Alchymist (56 page)

Eighty
captains opened their sealed orders, their vessels weighed anchor and sailed
into the gale, which had intensified during the day. It was blowing directly
from the north. Had it been southerly they could not have gone at all, for
there was no room for tacking in the narrow sea.

The
remaining vessels continued loading all night in driving rain, and an hour
after dawn the work was complete. The gangplanks were drawn up. Flydd should
have been here hours ago but there was no sign of him.

Nish
stood at the rail, hood angled to keep out the worst of the rain, though
inevitably much found a way in. Water trickled down his neck. Where was Flydd?

Two
hours after dawn the messenger appeared, gave the message a third time, 'Go!'
and climbed aboard the neighbouring ship. Nish signalled to the remaining
vessels, all save his own. One by one they weighed anchor, pulled themselves
out through the breakwater, heeled over in the wind and disappeared south.

Nish
watched them go, uneasy. The sea was covered with whitecaps and the air full of
blown spume; the gale looked like turning into a full-blown storm. He'd
travelled by ship on several occasions and had been seasick each time, but
never had he sailed in conditions like this. Next to suffocation in a lightless
pit, drowning was the death he feared most.

Fingering
his black sword in its sheath, he wondered what to do. Should he try to find
out what had happened to the scrutator? He paced another hour; two; three.
Flydd did not come. Nish was tempted to go looking for him, though Flydd had
given strict orders to remain here. Surely Flydd had gone to see the master,
and perhaps the master had not been pleased about the loss of all that coin.

Succumbing
to a mad impulse, Nish said to the captain, 'Don't go without me. There's
double the gold in it for you,' and raced down the gangplank.

It
was a good fifteen minutes' run to the master's mansion and his knee and ankle
were troubling him long before he got there. The great brass doors were closed
and the door warden would hardly open them for a junior officer in an army that
had been eating its head off at the master's expense. On the other hand, the
fellow on morning duty now might not have seen him before, so if he could pull
it off. . . Nish was not sure he dared. How could one man beat the master of a
city and all his guards? But he had cast his lot with the scrutator; he could
not fail now.

Drawing
his sword, Nish rapped three times on the door with the silver hilt. Wrapping
the cloak around his uniform, he pulled his hood over his face. The door was
opened a crack.

'Perquisitor
Mun-Mun Hlar to see the master, without delay!' he snapped, taking the name of
his oldest brother.

The
master is still in his bed,' said the door warden. 'Come back in the
afternoon.'

Nish
caught him by his frilly shirt-front and jerked him forwards. 'I'm Perquistor
Hlar,' he snarled. 'I've come all the way from the Council of Scrutators with
an urgent message for the master. I demand admittance, at once.' He put the
blade of his sword against the lackey's neck.

The
man collapsed like a punctured bladder. 'At once,' he said, bobbing and
puffing. 'Follow me, Perquisitor, surr.'

Nish
accompanied him up the steps, prodding the door warden every so often to remind
him that perquisitors were ruthless fellows. For everyone's sake, he must not
falter now. Flydd had a plan but Nish did not know what it was. If this lout
got in the way, too bad for him.

Outside
the master's doors, inlaid with rosewood and gilt, the door warden hesitated,
then raised his hand to knock.

Nish
whacked him over the buttocks with the flat of the sword. 'Just open it. I'll
announce myself.'

Giving
him a terrified glance, the door warden lifted the latch and went in. Nish
followed, treading on his heels. Easing the door shut with his foot, he bolted
it. He could not risk anyone coming to investigate.

Raising
his fist, he struck the door warden on the back of the head in the way he'd
been taught in his defence training, long ago. The man crumpled to the floor.
Nish went around a couple of corners into a bedchamber the size of a small
mansion, with tables, chairs and divans enough to furnish a house. At the
further end, by a crackling fire, stood an eight-post bed the size of a
clanker.

