Markan Empire

  He moved away and kept a wary eye open for any more nautical sylphs whose ship fancied her chances at invading his thoughts.

  He eavesdropped on as many conversations as he could. Most were about mundane matters, others were not. Some made his earpoints twitch fully erect.

  "Most ships can take three or four hundred soldiers," said one man, strolling along the quayside with a companion.

  "Possibly half as many again," said the other man. "It's not as if we'll be at sea for long, the crossing will only take two days."

  So they are planning something, thought the sylph. He filed this small snippet away to be reported later. He pretended that he stared at nothing in particular and showed interest in even less. Even so, he was not surreptitious enough.

  "Why are you here boy?" demanded one of the men.

  "Waiting for the day after tomorrow," replied Neptarik and flashed his green card.

  The human smiled. "Yes, you'll be looked after then. You must have missed yesterday's roundup."

  Not understanding what roundup meant, the sylph shrugged.

  "Thought you were here to beg, boy. Best for you to move on. Get into the city, find somewhere comfortable for a couple of nights. There may even be some food, if you're lucky."

  Now he had been asked to go, Neptarik knew he must leave. No point in overstaying his welcome. That he had been moved on suggested the authorities had something to hide, or at least something they didn't want everyone to see.

  Food sounded like a good idea. There must be a fish market near the quay. Only now he noticed that of all the ships here, none were fishing boats. No smell of fish hung in the air, no piles of nets anywhere. What sort of harbor had no fishing boats?

  "Is there a fish market here?" he asked a man with gold stripes on his tunic.

  "Further up," replied the man.

  "Where are the fishing boats?" asked Neptarik, feeling bold.

  The man smiled. "They've been gone for about two years," he said. "A row over landing fees. If it's fisher-boats you want, try Sentena, Codden or Safeford. That's where the boats are now."

  Neptarik thanked the man and wandered back into the city, leaving the harbor behind.

  ***

  From the Sea Dragon, Degan watched the strange sylph, who knew at least something about ships, leave the harbor. He paused to ask Captain Naeppin a question the ship sylph had no chance of hearing.

  "Anything wrong?"

  Degan almost jumped; she had not heard Ommas, one of the sailmakers, join her at the rail. She pulled herself together and shrugged. "Just thinking."

  "You can think while throwing an eye splice on the end of this." Ommas proffered a rope's end.

  "I want to be at sea." Degan ignored the suggestion. "The ship wants to be at sea."

  "All at sea, more like." Ommas waggled the rope's end her way again. "Cap'n'll be back soon, with his orders."

  "I know, he's over there."

  "Maybe your wish is about to be granted."

  "With a load of soldiers, pukin' everywhere." Degan's earpoints twitched as she grimaced.

  "Eye splice," said Ommas, a little more firmly.

  "All right." Degan dropped onto the deck beside the sailmaker. "Cut me a piece of twine. Which thimble?"

  Sea Dragon had been afloat eighteen years, ten years younger than Degan. The ship that inhabited the sylph, however, was far older than that. The wooden part of the ship was roughly two-fifty pacas in length and boasted four masts. Two rigged with traditional lateen sails and the forward two fitted with revolutionary square sails four high. An additional square sail lurked under her bowsprit and she could set four staysails between her foremost masts and four more between foremast and bowsprit.

  She could make almost fourteen knots under full sail, which meant not many ships could keep up with her, let alone catch her. Even today, twenty years since her construction began, Sea Dragon was one of only four ships with square sails.

  Now, she must serve as a lowly troop carrier for the Mametain's planned invasion.

  "Steady," cautioned Ommas, watching what happened to the rope. "I keep forgetting how fast you are with those fingers. No more tucks, or there won't be enough left to taper it."

  "Sorry." Degan took a little more care, but she watched the gangway.

  "Captain's returning!" cautioned one of the side boys. Officer-of-the-deck and ship sylph reached the gangway together.

  "Well?" demanded Degan, the moment Naeppin's foot touched the deck.

  The Captain arched an eyebrow. "Well what?"

  "When do we sail?"

