Novel 3. The Last Autumn

— Akira, where did you get the flag? — De Gorazzo inquired. A vague idea was at the edge of the don's mind, which now had to be beckoned closer.

— A trophy, — the young Erdos woman explained. — When Amagi and I realised that the enemy had spotted us, we decided not to hide. We rushed down and tore the banner off the grotto. We were shot at with crossbows, but no damage...

— That's not like you. It's more like Mamoru, — the navigator chided the girl. Armando pulled the flag off the rider's shoulder and straightened it. Shaking it in the air, he asked:

— Elena, you were going to repair the caravel in three or four days on your own, weren't you? With the harbour and the help of workers, we can do it faster?

— Of course.

— Iolia has naval bases all over the Thousand Islands. How far is the nearest one?

— A day and a half sailing with a favourable wind. The port of Catrozzi on the island of St. Castello. — The Elfess is also staring at the banner. — But only Republic warships are repaired there. For money they can only sell us planks and provisions. Besides, fleet of pursuers is probably moving there too. They need repairs, too, and there are no closer ports.

The former royal bailiff shifted his gaze from the flag to the dragon sweeping the sand with its tail. He spoke slowly:

— I've got a plan to get us some help with repairs and provisions. But I'm afraid no one but Captain Valria will like it. Elena, do you have any Iolian stamp paper? Used will do.

Chapter 20

The port of Iolian Republic looked cosy enough — and like any other small port in the world. Five wharves jutted out to sea, squat warehouse buildings surrounded the quay, and a square stone fort on a sloping hill guarded the settlement and the bay. The only thing that attracted attention was the white mansion, which stood out among the other buildings like a hen's egg in a pile of unpeeled dirty potatoes. The harbour was almost empty, with only a round-sided two-masted ship with very tall superstructures bobbing on the waves near the far wharf. Despite its size, it was armed with only a couple of guns on the bow.

— That ship over there... that's a merchant nef, right? — Armando decided to flaunt his knowledge. In vain, of course. Elena, standing next to him on the benches, politely corrected him:

— Not really. It's a roundship. See how pot-bellied it is? Although a roundship can be considered a subspecies of a nef, so you're generally right, — she sweetened the pill.

— Also got a beating from the storm, apparently, — de Gorazzo said, changing the subject.

— Yes, and in port recently, — the black-haired elf agreed. — The crew had just started repairing the rigging.

— Well, we could use it, I guess. — The former royal bailiff put his hands behind his back. — Start making some noise. It's time to cause a little panic around here.

The "Elena" was entering the bay under the tattered flag of the Republic of Iolia, gaping holes in the sails and breaches in the bulwark. Actually, the storm had spared the hull, but the crew had made the "decorative" holes for the sake of convincing. To complete the picture, a huge object, covered with a piece of sailcloth, was resting on the bow of the caravel, occupying the entire half-bay. The ship must have attracted attention as soon as she appeared on the roadstead, but as she approached the piers she began firing blanks from all six guns. The proper effect was produced — a whole detachment of soldiers, headed by an excited young officer, met the ship on the pier. Looking down at them from his vantage point, Armando adjusted his disguise one last time. A scarlet caftan embroidered with gold, expensive black trousers, high yellow boots, all properly soaked in sea water and in some places frayed. De Gorazzo wore his own hat, which looked like a stranger's with this costume. The Don's face was adorned with bruises and abrasions, which Sergeant Dallan had skilfully given him. At his own request, of course. What one does for art....

The ex-bailiff descended the gangway, accompanied by master Carlon and Skipper Dorlt, holding his head high and looking round the harbour with an eagle eye.

— Monsignor..., — began the officer who had stepped towards him, but de Gorazzo interrupted him, trying to speak hoarsely, tiredly:

— You're not in charge here, are you? Take me to the governor of the island. It's urgent.

— Oh... er... to bother the governor requires... — the young man ventured to object. Armando didn't let him finish again:

— There must be good reasons to bother such an important man. There are reasons, and they're so serious that only the governor should know about them. Not you.

Something hidden beneath the sailcloth on the bow of the "Elena" suddenly moved, made a murmuring sound. Chains rattled. The young officer turned pale. Swallowing, he gulped:

— I will escort you, senor....

