The Dragon in the Sword (9 page)

I looked through the glass and eventually made out a banner flying from the tallest mast of the nearest hull. It was a red symbol on a black field. “I’d guess that’s some sort of goblin. A gargoyle.

Jurgin laughed. “That flag’s flown for The Ugly Man anchorage and therefore the hull’s the
New Argument
from the farthest north. She’s the hull you’ll visit this evening, eh?”

I was impressed by his clairvoyance. “How did you know that? Do you have spies at Court?”

He shook his head, still laughing. “It’s simpler than that, your highness.” He pointed up higher to our own mainmast, where a good score of banners flapped in the light wind. “That’s what our signals say. And the
New Argument
has replied with due courtesy (probably reluctant where our great Baron Captain is concerned) that you are welcome to visit them at the hour before twilight. Which means,” he added with a grin, “that you’ll have no more than an hour of calling, for Armiad hates crossing the marshlands at night. Perhaps he fears the vengeance of all those so-called marsh vermin he’s fed to the bins. Doubtless the
New Argument
is equally aware of that fact!”

A few hours later von Bek and myself found ourselves accompanying the Baron Captain Armiad-naam-Sliforg-ig-Vortan, all dressed in his most elaborate (and ludicrous) finery, into a kind of flatboat with small wheels which was poled by about a dozen men (also in somewhat flamboyant livery) and which sometimes floated, sometimes rolled, across the marshes and lagoons towards the
New Argument
which was now quite close to our own
Frowning Shield.
Armiad could barely walk in all his quilted cloak and padded hose, his vast, nodding hat, his grotesquely stuffed doublet. I understand that he had come across the designs in an old picture book and determined that these were the proper and traditional clothes of a true Baron Captain. He had a fair amount of difficulty getting into the barge and had to hold onto his hat with both hands when the wind threatened it. Very slowly the men poled us towards the other hull, while Armiad shouted to them to take care, to be careful not to splash us, to rock the vessel as little as possible.

Dressed in plain garments and without weapons, we had no particular problems of this sort.

The
New Argument
was no less battered and repaired than the
Frowning Shield
, and if anything was somewhat older, but she was altogether in better condition than our hull. The smoke from her chimneys was not the same yellowish oily stuff and the stacks were arranged so that by and large very little ash fell upon the decks themselves. The banners were rather cleaner (though it was impossible for them to be completely fresh) and the paintwork everywhere was brighter. Some care had been taken to maintain the hull and, I suspect, she had been made especially shipshape for the coming Massing. It seemed strange that Armiad could not tell that his own hull could be cleaner, that its condition reflected both his own failure of intelligence, the poor morale of his people and half a dozen other things besides.

We came up to the bulk of the other hull, moving across cold water until we reached a ramp which they lowered for us. With some effort the men poled the craft up the ramp and into the bowels of the
New Argument.
I looked about me with curiosity.

The general appearance of the hull was the same as that which we had left, but there was an orderliness, a smartness about it which made Armiad’s vessel seem like an old tramp steamer compared to a navy ship. Moreover, although the men who greeted us were dressed much as those we’d first seen, they were considerably cleaner and plainly had no taste for entertaining the likes of us. Even though von Bek and I had bathed thoroughly and insisted on fresh clothing, we had picked up a film of grime on the way from our quarters to the barge. Also, I was sure, all three of us smelled of the hull, though we had become used to it. It was also plain that the complement of the
New Argument
found Armiad’s clothing as ludicrous as did we!

It became very clear to us that it was not mere snobbery which made the other Baron Captains reluctant to have Armiad aboard. However, if they were snobs, Armiad’s condition and disposition would have confirmed every prejudice they had.

Although apparently unaware of the impression he gave, Armiad was evidently ill at ease. He blustered at the welcoming party as we were greeted formally and names were offered. He was the very essence of pomposity as he announced those he brought with him as guests of the
New Argument
and he seemed pleased when our hosts recognised my name with evident surprise, even shock.

