At this point, it is necessary to make a few observations about piracy. The reader, no doubt, has at least some familiarity with the concept of plunder on the high seas. There is also little doubt that the reader has many misconceptions about this sort of criminal activity, but we will say frankly that it is not our task in this brief work to correct these. To the reader who wishes to make a serious study of the matter, we cannot too highly recommend G’Wulf’s excellent survey in fourteen volumes called Liberty Cove, which, although focusing only on one place and within a relatively brief span early in the Fourteenth Cycle, lays to rest many false impressions and communicates important aspects of the historical reality of sea-going crime in all of its depredation and barbarity.
For our purposes, it is sufficient to point out that the fundamental nature of piracy changed abruptly with the fall of the Empire. Until then, it had been an enterprise in which the term “cut-throat” might justly apply; with the Imperial Navy always on the watch, pirates had to strike fast and hard and finish their bloody work quickly, thus many of the stories of pre-Interregnum piracy, such as “Song of the Red Wench,” and Hard Onto the Rocks and Run for the Dawn, as well as the popular theatrical production Lanterns in the Crosstrees have surprising elements of truth in them, if, indeed, they do not understate the violence and brutality of which these lawless elements, rejecting the submission to authority that is the first requirement of civilized behavior, were capable.
The changes caused by the fall of the Empire were sudden and vast. First, much of what had been the Imperial navy at once turned pirate, and, in many cases, these newcomers were not treated kindly by their old enemies. Elde Island, which had been the abode of pirates unable to find bases on the mainland, was abruptly deserted. Crews were changed, new ships captured and used, old ships abandoned, new ports and hiding places discovered. More significantly, with the pirates now having unfettered control of the seaways, to the point where they were able to prevent the very trade on which they had depended, a new balance between trade and theft, or between organism and parasite, had to be struck, which, though in no case arranged deliberately, seems to have been well in place by the tenth year after the fall of the Empire. The nature of this new balance the reader may deduce by the conversation on the subject in the previous chapter of our history: the various pirate bands both tended to respect discrete areas (although this was by no means complete: the nine-hour battle between the Lamplighter and the Emperor’s Arse is justly legendary), and, more significantly, cooperated with each other within a band, each band working to enforce its own laws and regulations that would permit enough trade along the coast for there to exist something worth robbing and ransoming. Some ships, to be sure, attempted to avoid the pirates by sailing far out into the Ocean-sea, beyond Elde, which was not unsuccessful, but, as we know, carried its own risks with the difficulty of navigation now that there was no longer an Orb.
Thus, peculiarly, with the fall of civilization, piracy, which represented one of the least civilized aspects of society, quickly became more peaceful and more law-abiding than it had been hitherto. What lessons there may be in this fact we must leave to the moralists.
With this understood, we turn our attention to Northport, and then still further north, into the area known as the Fingers (which name they acquired in the Sixth Cycle from an Athyra called Lady Veshika, who created the first truly reliable levitation spell, and thus saw the region from a considerable height and named the area before later cartographers confirmed her vision). Among the Fingers, roughly halfway between Tree-By-The-Sea and the Narrows, is a principality with the fanciful name Mermaid Cove, the traditional home of the Tiassa Heir. It is a region protected from the worst of the storms by tall, grass-covered hills full of goats and squirrels, an area with thick forests, orchards of fruit trees (including the most northern orchards of limes and avocados known anywhere). The sea near-by is full of sea-otters, porpoises, jackfish, and sturgeon, the latter two of which provide a large part of the diet of the locals. Fresh water is found in abundance, both from springs and from the various streams flowing down from the Knuckle Mountains further north, and even from two respectable lakes, one called Rice Lake, named for that oddest of grains known as northrice that grows naturally around it (in addition to various sorts of mushroom), and further inland, Duckling Lake, which was near soybean and scorchroot fields.
