The Buccaneer's Apprentice (26 page)

“Yes, we can do that. Thank you, Captain,” said Risa, smiling at Nic.

“But it is not a solution,” Fiernetto reminded them all. “One craft, no matter how ensorcelled, cannot meet an entire armada.”

“In
The Admiral’s Secret Daughter, or, The Mermaid’s Revenge
, the entire fleet of Atlantia is poised to strike Hero’s country, but he takes his fleet to meet them so that they minimize their chances of Atlantia gaining even a single foothold,” said Darcy.

Nic was not the only one who gave her a baffled gaze, but when he remembered how much time Darcy had spent among the actors, listening to their gossip, he understood. “It’s a drama in five acts,” he explained. “The Arturos made very good receipts with it.”

“The point,” said Darcy, “is that the city would be at a disadvantage, should the armada reach us.”

“And now we are taking strategic tips from minor dramatists,” Lorco Fiernetto grunted with impatience. “Delightful.”

“Actually, Commander, there’s much to be learned from the stage,” Nic said, leaping to Darcy’s defense. “Cassaforte would be in far worse shape had I not spent many months learning from the Arturos. You should be thanking them, not spitting upon them.” He drew a deep breath and declared, “I know it is better to take the enemy by surprise than to allow them to do the same. I know a bold gesture is better than a weak deed. And most of all, as the lady said, I know it is wiser to meet the enemy at sea than to wait until we are besieged.” Nic remembered how the Drake would have kept his considerable cool in a similar situation, and drew upon it. “I have no doubt that Allyria Cassamagi would have wanted her countrymen to meet the threat head-on, rather than retreat like cowards.”

No comment could have been more calculated to make an enemy of Lorco Fiernetto than that. The man lunged out of his chair, spittle flying from his mouth. “Take that back, boy! I’m no coward!”

The uproar that followed was so intense that Camilla Sorranto reached for her sword, ready to act if necessary. A single voice cut through the commotion. “Gentlemen. Ladies.” The king sounded wearier than ever. He had endured the talk long enough. For a moment, as the dispute settled, he whispered into Milo’s ear. Milo nodded, then replied back, his eyes glancing at Nic. The king leaned forward and spoke. “High Commander. Prepare your envoy to Vereinigtelände, with our nuncio as its head.” Jacopo folded his hands and bowed, acquiescing to the king’s command. “And Lorco. I will tell Caza Piratimare to grant access to their docks, where the
Allyria
still rests, beginning tomorrow at sunrise, so that you may send your people to Massina. That is our decision.”

Nic felt deflated. The high commander rose from his chair with an expression of triumph, and passed from the room with a series of bows to everyone save Nic. It was hateful to think that he had won. From across the table, Darcy attempted to engage him with her sympathetic eyes. He found he couldn’t meet them.

“Dattore,” said Milo. “A word before you go.”

Nic stood taller than the heir when he approached. He was so tall, in fact, that Milo had to pull him down to whisper in his ear, shaking his hand as he did so. “His Majesty has given that idiot Lorco access to the Piratimare docks tomorrow morning. It is his wish, however, that the
Allyria
remain with its true captain.” When Milo let go of his hand, Nic found that he had left something hard and round behind. Nic’s eyes widened as he uncurled his fingers and saw that Milo had given him a gold coin of sorts. No, it wasn’t a coin, he realized, but a medallion, much like those worn by Milo’s older sister, or the high commander himself. Only those acting on the king’s behalf could bear such medals. Nic almost trembled from the honor.

Risa Divetri had assumed his other side. “There is a stone stair on the outside of the sea wall by the lower Piratimare bridge,” she murmured into his ear. “Many of Piratimare’s hired laborers find it faster to follow it to the bottom and take the path skirting around the island’s edge, than to traipse through the caza grounds to the docks.”

Were they really trusting him in this matter? Nic’s eyes searched for the king. Camilla Sorranto was escorting him from the room but the ancient ruler turned long enough to smile in Nic’s direction. “Thank you,” was all he could say, so emotional he was. Milo nodded. Risa laid a hand on his shoulder.

Then they were gone, trailing after Alessandro and vanishing from the room. Once they had left, Darcy came to his side. “What did they give you?” she asked, wonder on her face.

Nic uncurled his fingers once more and showed her the medallion. “A second chance.”

Often I hold my head in my hands upon hearing the youth in our tutelage discuss the so-called “proper” way to solve a problem. So consumed with propriety, these young people! It is a wonder that any of them ever understand that sometimes a conundrum requires the most improper and unlikely of solutions.

