The Voyage of the Unquiet Ice (10 page)

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.

They were scapegoats, Dow realised, brought there by their captains, from their respective ships. And in such numbers he found their presence both fascinating and repellent, a macabre testimony to the strange dogmas of the Ship Kings world. He glanced at Nell sidelong. She occupied the same position as those others – and yet she seemed so unlike them, with her dark, sober attire and composed features. What, he wondered, did she make of all her fellow unfortunates? Only her razor-fine scars marked her as one of them. But where and when and how had she acquired those scars?

At length another warning bell rang out, and gradually the tumult in the hall died away to a restless hum, and then to a last-minute clatter as the latecomers found their seats. Dow sat up nervously. Silence fell, and all faces turned in readiness to the central dais.

‘Majesties, Lords and Captains,' announced a hollow voice into the quiet, from somewhere unseen, ‘pray stand for Ibanez the Third, Lord of all the Oceans and Undisputed Master of the Four Isles.'

The crowd stood in unison, Dow too. Craning his head – for he was much shorter than most of the officers about him – he could just observe the great doors behind the dais swing wide, and a man emerge, trailed at a respectful distance by a collection of courtiers.

So
this
was the awesome Sea Lord – an old man, very thin, and partly lame, his arm quivering as he leant on a black walking stick. The crowd waited in silence as he laboured up a short ramp to the dais. He came to his throne at last, then straightened to consider his subjects. Dow saw an unhealthily gaunt face and a sad gaze. On his mottled brow was not a crown, but rather of wreath of gold fashioned to look like the twined strands of some plant – was it seaweed?

Behind the Sea Lord, meanwhile, an attendant was pushing a strange contraption up the ramp. It was, Dow realised, a wheeled chair; he had seen such devices in Stone Port, used to convey invalids or the very old about the streets. But this chair was framed by a canopy from which hung, on all sides, curtains of black gauze. The suggestion of arms and legs beneath the gauze confirmed that the chair indeed bore a passenger, but who it might be, man or woman, could not be told. And there was something curious – undefinable, but not quite right – about the proportion of the limbs.

The attendant positioned the chair just behind the Sea Lord's throne, and Ibanez, glancing back, gave a slow nod. In that instant Dow understood. The
Twelfth
Kingdom
was a ship, was it not? And every ship must have its scapegoat to protect it. So this must be yet another unfortunate soul, maimed or malformed in some way. True, no other scapegoat in the hall was concealed thus – but the
Twelfth Kingdom
was the capital ship and the greatest vessel the world had ever seen, would it not therefore demand as its scapegoat the most hideously afflicted of all?

But now Ibanez lowered himself into his cushioned chair, and with a suppressed sigh the crowd did likewise. A courtier now strode forward on the dais and – in the same voice which had announced the Sea Lord – declared himself to be High Chamberlain to Ibanez, and Chair of the council. He then embarked on a long speech of formal welcome to the kings and other dignitaries.

Dow quickly grew restless. His gaze roamed the hall and then drifted up the gilded walls until it reached the ceiling, a smoothly vaulted arch high above, decorated with painted images set in bordered panels – epic scenes taken, no doubt, from Ship Kings history. Brave vessels battled giant seas, monsters of tentacles and teeth rose from the deeps to assail hapless mariners, battleships thundered broadsides at other battleships.

But then Dow looked closer, for one of the central panels showed a man bowed on his knees upon a ship's deck before an upright regal figure – the latter a Sea Lord, to judge by the wreath upon his head. In the background was a battered ship upon the sea, its sails all torn, its flanks bloodstained and smouldering; a beaten enemy, surrounded by triumphant Ship Kings vessels, a white flag of surrender flying at its mainmast.

But it was the colour of the beaten ship's sails that had caught Dow's eye, for they were not white, nor tan, nor cream – they were grey, a grey so deep as to be almost black. Dow had never seen such a sail on any ship of his limited experience, but he had
heard
of such sails. They had been raised by his ancestor, Admiral Honous Tombs, and had given the Admiral's flagship its famous name—the
Grey Sail
, nemesis of the Ship Kings fleets.