  "Soon. Once we've taken our share of soldiers aboard –"

  "Pukers," muttered Degan.

  "– and hoisted the Flag."

  "Ensign," corrected Degan, who liked giving things their proper names.

  "Flag," repeated Naeppin. "We won't be a private ship when we sail."

  Degan swore.

  "Behave," cautioned Naeppin.

  She made no move to apologize. "Which old fart are they dusting off for us?"

  "The senior admiral." Naeppin smiled. "You should remember him, unless you're even dafter than you look. Iklaus da Seppayu, this ship's first skipper."

  Degan's demeanor changed and her face lit with pleasure. "He'll do very nicely."

  "Thought he might meet with your approval."

  "What did that sylph want with you?"

  The change of subject threw the Captain for a moment. "What? Oh, him."

  "Begging was he?"

  "Only for directions to the fish market," replied Naeppin.

  Degan became thoughtful again. In the back of her mind, a small voice repeated itself, over and over.

  Beware, he is dangerous. Beware...

  ***

  Neptarik wandered back into the city. He decided the buildings painted in bright colors added character and interest. He wondered why more places didn't follow Taura's example. It was certainly better than undressed stone, or the unrelieved limewash used in so many other cities.

  The row of shops here all had open fronts and the sylph spotted wooden shuttering stacked to one side of each shop. He paused to stare at a woman buying rather a lot of choca and guessed she might be the owner of a stud. He had never seen so much of the dark treat in his lifetime. Even walking, he kept his ears open, but he still heard nothing interesting about the Mametain. Above, the sun passed its meridian.

  The directions Neptarik had been given were good and he soon started to follow his nose to the fish market. A large group of sylphs congregated around it. Little chance of getting anything here.

  Some sylphs touted services in exchange for food, but most simply begged. Compared with them, Neptarik's appearance was smart. The stares he received were unfriendly. Earpoints slanted forwards and eyes narrowed.

  "What's he doing here?"

  "This is our place."

  "Not enough to go around."

  "Go away, stranger."

  Neptarik took the hint. He turned away reluctantly, despite the tantalizing smell of fish bringing water to his mouth. The smell hung in the air, teasing him.

  As the afternoon wore on, he looked for farmers leaving their market. Few would want to travel in darkness, so he guessed they would pack up soon. He poked his head into the farmers' market a few times. There were fewer beggars than the fish market, but they glared in Neptarik's direction whenever he showed his face.

  These aren't pleased to see me, either, he thought.

  He stayed out of the square and ignored what the beggars had to say about interlopers. He desperately wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself.

  Spotting "his" farmer readying his cart, Neptarik wandered away from the square, now waiting in a quiet spot where the scout thought it best to hitch his lift. The cart was a lot emptier than this morning and he knew it would be harder to hide on the way out. The guards at the gates should have changed by now, or it might be difficult for the farmer to explain why he brought a sylph in and then forgot to take
him home again.

  Neptarik hoped the farmer never learned he'd carried a passenger.

  He tried to look like he wasn't skulking while he waited. A few minutes of worry passed before the cart finally came rumbling around the corner. The farmer must have stopped for a chat.

  He pulled free his second carrot and chewed it nonchalantly. A quick glance to ensure nobody would see and he pressed himself against the wall, so the cart itself would block him from view.

  He grabbed the side of the cart as it passed and, with one easy motion, swung himself onto the back. He grinned at the sylph beggars who also turned the corner after the cart, hoping some remnant of the crop might fall off the back.

  "He is not even a beggar," said one and her earpoints twitched indignantly.

  Another shook her head. "Some will steal even our food."

  Neptarik blushed and scowled. Well, he was up and the farmer had noticed nothing. He glanced at the back of the man's head and rearranged the tarpaulin so a large lump hid him, just in case the unsuspecting driver turned around.

  He looked back at the beggars and finished his carrot. By sylph standards, they had proved to be an aggressive lot.

  Thanks to being with a human, getting out of Taura was as easy as getting in. The farmer bade the gate guards a cheerful goodbye as he passed. Neptarik did not even earn a glance, which pleased him.

