Fires of Scorpio (18 page)

Pompino hesitated and cast a look in my direction. I leaned forward. “It is a matter of honor,” I said, and sat back.

“This means, Cap’n Murkizon, that Larghos Standur, who was Ship Hikdar in
Blackfang
and has been acting Captain, must now be confirmed in that rank. You understand that?”

“I understand, Horter Pompino. I agree!”

So the deal was concluded. Murkizon would sail with us. Pompino exhibited his customary Khibil skill and avoided any argy-bargy over-position by taking Murkizon on as supernumerary.

During this whole interview, Captain Murkizon had not once called upon any part of the anatomy of the Divine Lady of Belschutz.

Chapter sixteen

Of the recantation of Quendur the Ripper

One Kregish word for coward is Jikarna. This is a compression of the universal word Jik for martial matters, and arna, which means the absence of. Captain Murkizon by his manner clearly realized and feared that the imputation that he was jikarna would be made against him. I, for one, and Pompino for two, knew he was no coward. He had been right. But he was in that truculent, bellicose mood in which he might do anything foolish and reckless to redeem himself in his own eyes.

“I shall go with you, Horter Pompino, and you may rest assured that—”

“Queyd-arn-tung,” said Pompino, and the brick-red-faced barrel of muscle had the sense to know when enough had been said and to shut his black-fanged winespout.

So
Tuscurs Maiden
joined a local convoy and sailed north.

Having formed an opinion of Captain Linson I was not at all surprised that however sharp-tongued he was, however cutting, and however amused at Murkizon’s expense, he did not make any capital out of Murkizon’s clear inner turmoil. Linson, like us all, respected the red-faced barrel of a swordship captain and understood the reasons for his conduct vis-à-vis the Shanks. He and Larghos the Flatch spent a deal of time in each other’s company. The argenter sailed on and with various ports of call astern of us we rounded the northeastern corner of Pandahem. We sailed along the coast of Jholaix.

Ah, Jholaix! No need to elaborate on the thirsty comments made by the hands as we watched the land draw near, and headed the moment we made port for the nearest tavern. Jholaix!

Here it was that we had put a first check to the crazy ambitions of the Empress Thyllis of Hamal. She’d started up her insane schemes again, of course, with the help of the Wizard of Loh Phu-Si-Yantong, whom she knew as the Hyr Notor. Well, both of them were dead and gone to the Ice Floes of Sicce. There was the uhu, the hermaphrodite, Phunik, to concern the future. We had not heard the last of her, him or it.

Because even in the lowest taverns of Jholaix the wines were superior — except for the dopa dens, of course — the hands might reel back to the ship yodeling their hearts out yet never have a black-dog the next morning. Hangovers were bad for trade, said the folk of Jholaix.

Due north of where we now sailed lay the island of Valka.

A mere miserable thousand miles or so away — Valka! No, I would not think of my paradise island stromnate, and always I thought of that jewel island, of the high fortress of Esser Rarioch, of the gardens and calmness and the joyousness, the laughter of my friends and family. No. Those days would come again, they must, in the belief of the light of the Invisible Twins made manifest in the glory of Opaz.

“Dreaming, Jak?”

And, sunk in thoughts, at first I did not recognize my chosen name, and so turn to smile at Pompino.

“Dreams? Aye, Pompino.”

“Well, you are lucky you have no wife to get away from.”

I turned away, sharply, and concealed the expression on my face.

But willy-nilly, the days passed. We passed the border between Jholaix and Tomboram, and the port city and capital of Pomdermam lay ahead. We had been shuffling along in convoy and doing the usual business of tramp ships, picking up cargo here and discharging it there, hiring our carrying capacity and earning a living. For Pompino and me, this chartering was mere cover to our deeper designs.

For Captain Murkizon, this chartering and carrying and chaffering — not to mention chattering — seemed an affront, a mere matter of base business to a swordship captain.

For Captain Linson, master, this was how he made his living, and he was sharp at it. For every copper ob that was recorded in the accounts meticulously kept by the Relt stylor Rasnoli and which would, after necessary deductions, arrive in Pompino’s coffers, perhaps as much as a quarter ob reposed with Captain Linson. This was not to do him an injustice. He, like any sensible skipper, looked out for an early retirement.

Expressed in latter-day terms, twenty percent was a fair rake-off.

