The Last Quarrel (The Complete Edition) (48 page)

The Duke bowed and moved away and the real business of the day began – an endless parade of ordinary people asking for the Crown’s mercy, or help.

Fallon hated listening to their misery and knowing nothing could be done, and he felt for Cavan, who had to send them away in tears thanks to the direction of Regan.

“Can’t we do anything for these people?” he muttered during a short break.

“I wish,” Cavan said bitterly. “But not until I take the throne will this nightmare end.”

Fallon smiled at him. It was true. He thought again of Padraig’s words and felt doubly determined not to leave the Prince at his brother’s mercy.

“This could be trouble,” Cavan said softly.

Fallon stopped thinking about the future and spun, hand going for his shillelagh, then stopped as he saw what Cavan was talking about. Rather than an angry mob, it was the Duchess Dina, dressed in a gown of gorgeous blue Kottermani silk, walking towards them, a pair of guards and a worried-looking Sergeant Gannon just behind her.

“What do you think she wants?” Cavan whispered. He remembered how she had been so helpful on his trip to Lunster – but also how she had sent word to his father about Fallon. He did not know which way she would go this time.

“Me, probably. Or at least my head,” Fallon said grimly. He signaled and Brendan and four of the other villagers stepped in to cut them off. Brendan’s hammer was held over his shoulder but its threat was unmistakable.

“Your highness, I beg leave to speak to you on important matters,” she said lightly, her face and voice betraying no sign she was worried.

“Come forwards, Duchess Dina of Lunster,” Regan said immediately.

Fallon nodded to Brendan, who stepped aside to let her pass – although not such that Gannon and the other two guards could follow her.

The Duchess walked briskly over to where Cavan stood, a few paces behind the royal dais, and then curtseyed gratefully.

“Your royal highness, let me say how pleased I am to see you,” she said gently, then looked over at Fallon. “And how delighted I am that Captain Fallon here is looking after your safety and arrived in time to rescue you from your bodyguard’s treachery.”

“I thought you were angered by Captain Fallon disobeying you and taking your late husband’s ship?” Cavan said, deciding to get things out in the open as fast as possible.

Dina bowed her head for a moment. “I was initially upset, that is true. But there are greater concerns. I have come to the capital because I know I can do nothing to stop what is going on from Lunster. I only delayed my arrival here because I had to try and look after those poor wretches who were sent there by the King’s orders.”

Cavan felt a pang: he had been the one to send them. “And how are they?” he asked.

“They struggle. But they survive, so far. I have done all I can do for them from Lunster. But I think I can do more here.”

“Such as?”

“Helping you, highness. The so-called selkie attacks have stopped now the county has been scraped bare of anything valuable and the goods shipped to Berry. It is all too convenient. I know you suspect your brother and the Kottermanis and I also know that your list of allies is short indeed. I may not be respected the way my husband was but, as a Duchess, I can speak to other nobles and go into places that you cannot.”

Cavan looked over at Fallon, who shrugged.

“I sat in Fallon’s house in Baltimore and swore to help you, highness. I am here to fulfil that oath,” she said simply. “Whatever you need, I shall try and do.”

Cavan was not sure whether to believe her or whether this was another one of Swane’s subtle plots. After all, he had trusted Eamon. But she was right – his list of allies was non-existent. If she spoke truly then she could be a great help.

“Sister Rosaleen,” Fallon murmured in his ear and Cavan nodded. Yes, the good Sister would be able to discern how truthful the Duchess was.

“Duchess, I thank you for your bravery and for your offer. But we must be discreet. Where can I send you word?” he asked.

“I shall be living in my husband’s town house in Berry, down by the water. Send word to me there and I will do whatever you need,” she vowed, then curtseyed once again. “I await your word.”

She swept out and Cavan watched her go before turning to Fallon. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

“I hope she is truthful. We will have to test her to see,” Fallon said.

Cavan nodded.

“Highness, we need to start again,” Regan said fussily, hurrying over.

“Back to the puppet show,” Cavan sighed.

Each day they had been given plenty of food and water and allowed outside in small groups to exercise. Bridgit had the women and children play games to keep them amused and strong. After two days of telling guards she needed to see Prince Kemal and being ignored, she was both relieved and concerned to see Erdogan return to their cells and walk up to the door, armed men at either shoulder.

“Prince Kemal will see you now, Bridgit,” Erdogan said loudly.

Bridgit strode over to the door, smiling at the other women, who gave her worried looks in return. “I shall be back soon. And then we shall have the children back with us, all together,” she promised.

