Keilin looked about, startled. He could only be referring to Leyla, surely. Kim was just a thief . . . wasn't she? One look at her white, frightened face was sufficient to convince him otherwise. "Princess Shael. Hadn't you better induce your lowborn companions to lower their weapons?"
"Why?" she burst out. "Why don't you just leave me alone? What are you going to do with me this time? Give me to another pervert to torture, or just hand me over to the Morkth?"
He waved a languid hand. "That is no way for a future Empress to talk. All that is almost past."
"Empress?! After what you did to me!"
He shrugged. "Part of the exigencies of seizing power, my dear. You, after all, should know that these little excesses are necessary. But now you will be restored to power, influence and comfort. No more struggling to survive with a group of vagabond . . . jewel thieves. Amphir's arm is long, but not long enough to take anything from a reigning Empress."
Keilin turned to watch her, despite the fact that to do so made the rain trickle off his cape and down his back. He saw how her eyes narrowed, and the expression in them changed from fear to challenge. It was not reflected in her voice however. That was cool. "Empress . . . and who, pray, is to be the Emperor?"
Deshin smiled. It was a humorless movement of the lips. "Power games again, Princess. You haven't changed despite all this time of consorting with lower orders. I wonder what use they found for you in their party? You weren't trained to cook, so I must presume you paid your way on your back. We are the Emperor of Tynia."
She ignored the innuendo, and replied with a lifted eyebrow. "I see . . . Emperor. And how does your dear Saril feel about this . . . marriage?"
The humorless smile was wiped away. "My . . . but we are well informed. I'm afraid our marriage will be merely a matter of appearances, Princess. The marriage, however, will put a stop to these ugly little rumors . . . especially when it is blessed with an heir."
"From you! I'd rather die!"
He looked disdainfully at her. "I share your sentiments exactly. No, you would have to find yourself a more . . . willing participant. Select one of these, if you like. I will make no attempt to interfere in your . . . amusements, as long as you are discreet in your use and disposal of them." He paused. "On second thought . . . perhaps you'd better leave disposal to me. You're inclined to be too flamboyant. Killings like the one you carried out on Lord Blis get talked about. What on earth was the toxin you used?"
"Maybe you'll find out. Maybe you should just leave me alone." Shael's voice was more than a little dangerous.
"I've taken steps to prevent any little assassination plans you may have. You see, if I die, a certain somebody is going to be very upset. And he has more experience at killing than you do. He's also," and the thin lips were licked, "very skilled at pain. As for leaving you alone, I'm afraid that won't be practical. You either come with me alive, as my bride-to-be, or you come along as a head on a pole," Deshin said, his voice cold.
Shael's quick mind needed no more prompting. "You need me. You need me for a valid claim on Arlinn."
"Very astute," said Deshin, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps I underrated your intelligence. But I'll settle for your head if need be. I have sufficient witnesses who will swear the ceremony took place first."
"At this point I think I should intervene." Cap spoke calmly. There was almost a trace of amusement in his voice.
Deshin raised his chin, and attempted to look down his nose at someone who was taller than himself. "Don't interrupt your betters, carrion."
There was a small snort, which might almost have been laughter. "I outrank you six ways to breakfast, you vain little fool. Anyway, I was speaking to the Princess, and not to you." He turned slightly to her while the self proclaimed Emperor fish-mouthed. "I didn't need you getting ideas about running off, but your father, the Tyrant, is free, and has successfully taken control of five of the northwestern states. This pompous ass controls the rest . . . or used to."
"And I have you in the palm of my hand, whoever you think you are," spat Deshin angrily. "At a word from me, you're dead."
"I see," said Shael slowly, ignoring Deshin. "Arlinn does not rally to my father?"
"Nor does it rise against him. The Tyrant'd be like a nut in a vise then, fighting on two fronts. At the moment our little Emperor here holds the balance of power. But if Arlinn enters the war on the other side, then your father both outnumbers and outgenerals him. As your mother's husband, the Tyrant calls for Arlinn's strength. But they evade the Tyrant's call by saying their allegiance is to you, until you are proven dead. This man needs you alive. Dead, you're worthless to him," said Cap.
