Riyria Revelations #04 - The Emerald Storm Michael J Sullivan

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t care where we are or what I do.

Then it

s settled.

Gwen grinned and her eyes brightened.

s what I

ve always dreamed of

the two of

us in a small cottage somewhere safe and warm raising a family.

You make us sound like squirrels.

Yes, exactly! A family of squirrels tucked in our cozy nest in some tree trunk while the troubles of the world pass us by.

Her lower lip quivered.

Royce pulled her close and held her tight as she buried her face in his shoulder. He stroked her head feeling her hair linger on his fingertips. For all Gwen

s strength and courage, he was forever

amazed at how fragile she could be. He had never known anyone like her, and he considered telling Hadrian he had changed his mind.

Don

t even think it,

she told him.

We can

t build a new life until you

re done with the old one.

Hadrian needs you, and I won

t be blamed for his death.

I could never blame you.

I couldn

t bear it if I felt you hated me, Royce. I

d rather be dead than let that happen. Promise me

you

ll go. Promise me you

ll take care of Hadrian. Promise me you won

t despair, and that you

ll set

things right.

Royce let his head lower until it rested on hers. He stood there, smelling the familiar scent of her hair as his own breathing tightened.

All right, but you have to agree to go to the abbey if things get bad like they did before.

I will,

she said. Her arms tightened around him.

m so scared,

she whispered.

Surprised, Royce said,

You

ve always told me you were never frightened when I left on missions.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes and a guilty expression on her face.

I lied.

Chapter 3

The Courier

Hadrian stood in the anteroom, waiting in line to deliver the dispatch. The clerk was a short, plump, balding man with ink-stained fingers and a spare quill behind each ear. He sat behind a formidable desk, scribbling on documents and muttering to himself, unconcerned with the growing line of people.

They had ridden to Aquesta, and Hadrian had volunteered to deliver the dispatch while Royce waited at a rendezvous with horses at the ready. Although he had performed jobs for many of the nobility, few here would know him by sight. Riyria had always conducted business anonymously, working through third parties such as the Viscount Albert Winslow, who fronted the organization and preserved their anonymity. He doubted that Saldur would recognize him, but Luis Guy certainly would. As a result, Hadrian kept a clear map of the nearest exit in his head and a count of the imperial guards between him and freedom.

The seat of the New Imperial Empire was busy and members of the palace staff hurried by, entering and exiting through the many doors around him. They ran or walked as briskly as need, or dignity, demanded. Some turned his way, but only briefly. As he knew from experience, the degree of attention people paid was inversely proportionate to his or her status. The lord chamberlain and high chancellor passed without a glance, while the serving steward ventured a long look and a young page stared curiously for nearly a full minute. While Hadrian was invisible to those at the highest levels, he was becoming uncomfortable.

This is taking too long.

Two dispatch riders reached the front of the line, quickly dropped off their satchels, and left. A city merchant was next and came to file a complaint. This took some time, as the clerk asked numerous questions and meticulously recorded each answer.

Next, came the young, plain-looking woman directly ahead of Hadrian.

Tell the chamberlain I wish

an audience,

she said, stepping forward. She wore no makeup, leaving her face dull. Her hair, pulled back and drawn up in a net, did nothing to accentuate her appearance. She was pear-shaped, a feature made even more evident by her gown, which flared at the waist into a great hoop.

The lord chamberlain is in a meeting with the regents and cannot be disturbed, Your Ladyship.

The words were proper, but the tone was cold. Exhibiting more than a mere professional indifference, the words sounded contemptuous. The inflection onLadyship sounded particularly sarcastic. The woman either did not notice or chose to ignore it.

s been ducking me for over a week,

the woman accused.

Something must be done. I need

material for the empress

s new dress.

My records indicate that quite a large sum was spent on a gown for Modina recently. We are at war and have more important appropriations to make.

That was for her presentation on the balcony. She can

t walk around in that. I

m talking about a day

dress.

It was very expensive nonetheless. You don

t want to take food from our soldiers

mouths just so the

empress can have another pretty outfit, do you?

Another? She has two worn hand-me-downs!

Which is more than many of her subjects, isn

t it?

The empire has spent a fortune remodeling this palace. Surely it won

t break the imperial economy

to buy a bit of cloth. She doesn

t need silk. Linen will do. I

ll have the seamstress

I am quite certain that if the lord chamberlain thought the empress needed another dress he would provide one. Since he has not, she doesn

t need it. Now,Amilia ,

he said brazenly,

if you don

t mind, I

have work to do.

The woman

s shoulders slumped in defeat.

Footsteps echoed from behind them, and the small man

s smug expression faltered as he looked past

Amilia. Hadrian turned and saw the farm girl he once knew as Thrace walking up, flanked by an armed guard. Her dress was faded and frayed just as Amilia had said, but the young woman stood tall, straight, and unabashed. She motioned to the guard to wait, as she moved to the front of the line to face the clerk.

The Lady Amilia speaks with my authority. Please do as she has requested,

Thrace said.

The clerk looked confused. His bright eyes flickered nervously back and forth between the two.

Thrace continued,

I am sure you do not wish to refuse an order from your empress, do you?

The scribe lowered his voice, but his irritation still carried as he addressed Amilia.

If you think I

am going to kneel before your trained dog, you

re mistaken. She

s as insane as rumored. I am not as

ignorant as the castle staff, and I

m not going to be toyed with by common trash. Get out of here, both of you. I don

t have time for foolishness this morning.

Amilia cringed openly, but Thrace did not waver.

Tell me, Quail, do you think the palace guards

share your opinions of me?

She looked back at the soldier.

If I were to call him over and accuse you

let

s see

being a traitor, and then

let me think

order him to execute you right here, what do you think he would do?

The clerk looked suspiciously at Thrace, as if trying to see behind a mask.

You wouldn

t dare,

hissed, his eyes shifting between the two women.

No? Why not?

Thrace replied.

You just said yourself that I

m insane. There

s no telling what I might

do, or why. From now on, you will treat the Lady Amilia with respect and obey her orders as if they come from the highest authority. Do you understand?

The clerk nodded slowly.

As Thrace turned to leave, she caught sight of Hadrian and stopped as if she had run into an invisible wall. Her eyes locked on his, and she staggered a step and stood wavering.

Amilia reached out to support her.

Modina, what

s wrong?

Thrace said nothing, and continued to stare at him, shocked. Her eyes filled with tears and her lips trembled.

The door to the main office opened.

I don

t want to hear another word about it!

Ethelred thundered as he, Saldur, and Archibald

Ballentyne entered the anteroom together. Hadrian looked toward the hall window, estimating the number of steps it would take to reach it, but did not move when none of them took notice of him.

The old cleric focused on Thrace.

What

s going on here?

m taking Her Eminence back to her room,

Amilia replied.

I don

t think she

s feeling well.

They were requesting material for a new dress,

the clerk announced with an accusing tone.

Well, obviously she needs one. Why is she still wearing that rag?

Saldur asked.

The lord chamberlain refuses

What do you need him for?

Saldur scowled.

Just tell the clerk to order what you require. You don

need to pester Bernard with such trivialities.

Thank you, Your Grace,

Amilia said, placing one arm around Thrace

s waist and supporting her

elbow with the other as she gently led her away. Thrace

s eyes never left Hadrian, her head turning

over her shoulder as they departed.

Saldur followed her gaze and looked curiously at Hadrian.

You look familiar,

he pondered, taking a

step forward for a closer look.

Courier,

Hadrian said, his heart racing. He bowed and held up the message like a shield.

s probably been here a dozen times, Sauly.

Ethelred snatched the folded parchment and eyed it.

This is from Merrick!

All three lost interest in Hadrian as Ethelred unfolded the letter.

This was his chance to slip out while they were distracted. He could not risk Thrace drawing attention to him again. She had no idea what was going on, no way of knowing that just saying

Hello

would put a noose around his neck.

Your Lordships.

Hadrian bowed, then turned and quickly walked away, passing Amilia and Thrace.

With each step he felt her stare upon his back, until he turned the corner and disappeared.

***

Any problems?

Royce asked when Hadrian met him outside.

Not really. I saw Thrace,

Hadrian said as they walked.

She doesn

t look good. She

s thin, real thin

and pale. They have her begging for clothes from some sniveling little clerk.

Royce looked back, concerned.

Did she recognize you?

Hadrian nodded.