History seemed to yaw open about Dow as he stared up. To think, eighty years after the final defeat of the New Island fleet, and the capture of the
Grey Sail
and its famous captain – an event the Ships Kings themselves considered so momentous they had recorded it in their Great Hall – that captain's sole and secret heir was now guest at their highest council!

Then Dow was brought abruptly back to the present. The high chamberlain had finished his welcome and was now summoning Captain Vincente. ‘For though other grave matters demand our attention,' the chamberlain concluded, ‘the captain has requested permission to first make urgent report of events at New Island.'

A lump of nervousness returned to Dow's throat as he watched Vincente move forward to stand sturdily in the centre of the great floor, immediately before the Sea Lord's dais.

‘Most High Sea Lord,' said Vincente, voice raised but level. ‘Allied Kings and Lords and fellow captains and officers. Hear me. For we now face a threat quite unprecedented in our history.'

And with that he embarked upon his account of the happenings at Stone Port, from the detonation of the first mine, through the burning of the eight ships and the Stone Port wharves, to the escape of the
Chloe
out into the channel, and the sighting of the glow in the sky that meant the city of Lonsmouth was also in flames. Murmurs arose around the hall – not of surprise, for much of the tale had already been spread about the fleet that morning or the previous night – but of indignation and outrage.

Vincente lifted a calming hand. ‘This is indeed all terrible enough, my Lord and Majesties, but now we come to the crux of the matter. At no point during the attack did the enemy show themselves – except, that is, at the very final moment. For at the last a vessel was sighted fleeing the scene, witnessed firsthand by myself and one other.

And it was a vessel such as has never been seen before, a vessel that represents a challenge to all the knowledge we posses of shipbuilding and seafaring – and hence a challenge to the very basis of our authority and rule. For it was a boat that moved more swiftly than any I have ever beheld, yet without sail, and without oars.'

And then he described in detail the boat that he and Dow had seen that night, black and long and sleek, moving so surely through the water, its deck lined with white-faced, dark-clad men. The rising tide of anger about the hall seemed to falter; puzzled frowns appeared, and the murmur that rose now was one of confusion.
A boat that
moved without oar or sail?

A bluff, loud voice rang out. ‘Captain Vincente!' Attention turned to the speaker, who had risen from his seat in one of the sections closest to the Sea Lord's dais. ‘Will you yield the floor, sir?'

Vincente studied the interjector, then, with some reluctance, it seemed to Dow, he bowed. ‘Of course, Your Majesty.'

It was one of the kings, Dow realised belatedly; but which king, and of which kingdom? Fidel came to his aid, leaning forward to whisper in Dow's ear. ‘Carrasco of the Ingot, King of Valdez.'

‘My thanks, Captain,' the king intoned, inclining his head briefly. He was a heavy-bellied man with a pale face, double chinned and thick lipped, and yet with a look of ready, alert cunning about him. ‘And my congratulations to you on your lucky escape from these dreadful events you describe – and who should be more grateful for it than I, for does not my own youngest nephew serve as a junior lieutenant upon your ship?'

With a many-ringed hand he indicated a figure sitting at his side, a smiling youth who rose and bowed before sitting again. Dow straightened, shocked, even as the realisation came that he should have expected this, for he'd been given enough clues. It was, of course, Diego.

‘Yet indeed,' Carrasco continued, ‘it is because my nephew was also witness to the events at Stone Port that I must speak now, for, disturbingly, his report is at variance somewhat with yours.'

A digestive murmur arose about the hall, a recognition, maybe, of battle lines being drawn.

Vincente was unruffled. ‘Variance? Your nephew, I understand, did not even see the boat in question.'

‘No. Only you saw this mysterious boat. You … and one other. Nevertheless, your own testimony states that the boat was steering south through the channel when you saw it, and yet my nephew reports that the tide too was flowing south that night, and so would have carried any boat along with it, whether it had oars or a sail or nothing at all. Is it not correct, Captain Vincente, that this channel we speak of – the famous Rip of New Island – is known in particular for its swift currents?'

