The Path of the Storm (The Evermen Saga, Book Three) Page 7

  Now Miro was alone on the deck, watching the sun sink into the horizon, melting into the blue water like a crucible being poured. He paced back and forth, feeling pent, thinking about his quest, and about love.

  Since Tomas's poisoning physical love had dried up between the newlywed couple. Miro didn't pressure his wife; he was anxious to be there for Amber in whatever capacity she most wanted him.

  Miro sighed, concerned for Amber, feeling happy to have her close but worried for the danger of the journey and her fear for Tomas, growing more distant with every moment.

  As if thinking about her brought her close, Miro sensed movement beside him.

  "You've been here a while. What are you thinking?" Amber said.

  "I was just thinking about the officers," Miro lied.

  "Captain Meredith seems nice," Amber said.

  Miro nodded. "A little soft though. These sailors are tough men. I just hope he can keep control of them on such a long voyage."

  "They're being paid well," Amber said. "Sailors like to get paid."

  "I'm sure you're not wrong there," Miro said, smiling. "Out of interest, though, do you know anything about sailing?" He felt helpless trusting their fates in the hands of these men.

  "A little," Amber said, and Miro's eyebrows went up. "My father had a fascination with ships. He had a big book he used to show me, and tell me about what kind of ship it was we were looking at. We sailed little boats on the river once or twice, but it was actually big ships he was interested in. It's funny; we never once went to the free cities to look at the real thing."

  Being on a ship reminded Miro of the time he'd sailed aboard the Infinity, and pitched in just like one of the Buchalanti sailors. That had been a younger Miro, leaving Altura for the first time, on a voyage to Seranthia.

  This journey was altogether different. The last time Miro had thought these dark thoughts he'd thought himself alone on this voyage.

  Now they were two people who might never see their home again.

  ~

  THE FOLLOWING Lordsday Miro saw Captain Meredith on the forecastle, giving some sailors on the deck below him words of encouragement or perhaps reproach. Miro's eyebrows went up when he saw Meredith turn his back and one of the sailors make a rude gesture to the captain's back.

  Descending from the poop deck to the quarter deck, Miro surprised some junior officers smoking pipes in a sheltered part of the ship. They stopped speaking when Miro approached and gave him dark glares.

  Miro hoped Captain Meredith and First-mate Carver could keep their men together long enough to see the voyage through.

  He wondered if there was anything he could do. Miro wasn't sure how he could help, besides wishing the ship would go faster.

  Reaching the companionway Miro decided to head back to his cabin. Fighting the rocking of the ship, he pushed open the door to his cabin and closed it behind him.

  He sat on the fold-out bed that doubled as a seat and took a heavy book from out of the wooden trunk.

  Miro once again opened Toro Marossa's Explorations.

  Contrary to what you may believe, I had never set out like this before, pointing myself in a direction and hoping to come across land. I've always travelled where I could see something on the horizon, and if this tacking back and forth across the unbroken ocean unnerved even me, imagine the feelings of the superstitious sailors.

  I believe I could easily find the Ochre Islands again. There is a strange haze that hovers over them and is visible from leagues away, and between my extensive experience mapping uncharted lands and the captain's own skill with charting, the directions in these pages can be relied on.

  But these long distances bring challenges even I was not prepared for. I can only thank the stars we found fresh water on the island I named Valetta or we would never have made it back to civilisation. I had hoped we would find the homeland of whoever had abandoned the Ochre Isles not far away, but alas, much to my frustration, it was not to be. I had convinced the captain to continue onwards, but even I could read the mutinous mood of the crew.

  We had been out of port for eleven weeks, we were running out of food and water, and in the end the captain would go no farther. Against my arguments, we turned back for Castlemere. I still maintain that the Great Western Ocean is not endless, merely very large. Perhaps the barren islands we discovered could be used as a staging point for another mission. Perhaps the Buchalanti will answer my questions, if I ask them in the right way. I would give anything to see what is on the other side of the world…

  Miro started when his cabin door opened, and then relaxed when he saw Amber push back her long hair and shut the door behind her.