Inside, however, she was frightened, and it took all her self-control not to flinch as they marched her out into the sun. Erdogan led the way, with the pair of guards following as if she might try something.

She blinked furiously at the brightness and trailed Erdogan back towards the city. She glanced out the other way but could see nothing there. It seemed a barren wasteland, with scarcely a tree. Even those seemed to shimmer in the heat. She turned away from there and carefully paid close attention to the guards on the wall. As well as the dozen outside their cells, there were more than a score on the walls and at the gate. They also had two strange machines that looked like giant crossbows, with missiles the size of spears that looked down from atop the city wall. Yet that was not the worst of it. As they approached, a steel gate was winched up and into the wall. Once they’d passed, it was dropped in a matter of heartbeats. If their captors had any sort of warning, that gate alone would stop any escape in an instant.

The city was just as bad. She thought she remembered the way through it but Erdogan took them along a variety of twisting streets, all of which looked the same. She could see the Gaelish getting lost, and trapped, only too easily. She felt lost, until they walked up a slight hill to a large, three-story building with a pair of guards on its doors. These were swung open to let them into a cool, darker interior. She looked down until her eyes adjusted, seeing a beautiful tiled floor, its design of waves and birds almost seeming too good to walk on. In the center was a small, open pool and on the far side of that were two chairs, one occupied by Prince Kemal, the other by a heavily-built older man with a thick beard, huge moustache and cold eyes glittering out from a lined face.

Bridgit stopped in front of them and inclined her head slightly, a gesture that was close to one of respect.

“Ah, Bridgit. This is Gokmen, the slave master for the port of Adana. He tells me he has a problem,” Prince Kemal said smoothly, a silver cup of something cool on the table next to him. Bridgit could see the condensation on the worked silver and fought a longing to ask for something similar.

“Is the problem too many slaves? Because he could solve that by simply sending us home,” she said instead.

Kemal chuckled, although the lined brow of Gokmen furrowed even more at her words.

“It seems your countrymen are particularly reluctant to be slaves, even worse than other countries that have come under the banner of the Empire. Now, they are due to go to market at the next full moon. If one of them harms his master, it is Gokmen’s head on the block beside the slave’s. He wants permission to use the women to break the spirits of the men, but I hope you might have a better idea,” the Prince said carefully.

Bridgit kept her face impassive but inside she shuddered at the thought of any of the women being raped by a line of laughing guards to make the likes of Sean and Seamus behave.

“Use the younger children as a threat. Take them away from the slave pavilion; I and a few of the older women will look after them elsewhere. Their safety depends on the good behavior of the adults. None of my people will do anything that lets a child be harmed.”

“And you are sure of this?” Kemal asked sharply.

She looked at him in surprise at the harshness of his tone. “I have done what I said I would before. Why not now? I merely seek to protect my people,” she said evenly.

Kemal leaned back a little in his chair. “That is true. But I will not be here. I must leave tomorrow for Gaelland, to meet with your King and discuss many things with him.”

Bridgit fixed him with what she thought of as her Stare, the one she used on Fallon to get him to do something he did not want to. “Take us with you. It will be far less trouble. Fallon is coming for us and we will be leaving one way or another. Take the easy way and return us. I promise all will be forgiven then and he will not come for you.”

Kemal nudged Gokmen and chuckled, while the slave master roared with laughter.

“You see what I mean? If you want to get something done with these Gaelish, you need to talk to this woman. And she provides a little entertainment as well, as long as you get used to the insolence!”

Bridgit kept silent and stared at them until they were both merely smiling. “I have given my warning. It is up to you to whether you heed it. In the meantime, let me look after the children and I will make sure the rest of my people do the work you want. First you take the children away, then, to give them that little hope that all people need, you let the men and women visit their children once a quarter-moon, while ever they are slaves.”

“You have it all well planned out. And what you say is acceptable to us,” Kemal admitted, including Gokmen in this without looking at him. “But you do realize you will end up without a job eventually, when the youngest get old enough to work?”

Bridgit smiled thinly. “But there will be more children, won’t there? You are returning to Gaelland, so you will come back with more families.”

Kemal spread his hands wide. “There is not much that gets past you. I think I shall search for this Fallon when I return to Gaelland. I am curious indeed to see the man who would marry you. I wish to meet him.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Bridgit said immediately.

Kemal’s face darkened a little but then he smiled, showing his even, white teeth. “So it is decided then. You and two other women of your choice will take the children, and we shall place you in one of my houses near the harbor. But, if it fails, then Gokmen has my authority to do whatever it takes to make your people obey.”

