Scimitar Sun (6 page)

*Inform them, then, Eelback, but keep your proverbs and your theories to yourself. If I learn that the whole school has been fed your ideas, your flanks will feed my finlings! Do you understand?*

*I understand, Trident Holder,* he signed, ducking his head in subservience.

*Good! I will call the school together in five tides. Now, I must return to my mate before she becomes impatient and swallows one of our children.* He made an uneasy sign of dismissal and returned to his grotto.

Eelback nodded to Slickfin and Redtail, and smiled his pleasure. *Let us go inform the school of these events. But before we go, please, Slickfin, give Trident Holder a parting gift.*

*With pleasure, my love,* she signed, swimming a lazy circle over Broadtail’s grotto. Her lower body shuddered as she passed the vent holes in the coral. A thin milky liquid dispersed in the water as she flipped her tail — invisible, but potent in its effect.

The three males turned to join her as she returned, their gill slits fluttering in mer laughter.

≈

The light of a hundred candles flickered from four golden candelabra, glinting upon an impressive array of silver and fine bone porcelain. The great table was arrayed in all the finery of a king’s ransom in pirate treasure and the finest foods that Camilla’s staff could prepare: turtle soup, baked fish and grilled oysters, a roast suckling pig, and platters of tropical fruits and vegetables. The wines, in cut crystal goblets, were excellent, imported from Cynthia’s private cellar in Southaven.

Despite the sumptuous array of food and drink, Camilla ate sparingly.

This room had been changed least with the refurbishment of the palace, and Camilla had spent too many years standing while others sat, fasting while others gorged, and dancing while others laughed at her torment, to relax here.

Aside from that, her guests had her nerves on edge and her defenses on high alert, although none could tell by looking at her. Camilla wore a gown of sea-green silk embroidered in gold, her hair artfully coiffed and set with emerald pins. She maintained a calm, smiling countenance in her seat at the head of the table. Count Norris, as emissary from the
emperor, sat in the place of honor to her right. On her left sat the two men who seemed to accompany him everywhere: the sergeant at arms, a career military man named Torrance; and the count’s private secretary, Mr. Huffington, a bespectacled and silent fellow who ate as sparingly as she.

“I must compliment you on the table you set, Lady Camilla,” Norris said for the fifth time as he sampled another spicy grilled oyster and followed it with a sip of blood-red wine.

“Thank you again, Count Norris,” she said, lifting her glass, more to be polite than from thirst. She sipped very carefully; it would serve to keep her wits about her with this man. Although he seemed to accept and, indeed, expect her finest as his due, his eyes missed nothing as they surveyed the keep and its occupants. He also seemed to think that he could flatter her into obsequience, as if she was some guileless lady of the court, but Camilla had lived by her wits too long to be so easily manipulated.

“I fear the fare does not quite match the finery, but we do our best for the few guests we receive here. Though I daresay Sergeant Torrance has put a fair dint in the stores.” She smiled and raised her glass again to take the sting from her jest.

“Far better fare than I’m used to, milady,” the sergeant said with a stiff propriety that Camilla found unsettling. “I never had these little sea creatures before, but they’re very tasty.”

“Sergeant Torrance is used to navy food, Lady Camilla, so any fare that is not crawling with weevils or soaked in brine would be richer than his usual. We must be careful that we do not spoil him for the service.”

“Alas, you have uncovered my plot, my dear Count. I intended to seduce your soldiers into my service with food and wine.” She chuckled politely, while the count and Sergeant Torrance laughed more than was probably warranted. The secretary, Mr. Huffington, merely smiled, his thin lips pressing together until they blanched white. There was something about the man that made Camilla’s skin itch, as if his gaze were a bit too calculating, his manner a little too submissive. “Are you stationed permanently on the
Fire Drake
, then, sergeant?”

“Aye, milady, but we ain’t common soldiers, as you might suspect.” He stuffed a small slice of roast pork into his mouth and chewed while he continued. “The emperor himself commissioned a special arm of the service, fighting men to serve on ships.”