  "Ho," Miro said, smiling. "I wasn't sure if you were taking a nap."

  "You're still reading that book?"

  "It's fascinating. Toro Marossa found these islands, yet the people who once lived there were all gone. He tried to find land further on but had to turn back. Who were they?"

  "Don't tell me you want to go exploring, Miro."

  "If the islands are still abandoned, we have to face the fact we may have to travel further."

  "Don't say that! I don't want to spend a moment longer on this ship than I have to."

  Miro sighed. "Nor do I. Don't worry, I understand."

  "I'm not sure you do," Amber said. "Miro, I need to talk to you. I went to the hold to see if there was any fresh fruit; this diet is making me ill. I overheard some of the sailors; they were expressing… misgivings."

  "What did they say?"

  "They swear a lot," Amber said, "but they aren't happy. One of them said if we don't find the islands soon he's going to knock some sense into the captain. Another said something worse about us."

  Miro's mouth tightened.

  It was time to speak with Captain Meredith.

  ~

  MIRO found Meredith on the bridge, conferring with the helmsman, and politely waited a short way away for them to finish.

  Helmsman Werner, an unassuming man with sad eyes and drooping moustaches, nodded at something the captain said and then returned to the helm.

  "Lord Marshal," Meredith said warmly, coming over. "What can I do for you?"

  Miro smelled rum on the man's breath.

  "Can I speak with you alone?" Miro said.

  "Of course. Actually, there is something I wanted to show you. Please, come with me."

  Meredith took Miro down to the lowest deck and brought him to the rail on the port side of the ship. "We're now eight weeks out of port," he said. "See," he indicated the heaving sea, "the water here changes colour, becomes darker. The ocean here is deep, as deep as we ever voyage on. Perhaps close to a thousand fathoms in depth. The water beyond," he gestured ahead, "is deeper still. Deeper than we can, or would be willing, to measure. The waves will become much bigger. We are leaving the open zone and entering the deep zone."

  "It must be difficult for your men," Miro said.

  "My men?" Meredith turned, wobbling slightly, and Miro realised the man was quite drunk. "They're superstitious fools, but their fear is warranted. I know of no ship that has intentionally voyaged into the deep zone."

  "Toro Marossa did," Miro said.

  "Or so he says," Meredith said wryly. "His stories were always a bit fanciful for my liking. The word is that he returned from his first voyage, wrote Explorations, and then made a second voyage, from which he never returned. A similar fate may await us. But never fear, Lord Marshal, we're following the course he's described. If these islands are there, we'll find them."

  "Your men are what I came to speak with you about, Captain," said Miro. "They seem discontent. What if they were to… try something?"

  "Carver is a good man, Lord Marshal. He knows how to keep them in line."

  Miro looked about the deck, his soldier's eyes taking note of marlinspikes for grabbing wayward lines and axes for cutting through thick hemp rope in an emergency.

  "What about weapons? Are there any real weapons aboard the ship? Cutlasses a
nd the like?"

  "We have an arms locker," said Meredith, "but I'm the only one with the key. Please, put your fears to rest, Lord Marshal, and have faith in my men. They'll get you to these islands, if they exist, and home again."

  "I hope you're right, Captain."

  Miro decided it couldn't hurt to be seen in his armoursilk from now on. Amber had the tools of her trade with her; they were neither of them defenceless, but it would be best if she stayed in her cabin as often as possible.

  Miro hoped they would find the Ochre Islands soon.

  7

  HELMSMAN Werner coughed at the foul smell, tasting rancid air and damp as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He took a step forward and his left foot sank into viscous liquid reaching up nearly to his calf. Another step forward saw his other foot plunge even deeper. The stink was overpowering: urine and rot and the sweet stench of corruption.

  Finally Werner's eyes adjusted and he ignored the wetness on his legs, pushing forward through the liquid, occasionally kicking the ribs of the ship with his bare feet. Below him he could feel the smacks the Delphin made as she hit the water again and again. Creaking and sloshing sounds came from all directions.

