Scimitar War (9 page)

“Gillian, or some such. I don’t rightly remember.”

“And there’s no town here, just a shipyard.” Parek snapped the glass closed and shoved it into his pocket. He could see the marker with his naked eye now, but that didn’t make him any happier, it just meant that he was closer to this unknown harbor. “You’ll forgive me if I find this all a bit hard to swallow, Kori, but why in the Nine Hells would a shipwright build a shipyard out in the middle of nowhere? There aren’t even any roads along this coast; the mountains are too steep. The trade route’s twenty leagues inland.”

“Word is the feller don’t care much fer money, just likes to be left alone to build his ships. Thinks himself some kinda artist.”

“An artist? Hmph.” Parek scanned the steep rocks and dense woods of the unforgiving shoreline and frowned. “Very well, Kori, furl the main, fore-stays’l and fore-course, and reef tops’ls. I want topsails, jib and spanker only; the winds will be finicky under this high shore. Bring her two points to starboard and come inshore slow. Put a man in the forechains with a lead line, and bring up my charts and hand compass; I want to mark the soundings in case we need to beat a hasty retreat.”

“Aye, sir!”

The pirate crew knew their duties, and in short order the
Cutthroat
was creeping inshore at barely two knots. The man forward called out soundings at regular intervals, immediately followed by Kori with compass bearings to the headlands to their north and south.

“By the deep, nine fathoms! Bottom is broken shale.”

“Griffin Rock, twenty-six degrees. Bird Point, seventy-five degrees.” Kori called from his vantage amidships.

Parek scrawled notes onto a scrap of parchment and drew the bearing lines on the chart, then marked the depth where the lines crossed. The chart clearly showed an unbroken coastline here, but as they approached and rounded the headland, a gap and another channel marker became visible in the rocky shore.

“I’ll be damned,” Parek muttered. Just like at Plume Isle, the entrance was impossible to find if you didn’t know what to look for. When the outer marker was a stone’s throw off their starboard bow, Parek straightened up, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the kinks imposed by crouching over the chart, and stowed his navigation tools.

“Close enough! Bring her upwind and furl as she luffs. Drop anchor as she loses headway.” He turned to Kori. “We’ll take a launch in to talk with the locals, and mark soundings in the channel on the way back. I won’t risk the ship in such tight quarters until I know I’ve got enough room to bring her about and pay off to deep water if we have trouble.”

“Aye, sir!” Kori relayed the orders, and in no time a launch with six armed sailors lay alongside
Cutthroat
, ready to ferry Parek ashore.

“Keep an eye peeled, Kori,” he ordered as he stepped onto the boarding ladder. “Be ready in case we have to leave in a hurry.”

“Aye, sir. We’ll be ready.”

Parek took the tiller and ordered his crew to stretch out their oars. Soon they were plowing through the passage between the close-set rocky headlands. Here, in the lee of the high shore, the trade winds flagged, and only a lazy ocean swell disturbed the water. If things went well with the locals, and they stopped here to refit
Cutthroat
, they would have to haul the ship in with launches.

The channel emerged into a tiny harbor; two,
maybe
three small ships might anchor here. Presently, it was empty save for a couple of pretty little smacks tied to the quay wall. The shipyard itself, however, left Parek gaping in awe. Two stone piers, each long enough to dock a three-masted galleon, jutted out from the shore. Between them, the shore sloped into the water, and two ship-hauling cradles rested on massive iron wheels, the smaller of the two more than adequate to haul
Cutthroat
. Behind the cradles loomed a huge lofting shed, its doors open and a partially finished hull visible within.

Farther down the shore, away from the noise and mess inherent to a shipyard, a flat stone avenue was lined with six tidy buildings, each as large as an inn, with ground floors made of cut stone and wood, plaster façades above, gleaming windows, and gardens. A wooden dock projected from the shore here, and it was obvious by the gathering crowd that their approach had been noted.

Parek steered them toward the dock, warily gauging the crowd. There were perhaps fifteen men, women and what he had assumed to be children, but soon realized were dwarves. Another dozen or so stood about the various buildings. Nobody seemed particularly agitated, fearful or wary, and none of them appeared to be armed. A figure with long, flaxen hair stood in the fore, and hailed them as the launch approached.

“Good afternoon, sir!”

