The Lawkeeper of Samara (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 2), page 22
“Boss?”
She turned and saw one of her men peering through the door. Boss? That was a new one. “What is it?”
“I found something,” he said.
Arla abandoned her exploration of the white room and followed the lawkeeper out into the hall and up the stairs. The rooms up here were as opulent as those below. The man led her to the end of a corridor and into another room. This one she understood. It contained a desk, shelves, and all of them liberally filled with papers.
“Here,” he said, pointing.
Arla picked up the paper. It was an official thing, a heavy parchment with a solid seal of red wax and a ribbon attached to the bottom. The writing on it was a good example of penmanship, but it was the content that startled her.
The paper was a deed of sale. It recorded the sale of a ship, the Red Fox, to one Irian Delantic. It was dated two days ago.
Arla cursed.
Forty – Intervention
Ella indulged herself. She stayed with Calaine to watch the Sword of Samara slip her moorings and head out into the first glimmer of dawn. It promised to be an exceptionally fine day. The ship was towed by four boats full of oarsmen until it was well clear of its hidden dock. As the lines fell away and the boats turned for home the Sword’s three masts exploded with canvas, sail after sail dropping from the yards and gathering the breeze until she began to heel to port, racing out into the endless dark sea.
“A fine sight,” Calaine said. There was pride in her voice, and Ella had to admit it was like nothing she had seen before. The ship drew the eye like no other, sleek and pretty. It looked as though it mastered the sea more than merely rode upon it.
When the ship had become a distant blemish on the ocean Ella accepted an invitation to break her fast with Calaine. It had been a while since they had spent time together and Ella enjoyed the princess’s company. They made their way once more to her private quarters and sat on hard chairs at the unadorned table.
Food was brought. Compared to the fare at her own home it was simple stuff, but Ella found it wholesome and not lacking in flavour. She ate a bowl of oat porridge laced with honey and followed that with smoked fish and fried vegetables sweetened with a dark sauce, tamarind perhaps.
They talked of inconsequential things for a while. Calaine asked, as she always did, if Ella had found a beau. The princess knew the answer, which was always no, but it was a signal that she wished to talk about her own complicated life.
“The king is still set upon a marriage to Portina?” she asked.
Calaine nodded. “He is a good man,” she said. “Kind, handsome, clever, and he is the king of Blaye. What more could a woman ask?”
Ella knew that she could not answer. She believed that Calaine loved Ella’s brother Corban, but the princess loved her father, too, and she recognised her duty to the kingdom. An alliance between Blaye and Samara would ensure the future of both kingdoms, and Calaine was right, she could not fault Bren Portina, not as a king and not as a man. It was also true that the princess had never spoken of her feelings for Corban, but when she had fostered at the Tarnell house they had grown close, and Ella had seen the secret looks they shared.
Apart from all that, Portina, who had been a guard officer at Ocean’s Gate, had saved Calaine’s life in the last year of Faer Karan rule. More than that, he had saved her honour. It made it all the harder for her to decline his suit and her father’s constant pressure to accept him. She resisted, though. Her excuse was the city itself. When order had been restored and the civic society of Samara rebuilt she would have time for love and marriage, she had said as much.
Ella knew that the choice was no choice at all.
“He is a good man,” Ella agreed. Even as a guard officer Portina had never been overbearing, cruel or unpleasant. She had liked him, even then.
Her mind wandered for a moment to her own singularity. It was her own fault, she supposed. She did not primp and preen like other young women, did not make eyes at the sons of wealthy traders. Her love was books, books and knowledge, and now she was busy with the city council. It was not as though she was a poor catch. An alliance with the house of Saine would be a benefit to any trading family in Samara, but Ella was a friend of the Mage Lord, a confidante of the princess, a scholar, and she guessed that these things drove away those who otherwise might have sought a match. Ella didn’t mind. She hoped that one day a man would come along that wanted her because she was Ella, and not Ella Saine.
