Treason's Shore (106 page)

Barend considered, then flipped the back of his hand in the general direction of Drael. “Don’t ask me about politics. I don’t even want to know about those at home.” He walked aft to make certain that the new ship rats Inda had rotated over did not mar the gilding when they stretched out lines to hang laundry.

The next person to arrive was the urbane Lord Hamazhav of Khanerenth. Tau knew him by sight, but little beyond that; the reverse was not true.

“Well met, my lord. The rumor is that you concluded a peace treaty with Ymar before his departure,” said the diplomat from Khanerenth.

Tau was about to exclaim at the extraordinary speed of rumor, until he readjusted to courtier mode. One of the most obvious tricks of the diplomat was to invent rumor on the spot in order to delve at a guessed truth.

“I have indeed, my lord.” Tau made an inviting gesture, one suited more to marble palaces than to the deck of a ship, even one from ancient Venn. “Would you like a tour, refreshment, or both?”

Lord Hamazhav smiled. In one genial welcome this decorative young Dei with the mysterious background had managed to imply ownership of this even more mysterious vessel. In just the same airy way, he had (without once using Inda’s name) assumed the authority to negotiate treaties. “Both,” Hamazhav said as Tau opened the door to the cabin. “And a glimpse of yon treaty, if I may. What did you and the king decide?”

“Of course all depends on others’ agreement, but it’s simple: non-interference, and custom and trade pricing to be handled through the Fleet Guild, which has managed to become a respectable body, at least in the strait.”

Lord Hamazhav bent over the extraordinary twisted tree candelabra that sat in the middle of an equally amazing carved table. “In my experience, treaties are a balance between goodwill and necessity. The goodwill I see about me . . .” He gestured vaguely.

And the necessity?
Tau was about to recklessly commit Evred, but he hesitated. Before Fox’s conversation about Marlovan law, and the penalty for not obeying orders, he might have done it. But he knew that he was obeying Evred only in one regard yet countering him directly in another.

“That can be established,” Tau said smoothly, hiding the accelerated beat of his heart. Once again, the enticing thrill of danger and risk made him laugh, and his entire being seemed to expand. “When Inda joins us.”

“Ah, yes,” Lord Hamazhav murmured, deeply appreciating the sudden poise of Tau’s body, the distant golden gaze. The attraction of the Deis was said to be wicked—like forbidden magic.
With this one, rumor understated truth
. “Life will be interesting indeed when your Inda joins us.”

It would be untrue to say that as the days slid into weeks, Inda was unaware of the steady succession of gigs and longboats going to and from the
Knife
. He saw, and in a sense knew that Tau was hosting gatherings, but Inda was too busy to pay much heed.

His first problem was keeping the fleet together as they shadowed the Venn, who sailed straight to Geranda, as Fox had predicted.

The rest of the fleet was loud in resenting the summary departure of the Ymarans while Deliyeth remained, with her Everoneth and Fleet Guild ships. She’d promised Bren’s Fleet Guild she’d stay until they disbanded, but she argued with every single order until she agreed on its utility. By the time the fleet saw the Venn reach Geranda, everyone was thoroughly sick of Deliyeth and her unswerving moral superiority.

The second problem was the refit of the Delfs.

The Chwahir offered to donate good canvas and cordage, but not a stick or spar. Everyone agreed that the Delfs had taken the brunt of the battle, that they’d saved the Chwahir, but the Chwahir were adamant.

Inda knew why the Chwahir refused—and kept the secret—but the strained relations between Delfs, eastern alliance, and Chwahir became more strained until Inda conceived the idea of dividing the Delfs between the Star Islands and Freedom Islands in order to refit. As the Star Islands, like the Fire Islands, had repeatedly been preserved from pirates by the independents out of Freedom, Dhalshev agreed that this was a good compromise. He would simply tell his port authorities to boost charges to certain nationals in order to recompense the island harbor shipwrights. He knew they would agree or risk losing the protection of the independents.

