The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice Page 4

  And yet there was a hollowness to the achievement, for despite his new rank Dow had been given no duties to perform. All Fidel had said, apologetically, was that it would be some time yet before any such assignment could be made. There were matters to resolve – but what those matters were, the first officer would not say. And so, seaman’s coin or not, Dow’s position on the ship was much the same as before: a passenger with no responsibilities and nothing to do. He might never have taken the test at all.

  Except, not everything was the same.

  The ‘accidental’ bumps and elbows from the crew, and the muttered insults, had all ceased. At first, Dow had thought this was because he was now a fellow seaman, but he soon realised the truth; dislike had been replaced by fear, because of the Ice Albatross. Now he was greeted with a silent watchfulness wherever he went, and with a wary clearing of space about him, as if he might be infectious with some dreadful disease.

  The one exception was the poet, Alfons. Despite never having noticed the old man before their meeting in the crow’s nest, Dow now seemed to happen upon him in all sorts of out-of-the-way corners below decks, always huddled in conversation with this group of sailors or that. The discussions would pause guardedly as Dow passed by, but the poet would always give a sly wink, as if to say that he at least was speaking on Dow’s behalf.

  ‘Pay them no mind,’ Johannes advised Dow, tending the fire of his forge, his great tattooed arms glistening with sweat. ‘Ship Kings crews are as superstitious as old women, and worse gossips. They don’t know what to make of the albatross, is all. Most of them have never seen one before, and now they’re madly trying to figure out if it means you’re good luck or bad.’ He glanced at his apprentice. ‘But we Red Islanders don’t go for that sort of nonsense, do we, Nicky boy? You make your own luck in this world!’

  To which Nicky, working the bellows with his usual impassive concentration, only nodded sagely.

  On the fourth morning after Dow’s test, a call came from the high rigging, quickly passed on by echoing shouts to the lower decks.

  ‘Sail ho!’

  Dow and Johannes climbed to the main deck to see. It was yet another grey morning, and a thin drifting rain – cold, but not frozen into sleet – was falling. Emerging from the light mist, still far off on the eastern horizon, was a ship; to Dow it was only a smudge of sail with a dark sliver of hull barely visible below, but Johannes’s experienced eye saw better.

  ‘A frigate,’ he announced. And shortly afterwards, as the smudge grew more distinct, he added, ‘On patrol from the Home Fleet, by its banner. Such ships never range far afield, so we must be close to landfall indeed.’ He glanced to Dow. ‘Your first voyage is nearly over.’

  Dow felt an apprehensive pang. It seemed too soon. It struck him suddenly how little he knew of what awaited him in the Ship Kings homeland. ‘What port do we make for, do you know?’ he asked.

  ‘Haven Diaz it’s called – capital city of the kingdom of Valignano, and the Chloe’s home harbour. It should lie dead ahead, if we’ve steered true, for Valignano sits on Great Island’s western shore. Lucky for us; it’s a much longer voyage all the way around to the kingdoms of the east.’

  ‘Great Island is truly so vast?’

  ‘Aye, vaster by far than any of our own Isles – a wide land of mountains and plains, rivers and fields, and many cities. And yet much of it is desert and empty, and also, it has few forests.’

  Johannes had work waiting back in the smithy, and so did not linger, but Dow stayed at the rail, watching as the new ship came up. Eventually even his untrained eye could recognise it as a frigate, very like the two he had seen in Stone Port. And although Dow had lived aboard an ocean-going ship for close to eight weeks now, the sight of a ship at sea, seen from afar, was still unusual to him, and strangely stirring – the vessel looked so lonely and small as it approached, plunging through the grey waves.

  But now there was activity on the Chloe’s main deck. Orders were shouted, sails were eased and a boarding ladder was dropped over the rail. The new ship passed by, then came about and bore up on a matching course, only a hundred yards or so off. Dow soon learned, from the chatter among the Chloe’s crew, that it was called the Perilous.

  A boat set out from the new ship, rowed by a crew of six and bearing an officer in the stern. Commander Fidel came down from the high deck to wait by the boarding ladder. The boat slid alongside and its officer climbed up – a tall man with a bent nose. He saluted Fidel and announced himself; ‘Commander Bordino, First Officer of the Perilous, bringing my captain’s compliments and requesting permission to come aboard.’

