The Huntsman's Amulet (25 page)

‘The supplies my ships took on were spoiled and half the crews died. All the casks were certified recently, and there was no reason for them to be anything but fresh ship’s provisions.’

‘Why do we need to know this?’ Varrisher said.

‘Because, tragic as it is, this incident gives me the chance to catch dal Camperey in the act. They’re selling the fresh, crown purchased provisions to all comers and pocketing the profit. They replace the missing casks with whatever cheap crap they can get their hands on so the ledgers tally with what is in the storehouse and no one knows any difference; an old trick. You and your chum here are going to pose as smugglers with some black market casks of ships’ provisions.’

‘I can see a number of difficulties with that plan,’ Varrisher said.

‘No problems, everything is in place. I just needed someone that could pull off the role of smuggler. None of my officers are up to it. When I saw your ship sail into the roads, I thought it was my lucky day.’

‘How will we prove we’re smugglers?’ Soren said. There were too many gaps in this plan and Soren had no desire to find himself with a knife in his back when it went wrong.

‘I captured a ship a number of days ago, an oceanman not flying any flag. We investigated and found its hold full of casks of provisions looted from Ruripathia. They must have cleaned out an entire dockyard. They were on their way here to sell the casks. I want you to try and sell them at the dockyard. There are a lot of casks so it will be a big deal. Too big for dal Camperey not to be directly involved.

Soren could see that Varrisher’s knuckles were white. Whatever had happened between Admiral dal Laucelin and Varrisher was clouding his thoughts.

‘We agree. Release our man from the gaol and we’ll help you,’ Soren said, before Varrisher could ruin the opportunity, and potentially have them thrown into the cell next to Blasco.

Varrisher cast him an evil glance, but said nothing. Even in his anger he would know it was the opportunity they had been looking for to get back onto Rui’s trail.

‘We’ll need some money for expenses too,’ Soren said.

‘Of course,’ the Admiral said, with a smile.

Chapter 37

The Plot

S
oren and Varrisher returned
to the
Typhon
and spent the remainder of the day discussing how they would go about the task. They hashed out several ideas that would fit with the Admiral’s plan, finally settling on a backstory that had Soren as an Ostian officer who had been able to steal the contents of a Ruripathian naval depot toward the end of the war. He had negotiated a deal with a captured Ruripathian naval officer to transport the supplies away before the Ostian army arrived to appropriate them, and thus they formed an unlikely partnership.

They would have to play a clever game though. Soren reasoned that if weaknesses in their bargaining position of their own creation could be revealed during the negotiation, it might deflect attention from any querying of their bona fides.

They would claim that while looking for somewhere to sell the supplies they had been directed to Caytown, where they heard ships’ supplies could be bought and sold. After the large ports on the mainland, Caytown was one of the biggest, busiest, and second only to Valkdorf in lax application of the law. With a full shipyard — something Valkdorf lacked — it was an obvious choice for smugglers trying to offload a cargo.

With their backstory decided upon, Soren couldn’t help but wonder what the history between Varrisher and the Admiral was. Varrisher still seemed to be angry so he decided to hold his tongue. These things tended to come out in the open eventually.

The next morning Soren went ashore headed for the part of the town fringing on what was known as the ‘Deep Pool’, a deep water basin that allowed larger ships to be brought alongside the dock for loading directly. The crown dockyard dominated the quay around the Deep Pool.

The dockyard was walled and the gate was guarded. Soren stated his business to a sentry who did not seem especially interested in the answers. The guard gave him directions to the Commissary’s office. It was an orderly place, or at least had been when it was first designed and built. Now it bore the characteristics of somewhere that was poorly maintained.

The dockyard had a number of sign-posted sheds and brick warehouses. The directions he had been given brought him to a single story brick building that abutted onto a far larger warehouse, the largest that Soren had seen there. It bore a sign over the door stating it was the Commissary’s office.

The door led to a small reception area with a counter that ran the length of the room. Soren cleared his throat and a short, slender man with yellowing grey hair in later middle age emerged from the doorway that led into the warehouse behind.

‘Name of ship?’ he asked.

‘I, ah, well I’m not really looking for supplies,’ Soren said.

‘No? Then what can I do for you?’ the man said.

‘Are you the Commissary?’

‘I am,’ he said. ‘Commissary Harris at your service.’

‘My name is Soren. A friend suggested that I call on you. I’ve come into possession of a large number of casks of ship’s supplies that I thought you might be interested in purchasing,’ Soren said.

‘Really. What’s your friend’s name?’ the Commissary said.

Soren smiled as cryptically as he could.

‘I’m sorry, but your friend was mistaken. I can only purchase provisions for the crown stores from certified suppliers. All supplies are cured and casked in the dockyard so we can be sure of their contents and mark them as certified. We have to be sure the casks we provide to warrant and naval ships are of the highest of standards, you see,’ he said, with an oily smile. ‘I’m afraid that I’m not interested.’

‘Well, I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ Soren said.

‘No trouble at all, good day.’

