Rise Of Empire (66 page)

The water boy dropped both buckets and gasped aloud.

Ibis chuckled. “It’s as if they plum forgot you used to work here. Like they think their old Amilia died er sumptin’ and the chief imperial secretary to the empress grew outta thin air.”
He put down the spoon and took her by the hand. “So, how are you, lassie?”

“Really good, actually.”

“I hear you got a fancy place up there in the east wing with all the swells. That’s sumptin’ to be proud of, that is. Yer moving up in the world. There’s no mistaking that. I just hope you don’t forget us down here.”

“If I do, just burn my dinner and I’ll remember who the really important people are.”

“Oh, speaking of that!” Ibis quickly used the towel to lift the steaming pot from the stove. “Don’t want to be ruining the sauce for the chamberlain’s quail.”

“How are things here?”

“Same as always.” He hoisted the pot onto the stone bench and lifted the lid, freeing a cloud of steam. “Nuttin’ changes in the scullery, and you picked a fine time to visit. Edith ain’t here. She’s upstairs hollering at the new chambermaid.”

Amilia rolled her eyes. “They should have dismissed that woman years ago.”

“Don’t I know it, but I only run the kitchen and don’t have no say over what she does. Course, you being a swell an’ all now, maybe—”

She shook her head. “I don’t have any real power. I just take care of Modina.”

Ibis used the spoon to taste the sauce before replacing the lid.

“Well now, I know you didn’t come here to jaw with me about Edith Mon. This have sumptin’ to do with the empress crying down here a bit ago? It wasn’t the pea soup I made for her, was it?”

“No,” Amilia assured him. “She loves your cooking, but yes, I did sort of want to explain things.” She turned to face the rest of the staff and raised her voice. “I just wanted everyone
to know the empress is okay. She heard some bad news today and it saddened her is all. But she’s fine now.”

“Was it about the war?” Nipper asked.

“I bet it had to do with the prisoners in Ratibor,” Knob, the baker, speculated. “The princess from Melengar done executed them, didn’t she? Everyone knows she’s a witch and a murderess. She’d think nothing of slaughtering defenseless folk. That’s why she was weeping, wasn’t it? ’Cause she couldn’t save them?”

“The poor dear,” the butcher’s wife declared. “She cares so much, it’s no wonder she’s so upset with everything she has to deal with. Thank Maribor she has you taking care of her, Lady Amilia. You’re a mercy and then some, you are.”

Amilia smiled and turned to Ibis. “Didn’t she always used to yell at me about the way I cleaned her husband’s knives?”

Ibis chuckled. “She also accused you of taking that pork loin a year ago last spring. Said you ought to be whipped. I guess she forgot about that. They all have, I ’spect. It’s the dress, I think. Seeing you in a gown like this, even I have to fight the impulse to bow.”

“Don’t do that,” she told him, “or I’ll never come back here.”

Ibis grinned. “It’s good to see you again.”

In her dream, Modina saw the beast coming up behind her father. She tried to scream, but only a muffled moan escaped. She tried to run to him, but her feet were stuck in mud—thick, green, foul-smelling mud. The beast had no trouble moving as it charged down the hill toward him. To Modina’s anguished amazement, Theron took no notice of the ground shaking from the monster’s massive bulk. It consumed him in a single bite, and Modina collapsed in the dirt. The musty smell filled
her nostrils as she struggled to breathe. She could feel the damp earth against her body. In the darkness, the sounds of splashing told her that the beast came for her too. All around, men and women cried and howled in misery and fear. The beast came for them all. Splashing, cranking, splashing, cranking, it was coming to finish the job, coming to swallow her up as well.

It was hungry. Very hungry. It needed to eat.

They all needed to eat, but there was never enough food. What little they had was a putrid gruel that smelled awful—like rotten eggs. She was cold, shivering, and weeping. She had cried so hard and for so long that her eyes no longer teared. There was nothing left to live for … or was there?

Modina woke in her darkened room shivering in a cold sweat.

The same dream haunted her each night, making her afraid to close her eyes. She got up and moved toward the moonlight of her window. By the time she reached it, most of the dream was forgotten, but she realized something had been different. Sitting in her usual place, she looked out over the courtyard below. It was late and everyone was gone except the guards on watch. She tried to remember her nightmare, but the only thing she could recall was the smell of rotten eggs.

A
fter the first few disorienting days, life aboard the
Emerald Storm
settled into a rigid pattern. Every morning began with the scrubbing of the upper deck, although it never had a chance to get dirty from one day to the next. Breakfast followed. The watches changed and the scrubbing continued, this time on the lower decks. At noon, Lieutenant Bishop or one of the other officers fixed their position using the sun and confirmed it with the captain. Afterward, the men drilled on the masts and yards, launching longboats, boarding and repelling, and practicing archery, the ballista, and hand-to-hand combat. Not surprisingly, Hadrian won high marks in sword fighting and archery, his display of skill not lost on Grady, who nodded knowingly.