Pompino was as well aware of this habit as any other shipping owner. He closed that eye. He had to. So we sailed on westwards. The northern coast of Pandahem had been a fairy-tale place to the reivers from Vallia. In the old days the galleons and swordships prowled these coasts, snapping up prizes, and the enmity smoldered between the two islands, to break into flames of violence and hatred when interests clashed.

At the least, the ambitions of Hamal and their frustration had brought a cessation to most of the hostility between Pandahem and Vallia. I say most. Men and women do not change their ways overnight, in normal life, very easily.

Westward lay the country of Menaham, and its people, the Bloody Menahem. They posed problems for the future. They had welcomed the arrival of Hamal, had cooperated, had sought to conquer and enslave their neighbors. Their next-door neighbor to the west, Iyam, had suffered. Beyond them, in the northwest corner of the island, lay Lome. Now there reposed a puzzle for me personally.

Queen Lushfymi of Lome, known as Queen Lush, had sought our aid and protection in Vallia after she had managed to throw off the yoke of Phu-Si-Yantong. She was quite clearly determined to marry my son Drak. Delia did not approve. We would like Drak to marry Seg’s daughter, Silda. Well, the future held some thorny projections there, assuredly...

At the moment my attention must concentrate on trying to rid Pando’s kovnate of Bormark of the vile Leem Lovers of Lem. If the cult was widespread in Pandahem, then that would be a beginning of a clearance. And you may well and easily guess at some of my dark thoughts and apprehensions. Pando, whom I had known as a young imp, might so easily have been swayed, turned, drawn into practices that in other circumstances he would have spurned. If Tilda the Beautiful was drinking as heavily as rumor suggested, Pando would receive no support from his mother.

Captain Linson was anxious to get into Pomdermam, the capital and chief port city of Tomboram.
Tuscurs Maiden
was in need of an overhaul. She had sailed a goodly distance and her bottom, although not as foul as would have been the case on Earth, was still in need of cleaning. Pompino pulled his moustache and frowned at the news.

“Does that mean there will be a delay, Captain?”

“A careen will take time, horter.”

“I see.”

I wondered if Pompino did see. Shipping magnates tend to move the colored markers on their maps and expect their ships magically to move from spot to spot about the globe. Mere fiddly details like fresh rigging and clean wood and careening to scrub the bottom somehow often fail to become integrated into the calculations.

“We can take passage in a coaster to Bormark,” I suggested.

“Four days, perhaps,” said Linson. “To take off the worst.”

Difficult to judge. That, to me, indicated a reasonably thorough job, given the area of the ship’s bottom. I kept my mouth shut.

Most of the pirates we had rescued from the Shanks had disappeared in the port of Matta. But Quendur the Ripper and three of his fellows had elected to join us. Their swordship had been burned. They had nothing else. Captain Linson, in his acid way, had sniffed and acquiesced, and appointed Nath Kemchug among others to keep a damned sharp eye on the renders. During a long life on Kregen a man or woman might do many things between birth and the Ice Floes of Sicce — hoping as ever to advance to the sunny uplands beyond. Quendur had once been an honest sailorman, and he fitted in, having been severely shaken by his experiences with the Shanks.

Now he stepped forward on the deck to speak.

“Four days, horters. It is not long. And a coaster is subject to many perils here.”

“You would know, indubitably, by Horato the Potent!”

“Aye, horter.”

The odd fact about Quendur, known as the Ripper, was his continuing perplexity in the face of life. One took the impression that life had rushed on him, taken him unawares, driven him into deeds and adventures that were as much a surprise to him as a challenge. He’d explained how he’d become a render, a familiar story of unjust oppression and the lash, of chains and starvation, and of a breaking out and a lusting after revenge.

He conceived he owed Pompino and me, as well as the company, a debt of gratitude. Well, he did, after a fashion. That we had not had him strung up in Matta was no doubt a weakness on our part. But he proved himself a good fellow, once he’d got the dark bitterness out of him. The bloodlust died after his experiences with the Shanks. Only the bloodlust against the Leem Lovers remained.

Salvation does exist.

A great shock, a traumatic experience, the realization that one has thrust one foot over the abyss, this can haul a person up short. It makes them look afresh at the situation, makes them take stock. Salvation? Well, in Quendur the Ripper’s case he forswore his old ways, vowed with a sincerity we took as genuine to hew to the ways of honest commerce upon the high seas and among the islands. He was transformed.