But she didn

t say anything. She just stared.

I guess if she was planning to arrest us, she

d have done it by now,

Royce said, relaxing slightly.

Arrest us? This is Thrace we

re talking about, for Maribor

s sake.

They

ve had her for two years

she

s the Empress Modina now.

Yeah, but

What?

I don

t know,

Hadrian said, remembering the look on Thrace

s face.

She doesn

t look well. I

m not

sure what

s going on in the palace, but it

s not good. And I promised her father I

d look out for her.

Royce shook his head in frustration.

Can we focus on one rescue at a time? For a man in

retirement, you

re really busy. Besides, Theron

s idea of success was to get his eldest son a cooper

shop. I think hemight settle for his daughter being crowned empress. Now, let

s get down to the

wharf. We need to find theEmerald Storm.

Chapter 4

The Race

The imperial capital of Aquesta, while not as large or as wealthy as Colnora, was the most powerful city in Avryn. The palace dated back to before the age of Glenmorgan and was originally a governor

s residence in the ancient days of the Novronian Empire. Scholars pointed to the gray rock of the castle

s foundation with pride and boasted about how imperial engineers from Percepliquis had laid it. Here, at Highcourt Fields, great tournaments were held each Wintertide. The best knights from all of Apeladorn arrived to compete in jousting, fencing, and other contests of skill.

These weeklong events included an ongoing feast for the nobles and provided healthy revenue for the merchants, who showed their wares along the streets. The city became a carnival of sights and sounds that attracted visitors for hundreds of miles.

Much of Aquesta

s economic sucess came from possessing the largest and busiest saltwater port in Avryn. The docks were awash with all manner of sailing watercraft. Brigs, trawlers, grain ships, merchant vessels, and warships all anchored in its harbor. To the south lay the massive shipyard along with rope, net, and sail manufacturers. The northern end of the bay held the wharf and its fish houses, livestock pens, lumberyards, and tar boilers. All the industries of the sea and sea-going were represented.

Which one is theEmerald Storm ?

Hadrian asked, looking at the forest of masts and rigging that lined the docks.

Let

s try asking at the information office.

Royce hooked his thumb at a tavern perched on the edge of the dock. The wooden walls were bleached white with salt and the clapboards warped like ocean waves. The door hung askew off leather hinges, and above it a weathered sign in the shape of a fish announced: The Salty Mackerel.

The tavern had few windows, leaving the interior dim and smoky. Each tiny table had a melted candle, and a weak fire smoldered in a round brick hearth in the center of the room. Men packed the place, dressed in loose trousers, long checkered shirts, and wide brimmed hats with glossy tops.

Many sat with pipes in mouths and feet on tables. Some stood leaning against posts. All heads turned when they entered, and Hadrian realized that they stood out in their tunics and cloaks.

Hello.

Hadrian smiled as he struggled to close the door. The wind whistled through and snuffed out three candles nearest them.

Sorry, could use some better hinges.

Iron hinges rust overnight here,

the bartender said. The thin, crooked man wiped the counter with one hand while gathering empty mugs in the other.

What do you two want?

Looking for theEmerald Storm ,

Royce spoke up.

Neither took more than a step inside. None of the haggard faces looked friendly, and Hadrian liked the comfort of a nearby exit.

Whatcha want with it?

another man asked.

We heard it was a good ship, and we were wondering if there are any openings for sailors.

This brought a riotous round of laughter.

And where be these sailors who be lookin

fer a job?

another voice bellowed from within the murky

haze.

Certainly not two sand crabs like you.

More laughter.

So, what you

re saying isyou don

t know anything about theEmerald Storm . Is that right?

Royce

returned in a cutting tone that quieted the room.

TheStorm is an imperial ship, lad,

the crooked man told them,

and it

s all pressed up. They

re only

taking seasoned-salts now

if there

s any room left a

tall.

If yer lookin

fer work, the fishery always needs gutters. That

s about as close to seafaring work as is

likely for you two.

Once more the room filled with boisterous laughter.

Hadrian looked at Royce who shoved the door open and with a scowl stepped outside.

Thanks for

the advice,

Hadrian told everyone, before following his partner.

They sat on the Mackerel

s steps, staring at the line of ships across the street. Spires of wood draped with tethered cloth looked like ladies getting dressed for a ball. Hadrian wondered if that was why they always referred to ships as women.

What now?

he asked softly.

Royce sat hunched with his chin on his hands.

Thinking,

was all he said.

Behind them the door scraped open, and the first thing Hadrian noticed was a wide-brimmed hat with one side pinned up by a lavish blue plume.

The face beneath the hat was familiar, and Royce recognized him immediately.

Wyatt Deminthal.

Wyatt hesitated as he locked eyes with Royce. He stood with one foot still inside. He did not look surprised to see them, he was merely questioning the wisdom of advancing, like a child who approached a dog that unexpectedly growled. For a heartbeat no one said a word, then Wyatt gritted his teeth and pulled the door shut behind him.

I can get you on theStorm ,

he said quickly.

Royce narrowed his eyes.

How?

m quartermaster and helmsman. They

re short a cook and can always use another topman. She

ready to sail as soon as a shipment from the palace arrives.

Why?

Wyatt swallowed, and his hand absently drifted to his throat.

I know you saw me. You

re here to

collect but

I don

t have the money I owe. Setting you up in Medford was nothing personal. We were starving, and Trumbul paid gold. I didn

t know they were going to arrest you for the king

s murder. I

was just hiring you to steal the sword

that

s all. A hundred gold tenents is a lot of money. And

honestly

well, I

ve never saved that much in my life and I doubt I ever will.

So, you think getting us on theEmerald Storm is worth a hundred gold?

Wyatt licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth between them.

Is it?

***

Royce and Hadrian crossed the busy street, dodging carts, and stepped onto weathered decking suspended by ropes. The boards bobbed and weaved beneath their feet. The two were dressed in loose-fitting duck-trousers, oversized linen shirts, tarpaulin hats with a bit of ribbon, and neckerchiefs tied in some arcane way that Wyatt had fussed with for some time to get right. They both carried large, heavy cloth seabags in which they stowed their old clothes and Hadrian hid his three swords. Being unarmed left him feeling off-balance and naked.

They snaked through the crowded dock, following Wyatt

s directions to the end of the pier.

TheEmerald Storm was a smart-looking, freshly-painted ship, with three masts, four decks, and the figurehead of a golden winged woman ornamenting the bow. Her sails furled and green pennants flew from each mast. A small army of men hoisted bags of flour and barrels of salted pork onto the deck, where the crew stowed the supplies. Shouts came from what appeared to be an officer who directed the work and another man who enforced the orders with a stout rattan cane. Two imperial soldiers guarded the ramp.

Do you have business here?

one asked at their approach.

Yeah,

Hadrian replied with an innocent, hopeful tone.

re looking for work. Heard this ship was

short on hands. We were told to speak with Mister Temple.

What

s this here?

asked a short, heavyset man with worn clothes, bushy eyebrows, and a gruff voice worn to gravel from years of yelling in the salt air.

m Temple.

Word is you

re looking to put on a cook,

Hadrian said, pleasantly.

We are.

Well then, this is your lucky day.

Ah-huh.

Temple nodded with a sour look.

And my friend here is an able

topman.

Oh, he is, is he?

Temple eyed Royce.

We have openings, but only forexperienced sailors. Normally, I

d be happy to take on green men, but we can

t afford landlubbers on this trip.

But we are sailors

served on theEndeavor .

Are you now?

The ship

s master asked skeptically.

Let me see yer hands.

The master examined Hadrian

s palms examining the various calluses and rough places while grunting occasionally.

You must have spent most of your time in the galley. You

ve not done any

serious rope work.

He examined Royce

s hands and raised an eyebrow at him.

Have youever been

on a ship

afore? It

s certain you

ve never handled a sheet or a capstan.

Royce here is a

you know

Hadrian pointed up at the ship

s rigging.

The guy who goes up there.

The master shook his head and laughed.

If you two are seamen, then I

m the Prince of Percepliquis!

Oh, but they are, Mister Temple,

a voice declared. Wyatt exited the forecastle and came jogging toward them. A bright white shirt offset his tawny skin and black hair.

I know these men, old mates

of mine. The little one is Royce Melborn, as fine a topman as they come. And the big one is ah

Hadrian,

Royce spoke up.

