Chapter 2-14 TLOS: The Harbour Plot
Foto de Nick Scheerbart en Unsplash
In the middle of the ship's deck, in the already rather dim light of the Dortian1 sun, with less and less light left because the sky was overcast, a figure was silhouetted before the sunset. Erevin, Duke of Tavonia and Imperial Prince, was growing more worried with each passing hour. It was not long now until they would reach the Gulf of Sdaloren (if the winds were favourable, probably no more than a day) and he knew that the area would be perfectly guarded. There would be no lazy and corrupt harbour-keepers there, unless it was for the benefit of those who owned the land: essentially, the Imperial House and, above all, the margrave of RocaStretta, the very future father-in-law of Prince Holingen.
That geographical gulf was not unknown to him. In fact, it was there that he met his first and most important instructor, the bravest gimp in the entire Imperial Fleet, Olter Peg Leg. It was certainly a very bad sign that he had not been located on Haloren, nor had he tried to contact them. Not finding the Baron had already been strange, but not finding the greatest war hero, the most cunning and intelligent of the century, was even more worrying. Now there was no doubt: whoever carried the attack, had caught them by surprise. And it also indicated that this was much bigger than what the depraved harbourmaster or the corrupt Tullius Tanaris would have actually planned. Someone very important was involved in this, and he knew that stopping it was going to be difficult... ‘Though not impossible,’ he said to himself. Most of all, he was concerned about the state of the prisoners....
Ultimately, without any doubt, it was his mother, Empress Abalina, who had given the order, or at least the go-ahead for the operation. Of course, the move had much of her in it, but little of her brother, ‘that idiot Holingen, who thinks they're going to let him be Emperor’ - then he laughed out loud, so much so that the sailor standing guard aft turned and thought the man was going mad - though given his circumstances, he couldn't be blamed. ‘The worst thing,’ Erevin continued thinking, ’is that I'm sure he still doesn't know who his mother is or what she is. I don't think she knows how dangerous she really is either. I still remember that moment...’ -and he scratched his eyes and forced himself to look at the horizon: it had always relaxed him.
Instinctively he folded his arms and wrapped his cloak around himself. Just then he saw a boat in the distance. Several people were on it and one was signalling to them. He looked closely and burst out laughing: he ran to the rudder without waiting a moment and turned it to the right so that it straightened the course to where the boat was. Once the wind itself was doing its work, he said loudly:
- Ahoy, mates!
Immediately, a number of people came forward, among them Arbil and Elios, and he ordered them:
- Fold up the sails, we are going too fast and I don't want us to wreck that boat.
They set to work: the manoeuvre was a success and, in short order, they were able to approach the edge of the little boat with the greatest of care. When he saw that they were close enough, he signalled to Arbis and Elios to come closer:
- Arbil, take the helm. Elios, come with me: we have to get the castaways on board.
- But we don't know who they are:
Erevin laughed out loud:
- Oh, yes, I do know who they are, especially the signaller....
Then he smiled, instinctively showing his teeth, which gleamed in the now dim light of the moons: it was already dark, and the prince looked like an animal that had just seen a prey he knew he would be able to hunt, and smiled with satisfaction.
They hoisted all the shipwrecked sailors with varying degrees of difficulty, and the last to climb was a tall, wiry man, with an obvious scar across his left cheek from almost his eye to his chin, dark from a life at sea and carrying a wooden leg on his left leg. That, however, did not prevent him from climbing with an agility that many people with both legs would have greatly wished to have. Once up, he recognised Prince Erevin and embraced him, then moved him into the light of the moons and smiled:
- I had no doubt it was you, Your Highness. We need you right here…
- I wondered if anyone could keep you locked, old sea dog.
They both laughed. The prince asked:
- But what has happened?
Olter smiled and said:
- I need to have a drink and sit down. And give all of them something to drink as well. It has been a terrible four days at sea, with no food, hardly anything to drink except a little water that we have rationed, and with a terrible sun at certain times of the day.
