Chapter 16

Hal, Captain Borosin and the band of Methusian volunteers all clambered down the netting to the Intrepid's cutter, and the longboat was pretty crowded once a dozen of the ship's crew took up oars. Fortunately the seas were light, and there was no chance of the boat capsizing.

Unless they encountered a sea serpent.

Hal was in the bow, clutching a sword in one hand and gripping the side of the boat with the other. The sword felt clumsy, and heavy, and unfamiliar, and he was pretty sure he'd never held one before in his life. He'd already managed to poke himself in the calf with the thing, and when he pulled up his trousers he saw a trickle of blood running down the back of his leg.

Still, it was too late to back out now, and if the opportunity presented he could always run away… provided he didn't swing his sword at some enemy and cut his own leg off.

The boat crew rowed in silence, and the Methusians were too busy scanning the beach to engage in light conversation. Their only advantage was that the army of dwarves was in the next cove, but Hal had seen those same dwarves charging down a hillside en masse, and they were surprisingly speedy despite their sturdy build. If the enemy got wind of the landing, they could swamp the small task force the moment they set ashore.

So, it was quiet and tense aboard the longboat.

The oars rose and fell in perfect rhythm, and as they approached the sandy beach, Hal noticed more and more of the occupants casting glances towards the left-hand end of the bay. After they disembarked they'd only have a brief window to find cover, and that critical moment was approaching fast.

One breaking wave, two breaking waves… and the boat beached on the sands. Immediately, the Methusians swarmed over the side and waded through the knee-deep water to shore. Hal followed, and he joined in as they all helped to push the boat out to sea again. Then, as the Stalyans rowed for the middle of the bay, safe from attack, the landing party scurried towards the treeline.

"This is a good start," said Borosin, as they found cover. "Now we are concealed."

They advanced through the trees, until they came across a river blocking their path. Then they turned right, following the bank until they encountered a jetty, where an elderly fisherman was cleaning his wooden rowing boat. He was muttering under his breath as he did so, and he didn't sound the least bit happy. "Crumbs everywhere," he grumbled. "Couldn't even hand it back cleaned, they couldn't. Damn thieves."

"Hello there, fisherman," said Borosin.

The man turned to look at them, and at the sight of Borosin's magnificent red uniform his eyes lit up with greed. "You want to rent my boat? I can do hourly, but it's cheaper by the day."

"No, we have sufficient boats already."

"Somewhere to stay? I have a hut, and—"

"We do not need accommodation." Borosin hesitated. "Tell me, have you seen two officers come this way? They may have been wearing blue uniforms."

"Seen 'em?" The fisherman spat in the river. "Them officers stole my boat, and that sawn-off runt with 'em."

"Quick, man. Where are they now?"

A calculating look crossed the fisherman's face. "How much is it worth to you?"

Borosin took out a coin.

"They were taken by Sur Cumfrence's men," said the fisherman. "He sent guards with them to the city. They're going to be interrogated."

"What is the strength of these guards?"

"In the city?" The fisherman blew out his cheeks. "Maybe two dozen all told."

"You give up this information too easily," said Borosin, with a frown.

"The fudd I do. What have those lazy guards ever done for me? And Sur Cumfrence… that great blob is a blight on the rest of us."

Borosin heard a noise, and turned towards the far side of the river. Coming down the opposite bank was a huge man on horseback, stuffed into highly-polished, egg-shaped armour. Behind him were half a dozen other troops, all mounted, with swords at their sides.

"Oh, there is our noble Lord right now," said the fisherman.

The newcomers had spotted the Methusians, and there was a moment where both sides were frozen with inaction. Sur Cumfrence, the knight the fisherman had been referring to, initially looked outraged that a dozen armed troops would dare to encroach on Mollister lands. Then, when he realised the dozen armed troops outnumbered his own force two to one, his expression changed. "Strategic retreat!" he shouted, and he turned his horse and rode off as fast as the poor overworked beast could carry him. The Methusians and Sur Cumfrence's troops eyed each other off for a second or two, and then the troops reluctantly followed their Lord and master.

"Now you've done it," muttered the fisherman.

"Will he bring reinforcements?"

"Only if he rides to Last Hope and back. There's nothing else out that way."

Borosin turned to his troops. "We must hurry and complete our mission."

"You think?" muttered Hal, and he took a firmer grip on his sword. The knight might have looked comical, but the troops with him had been hard-bitten and tough, and he didn't fancy going up against them.

"With any luck they'll run into the dwarves," said the woman who'd been giving Hal a hard time earlier. "They'll take care of that knight for us."

The rest of the party brightened at this, and their mood was more positive as they climbed the bank and set off for the nearby city. As they approached, Hal eyed the stone walls and big wooden gates, dredging his mind for any memories of the place. Nope. Nothing.

"We do not attack unless provoked," said Borosin. "These people may become allies one day."

"Halt!" shouted a guard, as the Methusians headed for the city gates. "State your business!"

"We're looking for two members of our crew," said Borosin genially. "We mean no trouble."

The guard eyed his uniform, then cast a glance at the rest of the armed troops. "Wait here. I'll have to fetch someone."

'We will wait," said Borosin. "But first, please tell me if you saw my officers. They were dressed in blue uniforms, and—"

"I ain't answering any questions."

The first man departed, leaving a single guard protecting the whole city entrance. He looked nervous, and Hal wasn't surprised. Borosin could easily cut the man down and advance into the city, but for now it seemed diplomacy was the order of the day.

They didn't have to wait long, because the first guard came hurrying back with an older man at his side. The newcomer had a beet-red face, and his hair was cropped to a grey stubble. "What's all this then?" demanded the man.

