is still real. And how does Lord Jamison take his position as First Advisor being usurped?’
Robert shrugged. ‘He’s still a power, but he’s ageing. His son James the third is able, but it’s his grandson, yet another James … Jim’s the one to keep an eye on.’
The Earl nodded. Both men had met Jim Dasher in his guise as Lord Jamison, grandson to the Duke of Rillanon.
‘What is known about Alcorn?’ posed Earl Robert. ‘He rose through the ranks, hardly the first man of common birth to do that – Duke James’s grandfather was a common street lad, a thief even by some recounting. But this Sir William holds no specific title – it is said he refuses them, though even the office of Duke of Rillanon might be his for the asking once Lord James steps down.’
Henry shook his head ruefully. ‘The current Duke might object; I think he sees the office going to his son or grandson. And Lord James is still a man with whom to reckon. He holds together the Congress of Lords, truth to tell.’
‘Well,’ said Earl Robert, ‘it is of little concern for us on the Far Coast, it’s true.’ Then he smiled, ‘Yet it is always interesting.’
‘You’re a more political animal than I, Robert. But to say it is of little concern is to assume things will go forward as they have in the past, and that may not be so. There’s a difference between the Crown ignoring us and abandoning us. It’s when I consider that possible bleak future I’m glad to have friends such as you and Morris here in the West.’
‘Ever your loyal vassal, my friend.’
At that moment a soldier, drenched to the skin, hurried into the Keep, approached the Duke’s table, and bowed. ‘My lord, a ship is making for the harbour.’ He sounded out of breath.
The Duke stood. ‘In this weather?’
‘We have tried to warn them off with red flash powder in the lighthouse, but they’ve ignored us and are coming straight in!’
The Duke looked to Robert. As one they said, ‘Reinman!’
Henry said, ‘Only that madman would run before the gale and think to not end up with his ship a half-mile inland. Let’s go up to the tower.’ He motioned for Robert to follow, but by then the boys and Bethany had also stood up.
‘Father,’ said Martin. ‘You’ll never see anything from up there!’
‘If it’s Reinman and he doesn’t bring that ship to heel in this gale, we’ll have plenty to see,’ Henry answered. He moved out of the great hall towards the stairs that led to the tallest tower in the fore of the keep. It was called the Magician’s Tower, for once the Duke’s ancestor, Lord Borric, had given it over to a magician and his apprentice. Now vacant, it still afforded the best view of the western vista.
Servants hurried to bring oiled cloaks for the Duke’s court. As Henry and Robert reached the top of the tower, a page barely able to catch his breath overtook them and handed each man a heavy hooded cloak of canvas soaked in seal oil. Moments later the two rulers of this land were atop the tower, faces into the biting rain, attempting to see what they could in the darkness.
As the others gathered behind them, Earl Robert shouted over the wind, ‘Can you see anything?’
Henry pointed. ‘Look!’
The town of Crydee was shuttered fast against the storm, but light could be glimpsed leaking around the edges of shutters, cracks in door frames, and from the lanterns of those who hurried toward the docks. The alarm was sounding and it carried faintly to those atop Crydee Keep’s tallest tower.
In the distance the glow from Longpoint Lighthouse could barely be seen, faintly red from the powder that had been tossed on the beacon to warn ships off attempting to enter the harbour.
In a severe storm, ships would make for a headland seven miles up the coast and heave to behind the shelter of some tall bluffs. In a storm like this, the wise choice could be to keep sailing along the coast and circle back when the winds lessened, or to drop anchor and turn the bow into the gale.
But this captain was no ordinary seaman; rather, as Lord Henry had observed, he was something of a madman. Considered the finest captain in the King’s Western Fleet, he was always the first to be sent after pirates and on dangerous missions.
‘It must be something important to make Reinman chance coming in tonight!’ shouted Martin from behind his father.
‘The fool!’ replied Robert. ‘He’ll crash into the docks!’
In the rain and gloom, the ship raced past the lighthouse like an eerie shadow, a skeleton thing of grey and black lit by the yellow-and-white reflections of torches along the breakwater leading out to the lighthouse. As the vessel entered the harbour every door and window of every shop along the wharf was thrown open despite the rain, as onlookers gaped in wonder at the mad captain who drove his ship to destruction.
Suddenly, a bloom of light appeared around the ship, expanding bubble-like into a sphere of almost daylight brilliance. Within the dome of brilliance they could easily see the ship’s crew frantically chopping at the rigging with hand axes so the sails quickly fell away.
‘Damn!’ said the Duke quietly.
• CHAPTER TWO •
THE WIND HOWLED.
Captain Jason Reinman bellowed to be heard above the noise. ‘Cut ’em loose, damn ya!’
The crew had been ordered aloft during the mad dash toward the harbour of Crydee in preparation for this desperate act.
‘Hard to starboard!’ he shouted and two men wrestling with the long handle on the rudder shoved with all their strength towards the left, to bring the balky ship around in the opposite direction.
The Royal Messenger’s timbers groaned in protest as the ship fought against stresses she was not designed to withstand. Turning to the man seated on the deck next to him, Captain Reinman shouted, ‘Hold! Just a few more minutes!’
The man squatted on the decks, his eyes closed and his face a mask of concentration as he fought to stay upright on the tossing deck. Reinman’s sunburned face turned upward, and he saw with satisfaction that the sails had all been cut loose and were now littering the decks. He’d refit in Crydee and what sail he’d lost the Duke could replace for him. The ropes would be mended and should any of his men have been overly zealous with the axes, the spars would be repaired.
The sound of the storm died away: the bubble of light was a tiny pool of calm in the middle of the storm-tossed harbour. ‘Don’t you fail me, you magic-wielding sot! You’re not allowed to pass out until we are at the docks!’ If the man at whom Reinman was shouting heard him he gave no indication, seemingly intent on keeping himself sitting upright.
The ship came about in the relative calm of the bubble of magic, and Reinman shouted, ‘Get the fenders over the side! As soon as this shell is down, the gale will slam us into the docks. I don’t want to sail home on a pile of kindling!’ To the men aloft, he said, ‘Grab hold and hang on, it’s going to be rough!’
As the large padded fenders went over the side to protect the ship from the dock wall, the magic bubble collapsed, and as the captain had predicted, the sudden gale slammed the hull against the pilings. But the fenders did their work and although there was the sound of wood cracking, both the dock and the ship held intact.
Then the ship rolled and the grinding sound of wood on wood was almost painfully loud, and the three masts came down towards the cobbles of the harbourside road at alarming speed. Men aloft held on for their lives, shouting in alarm.
But just as it seemed the ship would roll on its side and smash the yards into the ground, the movement stopped. For a pregnant