Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (8 page)

Then she said: “As for your age, my Lord, I think you’re just feeling sorry for yourself because you feel useless. Why, the whole city is talking about your reluctance to pass the torch of your empire. I wonder if that reluctance is because when you finally do so you truly
will
be useless.”

She leaned close, eyes glittering. “I’m offering you a chance to redeem yourself, sir,” she said. Her tone was low, harsh. “You were wrong, and as it is, when history is corrected, you’ll be nothing but an ironic footnote — the man who came so close but missed by so much.”

The harsh tone shifted to a soft plea. “Come with me, Amalric Antero. The place we seek lies far to the east across seas it is forbidden to sail. Those seas beat on mysterious shores no man or woman from these parts have ever trod before.”

Her hand fell on mine. It was small but strong and so full of the life of a seeker that it burned. “Come with me,” she said again. “And we will do great deeds together.”

My pulse hammered, deep emotion stirred by her speech. Janela must have noticed. She smiled and withdrew her hand. “You are not so old as you think,” she said. Then: “There’s time enough for dreams if you’ll only give yourself the chance.”

She was right. At least that is what I sorely wanted to believe.

A long silence fell, unbroken except for the crackling of the fire.

“Will you give you give me your answer now?” she asked.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “But I promise you shall have it soon.”

With that I tore a page from her book of tricks and departed without uttering another word.

She would not sleep well until I returned. But then, neither would I.

* * * *

So, as I neared my seventh decade I found myself at a crossroads. But whichever path I chose a single mountain stood in my way. I had to pick a successor. If I did not I would leave all that the Anteros had built over the generations at the edge of a precipice.

Who should it be? Cligus or Hermias? Once more I made the lists, naming each man’s virtues and vices, trying to keep my feelings out of the judgment. But I could not — Cligus might be my blood but I found no wellspring within me. On the other hand, was I being too much the romantic since Hermias seemed to have a bit of the flash, flair and gods-blessed foolishness I remember myself as showing in years gone by?

I finished the lists and shrugged. Nothing was new, nothing had changed. With one exception: What had happened out there beyond the Narrow Seas that caused the near fight between the two at the christening of the
Ibis
?

I couldn’t ask either of them about it, which left only one person who would mostly know and who could be trusted — Kele. I called for Quatervals and my carriage and set out to track her down.

I found her dockside, in the fitter’s shed next to the
Ibis
. On the table in front of her was a stand with a horizontal brass rod resting on two mounts. Impaled on the rod was an intricately carved wooden model of the ship. Kele was delicately placing small blocks of wood on the model’s deck. It teetered, teetered, and then, as she chanced one more, spun on the rod — “capsizing,” sending the wooden blocks cascading to the floor.

“Pack eighteen tons a’ deck cargo, more an’ she’ll roll like a whaleshark...” she muttered and made notes in a logbook. Then she noticed me, stood and touched her brow.

“Lord Antero,” she began. “Di’n’t expect you or we could’ve had some wine sent—”. She stopped, abruptly. “Dyin’ sea-gods,” she said. “Sorry to be jestin’, since you’ve got death an’ despair writ large ’crost your forehead.”

I managed a smile. “Maybe it’s good I’m not going afield any more, Captain, if I’m
that
easy to read.” In truth, after all the years as my employee and friend she ought to have been able to read me as easily as she could decipher the fathom marks on a chart.

She didn’t answer but led me out of the shed. “It’s a nice day for a walk,” she said.

“It’ll be raining in an hour,” Quatervals said.

“A
very
nice day,” she went on, “for a stroll ’side the quay where there’s no hidden spaces where someone c’n cock an ear f’r what’d well be none a’ their business.”

Quatervals looked worried and glanced about as if the imaginary spy Kele had named was lurking within earshot. Kele was
always
this cautious. If she had a lover, and even after all these years I had little idea of her private life, he or she would’ve gotten more pillow talk from a mute.

