A few months ago, to celebrate the success of a free giveaway and as a thanks
to everyone took part, I released an exclusive preview of the my then-unnamed second novel. Having just had another giveaway in the run-up to publication of my play Death Us Do Part, I promised to release the entire first chapter of that book, now named The Light Beneath the Waves. That first chapter is here, followed by the previously published extract.
Bear in mind that the book is still a work in progress and these excerpts may change or even be completely removed (as will be shown in a later History Globe revealing some scenes that have already been deleted). But this should at least give you a taster, let you know which characters will be back and hopefully whet your appetites.
Chapter One
It was a dark and stormy night. No, really. The sun had slunk off to do whatever it does in its spare time, the overcast sky was filled with filthy black clouds that had sent the moon scuttling after its opposite number for safety, and the pum-melling rain and jagged forks of lightning were a fair indication of the weather. It was a dark and stormy night.
The Colleen lurched wretchedly on the surging wave, lifted high into the murky darkness before crashing back down to the surface of the ocean with a bone-jarr-ing crack. This time the Captain could have sworn that, just for a second, the trawler was actually raised clear of the water and hung briefly in mid-air. It might have sounded impressive as a story back on shore but when you were there in the middle of it, it raised a grim, sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. That crack wasn’t just the sound of the splash. There had been wood in there too and in this weather you wouldn't know if you were taking on water.
The Captain wiped the rain from his eyes and peered into the gloom, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the other boats. At first all he could see was more rain, the wind blowing it almost sideways. A gust blew some directly into his face and he cried out in pain. His eye still stinging, he looked again and this time saw a shadow. It was difficult to be certain but he reckoned the silhouette was the Speedwell. It was being tossed about like a cork. It shouldn’t be sitting at that angle.
Something thudded against the hull and he looked over the side. A lifeboat was floating past. It was the wrong way up. He felt that knot in his stomach again. He looked back towards where the silhouette had been but it was gone now, swal-lowed by the dark and the solid curtain of rain. The only reason he knew it hadn’t sunk was because it would take longer. He didn’t really expect to see it again though.
There was a sudden cry from somewhere further back. ‘Mermaid off to port!’
The Captain ran to the other side of the deck, steadying himself against the wheelhouse wall as his feet slipped and skidded across the soaked wood. He gripped the side of the boat and looked along the length of the hull. The riding light bobbed furiously at the stern, illuminating the water close to the vessel. His eyes narrowed as he tried to separate the shadows and moving shapes. There it was! A flash of glistening forked tail. Could have been a porpoise but then a head broke the surface of the water. He couldn’t make out features through the rainy gloom but there was long hair and as the creature rose higher he could plainly see ample breasts. No porpoise, he thought as it flipped forward and dived again, its tail splashing behind it. Damn mermaids, bringing storms wherever they went. Just seeing one was bad luck but it was a bit late to worry about that now.
Lightning flashed again as the gale blew harder, becoming a terrible choir of the damned, all shrill wailing voices. He tried to stop his imagination from envision-ing what the voices belonged to. Don’t think of dead, eyeless souls riding the winds to bear you off to hell. Think of something good, something beautiful mak-ing the noise. A woman singing. And then the woman was a mermaid. Damn.
And then there really was singing. Over the noise of the wind came a sound he’d heard only a few times before but could never have forgotten. The mermaid song swooped on the air and snaked around his soul, wrenching it from his body and carrying it away into the heart of the storm. He didn’t mind a bit.
There was a sudden splintering crack from behind. The Captain’s head snapped around in time to see a section of the mast falling towards him. Then there was blackness.
He’d probably been unconscious for only a moment but there was no telling. No-one had come and moved him, which was ominous. His head was splitting as badly as the wood and his right eye stung with its newly scarlet vision. He wiped the blood as he staggered to his feet but the view stayed red. Leaning on the side of the boat for support he glanced down into the water again. More flotsam eddied past, this time broken pieces of wood and also items that would have been on board the boat. There were even some clothes. But as he stared they moved.
