The Fall of the Dagger (The Forsaken Lands) (3 page)

No one had an answer to that.

Eight bells of the dog watch sounded just as they finished dinner. It had been a hurried meal, eaten in silence. Saker knew Juster well enough to know he’d been using the time to plan and he wasn’t surprised when the captain asked Surgeon Barklee, Ardhi, Sorrel and himself to stay after the plates had been cleared. Grig Cranald might ordinarily have been asked to join them, but Grig was the officer on watch. Moreover, although their present anchorage was sheltered, tucked away behind the heaped boulders of the uninhabited Beggar’s
Island, Juster was edgy anyway and had told Grig to inform the crew that no one was to sleep below that night.

Reeky hells, I don’t blame him.

King’s Oak had disappeared. Vanished as if it had never existed. Perhaps not as important as the Great Oak of the Pontifect’s city of Vavala, King’s Oak was nonetheless revered as one of the oldest of Shenat shrines. Because it served Throssel, the Ardronese capital, it had additional significance.

Something was deeply awry in Ardrone, and they were not well-positioned to deal with any threats.
Golden Petrel
was sorely undermanned. Splitting the ship’s company up in order to sail three ships all the way home had meant the first mate, Finch Aspen, was no longer on board; he was in command of the captured prizes now in Hornbeam, along with a number of other members of the crew.

“What are you planning?” he asked Juster. “Because I’m blistering sure you aren’t going to sit here and wait for the dawn.”

“Of course not. I’m going to bend my knee to the king. But first I need more information. Barklee, you have a brother living in the docklands, right?”

“Aye, cap’n. He’s an advocate for some of the merchants. My wife and bairns live with him and his wife while I’m gone.” Barklee had married late in life and was itching to get back to his much younger spouse and their young children.

“Then I’ll talk to him first.” Juster looked across at Sorrel. “Tomorrow, I want that ev—” He stopped to glance at Barklee, then said, “I want Piper off this ship. It’s no place for a child.”

Sorrel stiffened at his words.

That evil man’s bastard.
That’s what the captain had been going to say. He’d caught himself when he remembered Barklee had no idea of Piper’s possible parentage.

She stood up, saying, “I still have every intention of taking her to the Pontifect, as soon as I can be on my way.” When he didn’t reply she added, “Right now, I had better check that Banstel has managed to get her to sleep.”

However, before she could leave the wardroom, Grig Cranald appeared in the doorway to interrupt. “Cap’n, sir, a sailboat just approached the starboard bow. It looked like Master Rotherby’s
wherry, so I didn’t sound the alarm, but it veered away at the last moment. Someone lobbed this on to our weather deck as it passed.” He held out an oilskin packet.

Juster rose to take it from him with a nod. “Did you see Rotherby?”

“No, cap’n. I don’t think he was on board. And the wherry headed back to Throssel, as far as I could tell. No lights. Reckon it didn’t want anyone on shore to know it came here.”

Juster opened the packet and took out the folded paper it contained. Face blank, he read the contents, then returned to the beginning and read it again as if he was having trouble believing what was written there. “It
is
from Rotherby, my agent, I’m sure of that, although he hasn’t signed it. But—” He shook his head. “It’s unimaginable. The news, I mean.”

He glanced around the table, his expression a warning that none of them would like what he was about to say. “He writes that Prince Ryce has been removed from the line of succession in favour of his son, Prince Garred, who has been declared a ward of the Crown. However, Ryce refused to surrender Garred to the king’s men, and fled to his northern seat, a keep near Twite, with his wife, Princess Bealina of Staravale, and their son. They are now under siege there. A place called Gromwell Holdfast. I was there once, with his highness. Rotherby also says the king has dismissed his advisory Council.”

“So who’s in char—” Saker began, then stopped. “Fox. Of course.”

Juster nodded, his expression of distaste saying more than any words would. “Rotherby mentions, very politely, that Prime Valerian Fox is now Pontifect Fox. Pontifect Fritillary Reedling was killed when Vavala was taken by marauding Primordials about six months ago, and he was then unanimously elected to the post by the synod. So Fox, with the aid of his clerics, rules Va-faith throughout the Va-cherished Hemisphere. He’s also governing Ardrone through his position as Lord Chancellor to King Edwayn.”

A hammer blow of shock thudded into the centre of Saker’s breast. “Fritillary
died
?”

