Fires of Scorpio (17 page)
Pompino was hauled inboard. He was laughing. Well, let us not go too closely into the question of why he laughed.
And, on that instant,
Redfang
began to withdraw from the wound she had inflicted in the side of her foe. The Shank began to heel. As we drew off, she slowly turned over and sank.
Of a galleon, a rapier and honor
In an outward wash of foam-tinged green bubbles the Shank vanished.
Subsequently we carried out those necessary rites and services for our dead, consigning each to his or her own god or pantheon and releasing their bodies over the side.
Wilma recovered of her wound; many of our wounded did not. Captain Murkizon remained a most subdued man. Everyone felt sympathy for him. He had been right — of course he had been right! — yet such is the contrary nature of humankind that right though he was we felt that deep undercurrent that in this case being right was not the right course. Do not ask any explanation. I deplore racial hatred, as you know. I deplore slavery. In the dealings of the folk of Paz with the raiding sea rovers from over the curve of the world, Fish-heads called by many unpleasant names, rights and wrongs and instinctive feelings jumbled and became confused.
We put into the free port city of Matta, where they charged us exorbitant docking fees, the mercenary slit-eyed devils, and saw to our needs. The released oar slaves naturally wished to return home. We were sailing north. Those sailors contracted to Pompino would continue, and the mercenaries indicated they would remain hired to him. We could hire oarsmen, and they were not cheap, we could buy oarslaves, or we could see about a different vessel. The knot was cut by the timely arrival of what was left of our convoy. They straggled in over the space of three or four days, those that had survived, and among them to Pompino’s gratitude, sailed
Tuscurs Maiden
and
Blackfang
.
He went up to the most imposing temple to Horato the Potent and registered his thanks. The priests reciprocated.
This free port city of Matta maintained a sizable fleet of swordships, and they swept their part of the seas clean of pirates. After the Koroles the seas were not so infested by renders; but wherever there are coasts and islands, no less than extensive trade routes, there will, it seems, be pirates.
“So, friend Jak. What next?”
“You ask me?”
“Aye. I saw the Gdoinye, as did you. But I am puzzled.” Pompino’s haughty Khibil face expressed concern, and by the way he brushed up his whiskers I knew he was troubled. “We are adventuring as it were on our own account. You and I, together, are setting about work for the Everoinye. Yet we must pay our own way, make our own passage, suffer all these delays. I ask you, Jak, is that right?”
“You should know that nothing is right, when you want it to be. Life is not fair.”
“Oh, I know that, fambly!”
“It would probably be best to sail in
Tuscurs Maiden
.”
“You think so? I confess, I am beginning to wonder if I was altogether wise to invest in a fleet of ships. They are a great worry to a man.”
“Oh, aye, assuredly.”
“But we saw the Gdoinye. He has a sister, the Gdoinya, who is, as I and Neil Tonge can testify, as great an onker. That must mean the Everoinye wish us to continue.”
“Yes.”
“I just wish—” And here Pompino sounded positively petulant. “I just wish they’d set us down where we are to set about our work for them!”
I almost laughed, for Pompino’s expression and attitude were downright comical. But this was serious business. And that, as any sane man knows, is comical in this insane world, anyway.
“As they have not, we must make our own way. And, Pompino, my friend, think of the things we have done, to fight our way through the pirates of the Koroles, to have taken a swordship — to have saved our lives.”
He sniffed. “You think these things constitute a Jikai?”
“Oh, no. Nothing as grand as that.”
“To tell you the truth, Jak, I am not sorry to get out of a swordship. The noise of the oarslaves distresses me, the way they all rise up and then hurl themselves backwards, the clashing of their chains, their grunts of effort. I did not think it would be like that.”
“You do not mention that sometimes they stink—”
“Not in my ships! I pay good gold for sweet ibroi—”
“You may disinfect their smell. You cannot disinfect the blot that slavery imposes on civilization by its very existence.”
He stared at me, taken aback at my tone.
Then: “I share much of your philosophy, Jak — by the Pink Cheeks of Dandy Pullhard, I must do for we both serve the Everoinye!”
“Aye.”
