The Crooked Key, Chapter 15: Rational Politics
The Crooked Key by Kyle Marquis
Chapter 15: Rational Politics
Eilo slept late, as he normally woke with the sun, and it took an extra hour for the sun to reach Rynne’s bedroom, which was tucked away in the northwest corner of the apartment. He awoke under a pile of ermines and ambassadorial gowns to find Rynne seated at the other end of what passed for the bed, wearing only a long wool shirt. Fruit covered a small lacquer table in front of her.
“I already had two meetings,” she said with a laugh.
Eilo tried to get up, but she waved him to settle back down.
“Nothing happens for another hour or two yet,” she said. “And it’s not easy, but I try not to live in fear. Have some breakfast.”
The banisher inched toward the fruit while rearranging a red dress around his lower half, since he had no idea what had happened to his clothes. Fizzy apple cider, his favorite drink as a child, waited for him in a faceted crystal goblet. He hadn’t drunk fizzy apple cider for years, but he tried it anyway. It was better than de Valc. He took another sip.
Rynne smiled and ate a few grapes.
“Well,” she said, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve wanted to do that since I was thirteen years old.”
Eilo tried not to picture her thirteen years old, with skinned knees and a boy’s haircut.
“What news of the fleet?” he asked.
“What would you do with news, right now without any pants or even a proper breakfast?” She ate a plum, making a mess, and licked her fingers clean.
“Commodore Jancel will be back in less than an hour with more information about the enemy fleet,” Rynne finally said. “You can wave to him from the balcony, if you want. But until he arrives, all we can do is speculate pointlessly and worry ourselves over nothing.”
They ate in silence—a comfortable and companionable silence. Seagulls called outside, and the surf crashed far below. A fire in the other room kept them warm as they finished their breakfast. Rynne got up, revealing a flash of white legs, went to the door, then came back.
“His ship’s coming in,” she said. “No calamities, or he’d send us word by semaphore. Another half hour.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?” Eilo asked.
“Of course.”
“Where are my pants?”
She laughed and said, “I’ll tell you where they are in a few minutes.” Then she carefully removed the red dress from around his legs and studied him.
“I thought you’d have more scars,” she said.
She settled herself on him without the slightest hesitation. He gasped and bit her throat, then tried to remove her shirt.
“I’m not undressing for a man I hardly know,” she said, moving slowly. “Enjoy what you’re offered, Eilo.”
Some time later, the banisher found his pants. Rynne watched him dress. But when one of her handmaidens knocked on the door, she transformed back into Lady Ryphonia between one step and the next.
“There’ll be a meeting in twenty minutes,” she said once he had found his boots. She kissed him, slowly, and sent him downstairs.
Though Commodore Jancel was still disembarking, rumors already swirled that the enemy fleet would appear on the horizon in a few minutes. Officers had to shout for their men to get back into position rather than staring pointlessly over the walls. Remembering the actual reason he got up the other night, Eilo sought out a quartermaster. Lady Ryphonia had barely enough soldiers for the walls, but she had plenty of gear, and the banisher picked out a steel cuirass, greaves, and a morion. He rarely wore armor, as he spent most of his time traveling and far too much of his time slogging through bogs, but if the enemy fleet breached the walls, they would see a fight bloodier than anything at Old Rock.
With his thoughts on armor, the banisher sought out Skaithness, and found her already heading downstairs to the meeting. She was no slower than yesterday, though she kept her mask closed.
“Can you fight?” the banisher asked.
“With the promise of finishing my work?” Skaithness said. “Yes, absolutely. I like your helmet!”
The next problem was that no one knew where the important meeting would be held. Skaithness and the banisher spent ten minutes in the previous day’s banquet hall before a steward apologized profusely and led them to the actual meeting room, which was deeper in the fortress and more heavily guarded
“Sorry about that,” a cavalry officer said, helping him to a chair. A few other officers looked at him suspiciously. He was, after all, little more than a bounty hunter in their eyes. Skaithness stood among the common guards, complimenting their armor.
