Gunpowder (2 page)

- And how did
you even come across such a load?

- Don’t be
nosy. I just have it, all right? Let's just say that for some time
I should refrain from showing up in the western ports of Ipion,
because back in Trogar, I accidentally loaded some merchandise that
was supposed to end up on a ship of the Ipionese mob.

- So: the
Ipionese mob is chasing you because you nicked their zemna load
that could stone the whole city. The Eastern Company is after you
too, because somehow they found out who picked up the drugs and now
they think you work for the Ipionese mob. The Smiteverden harbour
is blockaded and effectively cut off, and in Port Sud the guards
check each ship from top to bottom and from the bow back, so you
came up with a brilliant idea to get lost in the port of Haaven and
push the hot merchandise on me.

- Nice
summary. Accurate. Precise.

- And on top
of that you ask me to find you a freight order so you wouldn’t have
to sail with an empty hold... You're crazy, Kristoff. As I said,
you simply lost it because of all the wine and the zemna. Admit it,
you smoked that shit, or at least chewed it. There is no other
explanation.

- Don’t be so
dramatic, Hans. Ask around among your customers. After all, all the
scum of the harbour gathers in this hole. Your thresholds are
probably a bit too humble for someone wealthy enough to buy a whole
load of drugs, but just right for someone who can be a middleman.
All your regulars smoke zemna, they're bound to know the
dealers.

- You know, if
I had not known you for so many years...

- ...and the
fact that you always get a hefty share...

- ...I would
have thrown you right out on your ass. - The men smiled at each
other and raised their tankards in a silent toast. - And now... get
some sleep. Anne made you a bed upstairs. I'll talk to some people
that need to be talked to, so your ship gets proper customs papers
with no questions asked, and nothing suspicious found. It should
whitewash the merchandise a little. Do you have any money? -
Kristoff shook his head. - As usual. I will add the bribe and the
duty fee to my share of the profits. When you come back down to the
tavern in the afternoon, this chamber will be waiting for you.
Perhaps I will too.

- Thanks,
Hans. Give me another pint of this piss you dare call beer in this
place... - The innkeeper stood up and put his hand on the shoulder
of Kristoff who was just finishing his pint. The host patted his
guest with a sigh, gathered the dirty dishes from the table and
left the captain alone.

Kristoff von
Truanpago was no ordinary captain. It was said that for a suitable
price he would sail to hell itself, if need arose. For years his
“Thunder Led” eluded the pirate schooners, coastguard frigates,
Eastern Company’s ships of the line and Ipionese Mandarinate’s
junks. Nimble, fast, and shallowly submerged ship, with a
changeable silhouette was a perfect smuggling vessel.

The ship’s
silhouette was changeable, because the “Thunder Led” was not an
ordinary ship, just as its captain, was no ordinary captain.
Kristoff developed her design himself, taking handfuls from the
treaty “On the mechanics of moving parts in shipbuilding and
seafaring, or how to enable any ship to be sailed by a threesome
party”, which he had purchased in Ulhn, the capital of the afar
Northern Kaesary, for two flasks of famous Karahamian rum. The
author was an Arokanian perpetual student, whose name was no longer
remembered by the captain, and who apparently did not value his
work high enough to put it on the title page. The treaty proved to
be surprisingly interesting and contained many useful insights into
the flaws of popular hydro- and aerodynamic designs in shipbuilding
topped up with countless comments on how to improve the ergonomics
of the rigging.

Upon returning
to the Karahams, sailor Kris Truanpago bought a lightning struck
schooner with a lovely, slim line, decaying aground on the atoll of
one of the smallest island of the archipelago, and thus became
captain Kristoff von Truanpago and slowly took up her renovation.
He decided that the lightning strike was a good sign, because
firstly, he thought the chances for a second strike were incredibly
low, and secondly, because his name in Karahamian language with a
little good will could have been translated as “thunderflash”. Both
of these circumstances led him to the present name of his ship,
which he had bestowed upon her before the very first trial
cruise.