Right, of course. Hadrian

s a fine cook

he is, Mister Temple.

He pointed toward Royce.

This one

s, a topman? Are you joking, Wyatt?

No, sir, he

s one of the best.

Temple looked unconvinced.

You can have him prove it to you, sir,

Hadrian offered.

You could have him race your best up the

ropes.

You mean up theshrouds ,

Wyatt corrected.

Yeah.

You meanaye .

Hadrian sighed and gave up.

The master did not notice as he focused on Royce. He sized him up then shouted,

Derning!

His

strong, raspy voice carried well against the ocean wind. Immediately, a tall thin fellow with leathery skin jogged over.

Aye, sir?

he responded respectfully.

This fellow says he can beat you in a race to loose the topsail and back. What do you think?

I think he

s mistaken, sir.

Well, we

ll find out.

The master turned back to Royce.

I don

t actually expect you to beat Derning.

Jacob here is one of the best topmen I

ve seen, but if you put in a good showing, the two of you will have jobs aboard. If it turns out you

re wasting my time, well, you

ll be swimming back. Derning,

you take starboard. Royce, you have port. We

ll begin after I have Lieutenant Bishop

s permission to

get under way.

Mister Temple moved toward the quarterdeck, and Wyatt slid down the stair rail to Royce

s side.

Remember what I taught you last night

and what Temple said. You don

t need to beat Derning.

Hadrian clapped Royce on the back, grinning.

So, the idea is to just free the sail and get back down alive.

Royce nodded and looked apprehensively up at the towering mast before him.

Not afraid of heights, I hope.

Wyatt grinned.

All right, gentlemen!

Mister Temple shouted, addressing the crew from his new position on the quarterdeck.

re having a contest.

He explained the details of the event to the crew as Royce and Jacob moved to the base of the mainsail. Royce looked up with a grimace that drew laughter from the rest.

Seriously, he isn

t a gentd of heights, is he?

Wyatt asked, looking concerned.

I mean, it looks scary,

and well

okay, it is the first few times you go aloft, but it really isn

t that hard if you

re careful and

aren

t afraid of heights.

Hadrian grinned at Wyatt, but all he said was,

I think you

re going to like this.

An officer appeared on the quarterdeck and stood beside the master.

You may set sail, Mister

Temple.

The master turned to the main deck and roared,

Loose the topsail!

Royce appeared caught by surprise, not realizing this was the order to begin the competition, and as a result, Jacob got the jump on him, racing up the ratlines like a monkey. Royce turned but did not begin climbing. Instead, he watched Jacob

s ascent for several seconds. The majority of the crew rooted for Jacob, but a few, perhaps those that heard they would win a ship

s cook if the stranger

won, urged Royce to get climbing and called to him like a dog,

Go on, boy! Climb, you damn fool!

Some laughed, and a few made disparaging comments about his mother.

Royce finally seemed to work something out in his head and leapt to the task. He sprang, clearing the deck by several feet, and began to run, rather than climb, up the ratlines. It appeared as if Royce was defying gravity as he pumped his legs up the netting, showing no more difficulty than if he were running up a staircase. By the time he reached the futtock shrouds, he had nearly caught up to Jacob. This was webbing that extended away from the mast, reaching toward the small wooden platform known as the masthead. Both men were forced to hang upside down using the ratlines, and without the ability to go no-handed, Royce lost momentum.

Jacob swung around the masthead and jumped to the topmast shroud, where he ascended rapidly once more, in monkey form. By the time Royce cleared the masthead, he was well behind Derning.

He made up time when he could once again advance without crawling inverted. They reached the yard together and both ran out along the top of the narrow beam like circus performers. Seeing them balance a hundred feet above the deck drew gasps from some of the crew, who gaped in amazement. Royce stopped, pivoting to watch his opponent. Derning threw himself down across the yard lying on his belly. He reached below for the gaskets to free the buntlines. Royce quickly imitated him, and together they worked their way across the arm. As they did, the sail came free, revealing its bright white face and dark green crown. It spilled down, whipping in the wind. Royce and Jacob lifted themselves back to their feet and moved to the end of the beam. They each grabbed the brace, the rope connected to the far end of the yardarm, and slid to the deck with the cheers of the crew in their ears. The two touched down together.

Mister Temple shouted to restore order over the unruly crew. It did not matter who had won. The skillful display by both men was impressive enough to earn their approval. Even Hadrian found himself clapping, and he noticed Wyatt was staring with his mouth slightly open. Temple nodded at Hadrian and Wyatt.

Stand by at the capstan!

Lieutenant Bishop shouted, returning order.

Loose the heads

ls, hands aloft,

loose the tops

ls fore and aft!

The crew scattered to their duties. A ring of men surrounded the wooden spoke wheel of the capstan, ready to raise the anchor. Wyatt moved quickly toward the ship

s helm while the rest, Jacob

included, climbed the shrouds of the three masts.

what are you two waiting for?

Mister Temple asked after Hadrian joined Royce.

You heard the

lieutenant

get those sails loosed. Hadrian, take station at the capstan.

As they trotted to their duties Mister Temple gestured in Royce

s direction and remarked to Wyatt,

No wonder he doesn

t have rough hands, he doesn

t use them!

The ship

s captain appeared on the quarterdeck. He stood beside the lieutenant, his hands clasped behind his back, chestst out, and chin set against the salty wind that tugged at the edges of his uniform. Of slightly less than average height, he seemed the opposite of the lieutenant. While Mister Bishop was tall and thin, the captain was plump, with a double chin and long hanging cheeks, which quickly flushed red with the wind. He watched the progress of the crew and then nodded to his first officer.

Take her out, Mister Bishop.

Raise anchor!

Bishop bellowed.

Wheel hard over!

Hadrian found a place among those at the capstan and pushed against the wooden spokes, rotating the large spool that lifted the anchor from the bottom of the harbor. With the anchor broken out, the wheel hard over, and the forecastle hands drawing at the headsail sheets, theEmerald Storm brought her bow around. As she gained steerage, she moved away from the dock and into the clear of the main channel, and the rigging crew dropped the remaining sails. The great canvasses quivered and flapped, snapping in the wind like three violent white beasts.

Hands to the braces!

Mister Temple barked, and the men took hold of the ropes, pulling the yards around until they caught the wind. The sails plumed full as the sea breeze stretched them taut, and Hadrian could feel the deck lurch beneath his feet as theEmerald Storm slipped forward through the water, rudder balanced against sail-pressure.

They traveled down the coast, passing farmers and workers who paused briefly to look at the handsome vessel flying by. At the helm, Wyatt spun the wheel steering steadily out to sea. The men on the braces trimmed the yards so not a sail fluttered and sending the ship dashing through the waves as she raced from shore.

Course sou

east by south, sir,

Wyatt updated Temple, who repeated the statement to the lieutenant, who repeated it to the captain, who in turn nodded his approval.

The men at the capstan dispersed, leaving Hadrian looking around for something to do. Royce descended to the deck beside him, neither one certain of his duty now that the ship was under way.

It did not matter much as the lieutenant, the captain, and Temple were all busy on the quarterdeck.

The other hands moved casually now, cleaning up the rigging, finishing the job of stowing the supplies, and generally settling in.

Why didn

t we ever consider sailing?

Hadrian asked Royce as he moved to the side and faced the wind.

When we were trying to find new professions, that is.

He took a deep, satisfying breath and

smiled.

This is nice. A lot better than a sweaty, fly-plagued horse

and look at the land go by! How

fast do you think we

re going?

The fact that we

re trapped here, with no chance of retreat except into the ocean, doesn

t bother you?

Hadrian glanced over the side at the heaving waves.

Well, not until now. Why do you always have

to ruin everything? Couldn

t you let me enjoy the moment?

You know me, just trying to keep things in perspective.

Our course is south, southeast. Any clue where we might be going?

Royce shook his head.

It only means we aren

t invading Melengar, but we could be headed just

about anyplace else.

Someone arriving deck side caught his attention,

Who

s this now?

A man in red and black appeared from below and climbed the stair to the quarterdeck. He stood out from the rest of the crew by virtue of his pale skin and silken vestments, which were far too elegant for the setting and whipped about like streamers at a fair. He moved hunched over, his slumped shoulders reminded Hadrian of a crow shuffling along a branch. He sported a mustache and short goatee. His dark hair, combed back, emphasized a dramatically receding hairline.

