"Keep it down, Lieutenant," Suiden said.
I turned around in my seat. "Yes, sir." Facing forward, my gaze collided with the frown on Chancellor Berle's face.
The captains from the Valiant, the Adamantine and the fleet captains also converged on the Pearl Fisher, and we were hoisted up to the main deck by the bosun's chair one by one, to be greeted by drummers, pipes, and an honor guard. But instead of waiting for us with pomp and dignity at the end of the facing rows of marines presenting arms, Vice Admiral Havram ibn Chause stood at the gangway, greeting each of us as we came on board. When I came on last (very junior in both age and rank), my uncle grabbed my hand and shook it, preventing my salute, and clapped his other hand to my shoulder to prevent my bow.
"I don't need an introduction to know who you are!" His eyes twinkled at me. "Nay, lad, no need for the observances." He clapped my shoulder once more and allowed his hand to drop. "I tell you what, salute twice when you leave the ship, eh?” I found myself grinning back. He was as tall as I was, and whereas everyone else in the family had brown eyes, his were blue as the sky. He had the same lean build, had more gray in his dark brown hair than his eldest brother, and his skin was weathered by the exposure to sun and sea. His face, though, fell readily into laughter—or at least a smile. He was smiling now as he looked at me, lines fanning out from his eyes.
"Thirty years since I've seen your papa. Are he and your mama well?”
"Yes, sir. At least, last I saw them five years ago they were.”
He shook his head, his smile dimming. "I told Maceal not to let them be forced to leave, but he had just come into the title and was still trying to find his way. That idiot Flavan and his son, Nersil, God rest his soul—”
I was distracted from the thought that my parents had been forced out of Iversterre by the unfamiliar name.
"Nersil was your mother's brother," Havram said, seeing my confusion. "Teram's papa. Have you met your cousin Teram?"
I nodded and left it at that.
"A bigger clutch of nodcocks I've never seen, for all their degrees to the throne," Havram said. "I don't know how your mama turned out so well—" He broke off, recollecting that we were surrounded by interested listeners, even over the pipes and drums. "Well, that's for another time." He smiled again, and started herding everyone towards the Pearl Fisher's great cabin. "We must dine together before our journey's end so that you can listen to me reminisce."
"With pleasure, sir."
"And tell you how much you look like your grandpapa."
"So I've heard, sir.”
A marine standing by the cabin door flung it open and the vice admiral entered first, followed by the rest of the party. I came in last so I was able to hear the marine's gasp over the still playing pipes and drums as Basel's shade crossed the threshold.
Vice Admiral Havram turned around. "Oh, aye. The ghost." He shot Captain Suiden a look out of suddenly un-twinkling eyes as the other captains decided that they wanted to be on the other side of the cabin. "There was a lot of signaling going on earlier regarding it."
"Yes, sir," Suiden said.
"Who was he?”
'Trooper Basel, sir. He was murdered by Lieutenant Slevoic ibn Dru.”
Uncle Havram ignored the shocker of Basel's murder and went to the heart of the matter. "Why is he following my nephew about, then, instead of Slevoic?”
"As near as I can tell, it's something to do with what the Borderlands call the 'moon season,' when those murdered attach themselves to those who can avenge them. Trooper Basel seems to have chosen Lieutenant Rabbit." Suiden gestured at Laurel. "The ambassador can explain it better than I, sir.”
"Hmmph." The vice admiral ignored the Faena also. "I know that the church has very strong views on phantoms. What does the patriarch say about this?”
"He was present at Trooper Basel's funeral, sir," Suiden replied.
"So?"
"Trooper Basel was also present at his funeral.”
There was silence as Havram digested that. "I see." The vice admiral became aware of the large carry pouch I held. "Just put the dispatches on the table, lad, and"—he looked around—"everyone have a seat." He pulled out a chair at the head of the table.
"Sir, you have one from the Lord Admiral, the Lord Commander, and from King Jusson," Suiden said as I put the pouch down on the table and sat next to him.
"Pass it here, please." Havram placed the pouch down in front of him, then looked at Suiden. "Now, Your Highness, you will tell me how a Turalian prince became captain of one of His Majesty's windriders, and why this same prince is bringing me orders to leave a patrol of Iversterre waters that the Turalians have decided to claim for their own.” More than the news of Trooper Basel was signaled. I then caught Suiden's eye, and concentrated on the sounds of a ship at anchored rest in the sea.
