Authors: Dave Duncan
"No. They need us for trade. We have loads of furs waiting to head south, if you're interested. A lot of them were brought in by goblins. Death Bird himself drops around once in a while. He has a taste for jotunn beer."
Efflio shuddered. "The monster himself ? That murdering, torturing, green horror?"
The faun's gray eyes went strangely cold. "The same. The imps started the fight, you know, Cap'n ... Never mind. What else is happening out there in the real world?"
For a stockman, he had a curious interest in politics.
"His Highness the prince imperial engaged the caliph in battle at a place called Bone Pass, and made great slaughter. "
"Did he so!" The faun looked pleased. "Good for Shandie! I still think of him as just a kid, younger than Gath there. But he's only six or seven years younger than me . . . " The gray eyes glazed, as if their owner was calculating.
"The caliph was wounded. Very likely he has been knifed by his own supporters since. "
The faun's attention returned at once. "No. No, I doubt that. Azak's probably another one the Impire hasn't heard the last of ... But the queen will be eager to hear all your news. I'm sure she will invite you to dine one evening while you are here. " Then a horse whinnied sadly, and the hostler reacted. "Someone is reminding me that you have cargo for me!"
"For the palace, Master Rap."
"They're still my problem. " The man released another of his faint smiles. "I'm sure you want rid of them as soon as possible, and I can catch the tide on the causeway if we unload right away. Then I'll be happy to stand you and your crew all the ale you can drink. Our beer has quite a reputation. Ah ... excuse me, there's some good help going by right now!"
He leaned over the rail and bellowed, "Krath!" A jotunn walking along the dock road spun around, peering to locate the hail. The stockman beckoned. "Krath! Here!" He ran to the plank.
Efflio's impish curiosity was burning like a rash. What sort of stablehand discussed politics and was familiar with maritime law? For that matter, what sort of stablehand was so assertive and threw out royal dinner invitations? And were those jewels real or not?
He turned to the two children. "What's a faun doing in these parts? " he demanded.
The boy looked surprised.
The girl sniggered. "Doing?" she said. "Nothing much. He hangs around the palace ... Looks after the royal horses, and so on." -
"She's teasing you, Captain," the boy said solemnly. "He's the king. "
So Captain Efflio had saved the lives of a prince and princess. Well, maybe he hadn't, but he had tried, and that turned out to be a very fortunate occurrence indeed.
Because that disreputable stockman really was the king, and he really was a faun, or part faun, and all fauns had great empathy for animals, and when this one saw the condition of the rack-boned, starving beasts in Sea Beauty's hold, then he lost his temper.
He was also part jotunn.
He displayed an astonishing fluency in nautical language. Soon he had lifted Captain Efflio bodily and was busily shaking him like a floor mat, and when Krushbark started to object, he was blocked by the king's friend Krath, who was even bigger, while a large number of enormous golden-haired locals heard the king's fury and came sauntering up the plank carrying harpoons and gutting knives and whatever else they had been working with, and it seemed Sea Beauty had been invaded by the Krasnegarian militia, and her captain was about to be taken apart, limb by limb, organ by organ.
Then Princess Kadie burst into tears. The madness faded from the gray eyes. The faun jotunn put the captain down, and turned to pick up the girl and hug her, and comfort her. The boy was pale, also, but saying nothing.
The locals smirked and began drifting away again, regretful that the excitement was over without a drop spilled.
"Get them unloaded, Krath," the king said hoarsely, still cuddling the girl to him, his voice muffled by her hair. "All right, honey, all right! Daddy's not mad anymore. "
"Did you ever kill a man, Father?" the boy asked, as if inquiring about horseracing, or model ship building.
His Majesty looked down at him coldly. "Yes, Gath. I did. Several. I once killed a thane with an ax." He peered around his daughter's head and looked meanly at the captain. "He deserved it."
He obviously thought Efflio did, too.
When all the horses had been assembled on the dock, shivering and complaining, the king came striding aft again, to where the master huddled within his frightened officers, trying to edge behind the sheltering bulk of Krushbark.
His Majesty was still in a poor humor.
"I think eleven of them will make it," he snapped. "I'll deliver the receipt before you leave. And if you ever bring us stock again, Cap'n, they had better be in better condition than those!" He glared.