The chief town was known as Icolev, and was one of the larger cities (if we may use the word, which has a certain validity by way of comparison, and, moreover, prevents us from repeating the word “town” within a sentence, which sort of recurrence is so often annoying to the ear of the reader) in the sparsely settled north, boasting some six thousand residents, and also something of a trading center.
It was here that, some four years after the fall of the Empire, a certain very large, broad-shouldered pirate known as Captain Sheen anchored his ship. His name, we should add, was given him by his crew as a gesture of affection in honor of the gleam from his carefully shaved head. Upon arriving, he at once determined it would make an ideal base for his crew, and so he established himself there, arranging with certain local Orca for supplies, and with a Jhereg who happened to live there to trade his goods, and with the peasants and free-holders to keep his crew supplied with wine and oishka, both of which were produced in great quantities by all of the locals, who argued incessantly as to the comparative quality of their products.
There are many tales of battles for dominance among pirate captains who wished for control of their base, but nothing like that happened in this case: as word of the base at Icolev spread and other ships drifted in, they found the arrangement so easy and profitable, that no one challenged Captain Sheen, who, for his part, was content to mostly let matters sort themselves out, provided the gold continued to flow into his coffers, which it did in, if not a flood, at least a steady stream. He spent much of his time on his ship, the Raptor, even when in harbor, and conducted the business of the base—such as it was—from his great cabin.
One day, several years after he had established this base, just past the noon hour, he received word from the speaking tube that a stranger had come aboard looking for him with a message from Keen. Sheen disentangled himself from his current activity, put on a nightgown (in fact, a red silk robe with gold tracings), and took himself onto the deck. Facing him was a man who was dressed entirely—even to his boots—in pure white. Sheen attempted to guess the man’s House, but failed; possibly Yendi or Jhereg, then, though his short, compact build might indicate Iorich, although he lacked the sharp angularity of face. Perhaps Tiassa, to judge by the cheekbones.
The other, who had been giving Sheen the same scrutiny Sheen gave him, bowed and said, “I am called Dust. I have a missive for you from Keen.” He removed a folded and sealed paper and handed it over. Sheen accepted it, broke the seal, read it, then said, “Do you know what it says?”
Dust shrugged. “It either says that I am trustworthy, and will be guiding the business arrangements between us from now on, or it says that you are to kill me. I hope the former, for I believe Keen can be useful and I should dislike to have to replace him.”
“No,” said Sheen, “the former, although he adds that you are dangerous.”
Dust shrugged again. “I think you are as well, are you not?”
“Who I? I prefer not to need to be.”
Dust nodded. “Don’t we all.”
“Well, come down to my cabin and we’ll talk.”
“Very good.”
Sheen led the way, startled to suddenly realize that he was nervous having his back exposed to the stranger; he ignored the sensation, entered the cabin, and sat behind his desk; from the practiced way in which Dust ducked coming down the stairs, as well the way he walked and held his right hand—half extended as if about to reach for support should the ship make an unexpected lurch—as he came down the stairs, Sheen determined that he had spent some time aboard ship.
Sheen turned his head and said, “Business.” Acilla yawned, rose from the cot, put on a robe, kissed the top of Sheen’s head, nodded to Dust, and went up on deck. Sheen automatically followed her with his eyes, then turned back to his guest.
“So then,” he said. “You are the new business agent for Northport.”
The one called Dust bowed his head in agreement with this statement.
“Do you propose any changes in the arrangements?” Sheen kept his voice carefully neutral during this, but Dust appeared to understand his meaning, to judge by the small quirk of his lip.
“No,” he said. “And yes.”
“Well,” said Sheen, shrugging. “Between the two answers, I nearly think the possibilities have been exhausted.”
“I do not propose changes in arrangements between you and me,” said Dust. “But I hope to expand my business, and perhaps yours with it.”
“Go on,” said Sheen. “You perceive, this is the moment when I listen to you. Should there come a time for you to listen to me, I suspect you will know it, and if you do not, well, I will inform you.”
