The Ancient Enemy (43 page)

"And how fares the Lord Nebbeggebben, my dear Chalmli?" said Filek after the laughter had died down.

"Ah, well, 'tis good of you to ask, Surgeon General, but he remains weak and fretful. His appetite is low; he eats very little and keeps even less of it down."

"I do wish he would allow an examination." Filek wondered what sort of poisons the witch doctor was giving the prince in the name of medicine.

"He will not. Like his father, he distrusts modern medicine."

Filek smiled and dissembled. "I understand, of course, perfectly natural response considering some of the things that go on under that name. Often the term 'modern' in today's medicine is a complete joke. There are new understandings of the body and disease, but many so-called medics ignore them."

Chalmli nodded agreeably, full of good humor and spiced dumplings.

"Every discipline seems split by a group that refuses any change to established procedures even though they're far behind the times. In the magics it has become a scandal. In the Arcana League the Obdurates remain in command, and will not allow any rewriting of the First Ten Words. What makes it so ridiculous is that everyone has ignored the First Ten Words for a hundred years. Thus it doesn't matter if the Obdurates give way or not, since nobody obeys the dictates anyway."

"How does that sit with the holy priests of the Great God?" said the admiral with a roguish smile.

"Well, of course, the priests are allied with the Obdurates. Anything that cripples the magics serves the priests well. But try as they might, they have never broken Aeswiren's links to the magic schools."

"The priests also know that attacking the Schools of Magic upsets the witch doctors."

"I cannot believe the priests are worried about the witch doctors. The priests have all the power now over such matters," said Filek.

"Ah, but not in the colonies," said Captain Pukh. "We see some wild old things in the colonies. The witch doctors have the power out there it seems to me."

Heuze chuckled. "Anyone who has been to Seducer's Island in the open season has seen things beyond the realm of the normal!"

Captain Pukh roared, almost knocking over his goblet when he banged down a huge hand on the table.

"Seducer's Island in the season, oh my! Oh yes."

Heuze's servant poured more wine, and then the meal was brought in. Some porpoise had made the mistake of straying too close to the bows of the tender
Slicer
and had been gaffed and hauled aboard in no time.

"Do have some of this excellent porpoise, Biswas." Heuze was happily carving thick slices from the fillet. It had been marinated in wine and then baked briefly before being flash-fried in a skillet to brown. Finally, brandy was poured over the skillet and set alight to glaze it. It was superb, medium rare with a delicate crust on the meat.

A toast to Admiral Heuze was proposed by the captain. Then a toast to Nebbeggebben was made and Chalmli smiled on Heuze.

"And what will General Raltt do tomorrow?"

"Oh, I expect he'll break out of this beachhead and invest the monkey town."

"Do you really think it's going to take a siege to capture the place?" said Chalmli.

"I do."

"It seems extraordinary to think that could be possible. They're only monkeys."

"Well, they stopped the army cold this day. You've seen the report."

Chalmli hesitated. "Well, yes."

"We attacked their line in the morning and were beaten off. They struck lucky at midday and captured that fool Uisbank. They attacked in the afternoon, broke through but were stopped on the beach. They now hold the high ground south of the city."

"I've heard they've got catapults up there."

"That can be confirmed," said Filek emphatically. "Today was a very bloody day."

"Well, we can't afford that," said Heuze, leaning forward suddenly. "We don't have the margin to allow for error now. My timetable is to get this colony ashore and in decent housing by the first snows."

"Then a lot is resting on General Raltt's shoulders," Chalmli said before taking a sip.

"Indeed there is. But the rest of us must do our bit, too. I know the men will make short work of them once we break up their formations and get to grips."

"Aye, aye, absolutely, sir." Captain Pukh raised his goblet.

"And tomorrow we will land the reserves and use our combined strength to break their lines and bring this to an end."

"Of course, exactly what the prince would have done in your position, Lord Admiral." Chalmli raised his goblet and drank a toast to the admiral.

"Thank you, thank you, friend Chalmli. And let me respond by toasting His Highness, the Prince Nebbeggebben, long may he live."

