Monarchies Of God - Hawkwoods Voyage Part 31

The mage splashed towards him, and they could make out Masudi's lantern growing smaller as he returned the way he had come.

"Well, gentlemen," Bardolin began, and bent to the corpse much as Murad had done.

"Well, Mage?" Murad asked coolly, having regained his poise.

Bardolin's face was as pale as Mateo's had been. "When did this happen?"

"Sometime before the dawn, we think," Billerand told him gruffly. "I found him here, as he lies."

"What did it?" Murad demanded.

The mage turned the limbs, examining the lacerated flesh with an intensity that was disturbing to the more squeamish among them. Sequero looked away.

"How were the horses last night?" Bardolin asked.

Sequero frowned. "A bit restless. They took a long time to quieten down."

"They smelled it," the mage said. He got to his feet with a low groan.

"Smelled what?" Murad demanded impatiently. "What did this, Bardolin? What manner of beast? It was not a man, that's plain."

Bardolin seemed reluctant to speak. He was staring at the mangled corpse with his face as grim as a gravestone.

"It was not a man, and yet it was. It was both, and neither."

"What gibberish is this?"

"It was a werewolf, Lord Murad. There is a shape-s.h.i.+fter aboard this s.h.i.+p."

"Saint's preserve us!" di Souza said into the shocked silence.

"Are you sure?" Hawkwood asked.

"Yes, Captain. I have seen such wounds before." Bardolin seemed downcast and strangely bitter, Murad thought. And not as shocked as he ought to be.

"So it is not just an animal," Hawkwood was saying. "It changes back and forth. It could be anyone, anyone of the s.h.i.+p's company."

"Yes, Captain."

"What are we to do?" di Souza asked plaintively.

No one answered him.

"Speak to us, Mage," Murad grated. "What can we do to find the beast and kill it?"

"There is nothing you can do, Lord Murad."

"What do you mean?"

"It will be wearing its human face again now. We will simply have to be watchful, to wait for it to strike again."

"What kind of plan is that?" Sequero snapped. "Are we cattle, to wait for the slaughter?"

"Yes, Lord Sequero, we are. That is exactly what we are to this thing."

"Is there no way of telling who is the werewolf?" Billerand asked.

"Not that I know of. We will simply have to be vigilant, and there are certain precautions we can take also."

"Meanwhile we are becalmed once more," Hawkwood said. "Pernicus' wind died with him. The s.h.i.+p is in the doldrums again."

They stood in silence, looking down at the wreck of the weather-worker.

"I do not think this a chance murder," Bardolin said eventually. "Pernicus was singled out for slaughter.

Whatever other motives this thing has, it does not want this expedition to reach the west."

"It is rational then, even when in beast form?" Hawkwood asked, startled.

"Oh, yes. Werewolves retain the ident.i.ty of their human form. It is just that their . . . impulses are naked, uncontrollable."

"Bardolin, Captain, I wish to confer with you both in my cabin," Murad said abruptly. "Ensigns, between you you will dispose of Pernicus' body. Make sure no one else sees it. The man was murdered, that is all the rest of the folk aboard need to know. Sequero, keep the guards posted on every hatch leading down into the hold. It may still be down here."

"Have you any iron b.a.l.l.s for the arquebuses?" Bardolin asked.

"No, we use lead. Why?"

"Iron and silver are what harm it most. Even the steel of your sword will do but little damage. Best get some iron bullets moulded as fast as you can."

"I'll get the s.h.i.+p's smith on to it," Billerand said.

They left Sequero and di Souza to their grisly work and made their way back up through the s.h.i.+p.

"Are you sure you should be out of your hammock?" Hawkwood asked Billerand. The first mate wasgroaning and puffing as he progressed up the companionways.

"It'll take more than a few cracked bones to keep me from my duty, Captain. And besides, I have a feeling that soon we'll be needing all the s.h.i.+p's officers we can get."

"Aye. See the gunner, Billerand. I want every man issued with a weapon. Arquebuses, boarding axes, cutla.s.ses, anything. If anyone gets overly curious, spin them a tale of pirates."

Billerand grinned ferociously under his s.h.a.ggy moustache. "And won't they wish it were true!"

"You'd best beat to quarters as well, to complete the picture. If we can make everyone think the danger we face is external, human, then there's less chance of a panic."

"Let slip that there's some kind of spy on board," Bardolin put in, "and that is who murdered Pernicus."

Murad laughed sourly. "There is a spy on board."

H AWKWOOD, Bardolin and Murad a.s.sembled in the n.o.bleman's cabin, whilst behind them the s.h.i.+p went into an uproar. The decks were filled with thunder as the guns were run out, the sailors issued with arms and the pa.s.sengers shepherded into spare corners. It would be easy for Murad's officers to quietly splash Pernicus' body over the side in the turmoil.

"Have a seat, gentlemen," Murad said sombrely, gesturing to the cot and the stool that were spare. The heat was beginning to build up below-decks now that the wind had dropped, and their faces were s.h.i.+ning with sweat. But Murad did not open the stern windows.

"The noise will cover our conversation," he said, jerking a thumb at the din beyond the cabin. "Just as well."

He opened a desk drawer and brought out an oilskin-wrapped package. It was rectangular, the covering much worn. He unwrapped it and revealed a thick, battered book.

"The rutter," Hawkwood breathed.

"Yes. I have deemed it time to reveal its contents to you, Captain, and to you, Bardolin, since I feel you probably have an expertise in these matters."