Broken-crown crest,

Hadrian noted.

Seret.

Red cassock,

Royce added.

Sentinel.

At least he

s not Luis Guy. It

d be pretty hard to hide on a ship this size.

If it was Guy,

Royce smiledue of kedly,

we wouldn

t need to hide.

Hadrian noticed Royce

s glance over the side of the ship at the water that foamed and churned as it rushed past.

If a sentinel is on board,

Royce continued,

we can assume there are seret as well. They never travel alone.

Maybe below.

Maybe disguised in the crew,

Royce cautioned.

To starboard, a sailor dropped his burden on the deck and wiped the sweat from his brow with a rag. Noticing them standing idle, he walked over.

Yer good,

he said to Royce.

No man

s beaten Jacob aloft

afore.

The sailor was tan and thin, with a tattoo of a woman on his forearm and a ring of silver in his ear.

I didn

t beat him. We landed together,

Royce corrected.

Aye, clever that. My name

s Grady. What do they call you?

Royce, and this is Hadrian.

Oh, yeah, the cook.

Grady looked at the thief studying him.

Royce, huh? I

m surprised I haven

heard yer name

afore. With skills like you got, I woulda figured you

d be famous. What ships

ave

you served on?

None around these waters,

Royce replied.

Grady looked at him curiously.

Where then? The Sound? Dagastan? The Sharon? Try me, I

ve been

around a few places myself.

Sorry, I

m really bad at remembering names.

Grady

s eyebrows rose.

You don

t remember the names of the ships you served on?

I would prefer not to discuss them.

Aye, consider the subject closed.

He looked at Hadrian.

You were with him then?

ve worked together for some time.

Grady nodded.

Just forget I said anything. I won

t be getting in the way. You can bank money on

Grady

s word, too.

The man winked, then walked away, glancing back over his shoulder at them a few times as he went off grinning.

Seems like a nice sort,

Hadrian said.

Strange and confusing, but nice. You think he knows why we

re here?

Wish he did,

Royce replied, watching Grady resume his work.

Then he could tell us. Still, I

found that when hunting Merrick, stranger things have been known to happen. One thing

s for

certain

this trip is going to be interesting.

Chapter 5

Broken Silence

It was early, but Nimbus was already waiting outside the closed door of Amilia

s office with

armloads of parchments. He smiled brightly at her approach.

Morning, Your Ladyship,

he greeted,

with as much of a bow as he could manage without spilling his burden.

Beautiful day, isn

t it?

Amilia grunted in reply. She was not a morning person and today

s agenda held a meeting with

Regent Saldur. If anything was likely to ruin a day, that would. She opened her office door with a key kept on a chain around her neck.

The office was a reward for the successful presentation of the empress nearly a month before.

Modina was near death when Saldur first appointed Amilia to the post of Imperial Secretary to the Empress. The young ruler never spoke a word, was dangerously thin, and her unwavering expression was never more than a blank stare. Amilia provided her with better living conditions and worked hard to get her to eat and, after several months, the girl began to improve. Modina managed to memorize a short speech for the day of her presentation but abandoned the prepared text and publically singled out Amilia, proclaiming her a hero.

No one was more shocked then Amilia, but Saldur held her responsible. Rather than exploding in anger, he congratulated her. From that day on, his attitude toward Amilia changed

as if she had

bought admission into the exclusive club of the deviously ambitious. In his eyes, she was not only capable of manipulating the mentally unbalanced ruler, but willing to do so as well. This raised opinion of her was followed by additional responsibilities and the new title of Chief Secretarye Grand Imperial Empress.

She took her directions from Saldur as Modina remained locked in the dark recesses of her madness. One of her new responsibilities was reading and replying to mail addressed to the empress. Saldur gave her the task as soon as he discovered she could read and write. Amilia also received the responsibility of official gatekeeper. She decided who could, and who could not, have an audience with Modina. Normally a position of extreme power, it was all a farce since absolutely no one eversaw Modina.

Despite its grandiose new title, her office was a small chamber, nothing but an old desk and a pair of bookshelves. The room was cold, damp, and sparse

but it was hers. It filled her with pride each

morning when she sat behind the desk and pride was something Amilia was unaccustomed to.

Are those more letters?

Amilia asked.

Yes, I am afraid so,

Nimbus replied.

Where would you like them?

Just drop them on the pile with the others. I can see now why Saldur gave me this job.

It is a very prestigious task,

Nimbus assured her.

You are the de facto voice of the empire as it

relates to the people. What you write is taken as the word of the empress and thus the voice of a god incarnate.

So, you

re saying I am the voice of god now?

Nimbus smiled thoughtfully.

In a matter of speaking

yes.

You have a crazy way of seeing things, Nimbus, you really do.

He was always able to cheer her up. His outlandishly colored clothes and silly powdered wig made her smile on even the bleakest days. Moreover, the odd little courtier had a bizarre manner of finding joy in everything, blind to the inevitable disaster that Amilia knew lurked at every turn.

Nimbus deposited the letters in the bin beside Amilia

s desk then fished out a tablet, looked it over

briefly before speaking.

You have a meeting this morning with Lady Rashambeau, Baroness Fargal, and the Countess Ridell. They have insisted on speaking to you directly about their failed petitions to have a private audience with Her Supreme Eminence. You also have a dedication to make on behalf of the empress at the new memorial in Capital Square. That

s at noon. Also the material has

arrived, but you still need to get specifications to the seamstress for the new dress, and, of course, you have a meeting this afternoon with Regent Saldur.

Any idea yet what he wants to see me about?

Nimbus shook his head.

Amilia slumped in her chair. Certainly Saldur

s visit had to do with Modina berating the clerk

yesterday. She had no idea how to explain the empress

s actions. It was the only time since her

speech that Modina had muttered a single word.

Would you like me to help you answer those?

Nimbus asked with a sympathetic smile.

No, I

ll do it. Can

t have both of us playing god now can we? Besides, you have your own work. Tell the seamstress to meet me in Modina

s chambers in four hours. That should give me time to reduce this pile some. Reschedule the Ladies of the Court meeting to just before noon.

But you have the dedication at noon.

Exactly.

Excellent planning,

Nimbus praised.

Is there anything else I can do for you, before I get to work?

Amilia shook her head. Nimbus bowed and left.

The pile beside her got higher each day. She plucked a letter from the top and started working.

While not a hard job, the task was repetitious as she said the same thing in each.

The Office of the Empress regrets to inform you that her most serene and royal Grand Imperial Majesty the Empress Modina Novronian will not be able to receive you due to time constraints caused by important and pressing matters of state.

She had only replied to seven of the letters when there was a soft knock at the office door. A maid popped her head inside hesitantly. It was the new girl. She only started yesterday, but she worked hard and quietly, which Amilia liked. Amilia nodded an invitation, and wordlessly the maid slipped inside with her bucket, mop, and cleaning tools, taking great pains not to bang them against the door.

Amilia recalled her own days as a servant in the castle. As a kitchen worker, she rarely cleaned rooms but occasionally would fill in for a sick chambermaid. She used to loathe working in a room with a noble present, always so self-conscious and frightened. You could never tell what a noble might do. One minute they might be friendly, the next they were calling for you to be whipped. She never understood how they could be so capricious and cruel.

Amilia watched the girl set about her work. The maid was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a brush, the skirt of her uniform soaked with soapy water. Amilia had a stack of inquiries to attend to, but the maid distracted her. She felt guilty not acknowledging the girl

s presence. It felt

rude.I should talk to her. Even as Amilia thought this, she knew it would be a mistake. This new girl saw her as a noble, the Secretary to the Empress and would be terrified if Amilia so much as offered a

good morning.

Perhaps a few years older than herself, the girl was slender and pretty, although little could be determined given her attire. She wore a loose fitting dress with a canvas apron, her figure hidden, a mystery lost beneath the folds. All serving girls adopted the style except the foolish or ambitious.

While working in the halls of those who took what they wanted, it was best to avoid notice.

Amilia wondered if the girl was married. Might she have a family in the city that she went home to each night, or like herself, had she left everything, and everyone, to live in the castle? Despite her youth, she likely had several children by now. Pretty peasant girls married young.

Amilia chided herself for watching the maid instead of working, but something kept her attention.