‘Man overboard!’ he yelled frantically, not knowing if there was anyone there to
hear. ‘Man over-’ But before he had time to take any action he saw the sailor look up at him, reach out a forlorn arm and take in a lungful of water as the wave rose above his head and he sank forever. The feeling was in the Captain’s mouth now.
For a few moments he just stood there, gazing helplessly into the waves. He’d had just enough time to recognise the man as the Captain of the Sapphire. Then his attention was caught by a new problem. There was another silhouette out there and this time it was heading straight for the Colleen, and much faster than any fishing boat normally would. He recognised the shape and realised that there was no-one to steer the boat away.
‘Brace for impact!’ he shouted; but his voice was drowned by the hellish choir. He ran, or rather staggered, to the bell and rang it as loudly as he could, not caring that he might be the only person who could hear it.
The silhouette had detail now and as it loomed out of the darkness he could make out the name painted on the side. Sapphire. It seemed much bigger than he knew it really was, somehow towering over a boat its own size. And then it ploughed through the side of the Colleen, sending splintered planks of wood flying through the air. The wheelhouse windows were smashed and the rest of the mast gave way. One of the flying planks caught the Captain a glancing blow across the temple and the rest of his vision turned dark crimson and began to blur. As he struggled to stay upright and conscious, he was vaguely aware of the deck vanishing beneath him. He never felt himself hit the water.
As the Colleen broke up and began to sink, there wasn’t an eerie silence or a gra-dual return to calm now that it was all over. There was still the howling gale, the projectile rain and explosive sheets of lightning. And there was still one more boat being sent to the bottom of the ocean.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Previously published excerpt
The Empire was a confederation of states and independent cities that had sub-mitted them-selves to the Emperor's laws in order to enjoy his protection and the various other benefits of membership such as not being invaded. Of course, it was centuries since the Empire had invaded anywhere but most of the provinces had joined in the bad old days. As well as Imperial law, laid down by the Emperor in Hapsdorf, each province had its own slightly different laws and on the whole existed as an independent state unless it was politically convenient to do other-wise. Each of the provincial rulers was subject to the Emperor but equally was eligible to succeed him, which inevitably resulted in politics.
The Principality of Niederland had no real ambition in that area or in political matters in general, its interests being more mercantile and cultural. Situated in the northwest of the Empire, bordering the Kingdom of Breton, the Principality’s most important role was in controlling the Empire's major seaport, which was also Niederland’s capital, Anterwendt.
Everyone knew that Niederland was flat but Adam had always assumed that this meant it just had smaller hills than everywhere else. It turned out to have no hills at all. It wasn’t even wrinkled. Well, for most of the journey anyway. As the coach neared Anterwendt in the northwest, the landscape began to rise again. Not by much but there were some hills and, as the road neared the coast, there were signs of distant cliffs. Admittedly not very high ones but they counted.
The crisp spring air had a distinctive tinge to it. People say that sea air smells salty but it doesn’t. It smells fishy. Adam had never smelled the sea before but he had smelled fish and it was delicately laced through the background of Anterwendt. It wasn’t unpleasant, which was a good thing because you couldn’t escape it. Yet despite the aroma, the breeze – and there was definitely a breeze – felt fresh and invigorating. Adding to the effect was a distant rumbling crash, like baby thunder, which Adam knew must be the sound of the ocean, although he couldn’t see it.
The other principal noise was a high pitched screeching sound from above. Adam looked up and saw that the sky and the rooftops were filled with white birds. He’d seen pictures of gulls in books but hadn’t realised that there were so many varieties. Some were white and pale grey, some had darker wings and others black heads or pink legs instead of yellow. The real show-offs had distinctive red spots on their beaks. They were all much bigger than the pictures had suggested and a hell of a lot noisier. The airborne ones seemed to float effortlessly, bobbing up and down without flapping their wings. Many of the chimney pots had nests on top of them although Adam noticed that a few had strange grey cowls on top
instead.
