Deadhouse Landing

The emissary came walking up. His heels struck loudly on the stone flags. To Tattersail’s eyes the man did not look the part; too short, and pear-shaped. Inwardly she sighed, but they were dealing with Nap, after all. One mustn’t get one’s hopes up too high.

Halting at a respectful distance the emissary bowed, with a rather oily smirk. ‘Admiral Koreth, at your service.’

She answered the bow, thinking that if this rat of a fellow was a real admiral of Nap then the isle must be overrun with them. ‘Welcome, admiral. You honour us. Please accept our hospitality. For too long has our sister island been out of touch.’

The emissary stroked his goatee – which held streaks of grey – and nodded his grave agreement. ‘And whom,’ he began unctuously, ‘do I have the honour of addressing?’

Tattersail struggled to keep her expression pleasant while she mentally berated herself for her awkwardness. ‘My apologies, admiral. I am Tattersail, mistress of the Hold.’

The emissary’s brows rose in appreciation. ‘Ah! The formidable Tattersail. Your prowess is the talk of the entire southern seas.’ And he bowed once more.

It occurred to her that this clearly inoffensive fellow might not have been such a foolish choice after all. ‘You bring word from Tarel, the newly installed king of the Napan Isles?’

He bowed again. ‘Indeed. And are you to speak for Mock, the oh so long-standing Admiral of Malaz?’

Tattersail struggled once more to keep her expression light. Her initial judgement had been the right one. Admiral, is it? Fine. Be that way. No official exchanges with the mistress. She returned his bow. ‘He has been informed of your arrival and will be joining us soon.’

‘Excellent.’ The fellow made a show of studying his surroundings. ‘So this is the Hold’s main hall. It is so very … charmingly rustic.’

Fuck you too, you damned fat prick. She smiled, nodded her agreement. ‘My thanks. That means a great deal, as you in Nap must surely know what you are speaking of.’

The emissary answered her smile in kind.

Tattersail could not help but follow his gaze as he peered about, and the tapestry across the way caught her eye. Agayla’s new work. It was a portrait of the Hold, as seen from sea, at twilight. At least so it first appeared to her. Now, however, as she narrowed her gaze, the landscape seemed to darken. Ragged dark shapes like clouds threatened above. Their obscuring shadows seemed to crawl across the cliffs and the keep’s great seaward walls.

She blinked – the emissary was talking. She smiled, panicking, and coughed against the back of her hand to gain time. Damn Agayla! What does she mean by weaving such an ugly thing! She gestured to a small side entrance. ‘Perhaps I should go and see what matter is delaying Mock.’

Koreth’s bow was so shallow as to hardly be worthy of the name. ‘Indeed,’ he answered thinly.

To her relief, the main doors swung open at that moment and Mock came sweeping in. He was wearing what she called his ‘reckless’ smile and sported his finest loose linen shirt, leather trousers and heeled shoes. He, of course, was armed, with his sabre at his side.

He threw out his arms in welcome, calling, ‘Koreth! Is that you, you dog!’

The emissary bowed low. ‘Admiral.’

Mock took him by the shoulders and looked him up and down. ‘Look at you now. You captained the Steadfast at the siege of Bris, yes?’

The emissary blinked, startled, then flushed, obviously quite pleased. ‘Yes, indeed. Though we saw little action.’

Mock laughed off the answer. ‘You are too modest. That was a Napan victory to boast of!’ He threw himself into his raised seat, slouched, his booted feet out straight before him. ‘What can we in Malaz do for our friends and fellow sailors of Nap?’

Koreth blinked anew, quite thrown, and Tattersail hid a smile; this was the Mock she admired, always manoeuvring.

‘Well…’ the fellow began, perhaps rethinking his tack, ‘King Tarel sends his greetings, of course. It is his hope that our two islands may now begin afresh – without the unfortunate rancour of the past.’

Mock slapped an armrest. ‘I agree! This Tarel is wise indeed. An accord may be in order between him and me!’ He gave Koreth a wink. ‘This would free us up to eye the mainland, hm? Bris may be ripe for yet another sacking, yes?’

Koreth looked rather taken aback by such a direct proposal, but quickly mastered the reaction sufficiently to nod, smiling in apparent welcome of the prospect. ‘A formal accord between us would be an excellent first step, admiral.’

‘Excellent! Wine!’ Mock called. ‘A drink to seal our agreement!’

A young lad entered bearing a silver tray on which were set two tiny cut-crystal glasses and a carafe. Tattersail recognized their finest Grisian crystal, and reflected that it was fortunate they had two of the precious pieces.