None of them could mistake the honest fervor in Heuze's voice when he said this, but they understood. Nebbeggebben's survival kept the Hand away from Heuze.

"So, tomorrow General Raltt will be given fresh troops. Then we'll winkle them out and drive the rest of them into the hills. Then we can get on with building the colony."

"There is something that's been troubling me," said Filek.

"And what is that?" said the admiral.

"Are we going to eat them this time?"

"Of course, they are good meat."

"But they are not just animals, they are intelligent."

"Oh, come now, surely not?" Chalmli's thick lips had drawn together in a pout.

"I think they demonstrated it today. Did they not capture General Uisbank? Last week the general dined with us, tonight he dines at the pleasure of those monkeys."

"If they haven't baked him on a bed of onions and eaten him, the stupid fucker!" roared Admiral Heuze.

Captain Pukh convulsed with laughter, too, and the pair of old salts raised their glasses to each other.

"Winning a flukey fight is not necessarily a sign of genuine intelligence," said Heuze. "After all, other creatures fight; look at army ants. Are they intelligent?"

Filek sighed. "These creatures build cities and defend them, they make objects of such beauty that all of you are participating in an illegal market in them. How can they not be intelligent?"

"Well now," rumbled Chalmli, "we don't know that they built anything at all. They're just living in these structures. They probably inherited them from proper men who seem to have died out in these parts. The same goes for the rugs and plates and fine things we've found. They're animals; they don't even know the value of these things."

Filek shrugged, wishing he could believe this.

"It doesn't matter, Biswas," said the admiral. "It doesn't matter if the monkeys made these things or not. I know you mean well, my friend, you've got a generous heart. This is not a criticism of a surgeon. You are the best surgeon in the world, Filek, you know my opinion there. But a kind heart clouds the mind's eye, see. There are always practical difficulties to consider. Our very survival depends on our landing here and seizing this land. There won't be room for both the monkeys and us, and we know that if we don't eliminate them entirely, then later on, in a century say, they'll haunt our descendants. We need to remove them from the landscape. Since they have to be slaughtered, we might as well not waste 'em, eh?"

The admiral and captain guffawed again and thumped the table.

"Very droll, sir, very droll," Captain Pukh toasted the admiral's wit.

Filek knew he could not show annoyance.

"Well, of course." He forced a smile. "That is a consideration. But surely future generations will curse us for eliminating the source of this incredible art of theirs."

"Oh we don't know that. Art has its fashions. And anyway, we'll have been dead a long time by then. And so will the damned monkeys."

More laughter rocked the table and Captain Pukh called at once for more wine.

Out in the darkness beyond the line of ships there was a cog, square-rigged with a full set of sails. But her sails were daubed with black pitch, and she was virtually invisible without moonlight.

It was old
Pebbles
, a boat that had traded up and down the coast for twenty-five years. Now she was making one last trip, a short one.

Aboard her were a crew of six, and behind her she towed a boat.

Her hold was stuffed with bales of bush fiber, soaked in paraffin. She nosed toward the line of Shasht ships, all of them giants compared to her.

The wind was on her beam now, and she was making good speed, moving toward the center of the line of ships. They had chosen the center in case their first target got away, in which case there would still be others inshore and within reach.

The wind gusted a little and the rigging creaked as the sails pulled hard. The dim outlines of the ship they were aiming for became clearer, sails furled, at anchor. The crew of
Pebbles
kept to their grim task, certain of success.

Aboard the
Growler
the lookouts were too busy talking among themselves to notice old
Pebbles
. After the excitement of the day's fighting, the quiet of the night with nothing but a handful of lights in the distance to look at was disappointing. They talked among themselves about the fighting and how what had happened to Uisbank had been foretold. Wasn't Uisbank one of those God-damned priest lovers? Always calling on "He Who Eats" for guidance and all that. It just went to show that the heretics were right. "He Who Eats" had less power than the older gods.

Wrapped up in such concerns, their first intimation of trouble came from the sudden odor of paraffin wafting in on the breeze.

