Lord Quillifer by Walter Jon Williams

Author:Walter Jon Williams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery / Saga Press
Published: 2022-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

The fine May weather ended a few days after the battle, and so we endured squalls and drenching as we fought headwinds in the Sea of Duisland, then at last came up the Saelle on a dark, rainswept afternoon, icy water sluicing in torrents from the sails, until we found our mooring off the royal dockyards at Innismore. My crooked little finger had ached for days.

Though the afternoon was miserable we did not go unnoticed, for we flew the flag of Duisland over the enemy banner taken from Imperial, and we fired signal guns as soon as we came within sight of the forts guarding the river’s mouth. Word of a victory passed swiftly up the banks of the river, and when we arrived in Innismore the wharves were crowded with hopeful denizens of the town, all awaiting news of the victory.

“Well,” said I, “if they are willing to come out in this weather, then let us tell them.”

I stuffed the captured banner under my oilskins, and because my own galley had been shot to bits in the battle, we lowered a whaleboat, and I stepped into it along with Rufino Knott, Captain Gaunt of the Sovereign, some of Gaunt’s own men, the ship’s trumpeter, and my boat’s crew under Boatswain Lepalik. We rowed adjacent to one of the crowded wharves, and the trumpeter played my sennet before I rose from the stern sheets and spoke.

“Victory!” I called. “The enemy fleet of seventy ships was lured into the Races, caught in the great whirlpools, and destroyed, while their crews were drowned. Four ships escaped but were captured, including the enemy flagship! Three cheers for Her Majesty!”

I was startled by the thunderous rapture of the crowd, the three great roars that went out across the river to the opposite bank, and then reflected back so that I heard them, faintly, again.

“Marshal Rutilan is in retreat, pursued by the Constable!” I cried, for though I did not know for certain that this was true, I was confident that I did not lie. “More victories will come!” I promised, and then I signaled the boat to go on.

“Three cheers for Sir Quillifer!” called someone in the crowd, and the cheers roared out again. I rose again and waved my oilskin hat in answer.

I delivered the same message at each pier in Innismore, and though not all my listeners offered me three cheers, I did not hold it against them. Guns began to boom from Innismore’s towers as the cannoneers announced the good news.

The boat’s crew stretched out on their oars, and we shot upstream toward the capital while rain drummed on our oilskins. Just short of the great bridge to Mossthorpe I directed the boat to the Marygold Stairs on the Selford side of the river, and then blinked up in surprise as I saw a glittering assembly waiting for me, officers of the Yeoman Archers on horseback, lords and ladies of the court, and an ornamented carriage, half-covered in gold leaf, with the royal cipher on its mirror-polished door.

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