  He resisted the urge to hum something joyful as this would give him away. Behind, the city shrank in the sylph's vision. Two milas on and the scout dropped off the back of the cart. Still wary of the farmer looking over his shoulder, Neptarik left the road and dropped into cover.

  There was a clear strip of perhaps two or three stridas wide on each side of the road, before shrubs and trees took over. Neptarik appreciated the military sense of this, as it put the road out of bowshot from the forest and reduced the risk of ambush.

  His companions had made their camp in this forest. Although he could easily make it into the camp unseen, Neptarik deliberately made plenty of noise as he approached.

  "Enjoy your day in the city, lad?" Balnus stepped from behind a tree and only now released his grip on the swordhilt. "We expected you sooner."

  Neptarik shrugged. "Found nothing out about the Mametain," he said, "but I did get this." He handed the green card to his owner, who glanced at it.

  "Let's go see Verdin." Balnus pursed his lips and looked at the card again.

  Once in the camp, Neptarik warmed himself before the small fire.

  "Well?" asked Verdin.

  Neptarik explained everything he had seen and heard. Verdin only just hid his disappointment that the sylph had so little to tell.

  "I'll have to go tomorrow," he said. "See what I can discover."

  "Should I go to this?" Neptarik flourished the green card.

  Verdin smiled and his eyes flickered quickly to Balnus. "If your owner agrees, then yes."

  "Do it." Balnus sounded as if the decision was not easy. "You say sylphs often ask to be released from his service. Anything looks like going wrong, you get out. Understood?"

  Neptarik bowed. "Se bata," he replied.

  ***

  Verdin Vintner took the head off his mug of beer, savored the taste of the unusual dark brown liquid, decided it suited his palate and relaxed with a sigh. The fireplace stood cold and empty, but the common room was warm enough. The native Taurans regarded this sunny and bright spring weather as summer. Compared with Sandester, this was summer.

  For some inexplicable reason, the inn was called The Dragon, but instead of a sinuous serpent, the sign outside featured a man with gray eyes and reddish-brown hair. The undragonlike figure was dressed in red and black, and carried a staff in his left hand, right arm shoved inside his tunic. Verdin wondered what the connection was.

  The red and black theme continued both outside and inside the inn; it seemed there was no other color paint here.

  Two men leaning against the bar gave him sideways glances before resuming their conversation about how best to preserve food surpluses. The common room was full, with every table and bench occupied. Conversations were loud and topics ranged from the weather to the likelihood of good or bad crops. Nobody mentioned politics.

  Verdin was easily the youngest man present, if not the only one with no gray in his hair. His blue eyes were a rarity in Taura, though not unique. His accent gave him away immediately as an outlander, but he wasn't pretending to be anything else. Being a foreigner was not a problem, which suggested plenty of outlanders were here.

  One man sat alone and in silence, staring at the cold fireplace. Despite his detachment, Verdin had the feeling this man noted everything going on around him. Graying dark hair was tied back with a cord and, when he glanced around the room, Verdin noted sharp, dark eyes.

  The man was alone and apparently friendless. A spy? If so, for whom?

  Verdin finished his drink and left The Dragon, stepping back onto the street. Here, he was forced to stop.

  A large carnival parade came past, with giant puppets surrounded by dancers in streaming clothes. Hordes of children and sylphs shadowed it, many joining in the dance. Adults stopped their chores to watch.

  Verdin stared.

  "Something to take people's minds off the tax burden," said a voice beside him.

  Verdin turned. The man sitting alone beside the cold fireplace had followed him out.

  "Taxes are necessary for good governance," he countered.

  The older man smiled. "When people see nothing in return for taxes, good governance often turns bad. And when some of that money is spent just to entertain the people, something is badly wrong. Government by circus always ends in tears."

  "Perhaps." Verdin turned his head to face the front again.

  "A curious mind must wonder why you aren't in uniform. Most young men are in either the army or the militia, yet you are not. Even outlanders come here for the bounty. Fighting is better than starving is how many fools see it."

  "I hold the rank of Lieutenant," retorted Verdin, haughtily. This was true, even if only an honorary rank conferred by his late father. There was no need to tell this man in which army he held that rank.

