The Dragon in the Sword (8 page)

Von Bek said: “I know something of such tyrants. Is it not unsafe for you to utter such sentiments aloud and in public?”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, “but I know him for a coward. Moreover, he is concerned because the other Baron Captains will have little or nothing to do with him. They invite him to no celebrations. They do not make visits to our hull. We are scarcely part of the hull-gatherings any more. All we have is the yearly Massing, when all must gather and no contention is allowed. But even here we are offered the very minimum of civility by the other hulls. This
Frowning Shield
has the reputation of being a barbaric craft, worthy of our dimmest past, before the Wars of the Hulls even. All this did Armiad achieve through calling up that old law. Through murdering, we all think, his master. If he were to commit further crimes against his own people—try to silence the relatives, like us, of the old Baron Captain, he would have even less chance of ever being accepted into the ranks of the other noblemen. His efforts to win their approval have been as ludicrous and ill-conceived as his machinations and his plans have been crude. Every time he attempts to win them over—with gifts, with displays of courage, with examples of his firm policies, such as that with the marsh vermin—he drives them further away from him.” Bellanda smiled. “It is one of our few amusements left aboard the
Frowning Shield
.”

“And you have no way of deposing him?”

“No, Prince Flamadin. For only a Baron Captain can call a Blood Challenge.”

“Cannot the other Baron Captains help you against him?” von Bek wished to know.

“By law they cannot. It is part of the great truce, when the Wars of the Hulls were finally ended. It is forbidden to interfere with the internal business of another city vessel.” This last offered by a stammering Arbrek. “We’re proud of that law. But it is not to the advantage, at present, of the
Frowning Shield…”

“Now do you understand,” said Bellanda with a small smile, “why Armiad cultivates you so? We heard he fawns upon you, Prince Flamadin.”

“I must admit it is not the most agreeable experience I have ever had. Why does he do it, when he does not feel obliged to be civil to his own people?”

“He believes us weaker than himself. You are stronger, as he understands such things. But the real reason for his attempts to win your approval are to do with the fact, I’ll swear, that he hopes to impress the other Baron Captains at the Massing. If he has the famous Prince Flamadin of the Valadek at his side when we sail in to the Massing Ground, he believes they must surely accept him as one of themselves.”

Von Bek was highly amused. He exploded with laughter. “And that’s the only reason?”

“The chief reason at any rate,” she said, joining in his amusement. “He’s a simple fellow, isn’t he?”

“The simpler they are the more dangerous they can be,” I said. “I wish we could be of help to you, Bellanda, in relieving you of his tyranny.”

“We can only hope some accident will befall him before long,” she said. She spoke openly. Plainly, they did not plan to perpetuate their hull’s history of murder.

I was grateful to Bellanda for illuminating me on the matter. I decided to seek her help a little further. “I gathered from Armiad last night,” I said, “that I am something of a folk hero amongst at least some of your people. He spoke of adventures which are not wholly familiar to me. Do you know what that means?”

She laughed again. “You’re modest, Prince Flamadin. Or you feign modesty with great charm and skill. Surely you must know that in the Maaschanheem, as well as, I think, in other Realms of the Wheel, your adventures are told by every market tale-spinner. There are books sold throughout the Maaschanheem, not all originating from our book-manufacturing hulls, which purport to describe how you defeated this ogre or rescued that maiden. You cannot say you’ve never seen them!”

“Here,” said one of the younger men, pushing forward and brandishing a brightly coloured book which reminded me a little of our old Victorian penny dreadfuls or dime novels. “See! I was going to ask you if you’d sign it, sir.”

Von Bek said softly, “You told me you were an elected hero in your many incarnations, Herr Daker, but until now I had no proof!”

To my extreme embarrassment he took the book from the boy’s hand and inspected it even as he passed it to me. Here was a rough likeness of myself, riding some sort of lizard creature, sword raised high as I did battle with what looked like a cross between the water hounds and large baboons. I had a frightened young woman on the saddle behind me and across the top of this picture, just as in a more familiar pulp magazine, was a title:
PRINCE FLAMADIN, CHAMPION OF THE SIX WORLDS.
Inside, written in lurid prose, was a story, evidently largely fictitious, describing my courageous exploits, my noble sentiments, my extraordinary good looks and so on. I was both baffled and discommoded, yet found myself signing the name—Flamadin—with a flourish before handing the book back. The gesture had been automatic. Perhaps I was, after all, this character. Certainly my responses were familiar ones, just as I could speak the language and read it. I sighed. In all my experience I had never known anything quite so ordinary and so strange at the same time. I was some kind of hero in this world—but a hero whose exploits were thoroughly fictionalised, like those of Jesse James, Buffalo Bill or, to a lesser degree, some of the popular sports and music stars of the twentieth century!

Von Bek hit the nail on the head. “I had no idea I had been befriended by someone as famous as Old Shatterhand or Sherlock Holmes,” he said.

“Is it all true?” the boy wished to know. “It’s hard to believe you’ve done so much, sir, and yet still be fairly young!”

“The truth is for you to decide,” I said. “I dare say there’s a fair bit of embellishment, however, in there.”

“Well,” said Bellanda with a broad smile, “I’m prepared to believe every word. There’s idle gossip says your sister is the real power, that you do nothing but lease your name to the sensational writers. But I can now say, since I have met you, Prince Flamadin, that you are every inch a hero!”