The way she moved and how she held her head looked out of place. She watched her dab the brush in the water and stroke the floor, moving it from side to side like a painter. She spread water around, but did little to free the dirt from the surface. Edith Mon would whip her for that. The headmistress was a cruel taskmaster. Amilia had found herself on the wrong end of her belt on a number of occasions for lesser infractions. For that reason alone Amilia felt sorry for the poor girl. She knew all too well what she faced.

Are they treating you well here?

Amilia found herself asking despite her determination to remain silent.

The girl looked up and glanced around the room.

Yes, you,

Amilia assured her.

Yes, milady,

the maid replied, looking up.

She is looking right at me,Amilia thought, stunned. Even with her title, and a rank equivalent to a baroness, Amilia still had a hard time returning the stare of even the lowest nobles, but this girl was looking right at her.

You can tell me if you aren

t, I know what it is like to

she stopped, realizing the maid would not

believe her.

I understand new servants can be picked on and belittled by the others.

I am getting along fine, milady,

she said.

Amilia smiled, trying to set her at ease.

I didn

t mean to suggest you weren

t. I am very pleased with

you. I just know it can be hard sometimes when you start out in a new place. I want you to know that I can help you if you are having trouble.

Thank you,

she said, but Amilia heard the suspicion in her voice.

Having a noble offering to help with bullying peers was probably a shock to the girl. If it had been her, Amilia would think it a trap of some kind, a test perhaps to see if she would speak ill of others.

If she admitted to problems, the noble might have her removed from the palace. Under no circumstances would Amilia have admitted anything to a noble no matter how kindly the woman might have presented herself.

Amilia felt instantly foolish. There was a division between nobles and commoners and for good or ill, she was now on the other side. The conditioning that separated the two was far too entrenched for her to wipe away. She decided to stop tormenting the poor girl and return to her work. Just then however, the maid put down the scrub brush and stood.

You

re, Lady Amilia, is that right?

Yes,

she replied, surprised at the sudden forwardness.

You

re the Secretary to the Empress?

How well informed you are. It

s good that you are learning your way around. It took me quite some time to figure out

How is she?

Amilia hesitated. It was very inappropriate to interrupt, and terribly bold to inquire so bluntly of Her Eminence. Amilia was touched, however, by her concern for the welfare of Modina. Perhaps this girl was unaccustomed to interacting with the gentry. She was likely from some isolated village that never saw a visiting noble. The unnerving way she held Amilia

s stare revealed she had no

experience with proper social etiquette. Edith Mon would waste no time beating those lessons into her.

She

s fine,

she replied. Then as a matter of habit added,

She was ill, and still is, but getting better

every day.

I never see her,

the maid went on.

ve seen you, and the chancellor, the regents, and the lord chamberlain, but I never see her in the halls or at the banquet table.

She guards her privacy. You have to understand as empress everyone wants time with her.

I understand. I guess she gets around using secret passages?

Secret passages?

Amilia chuckled at the imagination of this girl.

No, she doesn

t use secret

passages.

But I heard this palace is very old and is filled with them; hidden stairs, and corridors that lead to all kinds of secret places.

I don

t know anything about that,

Amilia replied.

What got this into your head?

The maid immediately put a hand over her mouth in embarrassment and her eyes dropped to the floor in submission.

Forgive me, milady. I didn

t mean to be so bold. I

ll get back to my work now.

That

s all right,

Amilia replied as the maid dunked her brush again.

What

s your name, dear?

Ella, milady,

the maid replied softly, without pausing or looking up.

Well, Ella, if you have problems or other questions, you have permission to speak to me.

Thank you, milady. That is very kind of you.

Amilia returned to her own work and left the maid to hers. In a short time, the servant finished and gathered her things to leave.

Goodbye, Ella,

Amilia offered.

The maid smiled at the sound of her name and nodded appreciatively. As she walked out Amilia glanced at her hands where they gripped the bucket and mop and was surprised to see long fingernails on each. Ella noticed her glance, shifted her grip covering her nails, and promptly left the chamber.

Amilia stared after her awhile wondering how a working girl could manage to grow nails as nice as hers. She put it out of her mind and returned to her letters.

***

You realize they are going to get wise,

Amilia said, after the seamstress had finished taking

Modina

s measurements and left the chamber.

The Imperial Secretary moved around the empress

s bedroom straightening up. Modina sat beneath

the narrow window, in the only patch of sunshine to enter the room. It was where Amilia found her most often. She would sit there for hours, just staring outside watching clouds and birds. It broke Amilia

s heart a little each time she saw her longing for a world barred to her.

The empress showed no response to Amilia

s comment. Her lucidity from the day before had

vanished. The empress heard her though. She was quite certain of that now.

They aren

t stupid,

she went on as she fluffed a pillow.

After your speech, and that incident with the

clerk yesterday, I think it

s only a matter of time. You would have been wiser to stay in your room and let me handle it.

He wasn

t going to listen to you,

the empress spoke.

Amilia dropped the pillow.

Turning as casually as she could, she stole a glance over her shoulder to see Modina still looking out the window with her traditional vague and distant expression. Slowly, Amilia picked up the pillow and resumed her straightening. Then she ventured,

It might have taken a little time, but I

certain I could have persuaded him to provide us with the material.

Amilia waited, holding her breath, listening.

Silence.

Just when she was certain it had only been one of her rare outbursts of coherency, Modina spoke again.

He never would have given in to you. You

re scared of him, and he knows it.

And you aren

Again, silence and Amilia waited.

m not afraid of anything anymore,

the empress finally replied, her voice distant and thin.

Maybe not afraid, but it would bother you if they took the window away.

Yes,

Modina said simply.

Amilia watched as the empress closed her eyes and turned her full face into the light of the sun.

If Saldur discovers your masquerade

if he thinks you

ve been just acting insane, and misleading the

regents for over a year

it might frighten him into locking you up where you can

t do any harm. They

could put you in a dark hole somewhere and leave you there.

I know,

Modina said, her eyes still closed and head tilted upward. Immersed in the daylight she almost appeared to glow.

But I won

t let them hurt you.

The words took a moment to register with Amilia. She heard them clearly enough, but their meaning came so unexpectedly that she sat on the bed without realizing. Looking back it was obvious, but not until that moment did she see it. The speech was for Amilia

s benefit

to ensure that

Ethelred and Saldur could not have her removed or killed. Few people had ever gone out of their way for Amilia. It was unimaginable for Modina

the crazy empress

to risk herself in this way. Such

an event was as likely as the wind changing direction to suit her, or the sun asking her permission to shine.

Thank you,

was all she could think to say and for the first time she felt awkward in Modina

presence.

m going to go now.

She headed for the door and as her hand touched the latch, Modina spoke again.

It isn

t completely an act, you know.

***

Waiting inside the regent

s office, Amilia realized she had not heard a word in her meeting or during the dedication that morning. Dumbfounded by her conversation with Modina

the mere fact that she

even had a conversation with Modina

little else registered. Her distraction, however, vanished the instant Saldur arrived.

The regent appeared imposing as always, in his elegant robe and cape of purple and black. His white hair and lined face lent him a grandfatherly appearance, but his eyes held no warmth.

Afternoon, Amilia,

he said, walking past her and taking a seat at his desk. The regent

s office was

dramatically opulent. Five times larger than her office, it featured a more elegant decor. A fine patterned rug covered the polished hardwood, and numerous end-tables flanked couches and armchairs circling a table and chessboard. The fireplace was an impressively wide hearth of finely chiseled marble. There were decanters of spirits on the shelves, along with thick books. Religiously themed paintings lined the spaces between the bookcases and windows. One illustrated the familiar scene of Maribor anointing Novron. The immense desk, behind which Saldur sat, was a dark mahogany polished to a fine luster and adorned with a bouquet of fresh flowers. The entire office was perfumed with the heady scent of incense, the kind Amilia had only smelled once before in a cathedral.

Your Grace,

Amilia replied, respectfully.

Sit down, my dear,

Saldur said.

Amilia found a chair and mechanically sat. Every muscle in her body was tense. Amilia wished Modina had not spoken to her that morning

at least then she could honestly plead innocence. Amilia was no good at lying, and had no idea how she should respond to Saldur

s interrogation in order to

bring the least amount of punishment to her and the empress. She was still debating what she might say when Saldur spoke.

I have some news for you,

he said, folding his hands on the surface of the desk and leaning forward.

It will not be public for several weeks, but you need to know now so you can begin preparations. I want you to keep this to yourself until I announce it, do you understand?

