A Shadow All of Light (54 page)

I scanned the scene from left to right, trying to glimpse Astolfo and whatever small band that would be accompanying him. He was not to be seen.

Now I urged my body with sore and limping gait to pier-edge to seek in the bay waters for Mutano. He must have drowned, I thought. Our venture at this site had been distasteful to him, for he distrusted water as a cat distrusts it. He had even complained, requesting Astolfo to make out a strategy that would allow us to combat our enemy on dry land. The maestro voiced misgivings. “They will not challenge us on land until they have made the harbor secure for their reinforcements—or for their retreat, if we gain the upper hand.”

There was no sign of my colleague in the unruly waves, only spars and broken oars, shrouds, splintered decking, arrows and spears tossed this way and that in the currents, along with the sardonic faces of Bennio. But it was too soon to mourn my friend; he was well practiced in escaping perils whole-skinned.

The pirate tenders now had beached on the smoking westward strip of sand and the blackguards that manned them had no way to make a concerted attack of the wharf. They started marching along the waterline in groups of six, readying for fight. They would link with their waiting allies.

*   *   *

After the manifestation of the Mardrake, after its entrance into our familiar world from its abyss of primal eons and cloudy myth, how could our petty conflicts over property and ownership, about material goods and shadow goods, of personal vengeance and individual honor, appear to be anything else than childish trifling? The immemorial shadows of ancient histories known and unknown lie over our brief and sunlit days, but rarely do they reveal themselves with physical intrusion. When they do so, our present existences diminish in our estimations to their true, insignificant statures.

What had drawn this entity to display to the upper world something of its immeasurable vastness, of its immortal, tortured solitude? What occurrence here above could disturb its indifference to all that took place in other zones of existence?

I have speculated that it was the shadow of the false Mardrake. Osbro's fires were bright enough to cast the shadow of the puppet from where it lay on the surface of the bay to the very bottom. Perhaps the creature thought to defend itself from a rival; perhaps it was enraged that a graceless parody of its form presented itself against the firelight. But that made no sense. Revenge and hope and love and regret and all those human suasions could not touch it. It did not exist in a zone where such terms held meaning.

So it was more with bemusement than with apprehension that I watched the shrunken pirate band trudge along the sands in our direction. On they came, leaderless as far as I could tell, and weary were their steps. They were still a good hundred fifty yards away, but I could begin to make out details.

They were not extraordinary. These would be dissolute sailors ready to follow any master who promised coin and salt beef. A tar whose luck at dice had deserted him, or one whom rum held in its aromatic embrace, or another on the dodge from justice or an angry spouse would join with these crews. I had met the like of them many a time in Stinking Lane and Rattlebone Alley. Some of the faces looked hazily familiar.

They came to the edge of one of the small streams that branch off from the Daia as it pours into the bay. A large clump of twisted dwarf willows shrouded the stream mouth. They entered into this leafage and disappeared. They did not emerge to the packed sand strip on this side of the stream. I kept my gaze upon that spot but saw nothing.

They will advance another way, I thought. They will come upon the waterfront from behind. They will gather their comrades-in-arms from the inner warehouses and deserted accounting chambers and try to surround us by filing through the narrow alleyways along there. It was a feasible plan as long as they went unnoticed, but those passages were so narrow that two men, or even one, could halt their progress. So, any presence they showed in the alleyways would be a feint. The real attack must begin in another quarter.

The round figure of Sbufo and the slender one of Cocorico stood by my side, watchful and ready. They drew their swords. I would have to fight weaponless.

*   *   *

One of the alleys did yield surprise. A hair-prickling screech sounded, a yowling as of a forest tree-tiger with its tail caught in a trap. Everyone was startled, including my comrades and myself, though I thought I recognized the squalling as delivered with familiar intonation.