“That is right,” said Dust. “I wish to involve myself with those in Far Harbor.”
“That is a long way,” said Sheen. “I don’t travel that far south.”
“No, but you know some of those who do.”
“You think so?”
“It seems likely.”
“I know Captain Nosaj. They sometimes call him ‘Tooth.’”
“Does he bite?”
“I regret that I am unaware of the origin of the name.”
“But, he makes his base in Far Harbor?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can introduce us.”
“I could.”
“You hesitate.”
“I reflect.”
“You worry?”
“I consider.”
“You consider risk.”
“And reward.”
“They often correspond.”
“I do not deny it.”
“And then?”
“What are the rewards?”
“Here are some,” said the one called Dust. He then emptied a purse onto the desk, revealing five uncut sapphires. Sheen picked them up one at a time and examined them.
“Keep them,” said Dust. “They are yours. And there are more.”
“I do not deny,” said Sheen, holding them in his hand, “that you make a strong argument.”
“Well?”
“And yet, you perceive, wealth is not what motivates me.”
“I had not thought it was, and yet, do you deny that it makes things easier?”
“Not in the least.”
“Therefore?”
“But if, in order to acquire wealth, I must sacrifice my goals, that makes it a bad exchange, does it not?”
“I do not dispute you. So then, let us examine these goals, and we will see if my proposals will aid them or hinder them.”
Sheen nodded. “Very well, I agree.”
“Then I am listening.”
“To begin, I will not bend my knee to anyone, nor will I ask those who sail with me to.”
“Even you?”
“Even me. We decide together. I’ll do nothing to threaten that.”
“I understand, and I even admire it. Next?”
“Next, we must have supplies and shelter.”
“You perceive, wealth would make these matters easier.”
“I do not deny it.”
“Very well. Freedom, a base. What else?”
“Third is safety, which, as you know, is always the third consideration.”
“How, safety?”
“Yes, that is to say, I wish to keep my crews alive and healthy and not permit them to be massacred.”
“That is but just.”
“I am pleased you agree.”
“I more than agree, I think I can assure you that assisting me will not work against any of the goals you have done me the honor to outline.”
“Well, but, without meaning to give insult—”
“Yes, go on.”
“I must assure myself of this circumstance by learning something of what you intend.”
Dust appeared to consider this for a moment, then he nodded. “Very well. Something, not everything.”
“Tell me what you care to, and then we will see.”
“I accept this.”
Sheen then listened as Dust outlined his plans, which information we have chosen to withhold from the reader at this time, both in an effort to create a certain suspense (which we are aware some may object to as contrived, but we believe falls within the bounds of the liberty we have granted ourselves in our capacity as entertainer as well as historian), and, moreover, because, as we are required to reveal the details at a later point, to do so now would necessitate describing them twice, which could not but prove annoying.
When Dust had finished his discourse, Sheen considered carefully what he had heard. Then, after due consideration, he said, “Very well, I agree. We sail to-morrow morning, if the wind is fair.”
“In that case,” said Dust. “I hope the wind is fair.”
“We always do,” said Sheen.
In the event, the winds were so fair that in less than a month they saw before them the gentle beaches and low houses of Far Harbor. They had arrived without incident not only because of the winds, but because they flew the gray flag with upraised dagger that is known as the symbol of pirates. They did, indeed, encounter three others, who, not recognizing them, demanded their harbor and chief; but in all cases the response, “Mermaid Cove, and it is I, Sheen,” was accepted, particularly when accompanied by the hoots, cat-calls, and obscene gestures that were the accepted means by which pirate crews greeted one another.
This having been done, as we say, they arrived in Far Harbor, and dropped anchor in the sandy bottom some hundred fathoms from shore. Dust, who had handled himself aboard the ship well enough convince Sheen that his impression of the man’s seamanship was correct, followed Sheen into the longboat. As they pulled away, Dust said, “Who is it we are to meet?”
