The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice Read online

  Dow glanced at Nell and caught her frowning as she stared at the captain. She did not, he guessed, like the word customary, implying as it did that if not for custom Vincente would not be taking her. It reminded Dow of his sole conversation with Nell to date, that day at the stern rail as New Island had dropped below the horizon – she had complained that the captain only pretended to consult her as scapegoat, and seldom heeded her advice. He trusts only fellow mariners, and only men can be mariners ...

  Might that be why Nell was so intimate with Diego, an enemy of the captain’s? And how intimate were they anyway? Dow had replayed the previous night’s exchange a dozen times in his head, and he still wasn’t sure. Diego’s attachment had been obvious – but her emotions had been less clear. The whole affair indeed had possessed undertones that Dow simply hadn’t understood; although the fact that Diego would be leaving the Chloe – had already left, actually – was some comfort.

  Yes … but Diego had also said of Dow, We’ll be rid of him soon enough. And what might that mean?

  The boat was launched and a crew of six rowers took their places at the oars, then Vincente, Fidel, Dow and Nell – the hem of her dress causing her all sorts of difficulties – descended the ladder to their seats. The captain and the first officer took the stern-most bench, while Dow and Nell sat side by side in front of them. With a shove they were underway, drawing swiftly out from the shadow of the Chloe’s hull and sweeping across the glassy sea towards the Twelfth Kingdom.

  ‘You realise, Mr Amber,’ said Vincente after they had travelled some distance, ‘that you will be the first of your kind in generations to set foot upon the Sea Lord’s vessel. I doubt that it’s happened since the Great War. Moreover, the tale of your riding of the maelstrom has been running like wildfire through the fleet, ever since yesterday. You must prepare yourself to be the centre of some attention when the Lords lay eyes on you.’

  At Dow’s side Nell stirred, shooting a look behind her. ‘Attention, Captain? You’re taking a New Island peasant to stand and speak before the Lords of the Fleet and you expect he will merely draw attention? It will cause outrage. Your enemies have long been looking for an excuse to have you divested of your command – you know that – and yet here you are breaking the very strictest of the Settlement laws, right before their eyes.’

  Vincente’s good humour vanished. ‘Such matters, Ignella, are not for your comment. If I need advice off-ship, then I’ll consult someone older and wiser than a girl of seventeen years, scapegoat or not.’

  Nell seemed to inflate with frustration, then the fire in her eyes went dull. ‘Aye, sir,’ she said flatly.

  There was a silence, but Dow – pushed so close to Nell that their arms touched with every surge of the oars – could feel the anger taut in her. And he realised that she was not angry at Vincente, but, in some complex way, angry for him – annoyed that he did not take the forces opposed to him more seriously. And yet her suitor was one of those forces! So where did her loyalty really lie? With Diego? Or with her captain?

  Should Dow speak up himself to warn Vincente? But what could he say? ‘This idiocy about the attack at Stone Port gives us the perfect chance to discredit him, Diego had boasted last night. But what did that indicate exactly? And anyway, the captain surely knew his own business.

  Dow said nothing, only stared forward to where the Twelfth Kingdom, in all its splendour and majesty, was drawing close.

  The size of the thing! Its great hull rose from the sea like a cliff of glistening stone, and its towers reared even higher above, like mountain crags. And every approach was guarded, for the vessel’s manifold gunports had all been thrown open and its thousand cannon all run out, ready to obliterate any ship so foolish as too attack such indomitable might.

  For the moment, though, the only assault came from the dozens of launches that were converging from the surrounding fleets, ferrying captains and dignitaries and kings to their council. At intervals all along the flanks of the capital ship gangways had been lowered parallel with the hull, attached to floating landings, and such was the traffic of craft coming and going that Dow was reminded of the wharves at Stone Port. And yet it was all happening in the middle of the ocean!

  Their own boat drew alongside at a landing close to the Twelfth Kingdom’s stern. They disembarked, and an attendant sailor ushered them up a gangway, Dow following the captain and the first officer, with Nell trailing silently behind. Three decks up they reached a hatch that opened to the interior. Here a junior lieutenant welcomed them aboard formally, before directing them towards internal stairs to continue the climb.

