Chapter Three
The light filtering through the porthole was a shade past morning. As good as any time to surface from slumber. Shadow huffed and rolled from his bunk, dropping with a thud to the rug beneath. Once a lone grey wolf from the forests south of Dreyahyde, the beast had picked the wrong supper. It had pained Shadow to slay such a magnificent animal. He had tried to ward it off. But animals were stubborn; as dumb as humans. Its loss was his gain. Shadow ruffled the wolf’s misshapen head and rose to his feet. Was the Melody at sea? The hull lurching to the side. A headache to navigate his position; a glance through the glass to see the bay of Laria Port. Calm waters. Yet the cabin rolled under his feet. Shadow smiled. A sure sign he’d had a good night; though he’d need to ask the others if that was so. The memory was cloudy as ditch water. One thing was clear: he had to find Petra; she would have the aryll extract to ease the thudding in his skull. Throwing his heavy dark cloak around his naked frame, he stumbled to the deck.
‘Petra?’ Shadow tapped on the stateroom door. No answer. He repeated his call, more insistent. ‘It’s cold out. Need a favour.’
‘She’s not aboard.’
Shadow turned his head; a glance over his shoulder. ‘Argan. Morning. Afternoon. Whatever… where is she?’
The Bruhadian, moving heavy barrels back and forth across the deck for no apparent reason, pointed to the dockside. ‘She’s seeing Felicitra off.’
‘Off?’
Argan nodded.
‘Off where?’
Argan shrugged. Of course, he wouldn’t know. Never appeared interested in the affairs of the crew. Perfect for the Melody, even before he knew the rules. Shadow peered at Argan’s barrels. ‘You moved the water?’
The Bruhadian pointed port side and continued with his inefficient behaviour. Shadow stared a while longer. ‘If I do that,’ he asked, ‘will I get as big as you?’
Argan chuckled, but gave no reply, and continued his pointless endeavour. Secrets, Shadow thought. Secrets for everything. Familiar with Argan’s preference for quiet, Shadow took no offence and paced to the barrel. He removed the lid and cupped his hands, dousing his face with a mixture of frozen slivers and biting cold water. With his cheeks tingling, he drank some of the fresh elixir and replaced the lid. A nod to Argan, who didn’t appear to notice, and Shadow stepped to the gangplank and onto the dockside.
Petra wasn’t hard to find. She cut a lonely figure standing at the end of the boardwalk. She held her favoured white fur tight to her shoulders. Once the luxurious pelt of a Larian mountain ox, the cloak suited the captain. She was as hardy as the rugged beast. An easterly wind had rolled in, and Petra’s silver-coloured hair flicked and danced in the breeze. Shadow winced at the chill; wondered how long Petra had been alone. An awkward image floated in his mind. He tried to push it away. Poetry wasn’t to his taste, but she looked as though a princess sent from the very heights of Etherus. Perhaps even a queen; a cold and lonely queen.
Without invite, he came to her side. ‘Petra.’
Her attention on the tall ship leaving port, Petra returned his greeting. ‘Shadow.’
‘Is that…? Argan mentioned something about Felicitra?’
‘She’s bound for Gwynerath; then onward to Arkalla.’
‘Gwynerath? Why’re we not…?’
‘It’s not trade, Shadow. It’s personal.’
‘Oh.’ Shadow didn’t understand the relevance. Gwynerath was a good place to be. On the eastern fringe of Arkallon, nestled under the Kulkarron mountains, there was wealth and pretty things aplenty. ‘But why are we not sailing ourselves? You say she’s going to Arkalla? We could slum it uptown on the coast. Wait for her. Somewhere warm.’
A long exhalation of her breath floated into the icy air. He waited for her words. None came. ‘Petra?’
‘Of all the crew, Shadow, you know more than most. Felicitra’s got business to attend, and it’s her business alone. She’ll do it her own way, as she always does. You know how it is.’
He did. But there was rare unease in his captain’s voice. A lack of confidence that nibbled at his curiosity. It would be wrong to pry, but what else could he do?
‘You’re pissed?’
‘No.’
‘Then… then what, Petra? C’mon on, you can tell me. You know I’ll not care, and besides, I’ll forget about it anyway. Something’s up. That’s clear, even to me. Get it off your lovely chest.’
