A Gathering of Fools Page 9

  The naturally tight entrance to the bay had been enhanced with towers and a long narrow channel through which ships had to pass to reach the harbour or the open seas. The view from the sea was one of high walls and towers, watchful guards and forbidding cliffs.

  No lights shone in the watch towers or on the seawall; ships arrived by day or they did not arrive at all. More than one had been lost on the rocks at the base of the cliffs or in the mouth of the harbour while trying to make port at night, sometimes running ahead of a storm and deciding that the risk was worth paying. Others had been sunk or dissuaded from running the channel by missiles hurled from engines mounted in the guard towers or on platforms high on the walls. Ships arriving at the mouth of the channel and wishing to gain peaceful entrance would drop anchor, raise flags indicating the purpose of their visit and await the arrival of a pilot to guide them to safety.

  Surrounding the harbour was a fortress-like structure of walls and towers that controlled access from the town and the rest of the island. All traffic to the harbour went through a single gatehouse, allowing the prison Governor to close the port if he feared attack or, in the nightmare scenario, the escape of a prisoner. The small town that rose behind the harbour was itself surrounded by a second ring of walls and towers, manned to watch both the town and the surrounding countryside.

  Not that there was much to see outside the walls. The sandy ground was broken by occasional low trees or shrubs and grazed by scrawny goats but it was mostly empty, a desolate wasteland in which few people lived. Only one road led out of the town, running first to the quarry that provided the island with its stone and then to the prison itself. This was the road along which convicts would make their last journey under open skies; it was rare, very rare, for a convict to leave the prison except to take the short ride to an unmarked grave just beyond the walls.

  From the top of the gatehouse in the wall between harbour and town, Lord Sterik could see out over the seawalls to the open ocean. Today the sea was calm, a brilliant blue in the shallows around the island. The mainland was no more than a grey smear on the horizon. Sterik shifted his gaze from the sea - he found the ever-changing colours of the seascape enchanting - and looked again at the ships in the harbour; there was no doubt that the Gilded Branch was both absent and overdue.

  The Gilded Branch was one of a pair of ships that transported prisoners from the mainland to Ankeron West. The cells on the transport ships, like those in the prison, were designed to hold talented convicts without allowing them to reach the underlying wood of the ship. Even that wasn’t enough for the most powerful or ingenious convicts and often the guards resorted to drugs or violence to control their charges.

  Could the ship have been hijacked by a prisoner? It had happened before, several times, when careless guards had failed to manage the convicts correctly. In one notable case, the crew had been paid by a prisoner’s family to take their charge to safety along the coast. Sterik shuddered. It had been years since a transport ship had been lost that way and he didn’t want to imagine the consequences of losing this one, given the passenger it had been carrying.

  Abaythien Marrinek, former Lord Commander of the Imperial Shock Corps. Nobody knew much about his childhood except that he had lived on the streets of Esterengel, running with gangs until he and some friends had fallen into the hands of the city Watch at the age of about 14 years. Imperial records of the time, subsequently sealed but released to Sterik when sentence had been pronounced, showed that Marrinek and one other boy had avoided summary execution only by the intervention of a talented Watch captain called Leonard Kyngeston.

  Noticing that both the as-yet unnamed Marrinek and his friend exhibited characteristics suggesting a strong latent talent, Kyngeston had suggested to the magistrate that the two boys be sent to the Imperial military college for testing and training instead of to the execution yard behind the court. The magistrate, himself somewhat talented and a former soldier, had been sceptical but had agreed on condition that Kyngeston remain involved in their education for at least the next three years.

  Marrinek’s admission to and progression through the ranks of the Imperial Army was a matter of public record, a grim story of talent, prejudice, success against stupendous odds, hard work and leadership. His achievements while serving in the army, particularly the capture of the fortress city of Ironbarrow, had made him famous and rich and given him influence far beyond what might normally be expected of a former street urchin. His subsequent betrayal, disgrace, capture and exile had shocked the Imperial Court.

  Sterik shook his head and dragged his thoughts back to the present. The Gilded Branch had left port a week ago and should have docked three days ago, two at the latest. The Captain and first mate were both talented men, formidable individuals in their own right. If they hadn’t been able to guide the ship to port it was almost certainly because something had gone wrong and that raised the dreadful possibility that Marrinek might again be free.

  If they were lucky - and Sterik snorted to himself about the things he was now happy to call ‘luck’ - if they were lucky Marrinek was dead and the ship was gone, lost in a summer storm or sunk by pirates. The alternative was not something Sterik wished to contemplate but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do something about it, just in case.

  Sterik motioned to his deputy, Yiliwyn Curteys, who had been waiting patiently while the Governor watched the ocean.

  “Take the Lady Jessica to the mainland and inform Administrator Nison that the Gilded Branch is overdue. Gather whatever news there might be and then return as soon as you can.”

  Curteys raised her eyebrow.

  “You want me to go in person, my lord? My duties here…”

  Sterik interrupted her with a wave of his hand.