“Well,” Calaine said. “We shall have no news for several days at least, perhaps as long as two weeks, but do not let that prevent you from calling on me. You are always welcome here.”
Calaine graciously walked Ella to the gates of the citadel – a sign of favour and friendship, and they stood for a moment in the open gates.
“Corban will be all right,” Calaine said, as much for her own benefit as Ella’s, Ella thought. She smiled.
“He has three lawkeepers to keep him safe,” she said.
The arrow struck her in the chest.
It felt like a hammer blow, and she fell backwards. It was a moment before she realised what had happened, but when she reached up she could not feel the arrow, could not see it. Had it passed right through her?
“Ella!” Calaine was bending over her. Men were shouting and she heard running feet. She tried to sit up, and to her surprise found that she could. When she looked down there was no blood, not even a tear in the dress she was wearing. She touched the place where she had been struck.
“How?”
There it was – not an arrow, but a crossbow bolt – lying on the ground. She reached out and picked it up, looked at it with wonder.
“You’re not hurt?” Calaine asked. She was anxious, even afraid.
“No,” Ella said. “No, I am not.”
Calaine took the bolt from her hand and examined it. “Are you wearing armour?” she asked. Ella shook her head. She stood up and looked around. Calaine’s men were surrounding a house on the far side of the square, but there was another man standing a dozen yards away. He was mostly a silhouette against the dawn, but Ella knew him at once. She bowed.
“Mage Lord,” she said.
He smiled. As he walked closer she could see his clothes, a rich green jacket with sapphire buttons, ornamented with gold thread, a high collar, a sword at one hip. His boots caught the light like a mirror.
“Your letter,” he said. “It seems that it reached me just in time.”
“I am happy that it did, my lord,” Ella replied. She was aware that Calaine was by her side.
“You will have to tell me what is going on,” he said. “I scried only as far as I needed to find you. Apart from that, all I know is what you wrote. It seems that things have deteriorated.”
“Yes,” Ella said. “Lawkeepers have been killed, and now this,” she gestured at the bolt that Calaine still held.
“Well, I have put a stop to that, anyway. For the present no crossbows, bows or blades may harm you. Now we must talk. Calaine, you have a comfortable room somewhere in this fortress?”
She nodded. The mage lord wasn’t like Calaine. He didn’t stint his comfort, dressed like a prince and enjoyed his food and wine. This she knew from before, but it would be a mistake to think him effete. She remembered the two thousand men on Samara Plain.
“This way, my lord,” Calaine said. Ella followed. Now things would be different, she thought. Now the tide would truly turn.
Forty One – Two Ships
Gilan attached a shirt to one of the oars and waved. He reasoned that rowing would not be as effective as catching the eye of those aboard the approaching vessel. If they were not seen it would pass about a mile to the seaward side of them.
He waved the oar with its makeshift flag slowly from side to side. It was heavy, but he was up to the task.
“Do you think she’s seen us?” he asked. The sailor whose shirt he’d borrowed was squinting against the sun.
“Can’t tell as yet,” he said. “Probably not. No sign of her turning, at any rate.”
Gilan continued to wave the flag. The ship continued to hold its course.
“Can he see us from here?” Diara asked. “It seems to me that the waves are bigger than we are.”
The ship was sailing west, back towards Samara, and so coming up behind them and beating into the wind. To come to them she would have to turn soon or run past them and come back with the wind.
“She’s hoisted a flag,” one of the other sailors said.
“Really?” Gilan couldn’t see anything but a cloud of sail and the dark line of a hull.
“Aye,” the man said. “She’s seen us, all right.”
Gilan wasn’t sure, though, so the oar continued to wave as the ship sailed past. It was only when she turned about and began to run down the wind towards them that he put the thing down. It was surprising how quickly the ship closed with them. It seemed only a few minutes until Gilan could make out the detail of the sails, the hundreds of ropes that supported the masts – she was a two master – and the men who moved on her deck.