The assembled company was armed and armored, mostly in breastplates like Eilo, though a few officers preferred scale, and one old codger had chain-and-plate. Even Lord Halday, who was no warrior, wore a breastplate over his ample physique. Lady Ryphonia also wore a breastplate, hers chased with silver and decorated with five crescents. She sat easily in it: their nameless mentor had trained her well in the single year she had studied with them, and she had clearly continued her martial training.
There were no hexguards.
Commodore Jancel, seated beside Lady Ryphonia, steepled his fingers, studied the assembled officers, and spoke.
“Our forces currently stand at three galeasses and three new carracks, including my own ship,” Commodore Jancel said. “The Trusted Seven possess fourteen vessels—”
Moans swept through the room.
“But,” Commodore Jancel went on, “ten of those vessels are old-style galleys, with only modest complements. The two larger vessels are merchant galleons, hastily refitted with bombards, and the Seven have only a single carrack.”
“What about Lady Cleermun’s privateers?” Lord Halday asked. “She has three carracks.”
“Both Lady Cleermun and the Starry Admiral have withdrawn from this operation after the death of Duke Ulcan,” Commodore Jancel said.
Shouts of surprise, confusion, and relief swept through the assembled officers.
“The details of how Duke Ulcan—I suppose I should say Lord Ulcan, as that child had no legal claim to the throne—anyway, the details of his death are unclear,” Commodore Jancel said.
Lady Ryphonia looked haunted. The other night, she had spoken of her regrets, of the orders she had given...and of how even a child could choose their fate. Perhaps Commodore Jancel knew, and was an excellent liar; perhaps he had not been in on the assassination plot. Ryphonia caught the banisher’s eyes; her expression was intermittently miserable and defiant. Then she looked away.
“So that’s Cleermun and the Admiral out,” the artillery officer said. “But we’re still outnumbered.”
“We have the advantage of maneuverability, though,” Lord Halday said. “And of legal authority. Run them in circles; they’re already demoralized, and it’s not like they can attack the castle itself as long as our fleet can harry them—we’d hammer the shit out of them with our cannons.”
“That would be true, Lord Halday,” Commodore Jancel said, “if it were not for Nowan de Valc.”
The room fell silent, and seemed to grow cold.
“The ‘Mollusk Knight,’ as he calls himself, has a vessel of sorcery,” the commodore said. “It is made of the same green stone many of you saw in Baristoc, and is pulled by sea monsters. I got close enough to spot the squid things that attacked Old Rock. The ship has at least six of them.”
“We can stop them if they get near the fortress,” the artillery officer said. “The banisher told us how. In fact, you should make sure all your ships have ballistas. That’ll be enough to pick them out of the sky.”
After a few minutes of practical questions about the venom-squid, Commodore Jancel gave the order to load ballistas and arquebusiers onto each ship. The banisher felt confident that they could deal with the floating squids, now that the horrible things could no longer surprise them. It was the green ship itself he feared.
“How fast is it?” he asked. “Nowan de Valc’s ship?”
“Faster than rowers can manage, I suspect,” Commodore Jancel said. “But my carrack was able to outrun it. And he wanted to catch me, I’m sure of it. So those dragons can’t pull faster than a good ship following the wind. And they’re sea beasts, way out in front of the prow, so his flagship can’t get into the bay, let alone hit the beach.”
“So,” Lady Ryphonia said, “we’re outnumbered, but we seem to have the advantage of maneuverability. Their little galleys can’t reach our ships to ram us, unless we make a mistake, and we can hit them with cannons and bombards. The Mollusk Knight’s squid are vulnerable to ballista and arquebus fire, and if they get anywhere near the castle, the big bombards and the catapults will send them to the bottom.”
She was describing victory, but she didn’t sound happy.
Eilo nodded and said, “We’d win, except for Nowan de Valc.”
