Scimitar's Heir (39 page)

“We’re with you, sir!” Kori shouted, and the crew roared in agreement.

“Excellent!” Parek smiled and raised the tip of his sword again. “Now, there’s only one more issue to address before we go, and that’s the lapse in discipline.”

Parek lunged, lightning quick, and with a deft twist of his wrist, plucked Toffin’s left eye out of its socket with the tip of the golden-hilted sword. The man cried out and fell to his knees, cupping his hands to the ruined and bloody socket as his eyeball rolled across the deck.

“Mayhap that’ll remind you to keep an
eye out
next time you’re on night watch!” Parek shouted, as he wiped the tip of the wonderful blade clean and sheathed it. The crew roared their approval, and laughed hard at the captain’s quip. “Now, help him up and fit him with a patch; we’ve got work to do! Kori, prepare to cast off! We’ll ease her out under topsails and jib, and set the mains when we clear the reef. Put Toffin on the helm; perhaps he can keep his one good eye on the compass card.”

“Aye, sir!” Kori shouted orders and the crew got to work.

In moments they were free of their moorings. Parek glanced behind as they cleared the creek; he wouldn’t miss the bug-infested mangrove swamp, though it had provided them with safe harbor for a time. The crew was loud and boisterous, in a hyperactive good humor, now joking about the surprise
King Gull’s
crew was in for when they finally returned to find
Cutthroat
gone.

Interesting
, he thought,
that no one mentioned Sam
. He shuddered at the memory of her filed teeth and her new friends. He certainly wouldn’t miss her; like Middle Cay, she had served her purpose, and he bid her good riddance.

“North!” Parek shouted once they had cleared the treacherous coral reef surrounding the island, earning another cheer from the crew. “North toward Tsing and freedom!”

≈

“Admiral Joslan, sir?” A lieutenant approached the paper-littered table with a nervous salute. “Sir, there’s a message from the fleet commander.”

“From Commodore Henkle? Put it down right there,” the admiral said without looking up, jerking his thumb at the only clear spot on the table. He was in a foul mood, having spent the entire day in this very chair attending to the innumerable details of managing a fleet on station.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it was sent as signal only. ‘Small vessel intercepted sailing south. Count Norris aboard. Will conduct to you soonest.’”

“Norris? Bloody incompetence… That scrub Veralyn can’t even keep a pasty-faced diplomat aboard until he reaches Tsing?” Joslan cast his pen in the vague direction of the inkwell and surged to his feet. He snatched his jacket from the back of the chair and jerked it on, brushing aside his clerk’s clumsy attempts to help. “Assemble a detachment of marines immediately, Lieutenant, and have them meet me at the pier.”

“Aye, sir!” The lieutenant turned to go, but Joslan stopped him as he clipped his sword to his belt.

“And, Lieutenant, have them bring a set of manacles along.” He snapped up his hat and tucked it under his arm, jerked his waistcoat straight and adjusted his neck cloth. “And leg irons as well.”

“Aye, sir.”

The lieutenant hurried off, and Joslan glared at his back. Before he followed, he turned to his clerk. “Make a note in the log; Count Norris is to be placed under arrest for desertion.”

“Yes, sir.” The clerk’s pen scratched in the thick ledger. He blew the ink dry and closed the journal.

“Very good. Now, come along, and bring the log; I’m sure the good count will have something to say, and I want his unvarnished words recorded for the emperor to read.” He fixed the clerk with a level stare. “Every word. Is that clear?”

“Every word, sir,” the clerk said, tucking the ledger under his arm.

“Good.”

Joslan strode out of the keep and down to the pier where the squad of marines already stood in formation. He shoved his hands into his belt and waited, a single thought running through his mind over and over again: how much he would like to see Count Emil Norris swinging from a yardarm. He knew that he was not likely to get his wish, but he wished it, nonetheless. He waited a good half hour for the detachment from Commodore Henkle to arrive. The afternoon sun baked him in his dark blue uniform, sweat soaking his neck cloth and dampening his hair beneath his hat. Consequently, when the launch bearing Count Norris, as well as his son and his secretary, pulled alongside the pier, Joslan’s mood had not improved in the least.

≈

“Admiral Joslan.” Count Norris bowed deeply, wobbling a bit on the uneven stone of the pier. He was still shaky from the arduous night in the little catboat, the long day’s sail with no food or water, and the grilling by Commodore Henkle. He was, however, washed, fed, shaved and dressed in clean—if not his own—clothes. He was also reasonably well informed of the events of the last few days, thanks to his man Huffington, who had hustled over from the
Mary Celeste
as soon as he heard of Count Norris’ arrival. Consequently, Norris hoped to expedite this exchange with minimal confrontation.

