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Thirty-Six

Brokols had warned the amirr of the Dard's coming, and was spending the day in the Fortress, to be close to the wharf. He read a book on ceramics while he waited. Meanwhile, Hrummean defense forces were on alert. On the headland, the watchtower keepers kept a constant eye northward.

They ran up the signal flags just as the sun was crossing the meridian. A trumpet pealed from the Fortress's gate tower: the Dard had been spotted, presumably at the edge of visibility to the north. Which meant he had an hour or more. Yet Brokols found it difficult to turn back to his book. Most of an hour later, another flag was run up. The trumpet spoke again. Soft-booted feet, many of them, sounded on the stone stairs from the courtyard to the top of the wall. Brokols placed a bookmark, closed his book, and went onto the wall himself.

The mangonels were manned, blocks of stone piled ready beside them. Soldiers, and baskets of heavy, sharp iron bolts, were ready at the arbalests. Bowmen, longbows still unstrung but quivers full, stood about. A few men had gone to the parapet to look up the firth, until an officer ordered them back. They were not to show themselves. The Almites would, of course, have telescopes—the Hrummeans did—and it wouldn't do to show the ship their readiness.

Presumably—almost surely—there'd be no need to fight. But it seemed to Brokols that if it came to it, the Hrummeans might well surprise the Almites—his own people!—and cause them heavy initial casualties before Stedmer brought his cannon into action. Then, of course, it would be a different story.

The pintle guns wouldn't be the problem, or the major problem. They were quick and could be aimed in any direction without turning the ship, but their rounds weighed a mere four pounds. More dangerous, if more ponderous, were the waist guns, four in each side, fired from gunports below deck. They'd be somewhat sheltered from the primitive machines on the Fortress wall, and immune to archery. Their explosive shells weighed more than thirty pounds. If it came to a fight, only the Hrummean marines, waiting at their oars now in nearby boathouses, seemed to have any prospect at all of silencing the cannon, and they'd have to storm the Dard in the face of rifle fire.

Brokols kept reminding himself how unlikely it was that it would come to that.

She rounded the headland beneath a smudge of smoke. Brokols stood watching at the parapet, dressed in his Almaeic finery. Apparently the serpents weren't fleeing this time; he was sure he saw one of them blow a spout of steamy breath, half a mile out from the Fortress, and another near the south shore. They could breathe with no more than their snouts breaking the surface.

In minutes the Dard was halfway up the firth. It was time to join the guard detail, he and Reeno, to go to the wharf and meet Argant. They started down. Presumably Argant would come ashore with no more than the master-at-arms and perhaps one other man. If an armed party landed, the guard detail was to meet them on the dock and insist that Argant come ashore alone. I've changed from a peril to a resource here, Brokols thought, and found the irony amusing. Slightly.

Allbarin's insistence that Reeno accompany him had seemed odd to Brokols. "He's the amirr's representative," the privy counselor had said. It hadn't seemed a very compelling reason to Brokols, but he saw no reason to object. And Reeno went nowhere without shortsword at his waist. Undoubtedly he could use it well. When questioned, he'd said his usual function was amirrial security, but Brokols wondered. In conversation once, he'd shown a surprising knowledge of the Gorrbian military, and it seemed likelier he had something to do with intelligence.

They left the Fortress through a pedestrian gate, followed by a decade of the guard, and walked down onto the wharf. This time there was no crowd; it was a business day, and only a couple of dozen bystanders stood by in little groups. The Dard was still some minutes short of anchoring.

Brokols' nervousness took the form of neither tremor nor knotted stomach. Instead, time and space seemed to alter. His attention focused totally on the approaching ship; he was spelled by it, emotionless, feeling as if everything was predetermined, with himself a spectator. She'd slowed, lost the foam on her bow wave. Soon after, she stopped, this time perhaps only three hundred yards offshore. He saw her bow anchor splash. The captain's gig was swung over the side on its davits, and suddenly Brokols' knees felt watery, as if they'd collapse to dump him on the wharfs timbered deck.