The ship took
two years of his work and all his savings. The result was a true
masterpiece of the shipbuilding art. The slender hull had been
enriched at the front by two slanting fins ending with bent oblong
runners. They raised the hull at high speeds, significantly
reducing water resistance, while at the same time tightening the
arcs made by the vessel in a tight turn. The keel was slim, and the
two horizontal plates had been fitted to the sword with bends
corresponding to the front runners. In the rear, on both sides of
the stern, vertical stabilizing fins had been added. All new
elements could be drawn up into the hull of the ship, so that the
reduced immersion allowed approach to virtually any shoreline. All
three original masts were cut into parts, hollowed and equipped
with a telescoping mechanism operated by winches located at their
bases below the deck. Each top of the four parts of the mast was
equipped with sockets ready for mounting yards or gaffs. Shrouds
and stays had been fitted with pulleys allowing to adjust their
length. Thanks to this, the “Thunder Led” could in just a few
minutes change from a huge sloop rigged with a big gaff into a
small and agile three-masted frigate.

Of course,
there were also disadvantages. Retractable masts reduced the hold
and the standard amount of room for the crew. The cannon deck was
non-existent, and the artillery on the open deck was severely
limited due to the lack of possibility to accommodate more gunners.
Lack of space and shortage of guns meant that she was not fit for
freight or trade cruises, and neither was she a warship. She was
designed for smuggling, and when it came to smuggling, Kristoff was
an artist. His latest masterpiece was talking a slower than usual
zemna grower from the suburbs of Trogar into believing that before
him stood an agent of the Ipionese Family Syndicate, which resulted
in having his ship loaded to the brim with zemna flowers packed in
double-decked wine barrels.

Left to
himself, in a side chamber of the tavern, the smuggler took a deep
breath and followed it with a solid sip of beer brought in by a
smiling wench. Judging by her almost exposed breasts resting on a
loosely tied bodice and her skirt ending barely an inch or two
below the buttocks, the girl was not merely a waitress. When she
left, with a flirtatious wink at the captain, Kristoff rested his
elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. He needed a
few hours of peace. Thoughtfully, he finished the beer, got up and
went upstairs, greeting Anne on his way up and dismissing with a
decisive gesture the advances of the wench, clearly interested in a
closer encounter.

Sailor threw
himself fully clothed onto the prepared bed, not even having used
the steaming water left for him in a basin in the corner of the
room. He fell asleep immediately, as soon as his head touched the
soft pillow. He slept deeply, for the first time in many days. He
got up late in the afternoon when the rays of the sun crept to his
bed through the cracks in the shutters. A jug of light, white wine
diluted with water was standing on a simple table pulled near the
head of the bed. The perfect companion of late awakenings.

Kristoff
ignored the tin cup standing beside the jug and drank a sip
straight from the vessel, to gulp half of its contents a moment
later. He went to the basin of water still waiting for him in the
corner of the room and proceeded with the morning ablutions, which
inevitably were not so morningly, and due to lack of time not so
accurate either. He went unsteadily down to the inn, tidying his
clothes as he descended the stairs and also propping his weapons
hidden in his laps, pockets, and other nooks and crannies of his
attire. Anne was standing behind the bar, beautiful and silent as
usual. She smiled at him, sent him a kiss and motioned him to the
room, where he had breakfasted. Kristoff waved to her friendly and
turned towards the chamber. He pushed aside a thick, plush curtain
concealing the narrow entrance and plunged into the gloom of the
empty private chamber. He sat at the table and leaned back. He
tossed his hat onto the bench next to him and undid the hooks of
his jacket. A bowl of fish soup waited for him on the table
together with a basket beside it, holding a fragrant golden-baked
loaf of bread. Before the smuggler even turned to the food, Hans
walked into the room and sat down opposite him. He was tired and
out of breath, but clearly pleased with himself. In his hands he
was carrying a large stoneware jug full of golden beer and two
slender metal tankards. He set them on the table with a wink and
filled them with the beverage he had brought. He put down the jug,
reached under his coat and pulled out a roll of documents that he
then threw on the table.