  They passed within to one of the mighty gun decks; a fantastically long line of cannon ran away forward, all in firing position, with countless seamen standing by at attention. But so vast was the deck that the line’s further end was lost in the twilight distance.

  They found the stairs – wide and shallow, quite unlike the steep ladders on the Chloe – and rose up three more decks, each one extending off likewise into shadowy infinity. Then daylight welcomed them again as they emerged onto the main deck. At least, Dow supposed it was the main deck, but that was hardly a grand enough name for what he beheld.

  Towards the stern, eight tall masts speared upwards, in two rows of four, lined across the ship in a configuration so strange Dow hardly knew what to make of it. Beyond them were the stern fortifications, raised wooden barricades and gun ports arranged in two decks, facing rearwards. Looking forward, the walls of the great palace rose like precipices of alabaster – it was impossible to imagine that so much weight of stone was actually afloat on the sea – and higher above, the towers and the brazen dome looked down from an elevation that must be near to three hundred feet above the waterline.

  But for all that, Dow’s gaze was drawn to the expanse that lay between the palace walls and the masts, an area free of all sailing gear and adorned instead with – yes, he really saw it – a green bed of lawn some fifty yards across. There were trees too – four of them, one to each corner of the lawn, shady and spreading – as well as ornamental gardens, and finally, at the centre, a great stone fountain, playing water into the air.

  At first Dow thought it must all be artificial. The luxury and expense to grow lawn and trees upon a ship was unthinkable. But it was quite real. Dignitaries were gathering on the grass, served by attendants bearing food and drink, and when Dow’s party joined them he could feel how springy was the turf underfoot, and he could see, up close, that the trees were living and solid. And the smell! So earthy, so alien in mid-ocean.

  The dignitaries, however, paid all this wonder no mind. They were intent rather on conversation, some gathered about the fountain, others waiting at the foot of a grand staircase that led up to the palace. Vincente and Fidel were quickly drawn away to join a group of earnestly debating officers under one of the trees, and Dow and Nell were left standing together alone.

  It was an uncomfortable moment for Dow, and he strove not to gawk as he gazed about, aware that Nell was studying him. He was sweating under his coat. It was too warm there on the main deck; there was still no wind, and the air was clammier than ever.

  ‘So – what do you make of it all, New Islander?’ the scapegoat asked at last, smiling sardonically. ‘Was it worth coming so far to see – the first of your people since the Great War, as the captain said?’

  Dow only looked at her. He found, to his own surprise, that he was less daunted by her scorn than in their previous encounters. Maybe it was because – last night – he had seen a less forbidding side to her. Or maybe it was because he’d just learned that she was only seventeen, a bare year older than Dow himself.

  ‘Of course,’ she added tartly, ‘what the captain didn’t say was that in those days your countrymen were prisoners, brought here to be tortured and questioned and then thrown into the dungeons to rot. How fortunate for you that times have changed – if indeed they have.’

  She was trying to frighten him. He almost gave a disdainful response, b
ut then it seemed better to refuse to do so, to prove, indeed, that he was more than the ignorant peasant boy she dismissed him as. So he said, ‘It was a prison anyway, my life back home. Whatever happens now, at least I’ve sailed once in a true ship, on the true ocean. That’s worth any price.’

  She blinked at that, her pale skin colouring slightly, but then she merely shrugged and turned away.

  Dow let out a breath, and returned his gaze to the palace. He had in fact noticed something strange about its walls – something about the great white blocks of stone – and now he grasped what it was. He was no stone mason, but he was a timberman, and there were some things about the grain of wood that were impossible to disguise. He nodded to himself at the discovery, and knew suddenly that Nell was staring at him once more.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘Why do you nod?’ she demanded.

  ‘I just realised, the stone isn’t stone.’ He indicated the palace. ‘The walls are of timber, painted to look like stone.’

  She glanced up in surprise.

  ‘You didn’t know?’ Dow asked.

