Aquamancer (mancer series Book 2) (20 page)

“And your good wishes, too?”

“Of course, Flowring lass! You always have those.”

Myrn stood straight, managing to look relieved, excited and grateful all at the same time. She rushed to embrace her Master and his best friend, making Flarman grunt with the strength of her hug.

“Thank you! Thank you!” she cried. “I
must
go, you see. Douglas needs me, now. I feel it!”

“Intuitions must not be ignored,” repeated Flarman, feeling his ribs carefully, but he found they were well protected by his girth. “He’ll certainly be pleased to have you with him, at any rate.”

“Take your notes with you,” admonished her Master. “I’ll give you some handy spells you haven’t learned yet that may prove useful. You can study them out as you travel.”

“Stop and talk to Bryarmote’s Lady Mother, Goldesfine, in Dwelmland,” Flarman suggested thoughtfully. “She’s the closest to a Lady Wizard I know of in World these days. Perhaps she could give you some sound advice about traveling alone.”

Myrn Manstar nodded eagerly.

“My dear, wonderful Magisters! I’ve a great deal to do, so please excuse me now.” She gave them both another quick hug and a kiss each and dashed from the room, nearly upsetting the servant who had come to clear the luncheon dishes.

“Flarman, old friend, have we done aright?” Augurian asked, worriedly watching her go.

“Of course!” cried Flarman. “We never make little mistakes, do we?”

“No, only big ones,” said Augurian glumly. Brightening a bit, he turned to lead the way back to his tower workshop.

“I admit to you, now she is gone it will actually be much better training for her than being cooped up here. Young people need to get out of doors in the fresh air and rain and sunshine every now and then.”

“That’s the spirit!” the Firemaster chuckled. “Remember, you and I were slaying monsters and leading Ogre-killing raids before we were Journeymen ourselves. A little help will be received gratefully by my Journeyman, I know.”

Augurian nodded, then chuckled, recalling certain adventures they had shared as independent young Apprentices centuries before. They chatted about the old times until they reached Augurian’s tower.

Myrn walked beside her lifelong friend, Sea, just after dark, having already said her good-byes to her friends on Waterand. The farewell supper had been a glad event, but she had chafed at the need to wait for darkness.

“Sea Fire!” she called. “Myrn Manstar has need of you!”

A bright flash of green light lanced through the waves at her feet and in a moment she had stepped boldly into the dark surge, sinking down into the warm, dry protection of Asrai, the Phosphorescence.

“Can you take me, before the Greatest Star rises, to the shore of Dwelmland?” inquired the Apprentice.

Without flashing an answer, the Asrai shot away from the shore, heading at breathtaking speed to the northwest.

Chapter Thirteen

Two More Players

Donation
came about smartly, her head now into the wind. Her movement slowed dramatically until she was virtually dead in the water.

At a shouted command, her best bow anchor roared down into the water of the Choin harbor, which was surrounded on three sides by gentle, wooded hills.

The sound stirred thousands of gray-and-white seabirds into raucous, excited flight. Few ships anchor here, they cried to one another. What fun! A chance to sample foreign food when the ship’s cook empties his slop pails over the side after evening mess!

“Secure the stations!” ordered Captain Caspar Marlin. “Set the anchor watch!”

Seamen rushed from task to task, hauling on this line, casting off that. It seemed a scene of total confusion, except that things were quickly and efficiently accomplished. The great Wayness square-rigged ship came to rest with hardly a ripple, tugging only gently on her anchor chain and swinging slowly to the breeze.

Caspar watched from the break in her poop as hatch covers were lifted away, a shade awning was rapidly rigged amidships, a table and chairs set out. Sails were neatly furled about their yards, stoutly lashed yet ready to break out at a moment’s notice.

Her sailors were sent below, watch on watch, to change into clean, freshly pressed uniforms, blue-striped open shirts, and dark blue trousers. They returned to fall in by divisions, toeing cracks between deck boards to form perfectly straight ranks. They tried manfully not to grin and caper in their boylike anticipation of new things to see and do in a strange port.

“Junk approaching, sir!” reported the Officer of the Deck, in a loud, carrying voice.

“Very well!” responded Captain Caspar Marlin.