“Really! That’s fascinating,” she lied, painting on a mien of interest. Evasion and flattery were among the many skills she had mastered during her years as Bloodwind’s slave. “Do you see many battles, then? With the Tsing Empire at peace, life for a soldier on a ship must be rather boring.”

“Life for a soldier is defined as boredom punctuated by moments of unrepressed mayhem,” the count said, raising his glass to the sergeant. “And Sergeant Torrance would have you know, though he is perhaps too polite to say it, that the men in his arm of the service are referred to as ‘marines’, not soldiers.”

“Marines? Hm…I like the sound of that. You must be very proud, Sergeant.”

“Thank you, milady, and yes, I’m very proud of my service, and my men. And peace is never quite as peaceful as a civilian might think.”

“Really? I wouldn’t think there would be many battles, with no nation to oppose you, and piracy — at least in the Shattered Isles — eliminated thanks to Mistress Flaxal.”

“Not eliminated entirely, Lady Camilla,” Norris countered, his features more serious. “There have been recent reports of ships vanishing here and there among your islands, though nothing has been confirmed. It is likely that your mistress missed a few corsairs in her purge of Bloodwind’s empire.”

“Is that the reason for your visit, then?” she asked. Perhaps she had finally gotten to the crux of matters. “If so, let me assure you, Count, that if a ship floats in the Shattered Isles, it is at Cynthia Flaxal’s pleasure. She will not suffer the existence of any pirate in these waters.”

“That is good to know,” the count said, sounding genuinely pleased, “and that knowledge will put some of Emperor Tynean’s worries to rest. That is not, however, the only reason for my visit.”

“Oh?” The count’s coyness was becoming tiresome. “Surely you don’t see any threat here. Cynthia has stabilized the entire region by doing away with Bloodwind’s pirate nation. I would think that Emperor Tynean would be overflowing with thanks for that service.”

“Oh, make no mistake, milady, the emperor
is
thankful, and that, again, is part of the reason for my visit.” He nodded to his secretary, and the man produced a small flat box, which he handed to the count. “Please accept this small, and hopefully appropriate, gift for your mistress on behalf of the emperor.”

“Why, thank you, Count Norris,” she said, accepting the thin mahogany case and opening it. Inside lay a simple string of pearls suspending an exquisite pendant of whale ivory, carved in the perfect image of one of Cynthia’s schooners. “It’s lovely, and quite appropriate. The likeness to Cynthia’s design is astounding in its detail. I would not have thought they took that much notice in a city like Tsing.”

“The craftsmanship is dwarvish, and let me assure you, Lady Camilla, much more than a
little
notice has been taken of your mistress’ new ships. They are unique in design, and have created quite a stir.”

“Oh?” She closed the box and put it aside, then signaled the waiter to serve dessert and port.
Finally!
she thought.
Perhaps the schooners are the point of this visit
. “With all the varied ships that must pass your harbors, I would not think that such a small and simple ship would be of interest.”

“Small, yes, but, if the rumors are to be believed, a speedy craft, and able to sail closer to the wind than even the
Fire Drake
, if you discount the warship’s ability to propel itself with sweeps.” He finished the last of his dinner wine and relinquished his glass to the waiter. “Such a ship, if produced in quantity, could present a significant naval force.”

“But the schooners are merchantmen, not warships. Their purpose is commerce.”

“Ah, but a ship may be put to many uses.” He accepted his glass of port and sipped, his eyebrows arching in appreciation. “Your mistress is building these schooners at an astonishing rate. If they were armed…”

“Count, please,” Camilla said, fixing his too-languid gaze with her own. “Any notion that Cynthia Flaxal is creating a private navy is sheer nonsense.”

“Yet from these surroundings, and your most exquisite attire,” he smiled and nodded to her, raising his glass, “she is not exactly destitute. She appears to have made her fortune, but her wealth grows with the proceeds of every new ship she builds.”

“Much of what you see here, Count Norris, once belonged to the pirate Bloodwind,” Camilla said as she gestured at the finery, striving to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “She has put a great deal of that wealth into the production of a merchant fleet, and into the shipyard here, where she employs a shipwright and a small yard crew to design new ships. We produce perhaps one ship a year here, which I would not call extravagant.”

