The Huntsman's Amulet (4 page)

Chapter 4

The Honest Christophe

S
oren adopted a chattier
demeanour that evening back at the inn. A handful of sailors drank there most evenings and they came from all over. He couldn’t think of any group of people better qualified to update his old wives’ tales and legends about the Shrouded Isles.

He walked up to a group of three sailors standing at the bar.

‘Just arrived?’ he said.

‘Aye,’ said one of the sailors, turning from his friends to look at Soren.

‘Where are you out of?’

‘Brisham.’

Soren nodded. It was the capital of Humberland, on the other side of the Middle Sea. ‘Long way.’

The sailor shrugged.

‘Fair voyage?’ Soren said.

‘Aye, we’ve had plenty worse,’ one of the other sailors said.

‘Must be annoying having to go all the way around the Isles to get home again,’ Soren said.

‘No option,’ the first sailor said, shrugging again.

‘Ever think about trying to go through the straits?’

The sailor turned back to his friends and they all burst into laughter.

‘Not a chance,’ the first sailor said, turning back to Soren. ‘Even a landsman like you must have heard the stories?’

‘Heard ‘em. Always wondered if there was any truth to ‘em,’ Soren said, hoping to wring some more information from them.

‘Plenty of truth. Too many stories for them not to be true; ships wrecked, sailors drowned. They’re the lucky ones. The ones that end up on the island have it worse. No one’s ever made it off them alive. Things that happen there? Horrible things.’ The sailor shook his head in knowing dismay, a gesture mirrored by his two friends.

‘If no one’s ever made it off them alive, how do you know what happened?’ Soren said, jumping on the obvious hole in their story.

The sailor opened his mouth to reply but closed it again. He hesitated before responding. ‘If you think they’re just stories, why don’t you go there yourself to find out.’

The other sailors started to laugh as though the idea was the most ridiculous thing in the world, and Soren was the most naive fool.

‘Well, enjoy your time ashore, lads,’ Soren said, before turning to head for his room.

‘Yeah, you too. Good luck finding a ship to take you to the Isles,’ the sailor said.

The others chuckled with renewed enthusiasm.

First thing the next morning, Soren went to the harbour. Someone had tried to kill him in the city once already, and he had no desire to dally there for whomever it was to try again. The port area of Auracia was smaller than the massive harbour at Ostenheim, but it was still busy. Soren intended to find a ship that would take him close enough to the coast of the Shrouded Isles to row ashore.

He cast a glance at the Harbour Master’s office as he went and felt his stomach tighten into a knot. He tried to push the memory from his mind, but it was enough to leave him feeling unsettled.

He spotted a ship flying a Ventish ensign and approached.

‘Ho there,’ Soren called out. ‘Is the captain available?’

A wiry looking sailor with a deep tan looked him up and down and with a jerk of his head indicated toward the stern of the ship. Soren thanked him and made his way up the gangplank. He didn’t like ships, or the sea. He never had, but now it made him think of Alessandra. The thought of a voyage of any length made his stomach twist in protest. It couldn’t be avoided though. It was a means to an end.

‘Might you be the captain?’ he asked a man sitting at a small portable desk poring over a ledger.

‘I am,’ the captain said. ‘Captain Gheert. Who’s asking?’

‘I’m Banneret of the Duke’s Cross Soren,’ he said. The captain’s demeanour improved slightly. He was dealing with a man of some status and possibly wealth, rather than another out of work landsman seeking work.

‘What might I do for you, Banneret?’ His tone was less gruff, but was still far from anything that could be called congenial.

‘I’m seeking passage on a ship. I was hoping you take passengers,’ Soren said.

‘I’m amenable to the idea. It’s not our usual practice, so the accommodation won’t be anything special, but it should suffice if you’re willing to forego the luxuries of city living a few weeks. Is it just yourself that will be travelling?’

‘It is,’ Soren said.

‘And it’s to Venter you’re wanting to go? We set sail for Voorn in the morning.’

‘Actually, no. I was hoping you could have me rowed ashore on the way. I want to land on the Shrouded Isles.’

‘Get the fuck off my ship before I have my lads throw you off.’

Soren wasn’t looking for trouble. He did as he was ordered. It was a discouraging reaction. He didn’t have the coin to make a large enough offer of payment to tempt a captain, so if they were all of a similar mind, his plan could be over before it started.

He got much the same reaction from the second captain he tried, and another after that. He was about to wait for some fresh ships to arrive on the next tide when he walked past a ship that he had discounted earlier, the
Honest Christophe
.

She was far smaller than the others, and they were not particularly impressive when compared to the enormous oceanmen that sailed from Ostenheim. He had discounted her purely on the basis of her appearance; she was ungainly and not as orderly looking as the other ships. He was unhappy enough with having to take a sea voyage and he certainly had no inclination to take one on a less than well-appointed ship. However, now he was becoming desperate and it was worth talking to the captain to keep his options open.