  ‘Of course I knew! It’s just that it’s easy to forget. The illusion is very convincing. But of course it can’t be stone – not even a ship of this size could cope with as much extra weight as that.’

  Dow hesitated, then ventured, ‘I can’t see how this ship can cope even with its own weight.’

  ‘Oh? So you’re expert in shipbuilding now?’

  ‘No – but I do know the Chloe. Below decks, the frame of the hull is in plain view, and I’ve seen the way the timbers flex near to breaking point when the wind and seas are high. At such times, the Chloe strains just to support its own length and breadth. And yet it isn’t a tenth as large as this vessel – the pressures on a hull this big must be almost beyond enduring.’

  She was studying him in some puzzlement, but said, ‘You can’t compare the Twelfth Kingdom to the Chloe. The Chloe is fashioned for speed and agility; the strength of its frame is the bare minimum needed to run before the wind without tearing itself apart. The Twelfth Kingdom runs before no wind and has no pretence of speed. Its only purpose is size. Hence, there’s no smooth single hull beneath us; instead there are many, set bow to stern and side by side, and all bound together by a framework of great timber beams. Timbers that came from your own New Island highlands, in fact – timbers that are long coated thick in nicre and hardened to the invulnerability of iron. Together, they form a scaffold solid enough to build this whole palace upon.’

  Dow was nodding in comprehension. So that was how it was done. How strange that even here there was a link to his faraway homeland, perhaps even to his very village. And how strange too that a girl – not even a sailor – would know so much about the construction of ships.

  She was watching him narrowly. ‘But do you see any problem, Dow Amber, with such a scaffold?’

  He considered. ‘The drag underwater must be terrible.’ He stared back up at the palace. ‘Also, these walls would catch any wind square on, no matter how much sail the masts might carry. I don’t see how this vessel could steer in high winds or strong currents, out on the open ocean – it could do little more than drift where the wind and sea might take it.’

  Nell’s cold eyes had lit appreciatively. ‘Indeed. Which is precisely why the Twelfth Kingdom does not ever venture out upon the high seas.’

  ‘Not ever?’

  ‘Never. This mighty vessel – the capital ship of the empire – is trapped eternally here in the golden cage of the Millpond, where gales never blow and waves never rise.’ She surveyed the fountain and the lawn and the dignitaries, weighing it all in judgement. ‘Does that seem a telling thing to you, Dow Amber – that the Sea Lord, master of all the ocean, lives upon a vessel that is crippled near to helplessness by its own monstrosity?’

  Dow, too, studied the main deck, and then stared beyond the rail to the torpid sea beyond, featureless, except for where it was dotted with the black, unmoving shapes of the ships of the armada. And he was reminded suddenly of the spreading swamps and bogs of the high plateau of New Island, as if the sea was the heavy surface of a stagnant pond, and the ships tussocks of weed and grass that grew up from the mud beneath.

  He shook his head, abashed suddenly that he’d been so easily impressed by the splendour and lights of the night before. ‘This is no true ocean – and this is no true ship in which to go voyaging.’

  ‘There – you have it exactly!’ Nell was still watching the dignitaries. ‘But none of them see it. They all think the Twelfth Kingdom is the pinnacle of our endeavours. They are consumed with envy for the riches the Sea Lord has amassed here, and for the power he wields from his high chambers. And instead of voyaging upon the far oceans, our finest mariners scurry about these decks, plotting politics, and our finest ships cluster uselessly here, doing nothing.’

  Dow heard an echo in this of her talk with Diego, who had seemed so excited to be posted aboard the capital ship as an ambassador, an excitement that Nell hadn’t shared. Now Dow thought he knew why. He looked at her full on, and said, ‘It wasn’t for this that I left home. If it was up to me, I would choose the Chloe and the open sea.’

  Nell turned to him, ready, it seemed, to agree. But then some thought or realisation intruded, and her eyes – so warm only an instant ago – went chill. Embarrassment, then anger, flitted across her face, and she shrank within herself once more. ‘So you may say, New Islander, but it would be wise to remember that few of us get to choose such things for ourselves.’