Out of the alley-shadow stepped Mutano. His hair was plastered to his forehead and water dripped from every inch of the angry man. His face was contorted with frustration and a barely controlled ferocity animated his actions. In the crook of his left arm he wrestled the head of a pirate. A bald and ugly object it was, scarred and tattooed and bloody-bearded, and Mutano's pummeling was not improving its appearance. It was attached to a body of considerable musculature that my colleague subdued with difficulty—mainly by dint of pounding the face regularly and with meaningful emphasis. If he enjoyed the pastime, his expression gave no hint. All fury it was.

The he flung the man down and gave him a generous kick in his rib cage. “They have arrived,” he announced, looking about at our confused assemblage. “The pirates are in the buildings. They came up underneath in boats and then through the floors.” He paused to award his victim another kick. “We have seen that prank before, have we not, Falco?” He gestured at the rows of warehouses on either side of us. “They will rush out of this rank of doors together at once. All we have to do is to cut them down as they come. We only have to take our places and stand our ground. They are none so many as we feared.”

I called to him. “I thought you drowned.”

“Falco,” he said, “so long as you live, never speak to me again of water.”

I shouted as loudly as I could. “Guards and watchmen! Stand your stations! Our foemen are hiding in the warehouses, like rats in their holes. When they gain courage to attack, the archers must loose a first volley and then stand aside to let the lancers through.”

No archers or lancers were present among the puzzled multitude that crowded the wharves. My words were intended for the ears of the traitors listening inside their gloomy shelters. If they disregarded my empty threats and tumbled out to make a battle of it, the outcome might not be to my liking. In numbers we were now superior, but the townsmen were untrained and not given to organized bloodshed. They might well flee at the first assault and the traitors within the press would not spare to puncture them as they retreated.

I concluded my speech. “Now let them come to us, my friends, and meet their miserable fates. Let them hail their confederates in the town for the last time, for those too shall die.”

*   *   *

After these foolhardy words a silence fell upon that part of the crowd nearest me. I almost hoped the pirate force would spring out upon us with thirsty weapons and soul-shriveling shouts and blood-crazed eyes. I was weary to the marrow of my bones, but I was also tired of the continual threat. Season after season the town whispered, muttered, and grumbled of Morbruzzo and his legions who would descend upon us like boiling brimstone poured from the polestar. It would be soon and fiery, said the old codgers. They hunger for my maidenhead, said the silly girls. They will take my gold and spoil my wife and daughters, said the plump and roseate men of business. They cannot harm my indomitable soul, claimed the shoals of philosophers, who could barely heap together enough
vis
to supply one soul among them all.

So we stood ready, Mutano, Cocorico, Sbufo, and I, for our fates to meet us face-forward.

*   *   *

The crowd had fallen silent. For a long, uneasy moment, nothing stirred. Then the pair of doors of the largest building that stood before us swung slowly inward. Out of the cavernous darkness of that shelter and into the graying predawn light stepped Astolfo. He was dressed in his usual outfit, except that he wore the red tunic of the Civil Guardsmen and over that garment a steel breastplate. This piece of armor I judged ceremonial rather than battle-ready; it was engraved with the leopard's-head figure of his customary belt buckle. He carried no sword.

He held, though, a length of shiny chain with thick, heavy links. To this weighty iron was attached a slender figure of medium stature. This personage wore a Bennio mask, along with the ordinary doublet and short cape that many courtiers and bravos habitually donned. Astolfo jerked the chain, but his captive did not stumble, moving forward with a fluent gracefulness.

Astolfo dropped the chain onto the planking and came to stand beside his prisoner. “Fellow citizens—here is your dreaded Morbruzzo!” He swept off the mask with an exaggerated, theatrical gesture.

I blinked my eyes four times. I did not comprehend.

“Morbruzzo?” cried the woman. “Long time past, I rid me of that witless, un-human devil.”

Now I recognized her. The passing years had been gentle upon the physic of Fleuraye. Her figure had changed little since that long-ago hour she had bested me in swordplay. All too often have I recalled that shameful episode: the miserly Pecunio cowering from the duel, Astolfo flinging a shadow about Fleuraye to obscure her vision as I lay helpless upon the floor, awaiting the thrust of her blade through my heart. I recalled too the promise she made upon departure, that she looked forward to another encounter with the maestro, at a time when she would reap a rich retribution.