The three who elected to stay with him, two men and the woman, Lisa the Empoin, appeared to share his views. Lisa, in particular, clearly relished this fresh chance at life as an honest woman. And, make no mistake about it, they were useful about the ship and excellent seafarers.

Lisa and Quendur made plans to earn enough to buy an old ship and so go into the merchanting trade themselves. I fancied they would receive substantial, if surreptitious, help.

So we drew near the port of Pomdermam. One of the two lighthouses lay in ruins. The pharos had the appearance of having been struck by lightning. This was not the pharos built and operated by the Todalpheme, the wise savants who monitor the weather and the tides; but the one owned by the king. Its ruins depressed me as we glided past.

Was this an omen, a reminder of what had happened in Tomboram, a portent of a future dark and ominous?

Pompino’s own view of his achievements here I knew would be harsh to himself, strict in his ruthless disparagement of any performance less than perfect. He had had a temple burned and scattered the worshippers. He’d told me enough for me to grasp at what he had achieved, and, also, at what was left to do. Down in Tuscursmot the adherents of the Silver Leem were in confusion; up here they still needed attention.

How many more were there? How many others of the abominable temples were there scattered about Pandahem, about the other lands of Paz? Now that I believed the Star Lords had turned their faces against the Silver Wonder, it seemed to me I stood a good chance of finding out, a damn good chance, by Krun!

“Brassud, Jak! Brace up! You look as though you’ve lost a zorca and found a calsany!”

“Finding the calsany,” I said in a voice far too heavy, “would be a triumph.”

“Oh!” Pompino put his crafty Khibil head on one side, very foxy, very bristly red, very shrewd. Ahead of us the dock area of the port opened out. “Oh? You’re a close-mouthed fellow, all right, full of secrets. So you won’t tell me—”

“If there was anything substantial to tell, I’d tell.”

“Just a feeling, is it? A deliquescence of the bowels?”

“A hollow insides, Pompino, hollow.”

“A breath of the Ice Floes has touched you, my friend.” Pompino spoke briskly, perking up, his whiskers arrogant. “You need a long draught and a laugh — although a laugh would, I think, crack your face to pieces.”

He was right, of course. On Earth we say that someone has walked over our grave; on Kregen they refer to an icy breath from Sicce. I shook my shoulders, saw that we’d take a bur or two to get in, and went below with my kregoinye comrade. We downed a few glasses; but they made no difference. I was awash with reluctance to carry on, to see Pando and Tilda again, to fight the Silver Leem, to carry out the wishes of the Star Lords. I had to do these things. But I felt I would do them unwillingly.

Yet I would like to see Pando and Tilda again and hear their news and find out how they fared. I hungered to see Lem the Silver Leem and his evil cult banished for good. And I was achieving a better understanding of the Everoinye with every meeting. So — why?

Ridiculous to suggest I felt this unease because I was going into the future without a plan and with no idea of what I was up against. By Vox! That is my usual situation!

Yet — yet that is not quite true. I do have plans, quietly tucked up my sleeve. I eyed Pompino.

“If we just burn the first temple we run across—”

“We will burn the first and the last, Jak!”

“Oh, aye. We can do that. By ourselves or with help. But — what then?”

“Why, then we go home.”

“Yes, but, if the temple burns, the beliefs will linger on. They’ll rebuild—”

He drank and poured fresh and did not answer.

I went on: “We can hardly kill them all.”

“This King Nemo the Second. I hear he is a flat slug. If we can sway him, make him see with clear eyes, he will see to all that end of the business for us.”

“If.”

“Well—” and here Pompino spoke with some brusqueness. “Have you some better scheme?”

“No.”

“Drink up! We will find the temple and burn it and then see what the Leem Lovers do.”

Privately, I wondered just how far this haughty Khibil comrade of mine would get with fat King Nemo the Second.

Tuscurs Maiden
duly picked up her moorings, and discharged her cargo, and then the master and the hands set about the task of cleaning her bottom. A small creek an ulm along the coast provided a nicely sloping beach, and there were careening lines and stakes provided. Pompino did not hire slaves for any of the work, whereat a few dark looks drifted about the ship. I hung about taking a note of what went forward, a professional interest not blunted over the years giving me an insight. Pompino just imagined you simply tilted the boat over and scraped away.