Treason's Shore

  “I don’t know, except the Cassads are strange—they have dreams that turn out to be true—some even say they see ghosts. But you know that.”

  Hadand stood in the doorway, looking down at the paper, her profile so unhappy Tdor stared in dismay and wonder. “Speaking of heirs, I stopped chewing gerda,” Hadand said at last. “It turns my stomach, and Evred seems to work through all watches, except when he falls asleep in his chair.”

  Tdor tried to think of an answer, but Hadand walked out.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THE fierce summer sun was just setting when Fox’s fleet spotted the jagged teeth of Ghost Island on the horizon.

  Exclamations of relief sounded around the ship, for they’d had to navigate by the sun-tracker, always dangerous.

  Barend, at his place behind the binnacle, stayed silent as he swept the glass over the horizon.

  Two days after Barend’s arm was broken the fleet touched land, where the Skimit awaited them, having arranged for supplies. Barend lay in his hammock unable to move.

  Over the following half year, as the fleet made its way west, practicing ship maneuvers to integrate Fangras’ independents under Fox’s exacting eye, they touched land once more, at Llyenthur, on the other side of the strait.

  During those months, as the sun steadily regained its southern heights, Barend’s arm healed without mishap—it had been a clean break—and he took up his job as ship master as if nothing had happened. As soon as he could, he resumed deck drills, and by the time they were sailing west into open ocean, he no longer favored that arm.

  Now Ghost Island’s dragon teeth resolved into separate islands. Under an azure sky rapidly darkening into night they were met in Halfmoon Harbor by a stone-faced contingent of armed islanders, their fast little boats covered by steep-roofed structures with leddas mats laid over them. They could shoot fire arrows from behind those and stay out of harm. They might not defeat a fleet of twenty-odd capital ships and racing schooners, but they could inflict a great deal of damage. And the only place to resupply within months of sailing was right here.

  It did not take much to imagine the harbor, now slowly lighting up with twinkling glowglobes and lamps, full of armed citizens determined to protect their freedom.

  The same old woman who had met them on their first arrival, half a year after their defeat of the Brotherhood of Blood, stood in the bow of the first boat. Her challenging frown was accentuated by ruddy flickers of lanterns. “Why are you here?” she called up. “We only trade with the Delfin Islands. We will not trade with you.”

  “We’re pushing west.” Fox leaned over the Death’s stern rail. “Looking for trade. Need to resupply, repair. A little liberty.”

  “You may have three days, and you will be permitted ashore only if you are not armed.” The old woman’s voice rasped with distrust. “We permit that much because you did nothing untoward before. But we see that your former captain is no longer with you.”

  “He retired from the sea—”

  The woman cut across Fox’s speech. “Do not trouble us with what may be lies. We cannot prove your words either way. We liked this Inda Elgar. He kept his promises. You must prove to us you will keep yours. Three days. Without weapons. Without any trouble from your crew, or we will rise against you all.”

  Lanterns had been lit on the Death by the deck crew. At the wheel, Mutt watched a muscle in Fox’s jaw jump. Ooh, trouble, Mutt thought. Fox had been nastier than ever these past few months, ever since he’d decked Barend. On the other hand, the entire fleet was in the best fighting shape it had ever been.

  But Fox only said, “Three days it is. And there will be no trouble from my crew.”

  “Fox will kill ’em if they sneeze wrong,” Jeje observed to Dasta. She’d sailed the Vixen up the side of Cocodu away from the Death, then climbed stealthily aboard to observe with its captain.

  “How d’ya sneeze right?” Dasta muttered out of the side of his mouth.

  She snorted. “Ask Tau that. If we ever see him again. Me, I figure it’s right if you don’t sneeze into my soup.”

  From the Vixen’s deck Nugget stared up impatiently. Jeje had left her at the tiller, which meant Nugget couldn’t hear the talk. That annoyed her. She just knew something was going on, but no one would tell her anything.

  She yanked up the glass, balanced the tiller against one thigh, and glared through the lens at Mutt, there at the wheel on the Death. They still were Not Talking, even though she’d made sure he saw her kissing Captain Eflis. So much for his vows of friendship, and how Inda’s ship rats would always be together, just like Inda and his original ship rats.