  “Can wait. Go in person, and go now. Nison is an administrator; speak to him in person, make him understand the severity of the situation. Make sure he sends a messenger to Esterengel immediately. I don’t care if he sends an aug-bird or a courier or a cat in a basket as long as the news is sent on. And when you get back, if Marrinek is really free, we must look again at our security arrangements.”

  Curteys paused.

  “Are you worried that Marrinek might attack the prison?” said Curteys, frowning at the thought.

  Sterik smiled grimly and turned to face Curteys for the first time.

  “I worry all the time. Paranoia is what keeps our ‘guests’ in their quarters and would-be rescuers on the mainland. Can you imagine the alternative?” Sterik shuddered, “Time enough for that when you return.”

  Curteys nodded.

  “My lord.” She turned to leave the roof of the gatehouse.

  “One more thing,” said Sterik, “if they tell you that Marrinek is dead then for pity’s sake check the body. You met him, didn’t you? If there’s any doubt at all that the body is his then I want to know about it.”

  Curteys nodded again and closed the door behind her. Sterik waited until he saw Curteys appear on the street below, heading for the harbour with two guards in tow, then went downstairs himself. In the small office behind the guardroom on the first floor Sterik found his aide, Captain Armstrong Heneghan, reviewing permit requests for transit between the town and the island. Heneghan stood as Sterik entered the room.

  “Good morning, my lord.”

  Sterik grimaced. He had always found Heneghan’s perpetual good humour somewhat grating and today was worse than usual.

  “Nothing good about this morning so far,” mumbled Sterik. He dropped into the chair in the corner of the office and pinched the bridge of his nose. With his eyes still closed he said, “The Gilded Branch still hasn’t arrived. Curteys is on her way to the mainland to share the good news and no ships are to enter the harbour until she returns. Talk to the harbour master, make sure he understands; if he admits any ship that isn’t carrying Curteys I’ll have him flensed.”

  “Yes, my lord, right away.” Heneghan shuffled his papers nervously and paused, not moving from
behind the desk, “What reason should I give the harbour master? I don’t like to think what he might say if we disrupt the smooth operation of the harbour.”

  Sterik opened his eyes and looked up at Heneghan.

  “Reason?” said Sterik, rather louder than he’d intended, “We’re running a prison, not a free trade port. Get down there and close the harbour; no ships in or out until Curteys returns or I say otherwise. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord, perfectly clear. I’ll make sure it happens.” Heneghan shuffled his papers again then dropped them on the desk, saluted quickly and hurried toward the door.

  Sterik ran his fingers through his hair and thought about the island’s security. Surely Marrinek, if he was still alive, wouldn’t come here? Sterik wasn’t sure but he hadn’t become Governor of the Empire’s most infamous prison by making unwarranted assumptions or by taking risks.

  He stood and quickly checked his personal weapons. He was only lightly armed at the moment, carrying sword, knife and a few minor charms. If it came to a fight there was very little that Sterik would be able to do to hinder Marrinek but that would probably be true however he was armed. Sterik grinned to himself; he’d better make sure he was never in a position where he had to fight fair.

  Sterik left the room and stalked down the corridors until he found the Captain of the Guard. Time to shake things up a little and make life difficult for unexpected visitors.

  “Close the town gates, sound the general alarm.” Captain Stillman Ayers, a seasoned veteran of the southern wars, looked up at Lord Sterik in surprise, then gestured to his lieutenant, who hurried from the room to issue the orders.

  “I also want you to double the guard on the watch towers,” Sterik continued, warming to the task, “and make sure that the wall-mounted weapons are tested, in good order and well supplied with ammunition.”

  “My lord,” nodded Ayers, “you expect an attack?”

  “The Gilded Branch is late. Until we know otherwise we will assume that Marrinek is free, armed and intent on coming here to exact revenge.”

  Ayers blanched.

  “Surely he wouldn’t dare, my lord?”

  “Probably not.” Sterik paused, considering how much to say before deciding to err on the side of caution, “but it won’t hurt to exercise the troops, shake them out of their complacency a little.” Sterik paused again as the alarm rang in the gatehouse bell tower.

  “We’ll review in twelve hours or as soon as Curteys returns from the mainland, whichever is sooner. I want everyone sharp and alert for danger, not exhausted from constant strain, so we’ll stand down again as soon as it’s safe.”

  “Yes, my lord, I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Good. And while we’re at it lets drill the weapons teams and the fire control teams, then practise the prisoner escape procedures. Let’s make sure everyone really does know what to do if things go very wrong indeed.”

  Curteys had almost reached the harbour, heading for the jetty where the prison’s other transport ship, a supply cog called the Lady Jessica, was docked, when the alarm bell sounded in the gatehouse. She had gathered two guardsmen, Hurlee and Mauch, on her way through the gatehouse and together they walked quickly along the harbour walls. Curteys left her escort on the harbour side and strode up the gangplank, boots sounding loudly on the wood. She stepped onto the deck and stopped, looking around the deserted ship for the crew. She turned back to her escort.