They brought him a wineskin and a jug, as well as bread and strong cheese and a piece of pork jerky to help him regain his strength. The others were taken down to the mess hall to be served food (what they could eat) and immediately they had begun to set up some hammocks in the hold for them to rest in.
- You see,’ he said, looking around him, as he ate with all the ceremonial, learned and maintained over the years in the imperial service, even if it was that simple meal, ’we have to go back a few years... because it has all influenced what has happened these last few days. Have a little patience because it might be a bit long.
Erevin had sat in a folding chair and Arbil, Elios and the other boys of the crew had sat quietly on the floor. Before long, the captain arrived, picked up a chair, turned it around and sat down, leaving the back of the chair in front of him and putting his arms on top of it.
- How should I begin? Oh, yes, of course… ,’ he said, smiling with his mouth and his expressive blue eyes, so bright blue they almost seemed unreal. “I know how to begin this story”.
Ten years earlier:
- Beware of stone projectiiiiilessss - shouted the Ensign looking at the ship directly in front of them.
It was true: that giant ship, unique in the entire fleet of the Sea Peoples, had a device he had only seen (and used) on land.
He glanced back at the captain's ship where the fighting was getting fiercer and frowned. It seemed that the spies were right, these people were much tougher than certain individuals in the court had expected. But the strategy they had devised was the right one. In fact, they were gaining ground on the enemy, so it seemed to be going well.
Then, he heard a voice behind him that brought him out of his reverie:
Ensign, watch out!
His captain hadn’t finished his warning when the Ensign felt a terrible pain and looked down. His left leg was terribly mangled. He looked towards a sailor who was coming to his aid and suddenly everything became dark.
Imperial Navy Ensign Olter Roca de Pino woke up in terrible pain for the third time. The operation had been as quick as possible to try not to cause any more bleeding, but the surgeon had also tried to be as meticulous as possible not to cut more than necessary and had ended with the extremely painful cauterisation of the wound to avoid infection. Not even the abundant rations of sisebanus2 that the surgeon had given him before, both for the operation and to reduce the sensitivity to pain, but also during and after the operation, had been enough to mitigate the terrible pain that he continued to have in his now non-existent left leg.
The surgeon had often come to see him since the operation was over. He had a lot of work to do, but this young man was special: he had endured the terrible operation stoically and deserved to live and recover as best he could. So, when he saw that he had come to, he carefully approached the bed on which he was lying.
The young man looked at him and asked:
- Have we won?
Nothing about his health. Nothing about his prospects. Only about the battle.
- Yes, Ensign, but you don't have to worry about that now. You know I had to...
- Yes, you had to amputate my leg,’ he said in a whisper. No, there wasn't just a lot of pain from the leg, there was something else. There was anger, there was rage, but there was also something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
The surgeon looked at him. He looked like a very young boy, though if one looked closely, he was somewhat older than he appeared at first glance, 18? 20? 22 at most, he thought. He was certainly the bravest, if not one of the bravest he had ever operated on in his 10+ years as a military surgeon. He knew that the worst curse for someone active and agile was to be suddenly limited in his mobility. With one leg missing, he didn't know whether to tell him that he would never again be able to dance, run or run down the stairs of the ships as fast as he was used to.
But there was something in the young man's eyes that impelled him to believe that this young man could do this and much more. There was something wild in his attitude: even lying on that cot in the infirmary, pale from the terrible pain and half numb from the sisebanus, he was looking at him as if to say, ‘Dare to contradict me”. He seemed to have the inner conviction that it didn't matter how his body was, because he only needed his mind to defeat the enemy or to live a full life. In any case, the doctor thought, he should heal and rest.
The surgeon then looked at him with a mixture of pride and compassion:
- You are going to be fine, the wound is not infected and the cut is clean. But you will have to use a wooden leg: we just have to wait some more days.
The boy looked at him with a frown:
- I understand.
- Preliminary measures have been taken for the wooden leg, but we'll have to wait a little longer for the wound to heal and, above all, for the swelling to go down. We have left some arm sticks there in case you want to move around until you can use the wooden leg. I promise to help you walk with it once you can.