Amilia nodded as if she understood.

In almost four months, during the Wintertide celebrations, Modina will marry Regent Ethelred. I don

t think I need to impress upon you the importance of this. The Patriarch himself is personally coming to perform the ceremony. All eyes will be on this palace and on the empress.

Amilia said nothing and barely managed another shallow nod.

It is your charge to ensure that nothing embarrassing occurs. I have been very pleased with your work to date, and as a result, I am giving you an opportunity to excel further. I am puttingyou in charge of arranging the ceremony. It will be your responsibility to develop a guest list and prepare invitations. Go to the lord chamberlain for help with that. You will also need to coordinate with the palace cooks for meals. I understand you have a good relationship with the head cook?

Once more she nodded.

Wonderful. There should be decorations, entertainment

music certainly, and perhaps a magician or

an acrobat. The ceremony will take place here, in the Great Hall. That should make things a bit easier for you. You will also need to have a wedding dress made

one worthy of the empress.

Seeing

the tension on her face Saldur added,

Relax, Amilia, at least this time you only need to train her to say two words

I do.

Chapter 6

The Emerald Storm

As the ship lurched once more Hadrian stumbled and nearly hit his head on the overhead beam. It would have been his third time that day. The lower decks of theEmerald Storm provided meager headroom and precious little light. An obstacle course of sea chests, ditty bags, crude wooden benches, tables that swung from ropes, and close to one hundred and thirty men all crammed into the berth deck. Hadrian staggered his way aft dodging the majority of the starboard watch, most of whom were asleep, swaying in hammocks strung from the same thick wooden crossbeams that Hadrian had nearly cracked his skull on. It was not merely the clutter or the shifting of the ship that made Hadrian stagger. He had been feeling nauseated since sunset.

TheEmerald Storm had been at sea for nearly fifteen hours and the enigma of life aboard ship was slowly revealing itself. Hadrian had spent many years in the company of professional soldiers and recognized that each branch of the military held its own jargon, traditions, and idiosyncrasies, but he had never set foot on a ship. He knew he could be certain of only two things. He had a lot of learning to do and little time to do it.

He had already picked up several important facts, such as where you relieved yourself which, to his surprise, was at the head of the ship. A precarious experience as he had to hang out over the sea at the base of the bowsprit. This might be second nature to sailors, and easy for Royce, but it gave Hadrian pause.

Another highly useful bit of information was at least a cursory understanding about the chain of command. It was easy to see that there were officers&mdashnoblemen mostly

and skilled

tradesmen, who held a higher rank than the general seamen, but Hadrian could also tell there was a sub-stratum within these broad classes. There were different ranks of officers and even more subtle levels of seniority, influence, and jurisdiction. He could not expect to penetrate such a complex hierarchy on his first day. All he managed to determine with any clarity was that the boatswain and his mates where the ones charged with making sure the seamen did their jobs. They were quite persuasive with their short rope whips and kept a keen eye on the crew at all times. As such, they were the ones he watched carefully.

The ship

s crew divided into two watches, and while one worked the ship, the other rested, slept, or ate. Lieutenant Bishop placed Royce on the starboard watch assigned to the maintop. His job was to work the rigging on the main or center mast. This put him under boatswain Bristol Bennet and his three mates. Hadrian had seen their like before. Drunks, vagrants, and thugs, they would never have amounted to much on land, but aboard ship they held power and status. This chance to repay others for their mistreatment made them cruel and quick to punish. Hadrian still waited to discover his watch assignment, but he hoped it would be the same as Royce.

He had been lucky so far. This being the first day out, meals had been little more than placing out fresh foods from the recent stay at port. Fruit, fresh bread, and unsalted cooked meats were merely handed out with no actual cooking required. Consequently, Hadrian

s talents remained untested, but

time was running out. He knew how to cook, of course. He had prepared meals for years using little more than a campfire, but that had mainly been for himself and Royce. He didn

t know how to cook

for an entire ship

s crew. Needing to find out exactly what they expected drove him to wander in hopes of finding Wyatt.

The Princess of Melengar rules there now,

Hadrian heard a young lad say.

He didn

t look to be much more than sixteen. A waif of a boy with thin whiskers, freckles darkened by days in the sun, and curly hair cut in a bowl-like fashion except for a short ponytail he tied with a black chord. He sat with Wyatt, Grady, and a few other men around a swaying table illuminated by a candle melted to the center of a copper plate. They were playing cards and the giant shadows they cast only made Hadrian

s approach more disorienting.

She doesn

t rule Ratibor, she

s the mayor,

Wyatt corrected the boy as he laid a card on the pile before him.

What

s the difference?

She was appointed, lad.

What

s that mean?

the boy asked, as he tried to decide which card to play, holding his hand so tight to his chest he could barely see them himself.

It means she didn

t just take over, the people of the cityasked her to run things.

But she can still execute people, right?

I suppose.

Sounds like a ruler to me.

The boy laid a card with a wide grin indicating that at least he thought it was a surprisingly good play.

Sounds like them people of Ratibor are dumb as dirt,

Grady said, gruffly. His expression betrayed

his irritation at the boy

s discard.

They finally get the yoke off their backs and right away they ask for a new one.

Grady!

said a man with a white kerchief on his head.

m from Ratibor, you oaf!

Exactly! Thanks for proving me point, Bernie,

Grady replied, slamming his play on the table so

hard several surrounding seamen groaned in their hammocks. Grady laughed at his own joke and the rest at the table chuckled good-naturedly, except Bernie from Ratibor.

Hadrian!

Wyatt greeted him warmly as the new cook staggered up to them like a drunk.

We were

just talking about land affairs. Most of these poor sods haven

t been ashore in over a year and we

were filling them in on the news about the war.

Which has beenbloody cracking, seeing as how we didn

t even know there was one,

Grady said,

feigning indignation.

We were just in dock though,

Hadrian said.

I would have thought

That don

t mean nuttin

one of the other men said. With next to no hair and few teeth, he appeared to be the oldest at the table and possibly the entire ship. He had a silver earring that glinted with the candlelight, a tattoo of a mermaid that wrapped around his forearm, and he, too, wore a white kerchief on his head.

Most of this

ere crew is pressed. The captain would be barmy to let them touch solid ground in a port. He and Mister Bishop would be the only ones left to rig her!

This brought a round of laughter and garnered irritated growls from those trying to sleep.

You don

t look so good,

Wyatt mentioned to Hadrian.

He shook his head miserably. Looking around at the others and said,

s been a long time since I

been on a ship. Does theStorm always rock so much?

Hmm?

Wyatt glanced at him then laughed.

This? This here is nothing. You won

t even notice it in a

day or so.

He watched the next man at the table play his card.

re still in the sound. Wait until we

hit the open sea. You might want to sit. You

re sweating.

Hadrian touched his face and felt the moisture.

Funny, I feel chilled if anything.

Have a seat,

Wyatt said.

Poe, give him your spot.

Why me?

the young boy asked insulted.

Because I said so.

Poe

s expression showed that was not enough for him to give up one of the limited places.

And because I am a quartermaster and you

re a seaman, but even more importantly,

because Mister Bishop appointed you cook

s mate.

He did?

Poe asked and blinked, a smile crossing his face.

Congratulations,

Wyatt said.

Now, you might want to make a good impression on your new boss and move your infernal arse!

The boy promptly stood and pretended to clean the bench with an invisible duster.

After you, sir!

he said, with a bow and an exaggerated flourish.

Does he know anything about cooking?

Hadrian asked dubiously, taking the seat.

Sure, sure!

Poe declared exuberantly.

I know plenty. You just wait. I

ll show ya.

Good, I don

t feel up to working with food yet.

Hadrian let his head drop into his hands. The old

man next to Wyatt tossed down his card and the whole group groaned in agony.

You bloody bastard, Drew!

Grady barked at him, tossing what remained of his cards onto the pile.

The others did the same.

Drew grinned, showing his few yellowed teeth, and collected the tiny pile of silver tenents.

That

s it

for me, boys. Goodnight.

Night, Drew ya lousy Lanksteer!

Grady said, shooing him away as if he were a bug.

We can talk at

breakfast, eh?

Sure, Grady,

Drew said.

Oh, that reminds me, I heard something right funny tonight when I was reefing the top

sl. We

re going to be taking on a passenger to help find the horn. How stupid are these landlubbers. It

s only the most well-known point on the Sharon! Anyway remind me at breakfast and I

ll tell ya about it. It

s a real hoot it is. Night now.

