“And look what you’ve done to your dress!”
“It’s my old one. It’s too small now! Oh, Daddy . . . Please don’t be angry!” She sniffled, and an artful tear ran down her cheek. Her brother was watching in attentive silence, apparently unconcerned, or letting her do the negotiations.
“Angry?” the faun said. “I’m speechless!”
Perhaps that had been what the child intended, but now she tried another tack, with a dramatic gesture at the audience. “Daddy, these pirates captured us! They forced us to come aboard their ship and—”
“Kadie!” the man thundered. But he turned and made a quick scan of the onlookers. He picked out Efflio at once, although most would have guessed one of the jotnar. “Cap’n? Your pardon! My name’s Rap.” He held out a hand. “I have to thank you for rescuing these brats, I fear. And the skiff, of course.”
Efflio introduced himself. “My pleasure, Master Rap. No harm done, and we’ll waive transportation fees. Where do I go to lodge a claim for salvage?”
He had spoken mainly to amuse his own listening officers, but the stablehand did not reply with a blank stare as the captain had expected. He apparently caught on at once. A small smile puckered a corner of the big faun mouth, and the gray eyes twinkled.
“Imperial maritime law doesn’t apply here, Cap’n. In any case, she had a crew aboard, surely? And she was underway? I think you’d have trouble getting her declared a derelict.”
“That might be,” Efflio admitted regretfully. It had been worth a try, though.
The faun laughed. “Indeed, my daughter’s countersuit for piracy might take precedence—but I suspect the local admiralty court will award prize money of a few beers, at the least. Where exactly were they?”
“About three leagues along the coast.”
“We were not!” the girl shouted.
“Hold your tongue, Kadie. I am very grateful to you, Cap’n, and of course their mother will be also.”
“We were half a league out, Father,” the boy said quietly. ”The tide would have brought us back.”
The hostler hesitated, then shrugged. “All the same, it was very foolish. Next time take a sailboat.”
Efflio felt rather nettled that the boy’s word was obviously being accepted over his, ever if it was the truth.
“Sorry, Father. I won’t do it again.”
“Good. We’ll discuss it later. Now, Cap’n, we’ve been starved for news lately. What word of the imperor? Is the old rogue still chopping off heads with wild abandon?”
Efflio had never been a loud-mouthed patriot, but he felt himself bristle at the man’s impudence. Then he remembered that he had strayed beyond the bounds of the Impire. This disrespectful cowboy owed allegiance to the king of Krasnegar, up there in his castle, not to the imperor. Even so, his master ought to beat him for insulting his betters.
“The Gods continue to shower blessings upon his Imperial Majesty.”
The faun chuckled. “They wouldn’t dare not! Old Foxy would summon Them to his court and frighten Them to death!” He spoke as if he and Emshandar IV were old friends. Insolent, blasphemous peon!
“His arms have won several glorious victories of late,” Efflio said stiffly. “The legions have struck a notable blow against the goblins at Pondague. They have retaken the pass and are building a wall across it, so the green vermin won’t cause any more trouble with their raids.”
The faun looked distressed. “You haven’t heard the last of the goblins, Cap’n.”
But of course Krasnegar itself must be on the borders of goblin country. Efflio scanned the dock quickly, wondering if he had overlooked any greenish faces. “Do they ever bother you here?” he asked uneasily.
“No. They need us for trade. We have loads of furs waiting to head south, if you’re interested. A lot of them were brought in by goblins. Death Bird himself drops around once in a while. He has a taste for jotunn beer.”
Efflio shuddered. “The monster himself ? That murdering, torturing, green horror?”
The faun’s gray eyes went strangely cold. “The same. The imps started the fight, you know, Cap’n . . . Never mind. What else is happening out there in the real world?”
For a stockman, he had a curious interest in politics.
“His Highness the prince imperial engaged the caliph in battle at a place called Bone Pass, and made great slaughter.”
