Rob Scott - The Hickory Staff

Steven thought of the preparations Mark had been making to the small sailboat. ‘It will. Mark’s got sails, extra line and plenty of tar. Brynne is organising our supplies. All we need to do is figure out a way to get aboard the Prince Marek.’

Garec laughed. ‘I forgot. We have the easy job.’

‘Right,’ Steven agreed half-heartedly. His attention was diverted by a small skiff making its way downriver and out of the inlet. He gestured across the bridge. ‘Isn’t that our friend the fisherman?’

Garec squinted, one hand above his eyes to block the bright morning sunlight. ‘I think it is. Do we know his name yet?’

‘I guess he doesn’t want us to know it,’ Steven replied.

‘So if we’re captured, we won’t be able to turn him in.’

Steven watched as the small boat followed the shoreline south towards the southern piers and the shanty village beyond. ‘For an old guy, he certainly can row: he moves that thing like a champion.’

‘Nothing like a lifetime of practice, I suppose.’

Steven watched the fisherman another moment then suddenly stood up straight, using both hands to block the sun as he leaned across the bridge rail to watch the skiff disappear.

‘What is it?’ Garec asked.

‘Nothing. I just thought I saw him wave.’

With their attention on the little boat, neither Garec nor Steven saw the tall figure wrapped in a dark robe and shouldering a walnut longbow as he strode silently past and headed towards the row of warehouses along the southern wharf.

A quarter-aven later, the two men took their first look at the Prince Marek, Malagon’s personal sailing vessel, moored in the harbour off the northern wharf.

Steven voiced his first impression aloud. ‘We’ll never make it. We’d have to be on board for three days just to find his cabin.’

The ship was a behemoth. As Steven studied it from their vantage point on the pier, he felt his hopes sinking with each passing moment. ‘The far portal could be anywhere. There are – what? Six decks? Two hundred chambers? It’s bloody gigantic.’

‘And black.’

Black it was: the gigantic vessel floated silently in the harbour, dwarfing even the largest Pragan galleons several times over. Steven estimated her length at nearly four hundred feet, with a beam of well over one hundred and a draught of at least thirty-five running empty. Seven masts jutted proudly from her decks – three mains, a foremast, a mizzen, a jib from the bow and a spanker flanking the quarterdeck – and she was outfitted with enough rigging to tie down a rogue hurricane. The main mast sported five levels of sail, all reefed, as she rode at anchor. Two sets of topgallants towered over two sets of topsails hanging above a mainsail that would have easily blanketed the entire lot at 147 Tenth Street. The raised quarterdeck was as broad and as long as a basketball court and Steven marvelled at the size of the helm standing alone in its centre. ‘He must have a giant in his crew just to move the tiller. I couldn’t reach high enough to turn the wheel.

‘Garec, where do ships like this come from? Jesus Highdiving Christ, how is it possible that there are farmers tilling the Ronan soil with wooden plough blades, and this behemoth can roll in here looking like Nelson’s Victory with a glandular problem?’

Garec had been silent since they’d caught their first glimpse of the tremendous floating palace. ‘That is the great irony of Eldarn, Steven. It illustrates how and where Prince Malagon – Nerak, I suppose – has focused the emphasis of his economic resources. We have no higher education, no research institutions and no hospitals worth a pinch of grettan shit, but that rutting horsecock sails around in that thing.’ He gestured toward the remaining boats in the harbour. ‘Look at the others. Naval vessels, merchant ships… all of them state-of-the-art in their design. Nerak had Twinmoons and Twinmoons of Larion research and knowledge in his head when he left Sandcliff Palace, Steven, but he was very careful about which Eldarni institutions benefited from that knowledge over time.’

Steven shook his head. ‘Well, no point in dwelling on it now. What do we do?’

‘We’ll have to enter along the stern line, there, aft beneath the quarterdeck.’ Garec pointed to a thin black line that ran from the stern rail down into the water, barely visible against the hull.

‘Why there?’

‘She’s too long for us to come up the anchor line in the bow and make it safely aft to the stern cabins. That’s where Malagon’s private cabin will be. He’ll have the ship outfitted for his comfort. The raised quarterdeck provides enough room for a spacious apartment. I can’t imagine Nerak would give up that level of comfort to the captain or his officers.’

‘I bet you’re right,’ Steven answered. ‘I can’t see that many men above decks either.’

Garec nodded. ‘Skeleton crew, maybe.’

‘Why not? No one in the five lands of Eldarn would be crazy enough to attempt to board the prince’s private yacht.’

‘Or powerful enough to break through the army around the city. Malagon knows what resistance there is on land; here in the harbour, it would take the combined merchant and Resistance forces of the Eastlands and Praga just to take that ship. Most merchant vessels don’t ride high enough in the water to get a grappling hook over her gunwales. They would need ten thousand fire-arrows to get her kindled, and I bet you a beer that whatever that black substance is that she’s coated in doesn’t burn too easily, either.’

‘No thanks.’ Steven frowned. ‘I already lost my shirt to that old lady with the stones.’

Garec chortled and turned his gaze back towards the Prince Marek. ‘So that’s it, then. We’ll sail Mark’s boat out beyond her stern, towing something small we can paddle in, anchor, tie off to the stern line and board her from the quarterdeck.’

‘Mark and I will climb aboard if you’ll-’

Garec finished his thought. ‘I’ll stay in the skiff and take out anyone who approaches the stern rail.’

‘Garec,’ Steven offered, ‘maybe I can come up with some spell to put them all to sleep for a few moments. I know the only effective magic I’ve been able to muster so far has been fireballs, tricky campfires or massive blasts, but maybe I can work something in between.’

‘It’s all right, Steven,’ Garec assured him. ‘We’re close to the end. I can do it.’ The Ronan ran one hand through the wavy brown hair that hung about his forehead. His eyes danced and he added, ‘Perhaps I’ll get lucky and they’ll be firing back at us this time.’

Steven tried to swallow. ‘Sure, lucky. Anyway, Mark and I will find Malagon’s cabin, open the far portal and I’ll leap back to Idaho Springs for Lessek’s Key. Mark will steal the portal, rejoin you in the skiff and sail south along the coast.’ Steven’s heart raced at the thought of being home: he’d have a chance to confirm whether Hannah was still there, or had managed somehow to get home. He just needed a few hours to try to explain what had happened, or to confirm that she, too, had come through the portal to Eldarn.

‘And I finally get to use this.’ Garec held his wrist aloft, exposing Steven’s watch.

‘Exactly. You open the portal on this side every twelve hours at five o’clock.’ Steven was using the English words so Garec got used to them. ‘Leave it open until five-fifteen and if I don’t appear, close it up and keep going.’

‘And you have another watch somewhere in Colorado to know when it gets to be five clocks.’

‘Oh yes,’ Steven chuckled, ‘no shortage of watches there.’

Garec stood tall and gazed across the harbour at the ominous black vessel, bobbing gently in the sheltered harbour. ‘Very well, then. If the boat is ready, we should go tonight.’