“The letter does not mention exactly how,” Juster said, sympathy softening his tone. He looked up from the letter. “I’m sorry. We both know that the post of Pontifect is for life, and they wouldn’t have held another election unless she was dead.”

Fritillary.
He swayed, heart pounding.
Sweet Va.
“When did this happen?”

“He’s not precise about how long Prince Ryce has been holed up in Gromwell, but the fall of Vavala was six months ago.”

Saker gave a derisive snort. “One thing I can tell you, it wasn’t marauding Primordials. They couldn’t organise themselves long enough to agree on what to throw into a stew pot, let alone bring down a city. And I won’t be convinced Fritillary’s dead until I find someone who saw her corpse.”

“There is a warning at the bottom of the letter. Rotherby says to watch out for armed men called Grey Lancers. There’s more that concerns us too,” Juster continued. “All spice cargoes have been declared the king’s property. All ocean-going merchant vessels are now annexed for the use of the Royal Merchant Navy.”

It was Cranald who broke the stunned silence that followed this news. “
Golden Petrel
included?”

“So it seems.” Juster’s grated reply left no doubt of how he felt.

“Well, fuck that for a possibility!” Cranald took a deep breath. “Not while there’s a single one of us sailors left alive, cap’n.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Grig, but Edwayn is our king, so guard your tongue before you end up dancing from a gibbet.” Saker was used to Juster’s ability to separate his friendship for Grig Cranald, lover, from his captain’s attitude to Grig Cranald, ship’s mate, but even he found that remark harsh.

“And Lowmeer?” Sorrel asked, breaking the startled silence in the cabin. “What of Lowmeer?”

“Not mentioned.” Juster took a deep breath. “Cranald, ready the pinnace, will you? I’m going ashore.”

Grig continued to look appalled, but his reply was disciplined. “Aye, aye, sir.”

“After I’ve left, move the ship further west of Curlew Cape. No lights. If we’re lucky, no one will see you shift anchorage. It’s a cloudy night.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Will you be going ashore alone?”

It was obvious that Cranald would have given much to go with his captain, but as the senior officer on a ship that was short on crew, there was no way that could happen.

“I’ll go with you,” Saker said.

Juster snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous! You were nulled. You were supposed to die, or at the very least be exiled, remember? You can just imagine what King Edwayn would say if you turned up at his gate. Fox, on the other hand, would be ecstatic at your crass stupidity. Anyway, I have something else I want you to do come sun-up. Your beaked and taloned messenger boy has to carry a letter to Port Hornbeam because I want Finch to sell the spice cargoes on our two prizes immediately. In Hornbeam, for whatever price he can get in his pocket.”

Cranald gave a strangled sound of protest. “In
Hornbeam
? What kind of a price will you get in a tinpot port like Hornbeam?”

“More than I’ll get in Throssel, it seems! Here the king will have it all, and apparently my ship as well. Or more likely Fox will, I wouldn’t mind wagering. In fact, Mate Cranald, your orders are to make sure no one gets their hands on the nutmeg in our hold, either. You sail without me if it looks like any of the king’s ships come near. Take the
Golden Petrel
to Twite. That’s where we’ll sell the nutmeg. I’ll join you there overland, if you have to leave me behind. Understand? I’ll give you my seal of authority, just in case – although I have every intention of returning to the ship before tomorrow morning.”

Cranald flushed, probably with shock at being trusted with not only the ship, but with Dornbeck’s seal. Saker guessed this was Juster’s way of indicating he was not truly irritated with the man, and his previous annoyance had been to indicate the need to be circumspect when it came to matters of treason.

“Surely the king wouldn’t take all your cargo,” Sorrel said. “It makes no sense! You’d never make another voyage.”

“But my
Petrel
would. My beautiful lady would sail without me.” His voice filled with rage. “I’d sink her first.”

“Is it wise to go to the king, then? If he’s mad, and wanting to steal your ship—” she began.

“King Edwayn is my liege lord, and I must know that there is no way I can help him before I act against him.”

Saker almost groaned. “If what your agent says is true, you’re doomed, probably even before you reach the king. Fox wouldn’t let
you near King Edwayn. Believe me, you don’t want to taste Prime Fox’s brand of justice, nor lie in one of the cells in the king’s keep.”

“Nonetheless, Edwayn is my king. This is something I must do.” His smile was more ironic than amused. “I may be a buccaneer, but I still have a sense of honour.”