“Yes, she employs the shipwright Master Ghelfan, a rather renowned fellow. And the Keelson Shipyard in Southaven has produced six of her schooners in the past two years, all financed completely by her, with no lending of monies from outside sources.” He sampled his dessert, a sweet coconut custard, made a faint distasteful grimace and pushed the dish away. “It has also been reported that she bestowed a king’s ransom in reward to the captains who aided in her rescue from Captain Bloodwind, and even gave one fellow one of her ships for his own.”

“I didn’t say that Captain Bloodwind amassed a
small
fortune, Count Norris,” she said with her best smile, though she was beginning to feel the strain of maintaining a pleasant demeanor. “In fact, it was quite large; the proceeds of more than fifteen years of
unopposed
piracy.” Camilla hoped he would pick up on her subtle yet heartfelt indictment of the emperor’s lack of success in this endeavor, but he showed no indication and kept on his single-minded course.

“Exactly! And she is putting all that wealth into building more ships.” He sipped his port and eased back in his chair. “You must see how this appears from our emperor’s point of view, milady. A powerful seamage with her own fleet of ships, and what appears to be her own army of natives who, by your own admission, hold her in complete adoration. And she controls the entire archipelago, which holds a strategic position between the Great Western Sea and the Southern Ocean.”

“Yes,” she agreed patiently, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. “But what you neglect to put into your equation, Count, is that Cynthia Flaxal has absolutely no
need
of a navy.”

“And why is that, pray tell? Surely if she wanted to strengthen her position here, a naval force would make that task easier.”

“A naval force would simply get in her way, I’m afraid,” she said.

“Get in her
way
?” The count’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling and he leaned forward. “How could that be?”

Camilla immediately lamented her lapse. She considered telling Norris of the true alliance of forces that Cynthia worked toward, but reconsidered. If he thought building ships to be an aggressive act, what would he think of an alliance with the mer? She finished her port with exaggerated leisure and pushed the glass aside.

“As I said, Count, if something floats in the Shattered Isles, Cynthia knows of it, and it does so at her pleasure. Please let me assure you and the emperor, that Cynthia Flaxal intends to let
all
peaceful shipping pass through the Shattered Isles unhindered and unmolested by
anyone
. There has been too much piracy in these islands for far too long. She will never allow that type of pillaging to return.”

“That is reassuring,” he said, though he looked more alarmed than reassured. “Let me assure you, Lady Camilla, that it is Emperor Tynean’s goal to achieve the same. He sent me here to ensure that it is so, and will
remain
so.”

“Then we have nothing to fear, milord Count.” She smiled brightly at him, then called the waiter forward to refill their glasses as she stood. “Shall we take our port out to one of the balconies and watch the sun set, gentlemen? I assure you, you have not witnessed beauty until you have admired a sunset in the Shattered Isles.”

“I fear that its beauty will be mocked by your own, Lady…may I call you Camilla?” The count rose, extending his arm for her to take. He smiled broadly as she acquiesced. “And you must call me Emil. But tell me more of Master Ghelfan’s role here. Surely, one of such renown feels constrained, being so remotely located. His workmen must be mad with longing for the mainland.”

“Master Ghelfan finds the solitude an asset.” She smiled at her escort and their companions as they strolled from the great hall, grateful that the conversation had shifted away from Cynthia. “He has an affinity for Cynthia’s designs, and his workers, for the most part, are local native folk trained right here by his master foreman.”

“I would love a tour of the shipyard, if that is permissible.”

“Oh, absolutely. Ghelfan has accompanied Cynthia on her trip, but we’ll talk to Dura first thing in the morning.”

“Ah, Dura is Ghelfan’s foreman?”

“Yes, she is…after a fashion,” she said.

“She?” The count’s eyebrows arched again. “Dura is an unusual name for a woman.”

“Dura is an unusual woman, but let me assure you, her bark is far worse than her bite.”

“Ah, yes. I know the type.” He spared a meaningful glance at Sergeant Torrance, and the two chuckled at an obviously private joke. The secretary followed in silence.

Camilla smiled in concert with their mirth and played the gracious host, but her mind spun furiously to discern the real meaning behind the count’s unlikely visit.