—Arnoldo Piratimare, Elder of the Insula of the
Children of Muro, in a letter to Gina Catarre,
Elder of the Insula of the Penitents of Lena

T
he armada from Pays d’Azur lay but five leagues southwest of Cassaforte—scarcely a two-and-a-half-hour sail. It was through a curtain of rain that Nic first saw the formation, silhouetted against the black sky by cascades of lightning. Blots on the horizon, they were, a dozen and more. All were pointed in the direction of Cassaforte. Nic rang the bell and shouted for the sails to be taken in. The storms that had roiled the waters since the night before showed no signs of stopping. Whether or not the
Allyria
was unsinkable, the waters tossed it like a house cat with a toy. Nic, however, stood firm.

It had been the
Allyria
that had brought him here. It had been Nic at the ship’s wheel, calling out orders, but he could no more have forecast where on the pitching waters of the Azure Sea the foreign warships would be, than he could have predicted where to find a pin in a roll of hay. No, it was as if the ship’s feminine figurehead had led the way. The craft had known its purpose and winged him to this spot, speaking to him through the very wood beneath his feet and under his hand. Captain Delguardino’s tricorne had been soaked through long before, but it kept enough of its shape so that he could see Risa Divetri watching him. She, too, would stop from time to time to place her hands on the quarterdeck rail, or upon the ship’s wheel itself, not seeming to care that she was soaked.

“You feel it too,” he had said, the very first time she put her hand on the wheel.

She had looked at him with surprise. “You can sense the energies?”

His response had been simple. “They sing to me.”

She had barraged him with questions after that. What did they feel like for him? How did they sing? Did he feel energies in other objects, or just the
Allyria
? Although she seemed disappointed that he only felt the ship’s pulses and no other, she was impressed that he could at least sense those. “They bear the pattern of Allyria Cassamagi’s enchantments,” she explained. “Very similar to the Olive Crown and the Scepter of Thorn. If only I could understand them better!” Since then he’d been extremely conscious of her scrutiny. Every time the
Allyria
’s song changed and he made adjustments to the course, she had pressed her hands to the deck and listened, with both glistening water and a faraway expression painting her face.

“Extinguish the stern lanterns!” he cried. One of the three large lamps was already dark, its flame drowned by the torrents descending from the sky. Qiandro rushed to douse the others. “Black out the captain’s quarters! Ladies and gentlemen, from this moment on, I don’t want to see a single spark of light visible aboard this vessel. Not a lit pipe, not a lantern, not a spark from a flint. Am I clear?”

“Aye!” shouted the crew.

That Risa Divetri should be aboard the
Allyria
was still something of a shock. Under cover of dark, Nic had taken the path along the sea wall that Risa had recommended. He was not surprised, upon reaching the pier where the Allyria had been docked, at finding the ship’s crew there. He had dispatched Darcy earlier in the evening to assemble them, if they would go. All of Macaque’s men had greeted him eagerly with thumps upon the back and Cassaforte-style handclasps. Maxl had changed into a looser-fitting outfit, but still boasted the dandified face-painting of that morning. With both hands, he bestowed upon Nic the
shivarsta
that the guards had confiscated from him the night before. Nic had gladly returned it to his side. It didn’t sing, like the
Allyria
, but it had been with him the entire journey and he would not part with it now.

“Thank you, friend,” said Nic.

Before he knew it, he’d found himself clasped in one of Maxl’s enthusiastic bear hugs, and kissed upon the cheeks. “We are all with you,” he assured Nic.

“I’m glad to hear it!” Nic sputtered, trying to get away so he could breathe once again.

By “all,” Maxl had included the Arturos and their troupe. That was no surprise, either. They had received the most rapturous applause in all their lives the night before, and to a person they hungered for more. Signor Arturo had hugged Nic as well, and the Signora had buried his face so deeply into her expansive bosom as she wrapped her arms around him that he thought he might never surface. No, what had left Nic stupefied was when three figures on the dock, almost indistinguishable from the night itself, removed the hoods from their heads and turned to greet him. “Cazarrina,” Nic had said at the sight of Risa. “Highness,” he had said to Milo.

The last of the three was bent and frail and tottered forth with a cane in his hand. To the king, Nic had said nothing until he fell to one knee. “Majesty,” he had whispered, conscious that around him all his crew were doing the same. “It is good of you to come see us off.”

“Oh, that’s what I’m doing, is it?” King Alessandro had indicated for Nic to rise. “I rather thought I’d have a bit of a ride on this miraculous vessel.” Using his hood to keep the rain from his head, he looked up at the
Allyria
and to himself, whispered her name. “Most miraculous indeed. Oh, rise, please rise,” he had huffed. To Milo, he added, “It’s the most annoying part of being king, all the bowing. You’ll learn soon enough.”

“I hope not,” Milo had replied.

“But sir—” Nic had been aghast at the thought. “It won’t be safe. We don’t know what will happen …”

“Young man. Do you know what will happen if we stand here?” Nic thought it a philosophical question, and had shaken his head in reply. “I do. I’ll catch a cold from this beastly rain. Trust me. You won’t want to see how curmudgeonly I can be when I’m sneezing. Now, prove to me you’re worthy of that medallion,” he had said, poking at Nic’s chest with his cane, “and show me to someplace dry.”

