Storeys from the Old Hotel Page 2

  He himself was far better armed, with his sword and double-barreled pistol. Not that swords or “villainous saltpetre” should be needed for the drunken sailors of Rat Alley, or its cutthroats either—Naval officers were notoriously savage fighters and just as notoriously broke.

  If they were attacked, it might even be possible to carry the fellow—undamaged, Noen hoped—aboard Windsong. There he would sign on or chase a sack of ballast to the bottom.

  “Why, if we were attacked by fifty or so …”

  “Sir?” Su looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Talking to myself,” Noen told her brusquely. “Stupid habit.”

  There were always the judges. A judge could pardon an offender willing to enlist. And judges did pardon such offenders—for well-connected captains, and for captains who could offer rich gifts in return. Not for Tev Noen, to be sure.

  A rat scampered across Noen’s boots, and he kicked it. It sailed past Su’s head, and in the darkness of Rat’s Alley someone swore and spat.

  “Good ’un, sir,” Syb whispered diplomatically.

  Noen had recognized the voice. “Is that you, Dinnile?”

  “Yes, sir, Some filthy devil just flung a rat at me, sir.”

  Inwardly, Noen damned his luck. The story would be all over the ship by morning, and such stories were bad for discipline. Aloud he said, “Officers who leave their posts have to expect such luck, Lieutenant.” Or perhaps they were good for discipline after all, or could be made to be. Syb and Su would be the cynosures of the main deck, and he himself shouldn’t come off too badly.

  “I didn’t leave my post, sir.” Dinnile’s brass breastplate gleamed now in the faint light. He spat again and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I got ’em.”

  “Got what?”

  “Fifty-two rowers, sir. You said not to take no more, remember? No use payin’ more than’s authorized.”

  Noen squinted at the dim column that trailed after Dinnile in the dark. “You got fifty-two in a couple of watches?”

  “Yes, sir! They come together, sir. They’re nomads from the Great Waste.” Dinnile halted before his captain and touched his forehead. “There’s been a drought there, they say, so it’s worse than usual—cattle dyin’, and all that. They come to Liavek to keep from starvin’, and somebody that saw one of Oeuni’s placards sent ’em to us.”

  Noen nodded. It seemed best to nod in the face of Dinnile’s enthusiasm. “That’s a piece of luck.”

  “For us and them—that’s what I told ’em. We’ll sail tomorrow with full complement, sir.”

  Noen nodded again. “They’re strong enough to pull an oar, you think?” Dinnile was not the most brilliant officer in the fleet, but as a judge of what could be extorted with a rope end, he had no peer.

  “Give ‘em a little food and they’ll do fine, sir. They spent their five coppers on ale and apples and such at the Big Tree, sir. And I promised ’em, too, a good feed when we get to the ship.”

  “Right,” Noen told him. Anything to keep them from deserting on the way. “We’ll go with you.”

  Away from the beetling structures of Rat Alley, there was more light, and Noen counted the recruits as they filed past. Forty-nine, fifty … he held his breath … fifty-one, fifty-two. Then the pair of crewmen he had assigned to help Dinnile. All present and accounted for. It was beyond belief, too good to be true. For a dizzy moment he wondered if it were his birthday—could he have forgotten? No. Dinnile’s perhaps. No. Or—of course—one of the nomads’. What better luck could the poor devil have than seeing himself and all his friends fed and safe aboard the Windsong?

  Or what worse?

  Noen asked one of Dinnile’s sailors if there had been fifty-two exactly.

  “Oh, no, sir. More like to a hundred, sir. The Lieutenant picked out the best, and let them sign.”

  Let them sign! It was a night to remember.

  Ler Oeuni touched her forehead as he came aboard. Noen touched his own and said, “We’ll put off for Minnow Island as soon as Dinnile has the new hands at the oars.”

  “There’s a bit of night breeze, sir.”

  “Under oar, Lieutenant, not under sail.” Oeuni was sailing officer (and gunnery officer); Dinnile rowing officer. Ordinarily it would be best to spare the rowers as much as possible, but the new hands had to be taught their job, and the sooner the teaching began, the better—tomorrow they might have to ram a pirate.