The
master was sitting up in bed, facing the other way, reading a set of
dispatches. A red wallet lay on the covers. Even from halfway down the room
Nish recognised it as a Council of Scrutators message wallet. Flydd's secret
had been exposed.

Scampering
to the wall, he fleeted along until he was behind the head of the bed and drew
his sword. Nish took a deep breath, slid around the bedpost and put his sword
to the master's throat. 'Where is the scrutator?' he hissed.

The
master looked up calmly. 'I'm not going to tell you, Cryl-Nish Hlar. Your
father is dead and you are an outcast condemned by the scrutators. Put down
your sword.'

Nish
had expected the master to be a blustering coward who would do anything to save
his own neck. For a second, the defiance threw him. Well, damn him; the fate of
the world might rest on Nish getting the scrutator out alive. The master was a
villain; let him take his chances.

He
flicked the sword at the master's face. The man threw up his arms and Nish
slashed the tip of the sword across his wrist, severing an artery. Blood
spurted right across the bed. The master gasped then caught the wrist in his
other hand and pressed hard with his thumb. The flow dropped to a trickle, and
stopped.

The
violence sickened Nish but there was no alternative. He pressed his blade to
the man's throat. 'You may survive that, but not the jugular. Well?'

 The
master was a quick thinker and a pragmatic man. He's downstairs, in my cells. I
have the keys here.' With his elbow he indicated a hook on the wall. 'I'll take
you.' 'At once,' said Nish, snatching the keys. 'And remember, I'm a condemned
criminal with nothing to lose. I don't care if you live or die. Nor, I suspect,
do the scrutators, since your profits come at the expense of theirs.'

They
went down the master's personal staircase and along to the cells, a row of
small rooms with solid wooden doors. 'Take the keys,' said Nish. 'Open the
door.'

'My
wrist . . .' grimaced the master.

'If you're
quick you won't bleed to death.' Nish put his sword to the man's throat again.

The
master let go his wrist and grabbed the ring of keys. Blood spurted, though not
as far as before. He forced a key into the lock, tried to turn it but let go
and grabbed hold of his wrist. Blood dripped from his fingers.

Nish
turned the key one way. Nothing happened. He turned it the other and the lock
clicked. He kicked the door open, still covering the master with his sword,
though the man was now crouched on the floor, trying to stem the flow. His
thumb kept slipping on his red wrist.

'Come
out, you bloody old fool,' Nish said. 'There's not much time.'

The
scrutator came out into the light. He looked as if he had been beaten, though
he was not cowed. 'What the blazes are you doing here? I gave you your orders.'
'A situation arose that they didn't cover. Do you know the way out?'

'Haven't
a clue,' said Flydd.

Nish
prodded the master with his sword. 'Show us to the stables. Better hurry;
you're looking faint. You must have lost quite a lot of blood.'

There
was a puddle on the floor next to him. The master nodded and stumbled down the
corridor. By the time they had negotiated several more flights of stairs and
long passages, he was weaving from side to side.

'I
don't think he's got much left in him,' said Flydd.

'Blood
or courage?'

'Either.’

'How
far?' Nish said to the master, 'Just around the corner,' he whispered.

They
emerged in the stables. 'Can you ride bareback, Nish?' Flydd said.

'If I
have to.'

They
mounted two sleepy horses. The master collapsed into the straw. Nish urged his
horse towards the stable doors, stopping on the way to kick the side of a
manger where a sta-bleboy lay sleeping. 'Open the doors!' Nish roared.

The
boy ran to comply. 'Your master lies back there, bleeding.' Nish pointed with
his sword. 'Attend to him before he dies.'

He
kicked his horse into the rainy night. Flydd followed. Five minutes later, by
the time the alert had been raised, they were weighing anchor.

The
wind was blowing even harder now, a fierce gale. 'Are you sure it's safe to go
out?' Nish said as they headed for the entrance. The Sea of Thurkad was a mess
of white. Waves could no longer be seen, just white, driven foam.