  There was a light ahead; a figure held a shuttered lantern, silhouetting seated men, creating garish shadows.

  As Werner grew closer he saw it was Julian Carver holding the lantern. The Delphin's first mate was sitting on a barrel where some of the supplies had been put into the bilge to provide extra ballast. Also sitting on a barrel was Ulrich, the quartermaster, a fat, balding man who probably dipped his hand too often in his stores.

  "Why choose here to meet?" Werner asked, finding himself a seat on a water cask. "Going into the bilge isn't in my job description."

  "Can you see that Alturan and his fancy wife coming down here to check on things?" Carver said.

  Werner heard a snort from a newcomer and saw Beck, the second mate, a thin, wiry man with an earring and oily hair.

  "…Or old Merry taking his lips off the bottle to sample some bilge water?" Beck said, taking a seat.

  Fat Ulrich and Carver both laughed.

  "What have you asked us here for, Carver?" Werner said. "You're the senior officer here. You organised this meeting."

  "He's here to talk some sense into you," a voice spoke from behind him. Another latecomer sat down, a huge sailor with legs like tree trunks and a broken nose.

  "What's he doing here?" Werner asked.

  "This is Ros," Carver said. "He represents some of the sailors. Isn't that right, Ros?"

  "That's right," Ros said. He looked at Werner. "I don't know 'bout you, helmsman, but we ain't too keen on sailing to the edge of the world and past. They don't call it the endless sea for naught. I'll say it plainly. Meredith's a drunk and we'll follow Carver here instead if he turns us back from this madness. It's been two weeks since we crossed into the deep zone. We want to turn back, 'fore it's too late."

  "What about the captain?" Fat Ulrich asked. "The council back in Castlemere'll have our heads for mutiny."

  "Shh," Carver hissed. "I don't want to hear that word uttered here, not once. Look, the ship's surgeon has an expensive mistress back in Schalberg. If we pay him a gold dinar, he'll write up that the captain took sickly, know what I mean?"

  "It's a big secret," Beck said, the lean second mate tugging on his earring. "All it takes is one man to break."

  "That's why we're the only ones who'll be privy to it. According to the men, the captain actually did take sick, and they'll be so happy to be turning back from the deep that they'll think of nothing but their warm beds back home."

  Werner remained silent. Carver seemed to have an answer for everything.

  "So we kill the cap'n and give him a funeral service at sea, all right and proper," Beck said. "That just leaves one other loose end."

  "Here's where it gets tricky," Carver said, "but if we work together, stick to our stories, and most of all, keep the men out of it, we'll be right."

  "Let's hear it," Beck said.

  "So here's what we've got so far. The captain's turned sick, and with the surgeon in our pocket he'll back us up on that. The council back in Castlemere knows Cap'n Merry as well as we do, they know he's not a strong man. You know Meredith, Ulrich. What do you think he'd do if he turned real sick?"

  "Order us to turn back," Fat Ulrich said.

  "That's exactly right," said Carver. "He'd order us to turn back. Now, the Alturan… Tell me, fellows, do you think he's the type to turn back without a fuss?"

  "No," Beck said. "Him and his woman, their son has been poisoned. They're looking in these islands for a cure, or some such."

  "Right again." Carver nodded. "And if this Alturan bladesinger, a man consumed with his quest, threatens our captain and tries to force him to keep going, who do we support? Our sick captain, or a grief-mad foreigner?"

  "The captain," Fat Ulrich and Beck said together.

  "And if this Alturan threatens violence, and happens to be killed in a struggle, well, it's unfortunate but we did the right thing."

  "Who does the killing?" Ulrich said.

  "I'll say it was me," said Carver, "provided you all back me up as witnesses."

  Beck nodded. "You're cunning, I'll give you that. Remind me not to cross you when you're captain. You're forgetting someone though."

  "The woman's the easiest of all," Carver said. "You've seen her, she's a mess. Her husband dies, and we're turning back from the only hope she's got of saving her son, what's she going to do?"