"How do you know this, Cap?" Shael asked, as a touch of doubt assailed her.
"Heard it from northern merchants in Amphir. I took some care to keep you away from them."
"I've had enough of this." Shael could detect the undertones of fear in Deshin's voice. "I'm tired of standing around in the rain bickering. I came here with a very generous offer. But I can take you in chains if need be. I think the first thing is to deal with this rabble of yours . . ."
Cap smiled again, sharklike, and interrupted, "What do you intend for us, O great Emperor?"
Deshin was too wrapped up in himself to notice the edge of sarcasm. "You'll have to die. I can't afford witnesses. I'll say the girl has been in my custody all along. That should deal with comments on her virginity."
"You are very stupid, little play-acting Emperor." Leyla's voice was still and honeyed.
Before the affronted man could react, Beywulf jockeyed his horse slightly forward, within reach of the emperor. His voice was slightly higher pitched than usual, but otherwise there was no sign of tension. "You say, `At a word from me, you're dead.' So . . . if you try and utter the wrong one, I'll kill you. If the boy over there doesn't put an arrow in you first. You see, he's got a drawn bow under that cloak."
"I'm wearing a mail shirt, under this garment. It is very uncomfortable but I think I'm quite safe. And my bodyguards can deal with you." Deshin kept his cool with only a slight hesitation.
Cap laughed. "Do you think so indeed! You don't know Beywulf. I've seen that sword cut through a quarter-inch steel gorget and continue on to cut the man in half." As he spoke Bey had drawn the huge sword.
"And the boy is from the desert, Deshin." Shael's voice trembled slightly. "They use thin little poisoned arrows. There is a good chance they'll go right through your mail shirt, if he doesn't hit your face or neck. And his arrows are tipped with curare." Keilin wished she spoke the truth. Actually his cloak hid an assegai, and the man's head would be a hard target.
"Besides that," Cap said from next to Shael, "I have the hole card. Before your bow-and-lance troops, excellent though I admit they are, can kill me, I'll kill her."
Deshin's voice was distinctly tense now. "You can all go. Just leave me the girl."
"On the contrary. We'll take her along. Tell your men to unstring their bows. Stray arrows might happen otherwise, and we'd hate any accidents."
Reluctantly the order was given. As the Cuirassiers got busy, Cap turned back to face Bey. Keilin caught a hand signal. "And to make doubly sure," said Cap, his voice calm, "we'll take you too." As he spoke Bey launched himself in a terrific spring. The first bodyguard was dead. The other was dying. And the bloody sword pressed against the throat of the Emperor.
"Back! Back off, if you want your Emperor to live," Cap shouted, his voice carrying loudly back into the rain haze.
"Let me go! My men will—"
"Your men will back off and allow us to pass. If they do exactly as I tell them, you'll stay alive." There was that kind of certainty in the voice which goes far beyond any form of denial.
They rode through the parting ranks, a grim little party with blades held against two throats. Leyla had Deshin's reins, but Shael held her own, sitting straight and regal, ignoring Cap's blade. But her eye was caught by a wink from a Cuirassier as they passed. She knew that face, even if she had had only a second to look at it, back when the guard at Shapstone palace had "ignored" her presence in the curtains. Just what had he been trying to say to her?
They had come to the point where the sand spit became part of the mainland when a shower of arrows flew out of rain-shrouded scrub. One of them cut across Leyla's arm and hit Deshin's horse in the hock. The animal whinnied and reared, almost throwing its rider, ripping free the reins from Leyla, and bumping into the startled Beywulf. And the Emperor broke free, hanging low over the horse's neck.
Keilin's assegai flew, as Cap, holding his sword aloft now, yelled, "Ride!" and kicked his horse to a gallop. In a few moments they were all galloping behind him. A brief skirmish and they were through, dodging away among the scrub patches and dripping palmettos in the rain haze.
