The Chernagor Pirates (30 page)

“Even though he's Ortalis' father-in-law?” Lanius said in surprise.

“Because
he's Ortalis' father-in-law,” Grus answered grimly.

“But Ortalis and Limosa ran off and got married by themselves,” Lanius said. “That's how they both tell it.”

“I don't care how they tell it,” Grus said. “Ortalis wouldn't have chosen her if her father hadn't pulled wires. And any which way, you can't tell me Petrosus wouldn't try to pull more now that he's wedged his way into my family.”

In a way, that was funny. Grus had wedged
his
way into Lanius' family the same way. And Grus didn't just pull wires. He had the whole web of the kingdom in his hands. Pointing that out would not have endeared Lanius to him. The only thing Lanius found to say was, “You would know best.”

Even that earned him a sharp look from Grus. The other king was far from a fool, even if Lanius had to remind himself of that every so often. Grus said, “There are times when I wonder whether I know anything about anything.”

You know enough to hold on to things for yourself,
Lanius thought. He said, “Will you use river galleys against the Menteshe?”

“If I can,” Grus answered. “Past that, I'll just have to see.”

Lanius nodded. “All right. Until you see how things are down in the south, I don't suppose you can say anything more.” He hesitated, then added, “Are you sure you want to send Petrosus to the Maze? He hasn't done anything out of line that I've been able to see—and you're right, I don't like him a bit, so I wouldn't be shy about telling you if he had.”

“I'm sure.” The older king sounded altogether determined.

“By all the signs, Ortalis and Limosa are happy newlyweds,” Lanius said.

Grus snorted. “Ortalis is getting laid regularly. Of course he's happy. But what happens when that isn't enough to keep him happy?” He made a particularly sour face. So did Lanius, who knew what his father-in-law meant, and wished he didn't. He wondered what Limosa would think when she found out about her new husband's … peculiar tastes.

Changing the subject seemed a good idea. Lanius said, “Gods go with you on your trip to the south.”

“Yes,” Grus said. They sat alone in a small audience chamber. A low table with a jug of wine and a couple of cups stood between them. Grus emptied his cup, then looked around to make sure no one lurked outside a window or in the hallway by the door. Only after he'd satisfied himself did he continue, “They'd better, don't you think? Considering who's behind Ulash, I mean.”

“Oh, yes. That's what I had in mind, too.” Lanius also took another sip of wine.

Grus got up, came around the table, and set a hand on his shoulder. “You take care of things here. I'll do what I can with the Menteshe—
to
the Menteshe.”

“Good.” Lanius beamed. Grus was starting to accept him as a real partner, not just as one in name only. No doubt Grus did so only because he had no choice. Lanius knew as much. He was no less pleased on account of that.

The fastest way south was by ship through the Maze. That made Hirundo unhappy. Even on the placid waters of the marsh, Grus' general was less than a good sailor. He wagged a finger at the king. “Don't you laugh at me now, Your Majesty, or I'll pay you back when you get on a horse.”

“Me? I didn't say a thing.” Grus contrived to look innocent.

Hirundo laughed, which made him suspect his contrivance could have been better. “I saw what you were thinking. The only thing I can say for this is, it's better than going out on the open sea.” He shuddered at the memory.

“It's better than horseback, too,” Grus said.

“Some
people might think so,” Hirundo answered pointedly. “I don't happen to be one of them.” He glanced around at the water, the weeds and branches floating in it, the muddy, grassy tussocks rising just out of it, and shook his head. “I think the only real reason you came through here was so you could see for yourself the monastery you picked out for Petrosus.”

Grus had seen the monastery. It sat in the middle of a tussock big enough to be called an island. The only way off was by boat, and even boats had trouble getting through the mud surrounding it. All the same, the place was built like a fortress. Monks who came there would assuredly spend the rest of their lives in prayer.

Something landed on Grus' arm. It bit him. He swatted. He didn't know whether he smashed it or not. A moment later, something else bit him on the back of the neck. He swatted there, too. The bug squashed under his fingers. He wiped his hand on a trouser leg. Monks at Petrosus' new monastery might spend every spring and summer praying to be plagued by fewer bugs.