Parek suddenly realized that it was a woman, albeit surpassingly tall, dressed in a plain tunic and leggings, and bereft of any feminine figure. But she smiled pleasantly at him, seemingly unsurprised at this impromptu visit. “I am Rella, mistress of the shipyard of Kloetesh Ghelfan, nautical architect and shipwright.”

“Captain Johns Torek at your service, ma’am,” he said as the launch drifted to the dock.
Kloetesh Ghelfan
, he thought,
where do I know that name
? He accepted her hand; it was slim but strong, her fingers calloused. Once he stood beside her on the dock, he realized that she had the fine high cheekbones denoting elvish blood. His memory clicked; Ghelfan was the name of the half-elf shipwright that Bloodwind had captured with the seamage two years ago. According to Sam, Ghelfan now worked for the sea witch. He suppressed a sneer at this lovely irony.

“Your yard was recommended to me by Mistress Cynthia Flaxal, Seamage of the Shattered Isles,” he lied easily, all the pieces fitting together in his mind in the span of a breath. “Or rather, Mistress Flaxal’s confidant, Camilla. We stopped at Plume Isle hoping to contract for the refit with the renowned Master Ghelfan, but both he and the seamage were away, so Lady Camilla referred us here.”

Rella’s warm smile faded. “We generally do not contract for refits. Our specialty is new construction.”

Parek maintained his smile, but his mind raced. This place was perfect for his purposes. He preferred to keep this transaction peaceful, but had no qualms about resorting to violence and coercion if necessary.

“Lady Camilla did mention that, but she seemed to think that you would undertake the task as a special favor to a friend of the seamage. And let me assure you,” Parek gestured to his crew, and one handed up a small coffer, “we are well able to pay for your services.” He flipped the latch and opened the box.

“Oh!” Rella’s almond-shaped eyes widened at the sight of the gold in the coffer, though it was only a fraction of the treasure Parek had stolen from the seamage’s keep. Several of the folk behind Rella muttered with pleased surprise. “We are not particularly busy at this time, and as Master Ghelfan holds the seamage in the highest regard, he would not begrudge us taking the time to assist a friend of Cynthia Flaxal. What sort of refit did you have in mind?”

“Our ship, the
Lady Belle
, is rigged for close-wind sailing in the light airs of the Sand Coast, but we are traveling north to Tsing to sell off our cargo, and want to re-rig her for the Northern Reaches.” He’d worked these details out on their way north, and had even had the crew mount a new name placard on
Cutthroat
’s transom. “We’ll need to reduce the rake of her masts, perhaps respar her mainmast and reduce the size of her spanker, shorten the yards, and lengthen her sprit for a third jib. Also some cosmetic work: caulking, a new taffrail, a bit of brightwork, and new paint on her topsides. Conducting trade between Marathia and Fornice is a risky venture, especially in these times of unrest. We fought off pirates more than once, and both ship and crew bear the scars of it. Though there’s nothing I can do about the crew,” he chuckled, and his men laughed along with him, “I would like to pretty up the ship. It might be a bit of a challenge, but nothing you’re not capable of, certainly.”

“Certainly,” she agreed with quiet pride. She exchanged looks with several of the people behind her, nodding in response to their eager grins. “Well, I do not see why we cannot accommodate you. I will provide a pilot to help you navigate the channel, Captain Torek. Once we assess the work needed, we will draw up a contract.” She extended her hand and he took it with a smile.

“Excellent!
Lady Belle
is rather heavily laden, the proceeds of almost three years trading between Marathia and Fornice. So we may need to off-load before you haul her.”

“Of course. We shall make her new again, Captain Torek.” Rella motioned to one of the people behind her, a swarthy man with narrow shoulders and a hooked nose. “Brycen here will help you bring your ship in.”

“Excellent, excellent!” Parek smiled genuinely, handing the coffer back down into the launch and helping the man aboard. “I daresay the Gods of Light are smiling on us today, ay, lads?”

His men smiled and laughed, greeting the pilot as an old friend. Parek boarded the launch and took his place at the tiller, thinking,
This is going to work out just fine
.