"To the sea!" Cap cried. They rode neck on neck, thundering onto the beach and along the tide wash, and then when they reached a rocky slab, they rode cautiously into the scrub. They couldn't see anyone behind them, in the rain curtains, but there were distant sounds. Cap led them further in, towards the ridges. He pushed them as hard and fast as the horses could go until darkness came.
Their camp was as hidden as they could make it, deep in the liana jungle of the valley bottom. The rain had stopped but Cap denied them even the comfort of a small fire. "They're hunting us out there. It's not worth the chance. We'll leave here before dawn," he said, in a voice that brooked no argument. Then he turned to Beywulf, his voice flinty. "Well, Sergeant-Major, would you care to explain just what happened back there? Why didn't you kill the little bastard?"
"No excuse, sir. I wasn't prepared for his horse to rear. I didn't think they'd take a chance with their hostage's life." In the dim leaf-shadowed moonlight, Beywulf stood ramrod straight, looking at the middle distance.
"Hmm. That's no excuse, soldier."
"Sir . . ." Keilin said cautiously.
"Don't interrupt me, boy. That was a good throw of yours back there. Pity there wasn't really poison on the thing."
"There was. If it cut him he's going to be unconscious for a day or two at least," Keilin said quietly.
"What! That's better than I'd hoped. I saw it slice nicely into his shoulder. Obviously his mail shirt was more pretty than functional. And I thought it a pity it hadn't killed him! Well done, boy," said Cap, and turned back to Beywulf. "Now let me finish dealing with this bungler."
"Sir, S'kith told me something else you must know," risked Keilin again. "Bey was right, sir. It was not the Emperor's men that shot at us. S'kith and I were at the back, as we're far the worst riders. They were trying to kill the Emperor, not us. There was one hell of a firefight behind us."
At last Keilin had managed to shift Cap's attention. The man actually laughed. "All this for a bloody woman." He looked across to where she was silently unpacking her bedroll. "You're more trouble than you're worth, you know. Any reasons why I shouldn't cut your throat, girl, and get them all off my back?"
A pause. "Because I'm worth something alive. You can buy your way out of trouble using me," she said tiredly. "My father would probably give you a few regiments to attack FirstHive too."
A silence. Keilin could almost hear Cap's mind turning over. "You stay with us, for now," said Cap, and then in an easier tone. "Beywulf, can you rustle us up some food quickly, while I dress Leyla's arm?"
Quietly Bey moved over to the packs. As he passed Keilin, he gave the boy's arm a brief squeeze. Keilin knew what it meant: partly thanks, partly warning.
Before dawn they were away again, moving inland, sticking to the forest margins, avoiding the villages by tedious and hot bushwacking. Once they sighted a party of soldiers, but remained hidden under the trees until they had passed. Keilin had been too tired to think the night before, but now his mind was busy turning over all the revelations of yesterday. His knowledge of politics was slim. In Port Tinarana he'd heard of the Tyrant, yes, but he knew little more. He had heard, and read, more of Arlinn, but he still barely understood the entire thing. He did however know that he'd made a fool of himself. He'd always been wary of talking to girls. He wasn't just wary about princesses, however. He was terrified of them. In Shael's mind, power and authority meant security. In Keilin's mind it meant "avoid at all costs." So he was. With great care. He was also wondering just what had got into him the previous night. Bey was a friend, sure, but when Cap was being like that he was Authority, and Keilin kept his head down and did what he was told. It was a long, hot, hard day, and he had plenty of time to think it all over.
Tired, sweaty, plagued by flies and with the air thick with the coming thunderstorm, camp that evening was not a cheery place. With darkness the flies left, and once the party had plates of food inside them, their spirits began to rise. True, the heavy, starless sky and the breathless air portended yet another wet night, or a night with wet bedding at least, but a few comments were beginning to be made. At last Leyla broached the question on everyone's minds. "Where to from here, Cap?"
