The Huntsman's Amulet (23 page)

Chapter 34

Caytown

T
he
Typhon dropped anchor
in Caytown Roads ten days later. As each day on the beach stretched into another, it had seemed to make sense for the carpenter to do as thorough a job as possible; one that would carry them to the completion of their goal and financial liquidity for Varrisher. When he finished, the carpenter had declared that the repair was as good a job as would be carried out in the dry dock of a shipyard, and Varrisher seemed to have enough confidence in his skill to agree.

Caytown was larger than Valkdorf and appeared far longer established. It reminded him of one of the smaller mainland cities. There were a number of ships in the harbour, bobbing at the end of their anchor lines. Varrisher joined him at the bulwark and surveyed the roads.

‘Do you recognise any of them?’ he asked.

Soren shook his head. ‘No. I’m not sure I’d know the
Bayda’s Tear
even if she were right in front of me; one ship looks much the same as another to me.’

‘I thought that might be the case. The bad news is several of those ships are men-o’-war. I’m hoping that they’re all Humberlander naval fleet rather than Conclave warships. Certainly some of them are; I recognise the pennant on that one.’ He pointed out to the largest ship at anchor in the roads. ‘That belongs to a Humberlander admiral. A complete prick. Anyway, we’ll find out quickly enough one way or the other if Rui’s been here when we get ashore. If they have, they’ll have been throwing money around and it won’t be too difficult to find trace of them. A ship’s crew making landfall with plenty of money tend to draw quite a bit of attention. We’ll go ashore and do a bit of poking around. If we’re in luck, they’re still here and I’ll be able to work out which ship is the
Tear
. Once that’s done, we just wait for them to sail and jump them as soon as we can.’

‘I hope it’s that easy,’ Soren said.

Varrisher laughed. ‘I do too, otherwise I’m going to have to hock the
Typhon
and sign onto another ship’s list.’

They went ashore in the jolly boat, having to dodge the other boats that were busily moving to and fro in the roadstead. There was a queue of boats waiting for a free space at the stone quay. It was a bustling little port with a lively atmosphere.

‘Taverns will be the best place to start,’ Varrisher said. ‘I’d suggest splitting up to cover the ground more quickly, but it’d look out of place to be sitting alone in a tavern eavesdropping. I think it’ll look more natural if we work our way through the taverns together.’

‘One drink in each, keep our ears open and then move on?’ Soren suggested.

‘Ha. From what I’ve heard about Caytown, we’ll be in a pretty sorry state if we take that approach. There are more than twenty taverns and inns here, so we’ll have to pace ourselves,’ Varrisher said.

The jetty they landed at was for passengers only. Varrisher seemed to be correct in that one of the first sights they were greeted with was of an inn. It had a large sign above its door that would once have been bright and gaudy but was now faded, that announced it as being ‘The Old Emperor Inn’. Both Soren and Varrisher had stopped to take in their surroundings, the inn and all the town’s activity in particular.

‘Seems as good as anywhere to start. I dare say this place gets a lot of trade from sailors straight off the boat. I doubt Rui’s men are any different. Unless they have a particular favourite drinking den that is, in which case we could be here for a while.’

Varrisher was always the optimist.

They walked into The Old Emperor; they were men who had just stepped off their ship after nearly two weeks away from any type of civilisation so it was not difficult to behave like sailors glad to be ashore. It was not busy, but there were a few men sitting at tables partially concealed by wooden and glass screens that created little snugs.

They ordered ale from a bartender who seemed to be enjoying the quiet of the late morning trade. He brought them their drinks. Varrisher paid from his small coin purse, the same one he had given Soren to buy clothes. Soren felt guilty at having spent from it so liberally, not realising Varrisher’s strained financial circumstances at the time.

‘Can I get you fellas anything else?’ the barman said.

‘No, we’re fine for now, thanks,’ Varrisher said. ‘Quiet in here today.’

‘Yes, nice for a change though. It’s been crazy for the last week. A ship came in and the crew were spending money like it was water. I’ve been here fifteen years and it’s the first time that we’ve emptied the taproom in one night. They did that every night for a week.’

Nicely done, Soren thought. A casual comment and they had struck gold in their first inn.

‘Sounds like it was pretty crazy,’ Varrisher said.