“Did he so!” The faun looked pleased. “Good for Shandie! I still think of him as just a kid, younger than Gath there. But he’s only six or seven years younger than me . . .” The gray eyes glazed, as if their owner was calculating.
“The caliph was wounded. Very likely he has been knifed by his own supporters since.”
The faun’s attention returned at once. “No. No, I doubt that. Azak’s probably another one the Impire hasn’t heard the last of . . . But the queen will be eager to hear all your news. I’m sure she will invite you to dine one evening while you are here.” Then a horse whinnied sadly, and the hostler reacted. ”Someone is reminding me that you have cargo for me!”
“For the palace, Master Rap.”
“They’re still my problem.” The man released another of his faint smiles. “I’m sure you want rid of them as soon as possible, and I can catch the tide on the causeway if we unload right away. Then I’ll be happy to stand you and your crew all the ale you can drink. Our beer has quite a reputation. Ah . . . excuse me, there’s some good help going by right now!”
He leaned over the rail and bellowed, “Krath!” A jotunn walking along the dock road spun around, peering to locate the hail. The stockman beckoned. “Krath! Here!” He ran to the plank.
Efflio’s impish curiosity was burning like a rash. What sort of stablehand discussed politics and was familiar with maritime law? For that matter, what sort of stablehand was so assertive and threw out royal dinner invitations? And were those jewels real or not?
He turned to the two children. “What’s a faun doing in these parts? ” he demanded.
The boy looked surprised.
The girl sniggered. “Doing?” she said. “Nothing much. He hangs around the palace . . . Looks after the royal horses, and so on.”
“She’s teasing you, Captain,” the boy said solemnly. “He’s the king.”
5
So Captain Efflio had saved the lives of a prince and princess. Well, maybe he hadn’t, but he had tried, and that turned out to be a very fortunate occurrence indeed.
Because that disreputable stockman really was the king, and he really was a faun, or part faun, and all fauns had great empathy for animals, and when this one saw the condition of the rack-boned, starving beasts in Sea Beauty’s hold, then he lost his temper.
He was also part jotunn.
He displayed an astonishing fluency in nautical language. Soon he had lifted Captain Efflio bodily and was busily shaking him like a floor mat, and when Krushbark started to object, he was blocked by the king’s friend Krath, who was even bigger, while a large number of enormous golden-haired locals heard the king’s fury and came sauntering up the plank carrying harpoons and gutting knives and whatever else they had been working with, and it seemed Sea Beauty had been invaded by the Krasnegarian militia, and her captain was about to be taken apart, limb by limb, organ by organ.
Then Princess Kadie burst into tears. The madness faded from the gray eyes. The faun jotunn put the captain down, and turned to pick up the girl and hug her, and comfort her. The boy was pale, also, but saying nothing.
The locals smirked and began drifting away again, regretful that the excitement was over without a drop spilled.
“Get them unloaded, Krath,” the king said hoarsely, still cuddling the girl to him, his voice muffled by her hair. “All right, honey, all right! Daddy’s not mad anymore.”
“Did you ever kill a man, Father?” the boy asked, as if inquiring about horseracing, or model ship building.
His Majesty looked down at him coldly. “Yes, Gath. I did. Several. I once killed a thane with an ax.” He peered around his daughter’s head and looked meanly at the captain. “He deserved it.”
He obviously thought Efflio did, too.
When all the horses had been assembled on the dock, shivering and complaining, the king came striding aft again, to where the master huddled within his frightened officers, trying to edge behind the sheltering bulk of Krushbark.
His Majesty was still in a poor humor.
“I think eleven of them will make it,” he snapped. “I’ll deliver the receipt before you leave. And if you ever bring us stock again, Cap’n, they had better be in better condition than those!” He glared.
“It was a miscalculation, sire. The fodder—”
“It certainly was! But you did pick up my two brats, and for that I am grateful. I said I would shout for the beer, and I’m a man of my word. Just tell them I said to put it on my slate.”