‘Ho there,’ he called. His voice had considerably less enthusiasm in it than it had a few hours earlier. ‘Might I speak with the captain?’

A man appeared at the bulwark and looked down at Soren standing on the dock. ‘You’re speaking with him. What do you want?’

Soren squinted to make out what he looked like, but the captain was silhouetted against the sun and he could not.

‘I was wondering if you take passengers?’

‘That depends,’ the captain called back. ‘On who the passenger is, and if they can pay.’

‘The passenger is me,’ Soren said, ‘and I can pay.’

‘Come aboard then, and we’ll talk.’

Soren tottered up yet another gangplank and onto the ship. As befitted its size, it was quite cramped and the disorderly appearance from the dock was carried over onto the deck. It did not make for a promising start. The captain walked forward and offered his hand.

‘Captain Christophe, I presume?’ Soren said.

‘Nah.’ The captain laughed. ‘That name was on her when I bought her. Bad luck to change it. Don’t think the fella I bought her from was Christophe either. I’m Captain Joris. Pleased to meet you.’

He offered his hand, thick, coarse and covered with smears of tar. Soren took it and shook it firmly.

‘Banneret of the Duke’s Cross Soren. Pleased to meet you,’ he said. He looked around him and noted the absence of any crewmembers.

The captain spotted his curiosity. ‘I let the lads into town for the night. They’ll be back in the morning, like as not. We didn’t have the easiest trip over; that’s why the deck’s in a bit of a state. This tub doesn’t take too many hands to run though, so they know I’ll leave without ‘em if they’re not back in time. So, you want passage to Venter then?’

‘Not exactly,’ Soren said. ‘And that’s where the problem may lie. I want to disembark on the way. I want you to drop me off on the Shrouded Isles.’

The captain barked out a laugh. ‘Did that old prick Gheert put you up to this?’ He continued to chuckle, but when Soren did not react he cut his mirth short.

‘Come on now, someone put you up to this. You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?’

‘I’m not,’ Soren said.

‘You’re mad then.’

It was going better than Soren had expected; the other captains had told him where to go by that point. ‘I’m not.’

‘You do know the Isles are cursed? Anyone who goes there is never seen again. Any ship that strays too close? Never seen again. Even the birds won’t fly over them.’

‘Do you actually know anyone who went missing there?’

‘Yes.’

Soren raised an eyebrow.

Joris frowned. ‘No, but there are too many stories. People I have spoken to know people who went missing.’

‘I’m not so sure that I believe anything I don’t know first hand. Do you?’

‘I believe the stories well enough to stay away. Well away. Only once have I strayed close enough to even lay eyes on them.’ He leaned forward as he continued. ‘You know why they’re called the Shrouded Isles? There’s a thick grey bank of cloud that sits above them, hanging there like a shroud. A mourning shroud for all the poor souls that met their end there.’

Soren was determined, and wasn’t going to be put off by Joris’s tales of doom. ‘If you were able to make passage through the straits, it would take days, or even weeks off your journey. Let me off just close enough to row ashore. You don’t need to go any closer. I’m taking all the risk. If I make it back to the ship, then you’ll be the only captain who knows the straits are safe to navigate. If not, you’ve only gone a day or two out of your way.’

‘You’re best advised to drop this idea. If you’re really serious about it,’ Joris said.

‘You haven’t told me to fuck off yet. All the other captains had well before now,’ Soren said, his hopes rising. ‘Perhaps you don’t believe all the stories quite as strongly as you say.’

Joris sighed and frowned again. ‘You’re right on one thing. Making passage through the straits would cut weeks off my voyage. Take a look around.’ He gestured about the haphazard state of the ship. ‘Business is hard and the time that shortcut would save me would be a gift from the gods. But nobody goes near those isles; it can’t be without good reason.’

‘Take me close enough to row your small boat there to the island. Continue on your way, and stop off for me again when you’re on your way back. If I return safely, you’ll know that there’s no danger, that all the stories are baseless superstition, and that you can use the straits between the Isles. Keep it to yourself and you’ll have a big advantage over every other merchant crossing the Middle Sea. If I don’t make it back, it’s no loss to you, but you’ll know that the stories are true once and for all. All the risk is mine.’

Soren could see the captain was interested, but kept his excitement to himself.

Joris sighed deeply and stroked the greying stubble on his chin. ‘Your point’s well made. But I just don’t know. We sail on the morning tide, come back then. I’ll have made up my mind by morning, one way or the other. Be ready to depart if I decide to take you.’

Soren headed back to the inn to pack his things. He knew Joris was on the hook, even if the captain had not quite admitted it to himself. There were so many stories about the Isles that it was difficult to dismiss them completely, but Soren didn’t care. The potential reward was too great for him to be held back by rumours and old wives’ tales. If the information he needed to master the Gift was there, any risk was worth taking. It was the key to killing Amero.