Most of the rest of the men headed off, leaving just Wyatt, Grady, Poe and Hadrian.

You should turn in as well,

Wyatt told Poe.

m not tired,

he protested.

I didn

t ask if you were tired, did I?

I want to stay up and celebrate my promotion.

Off with ya before I report you for disobeying a superior.

Poe scowled and stomped off looking for his hammock.

You too, Grady,

Wyatt told him.

The old seaman looked at Wyatt suspiciously, then leaned over and quietly asked,

Why you trying

to get rid of me, Deminthal?

Because I

m tired of looking at that ugly scowl of yours, that

s why.

Codswallop!a he hissed.

You wanna be alone to talk about the you-know-what, don

t ya? Both of

you are in on it. I can tell, and that Royce fellow he

s in too. How many more you got, Wyatt? Room

for another? I

m pretty good in a fight.

Shut up, Grady,

Wyatt told him.

Talk like that can get you hanged.

Okay, okay,

Grady said, holding up his palms.

Just letting you know, that

s all.

He got up and

headed for his own hammock casting glances back over his shoulder several times until he disappeared into the forest of swinging men.

What was that all about?

Hadrian asked, hooking a thumb toward Grady

s retreating figure.

I don

t know,

Wyatt replied.

There

s always one sailor on board any ship looking for a mutiny. Grady seems to be theEmerald Storm

s . Ever since he signed on he

s been thinking there

s a conspiracy

going on

mostly because he wants there to be, I think. He has issues with authority, Grady does.

Wyatt started gathering up the scattered deck of cards into a pile.

So, what

s your story?

How do you mean?

Hadrian asked.

Why are you and Royce here? I stuck my neck out getting you on board. I think I have a right to know why.

re looking for a safer line of work and thought we

d try sailing,

Hadrian offered. Wyatt

s face

showed he was not buying.

re on a job, but I can

t tell you more than that.

Does it have to do with the secret cargo?

Hadrian blinked.

s possible. Whatis the secret cargo?

Weapons. Steel swords, heavy shields, imperial-made crossbows, armor

enough to outfit a good-

size army. It came aboard at the last minute, hauled up in the middle of the night just before we sailed.

Interesting,

Hadrian mused.

Any idea where we

re headed?

Nope, but that

s not unusual. Captains usually keep that information to themselves and Captain Seward is no different.

Wyatt shuffled the cards absently.

So, you don

t know where the ship is

going, and you weren

t aware of the cargo. This job didn

t come with much in the way of

information, did it?

What about you?

Hadrian turned the tables.

What are you doing here?

I could say I was working for a living, and for me it would actually make sense, but like you I

looking for answers.

To what?

To where my daughter is.

Wyatt paused a moment, his eyes glancing at the candle.

Allie was taken

a week ago. I was out finding work and while I was gone the Imps grabbed her.

Grabbed her? Why?

Wyatt lowered his voice,

Allie is part elven, and the New Empire is not partial to their kind. Under a new law anyone with even a drop of elf blood is subject to arrest. They

ve been rounding them up

and putting them on ships, but no one can tell me where they

ve taken them. So, here I am.

But what makes you think this ship will go to the same place?

I take it you haven

t ventured down to the waist hold yet?

He paused a second, then added,

That

the bottom of the ship, below the water line. Ship stores are there, as well as livestock like goats, chickens, and cows. Sailors on report get the duty to pump the bilge. It

s a miserable job on account

of the manure mixing with the seawater that leaks in. It

s also where

right now

they have more than a

hundred elves chained up in an area half this size.

Hadrian nodded with a grimace at the thought.

You and Royce gave me a break once because of my daughter. Why was that?

That was Royce

s call. You need to take that up with him. Although I wouldn

t do that for a while,

s sicker than I am. I

ve never seen him so miserable and this sea business is making him irritable.

Wyatt nodded.

My daughter

s the same way on water. Pitiful little thing, she

s like a cat on a piece of

driftwood. It takes her forever to get accustomed to the rocking.

He paused a moment looking at the

candle, then said,

I got the impression the two of you might be sympathetic. Maybe, if you finish this job, you might be willing to help me a little

a turn for a turn?

I thought you got us aboard to pay off a debt.

Wyatt sighed.

I don

t know

maybe.

Hadrian glanced at the mass of men around him and lowered his voice to a whisper.

The job we

re on is important, and we can

t afford to be distracted, but if the situation

presents itself, we might be able to help. Something tells me I won

t have much trouble convincing

Royce to stick his neck out for this one.

Hadrian felt the nausea rising in his stomach once more. His face must have betrayed his misery.

Don

t worry. Seasickness usually only lasts three days,

Wyatt assured him, as he put the cards in his

breast pocket.

After that both of you will be fine.

If we can stay on board that long. I don

t know anything about being a ship

s cook.

Wyatt smiled.

Don

t worry. I

ve got you covered. Poe will do most of the work. I know he looks young, but he

ll surprise you.

So, how is it that I get an assistant?

As ship

s cook, you rank as a petty officer. Don

t get all excited though. You

re still under of the

boatswains and their mates, but it does grant you the services of Ordinary Seaman Poe. It also exempts you from the watches. That means so long as the ship

s meals are on schedule, the rest of

your time is your own. What you need to know is that breakfast is promptly at the first bell of the forewatch,

Wyatt paused.

That

s the first time you

ll hear a single bell toll after eight bells is rung just after the sun breaks above the horizon.

So have Poe light the galley fires shortly after middle watch. He

ll know when that is. Tell him to

make skillygalee

that

s oatmeal gruel. Don

t forget biscuits. Biscuits get served at every meal. At eight bells, the men are piped to breakfast. Each mess will send someone to you with a messkid, sorta like a wooden bucket. Your job will be to dish out the food. Have Poe make some tea as well.

The men will drink beer and rum at dinner and supper, but not at breakfast and no one on board will risk drinking straight water.

Risk?

Water sits in barrels for months, or years if a ship is on a long voyage. It gets rancid. Tea and coffee are okay

cause they

re boiled and have a little flavor. Coffee is expensive though, and reserved for the officers. The crew and the midshipmen eat first. After that, Basil, the officers

cook, will arrive to

make meals for the lieutenants and captain. Just stay out of his way.

For dinner make boiled pork. Have Poe start boiling it right after Basil leaves. The salted meat will throw off a thick layer of fat. Half of that goes to the top captains to grease the rigging, the other half you can keep. You can sell it to tallow merchants at the next port for a bit of coin, but don

t give

it to the men. It will make you popular if you do, but it can also give them scurvy and the captain won

t like it. Have Poe boil some vegetables and serve them together as a stew, and don

t forget the

biscuits.

So, I tell Poe what to make and dish it out, but I don

t actually do any cooking?

Wyatt smiled.

That

s the benefit of being a petty officer; sadly however you only get a seaman

s rate

of pay. For supper, just serve what

s left over from dinner, grog and, of course, biscuits. After that, have Poe clean up and like I said, the rest of the day is open to you. Sound easy?

Maybe, if I could stand straight and keep my stomach from doing back-flips.

Listen to Poe. He

ll take good care of you. Now you

d best get back in your hammock. Trust me, it

helps. Oh, and just so you know, you would have been wrong.

About what?

Hadrian asked.

About thinking saiing was a safer line of work.

***

It was still dark when the captain called

All hands!

A cold wind had risen and in the dark hours before dawn a light rain sprayed the deck adding a wet chill to the seasick misery that had already deprived Hadrian of most of his sleep. During the night, theEmerald Storm passed by the Isle of Niel and now approached the Point of Man. The Point was a treacherous headland shoal that marked the end of Avryn Bay and the start of the Sharon Sea. In the dark, it was difficult to see the shoals, but the sound was unmistakable. Somewhere ahead there came the rhythmic, thundering boom of waves crashing against the point.

The below decks emptied as the boatswain and his mates roused all the men from both watches with their starter ropes, driving them up to stations.

Bring her about!

shouted the captain from his perch on the quarterdeck. The dignified figure of Lieutenant Bishop echoed the order, which Mister Temple repeated.

Helm-a-lee!

shouted the captain. Once more, the order echoed across the decks. Wyatt spun the ship

s great wheel.

Tacks and sheets!