“My apologies, Admiral, for my unannounced return, but I came by information with regard to—”

“Lieutenant, clap Count Norris in irons,” the admiral said in a tone as deadly as a full broadside of ballistae from a first-rate warship. “Milord Count, you are under arrest for desertion. You will be held in the brig of the
Indomitable
until you are conveyed to Tsing for sentencing and, if I have my way, execution.”

The lieutenant stepped up, and his squad of marines surged forward.

“Admiral, I must protest,” Norris said, spreading his arms wide to prevent Tim and Huffington from doing anything rash. “I protest on the grounds that I am
not
your subordinate, and not under your command. I did
not
desert my post, because I had no post to desert. Also, I protest on the grounds that I do not wish to deprive His Majesty of your expertise and experience as his fleet admiral.”

“You
what
?” Joslan’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson.

“I said, Admiral Joslan, that if you arrest me, and keep me from doing what I returned to this island to do, I will exert every effort afforded me by my rank, my fortune and my very last breath, to destroy your career, sir.” Norris glared into the man’s piggish eyes. As a diplomat he usually tried to maintain a placid mien, but he was sick and tired of this blowhard; he mustered every ounce of malice he could dredge from the darkest depths of his soul and concentrated it into his stare.

“You dare to threaten me?” The admiral’s hand clenched the hilt of his sword. “Are you mad?”

“I am beyond mad, sir; I have returned here to rescue the woman I love. At this moment, she is locked in the dungeons of this very keep, where, unbeknownst to me, she retreated to prevent herself from being taken by the pirates who attacked us here.”

The lieutenant and his marines faltered. Caught off guard by this incredible statement, their military training failed them.

“This is preposterous!” the admiral bellowed. He turned to a fellow behind him who was scribbling furiously in a ledger. “Are you getting all of this?”

“Every word, sir,” the man said meekly, backing up a step in the face of the admiral’s wrath.

“This may very well sound preposterous, Admiral, but it is true nonetheless. I am talking about Lady Camilla, the woman who killed the pirate lord Captain Bloodwind with her very own hand. She saved the lives of myself and everyone else on this island at the cost of her own safety. She is owed at least this modicum of effort to save her life!”

The admiral’s eyes narrowed. “And why didn’t you make this request previously, before you set sail for Tsing?”

“I didn’t know of it then, sir,” Emil said, fighting to keep his face neutral. Telling the admiral the truth about how he’d learned the location of the pirates’ lair would put Tipos and his crew at risk. He would have to choose his words carefully. “After Tim and I left the
Lady Gwen
, we learned the location of the pirates’ lair. The information about Lady Camilla’s imprisonment comes directly from the captain of the corsair that led the assault on this keep. It was he who locked her in there, and this is the key.” He proffered the key from his pocket, but snatched it away when the lieutenant stretched out his hand as if to take it.

The admiral scoffed. “And you believed him? A pirate?”

“We had good reason to trust his sincerity,” Norris said dispassionately, hoping the admiral wouldn’t press for details. “Admiral, all you need do is allow us to search the dungeons of this keep. If I am wrong, and she is not there, feel free to have me arrested. I will not resist, and promise there will be no repercussions. But I swear by every God of Light that if you impede me here, my wrath will destroy you!”

Admiral Joslan glared at him, and Norris could see the man struggling with his decision. In the end, he must have decided that either it was not such a great request, or that Norris was serious about his threat and capable of carrying it out, both of which were true. Norris had served the emperor for many long years, and his personal fortune was not inconsiderable; if he chose to destroy the admiral’s career, he could do so.

“All right, we will check. Bring them,” Joslan ordered.

“Uh, with or without the clapping in irons part, sir?” the lieutenant asked. A few poorly disguised coughs of laughter rose from the marine contingent.

“Without, for now, Lieutenant, “Joslan said, turning to glare once more at the count. “But bring them along. We may need them.”

Norris bowed curtly and followed the admiral to the keep. The trek seemed to take forever. He clenched his hands to keep them from shaking, but even so, when they reached the door to the dungeons, he fumbled the key so badly that he could not fit it into the lock.

“Please, sir,” Huffington said, easing the key from his grasp, “let me.”

“Thank you,” Norris said, backing away.

The large padlock clicked open. Huffington threw the hasp and lifted the bar, but before he could pull the door open, Admiral Joslan stepped forward.

“Hold there,” the admiral said, placing one hand on the door. “I mistrust this. We could be walking into a trap. We are exploring a dungeon at the behest of a pirate. Lieutenant, you will take the fore with the marines.”

“Aye sir.” The lieutenant drew his cutlass and nodded to the marine corporal in charge of the contingent. “Right, then. Swords if you please, gentlemen. Ready?” The marines muttered in the affirmative, weapons bristling. The lieutenant tugged on the door.

