Blood of Dragons

Each letter was neatly rolled, tied with twine, and sealed with a drop of wax. Then the Chalcedean smothered the fire in the hearth and they left the stripped room, carrying the missives with them.

The long night had become endless as they moved through Cassarick. The Chalcedean was spry but not absolutely certain of their way. More than once, they retraced their steps. But eventually, the six scrolls had been delivered, tied to door-handles or wedged into door-frames. Hest had been almost grateful to follow the assassin down the endless stairs to the muddy road at the bottom of the city. His well-appointed stateroom, a clean warm bed and dry garments awaited him on the impervious ship. Once he was there and alone, surely he could put the night’s events into focus and decide what he must do next. Once there, he would be Hest again and this evil adventure would become no more than an episode in his past. But when they reached the vessel, the Chalcedean had prodded him along at knifepoint, forcing him into a cargo compartment below decks, and then dropping the hatch shut behind him.

The indignity had astonished him. He’d stood, arms crossed sternly on his chest, and waited in silence, certain that the Chalcedean would return at any moment. As time passed, the discomfort had infuriated him. He groped his way around the freight compartment but found only rough timber walls with no hope of egress. The hatch was just out of his reach and when he climbed the short ladder to push at it, he found it secured. He pounded on the hatch but could achieve no real force, and his shouting roused no one. He had paced, cursing and roaring until he was exhausted. Eventually he had sat down to wait for the Chalcedean, but awakened to darkness. How long he had been held there, he did not know.

Time passed. Hunger and thirst afflicted him. When the hatch was finally lifted, the wan daylight flooded down and blinded him. He immediately started up the ladder.

‘Out of the way!’ someone shouted at him. And other men were pushed pell-mell down the hatch. Three landed well, cursing and trying to fight their way back to the ladder even as others were being forced down. Hest recognized some of them as his fellow passengers from the trip up the river, and others as members of the ship’s crew. Some were Jamaillians who had invested in the boat’s construction, the last a pair of Bingtown Traders. The men who looked down at them, mocking and threatening, were unmistakably Chalcedeans, with their embroidered vests and the curved knives they favoured.

‘What’s going on?’ Hest demanded, and one Trader shouted, ‘It’s a mutiny!’ while another said, ‘There were Chalcedeans hiding below decks for the whole voyage. They’ve taken over the ship!’ The cargo hold was crowded with men, at least ten of them. One was holding his shoulder and blood seeped between his fingers. Several of the frightened and confused merchants bore signs of a struggle.

‘Where’s the captain?’ Hest asked through the shouting and taunts.

‘In on it!’ someone shouted at him, as angry as if it were his fault. ‘Well paid to let these bastards on board and hide them. Claims they invested just as much as we did, and paid him more on the side!’

The hatch cover began to slide shut. Men surged toward the ladder, shouting defiance and pleas, but in moments, the light was gone.

If being alone and locked below deck was bad, then being crowded in with two dozen strangers in the dark was worse. Some were irrational with anger or fear. Others argued heatedly about exactly what had happened and who was at fault. Some of them were not former passengers but Rain Wild Traders ‘tricked into coming down to the ship by a false message’. Hest kept his mouth shut and was grateful for the darkness that kept him anonymous.

The Chalcedeans who now commanded the ship had apparently killed at least three crewmen in taking over the vessel, and possibly four, as a woman who had come aboard had been flung over the side bleeding but still alive. Hest suddenly grasped the full ruthlessness of the assassin and the gravity of his own situation. When one of his fellow prisoners speculated that they’d probably all be dead before long, someone roared at him to shut up but no one contradicted him. Two of the men climbed the ladder and exhausted themselves trying to force the heavy hatch open while the others shouted encouragement and suggestions. Hest had retreated to a corner of the compartment and put his back to the wall.

While they were pounding, a new motion started. It took Hest a moment to deduce what it was and in that second, one of the crewmen shouted, ‘You feel that? They’re shoving off. We’re under way. Those bastards are kidnapping us!’

A roar of voices rose, the angry cries underscored with wild wailing from one man. The victims pounded on the walls and shouted, but the rhythmic rocking of the ship only increased as it picked up speed in its battle with the current.