“Captain Nosaj.”
“What can you tell me of him?”
“He used to be part of a theatrical troop in Wirav.”
“An actor?”
“No, everything else. That is to say, he gathered the properties, painted the sets, arranged the lighting, built the stage.”
“Ah, well, and that prepared him for piracy?”
“Not in the least. But his troop did a production of Repel Boarders and he was required to do the sets and acquire the properties, and, in the course of studying for this, he became so fascinated by the life, that he abandoned his career and joined a pirate crew. He proved to be so skilled in the art of piracy that soon he was elected captain, and eventually came to be the one that everyone came to for counsel and to settle disputes.”
“As you do in Mermaid Cove.”
“Exactly, though it must be said, where there are eight ships, including my own, that harbor in Mermaid Cover, there are three times that number in Far Harbor.”
“Very well, I understand. And you know him?”
“We have had the opportunity to meet, and, moreover, to drink together a certain spirit made on Elde Island from molasses, which, when consumed in the proper quantity, is useful for solidifying an acquaintanceship and curing melancholy.”
“And when used in improper quantities?”
“It will cause fights and lead to the headache.”
“I now understand. And, apropos Captain Nosaj, you can introduce me?”
“I can. And, moreover, I can supply a certain amount of the spirit to which I have just alluded to help make the introduction proceed smoothly.”
“That is all I need,” said Dust, and the longboat continued toward the shore.
And now, with the reader’s permission (or, if we are to be honest, without; alas, the reader is, by the very nature of the process of historical exposition, unable to register an effective protest, although we nevertheless express the wish for this permission as an acknowledgment that we are taking a step that the reader may potentially find distasteful, thus indicating our respect for the reader’s inclinations), we will turn our attention to a place several hundred miles from where we were, and a time nearly a month later.
The place is one we’ve seen before: a small village in Zerika’s Point known as Wetrock, or more precisely, a certain estate on what was now called Berwick Road, from which the reader may deduce the name of the house, that being Berwick Estate. It has, since the reader first saw it at the beginning of our history, changed little. The astute observer might notice that the northern side has sunk a little into the garden, so that the stalks of cindle now, it being high summer, peek over into the dining room window as if to beg for crumbs and the ivy on that same side has climbed high and made certain small inroads into the wall; the chimney on the west side has developed a long diagonal crack for about half its length; the walkway up to the doors on the south is now covered with grass and weeds, the door itself being boarded shut. Yet other than these few changes, it is much the same.
At the very top of the structure was a door that led up from the master bedroom, and was where Cerwin and Tiscara had been inclined to watch the town and beyond to the Ocean-sea on fine days. This was one custom that Berwick continued, often coming to enjoy the view of his land, his town, his people. It must be said that the last six hundred years of prosperity had been good for him, advancing him with dignity into late middle age, still with all his faculties, with keen eyes, and his wit undimmed. His only son, Yanis, stood next to him on this occasion, as he often did, Berwick dispensing advice, Yanis sometimes listening, sometimes not. Berwick could not, he admitted to himself, always tell.
Must the reader hear of the subjects discussed? We may say that finance provided a good portion of it, how to protect one’s capital while taking certain risks with selected portions, how to convince others to shoulder this risk, the proper rate of expansion of commerce, the balance of manufacturing, trade, and land, and so on. If it was said by Clostin that obsession with commerce is the death of fine feeling (and we assure the reader it was, although the context indicates it was meant more metaphorically than literally), then Berwick seemed determined to prove it beyond any doubt.
On this occasion, the subject was marriage—that is to say, Berwick’s. His son, Berwick decided, was attempting to prevent the conversation from turning to his own marriage, or advice of other sorts, by striking first, suggesting that the older man find a bride and produce more offspring. “After all,” he said, “I am hardly immortal, father. We live in a world where accidents are possible.”
Berwick, as always when his son made such an effort, found himself in that tangle where amusement wars with annoyance, and was groping for a response containing the proper proportions of wit and contempt when he heard footsteps behind him.