Nothing happened.

He tugged again, harder, and when that yielded no better results, he sheathed his sword and applied both hands to the handle, pulling with all of his formidable strength. Still, nothing happened.

“Stuck, sir. Or bolted from inside.”

“The pirate captain said she bolted it,” Norris offered.

“Break it down,” the admiral commanded.

“Axes and sledges, Corporal, and a cold chisel for the hinges,” the lieutenant said. “And torches would be welcome, as well. Go!”

“Aye, sir!” The marine turned to go, but Huffington interceded.

“If I may, sir; a brace and bit, and some thin bar stock might make an easier job of it, and a lot less fuss. I may be able to trip the bar.”

“As he said, corporal,” the lieutenant said with a nod, “but bring the rest, too, just in case.”

The corporal dashed off, and in short order a team of sailors returned with an array of tools. Huffington drilled a hole near the latch, bent the bar stock in an arc that would fit through the hole, and, with some effort, levered the inside bar out of its cradle.

“There you go, sirs,” he said, stepping back. “These things are usually simple, though there could have been another lock on the inside.”

“Thank you, Mister Huffington. Lieutenant, the van is yours.” The admiral drew his own sword.

“Aye, sir.” The lieutenant put his hand on the latch and nodded to the corporal.

The marines formed up, and everyone else backed away. The door swung outward with a squeal of corroded hinges, but beyond loomed only the empty, dark stair leading down into the bowels of the mountain. Huffington sniffed, and muttered something that Norris couldn’t make out. The marines advanced in close order, and the rest followed behind, torches held high. The stair ended in a platform with two open doors, left and right.

“Count Norris?” The admiral’s features were unreadable in the flickering torchlight, though Norris could hear his apprehension. “Would you happen to know which way?”

“Sir, I—”

“The left is the dungeon, Admiral,” Tim said. “The right leads down to Bloodwind’s old witch’s lair.”

“Very well.” The admiral eyed the two passages dubiously. “Leave two men here, Lieutenant. I don’t want any surprises.”

The lieutenant assigned two marines the duty of keeping watch, and the main party preceded through the left-hand door and down the stair. The dungeon was a simple corridor at the bottom with cells on both sides, rusty iron bars and a thick scent of decay prevalent throughout. They explored the rows of tiny cells quickly, but to no avail: no Camilla.

“Well, Count Norris, it seems that you were lied to. Not surprising, really, though I’m disappointed that you were duped so easily.” The admiral’s smug tone made Emil want to slap him; the man almost sounded pleased.

“Sir,” Huffington said. “The bar on the door above was thrown from the inside.
Someone
is down here, and we still have the other chamber to explore.”

Norris grasped Huffington’s shoulder in thanks, not trusting himself to speak. His nerves were in tatters, his hope waning. He knew that it had been too long for anyone to survive down here without water.

“You think she would go down into a witch’s lair?” Joslan asked, his tone dubious.

“She might, sir,” Tim said, his voice cracking. “There might be water down there.”

“Very well, then,” Joslan conceded. He led them back up to the branching stairs, then nodded to the lieutenant to again take the forward position again.

They descended.

Torchlight flickered from the rough-hewn walls, the wavering flames causing the shadows to leap and jump. The stair curved, so their light only illuminated about ten feet in front of the leading rank of marines. When the stairs ended, however, the light of their torches faded with the vastness of the chamber beyond, and the echo of their footfalls was swallowed by the walls of the natural cavern.

Norris could not see ahead past the tight rank of marines, but he could see the rest of the cavern, and was awed. The ceiling arched high overhead, a confusion of stalactites wavering and leaping in the torchlight. The walls and floor were covered with moisture and a thin layer of slimy growth which gave him some slim hope; moisture meant water… He pushed forward, but Huffington put a hand on his arm.

“Patience, sir,” he murmured, and Norris reluctantly complied. Over the years, he had grown to trust Huffington’s judgment in such situations.

“Admiral!” The lieutenant’s voice froze everyone in their tracks, the light from his torch casting his face in shadow as he looked back to his commander. “There’s something…”

“What?” the admiral answered.

“I think we’re too late, sir.”

“No!” Emil shrugged off Huffington’s hand and shoved through the cordon of marines. “Let me through!”

The marines parted, even the admiral stepped aside, and Norris saw.

Camilla lay huddled at the base of a thick column of rock upon a row of low, uneven steps, the crimson silk of her dress spread out around her like a pool of blood. He rushed to her, heedless of the slippery steps, and collapsed to his knees beside her. Her hair hung over her face, and he could detect no motion, no rise and fall of breath. He clutched her hand, and it was cold to the touch. He was too late.