Chapter 7. Insult and Injury
The Temple Sea Watch is about a thousand strong. They are led by an admiral who is appointed by the High Priestess. The admiral, in turn, appoints lieutenants, which have numbered from two to a dozen in the past, and often command their own ships. These lieutenants each appoint captains of hundreds. Captains have ten officers called watch masters, each commanding ten shelts. Watch masters are elected by the sailors themselves.
—Gwain, The Truth about Wyverns
By the time Gerard and Alsair swooped down on the deck of the Sea Feather, it was dark, and torches were burning on deck. Gerard was relieved to learn that Silveo was not there. He found Arundel in his cabin, dictating to a secretary. The lieutenant, it seemed, had heard of Gerard’s promotion. He sent his secretary out of the room as Gerard began to speak. “I trust you are enjoying your time in port, sir?” Alsair came in and lay down along the back wall.
“In my own fashion,” said Arundel. He had a toneless pattern of speech and one of the most expressionless faces Gerard had ever seen.
Gerard’s tail twitched involuntarily. Arundel was the only one of Silveo’s lieutenants who made him uneasy. He was the quietest of the group—a black-furred grishnard with hair as dark as Gerard’s own and eyes as yellow as any hawk’s. For a time, Gerard had thought him the most honest and humane of the group…until Gerard stumbled upon Arundel with a female shavier pirate whom he was supposed to have executed. The memory still made Gerard a little sick.
“What can I do for you?” asked Arundel, his spider-like fingers flickering over the papers on his desk.
Gerard forced his tail to stop twitching. “I understand that you were once Captain of Police. I have been recently appointed to that role, and I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Arundel watched him impassively.
Gerard plunged on. “Were you able to learn anything about Sky Town? Do you believe it exists?”
Arundel sat back. “It existed. I found Sky Town—a pitiful tree fort on Haplag-34, full of ragged fauns with old weapons and older leaders. We burned the whole island. I’m told it’s still bare.”
Gerard was confused. “The Priestess seems to think Sky Town still exists.”
Arundel nodded. “I’m sure it does, but it’s just a name—a banner for Resistance pirates and their sympathizers to rally around. They tell each other that they have clever leaders operating out of some un-findable hideaway called Sky Town. Undoubtedly, the Resistance does have leaders, but, like the place itself, those leaders are periodically killed. The names are passed on to give the illusion of permanence and invincibility. Sky Town is more an idea than a place.”
Gerard thought about that. “What about Gwain? Montpir mentioned him in his papers.”
Arundel’s emotionless face twitched. “A name that gets passed around. There have been many Gwains.”
“One of the prisoners said he’s distinctive,” said Gerard. “Gwain is supposed to be half grishnard. He looks like a shavier with dewclaws. The prisoner saw him. How many such shelts can there be?”
“Your prisoner lied to you,” said Arundel. “Or perhaps he was tricked.”
“It’s possible,” agreed Gerard. But I don’t believe it. I don’t think you do, either. “Montpir also scribbled the word ‘misnomer’ on a sheet of paper headed ‘Sky Town.’ One of my prisoners talked about being taken by the pirates down an incredibly long tunnel from Maijha Minor to a beach he didn’t recognize. Could it be that Sky Town is actually underground with the name intended to mislead?”
Arundel shrugged. “As I said, the name means nothing. I’m sure the original Sky Town was a tree village. However, the Resistance could easily be operating out of an underground fort these days. They may even have no central location anymore. Sky Town is just an idea, Captain.”
If that’s true, then it’s an idea you fought hard, thought Gerard, and lost. Aloud, he said, “And what about the Cowry Catchers?”
Again that curious twitch of the lip. “What about them?”
“Resistance pirates these days are calling themselves the Guild of the Cowry Catchers. It’s an odd name, don’t you think?” The name was, in fact, so odd that Gerard had once believed that grishnards and their allies had bestowed it in contempt. However, his preview of Police papers had made him increasingly certain that pirates had chosen the name themselves. It had a curious double meaning.
“Cowry catcher” was the common name for the despised manatee shelt—a creature that could not even speak. They were dull, spiritless nauns, easily enslaved. Most harbors had a team of cowry catchers, used to repair ships and scrape their hulls. Long ago, they had been used to retrieve the cowry shells from the ocean floor, which were then used as currency. Now most islands used coin, though money in Wefrivain was still called cowries.
The Resistance had chosen to identify itself with these humble creatures. Of course, Resistance pirates were quite literally cowry catchers. But they caught their cowries from merchants and Temple treasure ships, not from the sea.