- How is my Ensign? - said the Captain, coming to the ship's sickbay from the deck. He tried to make his voice sound as cheerful as possible because he knew how serious the loyal Ensign's condition was.
- He is not yet well,’ said the surgeon, ’it will take him several months before he is fully healed and can walk again. He is perhaps the bravest man I know, sir,’ he said with a hint of pride in his voice, ’I have no doubt he has a long and profitable life left in the service of the navy”.
The captain smiled broadly at the prospect of Olter being able to sail again and said:
We want him fully recovered, thank you. Your contribution was decisive: thanks to your warnings and reasoning, it was easy for us to foresee the last move made and thus neutralise the enemy for good. I will personally see to it that you receive the highest possible award for your participation.
- That's right,’ said someone behind the Captain, ’we are very proud to have this hero in our service.
Foto de Jonathan Kemper en Unsplash
The boy tried to sit up. He had immediately recognised the illustrious visitor.
- Your imperial majesty,’ he mumbled as a whimper as he moved.
- No, no, no, no, no, you must not sit up under any circumstances,’ Toringen III, in full armour, badly dented and with obvious scratches, had grabbed his shoulders so that he could no longer sit up. “I know you appreciate me and that you are one of the most loyal men to me and the Empire. Then stay that way and get well. We all need you”.
The boy, in pain, smiled. The surgeon again thought he looked more like an animal than a person. However, he knew for a fact that he was not a shapeshifter he had heard of, otherwise he would have detected it in the operation. Then he hesitated. But no, this was a man, but he seemed to have the rage of a wild animal inside him....
3 years before the current date:
Councillor Hariokku, margrave of RocaStretta, was very happy. His business network was growing every day and so were his profits. It had been a masterstroke to show interest in joining the Imperial Council: there were few places where he could access the information that was available and could be debated. That is, he could influence the policy of the Empire and thus indirectly benefit from such changes.
In fact, the information obtained there had enabled him to enter into a number of interesting deals that would not have even thought about, had he not obtained that access, even though he was renowned for his financial and commercial acumen. The results of the last six months attested the great surplus he had gained from these new sources of information. Thus, as news broke, he was adept at using friends, family and other acquaintances so that he was never the one who appeared to be the source of the information. But, for the time being, there had been no problems. Moreover, since his daughter Dánira was the imperial prince's fiancée, even fewer people had tried to mess with him.
He had noticed that some looked down on him and did not trust him: the one who trusted him the least, no doubt, was the Head of the Council of Sages, the illustrious Ramírien and husband of the Empress's lady-in-waiting, Kálada of Sinarden. Indeed, it had come to his attention that his growth was not to the liking of those in high places, concerned about the consequences for a hedonistic, luxury-loving individual of the political problems that were looming and that would end up being military sooner rather than later. However, those problems did not seem to affect the Empress, who treated him with more... affability every day, if Her Imperial Highness Abalina could ever feel that kind of sentiment.
He was lost in thought when a knock sounded at the door. He raised his head and said:
- Come in.
One of his assistant secretaries appeared in the door frame, which he left carefully closed as he entered the spacious office with large windows in bold modern shapes from which he could see the city's defensive fortress and at its foot the beginning of the city's magnificent harbour.
- Sir, there is a messenger downstairs who says he brings you urgent mail.
- Hasn't he told you what it's about?
- No, but he's wearing a uniform I've never seen before and he's given me this stamp.
He didn't like that. Just when things were starting to go really well, someone was sticking his nose where no one had invited him to stick it. He began to feel worried and scared because he had no record of any problems. Then he would have to play down the importance of that message if he didn't want to get into trouble with the Governor... or with the Port Manager of Esdáloren, who was another one who had openly said he didn't trust him nor his business.
- Well, as I see there is nothing else I can do, send him in.
He thought to himself: “don't worry, everything is going very well, nothing is going to happen”.
