The Emerald Storm (15 page)

“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 we’ll find her,” Royce assured him.

“See,” Hadrian said, “you’ve even got Mister 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 Spice Company, it is 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 surrendered or they sank 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, not even pirates, go there.”

“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. It stood taller than anything Hadrian had ever seen, and he smiled at the irony knowing dwarves built it. It was 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 tops of each tower, smoke rose skyward. Midway up were fins—arced openings like gigantic teapot spouts that pointed seaward. 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 thatfortress sure knew what they were doin’. 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.”

“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 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. It was not until the point was well astern and nearly out of sight that the captain appeared on the quarterdeck. Now, at least they would discover which direction the
Emerald Storm
would go.

“Heave-to, Mister Bishop!” he ordered.

“Back the main’sl!” Bishop 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 fore and mizzenmasts 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 ez a murderer, dat ez 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 crews’ 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 ked Edgar Drew. Everyone knows et. Now, he’ll be dee 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 only took Hadrian a second to see why. Staul was holding the knife by the blade. On a hunch, Hadrian scanned the room and found 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 the thief 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 Defoe. He had moved. Spotting the glint of a blade in the crowd, he found him again. Defoe 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. Defoe halted mid-step, hesitated, then backed away melting into the crowd. Hadrian doubted anyone else noticed his involvement.

“Ah! You dance well!” Staul shouted and laughed. “Dat ez 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.”

“That was pleasant,” Hadrian said, after the two had safely reached the galley and closed the door behind them.

“What was?” Poe asked, dishing out the last of the stew for the midshipmen.

“Oh, nothing really. A few crewmen just tried to murder Royce.”

“What?” Poe almost dropped the whole kettle.

“Now, can I kill people?” Royce asked, stepping into the corner and putting his back against the wall. He had an evil look on his face.

“Who tried to murder him?”

“Defoe,” Royce replied. “So, what am I supposed to do now? Lie awake at night waiting for him and his buddies—I’m sorry, his
mates
—to knife me?”

“Who’s Defoe?”

“Poe, would it be possible for Royce and I to sleep in here at night?”

“In the galley? I suppose. Won’t be too comfortable, but if Royce is always on time for his watch, and if you tell Mister Bishop you want him to help with the night time boils, he might allow it.”

“Great, I’ll do that. While I’m gone, Poe, can you go below and get us a couple of hammocks that we can hang in here. Royce, maybe you can rig a lock for the door?”

“It’s better than being bait.”

“Who’s Defoe?”

Royce worked both the second dogwatch and the first watch, which kept him aloft from sunset until midnight. By the time he returned, Hadrian had obtained permission for Royce to sleep in the galley, and Poe had moved up what little gear they had and strung two hammocks between the walls of the narrow room.

“How is it?” the thief asked entering the darkened galley and finding Hadrian hanging in the netting.

“Hmm?” he asked waking up. “Oh, okay I guess. The room is too narrow for me so I feel like I’m being bent in half, but it should be fine for you. How was your watch? Did you see Defoe?”

“Never took my eyes off old
Bernie
,” he said, grinning and dodging a pot that hung from the overhead beam. Hadrian knew Royce must have enjoyed a bit of revenge on Defoe. If there was ever a place where Royce held an advantage, it was a hundred feet in the air dangling from beams and ropes in the dar of night.

Hadrian shifted his weight causing his hammock to swing. “What did you do?”

“Actually, I didn’t do anything, but that was what drove him crazy. He’s still sweating.”

“So he did recognize you.”

“Oh, yeah, and it was like there were two moons out tonight his face was so pale.”

Royce checked the lines and the mountings of the hammock Poe had installed for him and looked generally pleased with the work.

“To be honest, I’m surprised Defoe didn’t suffer an accidental fall.”

Royce shook his head. “Two accidents off my mast is just bad planning. Besides, Defoe wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“Sure looked that way from where I was standing. And it seemed pretty organized too.”

“You think so?” he asked sitting on the crate of biscuits Poe had brought up for the morning’s breakfast. “It’s not how I would do it. First, why stage the fight in a room full of witnesses? If they had killed me, they would hang. Second, why attack me below? Like I said, the sea is the perfect place to dispose of a body and the closer to the rail you get your victim, the easier it is.”

“Then what do you think they were up to?”

Royce pursed his lips and shook his head. “I have no idea. If it was a diversion to rifle our belongings, why not hold it topside? For that matter, why bother with a diversion at all? There have been plenty of times while we were on deck to go through our stuff.”

“You think it was just to intimidate us?”

“If it was, it wasn’t Defoe’s idea. Threatening to kill me but not finishing the job is famously fatal. He would know that.”

“So, Derning put them up to it?”

“Maybe, but…I don’t know. Derning doesn’t seem like someone Defoe would take orders from—at least, not such stupid orders.”

“Makes sense, so then—”

The muffled thump, like another body hitting the deck, brought them to their feet. Hadrian threw open the door of the galley and cautiously looked about the deck.

The larboard watch was on duty but rather than the typical watch-and-snooze routine, they were hard at work running a boat drill. They hoisted the longboat from the yard and had it over the side where it bumped the gunwale once more before being lowered into the sea.

“Odd time for a lifeboat drill,” Wyatt said, walking toward them from the shelter of the forecastle.

“Trouble sleeping?” Royce asked.

Wyatt beamed a grin. “Look who else is on duty,” he told them, pointing at the quarterdeck where Sentinel Thranic, Mister Beryl, Doctor Levy, and Defoe stood talking.

They slipped around the forecastle, moving quickly to the bow. Looking over the rail, Hadrian saw six men rowing toward a nearby light.

“Another ship,” Royce muttered.

“Really?”

“A small, single mast schooner. No flag.”

“Is there anything in the longboat?” Hadrian asked. “If that’s payment going to—”

Royce shook his head. “Just the crew.”

They watched as the sound of the oars faded, then waited. Hadrian strained, peering into the darkness, but all he could see was the bobbing light of the little boat and the one marking its destination.

“Boat’s coming back,” Royce announced, “and there’s an extra head now.”

Wyatt squinted. “Who would they be picking up in the middle of the night from Delgos?”

They watched as the longboat returned. Just as Royce said, there was an additional man—a passenger. Wrapped in ship’s blankets, he was small and thin, with a long pasty face and white hair. He looked to be very old, far too old to be of any use as a sailor. He came aboard and spoke to Thranic and Doctor Levy at length. The old man’s things were gathered and deposited beside him. One of the bags came loose and two weighty, leather-bound books spilled onto the bleached deck. “Careful, my boy,” the old man cautioned the sailor. “Tho are one of a kind, and like me, are very old and sadly fragile.”