Nic had complied with all possible speed, yet once they were in the his quarters, he still had objections. “But Majesty, I have no plans. No stratagems.”

“You have yourself, Niccolo.” Alessandro had eased himself into the captain’s chair, sighing as his old bones protested. “And you have your crew. For now, that will be enough. Take me to the armada, so that I might see it for myself. Then we will think on what to do.”

Now that they had reached their goal, Nic entered the pitch-black cabin, more lost than ever. He wondered exactly for how long he would be shut into that pleasant prison cell, if he failed to return to Cassaforte with its three most important political figures whole and intact. He should never have consented to allow the king and his heir onboard. Milo Sorranto was more than willing to lend a hand where needed, however, and Risa seemed hardened to the wind and weather. Maxl had much the same thought, as he dived in the door after Risa. Darcy and the Arturos followed, trailed by others of the crew who were not below. “You women of Cassaforte,” Maxl said, his teeth chattering. “You are much stronger than you look. There is hair upon your chest. Yes!”

“I should certainly hope not.” Risa cupped her hands together and produced a glowing ball of deep red light that illuminated her face from beneath. She released it so that it sat on one end of the table, its surface spinning and writhing. Even when the boat rocked from side to side, however, it didn’t shift—unlike Nic’s paper boats, which fell from side to side on the mantels, desk, and tables, casting crazy shadows as they tumbled. She then moved to the table’s other end. “It won’t be visible from afar,” she assured Nic. “We can’t be knocking heads in here.”

“And for that I am grateful, my dear.” King Alessandro had long been dry, but he pulled himself closer to the orb of light that Risa set down, as if warming himself with it. He, too, shivered, making Nic wish they had brought some kind of coals for the cabin’s fireplace. “Now this is what I call a council of war,” he said, indicating that everyone should sit down, captain and pirates alike. Sparks of defiance twinkled in his eyes. “So much better without High Commander Fiernetto, don’t you think?”

Milo shook his head. “Majesty, you’ve taught me too well for me to dismiss the opinions of a man who is only doing the job for which he has been appointed. Fiernetto means well. Though he is a bit of a …”

“Pig head,” Risa supplied. She sat down next to Alessandro, then put her arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder, as if he were her grandfather. She was trying to warm him, Nic realized.

“Yes,” agreed Milo. “And not much of a creative thinker. Which is why we need you, Captain.” He leaned back in his chair, expectant.

Before his crew, it was difficult for Nic to admit to his shortcomings. He spoke slowly, hoping that what he said wouldn’t diminish him in their eyes. “I am not educated, like your high commander,” he said. Outside, the storm seemed to roar louder, as if laughing at him. “I can barely read. I’m not learned in military strategy. I’m nothing but a poor brat who’s bluffed his way from one end of the Azure Sea to the other.”

“That poor brat thought of a strategy the high commander did not,” Darcy asserted. Nic softened to hear her defend him so hotly. “You were the one who suggested Risa enchant the gondolas to look like warships. Not he.”

“Signorina Colombo is correct,” said Milo, nodding. “Your lack of training in traditional military strategy is an advantage, when it comes to outthinking those for whom it is hidebound instinct.”

“Now is the time, if any, to decide upon what we are to do.” The king coughed, prompting Risa to rub his shoulders with worry. “A stormy night. The might of an entire nation versus the valiance of a renegade few. It’s very like one of your dramas, is it not, Signor Arturo?”

“Ah … well … yes … that is to say …” For once, Signor Arturo was speechless. He bobbed and fussed with his hands fruitlessly, while his clothes dripped a steady puddle onto the decking.

“That’s a good one,” the Signora was heard to whisper to him. “Make sure to use it when we get back.”

“Poetic, really, when you think about it.” Another round of coughs racked Alessandro’s form, but he waved off both Darcy and Risa, when they reached out for him. “Cassaforte’s old king, surrounded by the generation that will soon supplant him. So, Niccolo.” King Alessandro leaned upon the table, only to be pushed back into his chair by a sudden lurch of the waves. “What say you?”

Although he had spent the last three hours commanding a ship through a storm like he’d never experienced, at the monarch’s question, Nic’s hands twitched with sudden nervous energy. He’d warned the man that he had no plan of action, and yet here he was, being asked to provide one. “Perhaps knowing where the armada is could be valuable enough,” he said, trying desperately to make something good out of the situation. A few of the boats he’d folded from paper lay on their sides upon the table. He grabbed one and began to worry at it. “Do you have some sorcery that would allow you to tell someone, back in the city?”

Risa shook her head. “Had I thought about it before we left, perhaps. At the time I did not think it wise to advertise that we were going to sneak the king away from his guards and drag him out of the country. Your sister is going to kill us all, by the way,” she added to Milo.

“She can’t kill me,” he assured her. “That would be treason.”