He shrugged. "We need to go north, but if we try it in the midlands we run into real jungle, not just valley-bottom stuff. Cutting our way through it would take three or four months at least, and as like as not some of us'd die in interesting ways before we found our way out. If we found our way out. I tried it . . . once. It's all twisted ravines and impassable rivers, as well as totally confusing forest. I only got out by pure luck."
He took a sip of his coffee. "Thanks to the three bungling burglars we can't go through Amphir. Thanks to our little Princess and her boyfriends the coast trail is closed. Which reminds me, what was all that wordplay about `Saril,' girl?" asked Cap, fixing her with his eagle gaze.
She shrugged. "He's Deshin's boyfriend."
"Hmm. Interesting . . . and possibly useful to know, in a homophobic society. A lever perhaps?" he asked, questing.
"He does keep it a secret. In most of the Tyn States, it wouldn't be wise to be public about it. It's different in Arlinn, of course," she said.
Cap snorted. "Thanks to bloody Evie Lee. Half of her friends were chutney ferrets. Still, it won't get us north. I suppose we can rope down the cliff between the watchtowers at night, but we couldn't take horses. On foot it would take us too long to get out of Amphir's territory. That only leaves us the option of going by sea to Dublin Moss. It's a bugger of a trip, weatherwise, but I don't see how else we can do it. We'll go further south and then down to Port Lockry."
Keilin dredged his memory, trying to remember the place on the maps he'd pored over. "Back down through the lowlands?" he asked, just the edge of trepidation in his voice.
He was rewarded with a snort of laughter. "Don't like them either, do you? Relax. We go back onto the plateau and then about five days' ride we cut down through some of the finest farming country in the world."
"Cay." His tired eyes jumped open. Only one person whispered like that. He sat up. "Princess. What can I do for you?" The wind was beginning to rip at the tree branches and the air was rapidly chilling. It was going to rain soon.
"Can I sit under some of your blanket? I'm cold." Her voice was timorous. Two days ago Keilin would have been delighted. Now he was wary. "Hadn't you just better go back to your bed, Princess?"
She stamped her foot, forgetting that she was being quiet. Fortunately the wind in the clattering branches effectively masked the sound. "Will you stop treating me as if I've got some disease," she whispered fiercely. "Stop Princessing me too. You know my name."
"I thought I did," he said slowly. "But it seems it isn't Kim after all,"
"Cymbellyn is my second name."
"It's a lovely name, Princess. But you see, I don't even have a second name. I'm a street child. I'm a thief. I ran away from the brothel my mother lived in, because I found out she was going to sell me to a house that specialized in pretty boys. She wanted the money to buy drugs. See, my kind and yours don't mix," Keilin said sadly.
After a long moment's shocked silence he spoke again. "I used to dream about rescuing a princess, and the king making me a noble and giving me his daughter and a fortune. But . . . it isn't like that in real life. If I took you to your father, he'd be glad to have you back. But he'd see that I disappeared sharpish, wouldn't he?"
"Yes." Her voice was very small, and the sudden flash of lightning showed that she was looking at her feet.
"So . . . when we get to Dublin Moss, I'll sneak you away to him. And then I'm going to disappear myself . . . before he helps me along." Big droplets of rain came splattering through the tree-canopy. In the brief lightning starkness he could have sworn she shook her head. But hammer-blows of wind shook and rattled the forest, making speech near impossible, and the raindrops began to come down in earnest now. Keilin bundled his bed roll into an oilcloth saddlebag.
She still stood there, wet faced, and looking lost in the intermittent glare. So Keilin took her elbow and led her to the shelter of a half-fallen tree. They huddled together, under the sloping trunk, sheltering under his cloak. Keilin felt the warmth and softness of her pressing against him. He ground his teeth, and closed his eyes and as felt, even in the ankle-pouch, the core section was growing colder. Storms in these parts were brief but furious. Keilin, for one, was enormously relieved when the rain slackened and the crack and boom of thunder faded to distant rumbling. Yet a small part of him had not wanted the rain to end.