  The older man's smile broadened. "Something might interest you at The Green Knight. Tomorrow evening, after the gates close. A good day to you."

  Verdin blinked as his companion turned and walked quickly away. A moment later, he hurried after, but when he turned the corner, he had the street to himself. Trap, or genuine lead? How did the man know what he was looking for? What if this wasn't what he was looking for? He had a little more than a day to take precautions.

  He stopped the first passer by he saw. "Can you tell me the way to The Green Knight? It is an inn."

  ***

  Balnus and Verdin made plans over breakfast. Or perhaps Verdin made the plans. Although Balnus technically ranked higher than Verdin – Captain to Lieutenant – Fynn had put Verdin in charge of the mission.

  The humans enjoyed goat meat washed down with alovak, while Neptarik scooped water-soaked rolled oats into his mouth. Cooked the previous day and eaten cold now. No alovak for him, but there was plenty of water.

  "You will go directly to Sylphs' Hall," commanded Verdin.

  Neptarik glanced at his owner, who nodded. "Se bata," he replied, after a careful swallow of his porridge.

  "Accept any work that gets you close to the Mametain," continued Verdin.

  "Se bata," replied Neptarik, his tone suggesting he had already thought of this.

  "Balnus, you wait outside the city. If Neptarik is successful, you keep an eye on the castle and wait for developments."

  "Sounds good to me," replied Balnus. "You still want to wander into this inn?"

  "Worth the risk."

  "Smells like a trap."

  "If it's a trap, then why give me a whole day to clear out?" Verdin shrugged. "I'm going to back my hunch. That fellow knew exactly who to look for."

  "That's what worries me." Balnus shook his head. "He'
d meet you before the gates close if this is genuine."

  "If it's a trap," retorted Verdin, "I'm sure you and Neptarik will prove more successful in your tasks."

  Neptarik's earpoints wilted a little and it worried him that his alleged superiors might disagree so soon into the mission. Comments from him would be unwelcome, so he said nothing.

  "If you feel so strongly, then go. But be careful. You should have arranged a time when the gates are open."

  Neptarik took the bowls and cutlery to wash them. He rinsed them in the stream, used grass to dry them and packed them away in the panniers Balnus stored in his shelter. His owner would stay here; it was conveniently private.

  He looked at Balnus as his hand gripped his shoulder.

  "Look after yourself, lad. Keep your skin."

  Neptarik smiled. "I will," he promised. "Keeps me dry when it rains."

  Balnus laughed and walked with his companions to the forest edge, the road beyond. "Good luck, both of you," he said.

  Verdin clasped arms. "A quick in and out," he promised. "Should see you tomorrow."

  Neptarik shrugged. "The Mametain had better be a good owner."

  "Not too good I hope." Balnus grinned. "You belong to me."

  Having said their goodbyes, Verdin and Neptarik walked to the road and turned towards the city.

  "We should enter Taura separately," said Verdin. "Best not to be seen together in case questions are asked."

  Neptarik nodded. "I will jump on a farmer's cart," he said. "There is a market every day."

  "No need to smuggle yourself in," said Verdin. "Show the guards your green card and that should be it."

  Neptarik twitched his earpoints and shrugged. "Prefer a cart," he insisted.

  "Suit yourself."

  Neptarik watched Verdin continue along the road until he was out of sight around a bend. The sylph made himself comfortable beside the road and waited.

  And waited.

  He was about to give up and walk to the city when his long ears caught the unmistakable rumble of an approaching cart. The sylph flattened himself and lay still.

  The cart – a different one from his last visit – trundled past and Neptarik chose his moment.

  He swung up onto the cart bed and ensured the driver remained blissfully unaware of his passenger. The sylph bedded down on the back of the cart, well out of sight of the driver. No carrots today, but some of the potatoes and turnips that had fallen from their sacks looked tasty.

  Verdin was closer to the city than Neptarik would have credited as the cart passed. He caught the human's attention by throwing a potato at him. Their gazes locked and the sylph gave Verdin his friendliest smile. He restrained a laugh when the walker gestured rudely in return.