The Lawkeeper of Samara (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 2) (26 page)

Hekman’s description of Gilan had been exact. He was a perfect example of a young guard officer; tall, broad at the shoulder, good looking in that not-especially-bright way which women seemed to find appealing. Now he was frozen. He clearly recognised Cal, so had probably been at one of the battles where Cal and Darius had whipped Ocean’s Gate, but he was torn between a bow and the hand that Cal was offering him. It took a moment for this inner conflict to resolve. He took Cal’s hand and shook it firmly.

“Mage lord,” he said. “You stopped the ship?”

“I did. The black door needs a still base.” Gilan nodded, but still looked somewhat dazed. “Is Corban Saine here?” Cal asked.

Gilan gestured. “On the other ship.”

“He’s unharmed?”

“As far as I know. He went below when the arrows started to fly.”

Cal was relieved. He liked Corban almost as much as he liked Ella. It would have been a bad day to have to report her brother’s death.

“What happened to the Red Fox?”

Gilan told his tale, and Cal found himself admiring the man just a little. Many men would have cut the small boat loose and saved themselves, but Gilan had gone back to face uncertainty because he might be needed. It was a brave thing to do. It was the right thing to do.

Men were gathering around them, keeping a respectful distance, but as Gilan’s tale drew to a close one of them stepped forwards.

“Mage lord, may I speak with you?”

Cal turned. This had to be the captain of the Samaran ship. “You are captain Parl,” he said. The man nodded.

“May I ask your intentions, my lord?”

“I will not interfere with you for long, Captain. I am here to ensure the safety of those who were on the Red Fox and assist them in their mission, so I suppose we shall shortly be on our way to Pek.” He looked at Gilan.

Gilan hesitated. “I wanted to question the brigand captain first, my lord,” he said.

“Very well, have him brought to his own cabin, and if you do not object we will question him together. My presence may be a spur.”

Gilan smiled. He appreciated the effect Cal might have on almost anyone. They went below, with the Sword’s captain and Gilan’s archer trailing along, and eventually the captain of the pirate ship was brought before them. He looked afraid.

Gilan was about to speak, but Cal put a hand on his arm. “Best if I speak first,” he said. He stood square in front of the man and looked him in the eye. The brigand met his gaze, but there was a lack of comprehension there, and Cal had to put that right, to make sure that he understood.

“I am the mage lord of White Rock,” he said. “You have probably heard of me. I wish you to answer the lawkeeper’s questions promptly and truthfully, because I am in a hurry, and you do not want to find out what that means.”

It was a vague enough threat, and to be certain of the truth he would have to fetch a Shan, and it would be a long process. That was not something he wanted. He hoped the threat would be enough.

Gilan stepped forwards. “You were working for the captain of the Red Fox,” he said. It came out as a confident statement, which Cal didn’t think it could be. The brigand tore his eyes away from Cal and looked at Gilan. He nodded.

“Aye, Delantic paid us,” he said.

“To do what?”

“To take his ship.”

“And what of the passengers and crew?”

The prisoner looked across at Cal, who did his best to look intimidating. “They were to be killed,” he said.

“All of them?”

“Aye,” the pirate said. “Ship lost at sea with all hands.”

“Except the captain.”

“He was to sail with us and be dropped on the coast near to Samara, and we were to be paid again.”

“Dropped at night?” Gilan asked.

“Night or day, no difference. It was five miles from the city.”

Gilan turned and looked at Cal. He was excited by this. “He was going to meet someone,” he said. “Someone he trusted.” He turned back to the pirate. “And did you see anyone else with him? Did he have company when he hired you?”

“Aye, there was another man, shorter than Delantic, and a bladesman, but I never heard his name.”

“Describe him,” Gilan demanded.

The pirate shrugged. “He was just a blade. He didn’t speak.”

“But you did see him.”

“Shorter than you, dark hair, well dressed. He looked like a killer. You know, one who does it for a living.”

Cal saw something in the captain’s face, and it was plain that Gilan had seen it too. “You tried him,” Gilan said.

“One of my men, damned fool. He drew on this other and got cut up for it.”

“And when were you to drop Delantic off at this place?”

“Tonight, or perhaps tomorrow, wind and tide permitting.”

Gilan smiled. “Someone should keep that appointment,” he said. “You will show us the place.”

“I will,” the brigand agreed, his eyes straying once more to Cal. As far as Cal could tell the threat had worked its more mundane kind of magic, and the man would tell them almost anything. It would be wise, however, to be cautious. As the threat aged it would become less potent. After all, the man had earned his execution, and there was little that Cal could really add to that, not without taking more than one step down a dark path. He had already explored that road on Samara Plain and found it a remarkably seductive highway.

“There is somewhere else we must be first,” Cal said.

“Pek,” Gilan said. He had not forgotten. “By black door?”

“And Samara,” Cal said. He turned to captain Parl. “I do not presume to teach you your business, captain, but I suggest that you divide your forces and take the brigand ship to the rendezvous. The Sword may return to Samara with your captives. We will join you before nightfall and the trap will be set.”

Parl nodded his agreement. “I shall do my part,” he said.

“I will have to stop the ship again,” Cal told him. He turned back to the brigand, spoke a few words under his breath and touched the man’s wrist. Gilan had broken it, and now Cal repaired the break. The man snatched his hand away. The sensation of healing was a burning one. Cal remembered it well. “This one may be useful to me later,” he said to Captain Parl. “If it’s convenient I would like him to survive the day.”

It was a trick of sorts. He was giving a sliver of hope to a man who had none. It might well be enough to ensure the pirate’s cooperation. He had still not made up his mind if he had a use for him or not.