"I don't understand," the mage said. The imp squirmed in his robe, but went unnoticed.

"We are not the first expedition to search for the Western Continent. There was one-in fact there were two-who went before us, and both ended in disaster; the second because the s.h.i.+p had a werewolf on board."

There was a pause. The racket and clamour of the carrack went on heedlessly outside.

"I was never informed of this," Hawkwood said coldly.

"I did not think it necessary, but I do now with things the way they are. It would seem that western expeditions have a way of coming to grief that is similar."

"Explain, please," Bardolin said. Sweat was trickling down his temples and dripping off his battered nose.

Briefly, Murad informed them both of the fate of the Cartigellan Faulcon, over a century before. He also told them of the references in the rutter to an even earlier voyage west, one undertaken by a group of mages fleeing persecution in the Ramusian kingdoms."The information is fragmentary, and obscure, but I have tried to glean what I can from it," he said.

"What disturbs me are the similarities between the three voyages. Werewolves, Dweomerfolk. Murders on board s.h.i.+p."

"And ultimate disaster," Hawkwood added. "We should turn back for Abrusio, get the boats out and tow the s.h.i.+p's head into a wind. That Inceptine is right: this voyage is cursed."

Murad brought a fist down on the desk with a startling thump. Dust rose from the pages of the ancient book.

"There will be no turning back. Whatever demon has taken s.h.i.+p with us wants precisely that. You heard what Bardolin said. Someone or something has been sabotaging westward voyages for three centuries or more. I intend to find out why."

"Do you think the Western Continent is inhabited then?" Bardolin enquired.

"Yes, I do."

"What about the Grace of G.o.d?" Hawkwood asked suddenly. "Could her disappearance be the result of some kind of sabotage also?"

"Perhaps. Who can say?"

Hawkwood cursed bitterly.

"If the caravel is lost, Captain, don't you want to find out how or why? And who it was that destroyed your s.h.i.+p and killed your crew?" Murad's voice was low, but as hard as frost.

"Not at the expense of this s.h.i.+p and the lives of her company," Hawkwood said.

"That may not be necessary, if we are vigilant enough. We have been warned by the fate of the previous s.h.i.+ps; we need not go the same way."

"Then how do we track this thing down? You heard Bardolin-there is no telling which man on this s.h.i.+p is the s.h.i.+fter."

"Perhaps the priest can tell. I have heard it rumoured that the clergy can somehow sniff out these things."

"No," Bardolin put in quickly. "That is a fallacy. The only way to weed out a s.h.i.+fter is to wait until it changes and be ready for it."

"What makes it change?" Hawkwood asked. "You said it was rational after a fas.h.i.+on, even in its beast form."

"Yes. And I also said it is impulsive, uncontrollable. But if we turn back it will, I believe, have got what it wants and may not find the need to s.h.i.+ft again. On the other hand, if we announce that we are sticking to our course it may feel forced to persuade us otherwise."

"Excellent," Murad said. "There you are, Captain. We must continue westwards if we want to hunt this thing out into the open."

"Continue westwards!" Hawkwood laughed. "We are not continuing anywhere at the moment. The sails are as slack as a beggar's purse. The s.h.i.+p is becalmed."

"There must be something we can do," Murad said irritably. "Bardolin, you are supposed to be a mage.Can't you whistle up a wind?"

"A mage is master of only four of the Seven Disciplines," Bardolin replied. "Weather-working is not one of mine."

"What about the other pa.s.sengers? They're mages and witches to a man, else they would not be here.

Surely one of them could do something?"

Bardolin smiled wryly. "Pernicus was the only one gifted in that particular field. Perhaps you should ask Brother Ortelius to pray for a wind, my lord."

"Do not be insolent," Murad snapped.

"I only point out that the dregs of Ramusian society have suddenly become sought-after in a crisis."

"Only because one of those dregs jeopardizes the entire s.h.i.+p's safety with his own accursed brand of h.e.l.lish sorcery," Murad said icily. "Set a thief to catch a thief, it is said."

Bardolin's eyes glinted in his old-soldier face. "I will catch your thief for you, then, but I will not do it for nothing."

"Aha! Here's the rub. And what would you like in way of payment, Mage?"

"I will let you know that at the appropriate time. For now, let us just say that you will owe me a favour."

"The d.a.m.n thing isn't caught yet," Hawkwood said quietly. "Worry about obligations after we have its head on a pike."

"Well said, Captain," Murad agreed. "And here"-he threw the rutter into Hawkwood's lap-"peruse that at your leisure. It may be of use."

"I doubt it. We are far off our course, Murad. The rutter is no longer any use to me. From now on, unless we regain our former lat.i.tude-which is well-nigh impossible without a Dweomer wind-we are sailing uncharted seas. From what you have told me, it seems that the Faulcon never came this far south.

My intent now is to set a course due west, parallel to our old one. There is no point in trying to beat up towards our former lat.i.tude."

"What if we miss the Western Continent altogether and sail to the south of it?" Murad asked.

"If it is even half the size of Normannia it will be there on this lat.i.tude. In any case, to try and sail back north would be almost suicidal, as I told you before we enlisted Pernicus' services."

Murad shrugged. "It is all one to me, so long as we sight land in the end and are in a fit state to walk ash.o.r.e."

"Let me worry about that. Your concern is this beast that haunts the s.h.i.+p."