“Yes, indeed,” he told the group, “Prince Flamadin and his companion have chosen our hull, the
Frowning Shield
, as their means of travelling to the Massing. They will make our hull their headquarters for the duration. Now, my men, lead us on to your masters. Prince Flamadin is not used to such tardiness.”

Greatly embarrassed by his bad manners and attempting to show our hosts that I did not endorse his remarks, I followed the greeting party up a series of ramps which led to the outer decks. Here, too, a thriving town existed, with twisting streets, flights of stairs, taverns, food shops, even a theatre. Von Bek muttered his approval but Armiad beside him and just behind me said in a loud whisper that he observed signs of decadence everywhere. I had known certain Englishmen who associated cleanliness with decadence and whose opinion would have been confirmed by the additional evidence of thriving arts and crafts on the
New Argument.
I, however, attempted to make conversation with the greeting party, all of whom seemed pleasant enough young men, but they were evidently reluctant to respond to me, even when I praised the appearance and beauty of their hull.

We crossed a series of catwalks to what had the appearance of a large civic building. This possessed none of the fortified appearance of Armiad’s palace and we passed through high, pointed arches directly into a kind of courtyard which was surrounded by a pleasant colonnade. From the left side of this colonnade there now emerged another group of men and women, all of them in middle to late years. They wore long robes of rich, dark colours, slouch hats, each of which bore a differently coloured plume, and gloves of brightly dyed leather. Their faces were dimly visible through fine gauze masks which they now removed, placing them over their hearts in a version of the same gesture we had first encountered from Mopher Gorb and his Binmen. I was impressed by their dignified features and surprised, too, that all but two of them, a man and a woman, were brown-skinned. The party greeting us had all been white-skinned.

Their manners were perfect and their greetings elegant, but it was more than plain that they were pleased to see none of us. They clearly did not distinguish between von Bek and myself and Armiad (which I, of course, found wounding to my pride!) and although not directly rude gave the impression of Roman patricians suffering the visit of some coarse barbarian.

“Greetings to you, honoured guests from the
Frowning Shield
. We, the Council to our Baron Captain Denou Praz, Rhyme Brother to the Toirset Larens and our Snowbear Defender, welcome you in his name and beg that you join us for light refreshment at our Greeting Hall.”

“Gladly, gladly,” replied Armiad with an airy wave which he was forced to halt in mid-flight in order to restore his hat to its original position. “We are more than honoured to be your guests, Prince Flamadin and I.”

Again their response to my name was not in any sense flattering. But their self-discipline was too great for them to make any open display of distaste. They bowed and led us under the archways, through doors panelled with coloured glass, into a pleasant hall lit with copper lamps, its low ceiling carved with what were evidently stylised versions of scenes from their hull’s distant past, largely to do with exploits on ice-floes. I remembered that the
New Argument
was from the North where evidently it sailed far closer to the pole (if indeed this realm possessed a pole as I understood it!).

Rising from a brocaded chair at the end of a table, an old man raised his gauze mask from his face and placed it to his heart. He seemed very frail and his voice was thin when he spoke. “Baron Captain Armiad, Prince Flamadin, Count Ulric von Bek, I am Baron Captain Denou Praz. Please advance and seat yourselves by me.”

“We’ve met before once or twice, Brother Denou Praz,” said Armiad in a tone of blustering familiarity. “Perhaps you remember? At a Hull Conference aboard the
Leopard’s Eye
and last year on
My Aunt Jeroldeen
, for our brother Grallerif’s funeral.”

“I remember you well, Brother Armiad. Is your hull content?”

“Exceptionally content, thank you. And yours?”

“Thank you, we are in equilibrium, I think.”

It very quickly became obvious that Denou Praz intended to keep the conversation completely formal. Armiad, however, blundered blithely on. “It is not every day we have a Chosen Prince of the Valadek in our midst.”

“No, indeed,” said Denou Praz unenthusiastically. “Not, of course, that the good gentleman Flamadin is any longer a Chosen Prince of his people.”

This came as a shock to Armiad. I knew that Denou Praz had spoken pointedly and barely within the bounds of accepted politeness, but I did not know what the significance of his statement was. “No longer Chosen?”

