Gunpowder (5 page)

Under the
cover of rain, at full sails, the sloop glided into the perimeter
of the port’s fortalice. Miss von Blitzen stood bravely alongside
the captain praying that overzealous guards wouldn’t mistake them
for an enemy vessel and not send them right to the bottom just in
front of the breakwater’s heads. The ship was lit with all
available lamps now, and at the top of the mast a white flag was
fluttering beside the Trade Guild’s one. The port was darkened, and
its guiding lights were extinguished. In spite of that Kristoff
steered the ship confidently and without hesitation. It was at the
breakwater, when it turned out that they sailed away a good few
dozen feet from the main fairway and thus they passed the head of
the port’s entrance at literally an oar’s length.

The docks were
all quiet and the crew quickly shed the foresail and reefed the
mainsail. Kristoff slowed the momentum of the ship with several
skilful turns. He did not know the port, so he headed for the
central dock, which was lit best. The port of Smiteverden was
understandably overcrowded. All guilds’ ships, which the blockade
did not surprise out on the open sea became trapped at the quays.
Sailors served casually in voluntary defence regiments and in their
free time they were getting sloshed in numerous taverns. The city
lacked nothing because the land food transports were arriving
daily, and although one could complain about the shortage of spices
or especially rare vintages, decent vodka or beer was definitely in
abundance. That of course did not change the fact that finding a
mooring space bordered on a miracle. Finally, the “Thunder Led”
approached a three-masted schooner mooring by the main quay under a
Karahamian banner, and Kristoff talked her sailors, all watching
the unexpected spectacle, into grabbing the tossed mooring ropes
and dragging his ship to stop alongside their vessel. The huge
sloop turned out only a little shorter and only slightly lower than
the mighty schooner.

Sailors did
not have too much time to comment on the arrival of a new ship, as
a regiment of the city guards was already marching on the pier in a
compact formation and showing little respect for the onlookers and
the protesting sailors, made its way onto the deck of the schooner
and very efficiently scattered forming a single line to occupy
firing positions along the side of the ship. The guard’s officer
called upon the captain of the newly arrived ship and demanded the
identification of the vessel. They had the height advantage, they
outnumbered the sloop’s crew by more than two to one and most
importantly they had in their hands ready to shoot blunderbusses
with hooks to brace against the board, similar to those often used
by the marines. Pacification of the deck of the “Thunder Led” would
take them probably a dozen seconds. This made conversation seem
very appealing indeed.

Kristoff
nodded to the boatswain and the whole crew moved to visible places
with apparently raised hands. The captain called out to the guards
officer and in colourful words told him a dramatic story of a poor
merchant from Port Sud on his way to get Mandarin silk, who found
himself together with his ship in the middle of a storm and was
thrown, not knowingly, between enemy vessels blocking the
Smiteverden port. The escape, as much lucky as it was panicky,
forced him to enter the harbour.

The Karahamian
sailors, listening to his story, nodded their heads solemnly. They
probably guessed that their countryman was shamelessly making it
all up, but they did not let it be known. The commander of the
guard believed in the smuggler’s storytelling only after seeing the
documents of the last customs control of Haaven. The bribe
presented by Hans to the chief of the customs house brought about
completely unexpected benefits. The appeased officer recalled his
soldiers who were slowly coming off the schooner onto the pier.
Luckily no one asked about the woman on board. Apparently they took
her for a crew member. Women were not uncommon on ships. It must be
admitted that they did not usually serve in standard roles and
mostly were contracted as navigators, or nurses, but a view of a
woman on board, or even a woman officer was not surprising to
anyone.

When everyone
calmed down after a less-than-cordial welcome at the harbour and
the crew just finished mooring the ship to the schooner and
clearing the sails, the harbour commander himself appeared on the
deck of the adjacent vessel and stated that he had found a place
for them in one of the side docks. Sailors began to untie the moors
of the ship with some murmurs of discontent, and the captain
invited the significant figure on-board as a pilot. From the rank
of the official involved, it was obvious that the blockade breakage
caused a considerable stir in the city.