  ‘Granted,’ answered Fidel, returning the salute. ‘Captain Vincente would be honoured if you would attend him in his cabin.’

  Then both men were smiling and shaking hands, and Dow realised they must be friends of old. Already deep in discussion, Fidel led his fellow first officer away towards the stern castle.

  Both ships made full sail again. Dow remained on deck, despite the rain, wondering what might be happening in the captain’s cabin. Was this a meeting of any importance? Or was it just a matter of politeness that when two ships chanced together at sea, they should pause to exchange greetings? No answer came when Commander Fidel reappeared with Commander Bordino; the two officers merely said their farewells in affable fashion, and then Bordino descended to his boat once more.

  As soon as the visitor was safely away, however, Fidel snapped orders to the helmsmen and the men aloft – and swiftly the Chloe came right from its eastern course to set a new bearing, halfway to the south. So something of note must indeed have transpired during the meeting. But Fidel made no announcements as to what that might be, and meanwhile the Perilous returned to its patrol, so all Dow could do was watch in his ignorance as it faded slowly away again into the mist.

  Then he went below to the smithy.

  ‘We’ve changed heading,’ he informed Johannes.

  The blacksmith was hammering a length of hot iron, but nodded over his shoulder, unsurprised. ‘So I felt. To the south.’

  ‘You said that our course lay dead ahead.’

  ‘No, I said that Haven Diaz lay dead ahead.’

  ‘Then where are we going?’

  Johannes ceased his hammering, inspected the iron rod and, dissatisfied, returned it to the fire. ‘Tell me, Dow – what tales are told on New Island of the Sea Lord, and of the vessel in which he sails?’

  Dow hesitated. ‘It’s said that the Sea Lord lives on a giant ship that never sees land and is always at sea.’ Then, feeling embarrassed, he added. ‘But that’s just the story I was told as a boy.’

  Johannes nodded, and rested for a moment with his back against the workbench. ‘Well then, let me tell you a story of my own – about the election of the very first Sea Lord. Now, as history has it, for hundreds of years the eleven kingdoms of Great Island were eternally at war with each other, but a day finally came when they accepted that they must unite under one ruler, or perish. Everyone was agreed – only, who was to be that one ruler? As you might expect, each of the eleven kings thought it should be himself, or if not himself, then perhaps his son and heir. But obviously the other ten kings would never agree to that. So how was the stalemate to be broken?

  ‘It was decided at last that each king could indeed nominate someone from his royal house, but not his oldest son, nor any member of his line who was already married. In other words, the kingdoms produced a list of eleven young men who had little hope of power in their own lands, and no binding ties. The kings then gradually voted this youth or that youth out of contention, until finally but one remained. This same youth was then made to disown his family by fearsome oaths, and to choose a wife from a kingdom other than his own, and to swear to rule without favour or prejudice over all. And so was chosen the original Sea Lord – Enrique the First.

  ‘But from where was Enrique to rule? Where would be his seat of high power? The Sea Lord must surely have a home. But clearly it could not be in any
of the eleven kingdoms; the Sea Lord must stand apart from all others, independent and impartial. It was decreed thus that Enrique would not reside anywhere upon Great Island at all, but rather he would live forever at sea, in a great ship that would be built for him—’

  ‘So it’s true!’ Dow interrupted.

  Johannes smiled. ‘Indeed. You shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss your boyhood tales. The ship was built, and it sails still today, the greatest ship the world has ever known. It was immense even when first launched, they say, but that was a century ago; it has been rebuilt and enlarged by every Sea Lord since, and there have been five Sea Lords in all, descended from father to son, before Ibanez the Third, who currently sits on the throne.

  ‘So now the vessel is vast beyond any reckoning, more an island than a mere ship. And fittingly it is named like no other craft, but rather as a landed realm. It is known only as the Twelfth Kingdom.’

  Dow shifted excitedly. ‘And that’s where we’re going, instead of Haven Diaz? To the Twelfth Kingdom?’

  ‘That’s the word from above. The Perilous brought with it unexpected news, and so the captain has changed his original plans. Instead of port and home, now we sail directly for the Sea Lord.’