From time to time, the men were drummed to the main deck to witness punishment. So far, there had been four floggings, but Hadrian knew the victims only by name. In the afternoon, the men received their grog, a mixture of rum and sugar water, and in the evening, the master-at-arms went about making certain all fires were out.

Most days were the same as the one before, with only a few exceptions. On make ’n’ mend day, the captain granted the
crew extra time in the afternoon to sew up rips in their clothing or indulge in hobbies such as wood carving or scrimshaw. On wash day, they cleaned their clothes. Because using freshwater was forbidden and there was no soap, shirts and pants usually felt better after a day working in the rain than they did after wash day.

By now, everyone knew his responsibilities and could perform them reasonably well. Hadrian and Royce were pleased to discover they were not the only novices aboard. Recently pressed men composed nearly a quarter of the crew. Many came from as far away as Alburn and Dunmore, and most had never seen the ocean before. The other men’s bumbling presence, and Wyatt’s assistance, masked Hadrian’s and Royce’s lack of experience. Now both knew the routine and their tasks well enough to pass on their own.

The
Emerald Storm
continued traveling due south, with the wind on its port quarter laying it over elegantly as it charged the following sea. It was a marvelously warm day. Either they had run so far south that the season had yet to change, or autumn had blessed them with one last breath of perfect weather. The master’s mate and a yeoman of the hold appeared on deck at the ringing of the first bell to dispense the crew’s grog.

About four days into the voyage, Royce finally found his sea legs. His color returned, but even after more than a week, his temper remained sour. One contributing factor was Jacob Derning’s constant accusations about his culpability in Drew’s death.

“After I slit his throat, I can just drop the body into the sea,” Royce casually told Hadrian. They had collected their grog and the crew lay scattered about the top decks, relaxing in the bright sunshine. Royce and Hadrian found a cozy out-of-the-way space on the waist deck between the longboat
and the bulkhead where the sailmaker and his mates had left a pile of excess canvas. It made for a luxurious deck bed from which to watch the clear blue sky with its decorative puffs of clouds.

“I’ll dump him at night and he’s gone for good. The body won’t even wash up onshore, because the sharks will eat it. It’s better than having your own personal vat of lye.”

“Okay, one more time.” Hadrian had become exhausted from the conversation. “You can’t kill Jacob Derning. We have no idea what’s going on yet. What if he’s Merrick’s contact? So until we know something—anything—you can’t kill anyone.”

Royce scowled and folded his arms across his chest in frustration.

“Let’s get back to what we know,” Hadrian went on.

“Like the fact that Bernie Defoe was once in the Black Diamond?” Royce replied.

“Really? Well, that’s interesting. So let’s see …We’ve got a cargo hold full of elves, enough weapons to outfit an army, a sentinel with a company of seret, a Tenkin, and an ex-Diamond. I think Thranic must be part of this. I doubt a sentinel is just taking a pleasure cruise.”

“He does stand out like a knife in a man’s back, which is why I doubt he’s involved.”

“Okay, let’s put him in the maybe category. That leaves Bernie at the top of the list. Was he in the guild at the same time as you and Merrick?”

Royce nodded. “But we never worked with him—hardly even saw him. Bernie was a digger—specialized in robbing crypts mostly, and then he got into looking for buried treasure. Taught himself to read so he could search old books for clues. He found Gable’s Corner and the Lyrantian Crypt, apparently buried somewhere out in Vilan Hills. Came back with some nice stuff and all these tall tales about ghosts and
goblins. He ended up having some disagreement with the Jewel, and it wasn’t long before he went independent. Never heard of him after that.”

“But Merrick knew him, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Think he recognized you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He wouldn’t let on if he had. He’s no fool.”

“Any chance he’s turned a new leaf and taken up sailing for real?”

“About as likely as me doing it.”

Hadrian eyed Royce for a heartbeat. “I put him at the top of the list.”

“What about the Tenkin?”

“That’s another strange one. He—”

“Land ho!” the lookout on the foremast shouted while pointing off the port bow. Royce and Hadrian got up and looked in the direction indicated. Hadrian could not make out much, just a thin gray line, but he thought he could see twin towers rising in the distance. “Is that …”

“Drumindor,” Royce confirmed, glancing over his shoulder before sitting back down with his rum.

“Oh yeah? We’re that far south? Been a while since we’ve been around here.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Okay, so the fortress wasn’t the best of times, but the city was nice. You have to admit Tur Del Fur is better than Colnora, really. Beautiful climate, brightly painted buildings on an aqua sea, and it’s a republic port. You’ve got to love an open city.”

“Oh? Remember how many times you banged your head?”

Hadrian frowned at him. “You really do hate dwarves, don’t you? Honestly, I’m surprised you let Magnus stay at the
abbey. All right, so there’s a bit too much dwarven architecture there, but it sure is built well. You’ve got to admit that, and you liked the wine, remember?”

Royce shrugged. “What were you going to say about the Tenkin?”

“Oh yeah. His name is Staul.”

“Doesn’t seem like the sailor type.”