  “Hurlee,” she called, “get yourself to the Love of Liberty and find Captain Warde. She’ll be playing cards, if there’s anyone left in town stupid enough still to play with her. Mauch, go to the harbourmaster and find us a pilot. I mean to be underway within the hour.” The guardsmen saluted and hurried off, leaving Curteys alone on the Lady Jessica.

  She had been leaning on the ship’s railing for only fifteen minutes when Hurlee returned, accompanied by a tough-looking woman in her mid-forties. Captain Warde was clearly not pleased to have been dragged from her game.

  “Deputy Governor,” she said through a grimace, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Hurlee didn’t say? We need passage to Heberon.” Curteys explained the situation.

  “You think the Gilded Branch has foundered? That’s bad news. Bad luck to set sail this afternoon, so soon after getting news like that. And we’re not due to leave till the day after tomorrow in any case - we need time to load our cargo.”

  “Forget all that, there’ll be time for cargo later. And the luck might get a damn sight worse if the Traitor is free again. Find your crew, Captain, we need to be in Heberon this afternoon.”

  Warde looked sceptical as she boarded her ship, moving to sit on the hatchway opposite Curteys.

  “Really? Well, if you insist, but we’ll need a pilot and I can’t be sure my crew are still sober - we’ve been docked for several hours already,” she said, turning to Hurlee, “you know my mate, Barney Mutschler, yes?” Hurlee nodded.

  “Find him - he’ll be in the Green Flagon trying to chat up the serving girls. Tell him I want the crew back at the ship before noon.”

  Hurlee looked at Curteys, who nodded, then strode off towards the town’s other inn.

  “It might take a while to round up the rest of the crew. Do you fancy a friendly game of cards to pass the time while we wait?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  FLOOST AND HER twin brother, Darek, had been sleeping on the warehouse roof for a few days now, sheltering from sun, rain and prying eyes under the overhangs. The warehouses in this part of Vensille were tall so it was easy to move around their roofs without being seen from the street. Staying out of view from other buildings meant moving mostly at night or crawling behind the low parapets, so during the day she mostly slept or watched the crowds, peering through a gap in the parapet to see the streets below and the river beyond.

  It was the wide, easily navigable river Vensi that made Vensille a natural conduit between the interior of the continent and the islands and coastal cities of the Tardean sea, into which the river flowed. The city’s location attracted merchants and traders from hundreds of miles inland, from around the circle of the Tardean sea and from across the civilised world.

  The Duke had done much to encourage this trade and even more to prevent it from slipping away. First had come new docks on the river banks and a harbour in the estuary. Then he had replaced the old walls, building new ones in a great circle around the heart of the ancient city, expanding into the neighbouring plains. New towers had been added to defend the city and allow the Duke to control the ships that entered or left his realm.

  The army had been expanded from a knockabout group of thugs into a modest but professional force, able both to guard the city and conduct operations across the Dukedom. Amongst the coastal cities, the army of Vensille had built an impressive reputation.

  And then the Duke had turned his attention to the sea, creating a modest navy to protect the shipping routes upon which the city now depended. His decision to award letters of marque to some of the more successful pirates operating in the Tardean Sea had stirred anger across the region but by then it was too late. Rhenveldt’s former pirates, now flying Vensille’s flag, enforced a kind of rough peace and gave the Duke control of the sea. Vensille had arrived; the Duke’s position was, largely, secure.

  Since then, he had not hesitated to use his military power to disrupt the establishment of similar trading strongholds along the coast. He had aggressively defended his monopoly by intimidating or raiding his neighbours, expanding his territory as opportunities arose.

  All this he had done to draw trade to and through the city, where his customs officials could tax the merchants. So successful was this strategy that Vensille was now the major gateway for merchants trading between the northern kingdoms and the coastal cities of the Tardean sea; any trader, company or guild that wished to avoid Imperial ports or tariffs moved their goods through Vensille and paid Duke Rhenveldt instead.

  The arrangement worked well and Ven
sille had flourished in recent decades. It had grown swiftly in both population and wealth so that it was now the largest and most important independent city on the northern coast of the Tardean sea, rivalling its Imperial neighbours to the east.

  The streets of Vensille were crowded with people, animals, market stalls and caravans. Almost any item that was made, grown or captured could be found in the markets or on the docks of Vensille making it a rich place for both thieves and merchants. From her perch on the roof of a warehouse behind the western river docks Floost could watch travellers arriving by boat, tradesmen selling their goods from market stalls, sailors working the ships that traded on the river and farmers bringing stock to market. The crowds were varied, the opportunities endless.

  She was still watching the streets when her brother returned, slipping over the wall from the neighbouring building with a small sack of hard bread and stale fruit. Darek divided the food between them and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

  “We’re out of money,” Darek said between mouthfuls, “we have enough for tomorrow but after that…” he trailed off into silence.

  “Already? I thought we had enough for at least another week.”

  “We did but I got snagged by one of Lorn’s new thugs and they took everything I had in my belt. They didn’t find the coin in my pants but I’ve spent half of that on today’s food. Sorry.”

  “We should leave this city while we still can. Please, Darek, let’s just go. We could go along the coast, maybe be in the next town by tomorrow evening.”