Corsair (27 page)

Gareth heard a throng yammering into the room, the echoes of their excitement against the high apse.

A great sword in a sheath hung against the back of the throne.

“All kneel,” someone shouted as Alfieri picked up the sword by its belt, and Gareth and the others went down.

The sword hissed out of its sheath, and Alfieri came forward. Gareth noted that he carried the weapon easily, as a man who knew what its real purpose was.

“You may rise,” Alfieri said, his voice a boom. “Except you, Gareth Radnor.”

Gareth waited, having no idea what was about to happen.

“Do you acknowledge us, Alfieri, as your king, as the only ruler you follow, and acknowledge you will obey any and all commandments given you by us, or by our officers?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The sword came out, and Gareth almost flinched as its edge touched his shoulders, the top of his head.

“Rise then, Sir Gareth Radnor, the newest of my Servants.”

Gareth Radnor — Sir Gareth Radnor — almost started crying.

Beautiful, is it not, Sir Gareth?” the little round man said proudly, waving his hand around the horizon, his words almost lost in the keening wind. Gareth, still not used to the title, considered what he was looking at. The stone house just behind him was huge, four-storied, with square towers at either side. It sat in a slight vale, just low enough to block the strongest winds from the sea. Behind it, protected by plane trees, were outbuildings and a formal garden. Strangely, there was no wall around the estate, front or rear, and the grounds were carefully maintained so that anyone in the house had a clear view — or shot — in any direction.

Gareth noted two small cannon atop each tower.

“The former householder liked to feel safe,” he said dryly.

The round man cleared his throat nervously.

“The lord had his enemies … ‘tis a pity he chose to live as he did.”

“You mean, die,” Cosyra said, hiding mirth.

“Yes, well, he should not have defied King Alfieri.”

“Or,” Cosyra put in, “if he was going to tell the king he was an idiot who not only didn’t deserve his taxes, but his fealty either, he should’ve at least stayed mewed up in this castle rather than return to court.”

The skull of the land’s former owner, still with bits of clinging flesh the ravens hadn’t gotten around to, now decorated a spike over one of Ticao’s gates.

“Don’t forget,” said the round man, who was the agent for the land, “the price not only includes these grounds, but almost two thousand hectares, some worked, some open lands, plus two hamlets you cannot see from here, and, of course, the village below.

“The river we crossed coming to this house, which you also control riparian rights to, has a small hand-built tributary behind the house, there, that feeds into your fishpond. The river itself falls into the ocean just beyond that bluff.

“You’ll reap a hundred pieces of gold from the sea-fishing per year, the land produces enough for all your people to live on, plus there’s fallow acreage should you desire to have produce for sale. The uplands have no sheep on them, but they could easily be added, and your herd of prime cattle, about forty-five head, could also be increased without stressing the land.

“There’s deer for the taking, only half of which are the king’s, fowl, and great fish in the ocean for the sport.

“Your yeomen, several hundred of them, are all stout lads. The merchants will stand behind you four-square, and there’s no sign of plague or other evils.

“There’s one witch in the village, and she’s a most agreeable creature, well thought of by all. There’s no chirurgeon, unfortunately.”

The village nestled at the bottom of the twisting track that led down to the sea. Fishing boats bobbed at anchor around the half-dozen stone piers, and gaily painted houses lined the winding, cobbled streets. There were half a dozen businesses as well: small stores, a tavern, a fish plant.

Gareth nodded.

“Reminds me a trifle of our old village,” Thom Tehidy said.

“Ee-yes,” Knoll N’b’ry agreed. “If you buy it, Gareth, you’d best consider putting in a pair of guns … moyane or pykmayone culverin to give you the range up here to reach out to sea, and perhaps a pair of lombards down on the wharf for anyone closing on the village, and training some of the locals to fire them.”

“And aren’t you three the most worrisome sort of pirates?” N’b’ry’s companion, a lovely, very young, black-haired trader’s daughter named Suel, laughed. “Who’d be likely to attack any of you, Knoll, particularly if you and Thom do as you talked and built your own houses on either side of this monster?”

The three looked at her, didn’t comment. They all knew why the cannon might be necessary, remembering the village they’d grown up in.