  ‘What was the news?’

  Johannes was inspecting the rod in the coals, turning it for better heat. ‘It seems that a session of the Lords of the Fleet has been called and is to commence in but five days time, the first day of winter. It’s better luck than Vincente could have hoped for, given the urgency of our mission, for now he can make his report immediately to the Lords. And you’ll be there with him, no doubt. It’s what he brought you all this way for, after all.’

  Dow blinked uneasily. ‘The Lords of the Fleet?’

  ‘That’s what they call the council of all eleven kings gathered together,’ the blacksmith explained. ‘Three times a year, at the beginning of spring, summer and autumn, they assemble aboard the Twelfth Kingdom to administer their empire. But it’s rare that they call a winter session. There must be some pressing cause for it now – and it can’t be the Stone Port attack, for we ourselves are bringing the first news of that.’

  Dow returned to the less disturbing topic of the Sea Lord’s ship. ‘The Twelfth Kingdom, you’ve seen it yourself?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ confirmed Johannes solemnly, ‘from a distance at least; I’ve not been aboard. But a mighty fortress afloat it is, propelled by a forest of masts. And invulnerable. It’s escorted always by the Home Fleet – the Sea Lord’s own fleet – and thus is guarded all about by many battleships. But should an enemy somehow come close, then the Twelfth Kingdom has its own guns too, and deadly. A full thousand of them, they say.’

  ‘A thousand guns!’

  ‘Well, I’ve not counted them myself.’

  ‘But what enemy is there?’ Dow asked, puzzled, for he didn’t understand why the Ship Kings still possessed so many fleets of warships, when they had won the Great War long ago – let alone why the Sea Lord would need a ship with a thousand guns of its own.

  ‘What enemy is there?’ Johannes laughed. ‘Why, the Sea Lord’s own subjects, of course! The eleven kingdoms may have fought as one in the Great War, but since then they’ve feuded almost constantly. They’ve avoided outright hostilities so far, it’s true, but there’s been many a skirmish; shots fired in anger; men killed. At times, as a point of honour, they even hold duels between battleships, one against the other, to the death.’

  Dow was intrigued – duels between battleships! ‘But the Sea Lord does rule over all, does he not?’

  The blacksmith shrugged. ‘The greater part of the empire’s wealth is his by right, and his Home Fleet is stronger than any single fleet among the kingdoms – so, yes, he rules. But it’s an uneasy balance, for together the fleets of the kingdoms are stronger in turn – as the Sea Lord is often reminded. They are a wilful and hot-headed folk to govern, these Ship Kings.’

  Johannes lifted the rod, red-glowing now, from the coals, and with a great din proceeded to hammer it into the required shape. Dow sat by in thought, until the hammering paused a moment.

  He asked, ‘What fleet does the Chloe belong to?’

  The blacksmith had straightened to stretched his back. ‘The Valignano fleet, naturally. Indeed, the Chloe is the flagship, the pride of the kingdom. And Captain Vincente is Valignano’s most heralded commander, a scion of one of the highest ranking families in the land.’

  Dow frowned. He’d somehow imagined that Vincente came from a plainer background. ‘As high ranking as Diego’s family?’

  Johannes gave a sour laugh. ‘No. But Diego is another matter. He comes not from Valignano, but from Valdez, an altogether richer and more powerful kingdom. You see, although common seamen serve only on the ships of their own kingdoms, junior officers serve their apprenticeships on the ships of other kingdoms. It’s done to foster friendly relations between the fleets. Alas, Diego is proof that the program can fail. He finds it beneath him, I think, to serve on the fleet of a kingdom so humble and poor.’

  That was unexpected too. ‘Valignano is poor?’

  ‘Compared to other kingdoms, yes. But I’ll tell you an interesting thing – long ago, before Enrique the First was created Sea Lord, his home was none other than lowly Valignano. No doubt that’s partly why he was selected. The truly powerful kingdoms, like Valdez or Castille, could not allow each other to gain control of the throne; but Valignano was too weak to be a threat. And weak it remains. Nevertheless, ever since, there has been a closeness between the Sea Lords and the captains of the Valignano fleets, which is a source of envy among the other kingdoms. Vincente himself is a favourite of Ibanez the Third, and has many enemies because of it.’