The harbour
commander escorted the “Thunder Led”, which was still passing as
the “Underwater Goat” to the outsiders, to one of the few free
places on a side, though not the most inferior, dock. In a short,
substantive conversation with the captain he made an appointment
with him for the next day and having said his goodbyes he has left
the deck. It was late at night when the crew finished finally
clearing the ship. The passenger did not participate in the bustle
of seafarers. At the first opportunity she went to her cabin, to
get up at dawn. She slept deeply, which did not hinder her from an
early wake up.

The morning
came chilly but sunny. The storm had long passed over the city
having purified the air and gutters. Miss von Blitzen stepped onto
the solid ground. The girl was walking along the deserted street
leading from the port to the city centre. It wasn’t far. In
Smiteverden the port was one of the most important places in the
city, so the centre started close beside it. In the warm morning
the sounds of the shots fired from time to time by both shore
forts’ batteries were carried with a rolling thunder over the
city.

The more she
was moving away from the port, the less she was a noblewoman. She
looked around discreetly more and more to see if anyone was
following her, until finally she turned abruptly into a side street
and broke into a run to the nearest block. She turned again
continuing to run. Around the corner she mingled in a stream of
people going towards the centre and walked briskly to the nearest
gate. She stepped in and watched carefully the exit of the street
from which she ran. There seemed to be no one after her. Then she
finally ceased to be Miss von Blitzen seeking a father. At that
moment she was finally herself. An intelligence officer freshly out
of the academy with a task to perform.

She headed up
to a trade shop less than half a mile away from the main market
square, in a back alley, but close to one of the main arteries of
the city. The hour was early, but having reached the place, the
girl knocked on the door without hesitation. Thud, pause, thud,
thud, thud, pause, thud, pause, thud, thud, thud. The door opened,
and through the crack she heard a faint whisper.

- Of what use
can the trading brethren be? - The wording was innocent enough not
to arouse suspicion, yet so unusual that it could not be mistaken
for anything else.

- Winter boots
would be of service, because water is being bound by ice.

- We have only
cramps left.

- This is even
better because I know a good medicine for cramps. - The door opened
after this ridiculous exchange, and the girl was pulled inside. It
was dark in the room but her eyesight adjusted immediately. Before
her stood a man of medium height, elderly, with greying temples,
but holding himself straight and of a stout posture. With
unbuttoned shirt and wool trousers with braces the man did not look
like one, whom she was supposed to find.

- Young lady
from Daelwynn? Sent by our mutual friends. - Merchant neither asked
nor stated.

- Who am I
dealing with?

The man
grinned and bowed somewhat mockingly.

- Master John,
apothecary and dealer of ointments, potions and creams for all
purposes. Breiig for mutual friends.

The girl
curtsied in reply.

- Hanna von
Blitzen, in search of her poor devil father, who’s gone missing in
Smiteverden. For mutual friends Iskandriel.

- Nice to meet
you, even though the circumstances are not the most pleasant. I was
not expecting a guest from the city fathers. Especially since this
eastern screen was put around the port. So what brings you to me,
comrade?

- I am to take
you home. Together with each man or woman that you point out as
sufficiently meritorious and useful for further service. In the
port a ship is waiting for you.

- The one
which breached the blockade last night and entered the port in
utter darkness?

- Yes. The
same.

- A real
captain you have contracted. Not only a daredevil but also skilful
enough to transform his courage into action. - Breiig watched her
carefully. Almost seeminglessly changing a professional
conversation to a more direct, affable one. Iskandriel withstood
the look, and obliged without missing a beat.

- Do you doubt
my organizational skills? Then don’t. Collect the people and we set
sail this evening. Before anyone realizes we will already be safely
in Haaven. We will sail in quietly under an exotic flag and
straight from the port we can set off to Daelwynn.

