Novel 3. The Last Autumn

— It's beautiful.

The former royal bailiff could not but agree with the mercenary. The black-haired elf's namesake ship was a large three-masted caravel with slanting sails, the kind they called Iolian. The sides were tar-black, the long aft superstructure and the raised bow were decorated with scarlet intricate painting, and over the port side could be seen the black mouths of three solid bombards. The "Elena" stood bow to shore, giving a view of the short bowsprit, which not every caravel had. Don de Gorazzo could hardly call himself a great expert in navigation, but against the background of familiar to him river shells Anelon sailing ship looked like a battle galleon. And a flagship, judging by the richness of the decorations.

— Are these your friends, sire Armando? — Elena, the navigator, leaned over the rail of the foredeck. The dark-haired girl's gaze immediately fixed on Valria, and the don belatedly thought that the dislike between sea elves and mountain elves must be mutual. De Gorazzo hastened to respond:

— Yes, they are. Everyone we talked about.

— Wait there. I'll get the sailors to help you with the horses. — The curly-haired elf's head disappeared over the high board.

— She's beautiful, — sergeant Dallan said in the same tone of voice as she looked at the navigator. Valria sucked in a breath, but didn't comment.

As soon as the group ascended the gangway, a bassy laughter broke out over the deck. The captain was coming from the deck to meet the guests with a broad smile. The father of the navigator and the owner of the ship seemed to be a man of forty years old — therefore, he was already well over four centuries old. His white shirt almost cracked on his mighty broad shoulders. Sharp ears, perforated and nibbled like a yard cat's, peeked out from a mane of black hair, only at shoulder level gathered in a braid. Brown eyes sparkled in a tanned face. But the most remarkable detail of the elf's appearance was, without a doubt, the luxurious shovel beard. Armando had already met the captain half a day ago when he had visited the ship with the navigator, but the sight struck him as much the second time round. He had never seen bearded elves before, not even in book pictures. Frankly speaking, until now the former bailiff had thought that elven men simply did not grow beards. Maybe Valria was right about the Anelonians?

— Ha-ha-ha! That's great! You came after all! How do you do? I am Captain Dorlt, son of Nirlt. My nickname is Crowbeard. — Just getting off at the waist was apparently too boring, so the elf jumped the last few steps. The deck shook — the shipowner must have weighed as much as Armando and a half.

— Skipper. If you'll excuse us, we'll call you Skipper. — Valria leaned back a little, looking up and down coldly at her kin. Dorlt towered almost a full head above the tall girl. Only Lady Maria could look him in the face without throwing back her head. — You see, I'm a captain, too. There'll be confusion.

— Ha-ha-ha! That's great! You be the captain! And I'll be the skipper, agreed. — The bearded elf clapped Valria on the shoulder so that the girl staggered. — Why not? You're a nice girl, I see. Though from the wilderness. May it please you.

— From the wilderness? — Valria's ears perked up, touching the brim of her hat. She even ignored the "girl." — What do you mean, messir Dorlt?

— Well, you're from the mountains, I can tell by your accent. — Skipper put his hands behind his back. — And your ears are long and thin, not like normal elves. Ha-ha! That's all right, I've known a lot of Highlanders like you. You don't know how to build ships, so I have to drive you around when you have business. No problem, but you have good masons. And the wine is good.

Captain Valria suddenly replied in Elvish, rather sharply. The skipper, too, switched to his native language, laughing loudly at times. Lady Maria leaned over to Armando and whispered to him:

— They... well... argue whose dialect is more provincial and... rustic. Given elven history, it's a complicated question.

— Eh... — Master Carlon waved his hand in frustration and headed for the hold hatch where the company's horses were being lowered one by one. Sergeant Dallan followed him, while Maria and Green remained to watch the show. As luck would have it, a few seconds later Elena appeared near the gangway as if from the ground, and the mere sight of her had a strange effect on Dorlt. The caravel's owner lost half a word, coughed into his fist, and said a few words to his daughter. She put her hands on her hips and icy said in icy Daertian:

— Naturally, you're pleased to meet your kin. Now, if you would be so kind as to greet the rest of guests.