"Captain Borosin at your service," said the Methusian, and he bowed with a flourish.

"Sergeant Showt," said the older man, with a brief nod.

"I come seeking two of my people, who you may have apprehended by mistake."

"Come from where, exactly?"

"There is a powerful warship in the next bay," said Borosin, omitting the fact it wasn't actually his to command. "We are worried about our missing colleagues, but we have not yet reached the point of… direct measures."

The threat hung in the air, and Showt studied the Methusians with an experienced eye. The man knew something, that was clear from his expression, but he wasn't about to lay down that easily.

So, Borosin poured on the charm. "Perhaps we could speak to the Lord or Lady of this charming city, if such an important personage would deign to meet us?"

"You what?" growled Showt.

"Take me to your leader," said Borosin, slowly and clearly.

"I ain't letting you all in." Showt looked at the sailors, then gestured at Hal. "You and 'im. Leave your weapons an' follow me."

Hal passed his sword to someone, and waited while Borosin unbuckled his belt with its elaborate scabbard. Then, when they were ready, they followed Showt into the walled city, while the rest of the Methusians sat down in whatever shade they could find.

Hal took in the sights and smells as they walked the narrow alleys, from cloth-sellers to butchers, from basket weavers to sellers of roasted lamb on little wooden skewers. It was a busy place, but none of it rang any bells, and he was almost certain he'd never been here before. Here, or anywhere remotely like it.

They crossed a big paved square, where workers were taking down a large wooden platform. There was dried blood on the timbers, and Hal frowned at the sight. Did this place butcher animals in public? Then he saw the large chopping block with its curved, neck-shaped recess, and the poles with their grisly decorations, and he turned away quickly. Not animals, no.

"Barbarians," murmured Borosin, so quietly only Hal heard him.

On the far side of the courtyard they passed through an arch, then entered a hallway decorated with painted shields and suits of armour. They were directed to a wooden bench, and they sat down to wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Hal glanced at his wrist, then wondered why he'd done so.

And they waited some more.

Finally, they heard footsteps, and a tall, thin man in elaborate robes approached from the far end of the hall. There were two guards behind him, swords drawn in case of trouble, but the man himself didn't appear to be armed.

"Captain Borosin?" said the man. "I am Lord Chylde, exalted ruler of the Mollister city of Chatter's Reach."

"It is the utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance," said Borosin grandly, getting up and performing his customary bow.

"Hi," said Hal, with a quick wave.

Lord Chylde ignored him. "I believe you are looking for two of your officers?"

"Indeed," said Borosin. "A misunderstanding, I am sure, but one I'd like to clear up."

"And you, er, come from a small fishing vessel which is moored in a nearby bay?"

"Fishing vessel?"

"I've had reports," said Chylde vaguely.

"Then your reports are wrong, for this vessel is a powerful warship." Borosin gestured towards the door behind them. "If such a ship were to anchor in the bay below your charming city, her guns could reduce this place to rubble in fifteen minutes."

"Is that a threat?" said Chylde, with a frown.

"An observation. Now, time passes and I am done with waiting. Where are my people?"

"They were here. Unfortunately, they were summoned to the royal palace."

"For a high-level meeting with your king or queen, I hope."

"With my niece, Queen Therstie."

"Then we must go to this palace and meet your queen. Please organise transport, for I grow weary of walking."

"Impossible. They left in the royal carriage, and there is but one."

"Horses then. I will ride if I must."

"Now look here," said Chylde. "You can't just come in here and—"

Borosin raised his hand and gave a low, drawn-out whistle. As his hand came down the whistle got louder, until he spread his fingers and made the sound of an explosion. "Fifteen minutes. Rubble."

"They won't attack the city while you're here."

"This shows how little you know," said Borosin, with a laugh. "The warship is commanded by my enemies, and they wouldn't hesitate to flatten your city while I'm standing in the middle of it."

Suddenly there was a commotion from the entrance, and a courtier came running in. "The Queen is here. Queen Therstie arrives without notice!"

Chylde swore. "There go my wine cellars."

"Never mind," said Borosin. "At least now I can meet your queen, and your city won't have to suffer a bombardment."

They all hurried out to the square, and Hal stared as a black lacquered carriage raced into view, hauled by two sweating, tired-looking horses. There was a child in the driver's seat, and he was standing up and pulling on the reins like his life depended on it. Since the carriage was hurtling towards a wall at top speed, that wasn't far from the truth.

"Whoa!" shouted the little fellow, gamely trying to stop the charging beasts despite his small stature. Then Hal looked closer, and realised the child was actually a miniature adult, wearing forest green with a vicious-looking dagger at his belt.

There wasn't time for much of an inspection, because at that moment the horses came to a skidding halt inches from the wall. All four wheels of the carriage left the ground, and the halfling was flung headlong from his seat, still clutching the reins. There was a thud and a curse from inside the carriage as the occupants were flung around, and then the carriage fell back to ground with a creak from its primitive suspension. Meanwhile, the halfling was still sailing through the air, and he performed a perfect somersault before landing astride one of the horses with a solid thump.

"Ooh, my bells," he groaned, then slid off sideways and landed on the cobblestones.

There was a long silence, broken by Captain Borosin. "This is how your queen travels?"

The carriage door opened, and a young man in uniform got out, rubbing his head. At the sight of the Stalyan officer, Borosin instinctively reached for his sword, but his hand closed on thin air. Cursing, he remembered he'd given it up at the gate.

The other officer didn't hesitate. He reached into his boot and drew a small pistol, pointing it directly at Borosin. "Hold still, Methusian scum!" he shouted, his face set. "Hold still or I shoot!"