The Sigil Blade (3 page)

“Not a winning position given the circumstances,” Vannin remarked. “You may have been in as much immediate danger of being killed by a disloyal crewmember seeking to prevent you from talking, as you were of being forced into revealing your role in the plot.”

“Best served then to keep your mouth shut, the captain had no real evidence with which to accuse you,” Ivor asserted.

“Perhaps,” acknowledged Edryd, “but I doubted that I would have withstood the interrogation; keeping silent is not a skill I have much practice with.”

“And yet you are here in front of us, healthy and unharmed,” remarked Vannin, “you must have come up with something.”

“I made a confession,” Edryd said.

Vannin looked unsatisfied, Ivor seemed upset, and Greven was clearly disappointed.

“Not a real confession,” Edryd amended, “I could have gained nothing from that.”

“I don’t see what you stood to gain from any confession, real or false,” said Vannin.

Ignoring the objection, Edryd continued the story, emphasizing how he had bravely refused to divulge the names of any of the crew who were involved. That is of course until properly threatened with physical harm, at which point he then grudgingly let the names of a few conspirators slip out. Slowly, and with purpose, he continued to give the name of a crewman each time he was questioned, at first only people who were not actually involved, but in the end, just randomly naming a new crew member with no pattern at all to whom he chose.

If Ivor had been angry before, he seemed more so now. Edryd had lost Greven’s sympathies as well. Vannin, on the other hand, was impressed.

“He was promoting conditions which would trigger the eventual mutiny,” Vannin offered helpfully to Ivor and Greven, admiring Edryd’s strategy. “By making the captain paranoid, to the point where he would suspect everyone, more men were pushed into the conspiracy, and it gave all of the crew members an urgent incentive to act before they could be accused.”

“I don’t care about the reasons. What he did was contemptible,” Ivor insisted. “I can’t respect someone who accused others to save himself.”

Vannin looked to Edryd, seeking support as the others waited for the explanation.

“I think it’s best if I just tell you what happened,” Edryd responded. “I had been a prisoner for three days with no food, and I was subjected to some fairly rough treatment, but at the end of that, I am not exaggerating when I say the captain looked more distressed than I did.”

“I’m sure he would have,” Vannin said. “After questioning everyone you named, and in turn everyone they named, he had to have run into as much false information as truth. He would have learned that some of his officers were also involved, and it would have become hopeless trying to unravel it all.”

“He had a few choice words for me,” Edryd said, and then, speaking in a rough approximation of the voice of the captain from his story, “I gather you think I have not treated you well. If you only wanted to leave, you could have done so at any time.” Returning to his own voice, Edryd continued. “Why, he wanted to know, had I instead tried to agitate dissension and upset the peaceful operation of his ship and his crew?”

Edryd paused for effect before he related his answer. “I could have said a lot right then—that I had been a virtual prisoner for most of my time aboard his ship, that he had not dealt fairly with his men, or that the disloyalty in his crew was a product of his own making not mine. But, with my life in jeopardy, I couldn’t think of anything so brave or noble as any of that.”

“What did you say?” Ivor asked.

“I told him that I would have left long ago if he had only been willing to pay me what I was owed. It didn’t seem like I had been understood, so I made my point as clearly as I could: ‘You still owe me for eight months of work on this ship!’ It was the wrong thing to say. He dragged me up on deck, had a couple of his men toss me over, and threw in a coin purse after me. The captain then shouted from where he stood on the deck ‘There, I believe that fully satisfies what you are owed,’ much to the amusement of his crew. They clustered at the rail, every one of them, laughing at me. The ship pulled anchor, and it sailed away.”

Edryd watched for reactions, and he was pleased to see that everyone was listening intently. Deciding that it was time to wrap things up, Edryd finished the story. “Thinking that I would soon die, I watched the ship fade from sight. What I hadn’t realized, until I turned around, was that the shoreline could be seen from where I was. In the state of deprivation I was in after days of imprisonment, I was not sure of my prospects, but I began to swim. Aided by the current, I made it to shore just after nightfall four days ago. After recuperating for a day, I spent three more traveling inland, up onto the cliffs and going south through the forests, before crossing the causeway and ending up here on the island tonight.”

At the conclusion of Edryd’s story his listeners exchanged uncomfortable looks.

“You travelled three days through the forest?” said Vannin.

Edryd was confused. “That was the part that you find hard to believe?” he replied. “You do know that there’s a road through the forest, don’t you? Ancient and overgrown, but it was definitely a roadway of some kind. There were ruined buildings here and there along the way and probably a city further inland.”

The mood darkened further, and Greven offered up a cryptic explanation, “We do not go into those forests, not for any reason.”

Edryd wanted to know why, but the three men were growing increasingly unsettled. He asked them anyway. “What is it about the forest that frightens you?”

“A topic best left for the morning, with the sun high above,” Greven said with finality.

“I can’t begin to understand why he didn’t kill you outright,” Ivor said, changing the subject.

“Neither do I,” admitted Edryd, “perhaps he hoped that I would drown.”

“No, the captain thought things through quite carefully,” Vannin disagreed. “He knew that there was a risk that the crew might do to him what he had just done to you.”

“So he lets them off, as if nothing happened?” Ivor objected.

“Even if he could separate the disloyal crewmen from the innocent ones, which he could not, they would have been too numerous to confront,” Vannin explained. “By getting Edryd off the ship and pretending to dismiss the idea of an ongoing plot against him, he took away any immediate pressure on the crew to act.”

“That does make sense,” Edryd replied. “He must be praying he can make it to the next port without mishap.”

“And discharge the crew and hire on an entirely new one the moment they get there,” Greven added.

