Conan of the Red Brotherhood Page 19

  Thus it transpired that a small, lightly-manned Admiralty launch was the only vessel to respond to the pirate invasion. The boat’s officer steered alongside the flagship and, when refused permission to board, did not press the matter. Instead, he conducted a polite colloquy over the bireme’s rail with a tall, hawk-nosed, leather-clad female who claimed to be its captain.

  With utmost courtesy she was invited to assemble a shore party and meet with Admiralty officials later that day for an early supper at the palace. She replied that Emperor Yildiz and his entourage were equally welcome aboard her galley, the Tormentress, to share her shipmates’ common fare. In the end they agreed to meet on mutually acceptable ground, or rather, sea, in the open harbour. Accordingly, an Imperial reception barge was fitted out, victualled, and poled into place; that evening, on its broad deck, several of the more substantial pirates and sea-chiefs were wined and dined royally.

  Meanwhile, Aghrapur seethed with rumour and with delicious, half-serious dread of the pirates. Townspeople thronged the public sections of wharf from which the ragtag fleet could be seen, while private boats cruised the harbour for a closer look. Some of these were dangerously overburdened with sightseers, peddlers, and ladies of pleasure, offering a wide range of goods and services for pirate gold; most of them were turned away by swift Imperial cutters charged with preventing the spread of piracy and other social ills. By Admiralty order, yellow quarantine flags were run up on buoys and picket-boats stationed around the intruders, proclaiming that no traffic would be allowed between shore and ships.

  Yet it was well known that for a modest bribe, customs restrictions could be ignored. Consequently, during the ensuing days, ill-gotten goods were traded and information was sold; pirates were entertained in villas and disreputable houses ashore, and various outcasts and unfortunates who found themselves at odds with the civic ideals of the Imperial capital ventured aboard the pirate scows, many of them to stay.

  In the council rooms of the Imperial Palace, these and related matters were topics of earnest debate. Seated before the emperor and his advisers, Prince Yezdigerd declared, “Even if they sail under your Turanian flag, Father, they are still pirates. How can we be sure they even have the gems with them? Or the captive Amra? They have yet to allow us a glimpse of him, nor is there any sign of Captain Knulf, the pirate leader who first accepted your commission.”

  “If I may make an observation...” Nephet Ali, always cautious at these meetings, spoke from his seat below the emperor’s dais, where Yildiz lounged on a throne draped by four harem-nymphs. “It seems unlikely that they would sail across the Vilayet, into the very shadow of our sea power, without bringing along the items we require. Clearly they seek our tolerance, and have offered us these things to cement their relations with the Turanian Empire.”

  “Offered, indeed!” Ninshub, the finance minister, obviously felt no compunction in challenging his old rival, the Imperial engineer. “From the hints they have dropped, there bodes to be hard bargaining ahead. The prices they want to wring out of us are nothing short of piracy!”

  “Even so.” The emperor’s mild voice caused both counsellors, as well as his concubines, to turn to him respectfully. “They themselves, and their fleet and possessions, are now in our possession. So you may, I suggest, dicker and barter freely without overmuch fear.”

  “If you mean,” Prince Yezdigerd addressed his father, “that we will seize them, and seize their stolen ships and belongings, and put each and every one of them to the sword, torch, or rope regardless of any Imperial commissions or bargainings—why then, I heartily agree!” The young noble smiled severely about the room, a look that Nephet Ali found keenly statesmanlike. “My only question is, why postpone matters? Why allow these scoundrels to idle in port and do one further day’s damage to our prestige? Strike now, at once, and let there be an end to it.”

  Yildiz smiled benignly on his son, meanwhile stroking the plump knee of a houri who was flung across his lap. “I accept your views, Yezdigerd. I accept them as the over-eager, impetuous counsel of youth. To the contrary, let me point out that of all the varied array of pirate ships before us, we do not know which ship or ships contain the treasure and our captive. In the forced action you suggest, it would be entirely possible to lose both. How much better to have them safely in our grasp before attacking, and risk losing only gold.” He waved a hand as if to show the simplicity of the point. “More important is the use we plan to make of the pirates in the impending festivities. To this end, Ninshub—” he turned to his finance minister “—I would advise baulking and stalling, holding open your negotiations till the last possible moment. Do not be overly willing to pay out gold, lest some of the knaves become suspicious and try to flee.” “With your permission, Majesty...” Ninshub nodded in acceptance of the sound advice, speaking now with a respectful air “... how important is it that we secure this Amra, anyway? Would not any burly rogue on the quarterer’s block or impaler’s spike serve us just as well?”