— Oh. My apologies, — the skipper turned to the guests, his smile fading a little. — I completely forgot about politeness. Ha-ha, but I'm glad you're all here! We're leaving half-empty, and the passengers are very welcome.

— I also apologise on behalf of the whole crew, — the navigator added, bowing her head. — Including for future possible... misunderstandings.

— How about we sail before sunset? — The flushed Valria quickly pulled herself together. She took a couple of deep breaths and exhaled slowly, and spoke in a confident, businesslike tone: — Armando told you we were in a hurry, didn't he? I'll give you one royal gold coin on top of the agreed amount if you don't wait until tomorrow.

— Ten gold coins, — the bearded elf said, not smiling at all.

— It's... too much. — The Captain had a hard time keeping her composure.

— Of course, — agreed the skipper. — But in the morning we have to receive a cargo of southern spices for one of the trading houses of the Republic. If you are prepared to pay for the losses I will incur, including liquidated damages to the customer and compensation for the spoilt relations with my partners....

— Ten is too much, — Valria repeated, as if trying to convince herself.

— But there is a chance that the bales will arrive in port early in the morning, — the ship's commander smiled again. — If your companions can help with the loading, we'll be out to sea before lunch. How's that? And no extra pay.

— Well, when there are no apples in the basket, you can nibble on an onion. — The golden-haired elfess responded to the smile with not much sincerity. She held out her hand. — We have a deal.

— Ha-ha-ha! That's the great thing. — Dorlt clenched the girl's palm so that de Gorazzo heard a crunch. — Elena will show you to your seats. I've cleared a cabin for the women in the superstructure, with a window and a bed; the men will find hammocks in the hold. It's nice there too, dry and cool. We've got no leaks in the bottom.

Valria looked back at the bilge hatch, where Dallan and the mage were watching Snowflake's loading. She shook her bruised hand, stretching her fingers. — Skipper, I have one more request. The night before we sail, I want to spend the night on deck with my men. And by the way, I've heard that caravels usually have small cannons... Why don't you have them?

— The laws of the Republic require the swivel guns to be removed before entering port, — Elena explained instead of the skipper. The curly-haired elven woman's normally impassive face showed slight surprise.

— Can I ask you to put them on overnight? And charge them? If there's a fine from the harbour authorities, I'll pay it.

The shipowner did not answer at once. He exchanged glances with his daughter, scratched his beard. He said in an unusually quiet voice:

— You know, Captain... Let's go to my quarters. I think the preliminary agreement with messir Armando needs some clarification. But it's better to continue the conversation not standing up, not on an empty stomach, and not on deck....

* * *

It was a deeply unhealthy thing to discuss politics while sober at night, and no one would change Armando's mind about that. But what else was there to do on a watch from dusk till dawn? "You'll get enough sleep at sea", Captain Vфlria told her comrades as she assigned tasks. The company settled on the upper deck of the caravel in full — Lady Maria on the port side, Sergeant Dallan on the starboard side, Vфlria and the corporal on the bow, and Don de Gorazzo and master Carlon on the quarterdeck, near the helm. Their cloaks, covered with thin blankets more for camouflage than for warmth, they huddled at the edge of the deck, ready to take up arms at any moment. Of the crew, the night watchman shared the vigil with the mercenaries, now dozing against the helm. Armando hoped he was the only one visible from the shore, for the fugitives lying on the deck would be hidden by the high bulwark. The don also hoped that all these precautions would be in vain. But experience told the former magistrate that the squad would not be so lucky. They had used up all their luck during the day.

The negotiations in the skipper's cabin were attended on one side by Dorlt himself and his daughter, and on the other by Valria and her, as the elfess put it, "consultants on magic and culture of the Western States". That is, master Carlon and Don Armando of course. A platter of freshly baked scones on the captain's desk acted as a neutral buffer. Don de Gorazzo foresaw two ways in which the conversation would develop. The first — Valria begins to humour and make up false reasons to be on the alert at night, after which the skipper withdraws the detachment from the ship. The second — Valria tells everything as it is, after which the skipper withdraws the squad from the ship. In practice, however, it came out... differently. The imperial elf, putting a mask of seriousness on her face, without looking at the buns, almost honestly told her black-haired relatives that her squad was fulfilling a state task. The only thing was that she didn't specify which state she was talking about. Then she explained that the group was trying to deliver to their superiors information on which the fate of the Coalition depended — and that was true, too. Finally, she frankly warned that many high-profile events in the Kingdom of Daert were directly related to the actions of the group.