The sailor took his shirt back and donned it against the sun. They waited in silence as the ship approached.
It was still four hundred paces distant when it swung into the wind and stopped. It continued to drift towards them slowly.
“She’s no trader,” the bosun remarked.
Gilan didn’t bother to ask how they knew. There was no time for explanations. “What then?” he asked. The bosun shook his head.
“Nothing good,” he said.
There were a lot of men on deck – more than he’d ever seen on the Red Fox, and he could see weapons. There were a lot of bows. A voice called out across the water.
“You a ship’s boat?” it asked.
Gilan was about to reply, but the bosun tugged his sleeve. “I’ll speak,” he said. He stood.
“Aye, we are that,” he called back. “Off the Red Fox out of Samara. She burned and sank last night. We’re all that’s left.”
This started a discussion of the deck of the ship.
“Why don’t they just pick us up?” Gilan asked.
The sailor replied in a low voice. “Unless I miss my guess we’re better off if she don’t.”
Gilan looked again. This ship rode high in the water, so she was probably empty, and so many armed men. “Pirates?”
“Might be.”
It was improbably bad luck. Gilan knew, vaguely, that there were pirates on the sea, but all reports suggested that they were few and far between. Most ships sailed untroubled between ports.
“You got the captain there with you?” the voice asked.
The thought occurred to Gilan that this wasn’t a chance encounter after all. These men, these pirates were supposed to meet the Red Fox, to capture her. But it made no sense. If the captain had these brigands up his sleeve then why kill Ifan? But then he had probably thought that he was killing Gilan. It still didn’t make sense, though, unless the pirate ship was simply a backup plan.
“Captain died,” the bosun called back, and that caused another bout of chatter among the pirates. It was probably the wrong answer, Gilan thought, but there was no taking it back now.
Corban Saine moved onto the plank next to him. “If they’re pirates they’ll want to press the men and take me for a hostage, if they know who I am, and they might. Don’t tell them what you are.”
“You with the bow,” the voice from the ship called. “Throw it over the side.”
“Why would I do that?” Diara called back.
An arrow splashed into the water a few feet behind the small boat’s stern. The message was clear enough. Diara reluctantly threw the bow away, muttering to herself.
“I liked that bow,” she said. “Salt water’ll ruin it.”
The ship was close enough now that Gilan could make out the faces of the men aboard. They looked confident and relaxed. He had to admit they had every right to feel that way.
“You with the sword, over the side with that too.”
Gilan did as he was told and threw Diara’s blade into the sea. He used the movement to slip his dagger into the back of his waistband with his other hand. If it came to it he wasn’t going to be completely helpless. The more he thought about it the more he was certain that these men were in the employ of the captain. Now they were unsure what to do, but they would eventually sort out what served them best. It seemed probable that they’d either sail away or kill them all, despite what Saine had said.
Someone on the ship shouted, and some of the men ran from the side closest to the boat. Their easy confidence seemed to have been disturbed.
“There.” One of the sailors in the boat was pointing to the west, and Gilan followed the line of his hand to see another sail, another ship approaching. He could see no more than that.
“They’re dead in the water,” Saine said. “Their captain needs to get some wind in his sails.”
“Is he going to attack the other ship?” Gilan asked.
“More of a prize than us,” Saine said.
It seemed an age before the pirate vessel began to move. Men rushed about the deck hauling on ropes and one by one the sails filled and the wide hull began to plough slowly through the water. It swung away towards the sea, heeling over in a crosswind, trying to get ahead of the newcomer with enough speed to catch her.
“Should we row for it?” Diara asked.
“Might as well,” the bosun said. “She could be a couple of hours chasing yonder ship down, if she can catch it. She seems a quick vessel, but she hasn’t changed course, and she should if she wants to skip round the brigands.”
Two of the other sailors took up the oars and began to pull, and they slowly eased towards Samara. Gilan watched the two ships. The newcomer was closer now, and he could see that she was small, but a three master and packed with sail. The bow wave she put up suggested that she was quick indeed.