- There, we’re
half way through the trouble. An hour ago, the deputy chief of the
port customs carried out the control of your ship and not having
found any irregularities cashed in the duty fee for one hundred
forty-four barrels of wine from your second in command. Here you
have the receipts, the protocol and the trading permit. You owe me
nearly three stellar coins in bribes and administrative costs.

- I see you
have not been idle. First-class work.

- Wait. That's
not all. Let me tell you about unusual events that occurred during
your well-deserved rest.

- I'm all
ears.

- Well, some
time after my return from the first meeting with the deputy chief
of the port customs, an unusual wench from the distant Northern
Kaesary, of most probably noble descent, appeared on the low
thresholds of my humble abode, in search of a captain crazy enough
to take her to Smiteverden.

- To
Smiteverden? But it’s blockaded... Wouldn’t it be easier for her to
pass through the mountains in the north?

- She said the
trail had led her already to Haaven, and thus Smiteverden was now
only available by sea...

- Hmm... How
much is this poor creature willing to pay?

- Three
stellars up front and three after the work is done.

- Half a dozen
stellars… quite a pretty penny... It's just that if the Eastern
Company catches me, even several dozen stellars won’t be of much
help...

- Kristoff, my
friend, you wanted me to get you a job. Right? Right. I got it.
Right? Right. And now you want to turn down half a dozen
stellars?

- I'm not
turning down anything, I’m really not. Do not get jumpy, Hans. - He
looked at the innkeeper suspiciously in a sudden epiphany. - Wait a
minute, wait a minute. Haven’t you by any chance already cashed in
these three stellars of advance?

- Now don’t
you, Kristoff, try to turn things upside down and inside out... A
job is a job, and money is money.

- Anyway,
until we sell the goods, I’m not going anywhere.

- And so it is
exactly what I have told her. I asked her to come back in the
evening, maybe by then something will have come up.

Their chat was
interrupted by Anne. She entered, as she usually did, silently, and
almost without any sound. She smiled at them and her eyes pointed
at the door behind her. She communicated with Hans using several
gestures. The innkeeper nodded and grew serious.

- We have a
visitor. Possibly a customer. And to think we were just talking
about it.

- And where
did he, the scoundrel, get to know about my cargo so quickly?

- I wonder
that too, but since he is already here, no harm will come to us if
we listen to what he has to say. - The innkeeper sent his wife a
soulful kiss and nodded to let the merchant in. A few moments later
they were joined by a short, plump gentleman, unfolding around him
an aura of distraction and confusion. He entangled himself in the
curtains and upturned the stool on which he was about to sit down.
Kristoff and Hans looked at him with a mixture of amazement and
amusement. They waited patiently until the newcomer took his place
at the table, at which point the captain gave the innkeeper a long
look. The innkeeper nodded barely noticeably and took up the
conversation.

- So, mister,
you say you are a “wine” trader? - Using the fact that the burden
of the conversation rested upon his friend, Kristoff reached over
his head, where hung a decoratively painted clay tankard. He wiped
it with his own sleeve and placed it in front of the merchant, who
was watching him intently, as if looking for support having faced
such a perilous question. The captain poured him some beer, for
which he received a thankful look. The merchant, on his part, used
Kristoff's actions to think on his answer, which resulted in an
uncomfortable silence.

- No, not
really. But then, from what I’ve heard, gents, the wine you are
trying to trade, may prove to be very special indeed, and
therefore, one does not need too much experience on the wine market
to deal with it.

- Indeed, the
wine is very special, but you, sir, are somewhat too
straightforward for my taste. And where, if I might ask, is this
news being spread? - The sailor gave the newcomer an inquisitorial
look, casually playing with a dagger pulled out from somewhere
under the table. Small droplets of sweat appeared on the merchant’s
face. It was obvious that the situation was a new one for him and
becoming less and less comfortable. He was obviously as good a
conspirator as a cavalryman could make a good sailor. Possible, but
hard to believe. Clumsily he manoeuvred between words, trying to
get to the bottom of the case while not calling spade a spade, but
the captain persisted. Determined not to reveal his sources of
information, the merchant, in an act of desperation, suddenly
changed his tactics.