Shafts of leaf-speckled moonlight came spilling down onto them through the ragged edge of the storm clouds as they came out of their makeshift shelter. Her hair was wet and plastered against her skull. It only served to accentuate the high cheekbones and big eyes further. She turned to face him, bit her lip, and tumbled into speech. "I came to sleep with you. To get you to take me to my father."
Keilin was silent for a minute. Then prudence won. "You don't have to. I said I would do that anyway. Now, go back to bed." He pushed her away roughly and immediately turned to the saddlebag and began taking out his bedroll. When, after some studied minutes, he looked up again, she was gone. But it was a long time before he got to sleep that night. And riding the next day was pure agony. But at least he didn't have to avoid her as well. She was doing that with more skill than he had.
The days that followed were hard, pushing both the horses and riders to their limits. It suited Keilin. When they stopped he pushed himself still harder, chopping firewood, fetching water while the others sat owl-eyed and exhausted. He even forced Beywulf into weapons drills. By the time Keilin lay down in the evening, sleep was close to euthanasia.
Once again they'd come down off the plateaus, this time into country which would lift any man's spirits. The rolling hills were rich and verdant. The grass was soft with flowers, the streams clear and laughing. The farmers were cheery and prosperous. Even the ants seemed fat and lazy. But Keilin resisted its appeal, staying locked into a frustrated anger.
Port Lockry was a neat thatch-and-whitewash town, set in a gap in the sea cliff, built around a well-constructed harbor mole. From a mile away it looked the picture of prosperity and comfort. Like all fishing towns it smelt of tar and fish. It also reeked of fear. People scurried about in little knots of agitation, talking anxiously. They eyed the hard-ridden, well-armed group of strangers with suspicion. The party rode past the smithy, where a queue of townsfolk waited. By the smoke and din from within, the smith was working furiously. Keilin saw the plump burgher at the head of the queue paying over gold, and no small amount, for the clumsy sword he was receiving. By the way he was holding it, thought Keilin, with all the scorn of the newly skilled, it wouldn't matter that the thing would bend at his first strike.
"We should make for the Silver Anchor, Cap. It's the best tavern for picking up news of ships with a berth or two," said Beywulf, hopefulness in his voice.
"No doubt also with the best beer," Cap said dryly. "Still, I dare say you're right. Might be a good idea to find out just what is going on around here. Something has got a normally quiet town's fat little folk running around like newly beheaded chickens."
The Silver Anchor was full and noisy, unusual for a sailor's and fisherman's pub at eleven in the morning. Elbowing through a mixture of drunken fishermen and crying-in-their-beer burghers, they fought their way through to the bar. Cap's commanding presence found them service and the attention of the hard-pressed barman. "We'll have four pints and two halves. And we're needful of finding passage on a good ship bound to northern waters. Do you know of any vessels heading up the coast?"
The barman drew the beers from the barrel without a word, and placed the tankards on the scarred and stained bar top. He wiped his hands on his apron. "That'll be six silver," he said, his voice flat.
Keilin took the half pushed at him. A half! Like a child. He was sixteen, dammit. Then he saw the Princess's face and lost some of his own anger in amusement. She was obviously just as displeased at being given a smaller tankard, but, as she'd just taken her first sip, it looked like the thought that she might have to drink all of it was vying with her chagrin. In the meanwhile Cap waited, his eyes holding the barman like a fly trapped in a pool of his own beer. Finally Cap said quietly, but in the sort of voice that stopped conversations all around them, "You haven't answered my question, ale draper."
Forty years of working in a dockside tavern had taught him to recognize trouble when it stared him between the eyes. It was one of those things you learned quickly or you didn't survive. This barman had once been a county champion wrestler, and the fact that he welcomed brawls had tended to discourage them. Today he was feeling too old for bruises. And the squat hairy one next to the tall fellow had brawl written all over his wide countenance. But before he could step back and bring the heavy metal-grid shutter slamming down, Cap's long fingers closed on his shirtfront. Without any sign of effort on the tall man's part, he lifted the three-hundred-and-twenty-pound barman, and pulled him half across the bar counter.
