The King's Thief

Chapter 13

Kaliss stared out over the chalk cliffs, watching the restless sea. It was not the first time he had seen such an expanse of water, but he had never travelled beyond the island-kingdom of Rondia, and he was apprehensive of travelling. Now, he was left to his own devices as a cloaked Faergaldan dealt with a grizzled old man, off to the right. The man was Garny Riggs, a ferry captain. He lived in the town of Uring, by the coast, and made his living transporting people between Rondia and Yorril, one of the larger countries on the continent.
Uring sat perched on the clifftop, a winding path leading down to the shores. It was primarily a fishing village, but there were sea-captains for hire at all times; they filled the inns and whorehouses until a patron procured their services. Captain Riggs was by far the oldest of the possibilities, being as he was over eighty; he was bent in the middle, grey-haired and with a full beard reaching down past the collar of his woollen jersey. His face seemed to resemble a bag full of marbles but his black eyes twinkled merrily out over reddened cheeks.
They had donned the cloaks as they neared the town, moving through the noisy streets in broad daylight with clandestine confidence, but Kaliss was sure the ferry-Captain knew who he was dealing with. Evidently, further away from Theria, opinions on the war were more mixed.
A purse of money changed hands, and Garny put his hand out to shake; Faergaldan looked pointedly at it, then turned to leave. Garny threw his head back in laughter, revealing gummy teeth stained by toba fumes.
A voice at Kaliss’s elbow said “To shake would have acknowledged that the Captain is on a social level with the Kinroc.”
Kaliss turned to reply to Ryn. “Surely the Captain is doing you a favour. We could not progress without him, and he is obviously not opposed to carrying enemies of his country.”
Ryn chuckled. “The Captain is part of a group of people we have established in this country. He knows who we are, and we pay him well for his services, as the money keeps him here. He does insist on testing our social patience, though.”
Captain Garny Riggs lead the group down to the cliff-path which wended its way down through grassy tussocks and then on to a wooden gantry split into five separate levels. Wooden steps connected the levels, and pieces of gritty sand made the footing treacherous. He and Ryn had fallen into step behind the two Sylvan warriors who were bearing Winraer’s stretcher carefully down the steps. Kaliss looked around, but didn’t see the other stretcher bearing the blinded Yandria. When he questioned Ryn about it, his companion merely said “A family friendly to our cause in Uring is tasked with her care now. Put her from your mind, Kaliss.”
Clutching the railing, Kaliss looked out over the grey ocean. The oncoming clouds betrayed the possibility of a storm during their channel crossing, and at the mere thought his stomach began to turn.
The gantries took them round a slight bulge in the cliffside and without suddenly their craft lay before them. Tethered to a stone pier jutting out into the ocean, it bore the appearance of a four-legged animal, long spindly legs jutting up far beyond the main body of the craft. Kaliss supposed that they were long so that it could easily cross the ocean. One leg was frozen in the act of stepping, the wide ‘foot’ ready to plunge into the shallows.
The main body of the ship was more than a hundred feet long; it was mainly brass, pipework that seemed organic, almost completely covering the outer shell, as if a pipe-organ had exploded in a boat factory. They curved up from the underbelly, and a smouldering boiler was visible through the pipes, at the heart of the beast. The front of the ship was black, a rounded cockpit jutting out between the front two legs. Meanwhile the upper portion of the craft had an open deck with a brass railing running around it; the two largest funnels curved up and around the entire deck before rising over the front of the craft, as if horns on a bull. Smoke was pouring out of the funnels, and steam was venting from various safety valves; evidently the Captain had expected them, and primed his engines.
“Damn, that thing must be… a hundred and fifty feet tall!” Kaliss exclaimed.
“More,” said Ryn. “The legs are two hundred feet tall. They’re made of tempered steel, magically strengthened by a human magician. The craft itself is designed to make the ride smooth; the hoops that connect each leg to the main body are hinged and oiled to ensure the rocking motion isn’t transmitted to the passengers.”
They reached the bottom of the gantry and started walking across the sand. Kaliss glanced down; he was pleased to see that the common myth of Sylva being able to walk lightly on the top of sand and snow was just that – a myth. Their feet sank in and the pace slowed. As the craft reared over them, Kaliss said “You seem to know a lot about these craft. Have you travelled often before?”
“In fact, I worked on the construction of this device, Kaliss. We have often travelled the fringes of your land, gathering skills and information.”
Kaliss continued walking towards The Ox, as Captain Riggs had introduced it. It seemed that every time he thought he was getting ahold of the character of the enigmatic Ryn, something else astonished him. The craft was not recent; as the group began to walk under the behemoth, Kaliss could see stains on the steel, tarnishing on the brass pipes and the beginnings of rust around the ‘ankle’ of the upraised foot. A sloped walkway lead into the craft, and as they passed into the main hold, Kaliss saw a plaque which read ‘This pedipulator was launched on…’ followed by a date which made the craft over seventy-five years old.
Kaliss turned to look at Ryn, who merely smiled and continued on past the thief, into the darkness within. There was no way by human standards that the Sylva could be more than thirty. Shaking his head, the man continued up into the belly of The Ox.