  While Nugget brooded, Dasta said through stiff lips, “What’s he going to do about Barend?”

  He and Jeje turned their attention away from the island boats, which were retreating rapidly in the capricious breezes, leaving the capital ships to wallow more slowly behind the Death. From where they couldn’t see Barend.

  Jeje kicked a barrel with her bare toes. Once Barend had got out of his hammock, a sling all fixed up for his arm, Fox had refused to let him make ship visits. Your friends can visit here. Anything they have to say can be heard by me. There will be no misunderstandings that way.

  It hadn’t taken much effort to guess what problem lay between Fox and Barend, not when Ghost Island was mentioned.

  Treasure.

  Jeje and Dasta had talked aboard the cutter, figuring that Inda had told Barend about the treasure and maybe sent him to get some of it to help back in the Marlovan kingdom. Jeje told Dasta how worn out everything there was—and that was before the big battle with the Venn.

  Dasta muttered, “I hope Fox isn’t going to kill Barend. Throw his body to rot in that damned cavern alongside the pirate skeletons.”

  “Not while I’m there, he won’t,” Jeje growled.

  “So what do we do? You can’t fight Fox and win.”

  “I can’t alone. But he can’t take us all. We have to stay united,” Jeje retorted.

  “You and I can’t take him together, either. So do we bring people in?” Dasta grimaced. “Seems to me the more people know, the more they’ll go crazy after gold. Just like Fox.”

  “I don’t think Fox’s crazy after gold. Why else didn’t he take it when he had the chance? No, I just think he doesn’t want Inda to have it. That’s why he’s so angry at Barend.”

  “Is that what’s going on?”

  “I think so. Nothing else makes sense.”

  “And that does? Shitfire. I wish the damned islanders had burned that damned book before Inda ever got here.” Dasta’s usually pleasant face was grim.

  They would have been surprised to discover that roughly the same thoughts were going through not just Barend’s mind but also Fox’s.

  Barend stood silently at his station behind the binnacle. He hadn’t spoken to anyone for weeks, except when necessary to deliver orders. He blamed himself for what had happened; he should have known Fox would figure out his purpose. He should not have come on board. He should not have tried a sneak that night. And he should not have left Aunt Wisthia’s golden scroll case—given to him so he could keep her apprised of his progress—in his gear. Of course he’d asked Fox where it was, and of course Fox had asked, “What case?”

  How many times since had he laughed at himself and Inda, closeted there in Ala Larkadhe, each thinking himself so smart, so far-seeing? Get the gold, Inda had said. Turn it into trade, Barend had said.

  We were idiots. No. We are idiots, Barend thought, watching the harbor close in. He was alone, for he refused to try raising a mutiny with the gold as reward. Just how many would be killed if he tried that stupidity?

  He also refused to write to Evred via the locket, which was still hanging around his neck. Evred could do nothing. Knowing about his fool cousin’s foolish actions would only increase his burdens. Barend must take care of the situation himself. Or die trying.

  Fox paced restlessly on deck. He was angry with Inda, angry with Bar
end, angry with Dasta and Jeje. He knew they hadn’t yapped yet about the treasure to anyone else, but how long would they hold out?

  If only they wanted it for honest purposes, like buying a tavern. Or a castle. Or wasting it on a year-long orgy. He could stomach just about any motivation except a reward going to the soul-cursed Montrei-Vayirs. He hadn’t eaten for days because his gut burned with fury.

  Jeje had slithered the cutter to the far side of Cocodu, which meant she was head-to-head with Dasta now, and thought he didn’t see her.

  He didn’t think they were stupid, or desperate, enough to loose the secret in order to raise a mutiny. True he’d be dead if he was wrong, but they had to see that the fleet would promptly turn on itself. Fangras and those others had wanted one thing out of Inda: wins. They would never loot a treasure and take the gold tamely to wherever it was Barend had appointed . . .

  Ah, no use in arguing inside his head. Time to act.

  “Signal, Pilvig.”

  She backed up a couple of steps from that venomous glare.

  “Cocodu, Vixen captains, meet on shore.” Then Fox turned Barend’s way. “You, too.”

  He turned back to Pilvig and issued a stream of orders to be signaled. Then he went back to his cabin to prepare.