— Se"or Nemo, — Armando introduced himself. He made no attempt to imitate the Iolian accent, instead using the "literary" Daertian accent fashionable among the Western nobility. — And two gentlemen with me.

The size of the town was such that carriages were hardly ever used, and even important guests had to walk from the wharf to the governor's residence. The governor of the Republic, as one might expect, lived in the same white mansion. Armando had seriously expected that such a remote place would not be governed by an intelligent official, and apparently he had guessed right. The governor, who called himself Senor Alonso Mozzetti, was elderly, mustachioed and rather fat. He met his guests on the steps of the residence, almost dancing with excitement. Don de Gorazzo introduced himself by the same name, and then took out a rolled-up paper from his pocket and thrust it under the governor's nose.

— What... what is this? — Senor Mozzetti asked confusedly, unfolding the paper. — I can't read...

— Of course you can't, — de Gorazzo said sternly, glaring at the governor. — With it in my pocket, I would have fallen overboard and died if I had not caught hold of the end the sailor threw me. Seawater is as merciless to man as it is to paper. Only the edges survived. But that's the most important thing. You see the coat of arms at the top of the sheet? And at the bottom, the seal of the Trident. It's not badly preserved.

— Yes, the seal is in order, — the governor nodded.

The knot in Armando's chest loosened a little. He had originally intended to carve the false seal himself, on half a potato, as he had done before. But such an impression would have been a very crude imitation of the original. Fortunately, the former bailiff had come across a wooden medal that Captain Valria had given him. The elfess fulfilled the don's request with great enthusiasm, and under his guidance created an almost flawless copy of the Iolian stamp — as Armando remembered well enough how it should look. He had seen documents from all the countries of the Coalition in his time as a bailiff, and the Don had also had occasion to forge them. "I like this use of carving skills," the pointy-eared girl told Armando, admiring the result of her work. — It's not like decorating furniture. It's much more interesting."

— This document is to confirm the special authority granted to me by the Trident itself, -Armando continued. He put one hand on the scabbard of the sword Lady Maria had lent him, other on his hip. — Alas, you see for yourself what has happened. Do you have a magician to check the magical inscription on the document?

— Alas, no, senor, — said the already frustrated governor.

"Thank the Creator," Armando thought, knowing that a mage could only pass through a place like this. He said aloud:

— Then I will prove the importance of my mission in deed. Come with me, senor. I have something to show you on my ship.

The return journey took twice as long, for the governor was not very quick. On the way they were joined by the commandant of the fort, with an escort of four soldiers. He looked at de Gorazzo incredulously, but remained silent. Together they climbed aboard the "Elena" and went up to the bow. Armando gestured a command. With boarding spades two sailors lifted the edge of the sailcloth. Amagi's charcoal-black head, decorated with scarlet stripes, peeked out from under it. The lizard's jaws were not tightly chained, but it opened its jaws as far as it could and let out an eerie hiss. Given the dragon's rather limited mental capacity, he could hardly be expected to do any real acting, but Akira had explained the general task to him successfully. The winged lizard pretended to try to free himself, but he didn't try too hard.

— Creator Almighty! — Senor Mozzetti gasped, recoiling. His military companions, too, recoiled involuntarily.

— An Erdos Island dragon, senor, — de Gorazzo confirmed the obvious. — Alive and real. You do remember we've been trying to get a live one for centuries, don't you? The Erdos don't sell their creatures to anyone. But now we have finally succeeded.

— How? — exhaled the governor, unable to take his eyes off the scaly 'captive'.

— You don't need to know the details, senor, — Armando shook his chin. — All I'll say is that we took advantage of the instability in Erdo and the intervention of our fleet. This is a female, about to lay her eggs.

— Oh... — the garrison commander raised his voice for the first time.

— Exactly. — Don mentally apologised to the dragon. He wasn't good at telling the sex of lizards by sight, but Akira had assured him that Amagi was a male. — Perhaps now Iolia would have its own dragons suitable for nesting on ships. But to do that, the prey would have to be transported to the metropolis. That could be a problem. You see, the Erdos have found out.

— Were you chased? — The military commandant asked sullenly.

— Yes. — Armando pressed his lips together. — One of their small ships boarded us. I fell overboard in that fight, clashing with an enemy fighter. The storm helped us break away, but the Erdos know there's only one port nearby where we could find shelter. There's a whole squadron of them.

