Now that Fornland and Bonille have been united, the Final Sea is now called the Sea of Duisland, though the old name persists on maps. The Crown claims ownership of this piece of water, and collects revenue from any foreign ships passing through.
The harbor was busy with ships repairing storm damage. Some had lost yards or sails; some had dragged anchors and collided; and one large galleon, Star of the North, bound from Amberstone to Steggerda in the Triple Kingdom, had lost two of its four masts, and had suffered some damage to the hull as well, possibly in collision with another vessel, possibly from its own fallen masts turned to battering rams by the wind.
Much of the city was built of brick, as Ethlebight, and so I felt at home, though I noted the brick was not as varied or brilliant as in my own town. As Berlauda’s outpost in Clayborne’s country, Longfirth was full of soldiers, and they had overloaded the citadel and were billeted in the town, among the people, as much an occupying army as a garrison. When word had come that Sir Andrew de Berardinis had secured Longfirth for the Queen, the Trained Bands of Selford had been mustered and sent over the sea to assist the defenders, but the Trained Bands were a militia, and were supposed to serve only for a set time. In anticipation of a siege by Clayborne’s army, these militia were being replaced by companies of professional soldiers as fast as the Crown could raise them and ship them over the sea along with supplies of food and ammunition.
I climbed the city walls, which gave me a good view of the surrounding country. It was flat and watery, and the winter sun gleamed off the quicksilver shimmer of lagoons and ponds. Behind the city, toward the interior, was the Long Firth itself, where the River Brood widened to a long, deep, narrow lake that disappeared into a misty horizon. Sentries paced the walls, and I was challenged enough so that I returned to the town, lest I be taken up for a spy.
Back in the city, I viewed the old citadel with its towering walls of red brick, where Sir Andrew’s royal garrison was quartered, and across the main square the imposing city hall, covered with the badges of its guilds and of prominent families. The scents of roasting meat came from a tavern near the hall, along with the sound of many voices singing, and I peered in the door. The singer was a young woman with a rosy complexion and glossy brown hair that tumbled about her ears, and she was accompanied by a young man playing a seven-course guitar of the sort common in Varcellos. For the most part the songs were old, and the audience was able to sing along. The smoky common room was full, and every seat was taken. I got a mug of cool, dark beer pumped up from the cellar, and stood by the back of the room as I listened to the songs and watched the hard-working turnspit dog as he ran in his wheel, spinning the roasts and fowls before the great hearth.
After a time, the minstrels paused to wet their throats and pass the hat, and I contributed willingly, though kept an eye out for any cutpurses lurking in the shadows, as such folk were known to follow such entertainers about and take purses while the audience enjoyed the performance. The minstrels wandered out into the square to drink their barley wine before singing again, and I followed them, for the inn was hot and full of smoke, and the cold drafts of winter air, drawn into my lungs, refreshed me and made me realize that I was very hungry. The inn was more crowded than ever, and I thought it might be a long time before I would find a table, especially as there were large parties that would pay more than a single man.
There was only a little light left, and I thought it was time I made my way back to the waterfront. I could find something there to eat, or return to Meteor for a meal.
I approached the musicians, told them how much I enjoyed their performance, and I thought with pleasure of the young lady’s rosy face I walked across the square in the direction of the river. I made my way down a dark lane when I heard a voice that sent a fear shooting up my spine like a rocket.
“It was a fine afternoon, sweetling, and perhaps I will seek thee tomorrow. But for tonight, I have business down by the river.”
I know not what the woman said in reply, for I had frozen in my tracks, my right hand clawing under my overcoat for the dagger I had bought in Selford. Then I heard the sound of footsteps walking away from me, and with an effort of will I managed to free my own feet to follow.
Ahead, seen dimly in the light of the lanterns set above each door, I saw the tall figure dressed much as I had last seen him, in a long dark coat and tall hat. I knew I could not let him get away, not on a dark night where he could so easily disappear, and so I followed as silently as I could.
He reached the river and turned right, walking along the quay. He passed by a tavern where a piper and drummer played for young folk dancing, and I used the racket to cover the sounds of my approach. He heard me only at the last second, but by that time I had the dagger’s point pressed against his throat from behind.
“So, Sir Basil,” I said, “I find you a long way from the Toppings.”
His left hand darted under his coat for his black dirk, fast as I remembered it, but I knew he would make that attempt, and I clamped his wrist hard in my strong left hand before he could draw the knife from its scabbard.
“Nay, Sir Basil,” said I. “That old trick will not serve.”
He straightened, my knife-point still at his throat, and stood motionless.
“I know not this Sir Basil,” he said, in that rolling Northern voice I knew so well. “My name is Morland.”
“Help!” I called. “Hue and cry! Help me!”
This halted the dance swiftly enough, and soon there were men surrounding us in a half circle, sailors and chandlers and longshoremen, some swaying drunk and others relatively sober.
“Bring the watch!” I cried. “Or fetch a magistrate. This man is a thief and a murderer!”
The half circle closed, and I saw from the grim looks on the faces of the men that I was not among outlaws, but men who hated robbers. The most ferocious-looking of them were the sailors, for sailors hate a thief on a ship, and often such a rogue disappears over the side on a dark night.
“It is a mistake!” called Sir Basil. “I am not the man!”
“I saw him kill two men with my own eyes,” said I. “And one of them was a magistrate.”
Someone ran for the watch, or for one of the military patrols that secured the district at night.
“Nay, unhand the man!” cried a voice behind me. “The man is innocent!”
I seized Sir Basil’s wrist more firmly and spun him in the direction of the sound, and there I saw the old man who had been a part of Sir Basil’s company, and who had captured me when I tried to gallop away from the ambush in the Toppings. He still wore the huge boots, but he had traded his flat cap for a steel morion, and he wore half-armor that glittered in the lamplight with gold inlay, I suppose part of that grand military array captured with Lord Stayne and his band. He brandished his spear at me, and his gray beard bristled with fury.
“Let go, you canker-blossom, or I’ll slice your weasand!” he roared, and advanced with his weapon at the charge.
The crowd knew not what to make of this, for it now seemed as if one of the garrison was coming to Sir Basil’s rescue. I could see the doubt growing on their faces.
“Bring the watch!” I cried. “Let not these men get away!”
The spear flashed at my face, and I ducked behind Sir Basil. I felt the outlaw’s right hand clench the wrist of my knife-hand, and he twisted away from me. I realized that though my hand was still on his left wrist, his black dirk was free of the scabbard, and I hurled myself into him, to try to keep his knife-arm bent behind his back, and also to drive my own knife into his throat. In this last I failed.