“My lord?” said his attendant, Lan.
“Well, what is it, old man?”
“You have a visitor, m’lord.”
“A visitor? How? I saw no one.”
“He arrived at the front door, my lord.”
“The front door? Then, it is a nobleman?”
“After a fashion, m’lord.”
“Speak plain, you fool. Is it, or isn’t it?”
“It is a Jhereg, my lord.”
Berwick frowned. A Jhereg? At this point, Lan handed him a palm-sized card on which was written, in a precise and elegant hand, “The Baron of Magister Valley,” and the symbol of the Jhereg. Well, certainly a Jhereg, then. Why? A message from Dorin? But then it would be a liveried messenger. What then, someone wishing to exploit the fall of the Empire to carve into the still lucrative sealstone business he had built with his own hands? If so, the Jhereg would feel the teeth of the orca! He had over a hundred men-at-arms, he had friends among the marauders of the coast, he could call on Dorin, and even, perhaps, Traanzo himself. Let this Jhereg try his oily insinuations!
But no, he told himself. Let us not jump to conclusions. We will listen to this Jhereg and see what he says, and then, well, we will see.
He turned to his son and said, “Go downstairs with Lan and be certain this Jhereg is well treated. I will be down shortly.”
“Why, father?”
Berwick shook his head and sighed. “The one who makes the other wait shows power. Whatever this Jhereg wants, we must establish that he is the supplicant. Now go.”
Berwick remained on the roof for what seemed to him a good length of time, then took himself down to the withdrawing room, where Yanis stood near the door while a stranger in black and gray sat in one of the chairs against the far wall, somehow appearing, in spite of his back being perfectly straight, both feet flat on the floor, and his arms on the armrests, to be entirely relaxed. He rose as Berwick entered and gave a bow that was exactly correct, saying, “My lord Berwick, thank you for agreeing to see me.”
Berwick gestured for Yanis to leave; the younger man shrugged and did so, with an insolent shake of his head. Berwick then turned back to the Jhereg and said, “You have wine, I perceive?”
“Yes, and I find it excellent.”
“You are a judge of wine, then?”
“I have had the honor to taste a number of vintages, and thus have developed an awareness of what pleases me.”
Berwick poured himself a glass, shrugged, and sat down. The other did the same. “Well, it is easy to know what pleases us.”
“Is it?” said the Jhereg.
“I seem to know what pleases me, at any rate.”
“Do you indeed? Well, so much the better. As I am here in hopes of making arrangements that will please you, it will make it easier for me if you know what that is.”
Berwick wasn’t certain how, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that the conversation had somehow gotten away from him. “You have business with me then?”
“It may be,” said the Jhereg.
“Then please be so good as to state it.”
“Since you are kind enough to ask, I will do so, and in terms that leave no room for doubt.”
“That is the best way,” said Berwick. “Believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you entirely. This is it, then. You have made certain arrangements with the, ah, let us call them sailors of Far Harbor. I know this because I have also made arrangements with them. Your arrangements involve shipping steel and manganese to the forges in Aussiar and the canal in Candletown. My own—”
“These pirates,” said Berwick. “They talk too much.”
“Oh, my lord, your pardon. It was not they who told me of this.”
“It was not?”
“No, my lord. It was merely observation; watching the loading of ships and wagons, noting their directions.”
“Well, go on.”
“My own arrangements with these individuals—”
“Pirates.”
“As you say, Lord Berwick. My arrangements are of a more directly commercial nature. They supply me with goods for sale, I supply them with what they need. It is beneficial to all concerned.”
“Well,” said Berwick. “And what has this to do with me?”
“It seemed to me that you could benefit from such commerce.”
“You are offering me your business?”
“A part of it.”
“How much, and in exchange for what?”
“How much is a seventh part. I promise you, it will be a tolerably round figure.”
“And what would you need of me?”
