The Lawkeeper of Samara (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 2) (22 page)

Ella waited patiently. She sat in a room devoid of luxury. The walls were whitewashed and the scattering of chairs were hard, wooden things. There were a dozen lamps on each of the opposing long walls that lit the room adequately, but the windows had not been shuttered against the night and the blackness peered in.

Two guards stood by the only door. They were king’s men, and this was the citadel, but Ella was not uncomfortable in their company. She knew both men from the time she had been fostered with the king, and besides, Kane was only a few steps away leaning on the wall just inside the door.

She didn’t have to wait long. It seemed only a minute since the kings man had carried her message to Calaine that the Do-Regana appeared. Ella stood to greet her, and the two women embraced. Their friendship had seen a few trials, but at present was strong.

“I am pleased to see you, Ella,” Calaine said, favouring her with a dazzling smile. “But you said it was a matter of some urgency.”

“It is,” Ella said. “But I am uncertain there is anything we can do about it.”

“Come through,” Calaine said. “This is no place to talk.”

They walked out of the room and Kane attached himself to them, following a few steps behind. They went up a flight of stone stairs that climbed steeply within one of the citadel’s towers and in a short time came to Calaine’s quarters.

Her rooms were not what most people would have expected of the heir to the throne of Samara. The outer room was simple to the point of desolation. There was a plain wooden table, unclothed, and a cluster of hard wooden chairs about it. The room looked like a smaller version of the soldiers’ refectory. Indeed, Ella wondered why they had bothered to move from the somewhat better lit hall downstairs. Ella knew that there was more to Calaine than this military asceticism. She had herself given Calaine books, and knew that the princess had read them, and there had been the gift of a rather fine Saratan rug which was nowhere to be seen. The other room, the bed chamber, was almost certainly more cosseting.

Calaine sat and gestured to one of the other chairs. Kane had remained outside the door, so they were alone. Ella took her seat.

“Now, what is it that you wished to speak of?”

Ella had rehearsed what she was going to say, but faced with Calaine she abandoned her prepared words.

“Corban is in danger,” she said.

The smile vanished from Calaine’s face. “Corban? How so?”

As much as Ella and the princess were like sisters, Ella knew that Corban held a special place in Calaine’s heart. They had become close when Calaine had fostered at the Saine house. Officially it was no more than a friendship, but Ella did not doubt that there was a good deal of affection between the two.

“He boarded a ship to Pek this morning – a trading trip – but I have since learned from Arla Crail that the same ship was also boarded by three of her lawkeepers, and unknown to all of them, by one of the killers we are seeking.”

“A child killer?”

“Aye, and today they have set about the killing of lawkeepers.”

“You have lost men?”

“One dead, two wounded, and there have been other attempts.”

Calaine was all business. She walked to the window and looked out at the sea. “Do you know the name of the ship?” she asked.

“The Red Fox. It’s a Samaran ship, and a good one by all accounts. It left an hour after sunrise.”

“We can still catch it,” Calaine said. She turned from the window. “It’s not widely known, but there have been incidents of piracy in the last year – just one or two – but it’s a growing trend. We’re having ships built in Blaye, for protection, to hunt them down. They’re small, but very fast. The first one came to Samara a week ago.”

“But the Red Fox has a day’s start.”

“It’ll still take her five days to get to Pek if she’s sailed hard, which I doubt she will be. The Sword of Samara will do it in three.”

Ella looked at Calaine, trying to read her face. There had been no mention of a navy at the council meetings, and she suspected that nobody but the king and his immediate circle knew of it.

“A warship,” she said.

“We must protect our trade,” Calaine said. She didn’t quite manage to meet Ella’s eye. “And now it has another purpose. If we hurry we can send it after the Red Fox on the next tide.”

Ella put aside the matter of the warship, the funds for which would have to come from the trading houses or the common people. Her paramount concern was saving her brother. Calaine led her out of the room and they descended once more, crossed the courtyard and passed through a gate beside which two soldiers stood on guard. Now they were outside the citadel walls, and on the point where the river joined the sea.

Here there was a dock, and by the dock stood a ship. Ella looked left and right, and realised that this particular dock was almost impossible to see from either the strand or Gulltown. The ship looked small, but it possessed three masts, and it was longer and narrower than anything Ella had seen before.

“It looks like it would tip over in a stiff breeze,” she said.