Petra turned to face him. A cut on her cheek shining nicely.
‘Ouch. That’s gonna bruise,’ he said. ‘That from last night?’ He reached up, intent on poking her wound. Petra slapped his hand away with a sigh.
‘Felicitra brought some dratch.’
Shadow grinned. These moments were rare; a chance to revel in Petra’s foolishness. His own bloody captain drinking the green stuff. ‘You picked a fight, and you were drunk on that insidious venom? Did you have visions?’
Petra shrugged. ‘Of sparkles and rainbows, aye. Seemed a good idea until it wasn’t.’
He patted her shoulder; a reassuring tap. ‘We’ve all made that mistake at some point. Live and learn, they say.’ Shadow glanced to see the tall ship fading from view. He frowned, recalling Petra’s tone. ‘So, what’s actually happening here?’
She turned to face him; anxiety in her eyes. ‘The Queen. She’s been sent to destroy Arkalla.’
Shadow, seated in Petra’s stateroom, recalled the reason he had sought her.
‘You still have some aryll?’
Pacing back and forward, Petra pointed to a small ceramic jar on one of many wooden shelves. Books, trinkets, and other oddities from around the world decorated her modest cabin. As far as Shadow could tell, a new collection appeared after every voyage, the stacks of shelves growing larger each year. Rising from his plush chair, a leather padded seat complimented by well-rounded arms swathed in soft fabric, Shadow retrieved the vessel and returned. He stared at his agitating friend.
‘You’ll wear a hole in your timber.’
Petra glared.
Shadow pulled the lid from the bright blue jar. ‘Your huffy-eye powers don’t work on me; remember, I’m a moron. I don’t take hints.’
With a sigh that was a little too dramatic, Petra moved to her desk and slumped in her chair. She pointed across the darkwood at the aryll in his hand and scrunched up her face. ‘Does the wee boy need a pick-me-up?’
Her familiar tone had returned. The blunt-force Petra that was better suited to his hangover. Not the moping sop. Shadow was happy to engage with his prickly friend. He put a hand to his cheek. ‘Did the silly little girl bang her pretty wee face?’
That glare again. But Shadow saw the cracks; a grin beginning to form. ‘There she is!’
A sigh of capitulation carried her words. ‘Oh, fuck off.’
‘Seriously though, last night, I wanted to step in. I think Argan stopped me.’
She shrugged her slender shoulders. ‘When don’t you want to step in? Probably for the best. I like Honourhome. Don’t think murdering patrons would hold us in good stead. Felicitra’s better at keeping the peace.’
Shadow, munching on the aryll root, tried to recall the specifics. The herb could work wonders for hangovers. ‘Didn’t you pull a knife?’
‘Pah!’ Petra swished her hand through the air. ‘Details.’
Another thought. Perhaps not for now. Yet somehow, it came out. ‘I’ve never seen you lose a…’
Her rebuke was swift. ‘I didn’t lose anything.’
Hands raised; Shadow offered an apology. ‘I mean, it was a fleeting thought. But seeing your ass being dragged across the floor… well, it’s not like you.’
‘Dragged? Oh, you’re mistaken. I lost a gold coin; was looking for it when my foot got caught on some pirate’s boot-buckles. A freak occurrence.’
Shadow rolled his fingertips on the table. He drummed out his dissatisfaction with her feeble lies. ‘Oh, really?’
Petra smiled and rolled her eyes. She smacked her lips. ‘He was an asshole, and I wanted to kill him.’
‘That’s more like it.’
‘Another good night in Honourhome.’
Shadow thanked Petra for the aryll and placed it back on the shelf. He remained there, browsing through her curiosities. ‘Arkalla, then. You mentioned the Queen.’
‘Arkalla hasn’t accepted Kalle’s terms. It’s been months of negotiating.’
Shadow had scant interest in the politics of Kalleron; he had long detached his mind from such futile thoughts. Though he preferred its climate, skirting the coast, sailing on azure waters with the warm ocean breeze; it beat freezing his backside off in Laria. Although, however hard he tried to ignore the affairs of the mainland, it was impossible to ignore the legend of the Queen.
‘So, Kalle makes good his threat?’
‘Felicitra believes so.’
‘Well, how bad can that be?’ Shadow shook his head. ‘It’s just one woman.’
Petra frowned. ‘I thought it was me that knocked my skull.’