*    *    *

The wind on the deck was bracing; Kaliss began to shiver, though he noticed that there was no similar reaction from Ryn and the other Sylva. Perhaps not all of the myths were false, then.
A hatch at the prow of the ship popped open, and Garny’s head appeared through it.
“We’re about to get underway, ladies and gents, Sylva and other; transit time is approximately one hour. Emergency exits are accessed by diving off the side of the deck.” He threw his head back and laughed grimily again, before closing the hatch. No more than ten seconds later there was a bellow from the funnels as The Ox got underway.
The deck undulated under them slightly as the legs started their walking motion, and there was a creaking sound from the supposedly well-oiled hinges. Together, the sounds of the steam, the rumbling from the boiler, the shrieking hinges and the churning sea beneath them combined to make conversation all-but impossible. As they moved out from the beach and into deeper water, Kaliss made an important discovery; rushing to the side, he lurched his head over just in time as he experienced sea-sickness for the first time. His face reddened as he heard the Sylva behind him, some chuckling in sympathy, others with more harsh tones. He shuddered, then lost control of his stomach again. “It’s going to be a long hour…” he thought.

*    *    *

Ryn leant against the rail next to the slouched form of the thief. He could not help feeling sorry for the man; his own brush with such illness had come over him a long time ago indeed, but at times like this is was still fresh in his mind. He leaned gently over the railing, looking down at the roiling waves; occasionally, dark shapes seemed to seeth and boil just under the surface, the reason no ordinary ship could travel by sea.
He became aware that eyes were on him; Kaliss was watching.
“What do you see, Ryn?”
Ryn looked back at the sea. “The Scourge. Metal, made living by the errant will of a fool. You must have heard of them, living near water.”
Kaliss nodded. “I’ve heard of them, but they only live in salt water; the river Ther is freshwater.”
 Suddenly both he and Kaliss whipped their heads around; a piercing scream came from the middle of the deck, where Winraer’s stretcher was laying. The Sylva had all spread to the various railings, and Ryn moved to be with her, but Kaliss was faster; he knelt by the side of the stretcher and grasped her hands, which were clawing at the air. With a huge gasp, her eyes opened wide and she seemed to focus on her surroundings. Her face was wet with yellow-tinged tears as she panted, drawing huge amounts of air into her lungs. More Sylva gathered round to see what was happening, but then Winraer seemed to gain control; gradually her breathing recovered its silent poise, the tears ceased to flow and, as Ryn watched, she became every bit the taciturn Sylvan herg-mistress he was used to. Looking around, she tried to speak, then coughed, before summoning her voice.
“What are you all staring at? I’m fine. Let me up so I can help Yandria and Haergane.”
Kaliss spoke then, so quietly that Ryn almost didn’t hear him even with his superior sense of hearing; the news of Haergane’s death seemed to strike her like a physical blow, though, as Winraer’s taciturn features seemed to crumple a little, and she looked away from them all. Her breast heaved for a moment, as if containing some immense emotion, and then the moment had passed.
“Can you walk?” Kaliss asked.
“Probably. Get out of my way, heathen, let me up.” Her features twisted, as if to be near the thief caused her pain. Ryn knew the seat of this; her natural dislike of the humans was unhealthily combined with the knowledge Kaliss had passed to her concerning their losses. She began to clamber to her feet, using Ryn as a climbing-post.
“He saved you Winraer. While you worked with the tree, he stood between you and the infernal creature.”
Kaliss, Ryn and Winraer all looked round. Unnoticed, the Kinroc had approached them from where he had been watching at the prow of the craft.
Winraer, leaning heavily on Ryn, stared deeply into the eyes of her leader. Then she turned, straightening, to stare at Kaliss. Ryn thought he spotted the faintest glimmers of interest in her face, then the harshness of her frown returned.
“Why would that… thing help me? His kind and the ones he mixes with have only ever been interested in furthering their own cause.”
“Ask him, not me.” With those words, Faergaldan returned to his watch.
“I think you’re able to stand now, Winraer, so I’ll be leaving you to talk. We make land in about five minutes.” Ryn retreated back to the railing, not looking back despite the curiosity that gnawed at him. He would have given good money to hear the ensuing conversation, but it was not appropriate; Winraer would have to overcome her demons herself.