"Don't even think about it, friend. Just answer my questions and we'll get along peacefully. What's going on here? Normally every bloody barman in a port town would give you the names of three skippers going anywhere, including hell. Have they stopped giving you kickbacks?" Cap asked, in the sort of voice used when discussing the weather.
There was a faint gargling noise from the barman, and a weak flailing of arms and legs.
"What? Oh," and the viselike hand pushed him back and loosened slightly. But it still remained on the barman's shirtfront.
The barman had a lifetime of experience. This was more than potential bruises. His respectfully toned reply was still faintly choked. "Sorry, sir. I . . . just about every man in this place has asked me to find him or his family a berth . . . on any damn thing that'll float. There's no chance, sir. Not even for all the gold and jewels in Amphir City."
"There's a fair forest of masts out there. Why won't they sail?" Cap asked.
"The Hashvilli!" The barman looked gray just at the mention of the name.
"Hashvilli? Oh, that rabble of pirates and petty slavers from the Ferl Islands. Never used to worry a decent skipper . . . in your father's time that is. I gather they've become something more of a nuisance," said Cap disdainfully.
"Sir! Sir jests! The Hashvilli sea wolves are a scourge on the sea lanes. The Kalmis Navy used to hunt them, keeping the trade route to the north open in return for those extortionate duties at their ports. I'll admit that when the Tyrant up north swallowed Kalmis, the traders were worried, but at least some of the patrols went on . . . up until last year. Since then there's been nowt to stop the Hashvilli. Eight months or so ago was the last time a vessel made it north and back. The news they brought wasn't good. There's a war in Kalmis between the Tyrant and some new Emperor. And the sea is full of Hashvilli raiders," explained the barman, ignoring calls for beer from the far end of the bar. No one this end was being foolish enough to interrupt.
"Shut up," said Cap to the crowd at large, in his voice of command. Even the drunks were silenced. He turned to the barman again. "Then why the panic today?"
The barman's voice dropped to a near whisper. However, in the newly-won silence they had no trouble hearing him. "Two weeks ago they hit Northhaven, forty mile up the coast. Took every able-bodied soul as slaves, impaled the rest. Even a newborn baby. The same again three nights later at Whitesands Bay. But there a few of the farmers got lucky and got away . . . with a Hashvilli prisoner. He talked before they killed him. The Ferl Islands had a drought the year afore last. Bad crop and a lot of starving folk, with no way out except raiding. Then this year, it was a wet winter. The winter crop got the blight. Their wheat turned black in their fields. An' now, there's famine loose there. No food but what the raiders bring home. And there's been no ships going north for dunamany months."
"An' now they're coming here. They'll gut this place like a herring," a panicky voice from the crowd cried. "The Bess was out last night long-lining on Fourteen-Mile Bank. They saw 'em at dawn. Bess's skipper dropped the lines and ran, and she got in maybe two hours ago."
Another took up the tale. "The skipper he took word up to our burgomaster, Johannes the Chandler. Within twenty minutes our brave Johannes'd chartered the Kessaly to run him an' his family and a couple of fat chests south." There was some satisfaction in the tone as he continued: "She was burning off Scarff Point within twenty minutes."
"The Garfish sailed maybe five minutes after. They made it back though."
Another snorted, "Only just, mind. They were so badly holed, with four dead an' seven wounded of a crew of seventeen, that the raiders obviously didn't expect them to see land. Garfish's skipper says the Hashvilli cut an' run as soon as they could see the cliffs . . . But they say there's hundreds of masts just below the horizon."
"Hell's teeth! So what are you folk planning to do now? Run inland?"
There was a silence. Finally a big man in a striped seaman's jersey spoke up. His voice was slow and raw from speaking over a sea wind for half a lifetime. "My boat's here, mister. So's my life. I'm not going inland. What could I do there? Beg?" A murmur of agreement went around the room.
"So, you're going to fight."
"Aye!" a belligerent chorus from the fishermen and sailors. Some of the townsfolk were silent, scared looking.