And so Inda returned to Freeport at last.

It felt very strange to sail between the familiar headlands into Freeport Harbor again, after so many years away.
Death
was given pride of place alongside the pier, so as soon as the graunching shudder of the hull easing up against the pier had ended, he leaped down to the warped boards, along with most of his old companions, and from that moment his life became a whirl of fragmented greetings, questions half answered, and remembered faces among the throng of new.

Delfin Islanders were notoriously proud and prickly. Knowing what they were owed, Inda offered the last group of them berths ashore if they wished, either at Mistress Lind’s Lark Ascendant pleasure house, or Dasta’s Chart House. Though he had yet to see Dasta, he knew he could work that much out.

When the Delfs almost to a man and woman opted enthusiastically for the pleasure house (and made it clear they expected their stay to be guaranteed) Inda took Barend aside. “How are we going to pay for that? You got any of that treasure left?”

Barend laughed silently. “You leave that to me. Already talked to Dhalshev. We’re going to squeeze the two kings through their admirals and that soft-talking fellow Hamazhav.” He pointed a thin hand in the direction of Sarendan and Khanerenth.

Before the Saunter lit up for an evening’s entertainment the like of which had seldom been seen in Freeport Harbor, Inda caught a glimpse of Lord Hamazhav being escorted up to the Octagon, Barend on one side, Dhalshev on the other, Mehayan and Tau walking behind, all laughing at something Tau said.

Inda walked the last of the Delfs to the Lark Ascendant and paid his respects to the proprietor, Mistress Lind.

Now they were all settled. The Delf ships at Star and Fire islands were probably already heaved down and halfway to being rebuilt; Inda hoped that the Venn were the same over on Geranda, so that they would sail east and out of his life.

Everything organized, everything in train . . . and the sense of pressure building in the back of his mind had increased to an iron grip on his neck. He had not had a moment to himself since the day he woke up in
Death
’s cabin to Fox saying,
Here’s your breakfast. I’ve given the orders to follow the Venn. There are twelve gigs in our stern wake, full of messengers from captains who insist on speaking to you. I figure the Delfs have first claim
.

Inda ran back down the trail he’d known so well as a boy. The harbor was full of allies, and despite the cold wind bringing a promise of rain, nobody seemed to have anything to do except walk around yapping. He dodged through the thick crowd on the main street, ignoring the questions thrown his way—“You Elgar the Fox?” “Where’d ya get the scars?” “Is it true you really . . .” “How did you kill . . .”

A hand like a steel trap closed on the scruff of his shirt and yanked him stumbling through a back doorway.

Inda looked up irritably, left hand scrambling for his knife hilt and encountering the damn sling. Then his hand dropped. “Fox?”

“This way.” Fox’s hard mouth curled faintly as the crowd melted back to a circle of staring faces.

The questions started up behind as Fox led Inda through the Chart House’s kitchen. Inda caught a glimpse of the main room as a server hip-bumped the service door open and swung two trays through. The crowds were even thicker than the street and the Saunter, the noise a skull-thumping roar.

Fox pulled Inda through the kitchen and down a narrow, warp-boarded hallway, up some very narrow stairs with a ramp built over half—a series of block-and-tackle ropes above—and into a room that overlooked the Saunter.

The casements swung closed, cutting the noise from a roar to a hum. The windows and the door were controlled by another ingenious series of ropes and pulleys put together with sail blocks. Inda’s gaze followed the control rope to the end dangling near Dasta’s hand.

Dasta grinned. “Inda!” He looked older, his face thinned. He spun his chair, hand extended toward a table. “Here’s supper, waiting.”

Inda sank onto a bench and reached for a foam-topped mug of beer, then took in the others: all the Fox Banner Fleet captains.

Inda’s stomach closed. He set the beer down.
It’s here,
he thought.
It’s here. They’re waiting for the command
.