Uncle Havram took the news of Teram's failed attempt to seize the throne and subsequent death sentence with equanimity, only muttering "Nodcock" a couple of times during the narrative. He was much less sanguine about Lord Gherat. "You mean to tell me that Dru was smuggling Border goods to fund this rebellion?”
"Yes, sir," Suiden said. "The network involved the heads of Great Houses, tradespeople, dock workers, the Royal Army, and river customs. But Lord Gherat was the master planner.”
"Where was the stuff going?" a captain of one of the fleet ships asked.
"Some to the markets of the Royal City," Suiden replied. "But much was smuggled to the Turalians.”
"I see," the vice admiral said over the mutters of the rest of the captains. "But the ring has been smashed, the rebellion put down."
"Yes, sir," Suiden said.
"Commander Loel is dead, Teram is awaiting execution, and Slevoic is an outlaw on the run."
"Yes, sir."
"The House of Dru is dissolved by order of the king."
"Yes, sir."
"But nobody knows where Gherat is.”
"No, sir." Suiden frowned. "We saw ships leaving from the sea escape of the palace compound the day of the rebellion." His frown deepened. "We thought it was the rebels from the Royal Garrison, but when we did a reckoning of the traitors and those loyal, just about everyone was accounted for. The ships could've been Lord Gherat fleeing." The captain sighed. "Or not.”
"Gherat a-sea!" Havram frowned back at Suiden. "How's His Majesty taking this?"
"He is still king, sir.”
Havram's smile broke out. "Aye, and so he is." He glanced over at Laurel. "How will the Border respond, Ambassador Laurel, when the fleet sails into one of its harbors with a ship brimming with the cadavers of its citizens?"
"It will extend a gracious welcome, honored admiral.”
"Hmmph." Havram touched the pouch, staring down at it. Then he looked up again. "Well, I suppose I should read the dispatches." There was a knock at the door and it opened, showing the cook standing there with several loaded carts. "But in the meantime, we will sup together.”
The meals I'd had so far on the Dauntless were lessons in hellish eating. Salt pork and a sea biscuit didn't go very far, especially since I wasn't about to eat the pork. Having to knock weevils out of the biscuits didn't help either. There were provisions set aside for me: wheels of cheese, pickled fish, dried peas, corn and rice, oats for porridge, nuts and dried fruit. But it was all locked in the galley pantry and at each meal Das the cook would wonder in a very loud voice why I couldn't eat normal food like a God-fearing man.
(I told him back that if he fixed normal food like a Godfearing cook, I'd happily eat whatever he'd serve me.) I was looking forward to a meal without contention and bugs.
While the table was being set up, Havram retreated to a corner and split open the dispatches. The rest made laborious conversation, the seamen not too sure about Trooper Basel, Laurel Faena, Captain Suiden, and me, in that order. I figured my best bet was to lie low, so I remained quiet as plates, napkins, silverware, glasses, bottles of wine, and finally covered platters, serving bowls and tureens were tenderly placed on the table. Aromas started to waft through the cabin and there were appreciative sniffs, some going even so far as to smile. But I thought, oh, hell. Dinner was going to be like being thirsty in the middle of the ocean and not having a drop to drink.
The cook lifted the cover off the biggest platter, revealing a large roast, and Uncle Havram came back to the table rubbing his hands together. "Splendid!" He beamed at his guests. "It's fresh. We slaughtered a cow today."
He sat down and the cook, with ceremony, handed him the carving knife and fork, then stood back, his hands folded before him. Havram jabbed the fork into the roast and juices ran down the side. "Ah, our cook has done me proud, gracious sirs." He took the knife and began cutting, the slice peeling away from the rest of the roast easily, revealing a slightly pink interior running with more juices, and the smell of roast beef filled the cabin. "Perfect," Havram said. "Excellent job, man!" The cook bowed, but, as the guests broke out in applause, I thrust my chair back, bolting from the cabin. I made the railing just in time to discover that sea biscuits didn't taste any better coming up than they did going down.
I had finished heaving when I heard someone coming up behind me. At first I wasn't going to look; then I figured I had damn well better, with everything that had happened. But it was Uncle Havram. I dragged myself to attention and waited.
