‘Without Steven.’
‘You’ve seen Steven,’ Garec said, trying not to sound as exasperated as he was. ‘He’s in no shape to help us. And from what I understand, if the table is closed, Mark isn’t nearly as powerful.’
‘So what exactly do we do? I don’t like confrontations on dry land, Garec; they make me nervous. Why don’t we bring the Morning Star around the marina? She’s no good to us over there; we can take Mark out as soon as he shows his face; you can hit him from two hundred paces and Gilmour can blast that table to shards.’
‘Unfortunately for your plan, I think we need the table intact,’ Gilmour said quietly. ‘And as much as I would like us to find a healer and hurry back to the ship, we must first find out what Mark is doing. If he ties up at the pier and makes no move to unload the table, then yes, we need to hit him – who knows what he might do this close to Welstar Palace? He flooded Orindale just to stop us; he might destroy all of Pellia in his attempts to stop us pursuing him upriver. But I don’t think that’ll be the case; I’m betting the next round that he’s bringing it to shore. It’s heavy, so maybe he needs a crane. Maybe he doesn’t want to risk an accident in the water. He’s obviously in a hurry and dropping the table overboard would delay him here for a few days, maybe a Moon.’
Pale and sweaty, Gilmour looked like a man on a head-on collision course with Fate. Losing Steven had been an unanticipated blow, and Captain Ford worried that the Larion Senator would soon see the rest of his strategy begin to unravel as well. He checked that his knife was loose in its sheath and joined the others as they hurried after Brexan.
‘How much further?’ he asked when she was within earshot.
‘Not far,’ Brexan said quietly. ‘A few more blocks, and we’ll be back on the river. It’s still early, but the wharf’s going to be busy in just a little while.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ Garec said. ‘It’s a lot easier to get lost in a crowd, and we all know the way back to the Morning Star. So if things come apart, don’t wait around, just get back to the ship, as quickly and as quietly as possible.’
Ford had paid to moor the brig-sloop in a small marina just south of the city wharf. They had been lucky crossing the Welstar River, for most of the Malakasian capital had turned its attention north to Mark’s mini-fleet. With the help of Steven’s camouflage spell, the Morning Star had passed through the barge traffic with little more than a wave from the flat-bottomed river-runners. But now, not sure what the four of them could do against the might of the Larion spell table, Captain Ford wished they had remained onboard; at least there they could escape. His little brig-sloop would easily outrun the prince’s barge fleet and be quickly out of reach of the deep-keeled frigates.
‘It’s cold,’ he grumbled aloud.
Garec looked around. ‘I said I’ll buy you breakfast, just as soon as we get in sight of that fat wooden bitch. I’ll find you a nice tavern and buy you anything you want.’
‘I want a healer for Marrin,’ he complained.
‘Soon enough, Captain,’ Garec said.
As if reading their minds, Brexan stopped behind a shipwright’s workshop. ‘There it is,’ she said.
‘Excellent work, my dear,’ Gilmour said, moving past her into the road running along the top of the wharf. Here, the city was wide awake, with dockers and stevedores bustling about and customs officers and shipping merchants reviewing manifests and inventory lists. A group of beggars huddled around a small fire someone had kindled on the cobblestones, and a trio of drunken sailors sang, off-colour and out of tune, as they stumbled towards their waiting ship. As the sun rose behind them, it lit up the Falkan frigate, even larger than they had imagined, which creaked and groaned alongside the deep-water pier. A team of workers rolled a wooden block-and-tackle crane out to greet her the moment she was made fast.
‘Look at that,’ Captain Ford muttered, ‘there’s a ketch coming up to starboard. Rutting whores, I should have thought of that.’
‘Of what?’ Garec whispered. He had been distracted by a Malakasian officer approaching through the early morning mist that hung over the slowly brightening docks. ‘Did you think we could sail up and have them load the table straight into the Morning Star? That’s an interesting thought, my friend, but I’m afraid there are quite enough innovative ways to die out here today without going looking for any others.’
‘No, but the ketch answers Gilmour’s question.’
‘How’s that?’ Brexan, noticing the officer now, moved into the crowd gathering to watch the great ship take shape in the rising sun. She slouched under her cloak, trying to become invisible.
‘What’s with her?’ Ford whispered, then turned to the officer and said, ‘Good morning, Captain. Impressive sight, isn’t she?’
The Malakasian, a young man, looked around the wharf, then whispered, ‘You lot interested in a bit of fennaroot?’
‘Root?’ Captain Ford said, surprised. ‘Thank you, Captain, but no. We don’t get paid until our captain signs the manifest; so for now, fennaroot is a bit out of our price range. We were looking for a decent place to get some breakfast, however.’
Thadrake frowned. ‘Can’t help, I’m afraid,’ he said curtly, and moved off without giving them another glance.
Garec watched him go. ‘Well, he seemed nice, didn’t he? You can come back now, Brexan.’
‘You all right?’ the captain asked her.
‘I know him,’ Brexan whispered. ‘He was the officer leading the searches in Orindale. I don’t know what he’s doing up here.’
‘Who cares?’ Garec grimaced. ‘He’s a sour one, anyway. I hope his wife beats him up for wearing her underclothes!’
Captain Ford laughed for the first time all morning. ‘So are we planning to just stand here all day or can we get some food now?’
‘You were telling us how that little ship there-’
‘The ketch.’
‘Whatever,’ Brexan said, ‘the ketch, then: so how does that answer Gilmour’s question?’
‘We may actually be too late.’
‘How’s that?’ Garec asked. ‘That crane’s only just rolling in, so they can’t have offloaded the table yet.’
‘Right, but we’re at about low tide, and I’m surprised the captain of that beast dared to bring her in here at all.’
Gilmour said, ‘I’m quite sure Mark is making all the decisions aboard that ship, Captain Ford.’
‘All right, so that makes sense, then. With the tide about to turn, he’ll probably move that table onto that little twin-master and ride the incoming water halfway to Welstar Palace.’
‘What?’ Garec blanched. ‘So we need to move now! I have to find a place to make a shot, someplace out of sight from the frontage-’
‘No,’ Gilmour cut him off, ‘we’re all right. They’re not going to move it yet.’ He had taken a few steps towards the pier and was staring into the frigate’s rigging, where sailors moved to and fro, as confident aloft as they were on the ground.
‘How do you know?’ Brexan asked.
‘Because Mark knows I’m here.’
‘Oh rutters – what do we do? He could be opening the table right now. We’ve got to get out of here, get back to the Morning Star -’ Captain Ford was ready to run; the others looked willing to join him.
‘No,’ Gilmour said again, ‘we have some time.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because he’s looking for Steven.’
‘So… what then?’ Garec said.
Gilmour broke from his trance. Grinning, he said, ‘Garec, I think you promised the good captain some breakfast.’
Captain Ford, suddenly pale, muttered, ‘I’m not sure I’m hungry, thanks.’