  “Why, Ninshub, I am surprised that you, my Imperial treasurer, would ask such a thing! Are you not, Isdra? Aspasia?” he echoed for rhetorical effect to his fat nymphets. “You question the very basis of our Imperial honesty and fair dealing.” Whether the emperor’s amazement was genuine or feigned was the kind of uncertainty that Nephet Ali always found it hazardous to wonder about in Yildiz’s presence. “For one thing, this Amra is a bold and rebellious rogue, who has not even troubled to hide or disguise his piracies. That is the most dangerous kind of outlawry, a political threat that must be wiped out. And it must be done with enough certainty to satisfy the public. If he should escape, or if any other pirate still lives who can lay claim to his name...” The emperor shook his head, frowning.

  “You see, it is the name that is dangerous, because of the folk myths and legends such defiant acts nourish. The man and the name must be destroyed with equal public certainty. That is the bond of truthfulness an emperor owes his subjects.” Yildiz glanced across to his son. “Fortunately, we have at least one reliable witness, Khalid Abdal, who has served as our agent in bringing this Amra to ground. He can identify him credibly, even if they are trying to palm off some false prisoner on us. These other pirates, too, may acknowledge him publicly once they are up for punishment. If we let any live, it will be as a sign of our mercy and our good-faith wish to stabilize the Eastern Vilayet.”

  “But, Your Majesty...” Nephet Ali finally spoke up, couching his advice in a suitably meek, questioning tone. “Do I understand that you mean to arrest these pirates anyway, and give them to the mob for slaughter on the day of the sea-trials?” The engineer shook his head in eloquent regret. “I fear that such an act of naked force might not gain the approval of your subjects, or enlist their full cooperation, even at public mayhem. May I point out that their reception of these foreigners in Aghrapur has not been entirely hostile?”

  He barely blinked aside to Yezdigerd and Ninshub as he spoke, assuming that they would not support his views. “There is always in the common mind some sympathy for the underling, some slight resentment at the grip of total power...”

  “Exactly.” Yildiz nodded freely, tickling the soft neck of his nearest wife. “They like a fair fight, or at least an appearance of fairness. As I do.” He smiled complacently around the company. “That is why I had in mind, not a trap or a summary arrest, but something more along the lines of a sea-battle.”

  “A battle here in Aghrapur’s harbour?” It was Yezdigerd who took the bait; he was, after all, the least-seasoned Imperial counsellor present. “But would the pirate scum even fight against the home fleet? There is no semblance of fairness in that.”

  “True again.” Yildiz smiled happily from his trollops to his counsellors. “Of course we can always goad them to fight or flee, by some pretext if necessary. But it will be a fair match only if they face a limited foe, such as your contest ships—the ones that you experts have, after all, commissioned to destroy the Vilayet pirates.”

  Ye
zdigerd, for once at a loss, knit his dark brows in surprise. “You mean, send our ships in the sea-trials against the pirate fleet?”

  The emperor laughed boisterously. “Yes, precisely, to sink the invaders and kill or enslave their traitorous crews! What better try-out could there be for a warship? What better way to test the value of my young son’s ideas, and prove their value conclusively to the public? The crowds will love such a contest. Let it be so!”

  Aboard one of the galleys—though not the flagship, lest they be caught too easily in a treacherous attack—the pirate captains parleyed. Santhindrissa, who had reluctantly taken on the role of spokeswoman before Yildiz’s officers, voiced her bitter contempt.

  “These Imperial maggots, swathed in silk like the worms they are, can never be trusted! It takes a rascal as perfidious as Knulf himself to deal with such and wiggle through the tangled skeins of their courtly ways. An honest pirate should never hope to outwit them.” She paced the canvas-shaded planks and whirled, restless in the narrow confines, her hard, high sandals clashing in resentment against the scarcely rocking deck. “They tease and toy with us here, knowing that we face overwhelming odds.”