He ran an approving eye over the ship and crew. Even the Emperor of Choin could not help but be impressed by this show and substance, he thought. And the Imperial Governor, now preparing to climb aboard Thomwood Duke’s flagship from his smaller vessel, was said to be a nephew of the distant Emperor.

He took the chance afforded by the wait to study the Imperial Governor’s junk, now hove to a cable’s length off on the mirror-smooth surface of the beautiful but empty harbor. The Choinese were famed around World for their silks, yet the sails of the junk were of poor-quality canvas, ragged, patched, and stitched together. They were patched with lighter, cleaner pieces ranging in size from a few square inches to square yards. They hung untidily from their steep-slanting yards, looking like Monday morning’s wash hung out to dry.

“Mustn’t judge without information,” Caspar said aloud to the Officer of the Deck, a tough young Waynessman named Pride. He, too, had been studying the Imperial Governor’s high-sterned ship.

Just as the Imperial Governor’s head appeared above the level of the deck, a bo’sun’s pipe shrilled and six sideboys snapped to salute.

“Welcome aboard
Donation,
Excellency!” said Caspar, bowing from the waist. Wouldn’t do to be
too
subservient, no matter what this Governor expected.

“And most welcome to the Great, Endless Empire of Choin, the Land Most Ancient and Wise, Cradle of All Civilizations^ and so on and so on,” said the chubby, middle-aged Imperial Governor, puffing from the climb over
Donation’s
tumble home. “A most interesting construct, your
Donation,”
he continued, looking about with evident curiosity.

“May I offer the Imperial Governor a cup of a poor imitation of Choin’s wonderful
fungwahl
” asked Captain Marlin, standing very straight but smiling warmly. He beckoned to the ship’s steward to come forward with a decanter of Dukedom’s best brandy.

“Ah, you know of our local customs!” cried the Imperial Governor, reaching eagerly for a cup. He tossed the contents into his throat at one gulp and appreciatively smacked his lips.

“I’ve had the honor to be a guest of Choin and Choin’s Divine Emperor previously,” explained Caspar, bowing again, as required at the mere mention of the Emperor.

The visiting dignitary also bowed as did all his attendants, rather perfunctorily, and chose another glass from the steward’s silver tray. He waited until Caspar had selected another, also.

“
To your own Emperor!” the Governor cried.

“Thank you! You are most courteous,” responded Caspar. “But let us drink first to His Heavenly Majesty, the Emperor of Choin.”

“If you wish,” said the I.G. offhandedly, bowing a second time. He tossed off the new dram of brandy as if it were water. Caspar took a sip of his own, feeling the strong liquor burn toward his stomach. Good stuff, but he’d rather have
jungwah
—the very potent yet tasty liquor of this strange and exotic land.

The Imperial Governor reached for a third glass without being asked and drank it only a bit more slowly. Caspar neglected to match him cup for cup, pretending ignorance of the Choin custom.

Courtesy or not, he thought, I’m not going to deal with this August Person while tipsy.

Lunch was a cautiously pleasant affair. Afterward, the Governor, fortified by the rest of the decanter of brandy, followed Captain Marlin on an inspection of the ship, then into the Main Saloon to discuss matters of trade.

“All shall be as you wish it,” he assured the Westongueman. “Choin is eager to reestablish trade and cultural relations with the Duke Thornwood. I understand he only recently came to his ducal seat after much unpleasantness. Something about an evil Wizard?”

“News travels amazingly fast to Choin,” Marlin observed dryly. “Yes, we were fortunate enough to nip his plots against us. All’s quiet and peaceful now. Dukedom and her neighbors are ready to resume World trading.”

“I am interested in timber mostly myself,” said the Governor. “Choin lacks forests, as well as the skill to manage and harvest trees.”

“Lumber, timber, and fine furniture woods are all available at the other end of my shipping lanes,” Caspar assured him. “Only tell me your needs, and when we agree on prices, I can have your first shipments here in less than six months, weather permitting.”

Their discussion went on until soft dusk, when the I.G. apologized for breaking off to return to the shore in his junk, which he said was named
Bird of Paradise.

“We shall continue our discussions in the morning, brave Seacaptain,” the I.G. promised, rather unsteadily. By then he was pleasantly buzzed on seven more brandies and considered himself Caspar’s closest friend.