N’b’ry had told Gareth he was very fond of Suel, and not for her prized conversation; Cosyra had rolled her eyes and agreed that was obvious.

Tehidy’s partner on this outing was a chubby shopkeeper’s daughter, Myan, quick-witted and always cheerful.

“And I don’t believe, come to think about it,” Suel went on, pretending a pout, “these brave bold swordsmen standing around talking about the yield of land as if they were common landsmen! That’s
not
what I expected.”

“Now there, at least,” Cosyra added, “I agree with you. Riches have turned all of them into conservative, cautious sorts, haven’t they?”

She wasn’t the only one to pretend disappointment in the corsairs’ behavior. When the Company’s fleet and cargo had been brought upriver and, as agreed, given to Pol Radnor for disposal, Ticao licked its lips and prepared for the greatest madness in its history.

Each share, even after the king’s creaking, heavy-laden wagons had trundled off to the palace’s treasury, was worth what a hard-working merchant might realize in twenty years’ labor.

Now it would be for the spending, as the crews were paid off and the Articles dissolved.

But things, mostly, did not work out that way.

Labala came to Gareth as he was making out the paperwork for the sale of all ships but the
Steadfast,
which Gareth had decided to keep for his own for reasons he thought were wishy-washy, sentimental, and not worth telling anyone about.

“Gareth,” the big brown man complained. “None of these bastards I sailed with are worth sour owl crud.”

“Why not?”

“Here I am, full of spunk and the money to pay to let it go, and I can’t find anyone to roister with, at least anyone worthwhile. All the ones I thought sturdy bastards are counting their gold and thinking about buying a shop, or a farm, or a fishing boat, or something for their godsdamned dotage.

“Godsdamned disappointing, I call it, especially when none of them are likely to live that long.

“Somebody told me once Saros was nothing but an island of shopkeepers looking for an apron to tie on and butcher paper to scribble accounts on. I never believed it before, but I sure do now.

“Hells, I’d ask you to go whoring with me if I didn’t know you don’t drink and have your own lady now.”

Gareth had thought for a bit.

“Why don’t you take your gold and find a nice sorcerer to study under? That and finish learning how to read.”

Labala turned serious. “Talking of that, and the man who started teaching me magic, if I were more of a seaman, I’d buy me a scow and go see if poor godsdamned Dafflemere is still alive.

“But I’ll wager the bastardly Slavers got him, and hopefully killed him. I’d a lot rather think about that than him in Linyati chains somewhere.”

Labala sat mournfully for a few moments, then heaved himself to his feet.

“Fat lot talking to you did me,” he said. “So I guess I’ll do what you and everybody else has told me. Get a couple of doxies to keep myself warm in this damned upcoming winter of yours, and learn more magic. It’s either that or find my way back to my own islands, wherever they are. Except I don’t remember anyone using gold to get by on, but something like seashells on strings, of which I have none.

“Damn, but they never told me being rich meant being bored.”

And he grumbled away.

In truth, Gareth Radnor felt about the same. What did he need with as much gold as he had? He had Cosyra; was in the king’s graces, as much as anyone could remain in the mercurial ruler’s favor; knew no riches could buy off his enemies the Quindolphins, nor did he wish that easy an ending to the feud; was healthy and happy.

As soon as he thought that, he could feel the tapping of boredom at the back of his mind, and bethought himself of various excitements, which he discussed with Cosyra.

Hunting? A poor deer was no match for a man with a musket, and he was hardly fool enough to go after the great bears of the north with only a spear, as some loons did. Besides, after hunting men, even a bear would be tame.

Fishing? He’d done that for a living as a boy and hated it, so how could there be much amusement in the sport?

Whoring? With Cosyra? Hardly.

Gambling? He tried that once, lost a dozen gold pieces and felt mildly sick to his stomach.

“What you’re going to do,” Cosyra said, “with my able assistance, is buy a nice piece of land somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Because people who have a tendency to end up in the Great Dungeon, as you seem to, are far better treated as landed gentry than as an unwashed sailor with hairy toes.”