  When the tide turned as the sun sank, the fleet had anchored and liberty boats were lowered.

  Barend climbed silently into the captain’s gig and dropped in the bow. Fox settled into the stern sheets as the gig crew picked up their oars. He kept his glass to his eye, watching as he checked the lantern-lit liberty boats swarming toward shore. The sailors sat soberly, the signal orders having been explicit about what would happen if they did not keep order.

  When his gig reached the white sands of the shore, he leaped out, Barend behind him. Dasta and Jeje waited, backed by Gillor. Just beyond them, Nugget marched past Mutt, nose in the air. Mutt slouched, knowing he wasn’t wanted, but the other young mates had wheedled him into staying to find out what was going on.

  “Go away,” Fox said to Mutt.

  Mutt was glad whatever had hit the ground back there wasn’t sticking to his feet. Nugget flounced ahead, chin up, swinging the long silken fringe of the scarf she had taken to winding around her stump. Mutt loped after her, heels kicking up arcs of fine white sand.

  Gillor remained where she was. Her frequent glances toward Jeje made it clear she knew there was trouble, but not exactly what.

  Inda hadn’t told Gillor about the treasure, but that did not mean she hadn’t guessed. She returned Fox’s gaze, flushing in the bobbing lantern-light of the last straggling sailors as Fox flipped his fingers at her. “Go get drunk, Gillor,” he said.

  “Why can’t she stay?” Jeje snarled, arms crossed.

  “Because I’m not going to discuss my plans until she’s gone.”

  Gillor flipped up the back of her hand in a not-quite-humorous gesture, then stalked toward the city, the last of those on liberty.

  When her blue silk shirt was just a pale starlit blob against the silhouetted buildings, Fox said, “At dawn we’ll take Vixen. See if it’s still there. Then discuss the next step.”

  “You mean, kill us all at a comfortable distance from these townies?” Jeje jerked her thumb over her shoulder.

  “How long would I get away with that? Use your brains, Jeje,” Fox snapped back impatiently. “You and Dasta vanish and they’ll all be howling with questions. The choice I see is between some sensible plan—which has nothing to do with pouring gold down the Marlovan rat hole—or just breaking the secret, come one come all, sit back, and enjoy the merry bloodshed and greed.”

  “Inda needs it,” Barend said.

  “Then Inda should have come and got it,” Fox retorted.

  Barend shut up.

  “Dawn? Here? Agreed? All four of us? If you insist,” Fox drawled, “I’ll emulate Inda’s heroic gesture and leave my weapons behind when we go over to the island.”

  “Do that,” Jeje snapped.

  “Oh, shit,” Dasta exclaimed. “I hate this. Yeah, dawn, but as far as I’m concerned, let ’em all have it. Or better, we just sail away and leave it. Like we did before. I don’t like what that gold is doing to us. If we give out the secret, half the fleet will be dead by morning. More.”

  “It might not even be there,” Fox reminded them. “We don’t know for certain that our little excursion went unnoticed. Or that someone local had not read that book and found out that the last of the pirates who’d been stationed on the island to kill anyone who landed had all hunted and killed one another.”

  “Leaving it to the ghosts.” Jeje chuckled.

  There were nods and grunts of agreement, then they all turned away. Fox and Barend walked up the shore side by side, neither speaking.

  Jeje and Dasta joined Gillor, who had waited at the edge of the beach where the brick terrace began.

  “Why aren’t those two fighting a duel?” Gillor asked, jerking her chin toward Fox and Barend.

  “They’re Marlovans.” Jeje snorted. “You know nothing they do ever makes any sense.”

  “Right. So this doesn’t happen to concern Inda’s clinking bags that day you all came back in the Vixen just before the storm, does it?” she asked, when Barend and Fox were well out of earshot.

  Jeje sighed.

  A corner of Dasta’s mouth turned up. “I’d say, my promise was only to Inda. So if you were to, oh, show your face at dawn, why not see what happens?”

  “Huh.” Gillor snorted. “I might at that.”

  Mutt caught up with Nugget just before reaching the edge of the main road. “I can show you where to go,” he said tentatively. “Since you never saw this place.”

  She tossed her hair back. “I thought I’d wait for Eflis.”