— And they want to kill us because of it, — the captain summed up, smiling her warm, charming smile for the first time in the whole conversation.

— And therefore, while you are on my ship, and the ship is off the coast, we are at risk of attack? — Skipper Dorlt said, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

— That's right, — Valria smiled even wider. The bearded elf glanced at Elena, who was standing next to him with her arms folded across her chest. The beautiful navigator frowned and... sighed brokenly. Rolled her eyes. Dorlt laughed, his head thrown back:

— Ha-ha-ha! That's great!

— I knew you'd like it. — Valria squinted slightly. — So you don't mind the risk?

— Double payment. — The skipper winked at his companion. — Separate — compensation for damage to the ship in case of battle. And I don't mind.

Elena lowered her eyelids, silently uttered a short phrase with just her lips. And nodded silently. Remembering how easily daughter had silenced her father on the deck, Armando decided that her displeasure was more ostentatious. Otherwise, the curly-haired elf would not have been afraid to speak out.

A quarter of an hour later, having discussed all the details and eaten their buns, the three mercenaries left the commander's quarters. It was only on deck that Armando allowed himself to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead. Stopping at the locker, he said to Valria:

— It was a blind shot, and you hit the bull's-eye. But the risk...

— When I can't see the target, I shoot at the sound. Or I don't shoot at all, — the captain grinned smugly. — I knew what I was doing.

— Soul mates sense each other from afar. — Master Carlon put his hand on her shoulder. — But you've really told them a lot.

— If something goes wrong and there's no Imperial ship waiting for us in the island port, we'll have to take another ship to Elvart. — The elfess glanced overboard with some apprehension and stepped back from the edge of the deck. Gently she removed the mage's hand from her shoulder. — It was worth preparing the ground.

The caravel, lit only by the moon and a couple of dim magical lanterns, slumbered peacefully on the pier, half a dozen people on its deck listening intently to the waves. The main hope, naturally, was for Valria. She sat under the bowsprit with her back against the bulwark, eyes closed, a magazine crossbow in her lap and a loaded rifle at her feet. When the sparse clouds did not cover the moon, Don de Gorazzo could see the girl's long, sharp ears moving. All he could do was to chase away the slumber.

— A sailor in a Daert tavern told me that in a storm they sometimes pour oil over the side of a ship, — Armando said in a whisper to the magician sitting next to him. — It calms the storm around the ship, but only for a while. After that, the waves become twice as fierce as before.

— It's a bit of a story, — the mage responded in the same low voice.

— Yes. But my point is... Octavia's coronation was this barrel of oil for Daert. The kingdom had been in turmoil since the assassination of the ruling family. Octavia dampened the passions for a while — she was the King's legitimate daughter, people liked her... — De Gorazzo lowered his eyelids for a moment, conjuring up the image of the young queen. He gritted his teeth. — When she was gone, the lid was ripped off the boiling cauldron. From what they say here in Erdo, things are getting worse for the kingdom. And it's not even because of the usurper. It started before him. It's just that... Octavia could still put out the fire with little blood. Auguste can't. The chance is gone.

— I've listened to the chatter in the bazaars, too, — the black-bearded mage nodded slowly. — The king is personally travelling the country with his army, subduing barons and city councils. It seems to be quite successful, but...

— But he has bigger problems, — Don finished. — They say that not all the dukes have come to the capital for the homage. They say the royal garrisons in several of the pacified free cities were slaughtered as soon as Auguste travelled far away. They say Erdo and Iolia are recalling companies of their mercenaries from the kingdom, lest they be drawn into internal conflict. They say the Duc de Velonda has already openly declared his withdrawal from the Crown, as his ancestors swore to serve the Iderlings and Auguste is not an Iderling. They say he has sent gifts to the chiefs of the steppe tribes, promising friendship in exchange for military aid.

— They say that Marshal de Cotoci's army has reached the borders of Velonda, — said the mage, glancing at Armando with a sidelong glance. — They say the Marshal promises to show the Duke a reliable witness who knows something terrible about the new king.