Several officers raised their voices against him, confident that the Mollusk Knight’s ship, while impressive, could not outmaneuver a carrack or survive a sustained bombardment. It was, they all agreed, an issue of positioning, and as long as they had wind, they could circle a rowed ship—or a dragon-pulled one—all day and night.
“No, no, no!” Ryphonia shouted. She banged her palm on the table. A deathly silence fell. She looked at the banisher. “This is how Duke Uleino died, wasn’t it? I mean, he planned to scout the original Mollusk Temple, then come back with a few hundred crossbowmen and some hunters. A good, smart strategy that would have been enough to destroy a bandit chieftain, or even another Emmer Duke. But it didn’t work because the Mollusk Knight isn’t a man with an army. He’s a sorcerer commanding a horde of monsters. None of those galleys or carracks or any of that matter. Trezion’s Boys and the Hundred-handed Company don’t matter. We can beat them. What can we do against sorcery?”
Everyone looked at Eilo and Skaithness. He could almost feel their fear—like the waves of sorrow and hopelessness that rolled off the demon of despair, before it focused all its attention on Aklurian. Not a talented speaker, he gathered his thoughts for a moment, then said, “I’ll need to speak with Lady Ryphonia. We—I—may be able to head the Mollusk Knight off before he reaches the island. But the rest of you—all you can do is fight fleet to fleet. You can’t predict what Nowan de Valc can do; you can only fight with the hope...with the hope that I can stop him.”
In his own mind, his voice sounded hopeless, but Ryphonia said, “That’s exactly right!” Her clear, high voice shocked the assembled officers and they banged the table in excitement. They would fight as they had been trained to fight—and they would win. Someone else would deal with the sorcery, and in a fair fight, they considered themselves already victorious. They really believed it.
Ryphonia sent the officers away in small groups to make final preparations for the defense. When the room was empty except for her, Eilo, Skaithness, and a few guards, she said, “What can you do against Nowan de Valc?”
“Our best chance is to use the crooked key before he does,” Eilo said. “Get every sapper and blaster not needed on the walls to dig down to the control room of that tower. If Skaithness can finish her work, we’ll deprive the Mollusk Knight of what he really wants. We might even get a weapon of our own.”
“For all we know, that tower will blossom into a palace that destroys this entire castle and everyone in it,” Ryphonia said.
“Nowan de Valc will destroy this castle and everyone in it,” the banisher said. “Did you hear that commodore? Do you really think his ship will stop in the bay, like a caravel that can’t handle shallow water? No. He’ll wash over us like a tsunami.”
“I am not turning my island over to this wind-up girl!” Ryphonia snapped.
“Hey…” Skaithness said.
“If we start now,” the banisher said, “we might still be able to reach the room we found—”
“Think of something else, Eilo,” Ryphonia said.
The banisher squeezed the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out anything else they could try. He barely knew anything about the Mollusk Temple, or its knight, or even much detail about Nowan de Valc before he had become a hexguard. He was an enigma, with unknown powers and at least partially unknown goals…except, he wanted the crooked key.
“There are rocks on the southern coast of the island, right?” the banisher said.
“You can see them as well as I can,” Ryphonia said. But she was listening.
“I’m not an expert on naval strategy,” the banisher said, “but you’re going to want to keep the enemy fleet around the north and west, right? So you can hit them with bombards from the castle?”
“And they’ll stay there too,” Ryphonia said. “They could land elsewhere on the island, but the castle is basically impregnable from the other direction—hundred-foot rock walls, and clear terrain without even a blade of grass. We’d cut them to pieces with arrows and firearms. And they know it.”
“So they have to stay to the north, because they can only land in the bay, at the docks,” Eilo said.
“Which isn’t much better for them,” Ryphonia said. “But it’s the only chance they have of establishing a beachhead and then fighting their way up to the main gate.”
“But you’d still stop them? If Nowan can’t work some sorcery?”
Ryphonia blinked. She had spoken with total confidence before her officers, like a true duchess. But now the banisher saw her fear.
“Probably,” she said. “If the wind is with us. If your advice will let us knock those flying things out of the air, and stop any of those slugs before they climb the walls. Please...tell me you can do something about that green ship.”