"But you don't have a leader, and you're passing the time in the bar getting soused." Cap's voice was scathing.
The big seaman pushed his way forward. The crowd melted back magically. "Look, mister. I don't like your tone. I don't like your face. And I don't see what it's got to do with you." He reached out a contemptuous hand.
And found himself flat on his back. "Get up. Don't waste your strength fighting me. You'll need it for the Hashvilli tonight." Cap's voice was icy, commanding. "I want a ship out of here. Seems to me the only way I can get one is to stop the place from being trashed by a bunch of sea scum. I am an officer of the Crew, and I am taking control of the defense of this town. Any man who wants to challenge me is welcome to try his luck. Barman, this place is closed for the duration. Now, finish up your drinks. I want every man, woman and child that can carry arms, and whatever weapons they have to carry, on the quayside in ten minutes." He raised his tankard. "I give you a toast. Death to the Hashvilli!"
There was a moment of silence. Then every glass and tankard in the house was raised. The tumult was overwhelming.
The quayside meeting had been wary and fearful at first. But within five minutes Cap had them raring to fight, and beginning to believe they could win. Then he split the mob into sections and assigned various duties. Beywulf was set to a weapons inventory, sorting out the usable from the trash, and selecting archers for Leyla and Shael to take in hand. S'kith was demonstrating swordsmanship, assisted by Keilin.
Cap was questioning the skipper and some of the sailors off the Garfish, as well as several other senior captains. "You're sure this is where they're bound?"
"Nowhere else to go, sir. There's sea cliff for thirty miles to the southeast and another forty or more northwest," Garfish's skipper replied.
"And coming in here? Where can they beach?" Cap pointed at the harbor.
"Only inside the harbor sir. There's a mean reef just outside the mole. It breaks at low tide, and at high it'll rip the bottom off anything deeper'n a dinghy. I suppose you could jump off onto the moles as you come in, too."
"I see," said Cap slowly. "Tell me . . . what sort of wind do you have most evenings?"
The seamen looked at him in some amusement. "Why, it's allus offshore at this time of year, sir. That's the way it works. Land gets hot and breathes out at night. Then the hills get cold and suck air off the sea in the early morning."
"And what time is the tide? And how soon can they be here after dark?"
"It's rising now, sir. She'll be full at about three. They'll have to tack in an' row the mole. Mebbe ten o'clock? It'll be about full low, then."
"Hmm, right. This is what I want done." He detailed various tasks, and sent a sailor running to fetch Beywulf.
"Lot of bows, but light stuff. And some fair shots, too, from what Leyla says. There's a marsh a few miles away and a lot of the townsfolk go after waterfowl. The swords are rubbish and they've no one worth calling swordsmen either. S'kith'd have killed someone by now if the boy wasn't with him. They'll do one hell of a lot better if they stick to gutting knives. There's hardly a man or woman in the town that hasn't got at least one, an' most of 'em have those ten-inch filleting knives, too."
"Right. I want pikes, fifteen-foot ones. Tell that rascally blacksmith if he makes another so-called sword, I'll gut him. If there aren't enough spearheads, get the seamen to lash knives on poles. Tell S'kith to start them on pike drill instead. I want two hundred men who'll stand. I don't want a single runner, Sergeant-Major. Pick them for steel. Take the skipper of that barque over there and put him and his first mate behind them. He's a murderous old bastard. Tell him to cut the head off the first man who breaks ranks. We want a hundred for each mole, so you'll need to find another sea captain like that. Don't worry about the lightness of those bows. The sea wolves don't have armor. You drown too easily in the stuff. And they won't have to shoot far. Now, I want you to round up a couple of carpenters. Should be easy enough in the boatyards, and make me at least one Brunhilde capable of throwing a hundredweight cask from here into the channel."
Beywulf nodded. "A piece of cake. It's not above a hundred yards."
"Go to it, soldier. Oh, and send a local to me. Somebody who's no use to the militia but who knows his way around. I need to find a couple of masons and some chemicals."