'Been
out in worse,' said the captain. 'Not by much, mind you, but for double the
payment, we'll dare it.'

Flydd's
head jerked around and he gave Nish a hard stare. Nish smiled blandly back. 'I
thought your life was worth it. Was I right, or was I wrong?'

'For
all you knew,' hissed Flydd, 'being taken prisoner might have been part of my
plan.'

'You
just can't admit you've been bested.'

After
a long pause, Flydd said, 'I thought I was done for. You're a tough sod, Nish.'

'I
was taught by the best.'

'Don't
let it become a habit.'

The
vessel passed between the arms of the breakwater. The blast heeled them over
till the gunwale practically touched the water. The captain brought the ship
around, the current caught her, the wind kicked her in the stern and she turned
down the channel under just a rag of sail. 'If the wind comes up any further,'
the captain said, 'even that'll be too much, and we'll have to sail on bare
poles.’

'At
least we're in no danger from the lyrinx,' said Nish. 'There's nothing can harm
us tonight, save wind and rocks.' 'How far till we reach the Sea of Mists?'
'About twenty leagues. Four or five hours at the rate we're going. But there
are a few things to worry about before we get there.’

'Like
what?'

'The
Pinch,' said Flydd, dashing spray out of his eyes. It burst over the bows with
every plunge of the boat, smacking them in the faces.

'What's
that?'

'Ahead,
the sea narrows till you could practically shoot an arrow from one side to the
other. The current is fast there, as fast as you've ever gone. It requires a
strong hand on the tiller and the right kind of wind, or none at all, to get
through. You don't recover from your mistakes in the Pinch.'

'How
do you come back?' Nish wondered.

'They
all ask that,' chuckled the captain mirthlessly. 'They pull us through.
Windmills and cables. No boat can sail against this current.'

'Pull
you through? I'd like to see that.' 'You'd fill your breeches,' said the
captain. 'Now get out of my way. I've got work to do.'

Nish
went to the rail but it was too dangerous to stand there. He leaned against the
wall of the captain's cabin, where there was a modicum of shelter from the wind
and rain, quietly going over the past hours. He'd surprised himself, dominating
the master in that violent, ruthless way. It wasn't like him at all. More like
his father, in fact. And most shocking of all, he realised now that he'd
enjoyed it.

The
wind screamed, the spray flew, the iron cliffs raced past. Nish never
understood how the captain could see to navigate his way between them, but
somehow he did. The Pinch was a league long and they roared through it in ten
minutes. The crescent of the waning moon came out through racing clouds; the
cliffs disappeared; the current slackened. They were out of the Sea of Thurkad
into the Karama Malama, where the waves were mast high. The little vessel
rolled like a cradle in the wind.

Nish
groped his way below, into the reeking dark, and found an empty hammock, though
he could not sleep. The ship's timbers, strained to the limit, shrieked and groaned.
The hammock swayed through the same arc as the rolling vessel, before jerking
back the other way. The landlubber soldiers were already spewing their guts
into the bilge. Soon Nish was doing the same. The smell was abominable.

Morning
came, but he was too seasick to notice it. Hours later he staggered up on deck,
where Flydd and the captain were talking anxiously. 'What's the matter?' asked
Nish.

'We
want to go east,' said Flydd, but the wind's driving us south and west, and
there's nothing we can do about it.'

'What
lies to the west?'

'Just
wild sea for a hundred leagues—'

'And
the Reefs of Karints,' said the captain.

'Where
are all the other ships?'

'Safely
in the port of Hardlar, I hope.'

'So
we're all alone.'.

No
one answered. Flydd jerked his thumb in the direction of the hold. Nish went
below, where he discovered that a soldier had thrown up green bile in his
hammock. Nish turned the hammock over, his stomach groaning as loudly as the
ship's timbers, and crawled into it.