  She paced most likely to keep the air moving against the lean, muscular flesh, bare except for the leather-guarded areas of breasts and groin, for it was hot and close under the deck canopy. “Whenever the whim strikes, they will attack; then all their pledges and bargainings will have no more substance than the foam that drools over the waves.”

  Conan, sitting perched on the starboard rail where the overhang of the tent let in a cool sea-draft, answered calmly. “Our best approach is still the one we agreed on. Delay them and hold out for the best price. Then sell me ashore, or else land a raiding party to free our brothers. When the jailbreak comes, the whole harbour will be thrown into confusion, and we can safely escape.”

  “But why delay?” Santhindrissa wheeled on Conan fiercely, yet impersonally in her way, betraying no real sign that they had been lovers. “It was your notion to sail down Yildiz’s throat and snatch the prisoners from his crop—your poor, suffering pirate brethren, and your former mistress as well!” Angrily she turned, pacing toward the quarterdeck rail. “Therefore act without delay, and shorten our stay in these treacherous waters. Why idle here, when in just two days your friends will be executed... and us with them, I half believe, if smug Yildiz has his way!”

  “Captain, you speak unfairly to Amra. ’ ’ From her bench-seat beside Conan, Philiope came to her protector’s aid. “You give him no credit for good sense. What of his feat of seamanship?” She stirred indignantly in her light, brief tunic, well suited to the day’s heat. “Was it not a great triumph for him to lead us here, straight across the Vilayet from Aetolia to Aghrapur, without need of any landfalls on the way?” “The best speed, skill, and luck at navigation are a fault,” the captainess replied acidly, “if they bring a ship or a fleet into reckless danger.”

  “Have patience, Drissa. ’ ’ Conan leaned against the stern-post, unperturbed by the she-captain’s nervous catlike wrath. “I have sent spies ashore; tonight I go myself to scout the lay of the land.” He glanced to the others present—the sea-chief Hrandulf, and the former lieutenant, Jalaf Shah, who had gained the command of Knulf’s flagship. “By taking our time, we force their price upward; just remember to sell them me, but not the jewels. As long as they want the gems but do not know where to lay hands on them, they dare not attack.” He gestured at the motley fleet lying at anchor beyond the rail. “We would do better to sell the baubles back to the Hyrkanians, anyway. Likely, on hearing of our trip to Turan, they will offer us an emperor’s ransom.”

  “Your plan may be sound—” Hrandulf spoke in gruff islander’s accents from his place on the port rail “—if you can in truth escape, empty the Imperial prison, and rejoin our fleet. But if you fail, do not expect us to storm ashore and free you!”

  “I see no difficulty in it.” Conan shrugged. “I and a half-dozen picked rogues, sent ashore with hidden keys to our shackles, should easily be able to overcome our guards. Then, with the aid of our pirate brothers, we steal a boat... we owe it to them at least to try.”

  “Fine, try, but do not fail.” Santhindrissa eyed him menacingly. “Do it soon or my ship, for one, will be gone.”

  Ashore, meanwhile, rumours stalked the port concerning the pirates’ role in the impending sea-trials. It was whispered that companies of Imperial marines would be placed aboard the contest ships—whether for a mock battle or a real one, whether against pirates or against each other, none could say. Then word was passed to Alaph through Nephet Ali, unequivocally: Be ready to fight the sea-marauders.

  The bun-maker regarded the prospect with an admixture of dread and mournful resignation. How far this competition had progressed... from an exuberant, light-hearted chance at wealth and fame to a grim, mortal combat. The person to consult about fitting out a fighting ship would have been brave Mustafar... had he not been burnt to cinders in the dock fire that struck so swiftly and suspiciously.

  Now Alaph ventured but seldom outside his shed, having requested Admiralty guards to circle the place. He watched constantly for saboteurs and assassins, whom he feared would be sent by his competitors or one of their shadowy backers at court. Admiral Quub was said to be outraged that his personal candidate for the prize had been killed. Yet no crime had been publicly charged.

  In part to silence the inner pleadings of anguish and remorse, Alaph worked day and night to perfect his experimental craft. His smiths and joiners toiled likewise without sleep. As a result, more of them suffered cruel bums and injuries while performing the unfamiliar and highly advanced processes he required. But as the bright, glowing metal components were hoisted hot from the forge and bolted into the ship’s timber belly, it became obvious that something very formidable was taking shape. The task gradually assumed a life of its own. Like the intricate ritual movements of a high temple dance, it made the doubts and pangs of mortal life seem petty and inconsequential by comparison.

