Dragonfang (25 page)
‘I can’t imagine
you
ever swabbing decks and polishing
dummart
fittings,’ Hargav said, plaintively.
Jelindel thought back to the Great Temple of Verity, and the mindless chores the sisters had set the initiates. ‘I have had my share of humility and boring chores,’ she said. ‘It’s what deckhands do, Hargav. They scrub decks, learn about the rigging and everything else about seamanship, and if they’re smart, they work their way up.’
‘Like you,’ Hargav sighed.
Jelindel gave a half smile. ‘Hargav, I was never a deckhand.’
‘I thought that I’d be out wenching in every port, carousing, learning swordsmanship.’ He flapped the polishing rag. ‘You can’t do damage with a piece of cloth.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ Jelindel said. ‘You can garrot a man with such a piece of cloth. Even a rolled up scroll can be a lethal weapon in the right hands.’
Hargav put more effort into his polishing when Henrik Ju’shron passed by. The first mate grunted approvingly and walked on.
When he was out of earshot, Hargav said, ‘What was all that about back in port? Why all the fuss about a dummart book?’
Jelindel leaned against the gunwale. Seaspray whipped and stung her face but she didn’t move. ‘
The Book of Alchemorum
is no ordinary book, Hargav. It is unique, and tells of an Adept 15’s life work and certain necromantic rites. It contains information that, in the wrong hands, can wreak havoc in the world.’
‘What sort of havoc?’ asked Hargav. He admired his handiwork, but already the salt air had dulled spots of the bitt’s hood. He rubbed it furiously, silently daring spume to touch it again.
‘The book is like a sword. In the hands of someone untrained, little harm would be done. But if it falls into the hands of a person who can bring out its full potential, well, that could unleash the sort of power that could bring down not only empires, but the entire world.’
Hargav quickly got up and moved to the next bitt. He smeared it with polish and began rubbing. Looking up from his task, he said, ‘If this book is so dangerous, how was it so easily stolen?’
The wind snatched at Hargav’s words and Jelindel moved closer. ‘Who’s to tell it was easily stolen? For all we know, there
might have been a great fight. Lives may have been lost. It’s not something a Senior Constable would discuss with the likes of a ship’s captain and his scabby crew.’
‘I’m surprised it was not destroyed if it can bring down empires,’ Hargav said, reasonably.
‘Please never let me hear you speak of destroying knowledge ever again,’ Jelindel replied. ‘Whether good or bad, knowledge should never be lost. Power that can destroy empires can also be used to save the world.’ She looked down at the bitt Hargav had just polished. ‘You’ve missed a few patches of green, here, here, and here.’
Jelindel returned to her cabin. Hargav’s attitude was depressingly common. Destroy that which you don’t understand and it will no longer be there to annoy you. She stretched out on her bunk. So what
had
happened to the pentacle gem and
The Book of Alchemorum
? The guards had searched the physical places, and the Adept had checked for the gem’s aura. Both found nothing. On the other hand, because water weakens magic, the Adept would have had to be within a yard of the gem to detect it on the
Dragonfang
.
The book discussed the power of five pentacle gems when brought together at a ringstone circle. One gem had now been stolen from the Order of Penitents. That meant someone was collecting them, and perhaps gathering them together. The same individual, possibly, also had D’rudar’s book of pentacle gem applications, which meant that someone was building a bridge between the paraworlds. Perhaps the thief, or thieves, planned to destroy the book and gems to ensure no such travel was ever undertaken. Whatever the motives, a paraworld bridge could be of great use to Jelindel in finding Daretor and Zimak.
________________________
At Sezel, the crewmen heaved on the hawsers, and the
Dragonfang
drifted gently into the stanchions. Captain Porterby went ashore. Within minutes he returned with bad news. A local Duke had rebelled against the imperial government of Bravenhurst; and the little city was known to be full of his sympathisers. The Duke opposed the spreading influence of the Preceptor, and had declared his stand against him. He had won several skirmishes with imperial troops, so now the governor had imposed martial law.
‘There is a military curfew,’ Captain Porterby explained, holding up his hands for silence as he stood before the crew. ‘Sezel is considered to be under siege. The city gates are locked, but the port is still open. We can trade and load cargo, but water and supplies are not available. On the other hand, we stocked up in Hazaria, so there will be no problem with sailing on to Mordicar.’
‘So can the men go ashore then, Captain?’ asked Henrik.
‘The curfew means you must be off the streets between dusk and dawn. If you were to spend the night in some inn, and do your eating and drinking there, it would be a day’s supplies saved, so I would encourage you to do just that. Just don’t get arrested, or we shall sail without you.’ The captain’s voice lowered. ‘We’ll not stop here longer than absolutely necessary. The Duke must be a complete and utter fool if he thinks he stands a rat’s chance of defeating the Preceptor’s army.’
Either a complete fool or someone who has an ace up his sleeve, Jelindel thought. No amount of battlements in a port city would be sufficient against an enemy whose warships are unparalleled in strength and number. Coming into the harbour she had noticed giant cannons facing seaward, but due to their size they were fixed. Once inside their guard, Sezel would fall. And
fall heavily, since the Preceptor torched any city that did not surrender to him.
Although it was not part of her job, Jelindel helped with the unloading of the cargo. The sooner this job was done, the sooner she could investigate the Duke.
‘Can’t understand why you do it,’ Hargav said, hefting a crate out of the way. ‘You’re an officer.’
‘Keeps me in the men’s goodwill,’ she replied. ‘Goodwill at sea can be the difference between life and death.’
‘You’re fair enough on the men, though,’ Hargav said, hauling on a rope. ‘They respect you.’