The bo’sun’s whistle shrieked again, stopping abruptly as the local potentate’s head disappeared from view over the side. Caspar stood at the taffrail to watch the sampan row the tipsy I.G. back to his rather tacky-looking ship.

“Well, that takes care of the formalities,” he said briskly to his First Mate. “Send the men to supper, Pride, and set the first Dog Watch, please, Mister. Give the men the left-over foodstuffs, if any. The Imperial Governor and his crew ate like they were starved and drank like sailors back from a seven-year voyage! The starboard watch will go ashore first.”

“Our business is concluded, then,” said the pudgy, slightly hung-over Imperial Governor.

They had met in the splendid, luxuriously furnished Audience Chamber in the gilt-sheathed Governor’s Palace just before noon the day following. “You may give orders to have your ship moved to the Imperial Warehouse Pier on the riverfront, at your convenience.”

“If it’s possible, sir,” said Caspar. “Is the water deep enough for her, do you think?”

“
The water is deep enough for
Donation.
I so order,” said the I.G., glancing significantly at his third secretary.

“Now, Honored Captain Marlin, I am most pleased with our transactions and wish to offer you a gift of personal esteem. What can I give you to show my goodwill and deep gratitude?”

“There’s nothing you have denied me,” protested Caspar. “But I do have a small personal request.”

“If it is in my poor, limited power to grant... of course!”

“As you know, I visited Choin once before, years ago.”

“I am aware of your former visit, yes.”

“At that time the Captain of our ship . ..”

“The ... er ...
Sally?”
asked the Governor with a smile.

“Yes,
Sally
Brigantine, she were, of Westongue in Dukedom. Ye’re correct, Excellency.”

“What, then?”

“Our good Captain became ill and was cared for by a physician of your city, one Wong, I believe.”

The Governor frowned but nodded for him to go on.

“After he recovered, so taken was he with your ways and life that he decided to stay behind and become a citizen of Choin...”

“A subject of the Emperor,” corrected the Governor, frowning still. “But no matter ...”

“I’d like very much to greet my old Captain before I leave your...uh, fair city...if he is still alive and well.”

“Oh, most alive and most well, I assure you!” cried the Governor. “I think. When you’ve unloaded your cargo, tomorrow, I will have located him and arranged for him to see you the next day, if that suits you, dear Captain Marlin. See to it at once!” he hissed sharply to his second secretary.

One of the five other secretaries leaned forward to whisper in the Governor’s left ear.

“Ah! I am informed that your good Captain Foggery resides in a town not distant. I will send for him.”

“If I could,” said Caspar, “it would be more proper, rather, that I travel to visit him. In respect to his position and age, you understand.”

“We will arrange it, then,” agreed the Governor, although it was evidently not fully as he would have liked it. “The day after tomorrow.”

Caspar and Pride left the spacious but wildly overdecorated Governor’s Palace after much required bowing and scraping.

They were escorted back through the scrupulously clean but run-down city by a squad of twelve fiercely scowling guards in red-lacquered leather body armor, bearing twelve-foot pikes tipped with ominously gleaming, razor-sharp blades.

“Very good of ye to look me up, Caspar!” cried the elderly Foggery, once a Westongue Seacaptain himself. “I thought I’d never miss the old people, places, and ways, but I do, quite often. This is a strange land, although I have never seen a more beautiful one, nor a more friendly and gracious people as a whole.”

“I’ve had some doubts about that,” said Caspar, shaking his old captain’s hand heartily. “That Imperial Governor—”

“Is a damned fool!” concluded Foggery, softly. “Just between you, me, and this garden wall here. He’s dealt well with you, Caspar?”

“Very profitably and cordially, too,” said Caspar, nodding. They walked together in a small but immaculately manicured, walled garden under carefully placed willows and lace-leafed maples, amid thick beds of bright yellow and crimson iris. “But I have the strong feeling that he is, perhaps, trying to keep the news of our arrival and the value of our cargo a secret from everyone else.”

“Undoubtedly true! He runs some risk of displeasing the Imperial Court if they hear of it. His uncle, the Emperor, is very ancient, however, and never was terribly bright to begin with. Let me tell you a little about Choin, Caspar Marlin. Things not immediately evident to a visitor. I’ve watched and listened for some years now.”