The buildings were different to any that Adam had seen before. Instead of stone or the more modern bricks, the walls were harled – covered over in tiny sharp stones to protect them against erosion from the salt thrown up by the sea. The harling gave the walls a rough texture that you could sand a brick on. There were other signs that this was a sea port. Some of the houses had coiled ropes hanging decoratively outside and a few had lobster pots on the doorsteps. Inns had names like The Ship and The Sailor’s Rest with brightly painted sailing vessels or white bearded sea dogs on their signs. One had stained glass compasses in its windows and another had an anchor propped up by the door. The nautical theme carried over into the shops, which included more fishmongers than Adam was used to and where else would you find a sail maker? He kept expecting to hear sea shanties. He looked at Jana and saw that she was beaming. She liked this sort of thing. When he had first met her she had kept pleading with him to show her some magic and right now she was probably imagining pirates.
The coach dropped them off in the city square and they soon found the lodging house that Melanin Psalter had arranged for them. It was a seafront hotel called The Stotfold and Adam was surprised to find that it was one of the larger and more expensive hotels in the city. He’d expected the nasty little man to provide some-thing cheap and dingy but presumably Chancellor Tummelwit had ensured other-wise.
The seafront provided three even more impressive sights. The most immediately arresting was the ocean itself. Adam had seen lakes and rivers but he had never seen water that looked so alive. The waves lashed against the shore like they were trying to break it, continually retreating and then renewing the
assault.
‘Breathtaking, isn’t it?' smiled Jana, relishing the feel of the wind in her hair.
‘Have you seen this before he asked her?'
‘I was born in a seaside village. Nothing like this place but it does have the ocean.' She breathed in deeply. ‘We left when I was seven, moved to a small town, but the sea never leaves you. It’s in your bones.'
The grey water stretched away to the far horizon and they could make out the silhouette of a boat in the distance. Adam realised that there was no sign of the harbour and wondered where it was.
The second sight was the beach, something else that Adam had never seen before. He had always imagined it to be something like a desert (not that he’d seen one of those either) and was therefore surprised at the reality. Where the waves rolled up to the shoreline was an expanse of wet sand. There was then a line of smooth, round stones followed by a necklace of some sort of plant life that Adam didn't recognise. Even from a distance he could see that it was a mixture of green, yellow and brown and had lumps all over it. Jana later explained that it was seaweed. This whole section of the beach was punctuated by rocks, some of which had a different, bright green plant coating them. Some of the rocks formed little basins with pools of water in them. This seemed to mark the highest point of the tide because beyond this was a plain of dry, white sand, which eventually led to the dunes. Adam had thought that sand dunes were just hills where the wind made the sand pile up but these were clearly permanent features and were topped with a stiff, long grass and spiky yellow bushes. To the right, the sand eventually gave way to rocks while, to the left, the dunes became cliffs and atop them was the third sight: a tall, gleaming white tower that Adam knew must be a
lighthouse.
He looked out again at the boat in the distance. ‘Will the ship arrive here?'
‘No!' laughed Jana. ‘There’ll be a harbour somewhere. It’s probably too rocky here. Maybe across the other side of town. We’ll go and look later.'
‘Why not now?'
‘Because,' she said slyly, ‘I want something to eat. And it’s on your wizard friends so we can have the most expensive thing on the menu. Coming?'
Adam hesitated for just a moment. He shouldn’t really but…well, he was going to. If he protested, she’d just bully him into it anyway. He turned around and set off back into the hotel. Jana breathed the sea air deeply one more time and then followed him.
Four hundred miles away, another coach was arriving in another city. Hapsdorf was the capital of the Empire and its largest city. Although situated in the heart of the Grand Duchy of Nordland, in the interests of political fairness, Hapsdorf was an independent city state ruled by the Emperor while the province itself was governed from Castle Grünwald near the city of Wertenberg to the east. This did not stop Hapsdorf from being powerful, however. As well as the Emperor, it was home to the Empire’s senior religious figure, the Grand Theoginist of the Church of Marius, and also to the High Palatine of the Northern Provinces, the most powerful administrative officer, both of whom sat on the Electoral Council. While hardly a democracy, the Empire was not governed by a single person. As an alliance of semi-independent states, it was ruled by all of them. Each province and city state had its own ruler, all of whom sat on the Electoral Council, the Empire’s governing body, and voted on decisions. A sort of government of the people, for the people by the people who had the biggest houses. There was only ever one actual election and it only happened when an Emperor or Empress died. All of the provincial and city state rulers were eligible to succeed him or her and the Council did the voting. This gave Hapsdorf another sphere of power because when the new Emperor took office he moved to the capital and his province or city state was inherited by his family, allowing Hapsdorf obvious influence in the
Emperor’s home state.