Hirundo was swatting, too. “Miserable things. This place is good for nothing—not a single cursed thing.”

“Oh, I don't know about
that,”
Grus said. “I can't think of any place much better for getting rid of troublemakers.” He sent Hirundo a speculative stare.

“Don't look at me that way!” the general exclaimed. “Don't you dare, Your Majesty! You tell anybody—me, for instance—he's liable to have to stay here for the rest of his days, and he'll be good forever. I know I would.”

“Don't give me that. I've known you too long, and I know you too well,” Grus said. “Nothing could make you stay good forever, or even very long.”

“The threat of staying here for the rest of my life would do it,” Hirundo insisted. “Offhand, I can't think of anything else.”

When the sun set, the flies and gnats went away and the mosquitoes came out. Their high, thin whine was enough to drive anyone mad. Some of the sailors, more used to traveling through the Maze than Grus was, draped fine mesh nets over themselves and slept without being badly bothered. Grus got some of the netting for himself, too. One of the things nobody told him, though, was how to pull it over himself without letting mosquitoes get in under it. The king passed an uncomfortable night and woke with several new bites from the company he hadn't wanted.

Noticing Pterocles scratching as the wizard ate bread and ale for breakfast, he asked, “Don't you have any magic against mosquitoes?”

Mournfully, the wizard shook his head. “I wish I did, Your Majesty. Maybe I've spent too much time worrying about big things and not enough about small ones,” he answered, and scratched some more.

Oarmasters on the river galleys got their rowers working as soon as they could. They worked them hard, too, harder than Grus would have in their place. When he remarked on that to the oarmaster of his own ship, the man replied, “Sooner we get out of this miserable place, sooner we stop getting eaten alive.” Grus had a hard time disagreeing with that.

But getting through the Maze in a hurry wasn't easy, either. Galleys and barges went aground on mud banks and had to back oars or, when badly stuck, to be towed off by other ships. Rowers and officers shouted curses.

Hirundo said, “There ought to be clearly marked channels, so people know where they're going.”

“Part of me says yes to that,” Grus answered. “The other part wonders whether it's a good idea to show enemies how to get through the Maze—or, for that matter, to show people shut up inside the Maze how to get out of it. I had to dredge one place out so river galleys could get through the whole length of the Maze. They didn't used to be able to, you know.”

“Maybe we should have gone around,” Hirundo said.

“Going through it is still the fastest way to get south,” Grus said. “We're not crawling now. We're just not going as fast as we would if everything were perfect.”

“Oh, hurrah,” Hirundo said sourly.

His general's sarcasm didn't faze Grus. He peered south, waiting for the steersman to find the channel of the Nedon, which ran south for some little distance after escaping the flat swampland of the Maze. As soon as the ships were in a place where they could easily tell the difference between the river and the countryside through which it flowed, they made much better time.

This left Hirundo no happier. As the river galleys sped up, their motion grew rougher. Every mile the fleet traveled south, Hirundo got greener.

Grus, by contrast, enjoyed the journey on the Nedon. Eventually, the river would turn east, toward the Azanian Sea. Since the Menteshe were fighting farther south, his men and horses would have to leave the galleys and barges then. He would have to get on one of those horses. That prospect left him as delighted as river travel left Hirundo.

When Lanius heard clanks and then a meow in the royal archives, he wasn't very surprised, not anymore. He didn't jump. He didn't wish he were a soldier, or even that he had weapons more deadly than pen, parchment, and ink. He just got to his feet and went over to see if he could find the moncat responsible for the racket.

After some searching, he did. Pouncer was carrying a stout silver serving spoon. Lanius wondered how it had gotten the spoon from the kitchens here to the archives; they weren't particularly close. For that matter, the chamber where the moncat lived wasn't all that close to the kitchens, either. There had to be passages in the walls a moncat could go through, regardless of whether a man could.

