Hilemore decided it was time to get what he came for. “Our Blood-blessed will be at your disposal for the duration of our stay, madam,” he said. “However, in return we will require product, all the Red you can spare. Also, coal and provisions sufficient for a lengthy voyage.”
“A hefty price, Captain.”
“Necessitated by the importance of our mission.”
“The details of which you are not at liberty to share, no doubt.”
“I compliment you on your insight, madam.”
She barely acknowledged the praise, lapsing into silence, the line once again reappearing in her forehead.
“Might I enquire,” Hilemore began as the silence stretched. “If this port has suffered any attacks, as yet?”
Madame Hakugen nodded to Major Ozpike, who reported, “Not directly, but the first Blue-hunters failed to return at their allotted time six weeks ago. Contractor companies stopped arriving at the north wall with product to sell. A few days ago just one man came stumbling out of the hills, a Headhunter, half-mad and raving. It took hours of coaxing to get the tale out of him. All of his company wiped out by Spoiled and Greens. Would’ve liked to get more information from him but he hung himself shortly after, not before assuring us we were about to die. You can imagine the effect this has all had on the people. You saw my men and they’re the hardiest souls in this port. The air is thick with fear.”
Well it might be. Hilemore fought down a spasm of guilt. His best advice for these people was to arm their ships with every gun they possessed, cram as many people aboard as could be carried and sail for Varestian waters. Even then he entertained serious doubts they would escape the attentions of marauding Blues. But what chance of securing his supplies and product in the midst of a panicked evacuation?
“I wish I had better news,” he said instead. “Hopefully the trance-communication will provide sound orders from your home office, once I have your agreement to our offer . . .”
They provided ten vials of Red, five Green and two Black, a fifty percent down payment on the final amount dependent on Mr. Torcreek performing to expectations. Surprisingly, Madame Hakugen had been more parsimonious with the other supplies, limiting the amount of food he could purchase and demanding a near-extortionate price for the iron plate needed for Chief Bozware’s modifications. By the time the contract was agreed he had been obliged to promise half the contents of the Viable’s safe.
“I suspect the people of this port will shortly have need of every scrap of food and fuel,” she stated. “And my contract stipulates that every opportunity to enhance company profits is to be exploited to the full. I see no reason to abandon the values of the corporate world, even in such alarming times.”
Hilemore made his way back to the port under escort, the two guards steering him through little-used alleyways to avoid encounters with townsfolk desperate for news. He didn’t relish the impending conversation with Clay, unsure of how he would react to an abrupt return to contracted status. For all Hilemore knew he might simply look on this as something else that didn’t matter. Perhaps he thinks this ship will make it to the ice-cap under the power of destiny alone. It occurred to him that the supposed gift contained in the White’s blood was in fact the cruelest curse. To have the sensation of discovery taken away, banishing curiosity or anticipation, seemed an awful fate.
He found the crew hard at work on return to the Viable, a dozen or so hanging from ropes to replenish the paint on the hull whilst others scrubbed the deck or polished the fittings. “Glad to see you haven’t left them idle, Number One,” he told Steelfine on ascending the gang-plank. “But the paint will be wasted. Chief Bozware needs to make modifications to the hull.”
“Captain’s orders, sir,” Steelfine replied, voice coloured by a poorly suppressed tone of extreme reluctance.
“Captain . . . ?” Hilemore began, then trailed off as understanding dawned.
“He woke up an hour ago,” Steelfine muttered before stiffening to attention. “Lieutenant Hilemore, Captain Trumane has ordered you be relieved of all duties immediately. I am to escort you to his cabin.” He hesitated then held out his meaty hand. “I require your sword and side-arm, sir.”
CHAPTER 4
Lizanne
“An impressive sight, isn’t it?”
Lizanne’s gaze swept over the broad spectacle of Feros harbour. The sky was cloudless today and the great mass of ships seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, particularly the warships with their polished guns and scrubbed decks. The bulk of the Protectorate High Seas Fleet was now at anchor here: battleships, cruisers, frigates and gunboats initially summoned from their various ports to do battle with the Corvantine Navy. Now, of course, they faced a much more formidable enemy.
“It’s a great many ships,” Lizanne replied to Taddeus Bloskin. “But it won’t be enough.”
The Director of Exceptional Initiatives settled his bulk on one of the benches arrayed alongside the old war memorial and began his endless ritual of reigniting his pipe. At his invitation she had followed him here to Signaller’s Mount, the highest point on the southern shore of this island. The war memorial rose above them to a height of eighty feet, an example of the ostentatious masonry typical of the late Mandinorian Empire with its numerous relief carvings and superfluous filigree, the great column topped by a statue of Lord Admiral Fallmoor in overly dramatic pose. The Liberator of the Tyrell Islands stood in straight-backed and stern resolve, sword raised above his head as he pointed out to sea. The impression of martial heroism was spoilt somewhat by the fact that his finger had dropped off at some point in the one hundred and twenty years since the monument’s construction. The fact that no one had bothered to replace that missing finger summed up the regard with which the corporate world held the trappings of the empire it had displaced.
“Really?” Bloskin asked as he puffed. “Over a hundred ships and forty thousand soldiers, the cream of the Protectorate, armed with ever more of your infernal modern guns. You really think a rabble of Spoiled and drakes could stand against such a force?”
“Yes. And, since the fleet remains in port, apparently so do the Board.”
“In fact the Board is divided on the issue.”
Bloskin flicked a spent match away and reclined on the bench. His tone was one of affable conversation rather than that of a Board member committing the heinous act of revealing their private deliberations. “Admiral Heapmire continues to lobby hard for an immediate invasion, supported by most of the Sea Board despite the fate of their three frigates. Madame Dolspeake is of more cautious mind, wishing to seek alliance with the other corporations and formulate a joint strategy before embarking on any military adventures.”
“And your thinking, Director?”
“I think,” Bloskin replied with a faint smile, “it is a great shame the Mad Artisan’s device was lost in the evacuation. Who can say what more we might have learned from it?”
Lizanne suppressed a sigh. Bloskin evidently knew exactly where the device currently resided or he wouldn’t have raised it. Also, the fact that he had made no efforts to recover it indicated he was content for it to remain under her father’s studious care. However, people in their profession did enjoy their games. “It was certainly a regrettable loss,” she said, deciding to indulge him.