  Dow puffed out a baffled breath. He had a lot to learn. But then had not Vincente himself warned that the wiles of plots and politics were every bit as treacherous as the wiles of the sea?

  ‘And what,’ he asked, his tone carefully neutral, ‘about the scapegoat girl? Where does she come from?’

  The blacksmith exchanged a knowing glance with his silent apprentice, but said only, ‘That I can’t say. She’s not been on board long – barely a year, after our last scapegoat, old Gabriella, passed peacefully away – but in any case, it’s not done to discuss a scapegoat’s past. Once they are chosen for a ship, they must sever all ties with their family, and their heritage, high or low, is forgotten.’ He shook his head. ‘No doubt Vincente would know something of her history – but he won’t be talking about it to the likes of us, that is certain.’

  And with that the blacksmith bent again to his anvil.

  For the next three days the Chloe bore southeast on its new course, its destination now the waters to the south of Great Island, for it was there that the Twelfth Kingdom would be waiting.

  Indeed – as Johannes explained to Dow – it was always to be found there. The Sea Lord’s ship did not, by law, ever sail within sight of land, but nor did it ever sail far from land. Instead, it made its home upon a shallow sea known to the Ship Kings as the Golden Millpond. This was a giant lagoon, formed in part by the southern coastline of Great Island – a vast bight many hundreds of miles across – and in part by a chain of reefs and sandbanks that ran away further south, blocking off the open ocean. Within those confines the capital vessel could sail at will beyond sight of land, and yet be as sheltered all the while from wind and wave as if it rode in its own harbour.

  By the third evening the Chloe had entered the western reaches of this placid sea, having rounded the south-western extremity of Great Island, without, to Dow’s disappointment, passing close enough to sight land. Their path now lay directly east, and as dusk deepened the winds faded to a breeze and the water became glassy and smooth. The Chloe slid silently on through the Millpond’s night. Rumour had it that the Twelfth Kingdom would be encountered some time the following day, and so Dow was up on the main deck before sunrise next morning, so eager was he to behold the great vessel.

  He stared forward into the glo
aming light, searching for any sail. It was yet another overcast dawn, but the sea was dead flat now, oily almost, and the wind – a bare breath of it – had grown warm, scented strangely with aromas of greenery and decay. The light grew. Dow’s gaze roamed back and forth across the smooth sea and the grey horizon … and then, there!

  ‘Sail ho,’ came the cry from aloft.

  It was a paler grey against the clouds, a ship bearing south out of the northern night, seeming to rise up over the edge of the world. But Dow, crestfallen, counted only three masts, so it could not be the mighty Twelfth Kingdom. Another ship rose behind the first. And then another. Soon, five vessels were arrayed across the horizon, two of them (by Dow’s reckoning) battleships, and three of them frigates.

  A young midshipman paused at Dow’s side to gaze out, and then explained, at Dow’s enquiry, that the ships – so their banners declared – belonged to the fleet of the kingdom of Anambria.

  ‘Why are they here?’ Dow asked.

  The boy gave him a superior glance. ‘There will be fleets from all the kingdoms gathering hereabouts today, for each king is escorted by his own warships when he sails to the Lords. Prepare for the sight of a crowded ocean, New Islander.’ Then off he hurried.

  Dow returned to his watch. All throughout that morning he remained at the rail, staring out fascinated as one by one the different fleets reared over the horizon, sometimes five or six ships together, sometimes eight or nine, but all with sails fully set in the light wind, and resplendent even under the grey sky. By noon there were nearly thirty warships within sight of the Chloe, grouped into four fleets, each identified by coloured banners that streamed brightly from the tips of their mainmasts.

  The Chloe too was now flying a banner, a tapered flag of red and gold bands. And then a fifth fleet appeared – the smallest yet, just one battleship and three frigates – but also flying the red and gold. These four ships came sweeping in to take up station immediately fore and aft of the Chloe, and cheers rang out from crew to crew, for here were fellow vessels of the Valignano fleet; the second battleship bearing the king of Valignano himself. Boats were launched to run back and forth between the two, and splendidly uniformed officers came and went from Captain Vincente’s cabin.