“Maybe,” Eilo said. “Maybe I can make him chase the crooked key.”
Skaithness touched her skirt.
“I’d need a small boat with oars,” Eilo said, “something that would let me maneuver around the rocks to the south. Even if that ship of his is so tough it can smash into the rocks, it’s pulled by sea dragons—presumably with chains or something. They’d get tangled and stuck. Even if he’s not foolish enough to run himself aground, if we have to key...that’s what he really wants. He doesn’t give a damn about this political dispute.” Eilo felt his confidence growing—perhaps foolishly—as he spoke. “And if he chases after the key, he’ll be on the south side of the island, not fighting with the rest of his fleet. And then it’s up to you and your officers.”
“I’ll give you anything you need,” Lady Ryphonia said, “if you can distract Nowan for just long enough that we can crush his fleet. Then, I think, if it’s just his shell-ship against the castle, we can stop him, too.”
“Assuming he doesn’t actually get the crooked key,” Skaithness said. “If he catches us and takes the key, it’s all over.”
Ryphonia considered.
“Could we make a fake?” she said. “We have a jeweler here. A good one.”
“Sorcerers have ways of knowing things,” the banisher said. “I don’t know what powers Nowan de Valc has—ah, if only I did know! But he may be able to sense the real key. We can’t trick him any way except honestly.”
“But it’s...it’s my key,” Skaithness insisted.
Ryphonia’s glare was withering.
“This is how it’s going to be done,” she said. “Just as Eilo said. It’s our only chance.”
“If I’m going to help you, you need to start digging the operations room out now,” Skaithness said. “The sappers have nothing else to do, and they may be able to reach it before—”
“No,” Ryphonia said. “Eilo is right that Nowan de Valc doesn’t give a damn about these politics; he just wants the key. Well, I don’t give half a damn about that key—I just want Baristoc safe and at peace. I have no idea what will happen if you finish turning the key, and neither do you. You might kill everyone on this island, and that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. And since you don’t really have anything to negotiate with, that’s my final word on the matter.”
Skaithness was silent for a moment. It occurred to the banisher that Skaithness—who really only had one purpose in her existence—might just crush Ryphonia’s throat. If she had the strength she exhibited in her first battles, Skaithness probably could have walked right out of the castle with Ryphonia’s whole army trying and failing to drag her to the ground, and dig with her metal hands all the way to the control room. But she looked almost wound down. Eilo could hear her labored breathing through the suit.
Then Skaithness said, “Did you really kill that little boy? The duke’s son?”
Ryphonia reeled back, then faced Skaithness squarely.
“I—I did,” she said. “I ordered his death, and I would have killed him with my own two hands if I’d been in Baristoc. He was a usurper who could have renounced his claim at any time, and he did not. I killed him because I am the Duchess of Baristoc, and because every day that he squatted on my throne, more of my citizens died.”
“Before the Egg of Eime,” the armored woman said slowly, “back when there were still gods and real magicians, there were still ghosts and drippers. But sometimes when people died, the gods saw what they had done, and they went to hell. When the world turns and the new age begins, maybe there will be a hell again. That’s where you belong, Duchess Ryphonia, for what you’ve done.”
The armored woman turned—slowly—to look at the banisher, and said, “I’ll be at the dock. Just tell me what boat to get on.” And she walked out of the room.
The banisher crossed to the other side of the table and poured himself some tea. It was cold and bitter, but he drank it anyway as Lady Ryphonia—Duchess Ryphonia, Eilo realized—there was no ambiguity about her claim now—stared at nothing.
Then he heard screaming. Ryphonia heard it too and ran from the meeting room just behind the banisher, surrounded by her guards, to a window that looked down on the docks.
“They’re coming out of the water!” someone screamed below.
They were coming out of the water in their hundreds: lobster men, crawling spiny nightmares from the bottom of the sea, and red-black women with the lower bodies of crabs, armed with long spears and serrated swords.