Saker did groan this time. “Now? Of all times?”

“Don’t worry, witan. You’ll get your money, I promise.”

He had no idea what Juster meant and raised an eyebrow in question.

“You’ve forgotten? You won a wager, remember? Ten per cent of the cargo profits…”

“Sweet cankers! You weren’t serious, surely.” He’d beaten Lord Juster in a race to the top of the mainmast, a contest that had seemed asinine even at the time.

“I
never
jest about money. Or my honour – or my ship if it comes to that. But let’s turn our minds to tonight…”

“I’ll go with you, Lord Juster,” Sorrel said. “I know the palace better than you, I feel sure. At night, by candlelight, my glamour is doubly undetectable. Should you find yourself in trouble, I’d be in a position to aid you.”

Saker was appalled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sorrel!”

She arched an eyebrow in interrogation. “Oh? Would you like to explain why my offer is to be ridiculed? I seem to remember a time when you were happy enough to have it.”

Oh, rot it!
She was remembering him naked on the moor, he could tell. “If there is someone with a witchery, they will see the glow of your glamour.”

“All the time that I was sneaking about the palace with a glamour,” she said, “I was never detected because there was no one with a witchery at court. King Edwayn would never have agreed to your appointment if you’d had a witchery back then!”

“That’s true,” Juster said before he could think of a suitably sharp reply. “Your offer is accepted, Mistress Sorrel. Your knowledge and your witchery will be very useful. You, however, Saker, are definitely staying behind.” He turned to Cranald. “Ask someone to bring up that gilded salt cellar from the orlop would you?”

The mate was flummoxed. “You’re taking a
salt cellar
?”

“One does not visit the king after a long voyage without an expensive, ornate gift.”

“I hardly think—” Saker began.

“Do not presume to advise me on how to conduct my relationship with my liege lord, Saker. My family has a long history of service and loyalty, and I will not shatter that until I am certain I have justice and right on my side.” He turned to Surgeon Barklee, who had been silent throughout the exchange. “I’d like you to come with me to your brother’s house. I need as much information as I can get before going to the palace, and I am loath to involve Agent Rotherby at this point. He obviously does not want to draw further attention to our business arrangements.”

“Of course.”

“If all is well in your household, would your wife welcome another child into your home?” Juster asked.

Barklee shot an uncomfortable look at Sorrel, who appeared stunned. “You mean Piper?” he asked. “Mariet would be delighted. Nothing she likes better than surrounding herself with bairns to love—”

“Don’t think to dispose of Piper like an unwanted piece of jetsam, my lord,” Saker interrupted. “Not without consulting Sorrel. Or me. That is beyond—”

She touched his arm to silence him. “No. Wait. Go on, my lord.”

“It’s true I’ve never wanted her on board after I knew more of her… antecedents. But that has nothing to do with my suggestion now.” He stood and went to look out the aft window of the wardroom, even though there was little to see in the darkness. “I fear what might happen to my ship tomorrow. Possibly there will be a fire fight. We passed three royal sloops-of-war anchored back there near the Throssel docks. They might be small, but they are fully armed and they’re very manoeuvrable in waters like these, compared to us.” He turned back to look at Sorrel. “You have experienced cannon fire, mistress.”

Her silent regard was sombre.

“Piper would be safer with Barklee’s family ashore,” he continued. “He will stay with her. We can send Banstel as well. She adores that lad. If all is well, she can come back on board when we do, until
more permanent arrangements are made. It’s just a temporary measure.”

She gave a reluctant nod. “If that is acceptable to Surgeon Barklee and his family.”

The surgeon was quick to agree, and Saker, overruled, subsided. There was good sense in the idea, but he still didn’t like it.

Juster turned to Cranald again. “You have your orders.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Perhaps Master Ardhi and Surgeon Barklee would assist me with the salt cellar, seeing as we are short-handed?”

“And I’ll change my gown while you do that,” Sorrel said, and followed them out. Saker watched her go, worried. She was wearing her favourite blue dress, the one with the disturbingly low-cut bodice. As usual, she’d attempted to cover the tantalising plunge of her cleavage with the kerchief he had once given her, and, also as usual, he found the endeavour even more of a distraction. Worse, it made him feel uncomfortable, simply because it was Sorrel. Pickles ’n’ hay, how long had it been since he’d bedded a woman? Far too long apparently…