,* the smaller mer agreed. *We were only doing our duty, and she became angry, telling us she did not need our help.*

*And why would the all-powerful seamage need
our
help?* Redtail signed. His color shifted, displaying his ire. *She will not even tell the landwalkers not to anchor their warships in our territory.*

*Why not? I saw Chaser sign that she was angry that they sent a warship.* Shellbreaker nodded to a group of gatherers returning from outside the city, their baskets bulging with green mussels. He accepted a handful of the tasty morsels from a smiling mer maid as she passed, cracking the shells in his powerful hand and sucking out the soft insides. He handed a few mussels to Finwag and Redtail, who used their daggers to pry open the shells.

*The seamage signed that she had no control over what ships the landwalkers sent,* Redtail signed as he gulped down a mussel. *She signed that she would
suggest
they send an emissary to us.*

*A landwalker emissary here?* Finwag signed, his own color shifting with worry as he gazed up through the lattice of protective coral to the glittering surface. *How would they do that? They don’t know where our home is.*

*The seamage would show them where our home is,* Redtail signed, glancing up as well, *and they would probably send a warship and throw their iron hooks right down onto us.*

*They would not,* Shellbreaker signed, swallowing his last mussel and fluttering his fins in frustration. *They know the mer would drag their ship to the bottom of the nearest trench.*

*Oh, the seamage knows we would, but the landwalker empire does not think we are worthy of their attention, let alone their respect!*

*Then the seamage must tell them that the mer will not tolerate warships in our territory, and that, if they send one, we will sink it!* Finwag snapped his tail, then sculled backward to maintain his position.

*That was another thing; when Eelback signed that the landwalkers were risking war with the mer if they sent warships, she signed that she would not
let
us make war on the landwalkers.*

*She signed that?* Shellbreaker asked, his eyes wide with surprise. *She has no say whether we make war or not! She is not The Voice! Trident Holder knows this! Did he sign nothing?*

*No, he did not,* he signed. *The seamage says she has done much for the mer, but I see that she has done more for herself, befriending the landwalker emperor and bringing her firemage friend to her island. She strengthens her position, building ships, learning our magic, taking our friendship and giving back nothing.*

Another school returned from a successful hunt, four large tuna trailing from their harpoon lines. They passed the entry grotto, signing greetings to the two sentries and Redtail, the scent of blood trailing in their wake.

As they swam past, Redtail nodded to the bleeding carcasses and signed, *If Broadtail does not see that she betrays us, and allows the seamage to bond with his son, we may all soon be led around by
her
tether, unable to even fight for ourselves because
she
does not want us to go to war!*

The two sentries floated mute, fins twitching in agitation, tridents held tightly in their hands.

*Thank you for sharing the mussels, Shellbreaker,* Redtail signed, swimming another tight circle. *Have a care who sees you sign of this. If the seamage thinks she can stop the mer from going to war, even if The Voice so indicates, I do not want to know what she will do to those who oppose her alliances with the landwalker emperor.*

*We will, Redtail,” Finwag signed. The two sentries waved their goodbyes and returned to their positions at the grotto’s entrance into their city.

Redtail waved and swam away, knowing that the two would be unable to resist signing the story to every group of gatherers to pass their gate. In fact, he was counting on it.

≈

“Bid, thirty-five,” Sam said, keeping a smile from her lips as she passed a card to her partner, Lord Garrett. She sipped her iced drink, a piney-tasting concoction laced with lime and sugar. Their opponents, a couple of lordlings with more taste in clothes than common sense, glared at her.

“Pass, no bid,” said the foppish dandy on her left, passing a card to his partner and holding his hand close to his embroidered waistcoat.

“Bid, forty,” Lord Garrett said, passing a single card to her and lifting his own iced drink in toast. Sam picked it up and tucked it into place in her hand; it was the one card she needed to complete a full knight family.

“I swear they are passing signs to each other, Fenwick!” the other lordling said with a pout, passing a card and throwing his hand down on the table. “Pass, no bid.”

“Oh, come now, Lord Baldwin,” she said, matching his pout and adding her own indignant lilt. “Surely you’re not accusing us of cheating! Why, such an affront among
true
gentlemen would require that Lord Garrett call you out.” She looked to her erstwhile companion and winked. “Would it not, my lord?”

