Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Intrigue

“Seems quite in order to me,” the dockmaster said finally, handing the papers back to the mate. “Furthermore, I am familiar with the ship you are looking for, the Not Unreasonable Profit . While there are overall correspondences between that ship and this, since they are of the same class laid down in the same shipyard, with similar if not identical measurements of beam, freeboard, and so on, this ship has been customized quite differently in its upper works. We have these extra mid-deck structures, for example, this awning over the quarterdeck, a mainmast and a mizzen rather than just the single-mast fore-and-aft gaff rig.” He leaned forward over the quarterdeck rail and rapped on the mizzenmast, producing a solid thunk. Shaa was glad he had insisted on verisimilitude in their utilization of the onboard supplies for camouflage; accordingly, Karlini’s image-work didn’t start until out of comfortable reach above the deck. As a result, the base of the mast was solid, but its continuation overhead, as well as the furled sails and the revised rigging, were all refractive illusion. It had been a calculated risk, to be sure, but with Roni’s lab packed away and disguised as well it had looked like a calculation well-balanced in their favor, and since the ring wasn’t on board either, any reception party wouldn’t have been able to show them up by detecting that . Perhaps this all might work out yet.

The official nodded slowly, his lips tighter than ever. “If that is how you choose to declare yourself, so be it.” Without turning, he raised one arm and motioned the troop commander forward with a wave of his fingers. “Lieutenant, deploy your men. Secure this ship and place these two under arrest. My men -” he nodded at the two guards on either side of Shaa “-will assist you. Let no one else on or off this vessel. Some violation of order is underway here, and we will soon get to the bottom of it. We will soon decide who is in league with whom. We -”

“Are you quite finished?” Shaa said. “For if you are, or even, let us be frank, if you are not, I wish - no, I demand! - to lodge a protest. I have been quite patient with this nonsense, quite patient indeed, but you have now clearly exceeded the bounds of civil procedure and even, shall we say, the codes of law, not to mention those of rationality and good sense, but let that pass. Is the Oolsmouth Council of Representation in session?”

“Yes, Captain,” said the dockmaster, “it is.”

“The Council is in special session,” the official snapped, “and the meeting is closed, and in any case the Council would never wish to be troubled with the likes of you, whatever your -”

“To the contrary,” Shaa said. “I represent the executors of the trade base of this great city, those who work responsibly under the rule of law to build the wealth and power of Oolsmouth and to increase its stature among the many municipalities; in short, this case stands for the ability of honest, hard-working folk to purse valid employment and assist the growth of capital. That is exactly the business of the Council, is it not, and the direct interest of those who sit upon it? I wish - no, again, there are no two ways about it, I demand - to lodge my protest formally and in person before the Council, to lay this harassment at their feet, and to submit to their wise judgment for the resolution of this annoying matter. Such an unfounded interference in honest business must be of central importance to them! Furthermore, after this already significant waste of time, I demand to deal with superiors, and with the superiors of superiors until (if necessary) the very top, and to cease frittering with underlings and flunkies. Enough is enough!” He folded his arms over his chest, drew himself up, and tried to project a solid, immovable demeanor. The demeanor was fine; no problem there. His heart, though, was pounding. He hoped there was a breather in store soon.

“Very well,” the official said after a moment; he too appeared to be breathing hard, although probably not for quite the same reasons. “Fah! Let someone else deal with you and your nonsense. Lieutenant, you will still secure this ship. My men and I will escort this troublemaker to the Hall of the People.”

“Thank you,” said Shaa. “A firm example of good sense and -”

“It might be appropriate for me to join you,” said the dockmaster, “given the circumstances.”

“I was just about to suggest that very thing,” Shaa told him approvingly. “Shall we go, then?” He offered his arms to the guards. The giant one on his right grasped that side again, with surprising grace for his obvious barbarian ancestry. Shaa took another quick glance up at him. How closely might Max’s description of his recent caravan-mate, the northerner Svin, fit this fellow? There were not all that many barbarians roaming the south, surely - there weren’t that many barbarians left anywhere these days. Perhaps the chance of him showing up here, in this particular situation, was not as remote as it might objectively seem. Max had said he intended to ask Groot to look out for the guy - could Groot have actually found him? Well, one way or another, between Karlini and Shaa, himself, and with the barbarian or not, perhaps they could finally settle this nonsense Groot had gotten himself mixed up in, and get back to what they had set out to do in the first place. “Well, what are we waiting for?” Shaa said to the official, who had paused by the head of the stairs for no obvious reason. Now that he had set matters into motion at this end, Shaa had to admit he was looking forward to whatever Karlini had put together somewhere up ahead.

The afternoon was wearing on. The Hand did indeed have the island surrounded, more or less. It wasn’t a very large island, so the five detachments of The Hand, each its their own cobbled-together raft, were among them able to maintain full surveillance of the entire shore, at least to the limits imposed by the marsh grass, which marched straight off the island into the water, still waving. The beached boat was clearly visible, though, as were the two grazing horses, so The Hand had to know they were in the right place. The right place for what had not yet been established.

Jurtan Mont had become more closely acquainted with waterlogged earth and its myriad tiny creatures than he had ever intended. An egret had even strolled past him once earlier in the day, lifting its stick legs fastidiously over his reclining chest. From the quiet that had descended on the area, most of the other waterfowl had fled the scene, although an occasional honk or the further-off call of a loon did help to break the monotony.

According to the brief description Jurtan had managed to pry out of Max while he’d still been willing to talk, The Hand was a free-lance mercenary troop. At the moment, they had deployed forty operatives around the various rafts. All three principals were present as well, the triumvirate known as the Vees.

“You are not being cooperative, Maximillian!” shouted the speaker. “If you do not give yourself up, we will fire the island and shoot you down as you attempt to emerge!”

Up above, Max was still considering how to proceed. He had the hatch open, since they clearly couldn’t see any part of it from the ground, and it gave him an easy way to eavesdrop on what was going on below. From The Hand’s lack of interest in the sky, Max had apparently gotten rid of the ropes and concealed his presence in the air before they’d caught sight of anything. It had been a close thing, though.

Occasionally, Max had eased the small mirror from his pack up through the door to assess the lay of the situation. Gadol V’Nora, the one who’d been talking, was in Max’s experience of The Hand almost always the one who was talking; he was The Hand’s negotiator and interlocutor. Max remembered Gadol’s curly black beard and overgrown hair-mop well; from his present vantage point, however, he could see that the area on the top of Gadol’s head had begun to thin significantly. Well, none of them were getting any younger.