The door had opened as the secretary went out, and shortly afterwards it opened again to let the messenger in. He was strange, dark and wiry with thinning hair but impeccable attire: that uniform, dull green and grey, was certainly not imperial. It rang a bell, and he couldn't remember where he had seen the same colour scheme, and therefore the same uniform, before, because he was sure he had seen it. Once the door was closed and they were alone, Haikkonnen said to him:
- What's all this protocol and urgency about? - he realised that his voice had an angry edge to it that he did not want to have had when he spoke.
- I bring this mail. I have to deliver it in person to the merchant Haro Haikkonnen.
- It's me, it's me. What is it about?
- I don't know what's in it,’ he replied with a half-smile, as he held out his hand to hand her the scroll. We couriers only deliver mail, we know nothing about its contents.
Haro Haikkonnen was annoyed: he had no choice but to reach out his hand and take the offered scroll. The messenger had said he didn't know what was in it, but Haro doubted that. Besides, the expression of a cat with a sweet tooth while looking at a sardine was so obvious, he inevitably thought he was in trouble.
- Well, you may go.
- But not before I give you another message that I have been instructed to deliver to you by word of mouth. ‘If he rejects the agreement, the Council of Elders will understand that he is no longer interested in the one signed with him and we will act accordingly”. In addition, you will have to take into account the time limit in the new agreement. I have been instructed to remain in port until you have drafted your reply and are ready to forward it.
What agreement was he referring to? What was going on? He had to read what it was about, but he didn't want the man in his office much longer with the whole house talking about it. The whole street would know in no time, which was the same as saying that the Governor would know first thing in the afternoon.
- Well, where can I reach you?
Once again, the stranger turned back to that half-smile that made him so uncomfortable. Who did he think he was? The wretch was bending over. What a comedy.
Foto de Krisztina Papp en Unsplash
- Don't worry. In three days, I'll be back here to get your response. Because I imagine that three days will be enough...
- “Depends on what kind of agreement you've brought me”. Three days waiting in the harbour, in full view of everyone? That man had to be joking. I had to shorten that time as much as possible, he thought.
- Don't worry about that either. I have orders to wait until you are ready to give us an answer. Just think of the consequences of your failure to make a decision on this matter,’ the messenger looked around. A cold sweat was beginning to break out on the Councillor's back - and whether his standard of living can tolerate that.
Haikkonnen frowned - was this blackmail? Was the man really threatening him? He concealed it as best he could, though he was sure the man had read him like an open book. He had to act as quickly as possible: he didn't want the man to be in the port for a minute longer than was materially necessary to know what was going on.
- I will try to have an answer for you as soon as possible, in three days or even sooner.
The messenger, with that haunting smile of his, left the room after making the ceremonial salute.
Suddenly, a vivid image came to his mind. Now he remembered where he had seen that uniform, and he knew what the deal was. If that half-witted Fleet General found out, his trade operation with the furthest known eastward country they knew about, would be in jeopardy. He had to do everything he could to prevent such a disastrous outcome for his interests. And he had to do it alone: the Empress must not find out or she would either end her daughter's engagement, or, worse, exploit it in favour of the Imperial Family. ‘No, there would be a worse possibility,’ he thought, ’That they would learn of my true origins”.
As he looked out of the window, he realised that his hands were shaking: he couldn't remember when he had ever been so afraid. He could almost be sure he had never felt such dread. But he had to hide it: Dánira couldn't even imagine that something serious was happening, and as perceptive as she was, that was going to be really difficult.
PS: I know that I usually post it on Saturdays but tomorrow it will be impossible for me (family obligations).
This post was originally published in Wordpress.
Dort- (darkness) and -ian (to deprive): hence Dortian is translated as ‘he who removes darkness’, as we have already seen in chapter 2-5.
A shrubby, dark green plant with very small purplish flowers, from which a highly concentrated liquid is extracted and used to put people to sleep. Without it, surgery would not have made much progress in Sinardia. In this way, they avoided severe pain and therefore prevented patients from moving around too much, making operations easier.