His words reminded me of the reaction of John Evelyn when in 1644 he went aboard a galley out of Marseilles. He was “amazed” at the “discomfort” of the galley slaves. He mentioned their rising and falling as one, the noise of the chains, the splashing crash of the “beaten waters” and how the slaves were “ruled and chastised without the least humanity.” Yet, he said, for all this they were “Cherefull, and full of vile knavery.”
The vile knavery my comrades and I had been up to, when we’d been galley slaves, had been, besides conjuring a better share of food and water and ponsho fleeces, dreaming up ways of escape.
With an intake of breath and a gusty sigh, Pompino said, “Very well. We sail in
Tuscurs Maiden
. And I think Captain Murkizon will return in
Blackfang
. As for
Redfang
—”
“You could do worse than give her command to Naghan Pelamoin.”
“My thought, exactly. Captain Linson has trained up a new Ship Hikdar to replace Pelamoin. But Chandarlie the Gut will sail with us.”
We walked down through narrow streets to the jetties where Pompino’s little squadron was moored. The air struck fresh and sweet, the suns shone. Now this free city of Matta was interesting to us — well, almost every city, not all, is interesting — by reason of one singular fact. The latest fashion craze here was for men to wear tightly restricting corsets. They were made from various bright materials, boned and laced, and worn over a tunic. The men strutted about with wasp waists. The women strode about uncorsetted and free, swinging, lithe and limber. As I say, fashion is a tyranny best steered clear of.
A breeze curled in off the sea. We rounded the last warehouse corner and Pompino stopped. He shaded his eyes.
“Now
that
,” he said, “is a
ship
. If I could buy the likes of her for my fleet, I would be a happier man.”
I turned the corner. A Vallian galleon sailed into the port. Her flags flew bravely, the old Vallian flag, and the new, the new Union, with the yellow cross and saltire on the red ground.
“Yes,” was all I could say. I felt myself responding to that ship from my adopted homeland. She sailed superbly, her canvas trim and taut, a curl of spume under her forefoot. We watched as she took in her canvas and noted the smartness of her evolutions. Later on I managed to make an excuse and left Pompino to see about stores while I had myself rowed out to the galleon. Her name was
Schydan Imperial
, out of Vond. I knew her master, Nath Periklain, and my first words hushed the welcome on his lips.
“Jak, majister?”
“Aye, Cap’n Nath. Jak. Now let us go below and you must tell me all the news of Vallia.”
This he did when we were ensconced in his stateroom, with wine and palines upon the shining table. The array of stern windows let in the light. Everything was as smart and spick and span as was to be expected in a galleon of Vallia. These beautiful ships were being built again, and were now venturing on trading missions to places — such as here in Pandahem — where seasons ago they would have been regarded as enemies.
The news Nath Periklain conveyed reassured me. Vallia might still not yet encompass all her lost domains, but what we had prospered. Our enemies were contained. Time alone would see the whole of Vallia once more united. He had nothing to tell me of the Empress of Vallia, and while I grieved over this blankness in my life, I felt strengthened. If mischance occurred and there was ill news of Delia, I would hear. Also, and this I did not forget, the Wizards of Loh who were our comrades would apprise me should events take place that would necessitate my immediate return. I could breathe easier. By Zair! I’d not spend another moment adventuring out in these foreign lands if Delia or my own country needed me. And there is no pretension, no pride, in this, merely a sober matter-of-fact statement.
I took the opportunity of writing letters, many of them, for Nath Periklain to deliver when he returned to Vond.
“An argenter?” he said at one point. “But, majister — I mean, Jak — my ship is at your disposal.”
“Thank you, Cap’n Nath. But you have your duty and your living. I have my own duties to perform.” I sipped the wine, a splendid Gremivoh. “Our foes thrive in north Pandahem.”
“May Opaz in his glory strengthen your arm, maj — Jak — as you strike them down!”
“I do have a request—”
“Name it!”
I did not smile; but these crusty old seadogs dearly love to display their adaptability, and their capacity to produce miracles. “All I would ask is a length of scarlet cloth.”
He called in his steward and in no time a length of high-quality scarlet cloth was produced. I nodded, pleased.
“My thanks, Cap’n Nath.”
“And is that all?” He nodded to my waist where the thraxter hung. “A rapier and main gauche?”
“We-ell...” I was tempted.