  He walked away.

  She waited for the space of three breaths, not believing he was just going to leave.

  “So much for you keeping your promises,” Nugget yelled.

  Mutt stopped, his shoulders going tight. Then he kept walking.

  She pounded after. “You’re a liar. And stupid!”

  He turned around at last. “Go howl at Eflis, if you’re so in love with her.” He walked on.

  When Eflis and Sparrow caught up, there was a woebegone Nugget, teary-eyed, waiting. Eflis held out her arms, and Nugget threw herself into them. “You can bunk in with us,” Eflis said, running her fingers through Nugget’s curls as the girl sniffed and pressed against her.

  Sparrow remained silent.

  Jeje and Dasta stayed in a pleasure house on a narrow street. They met outside just as the sun began to lift in the east. Dawn came fast this far north.

  At the intersection they found Gillor leaning against a wall from which she could see the shore as well as both ends of the street. She’d propped a foot behind her, and she was honing one of her knives on a whetstone. “Mornin’.”

  “Seen anyone?”

  “Not a soul. Or, none of ours. Vixen’s out on the water, bowsed up tight.” She tipped her head seaward, where bare poles of the fleet’s landing craft gently bobbled on the rippling water, Vixen and the fleet in the middle.

  “Barend?”

  “Didn’t Fox make him rack up in the same place he stays?”

  They all turned their heads toward the top of the hill, where the huge Pirate House stood. Lights gleamed on its lower level. Someone had obviously moved in since they were here with Inda.

  On their first visit, Fox had dossed in an inn directly across the street from Pirate House so he could watch over Inda’s comings and goings. He had to be at that same inn; they all knew he avoided pleasure houses when possible.

  “I still don’t know if he likes men or women,” Gillor commented as they trod up the steep street.

  “Neither. Snakes,” Jeje cracked.

  Dasta hooted with laughter, and Gillor said, “Jeje, that’s disgusting.”

  “For the snakes,” Jeje returned, her low, husky voice almost bass.

  They all laughe
d, then ventured increasingly ridiculous ideas of Fox’s style of wooing. Not that it was easy to imagine an amorous Fox. The raillery, however funny, sent a pang through Gillor.

  They reached the inn, and Dasta volunteered to go roust the laze-offs. Jeje agreed, with some regret: her preference would be to kick Fox out of bed, but she suspected that would be a very brief pleasure, and likely her last.

  She and Gillor remained outside, talking low-voiced out of regard for the bedroom windows open just above. They jumped when Dasta reappeared, eyes wide and furious.

  “Barend’s up there snoring like he’s going to sleep for a week,” he whispered, almost strangling in an effort to keep his voice down. All of them were mindful of “making trouble.”

  “Sleepweed, you think?” Gillor asked. And on Dasta’s nod, “Why would he swallow that?”

  “Because I don’t think he did. Not by himself. Fox did it to him. Fox is gone,” Dasta added.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  INDA began climbing up into the stands around the parade court, for this was the first day of the Summer Games. The middle section of the middle stone bench was not marked off in any way, but everyone left that space empty. That was where the royal family sat, and everybody knew it.

  Half a dozen steps up Inda paused, one foot resting on the next stair. People stopped behind him until there was a line of impatiently shuffling spectators. A quick, covert whisper “The Harskialdna” riffled back down the line. No one yelled or elbowed; one, then two people eased around him, and when he just stared witlessly up at that empty bench, people flowed around in twos and threes, filling the rest of the stands.

  Inda had been caught by the memory of his watching that bench when he was ten: how looming and inscrutable the king and his brother seemed, seated with a thin woman with a triangular face Inda barely recalled. She was Barend’s mother, the Harandviar. Tdor’s title. Following hard was a flood of memories: the dust, the snapping banners, the excitement of a shared secret tempered by the frequent and heavy-handed warnings from brothers not to expect any audience, or praise, and definitely no accolade, assuming the Royal Shield Arm was even there. Tanrid’s brown eyes as he shaded his eyes against the sun. Father almost never comes the year he has to ride back for Convocation. Last Games he didn’t even come though it was alter-year. At the time Inda had thought Tanrid said it so Inda wouldn’t get unrealistic expectations, but now he wondered how much hurt had been there.