  Noen mounted to Windsong’s long, lightly built quarterdeck and watched Dinnile shoving the new hands to their places, most to forward oars from which they would be able to watch the trained rowers at the aft oars and would be caught up in the rowing rhythm that was almost like a spell. “See that there’s at least one experienced hand at each oar, Dinnile.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” The tone of Dinnile’s response managed to imply that the instruction had been unnecessary.

  “Do they speak Liavekan?” Noen cursed himself for not having found out sooner.

  “Some do, sir. Some don’t.”

  “Then talk to them. They’ve got to learn, and quickly.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Foreigners?” Oeuni ventured to ask.

  “Nomads from the Great Waste,” Noen told her. She would have to deal with them, after all, as they all would. Eventually, she would have to train them to reef and steer.

  “They’re subjects of the Empire, then.”

  Noen shook his head. “They’re not Tichenese, if that’s what you mean. And whatever they were, they became subjects of Her Magnificence when they signed with us.”

  Dinnile had pushed the last of the nomads into place. Noen cleared his throat. “Listen to me, you new hands! I’m Tev Noen, your captain. Call me Captain Noen. This is Ler Oeuni, our first mate. Call her Lieutenant Oeuni. Lieutenant Beddil Dinnile signed you—you should know him already, and the petty officers you’ll learn soon enough. You’ll be treated firmly on this ship, but you’ll be treated fairly. Do your best, and you’ll have no cause to worry.

  “You’ve been promised a good dinner tonight, and you’re going to get it. There are navy kitchens at the base on Minnow Island, and they’ll have hot food for you.” It was probably better not to tell them they would not be permitted to leave the ship, that the food would be carried on board. “When I give the order ‘out oars,’ watch the trained hands and do as they do.”

  Noen glanced at Oeuni. “You may cast off, Lieutenant.”

  “Stand by to cast off!” she shouted at the sailors stationed fore and aft. They leaped onto the wharf. “Cast off!”

  A few moments more and Windsong was under way, her oars rising and falling awkwardly, but more or less together, in a beat as slow as the timesman at the kettledrums could make it.

  A fresh wind touched Noen’s cheek as the dark wharves and warehouses of the waterfront vanished in the night. Little cat’s-tongue waves, the hesitant ambassadors of the lions in the Sea of Luck, rocked Windsong as a mother rocks her child.

  “Not so bad,” Oeuni said.

  Noen answered with a guarded nod. How hard were a nomad’s hands? Not as hard as a sailor’s, certainly. These men would have blisters tomorrow, if the wind failed, and—

  On the main deck, Dinnile’s rope end rose and fell. There was a shout that sounded like a curse, and the flash of steel. Dinnile’s big fist sent someone reeling over the next oar. Something—a knife, surely—clattered to the deck. Noen called, “Tivlo! Bring that to me.” Tivlo was the petty officer in charge of the mainmast. “Dinnile! If he’s conscious, put him back to work.” Attacking an officer was punishable by death, but Noen had no intention of losing a hand this early.

  Tivlo handed up the knife, hilt first. Its blade was curved and wickedly double-edged.

  “We’ll have a shakedown as soon as we tie up,” Oeuni said.

  Noen nodded. The cresset burning atop the highest tower of Fin Castle was already in plain view. The nomads would need their knives to cut rope and do a thousand other tasks. But the
y would need nothing more, and there was no telling what else they might have.

  Oeuni had lined the new hands up and hoisted lanterns at the ends of the main yard when Syb came to the quarterdeck, touching his forehead. “What is it?” Noen asked.

  “About Su and me, sir.”

  “Yes?”

  “You promised us a tankard each, sir, if there was a hand signed.”

  “So I did.” Noen bent over the quarterdeck rail. “Would you as soon have the money?”

  “No, sir. Perhaps, sir …” The words trailed away. Hands were forbidden the quarterdeck, except upon order. Noen said, “Come up.”

  “Thank you, sir!” Syb mounted the steps. “I thought it might be better to speak more private-like, sir. Su and me—well, her folks and mine live here on the island.”

  Noen shook his head. “I can’t let you go ashore. We’ll be sailing at dawn, and perhaps before dawn.”