They were brought in by the steward, a matching pair in a balass box. They were fine work, balanced, sprung, elegantly finished. My resistance crumbled.
“A gift, majister, a token of esteem.”
To refuse would have insulted him. So with a single guilty twinge, I strapped them on. They felt good.
“More wine?”
So we talked and drank companionably and the suns descended across the land and the lamps were lit. Presently I rose.
“It is time for me to go, Cap’n Nath. I give you my thanks for your hospitality and your gifts. I shall not forget.”
“And you are for Tomboram? Bormark? I have been there but once. The folk do not much care for Vallians.”
“Unfortunately, that is so. But do you not think that after we helped eject the Hamalese they will look more kindly upon us?”
“By Vox! They should!”
“Well, that I shall soon find out. Remberee, Cap’n Nath.”
“Remberee, majist — Jak!”
He’d told me a little of his history, for he was known as a captain among the Captains of Vallia. His eldest son, having gone for a mercenary, had been lost to all knowledge until the Times of Troubles. Then he’d returned to take up sword in defense of his own country. He was now, this strapping son of his, said Nath Periklain, a shiv-Hikdar in the 2EYJ — the Second Regiment of the Emperor’s Yellow Jackets.
“A rapscallion bunch,” I said. “And with the ESW the best fighting fellows an emperor could have around him.”
Examination of the rapier revealed the neatly incised mark of the Brudstern, that magical flower shape, on the forte close to the guard. Magical or not, many a fighting man of Kregen will not handle a weapon that does not bear some such mark to draw mysterious forces into the blade.
“By the Blade of Kurin!” exclaimed Pompino when he saw the matched set of the rapier and left-hand dagger, the Jiktar and the Hikdar. “A fine weapon, indeed, and the dagger also.”
We had talked of the fashion — new to these parts — of rapier fighting, and Pompino was aware that up north the fashion had been well-established over the seasons. “All the same, I doubt these rapiers in the midst of a battle.”
“Sometimes,” I said. “It depends on the battle and what your opponents are using and doing. A rapier can be extremely useful. But, of course,” I added with some judiciousness, “it is always a sound principle to carry a second battle sword.”
“Oh, aye.”
My suggestion that I’d picked up the matched set from a sailor down on the docks who had no real idea of the true worth passed muster. Pompino merely indicated that, if it pleased me, he would like to foin a little and see how this rapier went compared to others.
We only got into two fights during that short stay in Matta, and they were scrapes, hardly worth the mentioning save for the fact that in the second Pompino used the rapier and main gauche. Afterwards, as we strolled along in the moons light with the scent of Moon Blooms in our nostrils, he confided: “A handy weapon, if a trifle long. I think I may take it up, for I have seen, and you have told me—”
“Sometimes a rapier is perfect, sometimes it is a fool’s weapon. Just be prepared for all eventualities.”
“We sail with the tide on the morrow. So?”
“So a further wet would seem to be in order.”
“By the pot belly of Beng Dikkane, you speak sooth.”
We found a tavern smothered in Moon Blooms, the sign cracked but still with enough paint to tell us this was The Spotted Llancrimoil. In we went. The ale was good and the wine a trifle better, all imported and not cheap. We sat back and stuck our feet out and surveyed the company. These folk were mainly seamen, a few merchants and the sprinkling of rogues.
Captain Murkizon found us there.
He had been drinking. His red face looked like the monstrous countenance of Zim witnessed through a sandstorm. He blurted out the words he had evidently been storing up in his heart.
“Horters! I am being sent back in
Blackfang
in disgrace! I hew to my own convictions. If events prove me wrong, that does not dishonor me! Horter Pompino! I crave your forbearance.”
I remained very quiet, pushed back in my seat against the paneled wall. No one took any notice of us, and a fight was developing further along where a thief had been caught with the coins between his fingers.
Speaking quite mildly for him, Pompino said: “We sail with Captain Linson in
Tuscurs Maiden
, as you know.”
“Very well! Let me sail in her. I will serve as Ship Hikdar, Ship Deldar — I will hand and reef and steer!’”
“Captain Linson—”
“Oh, I know!” Murkizon vented his bitterness. “He dislikes me. He considers me a loud-mouthed buffoon. But I know what I know. Let me sail with you, Horter Pompino. You will not regret the decision.”
