The Assassin's Edge (Einarinn 5) (18 page)

A new flurry of activity caught everyone’s attention. A burly pirate was dragging a youth up from the shoreline. The lad tried to hold on to his unlaced breeches but lost his grip and stumbled as they fell down around his ankles. He was pulled along regardless, naked buttocks pale in the sun, humiliation burning his face scarlet.

His captor dumped him prone before Muredarch, expression eloquent of outrage even if the gusting wind snatched his words away. Muredarch listened with close attention and then turned the lad over with a booted toe, bending over to talk to the cowering youth.

“Which hand will it be?” chuckled the Tormalin pirate.

“What’s he done?” asked Parrail.

“Shat in the wrong place.” The pirate sucked condemnatory teeth. “Muredarch says no one’s to foul the sound. You drop your breeches where the tide’ll clean the rocks or that’s what you’ll get.”

A heavyset man came up, shirtless beneath a buff jerkin and swinging a five-stranded whip. Parrail recognised him as the one who’d nailed Gede to his own mast and winced as the lad was stripped of his shirt and tied to an upright spar planted down by the water. Muredarch held up a hand for everyone to see. It was the four-fingered hand, prompting a general murmur of approval.

The Tormalin pirate nodded. “That’ll learn the lad without crippling him.”

But the man with the whip still set to with a will, barbed lashes ripping into the boy’s skin, blood spattering in all directions. Naldeth and Parrail both turned away, sickened, but saw more pirates had come into the stockade to chat apparently idly with their captives.

“Do you suppose many turn pirate just for the chance to dress like whoremasters on market day?” The mage watched a bald-headed pirate in an incongruously lace-trimmed shirt advancing on a meek-looking girl.

Parrail watched the raider’s expansive gestures, doubtless offering all manner of inducements. All smiles, he wasn’t about to let the girl escape him, rough fingers stroking her hair and her cheek.

“Muredarch did say rape was forbidden.” Parrail looked sick as the girl’s feeble protests waned. She stood mute with misery as the pirate put a proprietorial arm around her shoulder.

“Holding a lass down and ripping up her petticoats, maybe.” Naldeth rubbed his hands together as if his fingers pained him. “Scaring some poor poult into laying herself down seems allowed.”

A ship’s bell rang and the pirates amiably socialising inside the stockade abruptly changed tack.

“Down the ladder,” ordered the Tormalin on the wall walk, sharp face brooking no argument. Naldeth and Parrail hastily obeyed, hurrying to the back of the huddle of captives as the gates opened wide.

Muredarch stood in the centre, his smile welcoming, his height forbidding, eagled-eyed henchmen stern on either side. “You first.”

He summoned a middle-aged man nervously twisting a kerchief between his hands. “I’m just a miller, your honour,” he blurted out.

Muredarch nodded. “And now we’ve got wheat, thanks to your ship. Will you grind it for us? I’ve a fancy for fresh bread after a season and a half of twice-baked biscuit.”

The miller’s face creased with confusion. “I can’t think what’s best—”

“Take all the time you need.” Muredarch laid a reassuring hand on the cowering man’s shoulder before nodding to a flat-faced brute with tattoos all down one arm. “In the meantime, you can start paying your debts.”

The tattooed pirate held the miller fast while the man who’d flogged the boy stripped him of gown, shirt, socks and boots. The tattooed pirate knotted a thick leather strap securely around the miller’s neck and, using it as a handhold, hauled him away. “If you won’t grind the wheat, you can carry the sacks, old fool.”

“Let me know when you’ve made your mind up,” Muredarch called genially before pointing at the next man who met his eye.

The erstwhile sailor ducked his head in a hasty bow. “I’ll swear but I won’t go raiding.”

“Fairly spoken,” said Muredarch in an oddly formal tone. He drew himself up to his full height. “Do you swear to obey me in all things, to treat all so sworn as your brothers and sisters in oath? Do you put your fate in my hands according to the vow we all trust in?”

“Yes.” The sailor managed a strangled whisper.

“I so swear,” the whip man prompted with a ferocious scowl.

“I so swear.”

Muredarch looked at his new recruit for a long contemplative moment. “Go see Ingella. Set your mark or your thumb to your name in the muster book and she’ll sort you out a pitch.”