  Dow was surprised at the disappointment he felt. ‘I know it. My fate is in Captain’s Vincente hands.’

  She shook her head darkly. ‘I would not be so trusting of the gallant Vincente, if I were you. Not here.’

  But now there came the clear ringing of a bell from high in one of the towers, and in response there was a stir amongst the dignitaries. Commander Fidel reappeared through the crowd. ‘Come along, you two,’ he said blithely. ‘The captain has already gone in.’

  He ushered them forward, and they joined the rest of the dignitaries massing about the grand stairway.

  Dow let himself be led by the crowd, his thoughts a jumble. Above him the palace loomed all the higher as they ascended the stairs. Stone or not, it remained confounding to think such a thing floated upon water. They passed through a pair of immense doors, then crossed an echoing foyer with a floor that was made of marble tiles – real marble this time, Dow noted – and so came to another set of doors flung wide. Beyond them lay a chamber that was long and broad and many stories high, brimming with light and people and noise. It could only be the Great Hall, home to the Lords of the Fleet.

  A jam in the crowd gave Dow a moment, as he and the others were held in the doorway, to take in the scene. A wide walkway ran from the entrance around three of the hall’s sides, and a deeply sunken floor of polished timber was set within. From the walkway down to the floor ran banks of seating, and these banks were partitioned off into sections. Dow counted three at the stern end of the chamber and four along each side; eleven sections in all – one, no doubt, for each kingdom. And standing alone at the far end was a low dais upon which were placed several benches behind a single empty throne.

  The jam cleared, and Fidel led Dow and Nell around to the second section of seating along the right arm of the walkway. Perhaps two dozen dignitaries and officers were gathered there, the delegation of the kingdom of Valignano. Down on the floor before the front row stood an impressively attired man wearing a silver diadem – the king himself, Dow could only assume – deep in discussion with none other than Captain Vincente.

  Vincente – looking up just then, and seeing Dow – signalled for him to come down. Dow went reluctantly, aware that the other members of the delegation had fallen silent to inspect him, although the roar of conversation from the rest of the hall continued unabated.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ said Vincente, when Dow stood before the two of them, ‘may I present one Dow Amber, of New Island. D
ow Amber, this is Benito of the Silver Tern, King of Valignano.’

  Dow bowed his head, then looked up again. Seen close, the royal personage was a heavily built man with a frowning, unshaven face. He was studying Dow in return – unhappily, it seemed.

  ‘Well, he may look a likely enough lad,’ the king finally mused, speaking to Vincente, ‘and his riding of the maelstrom makes for a fine bedside tale, no doubt. Still, to bring him here ...’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Vincente replied with assuredness, ‘when it comes to the improbable events I must soon report, then a second and confirming witness is vital. Especially as the boy saw the strange vessel for longer than I did on the night.’ And Dow noted that even here, in front of his sovereign, the little captain still bore the greater air of command.

  ‘Mmm,’ uttered Benito.

  Vincente nodded to Dow. ‘Off you go. But be ready. And remember, just keep your head and tell the truth.’

  Dow retreated up the stairs. Fidel was seated in the fourth row, and indicated an empty seat in front of him – next to Nell as it happened, who was staring fixedly into space, arms folded.

  Dow took his seat, and when it seemed that those nearby had stopped staring at him, he began to look about in his own turn. His eye was first drawn to the other sovereigns in the chamber, identifiable amid all their courtiers by the crowns and diadems upon their brows. Here, literally, were the Ship Kings – the actual eleven monarchs – so feared in name across all the Isles. But in truth, for all the wealth and power they represented, there was nothing inherently interesting about them in appearance. They were mostly, like Benito, older men, and none of them seemed particularly fierce or warlike.

  Increasingly, Dow was distracted by other figures among the crowd, strange faces that stared out here and there. They were of all ages, and many were female, the only women present in the hall – but all were misshapen, some as if from a defect of birth, others as if from injury or disease, others again with features contorted seemingly by madness. And all were richly, indeed gaudily, dressed – more so even than many of the kings – as if to display their deformities all the more boldly.