“I guess we’ll see,” Sandra said.
Marine Corporal Koratin, formerly Lord Koratin, renowned speaker, power broker, and counselor to kings, descended the companionway into the dark, dry hold. Despite his teetering conversion, he automatically thanked the Sun that he wasn’t on one of the prize ships. No matter how their new owners tried, they could never quite cleanse the reeking stench of what the Grik had done in them. He’d helped capture a few and the dangling chains, emaciated “survivors,” the slippery bones mixed with slimy ballast stones… all had been etched on his memory as with acid. In comparison, the hold of USS Dowden was a pleasant bower that smelled of fresh, well-seasoned wood, clean ballast, and the honest sweat and musty fur of her hardworking builders. There was only the slightest trace of rancid bilgewater from her new, seeping seams. That was nothing, he thought. Dowden was a tight ship, and her seams would only swell tighter.
Dowden ’s hold wasn’t open from stem to stern like Grik ships either. It was highly compartmentalized. He understood the various compartments were even watertight to a degree, making the new steam frigate more difficult for an enemy to sink. He believed it. He was highly impressed with the construction techniques of the sea folk, and with Amer-i-caan designs to draw from, he accepted improvement as a given. He was most impressed by the Amer-i-caans in many ways. That didn’t mean he loved them like the sea folk did, or even as the People of Baalkpan and other places had come to. He was genuinely intrigued by the teachings of their Sister Audry, but he didn’t care much for their other strange notions of the way things ought to be. He hoped that somehow, the world might one day return to the simpler way it had been before.
The Amer-i-caans struck him as honorable warriors, but mere warriors they’d remained when they could have been kings. True, they’d helped establish a real alliance, the largest ever known, but it was a fragile thing in his cynical view. It would have been better for all if they had become kings. An empire was far more stable than any flimsy alliance. But simple warriors they remained-by choice-and all warriors were merely tools. As he had become.
Koratin entered a compartment where no gear was stowed. There was only a short bank of smaller compartments with barred doors across them. The common word was “brig,” he believed. He passed the first and nodded genially at the inmate, an Aryaalan Marine like himself, who’d supposedly smuggled a quantity of seep aboard the ship. The prisoner did not react. Koratin came to the next cell and peered inside.
“Lord King,” he whispered. “Are you well?”
Rasik-Alcas stirred slightly in the gloom. Confinement was even harder on Lemurians than on humans, but Rasik tried to appear disinterested. Only the slightest twitch of an ear betrayed his stress.
“Come to gloat, Koratin?” he asked at last. “I am king of nothing here, as you well know. This new ship does not yet even have enough vermin for me to rule.”
Koratin squatted beyond the bars. “Still, you are a king. By blood. I served your father and I tried to serve you.”
“By betraying me?” Rasik flashed, his eyes blinking rage.
“By trying to protect you from your… youthful impulses. You are young to be king, and when you attempted to destroy the iron ship of the Amer-i-caans, I foresaw the disaster that did result.”
“You tried to warn them!” Rasik accused.
“I failed. You sent warriors to kill me. They failed. Still there was disaster. You angered the Amer-i-caans and instead of leaving to fight their war elsewhere, they took your city from you.” Koratin didn’t remind Rasik that they probably would have done it anyway after the Grik advance was discovered. Taking the city was the only way to save the people inside.
“So, you failed to betray me and I failed to kill you. That makes us even?”
“No, Lord King. You might say the one act cancels the other. That leaves us back where we started, if you wish it.”
“What?” Rasik laughed. “You would be a king’s counselor through iron bars? Why not be king yourself? I understand you have won glory with this ridiculous Alliance.” He spat the word.
“I could never be king. I am not of the blood. The people would not permit it.”
“So you have considered it?”
Koratin shrugged. “I am a political creature, as you know. You will also know I have considered many possibilities.” He gestured at himself. “I was a lord! I had a great house, many servants, and enough retainers to defeat yours when they came for me! Do you believe I wish to remain a mere warrior? A soldier of lowly rank and status? Do you think me mad? I could never be king, but you could-and I could have back what I have lost!”
Rasik lowered his head in uncustomary dejection. “I could never be king again. The people hate me. I will be lucky to survive!”
For a moment, Koratin said nothing. He was almost stunned by Rasik’s apparent bout of sanity. “Many do hate you,” he agreed at last. “They blame you for the time that was lost in evacuating the city. Some think more might have survived and perhaps even Nerracca of the sea folk might not have been destroyed if… things had gone differently.”
“What do you think, Koratin?”
“I think they may be right. I would have counseled as much, had you allowed me.”
Rasik beat his hands against his head. “Easy to say now,” he almost moaned.
“But true, Lord King. You know it is.”
After several moments, Rasik finally nodded. “It is true. You and your love of younglings. I cannot doubt you. You were trying to help and I drove you away!”
“Yes, Lord King.”
“Well… I know you, Koratin! You would not have come to me without a scheme of some sort. What is it? Tell me!”
“There is something the Amer-i-caans will want where we go?”
Rasik grew guarded. “Yes.”
“Am I correct in assuming you mean to lead them a lengthy, roundabout chase to find it?”
“Why do you ask?” Rasik demanded.
“It is what I would do in your place. You fear they will kill you when they have whatever it is, so you mean to lead them anywhere but where they must go until you have devised another plan.”
“What if that were true?”
Koratin sighed. “All the Allied armies have left Aryaal. We sailed for Chill-Chaap this morning. The rest of the fleet moves on the Grik at the land they call Sing-aapore. The people of Aryaal will be returning and they will need a king!”
“But how…?”
“If you have ever trusted me, trust me now,” Koratin said. “You must lead the Allies directly to what you found! Give it to them quickly. They will be glad, they might even begin to trust you, and they will leave.”
“They will kill me!”
“They will not! I have… arranged certain things, believe me. Do you think otherwise? That I would not have considered all contingencies? I swear to you, before the Sun in the sky, I will not let the Amer-i-caans harm you! You are my king! I cannot be king! How else will I have what I want?”
“If I do this, if I give them what they want and all goes as you say, how will I then be king again?”
“It is simplicity itself! You are king! King Rasik-Alcas! The Allies will leave and you will return overland and simply sit on your throne! I will be there, and you have many more supporters than you know! The first of our people to return to Aryaal will be among the most anxious to see you!”
“I am with you, Lord King!” came a voice from the neighboring cell. “I was in your palace guard! My sword is still yours!”
Koratin looked in the direction of the voice, then stared intently back at Rasik. “You see? When you sit your throne again with your people back in their homes-the homes you did not abandon!-who will oppose you then? Who will dare oppose us?”