A single Napan climbed aboard, one of the largest Dancer had seen to date, almost as wide as Urko, but much heavier about the middle. This man opened his arms and the Napans, Cartheron, Urko and Tocaras, all exchanged slapping hugs with him. Then he approached Surly and took her hand, bowing from the waist.
‘Amaron,’ Surly greeted him.
‘You are all under arrest,’ Amaron announced with a wink. ‘I’m afraid I must escort you to the palace.’
*
Everything went well, at first. Nedurian watched from the Insufferable as the empty caravels bulled ahead into the harbour, taking a pounding from the mole defences. But no flame attacks, he noted, thinking that the Napans must be worried about their own vessels.
Yet he could not see most of the harbour piers and docks from where the Insufferable was laid up, sails lowered, waiting while the troop-carrying oared galleys and longboats charged in ahead.
After a time, Choss ordered minimal canvas, and the Insufferable leaned in, heading for the harbour mouth. Uneasy, Nedurian headed to the stern deck.
‘Won’t we be unable to manoeuvre in there?’ he asked the admiral.
‘Oh yes,’ Choss agreed, cheerily enough. He turned aside to give orders to a flagwoman.
Nedurian raised a brow. ‘Speaking as an ignorant landsman – perhaps we shouldn’t enter, then.’
‘Have to. Under orders to give a good show.’
‘I understand that. But we might end up being captured.’
The admiral rubbed a hand over the kinky black beard he was growing. ‘Just might.’
‘So that’s the plan? Lose?’
Choss offered up a disturbingly merry smile. ‘Surly made some refinements on the plan. The idea is to lose the battle to win the war.’
‘Now you tell me this?’
The admiral slapped him on the back. ‘Don’t worry yourself. That doesn’t mean we can’t put up a good fight.’
Nedurian returned to his troops, shaking his head. These Napans are crazy.
The full Malazan fleet was now crowding the harbour entrance and it immediately became obvious to Nedurian that he was right – there was no way to manoeuvre in the confines of the sheltered bay behind the mole.
Moreover, the Napan ships at their piers were now coming to meet them en masse. In no way had they been caught unawares or unprepared by the Malazan strike. Any sane commander, facing this, would order the retreat. Choss, however, raised the flags for attack.
Nedurian understood a desperate gamble, but this seemed unnecessarily callous. How many good men and women had to die to feed a diversion? It was frankly distasteful, and he stormed back up to the stern deck.
‘Crews are going to die for this!’ he shouted to Choss. ‘A fighting withdrawal at the least!’
The blue-hued commander was in the midst of belting on a set of matching long-knives. Instead of being insulted, he gave Nedurian a nod of understanding. ‘All captains have been given leave to decide for themselves how long to fight, or to withdraw at will.’
‘Withdraw at will …’ Nedurian echoed, eyeing the two fleets now coursing towards each other. Three of the gigantic lumbering Malazan caravels had caught fire at last and were now bearing down upon the Napans as fireships of their own creation. ‘Generations of enmity and you think any one of them would dare be the first to withdraw?’
Choss gave him a wink. ‘For a Talian you catch on fast.’ He pointed to a flagwoman, who signalled furiously, then slapped Nedurian on the shoulder again. ‘Don’t worry. Surly doesn’t waste resources. I’ll order the general retreat long before that.’ He motioned Nedurian to mid-deck. ‘Your concern does you credit. But, if you don’t mind, I’m rather busy right now …’
The old soldier in Nedurian reflexively saluted. ‘Of course, admiral.’ He returned to his troops, yelling, ‘Prepare to repel boarders!’
The marines lined the sides, shields raised.
As he watched the limited jostling among the vessels that was the only manoeuvre possible, it slowly became evident to Nedurian that Choss’s flag-waving and communiqués had established a loose arc, or Malazan defence, just inside the harbour mouth – he was prudently not about to allow his retreat to be cut off.
That at least was something of a relief. Now it was up to them to hold out and wait – for a time. It occurred to him then, rather belatedly, that as the flagship the Insufferable would be the last to withdraw.
He pulled a hand down his face and rubbed the scar that bisected his cheek. Things just kept getting better and better.
*
While the landing party climbed down the side of the Twisted to the waiting bireme, the Blue Star, Dancer bade farewell to the sailors who would take their vessel offshore to await the dawn, and the outcome of their gamble. He then knocked and entered the single stateroom to fetch Kellanved.
He found the fellow at the desk, hastily dropping something into his pocket. Irritated, he asked, ‘What is that thing you keep fiddling with?’
The short mage brushed past him, walking stick in hand. ‘Nothing.’
Jaws clenched, Dancer followed.
On deck, Kellanved frowned down at the launch. He cocked an eye to Dancer. ‘This wasn’t the plan.’
Dancer nodded. ‘Apparently Surly’s made some refinements.’
Yet instead of being angered, or insulted, the mock-ancient mage lifted his brows in appreciation. ‘Of course. The little details.’ He motioned to the launch, inviting Dancer onward.
On board the Blue Star, Urko, Cartheron, Tocaras and Surly changed into Napan guard uniforms, while Dassem and his troop, Tayschrenn, Dancer and Kellanved would play the part of captured Malazan invaders. Dassem handed over his weapon to his Napan ‘captors’ first, and the rest of the troop followed suit. Dancer surrendered his two visible weapons – the rest he kept.
Docking at a pier, they filed up the gangway under the watch of Amaron’s picked crew, and were then marched to the palace.
Walking the empty narrow city streets, Dancer noticed that Kellanved had his hand in his pocket again, and lost his temper. ‘What is that?’
The mage yanked his hand free. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘No. What is it? Show me.’
The grey-haired ancient waved a dismissal. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
‘No. Now,’ Dancer hissed furiously.
‘Quiet, prisoners!’ Amaron barked from the front.
Dancer glared his impatience as they walked along. At first Kellanved looked away as if admiring the architecture, but he kept glancing back, guiltily, Dancer thought, until finally, quite sheepishly, he dipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew a dark object.
Dancer couldn’t believe he was looking at the flint spear-point. ‘I knew it!’ he yelled, and reached for it. Kellanved covered it in both hands.
They tussled until strong arms – Urko’s – pulled Dancer away, and he found himself staring at a very worried-looking Cartheron. ‘Prisoners will remain quiet,’ the Napan hissed.
Dancer nodded his cooperation and Cartheron appeared relieved. Urko released Dancer’s arms and he returned to being marched along. All the while he glared at his partner, who was whistling soundlessly, seemingly engrossed in the shop-fronts.
After crossing a section of the city waterfront they passed through guard checkpoints at tunnels through doubled, many-feet-thick walls, and entered the grounds of the palace proper. Palace, however, was something of a misnomer, as the immense stone fortress served first as harbour stronghold, garrison and arsenal, and only last as residence for the Napan rulers.