“High One, I think we should kill two of the youngest children in front of all, to make our threat more believable,” Gokmen suggested.

“No! That is not necessary! They will believe you!” Bridgit barked at him, clenching her fists and taking a step closer. “All you need to do is let the children back with their mothers for a couple of days, so that they are reminded of what they might lose.”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Erdogan move forwards but Kemal merely held up his hand. “It would show our intent,” he mused.

“You would lose us all, I promise you that,” Bridgit said fiercely, thinking
I would rather us all die outside the gates than have babies killed to make a point.

Kemal regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. “We shall try Bridgit’s way first. But, if it fails, then you do as you see fit,” he told Gokmen, who bowed his head.

Bridgit also nodded, getting herself back under control.

“Good. In my absence, Gokmen shall be in charge of your people. He speaks a little Gaelish. If you come to him with a genuine problem he will help. But you must show him respect.”

“I shall,” Bridgit promised.

“Good. You may leave us now. I will see you again when I return. We shall give your people two days with all their children and then you explain to them what will happen and why they must work for us.”

Bridgit inclined her head again, a fraction further this time, and turned to follow Erdogan back to the slave store. But before she could get out, she saw a slim young woman and a pair of children appear out of a side doorway. The woman wore an elaborate silken dress, the type she had only seen on the wives of the most powerful Gaelish nobles, while the children were wearing silken tunics and trews, also beautifully made. She turned to watch them as the children ran, laughing, over to Prince Kemal.
So he has a family. That might be useful one day
, she thought, before Erdogan took her arm and hurried her out of there.

Meanwhile she had a bigger problem: how to persuade everyone that this was the best way to survive there. And how to stop Sean and Seamus from trying an escape that was going to get people killed.

“I’ll be fine,” Cavan said, knowing it was a lie but it had to be said anyway.

“Are you sure, highness?” Fallon asked.

Cavan patted him on the shoulder and walked into his father’s private rooms. No guards were allowed, although he needed guards there more than anywhere. But this time he found his father in one of his expansive moods, propelled no doubt by the almost-empty jug of wine beside his chair. Cavan stood there, watching his father drain the blood-red wine, and felt a shiver of fear. King Aidan almost never drank because it made his always volatile moods even worse.

“So, boy, are there are any bastards running around the city that I need to be worried about? Or are they still swelling their mothers’ bellies?” Aidan greeted him.

“No, Father!” Cavan replied, shock mingling with horror at his father’s crude words. “I would not take advantage of people like that, use my position to force them to my bed.”

“Oh, grow up, boy! It’s the way of the world, always has been and always will be. The strong take what they want. And we take care of our bastards. They’ll be paid for their trouble. You might as well have some fun while you can. Because there’ll be no marrying for love or any of that nonsense. I’ll choose you a bride based on what will help the Crown most. It might be some fat Guildsman’s pudding-faced daughter who comes with a golden dowry, or the pig-like spawn of a noble who’ll double our estates in that county. I might even auction you off to some Kottermani Princess, or whatever they call themselves over there, for a few ships filled with spices and furniture. You are my prize possession, boy, and I’ll use you to win the Crown more gold and more land. And when you marry, you need to shag her until there’re at least two sons. A Crown Prince and a spare. After that, you can do what you like with her.”

“As you did with Mother?” Cavan said, before he could stop himself.

Aidan pointed his wine glass at him like a weapon. “Have a care, boy. You are the Crown Prince for now but I do still have my spare!”

“Swane? He plots to steal your throne and turn this country over to the worship of Zorva and you still think of naming him your heir?” Cavan cried.

Aidan poured the last of the wine into his glass and drank it. “You need to be more like your brother. He’s ruthless, not afraid to make hard decisions. You dither around, waste time thinking what other people might want. Who gives a good rut what other people think? You are the King, you do what you like and that’s the end of it.”

“Including selling your soul to Zorva?”

“We don’t know he has done that yet.” Aidan stood and walked unsteadily over to the table, where another jug of wine waited. “But I didn’t ask you here to talk about your brother.”

“Then what?”

Aidan poured himself a glass and offered Cavan the jug. “Drink with me?” he asked.

Cavan was still struggling to make sense of the meeting, but he knew this was not something he could refuse. What was his father doing? “I would be honored, Father.”

Aidan waited until Cavan had taken his first mouthful. “The Kottermani Prince Kemal will be here next moon. We need to bring things to a conclusion soon after. So what do we do about the Kotterman Empire? Let’s say we have proof they are stealing our people away. What do we say to them?”