The next few all swore the oath, some with visible reluctance, two women stammering through their fear to insist they wouldn’t take part in any piracy. Muredarch treated them both with exquisite courtesy. The defiant few were stripped and either dragged off to some toil or thrown to the back of the stockade. Naldeth and Parrail watched glumly as pirates came to pick over the heap of clothes and boots on offer. Some of the apprentices who’d sworn Muredarch’s oath with suspicious enthusiasm joined them.

“Do you swear to obey me in all things, to treat all so sworn as your brothers and sisters in oath? Do you put your fate in my hands according to the vow we all trust in?” Muredarch was smiling at the woman who’d nearly been dropped in the water the day before.

“I so—” She broke off and swallowed hard. ”I so—” She tugged at the neck of the chemise below her bodice but the collar was neither high nor tight. “I so—” The woman coughed, face scarlet as she choked. She fell to her hands and knees, struggling for breath as Muredarch looked down impassively.

“Mama!” Her daughter screamed and would have run to her but the tattooed pirate caught her, one broad hand slapping over her mouth.

The woman collapsed, panting like a stricken animal, lips fading to a deathly blue.

The remaining prisoners stood frozen with shock but few of the raiders, men and women alike, spared more than a passing, regretful shake of their heads.

Parrail’s eyes were wide with horror as he nudged Naldeth. “Artifice,” he mouthed silently.

Naldeth was trembling, fists clenched, sweat beading his forehead.

“It’s her own fault.” Muredarch explained in conversational tones. “She tried to take the oath without meaning it. Oh, didn’t I say? We’ll have no falsehoods here. Try it and you’ll die like this poor fool. Think on that before you decide.” He smiled at the dead woman’s daughter whom the tattooed pirate released to sob out her heart over the corpse.

After that, the prisoners gave their oath or refusal with terrified speed and, finally, there was no escape for Parrail or Naldeth.

“I cannot swear to you.” The scholar shakily pre-empted Muredarch’s question.

The pirate chief assessed the scholar with merciless eyes, examining him from head to toe. “You might like to reconsider. Ingella tells me she wants a clerk.” He nodded and Parrail was handed over to the tattooed pirate and the lash man. They stripped him with ungentle hands and flung him into the dank shadow of the parapet where the other prisoners cowered.

He’d barely got his breath back when Naldeth landed on the trampled grass beside him. The mage winced, easing the leather collar away from the weal it had scored on his neck. “Bastard didn’t give me a chance to stand up.”

“On your feet.” The tattooed pirate surveyed the cowering prisoners. “You’re nameless and friendless and that’s how you’ll be unless you swear to Muredarch. You take any order you’re given and you’ll eat. No work, no food. Right, you can start by gathering firewood.”

Parrail reached out to help Naldeth up but a vicious stick smacked his hand away.

“If he can’t stand, he can sit there till he starves.” It was the Gidestan pirate, no hint of friendship in his eyes now. “It’s every slave for himself, soft hands and all.”

Parrail retreated, hugging his arm to himself.

Naldeth watched in wary silence until the Gidestan advanced on the dead woman’s daughter who was vainly trying to preserve her modesty in her torn shift, the mark of the tattooed pirate’s hand still scarlet on her ashen face.

“If they’re using Artifice, we have to let Guinalle know,” the wizard whispered urgently to Parrail.

The scholar’s face was tight with pain. “I’ll try tonight.” He winced. “But I think that bastard broke my wrist.”

CHAPTER THREE

To Keran Tonin, Mentor at the University of Vanam

From Rumex Dort, Archivist to Den Castevin, Toremal.

This is all I can find of recent record about pirates but we’re seldom involved in such things. I’ll ask around and see what else I can have copied for you. Next time you’re passing through this way, you can buy me a drink and explain what all this is about.