  “Sir …”

  Noen knew he should cut the man off, but there was something in his face that forbade it. “Yes?” he asked.

  “Let us go just for this watch, sir. If we’re not back when it’s over, you can put us both in the irons. It’s not to drink or nothing like that, sir.”

  “What is it for?”

  “They’re fisherfolk, sir. It’s not no easy life, sir, and now we’ve got our pay, and …”

  “I see,” Noen said.

  “A prosperous fishing village, sir. That’s what they call it, those that don’t live there. It means they’ve generally got enough to eat, if they fancy fish, and maybe enough to mend the boat or buy the twine to make a new net. But it’s a terrible hard life, sir.”

  Noen began, “If I gave you leave, I’d have to give it to others who have just as good a—”

  He was interrupted by a touch at his elbow. It was Dinnile, now officer of the watch. “A sojer, sir. Got a letter for you.”

  When Noen had carried the note to the binnacle light, he announced, “I’m going ashore, and I’ll want bodyguards. Syb, you and Su did well enough last time, Dinnile, see that they’re issued cutlasses.”

  “For goin’ ashore on Minnow Island, sir?” Dinnile was utterly bewildered.

  “You’re right,” Noen told him. “Their sheath knives should be enough, and there’s no time to waste.”

  Fin Castle rose from a rocky headland at the easternmost tip of the island, where its great guns commanded the principal entrance to the harbor. Noen dismissed his “bodyguards” at the castle. “I’m going in to see Admiral Tinthe. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but when I come out, I expect to find you waiting here for me. Understand?”

  They muttered their aye-ayes, touched their foreheads, and hurried away.

  Noen needed no guide to direct him to the admiral’s chambers. High in the keep and facing south, they permitted Uean Tinthe to scan the Sea of Luck. As Noen climbed stair after weary stair, he wondered how often the old man did so, and when he would decide the price of his view was too high.

  Noen’s knock brought a gruff invitation. He ducked from habit as he entered, conditioned by Windsong’s low cabin. Admiral Tinthe was in his favorite spot by the window; beside him sat a distinguished-looking woman of middle age.

  “Captain Noen, Serkosh,” the admiral said, returning Noen’s salute. “Noen, Serkosh the Younger.”

  Noen bowed. “A great pleasure, Lady.”

  She nodded stiffly.

  “Told you to be ready at sunup,” Tinthe continued.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re undermanned like the rest. I can send you a scant half dozen.”

  “Windsong has a full complement now, sir,” Noen said.

  For an instant, the admiral studied him. “Sailors?”

  “Landsmen, sir.”

  Admiral Tinthe turned to the woman beside him and winked. She smiled; he had been a handsome man once, and traces of it still remained in his scarred old face. “Recruiting practices,” he told her. “Best left to the young ones. Best not to know too much.”

  “All signed in due form, sir,” Noen told him. Inwardly, he blessed his foresight in inspecting Dinnile’s roster book.

  “Good. Sail you will. Course south and a point east. That’s the best of them, and your crew’s earned it for you.”

  Noen forbore asking what made it the best. “Pirates, sir?”

  The admiral shook his head. “You’d better hear the story. Know what you’re up against. Tell him about the green rabbit, Serkosh.”

  The woman said, “Perhaps you might ask him to sit, first.”

  When Noen was settled in a chair, she continued, “I am a jeweler, Captain. I own the Crystal Gull—possibly you’ve seen us? We’re situated near the Levar’s Park. The next time you’ve need of a gaud for some young woman, perhaps you’ll stop in.”

  “I’d like to,” Noen told her, “if I had the money.”

  Serkosh nodded. “And if your mission is successful, you will. I’ve promised to pay twenty thousand levars to the captain who returns the green rabbit to me.”

  Noen said nothing. It was a fortune, a prize so great it stunned the imagination.

  “You’re aware, I’m sure, that there was once a city called S’Rian on the hill overlooking our bay.”

  Noen nodded.

  “Occasionally—very occasionally—something is discovered there. I do not say something of value, because they’re very seldom of value; but something of interest to collectors and antiquarians. Perhaps once a year. Perhaps less. Do you understand?”

  Noen nodded again.

  “Such things are invariably brought to me. My reputation for honesty is second to none, and I pay the highest prices—often a good deal more than the item is worth.”

