Return of the Crimson Guard

‘How the fuck should I know?’

‘Hey! What'd I tell you about that swearing. No swearing.’

Nait walked away. ‘Hood on his bone throne! Who the fuck cares?’

Outside Nait stood studying the moonlit forest of masts crowding the harbour. A lot of traffic, even for this time of the season. War was always good for business. He hoped the harbourmaster was keeping his books in good order; their cut had better be up to date. The majority of the company on duty that night came shuffling out, pulling on their guard surcoats and rearranging belts and hauberks. Hands led the way up the dock to Tinsmith who waited, a leather vest over his shirt, long-knives at his waist.

‘Let's go.’

They walked down the pier to the newly berthed ship. It looked worse the closer they got. Nait wondered if it was the original Ragstopper drawn up from the bottom of whatever sea it was that took it. ‘Cap'n!’ Tinsmith called up to the apparently empty deck. A rat waddled along the gunwale.

‘Maybe that's him,’ suggested Honey Boy.

‘No, he's a bigger one,’ said Tinsmith, sounding tired by the whole thing.

A head popped up into view from the stern. Wild greasy hair framed a pale smear of a face, eyes bulging. ‘What in the Twins’ name do you want?’

‘Harbour guard. You carrying any contraband?’

The man straightened, lurched to the gunwale, clenched the stained wood in a white-knuckled grip. ‘Contraband? Contraband! I wish we were! Tons of it! D'bayang poppy! Moranth blood liquor! White nectar! Barrels of it! Anything! But no! I'll tell you what we're carrying — Nothing! Not a stitch! The full bounteous mercy of Hood we have in our hold! No! Off we go sailing from port to port — empty! It's a crime I'm telling you! A crime!’

Least tapped a blunt finger to his temple. Honey Boy nodded. ‘Back home among your people someone like that would be sacred or something, right?’

‘No. Back home we'd just kick the shit out of him.’

‘What in the infinite Abyss is all the yellin'?’ An old man, his face the pale blue cast of a Napan, came to the gunwale. He was wincing, scratching at a halo of white hair standing in all directions, and wore a white patchy beard to match.

‘’Evening, Cap'n,’ said Tinsmith.

‘Eh? Who's that?’ The man caught sight of Tinsmith, winced anew. ‘Oh, it's you.’ He waved to the squad. ‘Why the army? There's no need for all this between us old friends.’

‘These days I'm in charge of the peace down here along the waterfront, Cap'n. Passing strange you showing up here and now. There's those who'd like to know.’

The captain dragged his fingers through his beard. His tongue worked around his mouth like it was hunting down a bad taste. ‘But you wouldn't do that to an old comrade, now would you?’

‘No, I wouldn't. Unless there was trouble. Don't like trouble.’

The captain brightened. ‘No trouble at all, Smithy. No trouble at all. Just come to do some salvage work here in the harbour. Gettin’ a little low on funds these days, I am.’

‘Because the blasted hold is empty, that's why!’ the sailor screamed. ‘You damned senile-’

A wooden belaying pin ricocheted from the sailor's head; he disappeared behind the gunwale. The captain lowered his arm. ‘Quiet, Tillin. Won't have no insolence on board the Ragstopper.’

Sergeant Tinsmith gave a long slow shake of his head. ‘Haven't changed a bit I see, Cartharon.’

Captain Cartharon's smile was savage. ‘Caught you a few times, hey, Smithy? I never miss.’

On the way back to the Figurehead, Hands asked Tinsmith, ‘What did that crazy old guy mean, he was after salvage in the harbour?’

Tinsmith traced a finger over his moustache. ‘Salvage. There's more cargo ‘n’ ships sunk in this bay than anyone can guess and that old guy had a hand in the sinking of most of it. Maybe just for such an eventuality. Anyways, we'll keep a close eye on him. And Hands…’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘That name stays with us in the company.’

‘Yes, sir. Why? Might someone recognize it?’

At the door to the guardhouse the old sergeant stopped. He watched his corporal for a time, an unreadable expression on his long dour face. ‘Double the watch, corporal. I'll be inside. I need a drink.’

‘Yes, sir.’

More than just Kyle were relieved when it became clear that Skinner intended to keep to the ruins that had once been Fortress Haven. But it did make life hard for Kyle for a number of days as second and third investiture men — all those recruited into the Guard since the original Vow — kept coming around asking what the man was like. ‘Pretty damned scary’ was the answer they liked the best. Skinner had brought through a few of his Avowed. Names the Guardsmen whispered around the campfires in tones of awe: a Kartoolan master swordsman named Shijel, and a Napan named Black the Lesser. He'd also brought over his own personal bodyguard of Avowed mages, Mara, Gwynn and Petal, all of whom, Stoop said, now stayed busy masking everyone's presence from any sorcerous probings. Shimmer once came ashore and climbed the stairs into the ruins for a meet. Kyle wondered if was just him, but when she'd come back down she'd looked shaken.

Another ship had arrived. A foreign vessel storm-battered and listing, its masts shattered. Rumour was the twelve Avowed it held had rowed night and day across half the world. Coming ashore they'd looked the part — emaciated, exhausted, dressed in rags. But the second and third investiture men were jubilant. Apparently the number of Avowed now with the Guard had passed seventy. The men were of the opinion that nothing would stop them now. Kyle couldn't help reflecting that while he knew the Avowed were the nastiest news around, why did it look like they always had their arses kicked?

The days passed in a numbing round of training and practice. New recruits had to be integrated into the Guard. More local recruits came trickling in from the upriver settlements, small villages and homesteads, all eager to join — if only for the chance to get away from their lives here — but numbering far fewer than Kyle thought Shimmer and other of the Avowed had expected.

Two weeks after Skinner's arrival, word came that the other ships of the crossing from Bael were now close after having stopped for repairs and that not one had been lost in the storms. It seemed that the sea was inclined to be kind to the Guard. That night in the squad's shared hut Stoop woke Kyle when he jerked upright from his blankets cursing as if burned. ‘What is it?’ Kyle whispered.

‘Nothing,’ he answered, surprised to see Kyle awake. ‘Get back to sleep.’

Kyle lay down but kept one eye open. Stoop dressed hurredly, then stamped out into the night. After debating things for a time Kyle finally threw himself out after him. He was bored, frankly, and Stalker had warned him to keep an eye out for anything unusual.

He found that he'd waited too long; Stoop was out of sight. The old saboteur had been heading into the woods though. Kyle snuck along, easily evading one picket. He was surprised, and a little disappointed, to find that while these Guardsmen might be hardened professional soldiers, woodsmen or scouts they certainly weren't. Lying still on the cold damp moss he stilled his breath and listened — after his hearing adjusted to the night sounds he heard voices murmuring deeper into the woods. Staying low, he edged ahead.

As it turned out he needn't have worried about sneaking up: a full-blown argument between three Avowed was raging in a clearing of tall weeds. Stoop was there, with Skinner and, the hairs on Kyle's forearms rose in a tingle, Cowl. What was he doing here? Last he'd heard that man should be days from shore.

‘I don't like the way talk here's going, Cowl,’ Stoop was saying. ‘We have to keep up the search for the Duke.’

‘That's always been your priority, Stoop,’ Cowl answered, sounding dismissive. ‘What about you, Skinner? What's your opinion on the matter?’

‘There is no need. The Dolmans remain.’

‘No need?’ Stoop echoed outraged. ‘What in Hood's grin does that mean? Dolmans? What're you two dancing around here like a couple o’ Talian whores?’

‘Dancing around?’ asked Cowl. ‘Why nothing, Stoop. There can't be anything hidden between us old campaigners, now can there?’