Lieutenant Bishop barked to the crew.

At the mizzen, main, and foremasts the other lieutenants shouted more orders which the boatswains reinforced.

Hadrian stood on the main deck in the dark and drizzling rain, unsure of his station or even if he had one. He was a cook after all, but it seemed even a cook was expected to lend a hand on deck when necessary. He still felt ill, but Royce appeared worse. Hadrian watched as Boatswain Bristol, a big burly man, ordered him up the ropes waving his short whip menacingly. Drained of color, Royce

s face and hands stood out pale in the dark, his eyes unfocused and empty. He reluctantly moved up the main mast

s ratlines, but he did not display any of the acrobatics of the day before.

Instead, he crawled miserably and hesitated partway up. He hovered in the wet rigging as if he might fall. From below Bristol cursed at him until, at last, he moved upward once more. Hadrian imagined that the higher into the rigging Royce went, the more pronounced the sway of the ship would be. Between that, the slippery wet ropes, and the cold wind-driven rain, he did not envy his friend.

Several men were working the ropes that controlled the direction of the sails, but others, like him, remained idle waiting in lines, which the boatswains formed. There was a tension evident in the silence of the crew. The booming of the headlands grew louder and closer, sounding like the pounding of a giant

s hammer or the heartbeat of a god. They seemed to be flying blindly into the maw of some enormous unseen beast that would swallow them whole. The reality, Hadrian imagined, would not be much different should they come too close to the shoals.

All eyes watched the figure of Captain Seward, anticipating something. The ship was turning, he could tell by the feel of the wind and the direction of the rain. The sails once full and taut began to flutter and collapsed as the bow crossed over into the face of the wind.

Main

sl haul!

the captain suddenly shouted, and the crew cast off the bow lines and braces.

Seeing the movements Hadrian realized the strategy. They were attempting a windward tack around the dangerous point, which meant the wind would be blowing the ship

s hull toward the treacherous

rocks even as they struggled to reset the sails to catch the wind from the other side. The danger came from the lack of maneuverability caused by empty sails during the tack. Without the wind driving the ship, the rudder could not push against the water and turn her. If the ship could not come about fully, it would not be able to catch the wind again. If that happened they would drift into the shoals, which would shatter the timbered hull like an eggshell and cast the cargo and crew into a dark angry sea.

Hadrian took hold of the rope in his line and along with several others pulled the yards round, repositioning the sails to catch the wind as soon as she was able. The rope was slick and the wind jerked the coil so roughly that it took the whole line to pull the yards safely into position.

There was another deafening boom as the breakwater exploded and over the port bow a burst of white spray shot skyward. The vessel was turning fast now, pulling away from the foam, struggling to get clear. No sooner had the bow cleared the wind then he heard the captain,

Now! Meet her!

Hard over!

His voice was nearly lost as another powerful wave rammed the rocks just beside them, throwing theEmerald Storm

s bow upward with a rough lurch that staggered them all. On the quarterdeck, Wyatt followed the order, spinning the wheel back, checking the swing before the ship could turn too far and lose her stern into the rocks.

Overhead Hadrian heard a scream.

Looking up he saw the figure of a man fall from the mainsail rigging. His body landed a dozen steps away with a sickening thud. All eyes looked at the prone figure lying like a dark stain on the deck, but none dared move from their stations. Hadrian strained to see who it was. The man lay face down and in the dim light it was difficult to tell anything.

Could it be Royce?

Normally he would never have questioned his friend

s climbing skills, but with his sickness, the

motion of the ship, and his inexperience, it was possible he could have slipped.

Haul off all!

Mister Temple shouted, ignoring the fallen man and the crew pulled upon the sheets and braces, once more capturing the wind. The sails bloomed full and Hadrian felt the lurch under his feet as the ship burst forward once more, heaving into the waves now steering out to the open sea.

Doctor Levy on deck!

Mister Bishop shouted.

Hadrian rushed over the instant he could, but stopped short seeing the tattoo of the mermaid on the dead man

s forearm.

s Edgar Drew, sir. He

s dead, sir!

Bristol shouted to the quarterdeck, as he knelt next to the fallen man.

Several sailors gathered around the body, glancing upward at the mainsail shrouds until the boatswain

s mates took them to task. Hadrian thought he could see Royce up near the top yard, but in the dark he could not be sure. Still, he must have been close by when Drew fell.

The boatswain broke up the crowd and Hadrian, once more unsure of his duty, stood idle. The first light of dawn arrived revealing a dull gray sky above a dull gray sea that lurched and rolled like a terrible dark beast.

Cook!

A voice barked sharply.

Hadrian turned to see a young boy not much older than Poe, but wearing the jacket and braid of an officer. He stood with a firm-set jaw and a posture so stiff he seemed made of wood. His cheeks were flushed red with the cool night air and rainwater ran off the end of his nose.

Aye, sir?

Hadrian replied, taking a guess it would be the right response.

We are securing from all hands. You

re free to fire the stove and get the meal ready.

Not knowing anything better to say Hadrian replied,

Aye, aye.

He turned to head for the galley.

Cook!

the boy-officer snapped, disapprovingly.

Hadrian pivoted as sharply as he could, recalling some of his military training.

Aye, sir?

responded once more feeling a bit stupid at his limited vocabulary.

You neglected to salute me,

he said, hotly.

m putting you on report. What

s your name?

Hadrian, sir. Blackwater, sir.

ll have the respect of you men even if I must flog you to obtain it! Do you understand? Now let

see that salute.

Hadrian imitated the salute he had seen others perform by placing his knuckles to his forehead.

That

s better seaman. Don

t let it happen again.

Aye, aye, sir.

It felt good to get down out of the rain and wind, and Poe met him on the way to the galley. The knew his way around the kitchen well, which was no doubt why Wyatt suggested him. They fired up the stove and he watched him go to work cooking the morning oatmeal, adding butter and brown sugar in proper amounts and asking Hadrian to taste test it. Despite its name, the skillygalee was surprisingly good. Hadrian could not say the same about the biscuits, which were rock hard. Poe had not made them. He merely fetched the round stones from the bread room where boxes of them were stored. Hadrian

s years of soldiering had made him familiar with hardtack, as they were known on land. The ubiquitous biscuits lasted forever but were never very filling. They were so hard that you had to soften them in tea or soup before eating.

With the meal made, stewards from the mess arrived to gather their share and carry them below.

Hadrian entered the berth deck, helping the mess steward carry the last of the servings.

Bloody

show off couldn

t even make it up the lines,

Jacob Derning was saying loudly. The men of the tops,

and the petty officers, sat together at the tables as befitted their status on board, while others lay scattered with their copper plates in amid the sacks and chests. Jacob looked like he was holding court at the center table. All eyes were on him as he spoke with grand gestures. On his head, he wore a bright blue kerchief, as did everyone on the foretop crew.

s a different story with

im when the seas heaving and the lines are wet,

Jacob went on.

You don

see him prancing then.

He looked scared to me,

Bristol the boatswain added.

Thought I was gonna have to go up and

wallop him good to get him going again.

Royce was fine,

said a thin gangly fellow with a white kerchief tied over his head and a thick, blonde walrus mustache. Hadrian did not know his name but recognized him as the captain of the maintop.

Just seasick that

s all. Once he was aloft he reefed the top

sl just fine, albeit a bit oddly.

Make excuses for him all ya want, Dime,

Jacob told him, pointing a finger his way,

but he

s a queer

one he is, and I find it more than a little dodgy that his first day aloft finds his fellow mate falling to his death.

You suggesting Royce killed Drew?

Dime asked.

I ain

t saying nuttin

, just think it is odd is all.

O course you

d know better what went on up there,

wouldn

t you, Dime?

I didn

t see it. Bernie was with him on the top

sl yard when he fell. He says Drew just got careless.

ve seen it

afore. Fools like

im skylarking in the sheets. Bernie says he was trying to walk the yard when the ship lurched

cause

o that burst from the shoal. He lost his footing. Bernie tried to grab him as he hung onto the yard, but the wet made him slip off.

Drew walking the yard in a rainstorm?

Jacob laughed.

Not likely.

And where was Royce during all this?

Bristol asked.

Dime shook his head.

I dunno, didn

t see him till later when he turned up at the masthead.

Bernie was playing cards with him last night, wasn

t he? I heard Drew walked away with a big pot.

Now you

re saying Bernie killed him?

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