He led the way back up onto the deck, stilled the ship once more, and created a black door. The smoke rolled up from the planking and solidified.

“Follow me through,” he said to Gilan.

He walked into the darkness, and was somewhere else.

*

The sun was shining when Gilan stepped out onto the grass and looked about him. He had never been to Pek, but was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. They were standing in the middle of a park, its greensward peppered with trees that cast a kind shade upon the people who rested beneath them. Or they had been resting, Gilan thought. Now most of them were scrambling to their feet, alarmed at the sight of a black door appearing in their midst and people stepping from it.

Gilan had been afraid the first time he had travelled this way, and the feeling had never quite abandoned him. It was unnerving to step into darkness and pass through the ghostly caress of the black door, only to find yourself half a world away. It made him feel cold inside.

Diara followed him through and they stood together blinking in the sunshine of Pek. Nearby a fountain splashed joyfully and a breeze picked up, bringing the scent of the seashore.

“You can go about your business without me,” Serhan said. “There are one or two things that I must do. I will return here at midday. Try to be waiting for me.”

“We will do our best, my lord,” Gilan replied. He watched as Serhan turned and walked away across the grass as though he were just another man in the city of Pek. Gilan shook himself.

“Pelorus,” Diara said.

“Aye, that was the name. I suppose we just ask.”

“You could try the docks,” Diara said. “He’s a captain.”

Gilan nodded. He should have thought of that himself, but he was still off balance. So much had happened in the last few hours, the last day, that he was not quite himself. They walked down towards the docks. They could see the masts of ships through the trees. As they walked he became aware that people were following them. It wasn’t a surprise, or should not have been. The manner of their arrival invited curiosity.

They came to the end of the park and stepped out onto a busy street. The houses opposite the open ground, once grand and haughty, had all been taken over by various trades. There were shops and workshops, bakeries, chandlers, sail makers, smithies – all with a marked nautical feel. This was a place that had once been rich, then declined, and had new life breathed into it by the sea breeze.

A man appeared at Gilan’s elbow.

“Forgive me, Karani,” he said. “But might I know your name and your business in our city?”

It was a polite enquiry, as well it might be, directed to a man who had arrived through a magical portal. The asker was not a youth, but young enough to have no grey in his hair. He was tall – about eye to eye with Gilan, but slighter of build. Gilan decided that a polite question merited a polite answer.

“We are lawkeepers from Samara,” he said. “We are here to ask questions of a citizen of Pek.”

“Pek is not so large,” the man said. “Perhaps I know this man.”

“Pelorus,” Gilan said. “Jem Pelorus – a ship’s captain and collector of fine blades.”

The youngish man smiled. “Of course I know Captain Pelorus. You are fortunate that he is in the city and not at sea. I can guide you to his house.” He held out his hand. “I am Finn Candros, elected mayor of Pek.”

Gilan took the man’s hand. He had heard of this custom. The people of Pek chose their leaders, it was said. He didn’t hold with the idea himself. There was no telling who might be chosen.

“Gilan,” Gilan said. “And this is Diara.”

Finn went so far as to shake Diara’s hand as well. “Please, follow me. I will take you to the Pelorus house.”

He took them away from the docks, back along the front of the park by the sea to a place where the road angled upwards to a small neighbourhood that stood atop a low cliff. Here they stopped in front of a house that would have shamed many in Morningside. It was the house of a wealthy merchant.

“This one?” Gilan asked.

“This is Captain Pelorus’ house,” Finn replied.

“Not just a ship’s captain then.”

“Jem Pelorus is one of our most prominent citizens,” Finn agreed. “He owns ships, wagons, warehouses, all that you might expect, but he prefers to sail his ships and see what there is to see beyond Pek.”

It would have been helpful to know this before they stood in front of the man’s door. Gilan adjusted his expectations. He would have to be polite, even deferential with such a man, especially in a foreign city with the mayor watching.

Candros knocked on the door, three firm blows. There was a pause. Gilan imagined servants hurrying to respond, or perhaps not. In the houses of the very rich the servants moved slowly, he believed. Great wealth engendered a sort of arrogance even in the lowliest members of the household.

A bolt was drawn and the door opened a foot or so.

“Mayor Candros, how may we serve you?”

Gilan could hear the voice, but not see the man behind it. It was a travel-worn, dusty voice. An old man he guessed.

“I have those with me who need to speak with Trader Pelorus, Keran” Finn said.

The door opened further, and Gilan saw that he had been right. The man was old, and untidier than he would have expected in a house like this. He was otherwise just what you might expect of a family retainer if you expected anything – slightly bent by age, white haired, an irritable face. The mayor had called him Keran.

“Who are you?” Keran asked.

“Lawkeepers from Samara,” Gilan said.

Keran studied them for a moment. “Come through and wait in the courtyard,” the servant said. “I will tell the master that you are here.”

He led them down a passageway into a square courtyard about sixty feet to a side. It was a pretty place. A pool lay in the centre, and a fountain, and the water was full of big golden fish that swam lazily about. Waxy-leaved trees stood about the perimeter, the scent of their flowers banishing the less pleasing odour of the city and the sea beyond.

There were chairs, too, but Gilan settled himself on the wall that contained the pond and watched the fish. Diara paced, and the mayor stood patiently to one side.

Their wait was brief. Within a minute a man stepped out of one of the shaded doorways and greeted the mayor.

“Good day to you, Finn,” he said, and turned to Gilan and Diara. “You are welcome in my house, lawkeepers. I am Jem Pelorus.”

He was a handsome man, shorter than Gilan, but then most men were. His skin was tanned and his eyes curious. He was simply dressed in white cottons with a broad peacock sash about his waist. He smiled.