The king scooped up Pouncer—and the spoon. The moncat twisted and tried to bite. He tapped it on the nose, hard enough to get its attention. “Stop that!” he told it, not that it understood Avornan. But it did understand the tap and the tone of voice. Both told it biting was something it wasn't supposed to do. Little by little—about as fast as an ordinary cat would—it was learning.

Servants exclaimed as Lanius carried Pouncer down the corridor. “How did it get out this time?” a man asked.

“I don't know,” the king replied. “I wish I did, but I've never seen it leave its room. I don't think any cooks have ever seen it sneak into the kitchens, either.”

“Maybe it's a ghost.” The servant sounded serious. The workers in the royal palace were a superstitious lot.

“Feels too solid to be a ghost—and I've never heard of a ghost that steals spoons,” Lanius said. The moncat twisted again, lashing out with its free front foot. It got Lanius on the forearm. “Ow! I've never heard of a ghost that scratches, either.”

“You never can tell,” the servant said darkly. He went down the corridor shaking his head. Lanius went up the corridor to the moncats' chamber.

When he got there, he set Pouncer down. Then he had another small struggle getting the silver spoon away from the moncat. He watched for a while, hoping the beast would disappear down whatever hole it had used while he was there. But, perverse as any cat, it didn't.

At last, Lanius gave up. He took the spoon off to the kitchens. As he walked through the palace, he wondered if Pouncer would get there ahead of him, steal something else, and then disappear again. But he saw no sign of it when he went through the big swinging doors.

One after another, the cooks denied seeing the moncat. “Has that miserable beast been in here again?” a fat man asked, pointing to the spoon in Lanius' hand.

He held it up. “I didn't steal this myself.”

He got a laugh. “I don't suppose you did, Your Majesty,” the fat cook said, and took it from him. “But how does the moncat keep sneaking in?”

“That's what I want to find out,” Lanius answered. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” the cook said. The other men and women who worked in the kitchens shook their heads. A lot of them sported big bellies and several chins. That was, Lanius supposed, hardly surprising, not when they worked with and around food all the time.

A woman said, “What do you suppose the animal's been eating with that spoon?” She got a louder laugh than Lanius had, and added, “I suppose we'd better wash it.” The fat man who was holding it tossed it into a tub of water ten or fifteen feet away. He had perfect aim. The spoon splashed into the tub and clattered off whatever crockery already sat in there.

Lanius wondered whether they would have washed it if the cook hadn't asked if the moncat had eaten from it. Some things, perhaps, were better left unknown. He walked out of the kitchen without asking.

He was walking back to his own chambers when he almost bumped into Limosa, who was coming up the corridor. She dropped him a curtsy, murmuring, “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Good morning, Your Highness,” the king answered. “How are you today?”

“I am well, thank you,” she answered. “May I please ask you a question, Your Majesty?”

Lanius thought he knew what the question would be. Since he didn't see how he could avoid it, he nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” Limosa visibly gathered her courage. “Is there any way you can release my father from the Maze?”

He'd been right. “I'm sorry,” he said, and did his best to sound as though he really
were
sorry. He knew he had to work at it, considering what he really thought of Petrosus.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who knew what he thought of the former treasury minister. Flushing, Limosa said, “I know you aren't fond of my father, Your Majesty. But could you please free him for my sake?”

“If I could, I would,” Lanius answered, thinking,
If I could, I … might. I did ask Grus not to send him to the Maze, so maybe I would.
He wasn't brokenhearted at having a good excuse not to, though. “But King Grus sent him away, and King Grus is the only one who can bring him back to the palace.”

“And King Grus won't,” Limosa said. Lanius didn't contradict her. Biting her lip, she went on, “He thinks my father tricked Ortalis into marrying me. By the gods, Your Majesty, I tell you again it isn't true.”

“I see,” Lanius said—as neutral a phrase as he could find.

“It
isn't
true,” Limosa insisted. “I wanted to marry Ortalis. I love him.” Lanius wanted to say,
Are you out of your mind?
Before either did more than cross his mind, Limosa went on, “He's the most wonderful man I ever met—uh, meaning no disrespect to you, Your Majesty, of course.” She blushed.