Her figure had grown more muscular than lissome, but it retained its swift gracefulness. Her carriage was as haughty as before and her gaze as challenging. But her former piquancy had soured; it had acquired a superciliousness. Her expression and her bearing suggested that she had found her life a banal passage through violent years. There was a vacancy about her that I have observed in soldiers who'd survived brutal campaigns. Part of her center had been taken away.

And now Astolfo had outgamed her once more and destroyed all the prospects of the petty pirate empire that she had envisioned. This dream must have been her best, last hope. Now only a bitter rage would animate her spirit.

Her minion murderers, two hundred or so, were being led from the warehouses by about four score armed citizens, Civil Guardians, fathers, and young men of substance. Astolfo's warnings in his role as Ministrant had not gone unheeded. Volunteers must have gathered to put themselves under his command. His martial armor showed that he had foreseen this moment and that he relished adopting this persona of the glittering hero. He would frolic in the role like an otter sporting in the ripples of a stream.

It was another of his serious, or partly serious, games. Mutano, Osbro, and I had not known that our faction had gathered supporters among the populace; Astolfo kept the fact to himself. Maybe he feared we would let slip intelligence we should not, but it was more likely that he enjoyed surprising his allies as well as his opponents.

I reflected again that the maestro was many times the plaything of his own humor, that he could no more resist the opportunity to confound expectations than the cat can resist pursuit of a mouse.

And of felines here and now the number was redoubtable. Following our plans, Mutano had petitioned Sunbolt to our aid. That authoritative cat had gathered a company of Maulers, Worriers, and scar-flanked amateur battlers from the under-story of Tardocco. Information about newcomers to the area had been passed from these cats to the members of the beggars' guild and thence to Astolfo. He still maintained connection with that guild from the days of old, when he and his mentor Veuglio walked among them to gather an understanding of their ways of life.

These veteran cats would doubtless expect to be recognized for their efforts in foiling the invasion. Perhaps they anticipated an award of a great yellow wheel of communal cheese or an avenue-long trough of fresh cow's milk. They were evidently expectant of some event, for they lined the rooftops of storerooms and warehouses and looked down upon the scene of Fleuraye's surrender with unwavering attention. In the light of the emergent dawn their eyes glowed greenish-orange, like eyes of topaz set in stone statuettes.

“You tell us you rid yourself of Morbruzzo,” Astolfo said, “and that is so. You were his consort and you betrayed him, just as you betrayed Bellarmo, your first pirate consort, during the time of Pecunio. You drained the old miser's fortune into your own coffers and used the gold to bribe Morbruzzo's hirelings to turn upon him when the hour of your revenge came round.”

“My revenge? I do not comprehend you.”

“You had a sister named Solana. Morbruzzo abducted her, and what was done to the unhappy girl needs no recounting. But when you heard of it, you devoted all your remaining life to her memory and her avengement.”

“How might I bring this about?”

“You had Pecunio's fortune in hand. You were willing to demean and degrade yourself in any way that would sway Morbruzzo's men to your cause. Pirate crews are not famous for loyalty.”

“You must explain to me how I accomplished this grand scheme. I seem to have forgotten the devious, bloody steps I took.”

“All that will be revealed to all at your trial before the magistrates. Tardocco would not have been averse to your destruction of Morbruzzo. But after his murder you decided to carry out the plans he had laid to subjugate this city and use it as your base for a pirate empire. These are the crimes the magistrates and the citizens will hold against you.”

“A trial, is't? My blood is up for a jig on the gallows-tree. And if you will mount a trial, then you and the world shall hear my story. Why should I not bind this smug, fat Tardocco to my subjection? It is a port easy to take by force. It would be in my grasp even now, if not for that great, black waterspout that intruded upon the battle. Fortune favored you.”

“If I say that our city holds its harbor Mardrake in reserve as a weapon of war, you cannot refute me. If I say it appeared at my bidding and I can bid it do so again, the word shall pass to any other pirate fleet that regards our town as helpless prey.”