"It was a miscalculation, sire. The fodder-"
"It certainly was! But you did pick up my two brats, and for that I am grateful. I said I would shout for the beer, and I'm a man of my word. Just tell them I said to put it on my slate."
"That's very generous of your Majesty," Efflio muttered, appalled to think what free beer would do to his crew.
"Don't worry about a watch. No one will touch your ship here." A hint of a smile softened the faun's anger. "For your jotnar I recommend the Beached Whale. Our locals will be happy to provide whatever sport they need, and there's a good bonesetter across the street. Imps may prefer the Southern Dream--but take your own dice. I notice you have some gnomes aboard. That's unusual hereabouts."
Gnomes? "Oh, yes, gnomes." He'd forgotten. "I don't suppose they'll fancy beer?"
"I have no idea!" Efflio said. Never in his life had he spared a thought for gnomes' drinking habits.
"They lack the capacity," the king said knowledgeably. "Tell them I'll send down a couple of bottles of wine and a tasty bag of offal. If you can spare them for a day or two after you've cleaned up, I could use their help in the palace cellars." He scowled again. "Rats. And remember what I said about horses! " He turned on his heel and strode away.
Sea Beauty needed several days to refit before she could load another cargo. Most of the crew needed several days to recover from the king's hospitality. Efflio passed the time in arranging a return hire: furs, narwhal ivory, and salted fish. Obviously the Krasnegar run could be profitable, which explained some df the trouble he had experienced obtaining information about it in Shaldokan.
The captain soon began to fret about the weather, for the season was late. He was also appalled to discover that his altercation with the king had been even more dangerous than he had realized, for the king was a sorcerer. So said all the locals he talked with in the saloons. He rarely used his power, they whispered, but there was no doubt that he was a great sorcerer.
The throne belonged to Queen Inosolan. Her father Holindarn had been king before her, and she was descended from the legendary Warlock Inisso, founder of the dynasty. The present king had been merely a stableboy in the palace-that was why he hated to use the title. He also denied being a sorcerer, but everyone knew . . .
That much was generally accepted, but thereafter the tales Efflio heard whispered in the dark and beery saloons were wildly divergent, all of them able to raise the few remaining hairs on his scalp. Transformations, disappearances, reappearances ... The king was even identified with the mysterious faun sorcerer who had appeared in Hub many years ago and cured the imperor's sickness, thus ending the Ythbane regency. The bizarre end of the notorious Thane Kalkor was mentioned, the death of the wicked Warlock Zinixo, and Queen Inosolan's dramatic return from exile ... Efflio listened and shivered and bought more ale to keep the tales coming. There were some talented raconteurs among the imps of Krasnegar.
But he was a good man, the king, they would conclude at last. He was much admired for his hard work and his honesty, and for the sake of his beloved queen. The whole town worshipped the queen and wished her well. And if anyone had a problem, he knew he had only to buttonhole the king on the street, and help would be forthcoming. A good man. A good queen.
A fine little town, Efflio concluded reluctantly. Apart from its Evil-begotten hills, of course.
But he vowed to stay well away from the royal family.
The royal family turned out to have other ideas. On Sea Beauty's third morning in port, young Princess Kadie came strutting up the plank with her taciturn brother in tow. This time she was dressed more appropriately, in a fine fur-trimmed cloak and a sable hat too large for her. The weather was turning chilly. The skies lowered, and the wind smelled of snow.
She marched over to the captain and curtseyed, almost losing her borrowed hat in the process.
He bowed apprehensively. "Good morning, Captain."
"Good morning, your Highness."
"Gath has a letter for you."
The boy was also better dressed than before, in long pants and a shirt without rips in it. He wore no coat or hat, though, and his shirt was inside out. He solemnly handed Efflio an envelope.
"Bow, dummy!" the princess said.
The boy's fair face reddened all the way to the roots of his spiky hair. He snatched back the envelope, bowed, and then thrust it at the captain again.
"Idiot!" his sister muttered.
The envelope contained an invitation to dine at the palace, inscribed in the queen's own hand.
Efflio gulped. This he did not want. "I shall write a reply, if you would be so kind as to wait?"