- You do not
waste time, I give you that. So be it. Wait for me in my shop. In
half an hour I’ll come back and I'll tell you when we'll be ready
to leave. On the table there is white wine and cold tea. In the
bookcase there are books. Can you read?

Iskandriel
snorted. Breiig’s directness put her off balance, and his last
remark was simply a drop that overfilled the cup of her anger. She
stepped into the private office behind the merchant’s shop, took
one of the books from the bookcase and having sat down behind his
desk ostentatiously opened it on a page with illustrations, all the
while staring defiantly at the man.

- I wi-wi-will
look at the pictures, if your lo-lo-lordship allows.

- There is no
need for nerves. I did not mean to offend.

The agent
shrugged, reached for the carafe, sniffed the contents, drank
straight from the vessel, hawked up, spat and wiped her mouth with
a sleeve in a sweeping motion.

- Th-th-this
is how we a-a-re, si-si-simpletons.

Sitting around
in a trade shop with no obvious escape routes was not a part of her
plan, but she did not want to abandon her pose at this moment. The
first round was won and she did not intend to diminish her
satisfaction through idle discussion with Breiig, who only shook
his head disapprovingly, and then seeing that the conversation was
finished, turned to leave. Iskandriel replied with a very obscene
gesture, which the old agent probably did not see.

The girl
poured a little wine into one of the glasses standing next to a
decanter. It tasted sweetish, but crisp. The agent was not a
connoisseur, but she easily recognised the wine’s exquisite origin.
This wine could only come from Zirro. Agent Breiig clearly indulged
himself with Daelwynn's taxpayers money. She was not a snitch, but
embezzlement of funds for his own pleasure and exceeding spending
was simply a crime exposing other comrades in other places to
unnecessary danger. Moreover, at first sight she disliked the
Smiteverden resident.

Absent-mindedly she began to look through the images in the book
she took from the shelf. The book treated about the flora and fauna
of the eastern continent, commonly called The Ipion. Descriptions
of unknown animals, particularly large and dangerous absorbed her
to such an extent that she did not even notice when three quarters
of an hour passed. The front door opened wide and right from the
doorstep Breiig’s low, hoarse voice could be heard.

- Are you
still there?

- I am, I am.
You’re back quickly. How are things?

- I visited
two of my friends. They have already notified whom they needed and
we will meet in the afternoon in one of the harbour taverns. We
should go there soon, and you will bring there this captain of
yours. We will tell him to keep the ship ready to sail at the right
time, and to send some of his trusted men to pick up the luggage of
our comrades from the pub. When everyone gathers we will go to the
ship, set sail and take off.

The plan
seemed to be a good one. Iskandriel would prefer to take action
according to her own rules, but could not find any point, with
which she could not agree. Reluctantly, she got up from her desk,
finished her wine in one gulp from the cup and reluctantly put the
book back on the shelf of the bookcase. Not having anything to do,
which would allow her to delay the need for a decision, she turned
to Breiig and looked him straight in the eyes.

- So be it.
Just remember, since I'm in charge of the mission now, I require
absolute obedience.

- You can
count on me. I have already been in charge for far too long. Now I
long for a quiet evening in a pub with a decent Daelwynn beer. Time
to go home.

- Well, what
are you waiting for? Head upstairs and start packing up this
brothel you call an outpost. Take only the most essential items,
gold and jewellery. Leave all other valuables and clothes that
might hamper the escape. Burn what you need to burn and let’s
go.

Breiig nodded
and obediently walked up the stairs. Iskandriel started igniting a
large, ornate fireplace, and then began to put beside it all the
books and papers that she could find. The merchant joined her after
a few minutes. He threw down a stuffed travel bag by the door and
began sorting the documents. Books that did not contain codes or
notes landed on the side pile, and all the rest of the papers in
the fire. When everything has been reviewed, Iskandriel changed him
as a stoker, and the old agent began to carry down the rest of the
papers from upstairs. In two hours they were finished with the
closure of the intelligence residency having burnt any evidence of
its existence.