  Noen said, “I’m certain you do,” trying his best to keep any note of sarcasm from his voice.

  “Such a find was made last winter by men digging a well. It was—it is—a crouching rabbit carved in jade.” Serkosh used her hands to indicate the length of the rabbit, then its height. “About half the size of a living rabbit. The size of a very young rabbit, if you wish to think of it so.”

  “I understand.”

  “We often have to hold such things for years. In this case several noble collectors were interested, but we had not come to an agreement about terms.” Her face hardened. “Three days ago, the rabbit was stolen from my vault.”

  Noen asked, “Someone broke in?”

  Serkosh shook her head. “It seems the thief was an employee. My assistants are allowed to enter the vault. My apprentices are permitted to enter when accompanied by an assistant. Nothing else was taken. That suggests, to me at least, that the thief supposed that the absence of the rabbit would not be noticed, as the absence of a diamond—”

  Tinthe cleared his throat.

  Serkosh glanced at him, then back to Noen. “Your admiral and I differ in our interpretation of the crime, though we are both determined that the thieves be brought to justice. He will give you his own view, I feel sure.”

  Noen said, “A jade rabbit the size of a rat isn’t worth twenty thousand levars.”

  Serkosh shook her head. “Of course not. But the security of the Crystal Gull is worth much, much more. If we are robbed successfully just once, there will be a hundred more thieves eager to try. But if you, Captain, can intercept the ship carrying the rabbit, it will be seen that the thieves were not successful.”

  A massive brass telescope stood on the admiral’s work table. He picked it up, sliding its jointed sections in and out. “There’s something more, I’m afraid, Noen.”

  Serkosh exclaimed, “That absurd story!”

  Tinthe closed the telescope with an audible click. “Absurdity doesn’t matter if people believe it. And they do—maybe I do myself. Know what a magic artifact is, Noen? A magician puts his luck into something. The thing’s magic then, and it doesn’t matter if the magician lives or dies.”

  “And this rabbit—” Noen began.

  Serkosh cut him off. “Nonse
nse! I had it tested by a competent professional. He conjured it, instructed it, burned incense, sacrificed, did everything! It’s no more magical than your shoe.”

  Tinthe smiled and opened his telescope again. “But there’s a rumor it is.”

  Noen asked, “What is its function supposed to be, sir?”

  “Nobody knows. Or anyway, nobody agrees. Brings you women. Brings women children. It’s a rabbit after all. Should be something like that, eh? But there are S’Rians living in the city. You probably know that. And they say it’s magic. Serkosh’s magician said he found nothing. Suppose he did, returned it, stole it himself by magic?”

  “I see, sir.”

  “Or suppose it brings women. Would he tell? Or would he think it his own doing? Suppose it’s wealth. He got a good big fee. And you’ll get twenty thousand if you bring it back here, Noen. That’s wealth, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Do you know it left the city on a ship, sir?”

  Tinthe nodded. “We thought it might. That’s why I had every ship here make ready. Report reached the Guard tonight. There’s a lip in Old Town. Always is. Zhironni, big carrack, sailed yesterday. Probably making for Ka Zhir, though we can’t be sure.” Tinthe leaned forward. “Noen, maybe the rabbit’s a magic artifact. If it is, and the Zhir get it …”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Wish I had a magician to send with you. I don’t. We’ve got them looking for the rabbit, but no one available to go to sea.” The old admiral hesitated. “Serkosh’s professional may be on board—the Guard can’t find him. All this under seal, Noen. Very much so.”

  Day had dawned with a weak breeze that soon died, leaving Windsong’s triangular sails flapping against their masts. Noen had ordered them furled and put the oars out. A few moments ago Oeuni had cast the log, and now her face was grim. “A scant two knots, Captain.”

  “They’ll get better,” Noen told her.

  “They’d better, sir.”

  Though the air was dead calm, there was a nasty chop; the galleass, long-bodied, narrow-waisted, and shallow-keeled, rolled in it like a belaying pin. The new hands were sick at their oars. Dinnile had four sailors filling buckets and swinging swabs, and Windsong left a trail of filth behind her that would have done credit to a garbage scow.