The gig began to pull toward shore, and from the height of the wharf at a little past ebb tide, there seemed to be four aboard her besides her oarsmen. Argant stood in the bow, looking shoreward, and Brokols was sure the man's eyes were fixed on him. A terrible thought occurred to him then: Reeno would turn him over to them, let them take him away! He didn't believe it, not even briefly, but the idea washed over him like a cold and numbing wave, leaving sweat behind.

Then an open-beaked head rose out of the water on a muscular, snake-like neck thicker than Brokols' thigh. It struck, and Brokols could hear the scream from where he stood, a very brief scream. For just an instant the beak held a man by the waist, arms and legs waving as he was lifted from the bow. Then serpent and man disappeared beneath the waves.

And it was Argant who was gone.

The gig began to veer. The oarsmen on the portside still rowed, but on the starboard side, the side toward the serpent, the forward oar flailed the air in seeming terror and the midship oar raised to stay out of its way, while the stern oarsman still stroked. Brokols heard the bosun bellow angrily, no doubt cursing them, then all the oars began to stroke again. The gig turned about, and with the oars once more in a semblance of order, started back to the Dard.

Brokols' fear was gone, replaced by fascination. When the gig reached the ship's side, most of her men climbed back aboard. The hooks on the davit blocks were set and she was hoisted from the water. And it seemed to Brokols that with Argant gone, there was nothing the ship could do except leave.

* * *

Midshipman Werlingus sat at the rattling wireless, pencil moving rapidly on his tablet. Kryger stood behind his shoulder, watching the rows of letters form.

* * *

SHIP AT ANCHOR OFF THEEDALIT WHARF STOP ARGANT SENT IN GIG WITH MAA AND TWO MARINES STOP LARGE SERPENT SNATCHED ARGANT FROM GIG WITH BEAK TOOK HIM UNDER STOP GIG RETURNED SHIP STOP REQUEST PERMISSION TO SHELL FORTRESS STOP END STEDMER

* * *

The midshipman reached to hand Kryger the tablet but Kryger waved it off, had already read it. He'd accepted the information without difficulty, despite how bizarre it was. What he could hardly believe was Stedmer's reaction. The man was insane!

"Send this," Kryger said. "Fire no rounds at fortress or anything else. Stop. Repeat. Fire no rounds at fortress or at anything else. Stop. Raise anchor and leave for Almeon. Stop. End communication. Mission Commander General Lord Vendel Kryger."

The midshipman's middle finger tapped the key, producing a rapid irregular pattern of clicks. When he was done, he looked back over his shoulder questioningly. "That's all," Kryger said. The young man had started to get up when once again the receiver began its tattoo. Werlingus paused, uncertain.

"Ignore it," Kryger said.

They left, the midshipman looking back worriedly over his shoulder.

* * *

Brokols watched the Dard leave, steam down the firth and out of sight, trailed by a streamer of black smoke which thinned in the breeze and gradually disappeared. The guards had returned into the Fortress when the ship was well underway, and only Reeno still stood with him.

"Well," Brokols said thoughtfully, then turned. Instead of going into the Fortress, he started up the street. "I want to message Kryger," he told Reeno. "Stedmer probably messaged him what happened. Perhaps I can add a little confusion to it."

* * *

Kryger had almost not answered the signal; he'd assumed it was Stedmer again. Now he sat looking at the message Werlingus had written down for him.

* * *

STEDMERS FOOLISHNESS IN ENTERING HARBOR HAS RESULTED IN ANTI ALMEON SLOGANS SHOUTED IN THE STREETS STOP HE HAS TAKEN HRUMMEAN HOSTILITY OFF GORRBUL AND PUT IT BACK ON ALMEON STOP RECOMMEND IMPERIAL REPRIMAND FOR STEDMER STOP END BROKOLS AMBASSADOR

* * *

Interesting, Kryger thought. He didn't trust Brokols though, and didn't take his advice. It wasn't wise to stir the water when things were proceeding so unpredictably. Besides, something was going on with the ambassador to Hrumma, and whatever it was, it didn't feel like patriotism. He wasn't sure what it felt like.

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