“Finally,” Jeje exclaimed, digging into her braised fish surrounded by seasoned peas and rice. “That’s the last of the Delfs, right, Inda? What’s next? I’ve scarcely seen you for weeks.”

“I’ve been surrounded by people for weeks. Everybody yapping at once.” He looked down at the beer.
And I let them so I wouldn’t have to think about what’s next
. Then he looked up, and though he knew he had to give the command, once again he hedged. “It’s strange, how many people want to yap about things that don’t matter, but for some reason they think I should hear it.”

From his post by the window, Fox snorted. The reflection of the colored lights from the Saunter outlined his profile and shone in his red hair. “They all want a piece of your attention.” He waved a lazy hand toward the window. “Maybe yapping at you borrows some of your importance.”

“True.” Eflis chuckled. “And when you’re out o’ sight, they want to yap
about
you.”

At Inda’s grimace, the others laughed. Inda noticed with relief that Gillor and Tcholan sat companionably side by side—just like the old days. Somehow not being married anymore had resolved their problems. How strange people were! If Tdor ended their marriage . . .

From the cherished memory of Tdor’s steady gaze, her beloved face, to a swift and unwanted series of images: Evred’s orders. Convocation and
Bring back Rajnir’s head!
Deliyeth and her empire.

Inda grimaced and shifted in his chair. The impulse to drum, to move, made him jerk; his right arm still did not respond, and he was hemmed in by chairs and benches wedged against one another around the small table.
Give the command
. Reluctance almost froze his tongue, and once again his thoughts jinked sideways. “If they think so much of me, then why pester me?” he asked, resisting the deep itch to kick the table leg. “They don’t do that to Fox.”

“You’re accessible,” Eflis said. “He’s not.”

“And now you know why,” Fox said, then his chin lifted. “Hold hard. Signal.” He peered up at the Octagon.

Dasta sat up straight. “Double blinks? Message from the headland?”

“No, it’s the summons for Dhalshev. I thought he was up there.”

“He and Tau were taking the toffs off to the
Swan
for a victory dinner.”

“
Swan?
Oh, yes, Kavna’s yacht.” Inda remembered the beautiful craft floating in Bren Harbor’s pride of place. “Someone sailed it here?”

Jeje grinned. “Some old mates of mine, from the Lower Deck tavern in Bren Harbor. The oldsters the navy wouldn’t have. They couldn’t stand the idea of the Venn getting the prince’s yacht, so they hijacked it and brought it here. The prince has it back last I saw, and he was offering Lorm and his wife mountains of gold to come cook on it.”

As the others laughed heartily, Fox pushed away from the window. “I think I’ll go see what’s what.” He left.

Dasta sat back. “While he’s out, I want to hear about everything, from the time you reached The Fangs to the battle. Your part, too.” He pointed at Jeje.

That was easier. Though when they neared the end, Inda discovered Jeje watching him, and he watched her for clues as he wondered which version to tell. Inda did not really know Khajruat Swift, who had taken her father’s place as the commander of their three ships—they’d only met once, before the pirate battle at The Narrows. He had never seen the new captain of Fangras’ wall-eyed
Blue Star
. How much could he trust them?

Just as Inda said, “We saw lights on the raider deck, and so we—”

Fox slammed in. “On your feet.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Taz-Enja and his people are already buttoning into their green jackets. Sarendan has been called to war.”

“What?” several asked at once.

“The Venn are back,” Jeje exclaimed. “I never trusted that silver-haired Durasnir fellow! He looked like he chews ice to warm up in the mornings.”

Fox made a flat-handed swipe to cut her off. “Durasnir’s gone east. Except for at least two Battlegroups, and maybe more. Soon as the Oneli departed, this Dyalf Balandir killed off the old regent and his officials, secured the mostly empty garrisons, and took the harbor. Declared himself the new king.” His teeth showed in a smile. “Far’s Sarendan is concerned, he’s a pirate.”