≈

Upton entered the keep, paused to mop his brow with a sodden handkerchief, then headed for the stairs. There was no point in putting this off; the sooner he searched the lady Camilla’s quarters, the sooner he could confirm or refute his suspicions. His interviews with the witnesses had corroborated one fact; the lady had stood in the cockpit of the smack as it sailed past the warships. No one had seen any means of restraint. That, and the fact that the sandy print on the dock was a very close match to the sketch of the bloody footprint from the first murder, had seeded the suspicion that she was not a simple bystander in either occurrence. He didn’t know what he might find in the lady’s rooms that might support or refute that suspicion, but a pair of shoes would help. Steps before the first landing, he met Huffington descending. The man bore his valise, as usual, and seemed in a hurry, but a thought occurred to Upton and he raised a hand to forestall him.

“Mister Huffington, I want to thank you again for your aid this morning, and have a word, if I may.”

“If it’s urgent, sir. I’m on an errand for my master, and I dare not delay long.”

“And how is the count bearing up?”

“Poorly, sir. Admiral Joslan has refused any sort of aid, and he’s in a state of deep despair.”

“Yes, the admiral can be quite bullheaded.” He chose his next words carefully. “He must love the lady very much.”

“He does, sir.” Huffington stared at him, obviously impatient to be about his business.

“I know little about Miss Camilla. She was a captive of Captain Bloodwind for some years, correct?”

“I know Miss Camilla only through her association with Count Norris.” The secretary’s expression turned thoughtful. “It’s rumored that she went through a very rough time as Bloodwind’s captive. I was told by a reliable source that the pirate wished to wed her.”

“Wed her? Really?” This was news to Upton. “And her current loyalties?”

“She is utterly faithful to Cynthia Flaxal, from what I understand.” Huffington’s countenance closed, and Upton knew the man suspected the spymaster’s suspicions. “She was ill-treated by the pirates who ravaged this place, Master Upton. I don’t think for a moment that she was in league with them.”

“Hmm, yes. Neither do I, really, I suppose.”
Not in league, perhaps,
he thought,
but maybe coerced or blackmailed into compliance.
“But her abduction remains unexplained. I hesitate to suggest Cynthia Flaxal’s possible involvement to the admiral, considering that the evidence is completely circumstantial, but I, for one, do not think the lady Camilla was taken as a hostage. Do you?”

“I have no idea, sir. Now, if you’d excuse me.”

He nodded to Huffington and smiled. “Thank you, Mister Huffington, and remember, if you require any assistance in the other matter we discussed, please do not hesitate to call on me.”

“If I require assistance, I’ll do so.” Huffington nodded and descended the stairs.

Upton resumed his climb to the third level of the keep, thinking about the exchange. Long experience told him that Huffington had spoken the truth. The man’s concern for his master was obviously foremost in his mind, which was understandable. From what Upton had gleaned during his investigation of Huffington, the count had rescued him from a disreputable and dangerous life in the more dire quarters of the city of Tsing. He owed the count his life, and his dedication was admirable.

Upton stopped before the door of Camilla’s rooms and frowned. The hinges were bent, and doorjamb was splintered where the pirates had apparently kicked it in, so there was no way to lock it. Anyone could have come and gone a dozen times. He gave the door a gentle push, and it creaked harshly as it swung open.

The main room was less of a shambles than many he had seen. The furniture seemed sparse, but he knew that some had been appropriated by the imperial officers housed here. He scanned the area briefly, but knew that what he sought would be in the bedchamber, if anywhere. The door to that room was closed. He thumbed the latch and pushed it open, then stood for a moment in the doorway and cast about, looking for anything that seemed out of place. The bed was intact, though its coverlet was rumpled, and the dresser and wardrobe cabinets looked undisturbed.

He stepped to the bedside and searched under the coverlet and pillows. Nothing. There was also nothing under the mattress. Under the bed there was only dust, and a couple of swatches of lace. He moved to the wardrobe and opened it. Another frown creased his lips as he scanned what little remained inside; a few pettiskirts and a lot of empty hangers. There were no shoes.

The dresser drawers were mostly empty, save for a few worn undergarments and stockings. In the bottom drawer he found an ornate sewing box, and lifted it out. The dented lid fit poorly—the hinges had been bent and straightened—but the box was still serviceable. He lifted the lid and frowned anew. It was empty. Not a strand of thread or scrap of material lay within. But there were the swatches of lace under the bed, as if they’d been dropped and lost. If someone dropped the box, losing the lace, and took the trouble to straighten the hinges and take the contents of the box, why not just take the whole box? He ran his hands deftly around the interior, but there were no hidden compartments or latches. He sighed in frustration, and stopped.