Queen of Fire

We docked at one of the minor berths near the northern edge of the harbour, the captain being obliged to pay double the normal mooring fee to a harassed junior port official.

 

 

“I’m on official business from the Unified Realm and the Meldenean Isles,” the captain growled. “That’s got to be worth a discount at least.”

 

“You’ve also got a hold full of spice,” the young official replied. “And space is at a premium.” He handed the captain a chit for the berth then held up his hand in expectation.

 

“Is there a problem?” I asked, moving to the captain’s side.

 

The young man stared at me for a long moment, retreating a step with rapidly paling features. “You are Lord Verniers,” he breathed.

 

I was accustomed to a certain notoriety in the better-educated corners of the empire, but it was usually confined to politely spoken compliments or requests for attendance at various learned functions. So the sight of the pale-faced bureaucrat stumbling backwards along the gangplank before turning and running along the wharf was somewhat unnerving, his return a short time later even more so, since he was accompanied by a squad of soldiers. They proceeded towards the ship at a run, the young official trotting in their wake and gesticulating wildly as he called to the surrounding stevedores. “The traitor! The traitor returns!”

 

“I think, Captain,” I said, hefting my bag of books and making for the gangplank. “You had best be on your way.”

 

“Ship Lords told me to keep you safe,” he said, though his shrewd eyes betrayed a deep concern at the commotion unfolding on the wharf.

 

“And I am grateful for your efforts.” I extended a hand, expecting him to ignore it. Instead he gripped it tight, grimacing in regret.

 

“Luck to you, honoured sir,” he said in surprisingly good Alpiran.

 

“And you, honoured sir.” I glanced at Fornella, seeing how fearfully she eyed the approaching soldiers. “I should be grateful if you would take her back to the Realm.”

 

“No.” Fornella took a deep breath and moved to my side, forcing a smile. “We have a mission, after all.”

 

We waited on the wharf, watching the captain hound his crew into frantic motion as they hauled oars to push them back from the quay. The sailors soon set to work rowing themselves towards open water in accordance with the bosun’s urgent drumbeat.

 

“What was its name?” Fornella asked. “The ship.”

 

“I never thought to ask.” I turned as the soldiers came to a halt a short distance away. They were conscript infantry judging by their armour, half a dozen youths under the command of a less-than-youthful sergeant.

 

“Your name?” he demanded, striding forward, hard eyes intent on my face.

 

“Lord Verniers Alishe Someren,” I replied. “Imperial Chronicler . . .”

 

“No,” he growled, moving closer with his hand on his sword. “Not now you aren’t.”

 

? ? ?

 

They took us to the harbour-master’s station, a sturdy building equipped with a few cells for sundry smugglers or excessively boisterous sailors. Thanks to the excitable port official a crowd had begun to form on the wharf by the time the soldiers closed in around us. “If I am liable to arrest,” I said to the sergeant, “I have a right to hear the charge.”

 

“Quiet!” he snapped, face flushing as he eyed the gathering throng on the quayside. “It’ll be all I can do to get you clear of here without this lot stringing you from the nearest mast.”

 

I could hear them now, despite the thickness of the walls that surrounded us, a classic baying mob. The words “Hang the traitor!” and “Avenge the Hope!” seemed to be the most salient amongst their chants.

 

“‘It is only in the Alpiran Empire that the rule of law is truly respected,’” Fornella quoted in a faintly bitter voice. As ever her memory for my writing was aggravatingly accurate. “‘Justice being applied equally regardless of station. All, from the meanest, most beggared subject to the Emperor himself, can expect equal treatment before the law.’”

 

She paced back and forth, prowling the cell and wincing at the occasional upsurge in the mob’s fury. “What can you have done to arouse such ire, my lord?” she asked, her tone more than a trifle sarcastic. “Perhaps offended the Empress in some way?”

 

“You didn’t have to stay,” I pointed out.

 

She sighed and sat down next to me on the mean wooden bench, tracing a hand through her hair and issuing a groan of annoyance at the grey tresses coming away in her fingers. “Where else is there for me to go?”

 

I watched her hold the hair up to the light from the small window, thinking they resembled tarnished threads of copper and making a mental note to write the observation down later, should I be afforded the opportunity. “Is this what happens?” I asked. “When you are denied the blood of the Gifted?”

 

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