‘Aye, it was. The boss was glad of the business, but he was just as glad to see the back of them. When there’s that much ale being drunk it’s only a matter of time before things get ugly. We got away lucky, just some broken stools and tankards but a couple of places weren’t. They did some serious damage. There’s still one of them locked up in the dungeon at the fort. He trashed a brothel and beat a few of the girls that work there. The Commissioner has a stake in the place and wasn’t rightly pleased, so he had the sailor thrown in the dungeon. Usually a blind eye is turned to the bad behaviour of sailors bringing that kind of money into town, but I guess even here there are lines that can’t be crossed,’ the barman said. ‘What ship are you lads from anyway?’

‘The
Fair Christa
,’ Soren said. It was the first name he could think of, coming to it by way of a jumble of the
Fair Katheryn
that they had passed at sea, and the
Honest Christophe
. Varrisher had already shown himself to be loose with his tongue; Soren wanted to make sure their intentions didn’t reach the wrong ears and wanted to get in before Varrisher had the chance to answer.

‘A Ventish ship?’ the barman said.

Soren should have realised that a man working in a town that saw so much shipping passing through would have recognised the naming style, but it was better than him recognising the name itself.

‘You lads don’t sound Ventish.’

‘We’re not, just signed on for the voyage,’ Varrisher said.

‘Fair enough. None of my business anyway,’ the barman said, before drifting off down the bar to attend to other tasks.

Varrisher looked to Soren and raised his eyebrows, before gesturing to the door with his head.

Once outside, Soren spoke ‘Do you think Rui would have left one of his crew behind?’

‘Maybe. If things had gotten too hot for him here, I don’t think he’s the type to favour loyalty over self-preservation.’

‘True. Like you said earlier, a shipload of pirates with money to burn aren’t going to go about their business quietly. We’re pretty sure that the
Bayda’s Tear
was going to stop here. The crew had plenty of cash, so there’s a good chance this sailor in the dungeon is from the
Tear
. It’s certainly worth looking into, and it’s definitely better than having to drink anymore of that rotten piss-water.’ Soren said.

Varrisher chuckled. ‘It’s not so bad when you get used to it. Let’s go and find this fort.’

Chapter 35

The Prisoner

T
he fort was impossible
to miss. It sat on top of an area of raised ground in the centre of the town that dropped steeply down to the water. They walked around the base of the hill, which became less steep as they moved further inland. The streets were narrow and cobbled, and lined with a mix of redbrick and wooden buildings.

A path led up the grassy hill to the gate. There were two guards standing outside, dressed in tarnished steel breastplates and shabby looking brown uniforms.

They leaned on long pikes and chatted idly. It took them a while to notice Soren and Varrisher approaching. When they finally did, they stood to attention and called out a challenge. Soren and Varrisher stopped a few paces away.

‘I wonder if we might speak with one of your prisoners,’ Varrisher said.

‘Which prisoner would that be?’ one of the guards called back.

‘The sailor from the
Bayda’s Tear
.’

The guards conferred with one another for a moment. ‘You’d need the Lieutenant’s permission for that,’ the first guard said.

‘And how do we get the Lieutenant’s permission?’ Varrisher said.

‘One of us’d have to go and ask him,’ the guard said, with a smile that revealed a mouth containing less than half the teeth it should have.

Varrisher sighed, the implication obvious. He took his coin purse from his belt and fished inside for two coins. From the way he had to poke around in it, it didn’t seem there were very many left. He flipped a coin to each of the guards, who caught them with greedy hands. The one who did the talking tapped his fellow on the chest before turning and walking back to the gate. He knocked on it and a wicket door opened to let him in. Varrisher and Soren were left outside with the remaining guard who regarded them with a condescending gaze.

A few moments passed before the wicket door opened once again, and the other guard emerged.

‘Lieutenant says you can come in,’ he said.

Varrisher doffed his hat to the talkative guard and he and Soren followed the other inside the fort. He led them to a small guardroom to the side of the entrance archway, where a man sat at a desk that showed signs of a very recent and very hasty tidying.