His story finished, Edryd took advantage of a lull in the conversation and drained what was left of his mug of ale.

Vannin finished his drink as well, and then he briefly tilted his head, listening intently. “Storm seems to have let up,” he commented before rising to his feet. “I think I will see if I can make it home before it starts again.”

“Live well and in good health,” Edryd said rather formally, inspiring a couple of curious looks.

“It was good to meet you,” Vannin said in response.

Vannin left quietly, followed shortly afterwards by Ivor and several others, leaving only Greven, who remained sitting on the other side of the table. Noticing the empty bowl and mug, Greven offered to refill them. When Edryd declined, Greven thanked him for the story. “That was interesting,” Greven said. “I have to say though, I am not sure I should believe most of it.”

“No, you probably shouldn’t,” Edryd agreed, almost relieved to see that someone had the sense to doubt him. He had resisted the urge to tell some of the more incredible lies that he had considered and rejected, but even so, he had assumed that someone would eventually challenge some part of the poorly crafted tale he had spun. He just couldn’t say that he had expected that Greven would end up being the one to do so.

“Doesn’t matter, it was well told… for something made up on the spot,” Greven said cheerfully.  Greven placed his hands on the table, preparing to rise and collect the empty bowl and cup, but he suddenly eased himself back down and leaned forward. “Was any of it true, though?” he asked.

“The eight months of wages are real enough,” Edryd acknowledged as he placed a coin purse on the table.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any money,” Greven complained with an injured look.

“What I actually said, was that I didn’t have anything easily convertible,” Edryd corrected. “I want to pay for the meal, as well as a room, but I am going to need to find a way to exchange these.”

Edryd removed the contents of the bag and then flattened the purse onto the table, placing it strategically between the two of them. With Greven’s thick frame effectively shielding that part of the table from the few remaining people in the inn, Edryd proceeded to casually place two large gold coins on top of the cloth pouch.

Greven’s eyes widened. “Are those sovereigns?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, his gaze lingering on the two coins which were brightly reflecting the lantern light.

“Yes,” confirmed Edryd, “but rather excessive in terms of value for paying for things like lodging and food.”

“You could say that,” agreed Greven. “This is a good deal more than eight months of wages. If I offered you room and board for an entire year for just one of those, you would be getting a very poor bargain.”

“I do need a room, but just for a night or two,” Edryd responded. “If there is a place in town where I could get some local currency, I will be able to pay you after I exchange one of these for some smaller denominations.”

Greven didn’t respond immediately. He seemed to be doing mental arithmetic in his head, never taking his eyes from the two coins.

“Master Innkeep,” Edryd prodded.

Greven jerked his head up, slightly startled. “Sorry, lost in thought,” he apologized. “You would need to go to one of the four harbormasters down on the pier. No, that probably wouldn’t be any good at all. You might want to see the Ard Ri, Lord Esivh Rhol.”

“Ard Ri?” Edryd said with skepticism. “That’s rarified nobility for a rather smallish island.”

Greven cringed at hearing this description, and he gave a quick look around before answering. “I know it’s ridiculous, but he makes us call him that. He runs a business, of an immoral and ill reputed nature, out of the palace atop the island, and he dictates terms to everyone else in An Innis.”

“Let’s say I would just as soon not draw attention. Is seeking an audience with the self-styled High King of An Innis just to get local coins really a good idea? There must be a merchant or two who would be able to handle this.”

“The harbormasters I mentioned before, or one of their agents, would surely have the means,” Greven admitted, “but you have to understand, they are smugglers, swindlers, and villains of one kind or another, each and every last one of them. If you were to meet with any of those thieves, alone and unprotected, and you decided to play out those coins like you just did for me, they would take them alright, and not see any reason to give you anything in return.”

“Lord Esivh is a more legitimate sort then?” Edryd asked.

“No!” Greven said. “He is worse than any of them, and it is no close contest. Only, two gold sovereigns would not be a particularly large sum of money to him. Not so much at least that he would tarnish his image by taking coins from you like a common thief. He would spare no effort in prying them from you by other means though.”

“You group them all together, the Ard Ri included,” Edryd commented.

“There is good reason for that. They came from similar places and used similar means to take hold of what they could. Esivh has merely been the most successful recent example of a black market profiteer advancing his own interests.”

“I take your point about not tempting anyone. Perhaps I would be better off borrowing money instead.”

“That might come with another set of complications, but it probably would be safer,” Greven agreed.

“For something like that, I expect I will be better off dealing with one of your town’s less successful merchants, lower class notwithstanding.  If you could give me a room for the night, and recommend someone appropriate, I will make sure to compensate you properly when I can.”

Greven, appearing apologetic, took a moment to respond. “I haven’t been successful enough of late to hire any help, so things here are in a bit of a neglected state. The few rooms I have that are fit to live in are already taken.”

“I would be happy for anything at all,” Edryd pressed. “Even a bare spot on the floor in a hallway would suit me fine if it will keep me dry.”

Greven’s brow furrowed in thought for a moment. He had begun to shake his head, when the corners of his mouth suddenly tightened into an odd sort of self-satisfied grin.  “Wait one minute,” he said. “I think I have a solution.”

With no more comment than that, the innkeeper hurried up a nearby set of stairs. He was gone for several minutes and Edryd began to grow a little impatient before he finally saw Greven coming back down. The innkeeper was carrying a small brass ring, dangling from which, were two long iron keys. Setting the keys on the table, Greven settled back into his seat across from Edryd.

“There is a house on the other side of the courtyard behind this inn. Belonged to a friend of mine who asked me to look after the place for him,” Greven explained. “He has been gone for years now, so I don’t know that there is much risk that he has returned suddenly and will be in need of it tonight.”