As well as the provincial Electors, there were several others who were not state rulers and in some cases were not even of noble birth. These were the five religious leaders and the two Palatines, one for the northern provinces and the other for the south. These last two acted as the Emperor’s representatives in the provinces, performing important administrative, legal and ceremonial roles. Neither the Palatines nor the religious leaders were eligible to become Emperor but all were involved in choosing one.
The black coach that was now rattling along the streets in the direction of the Imperial Palace belonged to Lord Adolf Reitherman, High Palatine of the Southern Provinces. Lord Reitherman was a man whose reputation preceded him and took the opportunity to spread vicious rumours before he got there. He was known as the Man in Black and it was widely believed – especially by those who had never met him – that he was a dangerous man and not to be crossed. Those who actually had met him could never usually cite any specific examples of his not-to-be-crossed-ness but usually insisted that his unfailing politeness, tire-less civic work and seeming ability to get on with anyone were merely a front for his true nature and that the drinks he served at his regular parties for the working class pillars of the community, whose opinions he trusted more than those of the wealthy, were almost certainly spiked with hemlock. The fact that no-one had ever been poisoned at one of these parties was just confirmation of his deviousness. He did, after all, dress exclusively in black. Even his coach was black. Of course, most coaches were black but that didn’t prove anything.
Accompanying Lord Reitherman was his secretary, Albert Munster. The Palatine had been involved in the events at Kharesh and, after all of his adventures there, the main thing that he had brought back with him was a newfound interest in what he called ‘the singsong'. For much of the journey he had been trying, with extremely limited success, to introduce Albert to its delights. ‘If I may say so, your Lordship, cream cheese seems a very impractical material for making hats out of and, while I can’t profess to be an expert, I remain unconvinced as to the musical properties of kitchen utensils. Now perhaps we could return to the matter in hand. We’re almost there.' His employer could, at times, be very easily distracted and a large part of Albert’s job revolved around keeping him focussed.
Lord Reitherman smiled thinly. ‘You are quite right, of course, Albert. We have important and difficult work to do and I am wasting our time with frivolity. Please accept my apologies.'
Albert bowed his head modestly but suspected that his master was simply humour-ing him. Lord Reitherman was an astonishingly intelligent man and was usually several steps ahead of everyone else. He had probably considered all of the options and worked out a strategy between his front door and the coach and was likely only wasting his time with frivolity in order to occupy his mind. Discussing and making plans would be more for Albert’s benefit than anything else.
Albert pulled out the letter that was the reason for their journey. It read
simply:
My dear Lord Reitherman,
It has come to my attention that you have neglected to keep me appraised of a possible item of interest under the terms of Edict 37. You are invited to visit me in Hapsdorf to discuss the matter in detail.
Sincerely,
Leopold II
When an Emperor uses the word ‘invited', it’s a polite way of saying ‘summoned on pain of death or, if you really want to make something of it, on pain of pain.' In a similar vein, ‘discuss the matter in detail' is Emperor-speak for ‘explain yourself while a very big man holds dangerous implements near your politically sensitive areas'. The Emperor wasn’t best pleased about something.
It had taken Albert a lot of careful research to find out what Edict 37 was, as it wasn’t contained in any of the normal statute books. He had eventually learned that it was some-thing called a Private Edict, a law set by the Emperor personally and which only applied to certain people, usually the Electors, all of whom were notified individually. In other words a secret that the Emperor didn’t want to be made public. Edict 37 ran as follows:
To all members of the Electoral Council,
PRIVATE EDICT NO. 37
All Electors are requested to report knowledge or rumour of any items which may be deemed of occult significance directly to my person and without delay. This does not apply to everyday magical objects but to anything that is known or held to have inherent power within the terms mentioned above. Even legends and folk tales are of
interest.