“Shelts have been talking about Sky Town since I was a child,” Gerard told Arundel, “but the Guild of the Cowry Catchers is new. I don’t remember hearing about it until a few years ago, and I can’t find any mention of it in Police papers more than ten years back.”
Arundel nodded. “Perhaps their leaders decided they needed a fresh focus, a new rally cry.”
“It seems to me,” said Gerard, “that the Resistance shows an increased level of organization since they’ve been calling themselves the Cowry Catchers. I’m wondering whether this Gwain person has anything to do with that.”
Arundel shrugged.
Why don’t you want to talk to me? thought Gerard. Whatever else you may be, you’re not one of Silveo’s pets.
Arundel interrupted his thoughts. “If you have nothing else to discuss, Captain, I will bid you good evening.”
“There is one more thing,” said Gerard. “You are the only captain in living memory to leave the Police alive. In the last ten years, the average length of survival has been less than a year. This seems to coincide approximately with the advent of the Cowry Catchers.”
A thin, mirthless smile curled the corners of Arundel’s mouth. “Nervous, Gerard?”
“Well, yes. Mainly, though, I’d like to know how and why they’re being killed so efficiently and so rapidly. Did anyone try to kill you?”
“Several times. If you really want to survive the Police, I advise you to follow my example and get promoted out as quickly as possible.”
Gerard frowned.
“Learn to get along with Silveo Lamire,” said Arundel. “He makes an excellent alternative to dying.”
Gerard wasn’t sure he agreed. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
He left the cabin with Alsair, feeling dissatisfied. He was about to take his leave of the Sea Feather when two of Arundel’s captains came bumping and laughing up the side. “We sail tomorrow!” they cried to a comrade who’d just come from below deck. “The silver fox has had his way at last!”
“What, you caught one?” asked the other grishnard. “And me not there?”
“Caught one what?” asked Gerard sharply.
The group turned, saw him, and grew instantly silent. Gerard walked towards them, his long shadow preceding him in the flickering torchlight. “Exactly what did the admiral catch? Where are you sailing tomorrow?”
The group glanced guiltily at each other. “Well, you see, Your Highness—” began the cheekiest. But Alsair’s warning growl cut him short.
“My name is Captain Holovar,” said Gerard quietly, “of the Police.”
The captains were technically his peers, but the Police had special status. Another cleared his throat. “Don’t mind him, sir. He’s had too much to drink. We went with the admiral to question a suspicious faun. We had a bit of sport. In the end, the faun told us the location of a Resistance hideout on Sern. We’re supposed to sail to
morrow.”
“’Suspicious faun,’” repeated Gerard. “He wouldn’t have been one of my recent prisoners, would he?”
Gerard saw their eyes flick away. He didn’t wait for the answer. “Alsair!” The griffin was beneath him in a moment, and they fairly leapt between the ships. Gerard landed on the deck of the Fang, a growl already forming in the back of his throat. He was furious.
There was Silveo on the quarterdeck, chatting and laughing with his other two lieutenants, Farell and Basil. Gerard strode towards them, his hand curling around the hilt of his sword. It had been a long time since he’d felt this angry.
“Lamire! You have overreached yourself. How dare you!”
He was bellowing and certainly close enough for them to hear. Farell and Basil glanced at him, but Silveo kept talking. At the foot of the steps to the upper deck, two burly sailors—part of Silveo’s personal guard—stopped him. Gerard shoved away from them and pointed his drawn sword up at Silveo. “Those were my prisoners! They gave information, and they were promised freedom in exchange. You had no right!”
Silveo had finally stopped whatever he was saying. “Do I hear a yapping?” he asked his lieutenants, still not looking at Gerard. “Is there a griffin cub on the ship? Someone go and drown it.” There was a titter of polite laughter.
“You are a coward and a fool,” snarled Gerard, “still as much a dock rat as the day your mother sold you.” It was a low thing to say, and he regretted it at once. Yet he was still angry, and he could not take it back.
Silveo’s head snapped around. He stared at Gerard as though he could not quite believe what he’d just heard. Then his face twisted, flushed with rage, and his hand shot beneath his tunic.
Gerard had just time to think, He’s going to kill me. Silveo was indifferent with a sword, but he was deadly with a knife. Then something iridescent shot over the side of the ship in a spray of foam and landed between them. Gerard heard the sharp tink as Silveo’s throwing knife struck the wyvern and bounced harmlessly across the deck. The beast stood there dripping, its scales like mother-of-pearl, dazzling in the torchlight.
Gerard could not see its expression when it looked at Silveo, but when it turned to him, it was clearly annoyed. “My mistress,” hissed the wyvern, “would like a word with you both.”