"Are you all right, lad?”
I nodded. "Yes, sir. It's just that"—I gave a faint smile— "I don't eat meat.”
His eyes twinkled at me. "The carving was a little much for you, eh?"
I swallowed hard, tasting bile. "Uh, yes, sir.”
"Well, your captain is having the cook put together a plate for you," Havram said as he went to lean on the rail. He glanced down and moved over some, avoiding where I'd been sick. He was silent as a sailor came up and sluiced the area with water, saluted and left. As he stared out over the sea with clasped hands, all of a sudden he looked like my da, and a lump caught in my throat. "I've scanned the dispatches," he said, abrupt. "They say that Maceal was involved in this smuggling.”
It wasn't a question but I answered it anyway. "Yes, sir. Among others of the king's Court.”
The vice admiral grunted and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Nodcock.”
"Though it appears that he wasn't a part of the attempted overthrow of King Jusson," I said, offering him a sop.
Havram nodded, accepting it. "You were there—tell me what happened, lad.”
"It's just as Captain Suiden said, sir. Lord Gherat was the head of the smuggling ring. Lord Chause—”
Havram shot me a hard stare at my use of his brother's formal title.
My mouth quirked. "He wasn't too impressed with me, sir." I shrugged off Lord Chause's disdain.
"Anyway, he supplied boats to bring the contraband down the Banson, and then stored it in his warehouses until they sold it.”
"'His'? You mean he used the family warehouses?" Havram asked, stunned.
"Yes, sir. He received a cut of the profits.”
"Nodcock is a disease and my brother's caught it! What did the king do?" He frowned, worried. "Is Maceal imprisoned? Are our properties seized?”
"As far as I know, sir, no. King Jusson offered Lord Chause clemency for cooperation. Though I'm sure he will be heavily fined and all profits from the smuggling will be forfeit.”
Tension ran out of the vice admiral's shoulders. "I see." He sighed. "Though I'd be surprised if the king finds anything." This time his mouth quirked. "My brother is very handy with a set of books."
"The king threatened him with royal auditors.”
Havram snapped around to look at me, surprised laughter on his face. "That must have scared the hell out of Maceal. He loves his silver.”
I remembered Lord Chause's look of horror. "He wasn't too happy, sir.”
"I bet." Havram, smiling, looked back over the water, the wind ruffling his hair. After a moment he shook his head. "Dru is dissolved," he said in a wondering tone. He shot me a glance. "Is His Majesty going to dissolve Flavan also?”
"I don't know, sir. Though it may not matter whether or not he does, as Lord Gherat apparently has Lord Teram's wife and children as hostages.”
"He does?" Havram stood upright, his blue eyes staring at me in astonishment. "By the Briny's beard, why—”
The door to the cabin opened and the cook stepped out carrying a covered plate and a wine glass, but stopped as he met the vice admiral's frown. "Uh, I brought the lieutenant his food, sir.”
Havram sighed and nodded. He then turned back to me. "We will talk later about this, Rabbit. In the meantime, stay out here and enjoy your dinner. I will be sure to have someone fetch you for the dessert.”
"Yes, sir." I barely waited for the vice admiral to turn his back before I had the napkin off the plate, checking over the mashed potatoes, carrots, baked apple, and soft roll.
"There's no meat in any of these, Lieutenant," the cook said as he produced another napkin and shook it out before he laid it across my lap. He waited as I ate a forkful of potatoes.
"Very good," I said, my voice thick. I tried a forkful of carrots, and the honey burst in my mouth. "Very, very good." I took a sip of wine and sighed. "Excellent.” The cook smiled and bowed, his honor restored, and returned to the great cabin. I was left on deck watching the sunset and didn't mind the solitude—I was glad to be out from the strained atmosphere of the dining guests. I munched on the soft roll, staring out over the water, and didn't think much about anything.
I was retrieved for the dessert, a rich cake made of what Vice Admiral Havram said was chocolate, served with a pungent drink he called coffee. The cook once again stood over me as I took my first bite, and smiled at the look of bliss that must have crossed my face.
"I used to have a cup of hot chocolate every morning," Captain Suiden said, his face also sublime as he ate his cake. "It is one of the very few things I miss about Tural.”
He took a sip of coffee. "This is the second." He settled back in his chair, as mellow as I'd ever seen him.