“My toes are not hairy,” he protested, but her instructions took him, Cosyra, N’b’ry, and Tehidy along the coast, looking at properties.

This near-castle, with its villages, farmlands, and fisheries, was the best they’d found.

“And how much will this fine plot set me back?”

The round man named a price, and while Gareth swallowed hard, added hastily, “And the title Lord Newgrange can be had atop it all for only … oh, another thousand pieces of gold.”

“The title,” Cosyra put in coldly, “will accompany the estate.”

“But — ”

“
I
am Lady Cosyra of the Mount,” she said, “and am well familiar with the tradition of the heraldic college.”

“Oh. But of course. I merely meant there’s a certain amount of paperwork, and some money accompanying that generally leavens things, and …” and the round man sputtered down into embarrassed silence.

Gareth leaned close to Cosyra.

“Am I supposed to bargain? I mean, being one of the King’s Servants, and I’ve never bought any land before.”

“You thank him,” Cosyra said, “we return to that little inn that’s given me fleas, and then, tonight, in writing, we make a counteroffer of, oh, half what he mentioned.”

“That’s still more gold than I could ever dream of,” Gareth said.

“So?” Cosyra said coldly. “Aren’t you the one who prattled on to me about how meaningless gold is?”

“Yes, but — ”

“Congratulations, my love,” she said. “You’re already learning the hypocrisy of the very rich. Now you can learn to be bored in utter isolation and moan about how much you miss Ticao.”

Two days later, after offers and counteroffers, Newgrange was his.

Tehidy and N’b’ry had already consulted builders and made offers on other pieces farther along the coast; Gareth had written to Ticao’s best foundry and ordered two cannon, mentioning that he thought he might have further business for them in a while.

“Never thought we’d end up like this,” N’b’ry said. “Owning
anything,
let alone almost as far as I can see …”

“Magical,” Tehidy murmured. “Did you know, speaking of magic, the person who took quickest to my lectures on the fine art of gunlaying was the witch?

“Odd world we live in.”

Gareth smiled, and scratched hard.

That damned inn
did
have fleas.

• • •

Gareth wrote a long, unsigned report about that final raid, skirting facts that might be unpleasant for the highest nobleman to have to consider, focusing on the utterly inhuman reptiles that appeared to control the Linyati.

He gave it to Cosyra, with instructions for her to give it to the current Lord of the Admiralty, whom she had known from girlhood.

The King’s Navy, such as it was, should know how the Slavers fought, thought, and operated, as much as Gareth had been able to determine.

• • •

“I’m most proud of you, Gareth,” Pol said, reflexively pushing a decanter of brandy across his littered desk. “From a mere seaman to a knighted, hmmph, well …”

“Go ahead, Uncle,” Gareth said, amused. “I’m not ashamed of being a pirate.”

“Maybe so, maybe no,” Pol grumbled. “But it’s hardly a dignified term, now is it?”

“I never planned on being dignified.”

“Perhaps not. Uh, the reason I asked you to visit me, was to inquire as to your future plans?”

Gareth started to give a flippant answer, then turned serious.

“I don’t know, sir. I never planned on having more money than I could ever spend, and thought I’d always be working at something, maybe in the end to have my own merchantman or something.

“I can’t see going out to Newgrange and turning into one of those bucolic fatbutts, worried about when his prize mare’s going to drop or whether his marrows will take the top prize at the district gala.”

“No,” Pol said. “I may have my country estates like Priscian wanted, but she’s the one who’s welcome to spend more than a few weeks away from Ticao.

“If I had to spend the rest of my life out there, damme, but I’d rust solid within the year!”

Gareth walked to the window, looked out at the Nalta and the ships moving steadily up- and downriver. He glanced at a ship model on a shelf, recognized it, with a bit of sadness — then anger as he remembered her fate — as the lost
Idris,
of his first voyage. He wondered why his uncle had the model built, then returned to the subject at hand.

“I don’t know,” Gareth said again. “Perhaps I’ll wait until war starts with the Slavers, which must happen before I’m too old to fight.

“I still don’t have satisfaction for my parents, and would welcome a good, honest war to settle their accounts.”

Pol harrumphed.

“Do you have a suggestion, Uncle?”