“As of now—nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Do me the honor of telling me of this ‘almost nothing.’”
“I have always had a dream.”
“A dream, Baron Magister?”
“Please, call me Daifan.”
“Very well. A dream, Daifan?”
“A dream, a wish, a desire. Shall I tell you of it?”
“If you wish, I will be glad to hear it.”
“This is it, then. Later, when I am old, and rich—for, you perceive, I desire that, when I am old, I shall have wealth to go along with it.”
“That is but natural.”
“At that time, when I am old, and rich, I would wish above all to find a peaceful, quiet village on the seashore.”
“Well, and here it is.”
“But there is more.”
“I am listening.”
“I should like then to live without servants, without pomp, passing my wealth on to any children I might have acquired, and retire to a quiet, peaceful inn or tavern in such a village.”
“Ah, in fact, we have one. It is called the Wriggling Dolphin. Or, did you know this?”
“I did, in fact. And I know that, the owner having been unable to meet his debts, because of the loss of custom in the last six hundred years, you have acquired it, opening its doors only occasionally, keeping the old owner on as a paid caretaker.”
“You are well-informed.”
“My lord, I always try to learn what I can before any business venture.”
“Very well. But what of it?”
“I wish it.”
“My lord, you must know that its value, if it has any, can be measured in a few imperials.”
“So much the better, for you will not feel the loss, especially as I will not want the transfer to take place until you have received the first payment from me, and even then, you will have the right to change your mind about the sale and keep the payment.”
“Keep the payment.”
“It is a gesture of confidence, my lord. I am so certain that you will be delighted with our new arrangement, that you will want the sale to go through in order to keep the payments coming to you, the more-so as you need do so little to earn them.”
“It seems to me, Baron Magister, that you are being extraordinarily generous.”
“It is not generosity, my lord Berwick, it is self-interest.”
“I fail to understand what it is you do me the honor to tell me.”
“Then I will explain.”
“I am anxious for you to do so.”
“I have studied you, my lord Berwick.”
“Studied me?”
“Indeed. Moreover, I admire you.”
“Well.”
“I learned how you came into possession of this wealth you now enjoy, and of the various combinations you have employed. Someone able to pull off such a coup is someone with whom I wish to ally myself, and so I have chosen to begin this alliance by showing my generosity.”
Berwick stared at him hard. “You say begin, but what will then follow?”
“As to that, who can say? It may be that at some future time you will be able to be useful to me. When that day comes, I will speak with you, and we will expand our business relationship. I cannot know what that arrangement might be; you perceive, without the Empire, everything changes so quickly. But this is a time when opportunities may appear at any moment, and when such an opportunity arises, I wish to be ready.”
“You have a head for business like an Orca,” said Berwick.
“I cannot express the pleasure this compliment gives me.”
Berwick bowed. “Will there be papers to sign?”
“Only the transfer of the Wriggling Dolphin, which I will have drawn up and sent to you for your signature and witnessing along with my first payment. Other than that, there will be no papers. I will merely see that your portion is delivered to you every quarter.”
“Then it seems that you have come here, not with a business proposal, but with a gift.”
“It may seem that way, my lord.”
“Well?”
“I give you my word, I am engaging in this for my own benefit.”
“Then I believe you.”
“And you are right to.”
“Well, I accept your offer.”
“I am gratified that you have done so.”
“May I convince you to stay for dinner?”
“Thank you, no, my lord. I am otherwise engaged.”
“Then I bid you farewell, Lord Daifan.”
“Farewell to you, Lord Berwick.”
Once Lan had shown the Jhereg out, Berwick sat for some moments considering the matter, then called for his son.
“Yes, father?”
“The Jhereg who was here, his name is Daifan, Baron of Magister Valley.”
“Well?”
“He has made a business proposal that sounds to be very profitable, and yet—”
“Well, and yet?”
“I wish to know more of him. See what you can learn.”
“I will do so at once.”