Page 47 of Apple Boy

“We should wait until the ship comes into port and then seek a meeting with this Captain Oates fellow. Then we can ask him what became of the Count of Skraedig and his valet. He will lie, of course, and then we can reveal Lord Winter and watch the man squirm!” Amber Silverrich suggested gleefully.

“No, that will not do! Not a soul from that ship can set foot in our city. Not one damned soul! If you are correct my Lord, and the ship’s cargo hold contains naught but disease and death, gold-or-no-gold, we have no alternative but to drag the cursed ship back out into the Wide and torch her with all souls.”

Hearing this Mr. P and Mr. W leapt from the back of their chair, wings flapping in agitation. They squawked their mutual disgust at Mortdel’s suggestion, the sound reverberating, and echoing in the vast hall.

I had not thought of the Trojan Star as being a diseased ship because I remained in good health. But I had spent mere minutes in the hold with the slaves and not weeks at sea. Now that the possibility of a ship weaponized with disease had been drawn out so starkly by the councilors it chilled me to my marrow. I knew from meeting with Kristoff and Fabian many times while at court, that they were ruthless and vicious of humor. They reveled in entertainments that I found morally objectionable—like dog fighting, for instance. However, Altean dogfights were not hound-against-hound. The kings took pleasure in setting those they decided were criminals in a ring with a pack of baying starving dogs. If the hounds were thwarted, the man or woman won their freedom. Therefore, it was not a great leap to think of them filling that ship with diseased men. I already understood all-too-well that those men were meant to die aboard that damnable vessel—and thinking about it further, maybe I was too. For then, as women cannot not take the title, on my father’s death Summer’s future husband would become next in line to be Lord of Thorn, and if she married either Kristoff or Fabian, they would set out to rape the wealth of my province too. Bile rose into my throat, and I wanted to be sick. I was now grateful that I had not yet had the chance to break my fast this morning.

“I will not hear of it! You cannot send all of that gold to the bottom of the Wide!” Mr. Percheval exclaimed, flapping his wings wildly. “Never!” Mr. Wrenfrey echoed in disgust.

“Madam Chair, the health of the whole city is at risk. We cannot let a soul leave that ship.” Mortdel reiterated.

“Sit down, sit down, my friends!” Madame De Belamine insisted, trying to regain control of the meeting. She gestured to the Lovebirds to return to their chair back.

“Marcus, please explain how you have come to your decision.” She instructed.

Mortdel defiantly thumped the table as he spoke, punctuating his insistent words,

“We. Cannot. Let. A soul. Leave. That. Ship. Not even the captain or his crew. I believe there is planning, treachery, and malicious intent in sending that vessel to Serein. If the cargo hold carries diseased corpses, the intent is to pass the foulness to Sereineans. It will spread and in turn cripple our city.”

“Aye,” Gilda Crowport spoke up. “There is a precedent for this. I have heard of this method of warfare used in ancient times. A diseased ship is sent into port to infect a city. Whatever disease those men on the Trojan Star have, my guess is that the Kings possess the cure and will use it to barter control of Serein back from our hands.”

”Never!” Bowe Copperstone hissed.

“Madam Chair, if I may—” I said. She nodded, and I spoke on. “According to my companion, there could be another reason for sending dead men to Serein,” I suggested. Madame De Belamine set her gaze on Adam, who blanched at becoming the focus of her consideration. He stood and, repeated what he had told uncle and me in the carriage.

“As you probably know, Madame, here in Erias the dead are buried with the treasures in their possession when they passed. So, I told the Lords here, cos they don’t know our customs, that maybe this was part of the Kings plan. Maybe they thought it was a good jest to force you’s te bury the dead men with the gold.”

Madame De Belamine gave a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, you are quite correct about our burial rites, thank you, Master Sewell.” Adam sat down looking a little pleased with himself.

“I do think the kings would gain quite a rise out of forcing us to decide whether to keep cursed gold or bury it.”

“Do we even know if those strong boxes contain gold? Did you see the gold Lord Winter?” Mahon Darkemore interjected angrily. “I would not be at all shocked if those brats filled the bloody caskets with rocks or sand.”

“Enough!” Madam De Belamine’s hand rose, and she snatched at the air. The chamber snapped into silence as if she had stolen angry words from her councilors before they’d had a chance to voice them.

“Chamberlain Hawk. I need to see the contract for the shipment of Osian gold. Fetch it, if you will.”

The Chamberlain nodded and scurried from the hall. All eyes were on Madame De Bellamine wondering what she would say next.

“It is my understanding that Karsen Augustin signed the contract for that shipment days before he was found dead.” She announced.

“WHAT?” Featherwin Rainster rose from his chair, and he slapped his palms down on the table. The atmosphere in the room fizzed, and the flames in the sconces jumped and flickered. Something else was happening here. I could sense it in the tingling on my skin. I stood frozen to the spot. The scritch-scratch of the scribe’s nib ceased.

“Why did we not know that fact before the cursed ship left port in Altea? Have you seen the contract before? Do you know what that blaggard agreed to?”

“Regretfully, I have not, and I fear we should prepare for a nasty surprise.”

No one said a word, all waiting in anticipation for the Chamberlain to return.

Time seemed to drag, Marcus Mortdel frustratedly tapped his nails upon the table, and then he stood anxiously when Chamberlain Hawk re-entered the hall with a scroll clutched in his hand. Hawk crossed the room and passed the scroll to Madam De Belamine. She unrolled the parchment and both Mortdel and Copperstone held it flat while all three read the terms of the contract. Everyone in the room seemed to hold their collective breath.

“BASTARDS! We’ve been stitched up!” Mortdel roared a minute later, stabbing a meaty finger on the parchment.

“How could this happen?” The Justice, Featherwin Rainster gasped.

“Gentlemen, please be seated,” Madame De Belamine implored.

“What does it say?” Mr. P and Mr. W squawked in unison.