R

Roll of the Autumn Equinox Assize held in Chanaul in the second year of Tadriol the Provident Esquire Burdel Den Gennael presiding as Justiciar beneath the Imperial Seal Attestors to the Assize drawn by lot from the tenantry of Den Hefeken, Den Fisce and Tor Inshol

Summary of cases relating to maritime concerns brought to judgement and attested as fairly dealt by those called to that service

The captain of the ship
Periwinkle
was brought before the court after being taken by vessels of Den Fisce on the 35th of Aft-Summer on suspicion of piracy. The captain refuses to give his name and it cannot be ascertained from the crew, even after such prolonged close confinement. Three names have been given for the man but none can be found to be reliable. The ship contained goods proven as stolen from the docks at Blacklith and as looted from the wreck of the
Shearwater
, a ship owned by Tor Inshol and cast away on the rocks below Oyster Head. Captain and crew are sentenced to branding on the right hand as thieves and flogging on the dockside at Blacklith, that all ships’ masters may learn their faces and spurn them in future. Those who can prove title to their goods may reclaim them from Den Gennael’s Receiver of Wrecks. Any property remaining will be turned over to the Shrine of Dastennm, to be used by the fraternity for the relief of seamen’s widows and orphans.

Malbis Cultram was brought before the court by Den Hefeken’s Sergeant at Arms, arrested after three separate accusations of his involvement in piracy were laid. Silks, wines and fine spices were found in his cellars but Cultram can provide neither accounts nor yet trading partners to prove his title to such goods. He claims they were purchased for his own use but can show no trade or profession to justify either the quantities of coin found in his strongboxes or such excessive stocks of luxuries. Witnesses from Blacklith examined separately have identified Cultram as associating with known pirates. A series of coastal charts drawn up by the Pilot Academy of Zyoutessela were found among his private papers. Cultram has never been entered on the muster of the academy and his possession of such charts is therefore unlawful. Further, the Master of Pilots has sent his affidavit that these particular charts were issued to the helmsman of the
Brittlestar
. This ship of Den Rannion was lost to pirates in the tenth year of Tadriol the Prudent with all aboard put to the sword but for a few surviving by chance and Saedrin’s grace. One such sailor, Evadin Tarl, was brought to the court and identified Cultram as one of those same pirates. Cultram is sentenced to be hanged in chains on the dockside at Kalaven at Solstice, his body to be tarred for its better preservation and the continued warning thereby to any tempted to follow his example.

Kemish Dosin stood before the court of his own volition to meet the repeated accusations made by his neighbour Rumek Starn that he, Dosin, is in the habit of sailing with pirates. Dosin is resident in Savorgan, a man of no formal skills, having given up his apprenticeship as a joiner some years since. His former master will supply him with no character. Witnesses presented agreed that Dosin occasionally works as a labourer on river barges but deny that he has ever sailed on an ocean vessel. Harbour Masters at Kalaven, Blacklith and Zyoutessela find no record of him on any ship’s muster. Starn could bring no evidence beyond his unsupported accusation. Dosin called on the owner of the Black Rat tavern to confirm Starn’s considerable gaming debts to Dosin. The accusation is accordingly dismissed and an exaction of twenty-five Crowns is to be paid by Starn to the shrine of Raeponin in Savorgan no later than Solstice. Should he forfeit, he will be committed to the pillory for the duration of the festival.

Fulme Astar, lately apothecary of Tannat stood before the court at the insistence of the Sieur Den Sacoriz, that these rolls may record his abjuration of the Empire in its present bounds. Den Sacoriz would otherwise require explanation of Astar’s presence on the pirate vessel
Dogcockle
, taken on the 7th For-Autumn by ships of Den Hefeken after witnessing an unprovoked assault on the Inglis merchant vessel
Petrel
. The court accepts that while the crew were taken in blood and duly hanged from their yardarm, there is no evidence that Astar participated in the raid. Den Hefeken’s shipmaster was therefore correct to return him to Den Sacoriz’s justice as an erstwhile tenant of that House. Extensive enquiry has found no evidence to support Astar’s contention that he was kidnapped off the street in Tannat by pirates to provide them with medical assistance. He was not restrained aboard ship; there is no evidence that he was ill-treated or coerced. Den Sacoriz’s Sergeant at Arms also bore witness that Astar’s wife has made numerous complaints to the Watch that he was using both her and her children violently. Enquiries into the death of one child from a surfeit of laudanum have not yet been satisfactorily concluded. Astar undertakes to leave Tormalin lands before the turn of this present season with no more possessions than he can carry in his two hands and with only the clothes on his back. The court accepts this plea and will not pursue him further. Should he return, his life is forfeit and any who takes it may apply to Den Sacoriz for the appropriate bounty.

Vithrancel, Kellarin,