‘No, they knocked it for you. But what d’you mean?’
‘You said just one woman.’
Shadow thought the aryll might not be working. Or was Petra being awkward? ‘Aye. The Queen; one woman? It’s a bloody myth; a metaphor. I mean, everybody knows there’s no scary queen. Kalle sends her with his army.’
‘A metaphor? She’s Earth. The elemental.’
He waved away her nonsense and shook his head. ‘Not a chance. That’s all Kalle’s deception. He sends in spies to spread fear; people flee the city. Then the Queen comes along, all drama and theatre, and they make it appear like she’s an elemental. It’s all tactics, Petra. Clever Kallerye magic—smoke and illusion—to scare the idiot masses. I should know, I used to be one of them.’
Petra raised an eyebrow. ‘You really don’t think she’s real?’
How could he? It had to be a ruse. There was no magic in the world; just fanciful fables to justify the evil that men did. He shook his head, scowling at the thought. ‘She’ll be a witch at most; an impotent bloody pot-stirrer. Everyone’s scared of a witch, right? I bet my balls there’s a massive army behind her; all cannons and siege weapons. Tucked out of sight. Kalleron has engineering and ingenuity on its side. They don’t need an elemental. They just need the myth. To rule by fear.’
Silence. Petra appeared to be absorbing his words. She sighed and nodded. ‘I’d prefer that to be true. I admit, nobody but Kalle can know for certain. He leaves few survivors.’ Another pause, as though her mind was reorganising ideas. ‘It would certainly make things easier for Felicitra.’
‘Why’d she go? At least, what can you tell me?’
‘No intrigue there; her father’s in Arkalla. Too poorly to move. She’s gone to get him out.’
Shadow pictured the journey. A couple of days to sail to Gwynerath, more on an unfavourable wind. It was easily another one or two to reach Arkalla on horseback. ‘How long until the spooky Queen, arrives?’
Petra shook her head. ‘Felicitra wasn’t certain.’
‘If Kalleron’s got forces on the move, Arkalla would see them from afar. The Kulkarron signal beacons would be lit up like Larastra’s Day. If they’re not burning, there’ll be plenty of time to get there and back safely.’ Shadow smiled, thought of the leisure time. ‘We can settle in.’
‘There’s still danger over there.’
‘For Felicitra?’ Shadow pictured Petra’s lover. A woman capable of taming the Melody’s captain; she had inner resources few possessed. ‘I’d not worry about her. I’d say she’s even tougher than you. She’ll be back in a week.’
Petra’s expression remained troubled, but she forced a smile to her face. ‘One week?’
‘One week.’ He squinted, pinched his fingers in a circle. ‘Or so.’
Petra clapped the desk. ‘Well, we can use the time to patch up what’s not been patched.’
‘Aww… what? Can’t we relax?’
‘One week’s far too long for leisure, you lazy Kallerye dog. Set a schedule for the crew. Let Argan work in the cargo hold; he’s precious about his box.’
Argan’s box. It was a massive chest. A strange thing to request to bring aboard. He had paid Petra a sizeable bounty in gold to stow it in the hold. But once inside, it was subject to the rules.
‘You’ve never asked him?’ Shadow asked.
Petra shook her head. ‘I trust Argan and whatever his cargo is.’
‘Never peeked?’
A pause. Petra grinned, but said nothing.
‘You sly cow!’
She was quick to react. ‘Oh, no. I never peek. But it’s heavy; bloody heavy. I wanted it moved to the midline for balance. I couldn’t budge it.’ Petra’s gaze drifted; a squint of her eyes, a slight shake of her head. ‘When he brought it aboard, he carried it without effort. I couldn’t move the crate one damn inch. Had to ask him, and he pushed it like it was full of lambs’ wool.’
‘He is strong.’
Petra touched her cheek. ‘Yes, he is.’
‘Probably armour? In the box?’
‘For a horse, perhaps. If there was even a breed big enough to carry him.’ She paused and clapped her hands. ‘Get moving, Shadow; you’re stalling today’s chores. Divvy them up as you see fit.’
Shadow stood, bowing with a melodramatic flourish, and turned to the door. His hand on the latch, Petra called out.
‘And Shadow, put some bloody clothes on. Your arse is like a little peach when the wind catches that cloak.’
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