"That won't be necessary," Princess Kadie declared airily. "I'll tell her you got it. I bid you farewell, then, Captain, until the shadows lengthen and the humble plowman wends homeward. "
"No!" Efflio said hastily. "I can't come!"
The child drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't much. Her green eyes flashed. "You dare refuse a royal summons, Captain?"
Efflio gritted his teeth, aware that the first mate and the coxswain were listening and smirking. He resisted a suicidal craving to take a rope's end to a certain royal backside.
"I shall explain in my reply to her Majesty that my health prevents me from climbing hills, your Highness."
The girl pouted, obviously at a loss. There was a pause, and Efflio was just about to head to his cabin when the boy spoke up for the first time.
"Mommy really does want to meet you, sir. I'm sure she will send a carriage. " His face was full of earnest appeal.
Efflio could find no answer to that, except to accept.
Only twice in his life had the captain ever ridden in a carriage. He had never once visited a palace, and castles were places to shun. Even if the king of this land dressed like a peasant and herded his own livestock, the queen was of genuine royal blood and would probably hold court in proper style. The captain had no idea of the correct way to behave around queens or the assorted nobility who might be going to appear, and he certainly did not own any form of suitable court dress.
When the promised coach arrived just before sundown, therefore, he was almost relieved to see that it was a dusty, shabby old thing, its paintwork peeling and streaked with bird droppings.
He quite enjoyed the bone-rattling ride up the winding, vertiginous hill-a single very long street, twisting continuously back and.forth, curling itself almost vertical on the bends. Often the way was as cramped as an alley, squeezed between tightpacked houses, flanked by poky little stores whose narrow, many-paned windows seemed more designed to keep secrets than display wares.
Eventually the carriage bounced and jangled up to the gates of the improbable castle, whose many sharp black towers pointed to the sky like a giant's pencil set. There was one man-at-arms leaning on his pike there, but he was so engrossed in a chat with a couple of pretty maids that he probably failed to notice the arrival at all. Echoes rang noisily as the vehicle rumbled through a long archway, and then it came to a halt in an inner courtyard.
No liveried and bewigged footmen appeared to greet the newcomer. After sitting expectantly for a moment, Efflio opened the door for himself and climbed down. The driver was attending to the horse. Several men and women were walking aroundcrossing the yard or going in and out of doors and up and down stairs-but they all seemed to have more important things on their minds than a visiting impish sailor. Some bore burdens as recognizable as laundry and trays of fresh pies.
What sort of way was this to greet a guest? Then a treble voice said, "Hi."
Efflio turned to regard the young prince, Gath, cuddling a kitten and accompanied by a pack of inquisitive dogs. His shirt was right-way-out now.
"Ah, your Highness," the captain said. "Would you be so kind as to have her Majesty informed that I have arrived?"
The boy studied him earnestly for a few minutes. Then he draped the kitten over his flaxen head like a hat and seemed to ponder the question further. Finally he said, "Why not go and tell her yourself ?"
"Because I don't know where she is!"
"Oh. She's in the parlor. This way."
The visitor was led to the royal presence by his Royal Highness Prince Gath assisted by six royal dogs and wearing a royal kitten.
In moments, Efflio knew that Queen Inosolan of Krasnegar was the most remarkable woman he had ever met. He had already learned that her ancestors had been both imp and jotunn. He could not have guessed, for she was one of a kind; he had never seen anyone like her. Her features lacked jotunn angularity, yet they were not pudgy like an imp's, and most impish women in their thirties were as plump as dumplings. Her coloring was unique-hair of a rich honey shade and eyes even greener than her daughter's-but he suspected that her undeniable beauty came mostly from within. She had poise without arrogance; she spoke gently without leaving any doubt at all that she was ruler of the kingdom. She had summoned him, and yet she put him at ease and stole his heart with a smile of welcome that seemed completely genuine. She was also glowing with forthcoming motherhood.
She apologized for the informality-avoiding formal functions during her confinement, she explained. She sat him down in a huge and comfortable chair beside a homely peat fire and inquired if he cared for mulled ale. The secret was to heat it with a red-hot poker, she explained, smiling, and demonstrated. He admitted that the result was the finest mulled ale he had tasted in years.