“You’re very kind,” I replied with a bow. “But I’m sure my sister deserves a great deal of credit, too.”

“The Princess Sharadim? She refuses to be mentioned in those pages, I hear.”

“Sharadim?” Again that name! Yet only yesterday she had been described as my betrothed.

“Aye…” Bellanda looked puzzled. “Have I been too bold, Prince Flamadin, in my humour…?”

“No, no. Is Sharadim a common name in my own land…?” I was asking a stupid question. I had baffled her.

“I cannot follow you, sir…”

Von Bek came to my rescue again. “I had heard that the Princess Sharadim was Prince Flamadin’s bride-to-be…”

“So she is, sir,” said Bellanda. “And the prince’s sister. That’s a tradition in your realm, is it not?” She grew further confused. “If I have repeated a piece of stupid gossip or believed too much in these fictions, I really do apologise…”

I recovered myself. “It is not for you to apologise.” I went towards the edge of the turret and leaned against it. A wind blew up, dispelling the smoke, and freshened my lungs, my skin, helped me cool my mind. “I am fatigued. Sometimes I forget things…”

“Come,” said von Bek, apologising to the young people, “I will help you back to your quarters. Rest for an hour. You’ll feel better for it.”

I allowed him to lead me away from the thoroughly puzzled group of students.

When we returned to the cabins we found a messenger waiting patiently outside the main door. “My good gentlemen,” he said, “the Baron Captain sends his respects. He lunches at your pleasure.”

“Does that mean we should join him as soon as possible?” von Bek asked the man.

“If you are so disposed, sir.”

We went inside and I made my way to my bedroom, sitting down heavily. “I apologise, von Bek. These revelations should not affect me so. If it had not been for those dreams—those women calling me Sharadim…”

“I think I can understand,” he said, “but you should try to pull yourself together. We don’t want these people to turn against us. Not just yet, my friend. I believe that amongst the intelligentsia they are curious as to whether you are the hero which the storybooks describe. I think there’s a rumour that Prince Flamadin is a mere puppet. Did you sense that?”

I nodded. “Perhaps that’s why they call to Sharadim.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“A suggestion that it is she who holds the real power, that her brother—her betrothed—is a mere sham. Perhaps it suits her to have him a kind of living legend, a popular hero. Such relationships are not unheard of in our world, after all.”

“I did not gather as much, but I agree it is a possibility. Does this mean, then, that you and Flamadin of the Valadek are not necessarily of the same character?”

“The shell alters, von Bek. The spirit and the character remain unchanged. It would not be the first time I have been incarnated in the body of a hero who was not all people expected him to be.”

“The other thing I’d be curious about in your shoes, as it were, is how I came to be in this world in the first place. Do you think you’ll discover that answer soon?”

“I can be sure of nothing, my friend.” I stood up and straightened my shoulders. “Let’s prepare ourselves for whatever foul experience luncheon is going to bring us.”

As we left for the Baron Captain’s hall, von Bek said: “I wonder if this Princess Sharadim will be at the Massing. I must say I am becoming increasingly curious to meet her. What about you?”

I managed to smile. “I am dreading such a meeting, my friend. I fear nothing but misery and terror will result from it.”

Von Bek looked hard at my face. “I think I would be less impressed,” he said, “if you did not have that exceptionally ghastly grin on your lips.”

4

B
ARON
C
APTAIN
A
RMIAD
had a favour to ask me. Since my discussion with the young students, I was not surprised when eventually he came round to asking me if I would do him the honour of accompanying him aboard another hull, just prior to the Massing. “The hulls come gradually to the Massing Ground, frequently sailing side by side for many miles before the Ground itself is reached. Already the upper lookouts have sighted three other hulls. By their signals they are the
Girl in Green
, the
Certain Scalpel
and the
New Argument
, all from the farthest anchorages. They must have made good time to be so close to the Massing Ground. It is the custom for Baron Captains to make courtesy calls, one upon another, at this time. These calls are only refused in the case of sickness aboard or some other great crisis. I should like to put up flags to the
New Argument
, telling her we wish to pay her a visit. Would you and your friend be curious to see another hull?”

“We’ll gladly come,” said I. Not only did I wish to compare the hulls, I wanted to get some idea of how the Baron Captain’s peers actually regarded him. From what he said it was not possible to refuse even him. And it was obvious to me that he wished to display his guest to the others so that the word would go round before the Massing. By this means he hoped to win their acceptance or, at very least, increase his prestige.

He was plainly relieved. His little piglike features relaxed. He all but beamed at me. “Good. Then I’ll have the signals set.”

He excused himself a little while later and left us to our own devices. We continued to explore the city ship, again finding ourselves in the company of Bellanda and her friends. These were certainly the most interesting people we had met so far. They took us high up the masts and showed us the smoke from the distant hulls, slowly moving together as they sailed towards the Massing Ground.

A pale-faced boy called Jurgin had a spyglass and knew the flags of all the ships. He called them out as he recognised them: “There’s the
Distant Bargain
, accountant to The Floating Head. And that’s the
Girl in Green
, accountant to The Jagged Jug…” I asked him how he could tell so much. He handed me the glass. “It’s simple, your highness. The flags represent what the anchorages look like on the map and the names describe what those representations most resemble. The way we name configurations of stars. The names of the hulls are ancient, in most cases, and are the names of old sailing vessels on which our ancestors first set forth. Only gradually did they grow into the moving cities on which we now live.”