Leopold II
Lord Reitherman had discovered that the Emperor had been accumulating such ‘items of occult significance' and also that many religious relics and even local village charms had gone missing or been stolen. At the same time, the numbers of witch-finders had grown and their powers had increased. In fact, technically, witch-finders had no official powers. No-thing was written in the law regarding them but somehow their authority was accepted and the one who had investigated the dragon fossil and followed Lord Reitherman’s party to Kharesh had borne the Emperor’s seal. It all looked deeply suspicious. Neither the Palatine nor Albert could work out why the Emperor would want to collect – let alone steal – occult artefacts or why he would use witch-finders to do it. They weren’t even sure what Lord Reitherman had done, or rather failed to do, that had upset the Emperor so much. Considering the witch-finder had originally come to see the fossil and decry the heretical idea that it might lend support to the new ideas about evo-lution, that seemed to be the obvious connection. Except that Lord Reitherman had left for the March before it was known to be anything other than an unusual
archaeological discovery.
‘I’ve been thinking about the timing of the Emperor’s letter,' said Albert.
‘Really?'
‘The letter isn’t dated but, judging by the date of its arrival, it must have been sent several days before anything unusual had been established about the fossil at all.'
Lord Reitherman stared at him in surprise. ‘Do you know, Albert, I hadn’t even considered that!' Albert allowed himself a pleased smile. ‘So you’re saying that not only could the Emperor not have expected me to know anything about the fossil’s magical properties but that he couldn’t even have known himself at the time the letter was sent.'
‘Well, not by the usual channels,' said Albert carefully.
Lord Reitherman frowned. ‘What do you mean?'
Albert looked nervous but that wasn’t unusual. ‘The Emperor can’t have been in-formed about the discovery until after it had been made. But what if such a discovery had been expected?'
Lord Reitherman leaned forward, his eyes even wider. ‘Do you realise what you’re saying, Albert?'
Albert’s mouth went dry. ‘I’m rather afraid I do, sir. But, if I may be so bold,
do you?'
‘You have a theory?'
Albert found himself leaning forward as well and, involuntarily, he was whisper-ing. ‘Lazlo Winter, the Court Magician, is Professor of Predictive Sciences at the Imperial College of Magic.'
There was a long pause as Albert let this sink in. Slowly, both men sat back in their seats. Eventually Lord Reitherman spoke.
‘You’re suggesting that Lazlo Winter predicted the discovery of the fossil and informed the Emperor, who sent the letter before the discovery was actually made?'
‘I should say that I don’t actually believe in astrology, sir, but I did some check-ing. While the letter must have been sent before the discovery was made, it arrived a day or two after. Had you been at home, it’s quite likely that we would never have noticed the discrepancy.'
‘So you think that the letter may have been deliberately timed to arrive after the discovery had been made?'
‘It’s a theory, sir.'
‘Indeed it is, Albert. A rather clever one at that.' Albert blushed. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions yet. It’s always possible that the Emperor isn’t referring to the fossil at all.'
‘Then what, sir?'
‘I confess that I don’t know. But your theory does raise one rather worrying prob-lem.'
‘It does?'
Lord Reitherman looked at him very seriously. ‘If you’re correct about the timing of the letter then the Emperor did not give me the opportunity to inform him. He assumed that I would not.'
Albert considered this. ‘Why would he do that?'
‘Indeed why?' The two men looked gravely at each other for a moment until, suddenly, Lord Reitherman’s face fell. ‘Because he knows, Albert. The Emperor knows that we suspect him!'
It was a dark and stormy night and a dark and stormy man guided a boat across the dark and stormy waters. It was a small boat, only big enough for one occupant and surely too small to be out in the open ocean but it moved swiftly and surely, negotiating the waves with ease. The boat had no sail and yet it cut through the sea far more quickly than any vessel should have been able to. The occupant appeared to be rowing but no oars could propel a boat at that speed. At least, no natural oars.