Cavan put down his wine. “This is serious? You will confront them over this?”

Aidan waved his glass around airily. “You are the Crown Prince: you will sit on the throne one day. I want to know what you would do. How will you deal with the Kottermanis, who are so many times more powerful than we are?”

Cavan thought quickly. “I would remind them of how much they earn from trade with us. I would ask them to return the people they stole and, as a gesture of good will, improve their trade terms so that they make even more money. Meanwhile I would use the money raised from the selkie tax to build a fleet of ships to protect our coast.”

“And if they refuse? If they threaten us?”

“Then we shall prepare for them. They live too far away to stay here and keep raiding. With enough ships, we can turn them back. The people will come together to stop them. They think us small and weak but we are a people with hidden strength.”

Aidan drained his glass once more. “A sensible course,” he said. “Thank you for your counsel. Now, have you found out anything of use?”

Cavan took a small sip of wine. This meeting was going in all directions and he struggled to keep his mind on what he had to say next. “I suspect the Guild of Moneylenders is connected somehow to Swane. Eamon was one of their Bruisers before he came to my service. And I am sure Swane is meeting with the Kottermani traders as well. He’s probably sending information back to them.”

“Good. Well, keep looking. We still have a little time before Prince Kemal arrives. Maybe we can make that deal for a Kottermani princess at the same time.”

“Father, if they are taking our people I don’t think –”

“That’s right! You don’t think!” Aidan blazed suddenly. “You will do what I say! Now leave me!”

Cavan left his wine, bowed stiffly and hurried out. He had never been happier to obey one of his father’s commands. He thought he was hiding his anger and revulsion well but, from the look on Fallon’s face, he had not done as good a job as he hoped. But he kept his mouth shut until they were safely back in his room.

“What happened in there?” Fallon asked him.

“You better sit down,” Cavan said, then recounted his father’s words.

Fallon listened, his face betraying his growing disgust and horror.

“Highness, the sooner you are King, the better. I think we need to act. There may not be much of a country left for you, the way your father is going. We should speak to the nobles. He is no longer fit to rule –”

“No,” Cavan said.

“Highness, you could save everything! With you on the throne, we can put the country right!”

Cavan held up his hand. “I know what you say is true but, as much as I hate him, I cannot bear the idea of killing him. And then there are the practical problems. I would have to have the Guilds and the nobles on my side.”

“You don’t need them. You would have the people! They are all you need.”

Cavan shook his head. “I wish that were true. Now, please, no more about it.”

Fallon sighed.

“It must have been strange, growing up as the Crown Prince,” he said instead.

Cavan almost smiled at the obvious attempt to change the conversation. “You don’t know the half of it,” he replied, feeling a flicker of fear that Fallon might ask more questions about his childhood. Part of him wanted to talk about it, vomit up the fear and the anger and the hatred he had kept bottled inside for so long. He did want to kill his father and brother, but feared that doing so would mean he had become like them, something he had sworn never to do. It was dangerously tempting to tell Fallon the truth. Yet he could not. He had to turn the line of questioning away.

“There were many times when I thought about running away,” he said instead.

“Running?” Fallon asked with a smile. “But where could you go, when you were the Crown Prince? Everyone would know you, would tell your father where you had gone.”

“Exactly. And that’s why I didn’t go. But I had to have a plan to escape, otherwise I would have gone mad. When things grew too much for me, that thought calmed me down. For I knew when I got there, I would be safe.”

“Safe from what? You were the King’s son, with an army of guards to protect you.”

Cavan felt the gorge rush up his throat. He swallowed with difficulty. Perhaps he could tell Fallon? He opened his mouth but then closed it again, unable to think where to begin. “It is not easy being a Prince,” he said finally. “And you have met my father. So you can perhaps understand why I wanted to find somewhere else to live.”

“Now I am curious. Where would you go and what made it so safe?”

Cavan smiled a little as he remembered. “It was a secret island. Somewhere none could find me, where I could just be me.”

“A secret island? Is there such a thing?” Fallon asked. “Can you show me or is it too much of a secret?”

Cavan hesitated, then nodded.

“I used to spend time in the library, for it was the one place Swane hated to go. There’re books in there that haven’t been read for many years. Maybe not at all. I loved nothing better than discovering them. And one day I found a way out through them.”

“A secret passage or something?”

Cavan smiled. “Nothing as interesting as that. No, this is what I found.” He crossed over to the hearth around his fireplace and pulled up one of the stones, revealing a hidden space beneath. He reached in with the ease of long practice and brought out an oilskin-covered package. Carefully he unwrapped it to show a large leather-bound book.