*    *    *

“You were a young lady, under attack. What did you expect me to do?”
Winraer laughed, a harsh sound. “Humans killed my parents and my first husband. Sylva don’t mate for life, but sometimes a partner comes along who we want to spend more time with than usual, and he’s dead because some soldier-ergman got lucky. You’re all the same.”
Kaliss shrugged. “Apparently not.” He turned to go back to the railing. She grabbed his wrist and turned him back towards her. The knots in those wooden eyes seemed to search his face, seeking something that might answer her questions.
“Kaliss; consider your position. Have you stopped to wonder why you’re with us?”
“You broke me out of jail, and you’re taking me back to your homeland. You’re going to give me a lot of money, and then I will leave.”
She began to pace around him, apparently losing her distaste of his company as the reasoning overtook her. “Yes, but you’re a thief. You live for dishonesty. Why have you not tried to escape us? There are no bars holding you here. You could dive into the ocean.”
The thief stared out at the grey ocean with repulsion. “Suicide has never been high on my priority list. Besides, there are so many pleasurable things in life, and once I’m rich, I’ll have them.” His gaze swung back to the Sylva. He didn’t think for a moment that Winraer could be a confidante, someone he could explain about magical healings and mixed messages, about explosive C-Mags or about the theft of the single greatest relic in the Sylvan heritage.
“Give me your wrist.”
Confused, he held his left hand out.
“No, your other one, dolt! Show me that device on your wrist.”
Suddenly wary, he gingerly held the right hand, with its stone adornment, out for her appraisal.
She took his hand in her dainty fingers, turning it this way and that to study the explosive device from all angles. Finally, she closed her eyes and touched one finger to it. Kaliss cringed away, half expecting it to explode then and there, but then she opened her eyes wide.
“Your C-Mag; it is enchanted. There is a second layer of ergnul that I couldn’t penetrate, but the primary level is the basic communications pairing enchantment that all C-Mags have. Where did you get it?”
“It was a present. From an elderly gentleman.”
“You stole it, you mean.”
Kaliss stared at his wrist, unwilling to meet her eyes in case she saw the lie in them. If they thought he was under any compulsion from Malketh, they would not hesitate to feed him to the Scourge.
Winraer finished examining his wrist and let it go. With what bordered on real concern in her voice, she said “That C-Mag is fastened very securely; almost like it’s fused on.” She brightened, even managing a small smile. “I know someone back at Sylvasher, Nazrir, he could get that off for you, I’m sure. Perhaps when we get there, I could take you to see him?”
“Perhaps,” Kaliss replied neutrally. Winraer nodded, and was just about to say something else when Faergaldan called her over. Giving a slight apologetic bow, she moved to the front of the vessel.
Kaliss returned to the railing. The wind had picked up, and the scent of salt on the edges of the breeze tantalised his nose, mingling with the smoky smell of the boiler and the oily, greasy hinges on the legs. Now that his sickness had passed, the Thief felt that he could begin to appreciate the sights and sounds of the sea.
“Land, dead ahead!”
Kaliss turned to look; through the slightly misty, overcast skies, there was indeed land, which they were approaching with the slightly unsteady gait of the walking device.