She enjoyed the fleeting panic on Garrett’s face in the instant before he realized that she was being whimsical. She had a fantasy of challenging the lordling herself, calling for a blade and gutting him like a prize codfish.

“Would that I had not left my sword with my other trousers, lady, I would defend your honor,” Garrett said, grinning from behind his hand of a dozen playing cards.

“Just as well,” she said, placing her cards face up on the red felt tabletop with a flourish of her fan. “If you killed the good Lord Baldwin in a duel, he would not be able to pay us what he owes. Oh, and knight trump family in full. I believe that’s fifty, and a four-card run in trump, which is another twenty. That’s seventy, which is thirty over our bid, so it pays double.” She sketched some numbers on a scrap of parchment and said, “That’s an even one hundred crowns.”

“I, for one, have had quite enough of Pass the Knight!” Lord Kembrill said, casting down his cards. He quaffed the remainder of his drink. “Doesn’t anybody know another game we might try? This one has become boring.”

“I was taught a card game by the captain and mate of the last ship I sailed upon, if anyone would care to learn,” Sam sipped her drink and fluttered her fan. “It’s a rather quaint game called Five-Card Mango; is anyone familiar with it?”

“Isn’t that a sailor’s game?” Garrett asked, working up the total of what they were owed on the score sheet. Sam had kept track, and it was not an insubstantial sum; these blue-bloods played high stakes.

“Well, yes. As I said, I was taught by the captain and the mate while they regaled me with stories about that foul sea witch, or seamage, or whatever one might call her.” She fluttered her fan and smiled at the three men. “It really is an enjoyable game, though crude by our standards, of course.”

“Very well.” Baldwin called for the waiter to bring another round of drinks. “But let us play one round for fun, then begin for stakes, if you would.”

“Yes,” Kembrill agreed, “we wouldn’t you to take advantage of our naïveté, Miss Samantha.”

“Very well.” She took the deck and began to shuffle, slowly and inexpertly, fumbling the cards on purpose. “Now bear with me, gentlemen, I only learned this game a week ago when we were sailing through those dreadful Shattered Islands.”

“Dreadful? How so?” Baldwin pulled a snuffbox from his waistcoat pocket and thumbed it open. “I was under the impression that the unrest in the Shattered Isles was settled these past two years, with the pirate Bloodwind’s fall. I daresay my shipping interests have improved!”

“Well, that things have improved from Bloodwind’s terror is no doubt, Lord Baldwin, but if you have shipping interests, I suggest you keep a keen eye on them.” She licked her thumb and began to deal the cards. “Now, everyone gets three cards to start.”

“Only three?” Kembrill picked up his cards and scowled at them. “How can anyone have any kind of a hand with only three cards?”

“Why would you suggest I watch my shipping interests, Miss Samantha?” Baldwin asked with a cocked eyebrow, the interest in his voice plain to hear. “By all accounts, the Flaxal heiress has vanquished piracy in the Shattered Isles.”

“She’s been regaling me all afternoon with tales of the horrors of the sea witch and her army of cannibals,” Garrett scoffed, earning a scowl from Sam.

“They were not just tales, Lord Garrett,” she said with a pout. “Now, we have a round of bets beginning with the dealer and progressing to the right. I tell you, when we made port at that island fortress of hers, I was beside myself with worry. I thought those dark-skinned savages would storm aboard at any moment and ravage me, then roast me on a spit!”

“Oh, come now, Miss Samantha,” Garrett said, making his practice bet and grinning like a wolf. “One could hardly blame anyone for the former, and I have not heard that the Flaxal woman harbored cannibals.”

“Well they certainly
looked
like cannibals, dressed in naught but a scrap of leather that wouldn’t make a decent pocketbook, and armed to the teeth.” She sipped her drink demurely. “After the betting, everyone passes one card to the player on their right.”

“What? How can I bet on a three-card hand, then give it away?” Kembrill whined, wide-eyed and oblivious to the conversation.

“Bear with me, Lord Kembrill,” she said, fingering her cards and passing him the knave of staves. “Now everyone is dealt another card, and there is another round of betting, this one to the left.”

“Ah, now this is getting interesting!” Garrett said, obviously playing on Kembrill’s nerves deliberately. “You said this afternoon that the Flaxal woman’s island was a frightful place, but she has ended piracy, without a doubt.”