— Oh, my God... we'll be under attack... by such creatures? — The governor raised his hand as if to cover his mouth with his palm, but realised at the last moment that it didn't look manly at all.

— Hardly, — de Gorazzo reassured him. — If there were dragons in the squadron, they would have attacked our ship at sea. Formidable creatures. This one is held in check only by chains and our wizard's spell.

Master Carlon, dressed in a ceremonial black doublet, nodded respectfully.

— I do not wish to jeopardise your humble settlement, senor, — Armando added with a sad face. He looked up at the tattered republican flag flying over the "Elena". The same one, the trophy flag. — But duty to the Trident comes first. The best way out is to leave port before our enemies catch up with us. Iolian inland waters are within easy reach, and there we will have the advantage. On behalf of the Republic, I ask your co-operation. Help us repair the damage done to my ship by the storm and the battle.

— Of course, of course, Senor Nemo! — the governor nodded often. — We have everything you need! I will send labourers with the materials immediately. Everything so that you can... er... leave our harbour sooner.

— But we can't rule out that the enemy will come here before the time is up, — said Skipper Dorlt, who had been silent until now. The Governor looked back at him nervously.

— Alas, it is so. — Armando patted the scabbard with his palm. — I can see that the port is adequately defended from the sea. But if the enemy lands a strong force on the other side of the island and attacks the city by land? The fort seems to protect only the bay.

— We have almost seven dozen soldiers, and we can raise a militia. — The captain of the garrison loomed, turning his head. He seemed to be looking for support from his own men.

— The squadron hanging on our tail will be able to land two hundred thugs, keeping the ships ready for an artillery battle, — warned de Gorazzo. — It will be difficult to defeat them with your forces.

— So what do you suggest?

— Allocate fifty men and all the militia to a mobile unit. Give it some of the fort's cannons. You can remove the ones facing the harbour, it's covered by our ship anyway. — Armando slid his sword out of its sheath with his thumb to the length of a fingernail, drove it back in with a clatter. — Ambush the squad closer to the other side of the island. If the enemy makes a landing, you'll throw him into the surf with a surprise attack. If he attacks the harbour, you can return before the fortress falls.

— That's... logical, — the commandant grudgingly agreed.

— Then let's get started as soon as possible! — Signor Mozzetti fussed. — I will give orders at once! Oh, and forgive my impoliteness... may I invite you to dinner in my humble abode, Senor Nemo?

— Alas, I must refuse. — Armando nodded at the dragon, who was once more covered by the sailcloth. — I am not at liberty to leave my cargo for long. Even in such a safe place. But I will send one of my officers in my place.

As the governor and the commandant headed for the gangway, de Gorazzo gave them a last call:

— Oh yes, and need I remind you that neither your soldiers, senor captain, nor the harbour labourers who come aboard, are to tell of the cargo ashore?

He gave the guests a menacing glance as they disembarked, then strode leisurely into the superstructure. Once inside, he leaned back against the corridor wall and inhaled several times. The former magistrate's face was covered with icy sweat.

— Well done, Armando, — master Carlon said to him as he came in. The magician took a rag from his pocket that looked remotely like a handkerchief and handed it to the don. — I didn't believe until the last moment that everything would work out. After all the years I've known Valria, I might have got used to the fact that ventures work more often than you'd expect.

— We're not done yet. — De Gorazzo cleared his throat. Taking the cloth, he wiped her forehead. The rough grey cloth smelled of herbs and alchemy. The mage must have wiped the table with it after concocting potions. — Gotta keep the game up and prepare to leave. Have you finished your part?

— Almost, — the mage nodded. — It'll be ready by nightfall.

Work on the "Elena" began with commendable speed — the governor sent men and equipment without unnecessary delay. The harbour, for all its smallness, was designed for repairing warships of the Iolian fleet. Already by dusk the cracked bisan mast of the caravel was replaced with a new one. Several sections of the bulwark were also replaced, instead of patching the holes with planks. It was only after dark that the workers left the ship. Elena, the navigator, left with them. The dark-haired girl was to have dinner with the governor as a representative of the crew — everyone agreed that there was no better candidate. And when the harbour was completely silent and the last lights in the windows of the residential quarter were extinguished, three dark figures moved from the "Elena" to the quay.