Heads came up, and they stared out into the dark.

"What is that smell?" said a voice.

"That be oil of black tar. I remember it from Pangifica."

Out on the starboard side, something dimly visible was in motion.

"Ahoy there, what ship?"

A dark shape was appearing, a small vessel, less than a tenth
Growler's
size. She was just a couple of hundred yards away, and her sails were painted black.

"What ship goes there?" roared the lookout.

"Away on the starboard side, a ship!"

By then Captain Shuzt was on deck and had grasped the peril.

"Cut anchor!" he bawled.

Feet thundered on the deck.

"Cut that anchor, get on with it now!" The officers were frantic.

Old
Pebbles
was close enough to be seen, so close that her embrace was inevitable.

That was why the Dronned shipwrights had spent the day working on
Pebbles's
prow, where she now sported a sharp beak covered in a sheet of steel from Graedon's furnace.

A lantern had been run up the yard to throw more light out onto the dark stranger, and they saw that it was too late by far. Long before they could saw through the anchor cables, the cog was going to strike amidships.

"Belay that order, leave the anchor cables. Prepare to board the enemy."

But it really was too late. A few moments later the cog arrived, and a sharp shudder ran through the bigger ship as the ram stove in the timbers at the waterline with the suicidal fury of a bee.

"Man the pumps!" was the cry, and crewmembers were already in motion when it came.

The enemy crew was diving overboard and swimming away, all but one, who bent down and pulled out a darkened lantern, opened it to expose the flame, then lit a length of oil-soaked rope. He tossed the rope into the hold. Almost instantly the paraffin vapor in the hold caught fire and a blue flare of flame shot up. Then the bales ignited.

The pitch-covered sails caught next, and in a few seconds were a sheet of flame. The rising conflagration bathed the ends of the yards of the mainmast. The furled sails caught fire while men climbed screaming into the rigging to try and douse them.

Meanwhile, the roaring flames from the cog's hold were scorching the side of the
Growler
in the most villainous way. The paint had peeled away, and the timbers were blackening.

Desperate men threw buckets of water down the side, but it was too little too late.

The main yard was well and truly alight. A man fell, screaming from the yard and slapped the main deck. Flaming fragments fell from the yard and men ran hither and yon with shrieks as they stamped them out.

Now the side of the ship was catching fire. Black smoke was filling the carpenter's walk inside the hull and seeping into the cabins and storerooms belowdecks. More men were there throwing water on the timbers.

And the cog still burned with unlimited fury. The
Growler's
upper yards were alight, and men were scrambling down, trying to avoid the fire that was consuming the mainsail. Some rigging fell with a crash of tackle and blocks. A man was knocked off the siderail and fell to the sea with a wail.

Then came a loud, horrified shout. The flames had taken hold on the top yard of the mizzenmast. More men went scrambling above to try and stop them.

Men ran, scrambled, hurled buckets, and ran again, but still the cog's deadly cargo sent up sheets of scorching fire that had not only blackened
Growler's
side but had ignited the hatches and their frame timbers. Now fire exploded out of a stores locker on the main deck, where an ember had set light to dried, folded sails. Captain Shuzt howled for help as he ran to fight the fire himself with an ax, knocking down the blazing planks of the locker and hauling out the sails and hurling them overboard, still blazing and smoking.

The fire on the main yard was out of control though, and it set the mast above it alight. In moments the yards on the foremast caught, too, and the disaster was complete. A wooden ship is always vulnerable to fire, her masts and rigging can easily catch and her hull is by necessity dry and waterproof.

Now the
Growler
began to go, and though the fire that scorched her side timbers never actually went past that, the flames that fell from the burning masts took hold first here and then over there, and before long the ship was ablaze from one end to the other.

Old
Pebbles
was by then consumed; her timbers sank, hissing into the waters of the bay, but her mission was completed. The rest of the fleet could do little except put down boats to pick up men and women who hurled themselves into the sea for survival. Unfortunately, many could not swim.