Dow could feel a protest rising hotly to his lips, but Fidel rested a restraining hand on his shoulder, and, anyway, Vincente's reply was itself prompt. ‘Your Majesty, I understand your doubts. But no one who saw what I saw that night would make the mistake of thinking the boat in question was merely drifting with the current.'

‘Such is your opinion,' commented the king coldly. ‘Yours, and one other's. But where, I wonder, is this one other?'

Vincente smiled. ‘As Your Majesty has no doubt already heard, I have him here. My Lord and Allied Kings, may I present Dow Amber, of New Island.'

And now the mutters that rose were a storm. Dow felt another stab of dread, but was aware of Fidel giving him a last reassuring clap on the shoulder, and also a push, to get him to his feet.

Dow clumped down the stairs and out onto the floor, his legs gone numb. His ears, however, felt magically alive and attuned to a hundred different comments from about the hall; disapproving whispers here, hisses of derision there. But also, beneath the general hum, he caught a single word being passed from dignitary to dignitary – and that word was
maelstrom.

‘It's true!' Captain Vincente announced to all, as Dow reached his side. ‘This is the same lad that rode the infamous whirlpool of New Island, and lived to tell the tale of it. So whatever else you may think of what he has to say, do not doubt his courage.' And in the following uproar, Vincente took the time to address Dow quietly.

‘You'll forgive me, but we purposefully spread the story of your exploits as rapidly as we could yesterday. It means they may at least give you fair hearing. Speak up now, and hold nothing back.'

And so, when the hall quietened again, Dow – at first with quavering voice, but then with more confidence – gave an account of everything he had seen that night in Stone Port. And perhaps because of the tale of his descent into the maelstrom, the assembly did indeed give him their attention, at least for a time, if only out of curiosity, or from simple astonishment at hearing a New Island accent on the floor of such a council.

Even so, Dow was aware of the murmurs growing as he spoke, and when it came to his description of the impossible boat, he was barely permitted to finish before the protests burst forth.

‘This?' shouted Carrasco of the Ingot over the din. ‘This is your corroboration? An uncouth New Island child? He may be brave as you claim, if indeed he entered the maelstrom by choice and not, as I have heard, by mere accident; but in any case, what does he know of ships or boats or how they are propelled? What does he really understand of what he saw – other than what you have told to him think, Captain Vincente?'

A flash of anger finally lit in Vincente's eye. ‘Why would I seek to influence him in any way at all, Majesty? What would I have to gain? If there was no such boat as we saw, why would I make it up?'

‘Who knows?' retorted the king. ‘Perhaps to distract attention from the fact that almost an entire tribute fleet was lost while under your command. Perhaps you seek to hide your own incompetence. Perhaps you failed to set a proper guards against these New Island traitors.'

Vincente reigned his temper in. ‘As I have made clear, this attack did not come from any New Island source.'

‘So you say, and so this boy says. But then he would, wouldn't he? He's a New Islander after all – for all we know, in league with those who planned the attack. As for you, Captain, by convincing us that some mysterious boat was responsible for the disaster, and not New Island rebels plotting under your very nose, you might save your own reputation too.'

More uproar – although Dow was relieved to see that at least some around the hall were outraged on Vincente's behalf. King Benito indeed finally managed to make himself heard. ‘Shame!' he cried. ‘Shame on anyone who would impeach the integrity of one of the empire's greatest captains. My fellow monarch Carrasco dares to suggest deliberate deception – but on what grounds? Who here has ever had reason to doubt Captain Vincente's honesty? I call upon the Sea Lord to issue a rebuke!'

All eyes swung now to the dais, where Ibanez the Third sat hunched forward in his throne. At first, to Dow's exasperation, it did not seem that the old man had even been listening, so distant was his sad stare. But then he stirred, and, with a glance to the black-veiled chair – behind the gauze there was a slow shifting of those oddly truncated limbs – he shook his head. ‘There can be no questioning Captain Vincente's integrity.' His voice was unexpectedly firlm, though he spoke without emphasis or passion, almost indifferently. ‘Carrasco of the Ingot will kindly withdraw any such imputation.'