That was one of the many reasons Kele was my most trusted seafarer — far beyond a mere ship captain, actually, since she’d frequently served as my eyes and ears in foreign shores and even on occasion my very quiet ambassador without portfolio. Another of her talents was the ability to report a conversation
exactly
as it happened, so even if she herself spoke like the salty mariner that she was she could mimic the speech of an Evocator or Lord as if she were born in their ranks.

We strolled down the embankment. There weren’t many people about on that day since indeed, rain clouds did boil and threaten overhead.

Kele, as usual, waited for me to speak. I had barely begun my request when she began shaking her head violently. “Not that, sir. That’s somethin’ I can’t... won’t talk on.”

“Why not? I desperately need to know what happened, and also your advice.”

“First, Hermias swore me t’ secrecy that night in Jeypur, a’ter th’ man... after what happened. Second, I’m nowt a fool, sir.”

“I never thought you one.”

“Isn’t any soul who steps in th’ middle of a family fight a fool or worse? Wouldn’t I be best advised keepin’ my blessed mouth clamped?”

So the incident or whatever it was
had
happened in Jeypur. That barbaric port was a far-distant crossroads both for ships and merchant caravans striking off into the west. It was from there Hermias’ Finding had begun and where he’d stocked his pack animals before setting out into the interior to cement his new trading territory.

Jeypur was a city that had no allies beyond the moment, no friends beyond those who could profit her. It was said crime was very low in the city because nothing was illegal and all of the best thieves were in the government. It was, in short, a place I’d always found intriguing, if also somewhere it was easy to wake up in minus your purse, your sword and your weasand.

I took a minute before I answered, weighing my approach cautiously. Then: “I could say, Captain, that I could put my own agents out and possibly find out what happened. But I need to know right now. There is more at stake than pacifying two Anteros who nearly came to daggers-point in a shipyard.”

I told Kele a bit of what was happening, although I did not tell her who Janela was, or of her search for the Kingdoms of the Night. However if I did decide to accompany her I’d already decided the
Ibis
would be my flagship and Kele, if she chose, its captain. But at the moment she didn’t need to know any more than that I proposed to undertake a voyage of great risk and length.

Kele looked out at a passing pair of paired trawlers setting out to net the river’s mouth. “Bastard, bastard, bastard,” she muttered. “And now I’m like you, ’tween a lee shore an’ a reef. If I
don’t
tell you... but then if I do...” She fell silent. Then: “And you
are
my bound lord and that’s my first duty. So...” Again, there was a long silence. “How many souls work for the Anteros?” she asked.

I puzzled but remembered Kele always had her own way of toothing a problem. “Over five thousand. Quite a few more, I suspect, if we count our contractors’ people, all of our trading houses overseas and the caravansaries we’ve opened in the last year. But let that number stand as the least,” I said.

“So if you choose wrong,” she said, “that’ll be five thousand wights who’ll have me an’ my curs’t vows to thank. Hells and green hells!”

“Would a brandy make your decision easier,” I said, trying to lighten the path. “Or some time to think?”

“What happened isn’t a tale for a taproom, sir. Nobody should overhear. An’ if I’m to break my vow I’d as soon start bein’ a fool now as takin’ time to think about doin’ it. One thing — if I violate my promise to Hermias you have t’ swear he’ll never learn of’t. ’Least, not till after it doesn’t matter any.”

“I so swear,” I said.

“D’ you remember,” Kele began, with no preamble, “five, no six years gone, when General Cligus went to Jeypur?”

I did indeed. It was one of my son’s honest triumphs, a task I’d felt him completely unsuited for, yet one that he’d accomplished perfectly, covering himself in glory and making me wonder if perhaps I wasn’t being too harsh and perhaps he
did
have the necessary skills of diplomacy, subtlety and common sense the Antero empire must have to survive and continue its growth.