Soren walked out of the dockyard not quite sure what to make of the conversation. They had not expected that the Commissary would take the bait straight away. If he had, he would have been a fool — and would have been caught out long ago. The Admiral made it clear that he was good at covering his tracks. The rejection meant that they would move on to the second phase of their plan.

Soren spent the rest of the day going around the private ship’s provisioners in the town who provided casks to commercial ships that didn’t have the benefit of a royal trade warrant and had to purchase their own supplies. They relied heavily on repeat business and the good reputation generated by word of mouth. To get a reputation as having supplied even one spoiled cask would be hugely detrimental to their business and Soren knew that they’d get short shrift wherever they took their offer. To sell their casks wasn’t their intention, though.

He was confident that the Commissary’s interest would be piqued by the offer Soren had made if he was in the business of fraud as the Admiral claimed. Being a shrewd operator however, he was not going to jump into an agreement with a complete stranger. They hoped that making some noise around town that they were trying to sell casks, and were not trying to sell them to anyone in particular, would give their story more plausibility.

Soren hoped this approach would be more believable than trying to portray themselves as seasoned smugglers. In fecklessly trying to conceal their naivety, they were hoping to direct the Commissary’s appraisal of them to their own intentions. Soren had even dallied on his way out of the dockyard to give the Commissary long enough to find someone to have him followed. He had seen the same face more than once in different places along the dock front, always at the same distance and engaged in a mundane and out of place activity in an effort to look innocuous.

At the end of the day Soren was exhausted from traipsing up and down the docks, trying to draw as much attention to himself as possible while pretending to sell his looted casks. He returned to the ship, making sure to state his destination loudly to the steersman on the launch. There could be no doubt that he was going out to the Ruripathian rigged vessel that had arrived the day before, which again supported the story that Soren and Varrisher had concocted over a glass of cheap whiskey on the
Typhon
the previous night.

The following morning, Soren and Varrisher went ashore to take breakfast in The Old Emperor. They wanted to be seen, and now that the Admiral was covering their expenses there was no reason not to treat themselves. Varrisher thought it the best spot as it was busy and central. The crew had likewise been given some coin to go about town and enjoy themselves, and where possible make intentionally indiscreet whispers of their feigned reason for being in Caytown.

As they ate, sitting in the window seat of the inn, Soren kept a careful but surreptitious lookout for the individual he’d suspected of following him the previous day. There was no sign of him and Soren started to wonder if their ruse had been successful. He had hoped that there would be someone watching for their return, but only time would tell.

With breakfast eaten, they both ordered coffee and sat back to wait. The plan required the Commissary to seek them out. As strangers to the town, there was no way Soren could think of to make themselves seem legitimate, or illegitimate depending on the point of view, beyond what he had already done. While the squadron was at anchor in the roads, it was possible that the Commissary was exercising a little more caution than usual, but greed was a powerful and reckless motivator so Soren hoped that the bait would be taken.

He had visited all of the waterfront provisioners the day before, so perhaps the next step was to investigate what black market dealers there were, and seek them out. If the Commissary was corrupt, as the Admiral suspected, he would be in contact with those black market dealers — which would hopefully add to the veracity of their story. Beyond that, there was little more they could do but wait.

A boy of not more than nine or ten walked into the lounge where they were sitting.

‘Oi. You. Get out,’ the barman shouted.

‘I’ve got a message,’ the boy said, ‘and I’m gonna deliver it, so you can fuck off.’

Hearing a young child swear never failed to make Soren chuckle, but the barman was less amused. He took a stick from behind the bar, before making his way toward the opening into the lounge. The boy looked around frantically, realising that he had to deliver his message fast. His eyes fixed onto Soren and Varrisher. He rushed over and threw a crumpled-up scrap of paper onto the table in front of them before running for the door. He dodged the barman’s arm and disappeared out into the street.

Soren picked up the piece of paper and uncrumpled it. There were three lines of writing:

The Drunken Rover

Seven bells

Come alone

Nothing more. He looked at it for a moment before passing it to Varrisher.

‘The plan worked then?’

‘Looks like it,’ Soren said.

Soren was at
The Drunken Rover
at
seven bells
. The tavern was similar in style to the others that they’d been in. Lots of ornate wood panelling and partitions seemed to be a style popular with Humberlanders. Soren took a seat and ordered a drink so as not to seem too conspicuous. Varrisher was waiting outside a short distance away with several men from the
Typhon
, watching over the doors in the event that Soren was bundled away to prison, or worse.

They had taken the
Typhon’s
jolly boat ashore rather than the public launch, and it was waiting for them at the quay in the event that they needed to make a speedy return to the
Typhon
. The remaining crew had orders to be ready to get the ship underway at a moment’s notice.

Soren made sure to arrive earlier than the appointed time and had to wait a while before a man entered the tavern and made his way over to the bartender. Soren saw the bartender nod toward him and the man scrutinised Soren for a moment before walking over and sitting down opposite Soren.

‘Good evening,’ he said.

‘Good evening to you,’ Soren said.