‘Grudgingly perhaps,’ Jelindel conceded. ‘But there will always be distinctions between officers and crew. One way or another, I have butted heads with almost every man on board.’ She smiled at Hargav’s surprise. ‘You’re not the only cabin boy I have saved from the rowdies. Speaking of which, are you going ashore?’
‘Jaelin, they say there’s nothing in town that’s not aboard. I’ve not a coin left of my pay for six-month, so I’ll not be playing cards or skitterjacks.’
Jelindel tried to hide the smile that lifted the corners of her lips. ‘Skitterjacks. And I suppose they used five dice and not four?’
Hargav shrugged. ‘How many dice should there be?’
‘Four as a rule. Five if there’s a light touch in the circle. Look out for that next time. Better still, don’t gamble.’
‘And stay away from alcohol,’ Hargav mimicked Jelindel’s earlier warning. ‘It was asking for limewater that got me dunked in the bilgewater again,’ he said, miserably.
‘It was the crew that did that, not the limewater,’ Jelindel said.
She turned to stifle laughter and looked over at Larachel, who was also manhandling the shipment. He was a shrewd man.
If Jelindel had learnt one thing while at sea, it was that everyone pulled their weight. It paid to be one of the crew, and not some pompous softie like the previous navigator. It was also the only fitness training she managed to fit in. The shipment of barrels was not large, although delicacies such as pickled fruit and spiced vegetables fetched a hefty price in a city that was virtually under siege.
The work did not take as long as it had when they were aboard the
Dark Empress
. By evening the ship was manned only by Captain Porterby, Henrik Ju’shron, and Hargav.
Hargav had decided to build goodwill with the rest of the crew by volunteering to be on the overnight watch rather than going ashore to carouse. The crew took over a tavern within sight of the ship, and Hargav could hear their singing from the quarterdeck. Jelindel was assumed to be with them. In truth she had gone ashore and done what she did best: she vanished.
Hargav looked out over the port in the moonlight. Sezel was like any number of minor seaports. Fifteen or so ships of varying size were scattered about the harbour or were berthed at the wharf. The local fishermen were busy, though, putting to sea for the night, while others returned. With the city gates closed, the demand for fish had soared. The piers were not covered by the curfew, and were full of men and women filleting, gutting and salting the catches of the night in the warm tropical air.
Anyone seeing the lone watchman staring desultorily towards shore, would have seen a young boy, unsure of himself, longing to be with his comrades. However, looks can be deceiving.
Hargav was staring intently at a fortified palace built into the cliff face that shadowed the port. He was assessing ways of safely approaching the palace without being seen, and ways of leaving
without being caught. Purely speculatively, of course. Hargav did not intend to leave the ship.
Every now and then, an observer would have also seen the young night watchman listlessly walk the decks, casting looks at the town, as though he wished to be enjoying its hospitality. This is exactly what Hargav wanted people to think.
J
elindel saw few signs that Sezel was under siege. The battlements should have been fully manned, the livestock rounded up from the fields and penned within the city and the outlying farmers should have been crowding the streets, begging for food and shelter. The town should be in total chaos as Sezelian troops fought to maintain order. Instead, the city looked prosperous, its inhabitants only slightly troubled by the increased presence of the army, and only mildly put out by the curfew.
As a stranger, Jelindel would have normally aroused suspicion in a town under martial law. In times of strife outsiders were usually kept under scrutiny, and often imprisoned until whatever calamity had struck was under control. The fact that she was allowed to roam the streets without the slightest discomfort meant that there was more to Sezel’s apparent dilemma than met the eye.
Jelindel had wanted to keep an eye on Larachel, but her priority here was to follow a dream. She wanted to visit Lady
Forturian, a friend of Madame Dione. The trade envoy would have to wait.
She stopped at the crest of a hill overlooking the ragged northern coastline. The sleek
Dragonfang
stood out among the other vessels tied up at the docklands. She gave the sea a cursory glance. She was not expecting to see their pursuers, but felt uneasy about the possibility nonetheless. It was then that she realised how far she had travelled in such a short time.
Puzzled, she resumed her trek up the winding gravel path that she intuitively knew led to her destination.
How
she knew where the spiritualist lived did not concern her – magic had its own nefarious devices. What did puzzle her was the speed with which she was making the journey. She turned around again and frowned. The docklands were now beyond eyesight, and the coastline was pencil-fine on the horizon. She looked at the sun and realised with a start that it marked more time than was possible during her short sojourn. By the time she reached the broken wall surrounding Lady Forturian’s palatial grounds, she could almost see the sun moving. An atmospheric condition peculiar to the equator or something more arcane? She shrugged and stepped past the open wrought-iron gate.
The town’s curfew bell began to ring as she was knocking on the spiritualist’s door. A bolt rattled, the door opened slightly, and an ageless female face peered out. Despite the apparent timidity of the woman’s behaviour, there was no doubt in Jelindel’s mind that this was a very powerful woman. The guard spells surrounding the place were so complex that Jelindel failed to recognise most of them, although she was only too well aware of their presence. She didn’t bother protecting herself from them. It would have been pointless.
‘Ah, Jelindel, do come in, if you can,’ said Lady Forturian, gently.
Getting inside was not easy. Piles of books, papers, scrolls, stuffed animals and crystals jammed the interior, and the doors to the rooms leading off the corridor were packed solid with yet more books. Lady Forturian wore gaudy, gauzy clothes, and was very thin. Her age could have been anywhere between seventy and ninety – in appearance. However, Jelindel knew not to judge age by appearance.
Lady Forturian led Jelindel up a rickety ladder. They went through a hole in the ceiling, across a book-jammed attic, through a tiny kitchen, and out onto a flat area of the roof. Before them spread a view of the darkening docks. The bloated sun was sinking beyond the horizon.
Jelindel noted that a tea service for two was already laid out.
‘You knew I was coming?’ she asked.