Jeypur was ruled by a council whose members and even size varied depending on which factions had the greatest power. This particular time a new group had gained the palace and announced that no longer should Jeypur exist as the catspaw of other golden-ribbed cities, that it deserved its place in the sun.

They were referring to Orissa. They meant to acquire this glory and wealth by placing a fifteen percent surtax on
all
caravans, cargoes and ships entering, being purchased
and
leaving the city, which meant a trade item could have its price nearly doubled — fifteen percent when it entered the city, fifteen percent when it was bought by an outside merchant and stored for sale or transshipment and a third fifteen percent when it left Jeypur for its final market. At the time, about twenty percent or more of all western traffic including many items brought from the far-away islands of Konya passed through Jeypur.

That was intolerable to the merchants of Orissa, particularly since we thought with some justification the rulers of Jeypur differed from the pirates of the Narrow Seas only because they robbed by decree, not dagger. There were angry meetings with our Magistrates and a determination that something must be done and done immediately.

Some of my hotter-headed colleagues wanted to fit out an expedition. I advised a diplomatic mission, but one that should have a few soldiers attached just to make sure Jeypur understood Orissa had more than words in her arsenal.

My idea was seized on and blown up like a pig’s bladder at slaughtering-season. Not only should there be soldiers but a soldier should be in charge. I argued, but unsuccessfully, so I retreated gracefully and began thinking of various members of our army known for their tact and charm. While I thought, Cligus and his supporters acted. He was named to head the mission, and elected by acclaim. There was nothing I could’ve said to change it. How could I object to an Antero, least of all my son?

So off they sailed and I grimly wrote letters to my various factors in lands around Jeypur, advising them a small, silly but trade-ruining war was likely in the offing. I
knew
Cligus would confront the council, insult them liberally, dare them to stand against the might of Orissa and then, most likely, kick over one or two statues of their favorite gods as an afterthought on the way out.

To my astonishment, none of that happened. Admittedly, luck helped him, but luck is often an excuse for failure by those unblessed. Before the delegation had been in the city more than a week, three of the ruling council’s members fell ill and died. Their replacements listened to reason, which of course included some private enrichment and the proposed tariff vanished like smoke wisping from a temple censer.

Cligus, when he returned, was granted a special day of feasting and his name was read aloud in the Great Temple at the end of the year when the priests told the gods which Orissans were especially suitable for blessing.

Yes, I remembered well.

“When we arrived in Jeypur,” Kele went on, “th’ presence of an Antero was cause for the criers to bellow their lungs out. It mattered not to either Hermias or myself other than th’ higher prices we’d have t’ pay for th’ caravan animals climb, since where Hermias’d be tradin’ far north was already known and I’d pass th’ time waitin’ for him to return rechartin’ those demon-blasted sand islands to the west of the city, where I blessed near wrecked a few years gone.

“We took quarters, unloaded our trading cargo from my ship and started buyin’ all of the gods-blest million-and-one things for Hermias’ journey.

“On the third day, quite late, as I was havin’ a final tod with Hermias in his quarters, th’ innkeeper tapped at his door and said a man wished converse with us.

“‘This late,’ I told Hermias, ‘this man’s trade’ll either be dishonest, like most matters here in Jeypur, or bloody.’

“Hermias laughed. ‘So far, my good captain, this trip has been lacking in adventure. We could do with a footpad or two to enliven the tale we’ll come home with.’ He ordered th’ keeper to show our late visitor in, and bring him whatever he wished to drink.

“I slid my chair around so my back was to th’ bulkhead and made sure my blade was in reach. Hermias hadn’t learned yet adventure’s best in the tellin’ ’n seldom in the experiencin’.

“The man that came in looked fair ordinary. He was dressed quietly, if expensively and appeared quite sober. In a crowd most people wouldn’t notice him, or if they did would imagine him a factor or perhaps a magistrate’s clerk. He introduced himself as Pelvat.