“What’s she up to?” The bosun asked. He was squinting at the new ship. “She ain’t no trader, either,” he said.
The pirate had clearly seen the same thing. She turned and began to run before the wind, cramming as much sail as she could onto her two masts, but it seemed to make no difference. The newcomer closed down on her swiftly.
“Do you see!” One of the sailors shouted. “She’s flying Samaran colours! It’s a warship!”
Gilan didn’t see, but he took their word for it. The new ship seemed certain to take the pirates, but with the distance between them cut to less than half a mile she suddenly turned and drove for their boat. She swung side on with practiced elegance, and nets were thrown over the side. A moment later ropes were thrown and the sailors caught them and hauled the boat against the ships hull. Gilan scrambled up the net and found himself on a narrow deck facing a small grey-haired man.
“What ship?” the man demanded. Already the nets were being hauled up, all in the boat having followed Gilan promptly onto the ships deck.
“Red Fox,” Gilan replied. “We sank last night.”
“And you are?”
“Gilan, lawkeeper officer,” he replied. The grey haired man nodded.
“The others?”
“Lawkeeper Diara, Trader Saine, Gannelan, bosun of the Red Fox and four of his men.”
For the first time the grey man smiled. “Captain Parl of the warship Sword of Samara at your service, officer Gilan. There was a dangerous man on board with you…?”
“Aye, the captain. He fired the ship, but between us we took his head.”
“So he’s dead?”
“Dead for sure,” Gilan agreed.
“Then I am at your disposal,” Captain Parl said. “Orders of the Do-Regana.”
“Really?”
The captain smiled. “Of course,” he said.
Gilan looked out across the sea. The pirate ship was still under full sail and heading south east by his reckoning, away from the land and Samara both.
“I’d like to discuss something with the captain of that vessel,” he said, pointing to the pirate. “Can you catch her?”
“That was my intent before we saw your boat,” Parl said. “The Sword can catch anything with a sail.” He turned and shouted to his men, and the ship was suddenly alive again, turning to the chase. “It will take an hour to catch her,” the captain said, looking over the bow. Will you join me to break your fast, and your lawkeeper and Trader Saine of course?”
Gilan accepted. The mention of food reminded him that he hadn’t eaten for hours, and he was hungry.
Forty Two – The Blue Stone
Sam sat in his office trying not to think. It was difficult. Ideas kept pushing their way into his head. They seemed random, but he didn’t trust them. It all had to do with the blue crystal he’d found in the mud under the burned warehouse in Gulltown.
That had been a bleak day, as it turned out.
Sam needed help, and it wasn’t the kind of help he could get in the city. He needed magic. As things stood he was useless, and worse. He was a liability, a danger, another thing for Arla to worry about. There was nothing he could do but resign, but after that?
There were two men outside his door, just in case, and that proved his point. There were so few lawkeepers that they couldn’t afford to leave two of them guarding him, but the other side of the coin was that they couldn’t let him roam around unguarded.
Sam closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. There was blue behind his eyelids. It constantly expanded in geometric patterns, fascinating to watch. He opened his eyes again. He wanted to sleep. He was tired. But Sam was afraid he would awaken in the stone’s grip again, and he would have to start the fight from the beginning. He was sure, at this moment, that he was in control, but he didn’t trust that certainty. He’d felt that way before, and gone to buy weapons, and then nearly, so very nearly killed a child. If the boy had not turned…
He stood up, shaken once more by the memory. He looked out of the window towards Gulltown. He was a fool to have taken this job. He should have bought another boat, started fishing again. It was what he knew how to do. He tried to remember his old life, the simplicity of it, days spent out on his boat working in the sun and coming home at sunset with the catch. There had been good days and bad days, but each day finished and was done with, and the next day was its own. He knew the city was oppressed, that men and women suffered under the Faer Karan, but he hadn’t. Nobody had really bothered with him until the fall.