  Ros, the broken-nosed sailor spoke, grinning. "Throw 'erself overboard."

  "Three problems solved," said the rat-faced Carver, "with a tragic, but convincing tale to tell, and all of us bearing witness. Three deaths: one by illness, another by violence, and the last by suicide. No need to involve the crew, except for our friend Ros here and a few of his friends, and even the surgeon only knows a part of it."

  Helmsman Werner looked from one face to the other. "It's not as easy as that. You're talking about taking on a bladesinger. He's taken to wearing his armour these past two weeks. Even all of us at once wouldn't stand a chance. How do we take care of him?"

  "He doesn't sleep in his armour, though." Ros grinned. "And that huge sword of his is too big to wield below decks."

  "How do you know?" Werner challenged.

  "'Cause I lowered m'self down the rail and peeked in the window, that's how. Did the same with his wife. Didn't see her sleep in no armour either, heh."

  "Bastard," said Beck, rubbing his thin face. "I'll do more than look at her though when she's captured."

  "Cut it," Carver said. "Let's just worry about taking the ship first. So, Werner, in answer to your question, we take the ship in the dead of night. But we'll get to the planning in a minute. I need to know everyone's in. Second-mate?"

  "In."

  "Quartermaster?"

  "In."

  "Helmsman?"

  Werner hesitated. "In."

  "Seaman?"

  "In," Ros said.

  "Good," Carver said. "Ros, how many sailors can you trust? And I mean trust proper-like. All the other seamen need to think the captain's been taken ill."

  "I've picked two," Ros said. "Fischer and Rawl. Both big men. Both trustworthy."

  "All right. We move tomorrow night, no point in waiting. We're already running low on food and water. Before much longer we wouldn't be able to turn back, we'd have to keep searching around to reprovision on islands that don't exist."

  "All right," Beck said, "tomorrow night. When?"

  "About four hours before dawn, you'll hear the watchman strike the third bell of the middle watch. That's when we strike. With Ros and his seamen there'll be seven of us. Ros, you and your two mates go straight for the bladesinger. He'll be the most dangerous."

  Ros held up a huge fist, the fingers calloused by work. "I'm dangerous too."

  "Me and the second mate here, we'll take the woman. The Alturan won't fight long when she's
in our hands. Ulrich, you and the helmsman take the cap'n."

  Fat Ulrich looked at Werner and nodded.

  "Last time Merry drunk himself comatose I searched his cabin and found the key to the arms locker. Here."

  Carver reached behind to a roll of canvas Werner hadn't noticed before. He unrolled the sailcloth, and Werner saw the flash of steel as a bunch of sharp swords jangled.

  "Good sharp cutlasses," Carver said. He handed them out, giving three to broken-nosed Ros. "Take them back to your berths, making sure you're not seen. I've cleared the decks until the next change of watch so you should be right. I shouldn't need to tell you. If you're caught with these, you're dead."

  There was a noise in the bilge, a splash that sounded like a footstep, and in a flash Carver closed the shutter on his lantern so that Werner's vision went black.

  The five conspirators waited in silence, each breathing as quietly as possible, knowing that if caught, the secret of their mutiny would be out.

  Then Werner heard a squeal, followed by a screech of triumph and another splash. He heard Carver sigh, and then the first mate slowly opened the shutter a crack.

  Cugel, the ship's cat, shone triumphant eyes on them as he held a dead mouse in his maw. He was often left to hunt mice in the hold, and he must have somehow made his way into the bilge.

  First Ulrich, and then Beck started to chuckle. Werner shook his head side to side, while Carver smiled ruefully before hushing them.

  "Here's a thought to keep you warm tonight," Carver finished. "Merry has gold in his cabin. It's the pay from the Alturans. He doesn't trust moneylenders, and prefers to keep it in his cabin, the fool. It's enough for us all to have a tidy bonus, when this is done. Remember, tomorrow night, at the third bell of the middle watch. You'll do fine."