  In Tambur Pasha’s shed farther down the wharf, a similar last-minute exhilaration seemed to have taken hold. There issued from the place a din of pounding and scraping that rivalled Alaph’s. Whether the astrologer’s scheme could avail him anything was still unclear, but his attitude was definitely superior to the alchemist’s.

  By contrast with those two, the trireme shed assigned to Zalbuvulus loomed dark and silent—as much so as Mustafar's beside it, which now stood deserted. On the night of the fire, when the Corinthian philosopher’s crew had rowed him back from a second jerky, tragicomic voyage through the harbour, there had been fierce wrath and retribution—as evidenced by shouts, wails, and panicked shrieks issuing from the bam-like building housing the slaves. Since then, all had been quiet... though Zalbuvulus, glimpsed on the dock, looked less grim than usual. He arched his grey eyebrows and moustache less fiercely, so it was said, and expressed no wish to withdraw his ship from the sea-trials.

  The other remaining contestant, the far-seeing Crotalus, was lodged in a timber-walled compound across the marshy estuary, far from the bustle of the wharves. His recent mission in search of magical gems, it was now said, had succeeded at least in part. The nature of his plan for naval improvement remained a mystery, but evidently his patron, Prince Yezdigerd, had faith in his powers.

  To Alaph’s mind, admittedly unschooled and untravelled, the wizard’s use of gems suggested sorcery of the most arcane sort. As far as he could speculate, Crotalus’s magicks might produce any conceivable result: a means of controlling wind and weather, perhaps, or an all-seeing glass in which to find enemies, or a curse to smite his rivals with ill luck or bench-blisters. Whatever it was, rumour said, it was dire, and its effects had to be tested on mortals, as the fate of the Zembabwan’s slave-labourers proved.

  They were Zaporoskans, so word had it, taken captive in some punitive expedition across the Vilayet. Small-built herdsmen, clannish and untrained in any civilized work, they spoke a jabberin
g language that no one in Aghrapur understood, and so could be directed only by pantomime and by punishment. Whether Crotalus took them on as shipbuilders, rowers, or both, was never certain. It had seemed likely that they were meant to be magically trained or ensorceled like Zalbuvulus’s crew. But whatever their duty, it was evidently not an easy or pleasant one; dock guards told of desperate escapees caught fleeing through the swamp in a frenzy of fear, babbling and gesturing incomprehensibly before they were dragged back to their sorcerous master.

  Crotalus’s preparations sounded obscure and formidable. Heartless, as well—but then, the alchemist had found it necessary to harden himself to suffering. If his own experiment should fail, it would doubtless wreak fiery havoc and cost lives, his own included. Whereas if it should succeed, it would destroy many more lives: first those of the hapless pirates in the harbour, then among countess enemies of the Turanian Empire all across the whole length and breadth of the Vilayet. Mortal happiness, so it appeared, was a vanishingly small part of the prospect.

  Hooves scuffed and grated on the cobbles of the dark suburban lane. Elm trees, their limbs pollarded to keep them well clear of the tops of roadside walls, rose like bulbous-headed sentinels against the stars. Two black horses and their hooded riders, lacking a lamp, moved forward at a slow, careful walk, winding between the estates and villas of the rich. The hardware of both horsemen’s saddles was muffled, and the pair exchanged no word.

  Here on the outskirts of Aghrapur, near the centre of the world’s most stable and powerful domain, peasant uprisings and bandit raids had in recent centuries been rare. Here it was no longer seen as necessary for every important inhabitant to shelter inside a castle or behind a city’s massive battlements. Prosperous gentry might safely enjoy their wealth in the open country, as long as they could afford the expense of a middling-sized wall, a locking gate, and guards or watchdogs to secure the premises. Such measures sufficed to keep out the occasional starving members of the landless classes who turned to theft. Local marauders, after all, generally acted furtively or on impulse, and then but singly or in small groups. The patrols of richly groomed Imperial cavalry stationed in the outlying hamlets were more than sufficient to apprehend and punish most such malefactors.