‘Can you try probing for magical activity, Kutch?’ Caldason suggested.
The ship was nearer now. It looked becalmed. The Rintarah eagle emblem was plain to see on the mainsail.
Kutch closed his eyes and concentrated, knuckles white on the guide-rail.
‘Anything?’ asked Caldason.
‘Nothing,’ Kutch reported. ‘But I’m not sure there would be from this distance.’
Cheross raised his spy tube again. ‘So what do we do?’
‘Get us over there,’ Caldason said.
They crossed in the packet’s largest lifeboat. Caldason led the boarding party, accompanied by Serrah, Kutch and nine of Cheross’s crew. Reeth got one of the crewmen to hail the vessel, but there was no response.
‘Picking up anything, Kutch?’
‘No, Reeth. Not a thing.’
‘All right.’ He addressed them all. ‘We’re all going aboard, bar you.’ He nodded at the helmsman. ‘This could be a trap, so we need to get on fast, and I want weapons drawn when we reach the deck. If there’s any sign of trouble we go on the offensive. Everybody clear? Good. Let’s do it.’
The lifeboat bumped against the hull of the Rintarahian ship. Grappling hooks were tossed and ropes secured. Caldason and Serrah were the first up. Unused to such physical activity, Kutch went last, helped by a crew member.
On board, all was silent, save for the drifting ship’s creaking timbers.
Caldason split the party into three groups. Four men were sent on a sweep, prow to stern, while four others were told to check below decks. He took Serrah and Kutch to the wheelhouse block, where the Captain’s quarters were located.
At the first door they came to, he paused. ‘You stay here while we look inside, Kutch. If you sense anything hostile, shout out.’
‘I will.’
‘And if it comes to a fight, try and stay clear.’
The boy nodded.
Caldason tried the handle. It was unlocked. He kicked open the door and went in fast, with Serrah right behind him.
They found themselves in an unremarkable cabin. The bunk was unmade, and there was a certain amount of everyday clutter. A quick search showed nothing out of the ordinary.
The next cabin was very much the same. An unsheathed, discarded sword, lying by an open clothes trunk, was the only sign of anything amiss.
Kutch went with them when they entered a third, much larger room, evidently the officers’ mess. It had a long oak table, and wall racks holding tankards and earthenware crockery. Several chairs had been overturned, and there was broken glass underfoot. The table was a jumble of plates and cutlery, as though a meal had been interrupted. Hunks of stale bread and platters of rancid meat attested to the fact.
Caldason dipped his finger into a goblet of wine and touched his tongue with it. ‘Sour,’ he announced.
‘What happened here?’ Serrah wondered.
‘I don’t know. But it was quick, unexpected.’
The leader of one of the search parties came in. He was full-bearded and burly, with a ruddy face that spoke of years at sea. There was a thick, leather-bound book under his arm. ‘The ship’s completely deserted,’ he reported.
‘Any bodies?’ Caldason asked.
‘None we could see.’
‘Signs of violence?’
‘Not exactly.’ He looked around. ‘More like in here. As though everybody dropped whatever they were doing to answer an alarm or something. Down below, in the crew’s quarters, the hammocks are still strung. You’d never get that in a well-run command, least of all an empire ship, unless something untoward occurred.’
‘What’s that?’ Caldason said, indicating the book.
‘We found it up by the wheel. It’s the Captain’s log.’ He handed it over.
Caldason unceremoniously swept aside some of the detritus on the table and laid it down. Flipping pages, he came to the last, brief entry. ‘This is dated months ago.’
‘What does it say?’ Serrah asked.
‘Just routine stuff. The weather, a note about some provisions being low, that sort of thing.’ He turned to the sailor. ‘Do you know what these numbers mean?’
The man leaned in. ‘They give the ship’s position on the day this entry was written. If I read it right, they’ve drifted a hell of a long way.’
‘Where were they?’
‘Much further north. Very much further.’
Caldason and Serrah exchanged a look.
‘You know what this ship is, don’t you, Reeth?’ she said. ‘It’s the expeditionary vessel Rintarah sent to investigate Zerreiss. Gath Tampoor sent one too, according to the Resistance.’
‘I think we can assume that met a similar fate.’
‘Yes, but what? What happened here?’
Caldason looked to the apprentice. ‘You’ve been very quiet, Kutch. Can you help us on this?’
‘What I’m spotting doesn’t make sense. Or rather, what I’m not spotting.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Neither do I. Remember what I said earlier, about there being minute particles of magic everywhere, all around us? There are none here.’
‘So?’
‘You don’t get it, Reeth. There are none. It’s like the atmosphere, the very fabric of this ship, has been… cleaned. There’s not the slightest trace of magic. On a ship that would have had a full complement of sorcerers and used the Craft in all sorts of ways.’
‘That’s significant?’
‘Significant? Reeth, it’s impossible.’
21
Where rival empires competed for dominance, foreign policy was often a euphemism for armed conflict. At any given time, territory was contested, rebellions were being quelled and unruly populations subdued. Occasionally, actual wars were waged between the empires, fought on their behalf by client states, but they were rarely, if ever, referred to as such. They were represented to the public in the guise of tiny nations pluckily struggling for freedom against enemy aggression. Whatever the terminology used to sanitise these clashes, one reality was constant. There were casualties. And while the warring parties had made destruction a fine art, little attention was paid to helping its many innocent sufferers.
Outrage at this spawned a popular movement. Its pioneers were women; the mothers, wives and sisters of victims. One offshoot of this essentially pacifist grouping was the Daughters of Mercy. Also known as the Star Network, for the golden sunburst that adorned the organisation’s uniforms and transportation, the Daughters were a charitable association of volunteer healers. An exclusively female initiative to begin with, its remit was eventually widened to include male helpers, but the name was kept in honour of its origins.
The Daughters of Mercy refused aid to no one, civilian or military, of whatever side. Bringing succour was their only purpose. They endured hostility and suspicion, and they had their martyrs, but over the years they came to earn the respect of almost everyone. So it was commonplace for their members to accompany armies into battle, or, as today, a fleet sailing to mount an invasion.
The armada leaving from various of Bhealfa’s ports, numbering several hundred ships, was just one colony’s contribution to a greater Gath Tampoorian fleet. Perhaps half a dozen Star Network vessels went with them. One