“Has not the good gentleman told you?” As Denou Praz spoke the other councilors were gathering about the table and seating themselves nearby. Everyone was looking towards me. I shook my head. “I’m at a loss. Perhaps, Baron Captain Denou Praz, you could explain what you mean.”

“If you do not think it inhospitable?” Denou Praz was, in turn, surprised. I guessed that he had not expected me to respond in that way. But since I was genuinely puzzled I had taken the chance to request illumination from him. “The news has been in circulation for some time. We have heard of your banishment by Sharadim, your twin, whom you refused to wed. Your giving up of all your duties. Excuse me, good gentleman, but I would not continue for fear of offending the rules of a host…”

“Please do continue, Baron Captain. All this will help explain some of my own mysteries.”

He grew slightly hesitant. It was as if he were no longer absolutely sure of his facts. “The story is that Princess Sharadim threatened to expose some crime of yours—or some series of deceptions—and that you tried to kill her. Even then, we heard, she was prepared to forgive you if you would agree to take your rightful place beside her as joint Overlord of the Draachenheem. You refused, saying that you wished to continue your adventurings abroad.”

“I behaved like some sort of spoiled popular idol, in other words. And thwarted in my selfish desires I tried to murder my sister?”

“It was the story we had from Draachenheem, good gentleman. A declaration, indeed, signed by Princess Sharadim herself. According to that document you are no longer a Chosen Prince, but an outlaw.”

“An outlaw!” Armiad rose partially from his seat. If he had not suddenly realised where he was he might well have banged his fist on the table. “An outlaw! You told me nothing of this when you boarded my hull. You said nothing of it when you gave your name to my Binkeeper.”

“The name I gave to your Binkeeper, Baron Captain Armiad, was not that of Flamadin at all. It was you who first used that name.”

“Aha! A cunning deception.”

Denou Praz was horrified at this breach of courtesy. He raised his frail hand. “Good gentlemen!”

The Council, too, were shocked. One of the women who had first greeted us said hastily: “We are most apologetic if we have given offence to our guests…”

“Offence,” said Armiad loudly, his ugly face bright red, “has been given me, but not by you, good councilors, or by you, Brother Denou Praz. My good will, my intelligence, my entire hull have all been insulted by these charlatans. They should have told me the circumstances of their being on our anchorage!”

“It was published widely,” said Denou Praz. “And it does not seem to me that the good gentleman Flamadin has attempted any deception. After all, he asked that I say what these reports were. If he had known them or had wished to keep them secret, why should he have done that?”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said I. “My companion and I had no wish to bring shame on your hull nor to pretend that we were anything more than what we originally said we were.”

“I knew nothing of it!” bellowed Armiad.

“But the journals…” said one of the women gently. “Hardly one did not have long reports…”

“I allow no such rubbish aboard my hull. It breeds bad morale.”

Now it was obvious to me how a story known throughout the Maaschanheem had failed to reach Armiad’s philistine ears.

“You are a cheat!” he flung at me. He glowered, glancing around him from beneath frowning brows as he realised he had won further disapproval from these others. He tried to keep his mouth closed.

“These good gentlemen are your guests, however,” said Denou Praz, combing at his little white goatee with a delicate hand. “Until the Massing, at least, you are bound to continue extending hospitality to them.”

Armiad let out a sudden breath. Again he was on his feet. “Is there no contingency in the Law? Can I not say they have given false names?”

“You named the good gentleman Flamadin?” asked an old man from the far end of the table.

“I recognised him. Is that not reasonable?”

“You did not wait for him to declare himself, but named him. That means that he has not gained the sanctuary of your hull through any deliberate deception of you. It seems that selfdeception is to blame here…”

“You say it’s my fault.”

The councilor was silent. Armiad puffed and blustered again. He glared at me. “You should have told me you were no longer a Chosen Prince, that you were a criminal, wanted in your own realm. Marsh vermin, indeed!”

“Please, good gentlemen!” Baron Captain Denou Praz raised his thin brown fingers into the air. “This is not the proper behaviour of hosts or of guests…”