Calaine grinned. “It does,” she agreed. “But her captain tells me she’s steady as a rock.”

They walked down onto the dock, and almost at once a man sprang from the deck and met them. He was grey haired and short – shorter even than Ella – and his skin was tanned a deep brown by sun and wind. He seemed a dapper man, neat in dress and movement. He bowed and greeted Calaine.

“Do-Regana, how may we serve?”

“I need you to chase a ship, Captain. The Red Fox, bound for Pek. She left port on the first tide of the morning.”

“And when I catch her?”

Ella noted that he did not say ‘if’. He was certain of his vessel’s prowess.

“You will board her and take control. If you find Samaran lawkeepers on board you will be advised by them as to your course of action. If not, then you will bring the ship back here.”

“Is there a particular danger of which I should be aware?” the captain asked.

“Indeed,” Calaine replied. “There is a man on board who is responsible in whole or part for the deaths of dozens of children. He will be desperate, dangerous and hard to kill. You will do your best to bring him back alive. Unfortunately I do not know his name – only that he is neither a Samaran lawkeeper, nor is he Corban Saine, who is also aboard.”

The captain glanced at Ella, showing that he knew who she was, and that it was her brother who was aboard the pursued vessel.

“We can still catch the tide, Do-Regana,” he said. “If that is all?”

“That is all, Captain.”

The captain turned and strode back towards his ship. “Sound the bell,” he called out. “We sail in thirty minutes.”

Calaine led the way back up towards the citadel, and behind them a bell began to ring. They were passed by men running down to the ship – the crew, Ella supposed, but unlike any ship’s crew she had seen before. They all carried bows and swords, and either wore or carried an assortment of armour. It was a warship indeed.

They paused by the gate and looked down on the ship, the Sword of Samara. It was already lit up and buzzing with activity.

“They’ll catch them,” Calaine said. “Corban will be safe.” Ella thought she was saying it as much to herself as to Ella, but Ella needed to hear it too. She nodded.

“They will,” she said.

Gilan had never been a great swimmer, and he found that almost everything that he was wearing threatened to drag him down. He kicked off his boots. It was a shame. He’d liked those boots. The other pair he owned had a tendency to pinch at the toe.

At least the sea was warm.

He could see that the fire had a good hold on the ship now. There had been a lot of canvas stretched on the masts, and it was roaring as it burnt, and the ship was slowing down. He could feel the heat from the fire even from here.

Something brushed his arm. He recoiled, thinking it a fish of some kind, even a shark, but his arm told him something else. It had not felt like a fish. He reached out again, and there it was: rope. It was snaking through the water not more than an arms length from him. He grabbed it, and with a jerk he was suddenly ploughing through the sea, towed behind the sinking ship.

There was only one reason for a rope.

He turned in the water, and there it was, not ten yards from him – a boat, dark against the star spangled horizon. This, then, was the reason the captain hadn’t wanted him over the stern. This was the captain’s means of escape, and now it could be his.

Gilan went hand over hand, allowing himself to slip backwards until the low hull loomed above him. He seized the edge and hauled himself up, flopping down inside, wet, but safe from drowning – for now.

He sat up. He still had his knife. If he cut the rope now the boat and the ship would drift apart and his purpose would be served. The captain would be denied his escape and the Red Fox would sink and take the murdering bastard with it. But it was not that simple. Diara was still on the ship, and still alive for all he knew. He had to do something. The trader Saine might be alive too, and any number of the crew if they had managed to escape from the fire.

He went to the front of the boat. It was a decent-sized little vessel, and could probably accommodate a dozen or more survivors. He felt around in the dark and found a sack tucked under the boards at the front. Supplies, he guessed.

He found a stanchion at the bow that would serve his purpose. The rope was tied to it. He seized the rope and began to pull, drawing it slowly over the prow so that it coiled in the belly of the boat. The burning ship drew closer.

Gilan could no longer see anyone on the deck, and by now the sails were no more than smoke. The Red Fox had begun to turn sideways into the waves, rolling more. Even by the light of the fire he couldn’t see anyone in the water. The heat of the burning ship grew more intense, and the sound of the fire masked any other noise.

He dragged the boat towards the stern where the rope seemed to be fastened just below one of the windows of the captain’s cabin. If he tied the rope off on the stanchion when he was close enough he might be able to climb in through the window.

A movement caught his eye.