“Three kings ago, King Eiran had four sons and his youngest, Airdan, knowing he would never come to the throne, devoted himself to sailing. It was he who made first contact with Kotterman, but he also went the other direction, sailing west, into the other great unknown ocean. He did not find another giant country like Kotterman; instead he found a hundred tiny islands, only a handful of them inhabited. Nobody cared, because there was nothing of value on them. But he drew the map to them anyway, including one that he marked especially.”

Cavan opened the book carefully, the spine bending back to the one place that had been returned to, again and again, revealing a hand-drawn map covered with small notations and remarks. Cavan had read them so many times he knew them off by heart. Little pieces of advice that would take even the most inexperienced of sailors through the network of rocks and strange currents to safety in the harbor of the hidden island.

“This is it, my secret island,” Cavan said, his voice soft with longing as he traced the memorized route to get there. “Sweet water, rich soil, fish-schools so thick you can walk on them. This is the only way to reach it and I am the only one who knows how to get there. I would get a small boat and sail there.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Fallon admitted.

“It is. The perfect place. Away from all the anger and dirt and fear of Gaelland. Maybe we should all go. Sail to Kotterman and buy back your families and then sail there.”

“Gallagher could get us there,” Fallon said.

“There you are, then! We could leave my brother and father to stew in their plots and evil.”

“But what if it is not there when we reach it? Or if we get there and others have reached it first? Would you fight and kill to keep it?” Fallon asked. “And the people of Gaelland. You are their last hope. Would you leave them to Swane and his Fearpriest?”

Cavan looked up from the map reluctantly. “No, I could not do that. And that is where the plan falls down. But if things go bad here, it is our last hope, the place to escape to.”

Fallon smiled at him. “I shall remember that. And also that you trusted me enough to show me something no other has seen. That means much to me.”

Cavan shut the book carefully, and a little wistfully. Sharing this secret made him want to tell everything. But that would be a mistake, he judged. Perhaps another day. First he had to be sure he could trust Fallon. “And you will not tell anyone what I showed you?” he said, a little fearfully.

“Trust me,” Fallon replied.

“I shall,” Cavan said, replacing the hearthstone.

“The Count of Londegal respectfully requests the presence of Crown Prince Cavan,” the over-dressed servant shouted. “Now out of my way or I shall see you are flogged and returned to the bog you came from!”

“What does this peacock want?” Fallon hurried down the corridor towards the noise.

“This fool showed up at the front door with the attitude of the King and all the clothes for it. And he’s insisting on seeing Prince Cavan personally,” Gallagher said darkly. “Won’t listen when I tell him to wait and I’ll go and see.”

“My master demands an answer immediately and his displeasure will be taken out on you as well as me,” the servant said haughtily.

Fallon jabbed him in the chest with his finger. “I am Captain of Prince Cavan’s Guard and I am the one who decides who gets to see him. And you could be a traitor. So I say you piss off back to the Count and tell him that if he wants to see the Crown Prince, he shows a little respect and comes along himself, rather than sending his over-dressed parrot.”

“You dare to speak to me like that –” the servant began, only to subside when Fallon snapped his fingers. Gallagher drew one of his fish-gutting knives, the steel making a sibilant hiss as it came out of the sheath. The servant’s eyes bulged at the size of the blade and nearly popped out when Gallagher began to use the tip to clean his nails.

“I would advise you to choose your next words very carefully,” Fallon said.

“Listen to me,” the man began again, the arrogance vanished from his voice. “There are a dozen lords waiting to talk to the Crown Prince. If I return to them alone, my life will not be worth living.”

Fallon glanced at Gallagher, who put his knife away. Both remembered what had happened at the King’s banquet.

“Wait there. I will speak to the Prince,” Fallon told him.

The servant nodded gratefully.

“Watch him,” Fallon said, more for the servant’s benefit than Gallagher’s.

He felt some sympathy for the man but was also a little reluctant to take Cavan out of the safety of the wing without a good reason.

Cavan, however, had other ideas. “This happens a lot,” the Prince said.

“What, over-dressed flunkies demand you run around after the nobles?”

“They are planning to ask my father for something. And you have to do it very carefully. If you beg or, worse, demand, then it will never happen. No, you have to make my father think it is really his idea. And then you need others to tell him what a brilliant idea it is. The nobles cannot just raise things in a meeting with the King. Just one noble saying the wrong thing can wreck it all. So they seek support from others first. It is a complicated web, with nobles extracting promises of future favors for agreeing to help each other this moon.”