3

Odehi and The Conspiracy (contd)

Dazhyen had become aware of the intentions of the men who followed him almost immediately. It took every ounce of his courage not to break character as he made his way down to the Heiress. With every step he took, the sabre which hung on his belt seemed to weigh heavier. If the worst should happen and they should attack him before he reached the safety of his crew, would he be able to fight? The odds were stacked against him. He had no way of knowing why precisely they wanted him dead, but he’d known enough killers in his life to know that they did, in fact, intend to kill him.

He quickened his pace a few minutes after the Yellow Library and St. Tithus College faded out of view. The road he walked down now was the same road he’d strolled along on his first weekend in the city – the time he’d nearly been stabbed. The street, which seemed so colourful and lively then, was now dappled in shades of dark blue and silver, as the moonlight seemed to strip all colour from the pink and yellow and red and blue walls. There were, however, a good number of people around him still – even the occasional night watchman. That was why, perhaps, the four men who followed him maintained a healthy distance.

He could see the Heiress ahead of him now for she still proudly flew the Aforian standard. As he approached the port, his heart sank. The night watch was nowhere to be seen and the pier to which the Heiress was tied was devoid of any other activity. Captain Rakehead and Mr. Frost, however, were on the pier, not the ship, and they were talking. At this point, Dazhyen heard the footsteps behind him grow quicker and his own became faster. Then he broke into a run. It was now a race to see who made it to the ship first – the hunter or the hunted.

As it turns out, Dazhyen was faster than the brutish men who followed him, and louder too. As he got close, he shouted – without considering his rank or station – “all hands!”, this caused the Captain and Mr. Frost to turn to look at him, “all hands to action stations!” he shouted, “please!” he added. The faces of his two senior officers, illuminated in the fog by the lights of the dock and the ship, were filled with fury. First, he worried that they were angry at him for issuing an order, but as he got closer, he realised they were staring daggers at the men chasing him.

“ALL HANDS!” the Captain boomed, drawing his own sabre, “ACTION STATIONS!"

Eliza had never run so fast in her life. The fog was still thick and for that, yet again that night, she thanked Temtel as she ran. The picket-men were long gone, still on their misguided search for their companions’ killer, and they seemed to be very, very lost in the fog – or so Eliza surmised as she heard them calling out to each other. But Eliza’s sense of direction had been honed by almost two decades of surviving in wildernesses across Alma and she had no doubt about the certainty of her course – Casat lay ahead, just a handful of miles away.

Dazhyen crashed into the arms of Mr. Frost, who quickly pushed the boy behind him as he readied his sabre. Dazhyen’s pursuers now stopped dead in their tracks – for it was not only the Captain and Mr. Frost they faced now. Three more men from the ship’s company had drawn sabres and stood beside their officers. On deck, four musketeers steadied their muskets. Among the musketeers, he recognised Bosun Mert. “Alright, Daisy?” he said casually.

“Yeah…” Dazhyen said, breathless. “Interesting evening!” he wheezed.

“Don’t you worry sunshine,” said one of the men who’d joined the Captain and the First Mate. It was a miruq Able Seaman called Harishki, a native of Afor, that said this. “We’ll sort this lot out,” he grinned, rattling his sabre.

“Now I don’t know what you want with my seaman,” the Captain addressed the mercenaries. “But I suggest you do not take a step further. If you do, I will be forced to act in defence of my ship – which flies the standard of His Majest King Gunada Mawer II of Afor!” a roar went up from the ship at the mention of their King’s name. Yet more men now appeared, including the ship’s musketeers. The four men that chased Dazhyen to the docks were outnumbered five to a man. Dazhyen did not turn to see the looks on their faces, but had he done so, he would have seen cocky men turned squeamish and bullies turned victim.

“If you wish to leave with your lives,” the Captain continued, “you will turn yourselves over to the Night Watch! Or else,” he indicated to the row of musketeers that now lined the top-deck. “I believe your choice is clear!”

Eliza was unsure how long it had been since Dazhyen and she had parted ways, but she was certain that it had been long enough for Odehi’s thugs to have killed him. She was in the city now, having left the Temple behind long ago, and as she navigated its steep streets, all she could picture was Dazhyen dead in the fog, bleeding out alone. She could not let that happen.

It was a nearly a quarter of an hour by the time she reached the Yellow Library and began to trace Dazhyen’s most likely path down to the docks. With each passing second, she was losing hope. With each passing second, she was being swallowed alive by rage.

Dazhyen was dead, she knew it. She knew it, she knew it! Despair and anger were tearing her apart and with each step she took it became harder for her to maintain a hold on herself. But she managed it – Gunada’s and Raidas’s teachings echoed in her mind as she calmed herself and steeled her nerves.

She searched in every alley and every side-street, but nothing. Not even a hint of blood in the air. Eventually, despondent, she reached the ship – where she was greeted by a cheery Mr. Frost.

“Ah, Your Majesty,” he said in his low and courteous voice. “We’ve been waiting for you. Daisy said to expect you by dawn, we’re glad that you’ve returned earlier!” he was chipper as ever.

“Daisy? You mean Dazhyen? He made it back?” Eliza was so relieved that it took every ounce of self-control not to break down in tears. “Yes, Your Majesty,” Mr. Frost let nothing slip, “and eager to hear the same of you! I shall go and tell him.”

“No, don’t. I’ll tell him myself,” she said, perhaps too eagerly. “As you wish, ma’am,” said Mr. Frost. “Before that, however, could you please follow me to the hold?” An odd request, but she did so and was shocked to discover four bodies.

“They chased Dazhyen all the way to our pier and they refused to surrender. We were left with little choice, Your Majesty. Have we just caused a diplomatic incident?" he asked.

“No, not yet at least. Dump the bodies when we’re a week clear of Casat,” she ordered.

“I trust the hunting was good, ma’am?” Mr. Frost asked as they turned to leave.

“Yes,” she smirked, “very.”

Dazhyen was alone in his bunkroom when the door slammed open. He thought it might be his room-mate, Able Seaman Harishki, but standing before him was Eliza. She was sweaty and the makeup that made her Pyrene had all but run off her face due to it, but there she stood. Alive.

Before he could react, she’d wrapped him in a hug. “I told you I’d make it back,” she whispered. As quickly as she’d hugged him, she released him and stood there staring at his face. In her eyes he could see… relief. But she needed more. “I’m fine too, Your Majesty. The crew… took care of Odehi’s men.”

“Well, yes, good… that’s… good,” she seemed flustered. “Well it’s a long voyage… good night, Dazhyen,” she said as she left.

Dazhyen looked out of his porthole – it was the crack of dawn.