It was the captain. He had reappeared on the deck above the stern and was looking down at Gilan. Gilan drew his dagger. He could still cut the rope, but he suspected that the captain could easily swim to the boat, so his best option was to try and kill the man as he climbed aboard. He tied off the rope and waited.

The gap between the boat and the burning ship was still twenty feet, and the drop from the high deck was a good fifteen, so Gilan was confidant that the captain couldn’t jump into the boat, and even if he could it would be a damaging impact. He was right. When the captain jumped it was into the sea. He surfaced at once and began to swim strongly for the boat. For a moment Gilan wished that he’d cut the rope when he’d first had the idea, but it was too late now.

It seemed only seconds had passed, and the captain had halved the distance between them, and then he stopped. Gilan heard him curse. He turned in the water, and now Gilan saw the flash of an arrow in the light of the burning ship. It was a second arrow, joining the first in the captain’s neck.

He looked up.

Diara was in the window of the captain’s cabin, bow in hand. She drew again and sent a third arrow after the first two. Apparently she deemed three to be sufficient for the task because she lowered the bow.

“You all right, Gilan?” she asked.

“Fine,” he said. He gestured to the boat. “I found us some transport.”

“I’ve got five here with me,” Diara said.

Gilan unlashed the painter and began to haul the boat forwards again, bringing it as close to the ship as he dared. He could see flames behind Diara in the cabin.

She jumped down into the boat, the window now being a mere six feet above the water. Others followed. They were crew men. Gilan had no idea how they had managed to get out of the burning rear section of the ship. The last man to jump was Corban Saine.

“There might be more,” Diara said. “There could be men in the water.”

Gilan looked at the motley collection of sailors. One of them was the man who had been so vociferous about the captain’s first death. He saw Gilan looking at him.

“Seems you were right, captain,” he said. “A danger to us all.” He held out his hand. “Jay Gannelan, bosun.”

“So how do we get out of this?” Gilan asked. “How far are we from land?”

“Thirty miles, give or take,” the bosun said.

“That doesn’t sound far,” Gilan ventured, but the sailor shook his head.

“It’s a bad coast hereabouts – mostly rock and cliffs. If we rowed straight to shore we’d probably founder trying to get ashore. We might make it, but chances are we’d not.”

“So?”

“Stay out here and row back towards Samara,” the bosun said.

“Against the wind?”

“It’s a light wind, and if we take turns it shouldn’t take more than four days.”

“We don’t have enough water,” Gilan said.

“Aye, true enough, but we won’t be out here four days. There’s ships come down this channel every day, sometimes three or four. We’ll get picked up in a day, two at the most.”

Gilan looked out into the night. “You could pass a thousand ships out here and not see them,” he said.

“Not so big as you think, the sea,” the bosun said. “Too close to land and a southerly can dash you on the rocks. Any captain wants his sea room. And too far out just makes your voyage longer than it needs. Thirty miles is about right. If we head due west we’ll be found right enough.”

“So why don’t we just hold position?”

The bosun shook his head. “Poor fortune pursues the idle,” he said. It had the ring of superstition to it, but Gilan was prepared to accept that. He had his own problems with doing nothing.

“Very well,” he said. “We will head west, if you know which way that is.”

The sailor pointed at the sky. “The stars tell me that,” he said. “I’m no navigator, but I can see north on a starry night.”

They fumbled about in the dark and eventually two oars were lifted from the bottom of the boat and placed in the oarlocks. There were only two.

“We should wait until morning,” Gilan said. “Someone else might have survived.”

The bosun shook his head. He clearly didn’t think it likely, but they shipped the oars.

“Just one more thing,” Gilan said. “Move the boat over there to the left, about thirty feet.”

The oars came out again, and the two sailors wielded them with skill to shift the boat just as Gilan had asked. He could see a shape in the water, three arrow shafts sticking up into the air. He reached out and grabbed the captain by his hair, turning him around and lifting so that his neck was stretched across the boat’s rim.

“Your blade, Diara,” he said.

Diara nodded grimly and handed over her short sword.

“Surely that’s not needed,” the bosun said.

“You thought that last time,” Gilan said. “And you lost a ship and a crew. I’m not having this bastard come back again and cause us more grief.”

He raised the sword and brought it down again with all his strength. The job was done with a single blow.

When dawn came the sea was thinly populated with burnt spars and the dead. They searched for an hour before Gilan would admit defeat and then set out westwards towards Samara.

Two hours later they saw a sail.