‘Lieutenant Swetway,’ he said. He did not wait for either Varrisher or Soren to introduce themselves. From his demeanour, it seemed that he didn’t care. There was a more pressing matter that he wanted to get to. ‘Guardsman Fynn tells me that you want to see the sailor from the vessel
Bayda’s Tear
.’

‘We do,’ Varrisher said.

Silence.

Soren could hear Varrisher swear under his breath as he reached for his coin purse again. An officer would be more expensive than a guard, so Varrisher took three coins out, possibly the last of those within, and placed them on the desk, one at a time.

‘I thought you lads from the
Tear
had more gold than sense,’ the Lieutenant said, without budging from his slouched position in his chair.

‘Booze and whores,’ Soren said, without elaborating further.

‘Ah yes, the price does tend to go up when there’s a lot of gold in town, even more so when places are being smashed up,’ the Lieutenant said. He leaned forward and picked up the three coins.

They were gold crowns, so decent money for doing nothing — even for an officer, if this man could be considered such. He had not introduced himself as a banneret, so most likely he had been promoted from within the ranks by displaying more avarice and less incompetence than his fellows, while posted to a colonial town that no ambitious officer of proper background would even consider.

‘Guardsman Fynn,’ he said, as he resumed his slouch. ‘Take these two gentlemen to see our prisoner.’

Fynn shuffled off down a corridor on the other side of the guardroom; Varrisher and Soren followed. The only illumination in the corridor, which went down a short flight of stairs before reaching a large vaulted room, was provided by oil lamps that gave off a warm, waxy smell that cloyed in Soren’s nostrils.

‘Your prisoner,’ Fynn said, gesturing to a door with a small, barred window. Varrisher stepped forward and peered through the window. The door was wood banded with iron. The walls were thick and there were likely more guards than Soren had seen so far. If it came to trying to break this man out, he didn’t fancy their chances.

Varrisher stepped back and gestured for Soren to take a look. He leaned forward and got a waft of the stench of sweat and piss. There was a man lying on a pile of stale, rotting straw against the wall of the tiny cell. His face was obscured, so Soren couldn’t identify him.

‘Can we go in?’ Soren said.

‘No,’ Fynn said, ‘you have to talk to him from here.’

‘All right,’ Varrisher said. ‘Hey.’

There was the sound of straw rustling and movement from within the cell. A face appeared on the other side of the window.

‘Yeah? What do you want?’ he said. He had thick, unkempt black hair and a dark, swarthy complexion.

If the face had not been enough, Soren would have recognised him from the sound of his voice alone. It was Blasco, the mate from the
Bayda’s Tear
.

‘We want some information from you,’ Varrisher said.

‘Get me out of here, and I’ll tell you whatever you want,’ Blasco said.

‘What’s his sentence?’ Varrisher said, turning to Fynn.

‘He’s for the chopping block. He smashed up one of the whorehouses that the Resident Commissioner owns, the “Sugar and Spice”. Beat the piss out of a couple of the girls. Yon scallywag’s captain wouldn’t pay to put the damage right, so the Commissioner refused to let him go. The next time he sees the sea it will be from the casket they stick pirates’ heads in on Headsman’s Rock out in the bay.’

Soren took Varrisher aside and spoke quietly. ‘His name’s Blasco. He’s one of the officers on the
Bayda’s Tear
.’

Varrisher turned back to the cell window. ‘Where’s the
Bayda’s Tear
gone?’ he said.

‘Told you already, fella, you get me outta here, I’ll tell you anything you want to know,’ Blasco said. His voice had become more animated in the few moments they had been speaking.

Soren knew from personal experience that seeing a chance of getting out of prison and away from an impending execution did that to a man.

‘You’ll give up Captain Rui if we get you out of here?’ Varrisher said.

‘Gladly. That fucker left me here to have my head cut off. Get me out, you won’t be able to shut me up.’ His voice was excited now. ‘Favourite routes, hiding places, crew numbers. I know it all. Whatever you want to know.’

‘Who do I need to talk to about getting him out of here?’ Varrisher said, turning to Guardsman Fynn.

‘It’s the Resident Commissioner that had him put here; him that signed the warrant. S’pose it’s him you need to talk to.’

Bribing two guards had cost two florins, a Lieutenant three crowns and he had only taken that reluctantly. How much, Soren wondered, did a Resident Commissioner cost?