Had anyone been close enough, they would have seen that, beneath his hood, the oarsman had a dark and stormy visage, one that suggested dark and stormy deeds. And tonight was the darkest and stormiest deed of all.
The boat stopped. Despite its speed, it did not need time to slow down. It just stopped. There was a pause as the oarsman looked around to satisfy himself that this was the place. Then he started moving again, faster than ever. But this time the boat was sinking. The oarsman leaned forward, pushing his weight into it. He was deliberately sinking the boat. It was below the surface of the water now, but still moving. He brought it around in a tight circle – no boat should be able to perform such a manoeuvre – so that it was heading back to the spot where he had stopped. Now he was leaning forward so heavily that the prow was pointing down at an angle. He was actually driving the boat into the water.
Within moments, his head sunk beneath the waves, still moving with the same phenomenal speed. And then the wind dropped and the water was still.
to everyone took part, I released an exclusive preview of the my then-unnamed second novel. Having just had another giveaway in the run-up to publication of my play Death Us Do Part, I promised to release the entire first chapter of that book, now named The Light Beneath the Waves. That first chapter is here, followed by the previously published extract.
Bear in mind that the book is still a work in progress and these excerpts may change or even be completely removed (as will be shown in a later History Globe revealing some scenes that have already been deleted). But this should at least give you a taster, let you know which characters will be back and hopefully whet your appetites.
Chapter One
It was a dark and stormy night. No, really. The sun had slunk off to do whatever it does in its spare time, the overcast sky was filled with filthy black clouds that had sent the moon scuttling after its opposite number for safety, and the pum-melling rain and jagged forks of lightning were a fair indication of the weather. It was a dark and stormy night.
The Colleen lurched wretchedly on the surging wave, lifted high into the murky darkness before crashing back down to the surface of the ocean with a bone-jarr-ing crack. This time the Captain could have sworn that, just for a second, the trawler was actually raised clear of the water and hung briefly in mid-air. It might have sounded impressive as a story back on shore but when you were there in the middle of it, it raised a grim, sickening feeling in the pit of your stomach. That crack wasn’t just the sound of the splash. There had been wood in there too and in this weather you wouldn't know if you were taking on water.
The Captain wiped the rain from his eyes and peered into the gloom, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the other boats. At first all he could see was more rain, the wind blowing it almost sideways. A gust blew some directly into his face and he cried out in pain. His eye still stinging, he looked again and this time saw a shadow. It was difficult to be certain but he reckoned the silhouette was the Speedwell. It was being tossed about like a cork. It shouldn’t be sitting at that angle.
Something thudded against the hull and he looked over the side. A lifeboat was floating past. It was the wrong way up. He felt that knot in his stomach again. He looked back towards where the silhouette had been but it was gone now, swal-lowed by the dark and the solid curtain of rain. The only reason he knew it hadn’t sunk was because it would take longer. He didn’t really expect to see it again though.
There was a sudden cry from somewhere further back. ‘Mermaid off to port!’
The Captain ran to the other side of the deck, steadying himself against the wheelhouse wall as his feet slipped and skidded across the soaked wood. He gripped the side of the boat and looked along the length of the hull. The riding light bobbed furiously at the stern, illuminating the water close to the vessel. His eyes narrowed as he tried to separate the shadows and moving shapes. There it was! A flash of glistening forked tail. Could have been a porpoise but then a head broke the surface of the water. He couldn’t make out features through the rainy gloom but there was long hair and as the creature rose higher he could plainly see ample breasts. No porpoise, he thought as it flipped forward and dived again, its tail splashing behind it. Damn mermaids, bringing storms wherever they went. Just seeing one was bad luck but it was a bit late to worry about that now.
Lightning flashed again as the gale blew harder, becoming a terrible choir of the damned, all shrill wailing voices. He tried to stop his imagination from envision-ing what the voices belonged to. Don’t think of dead, eyeless souls riding the winds to bear you off to hell. Think of something good, something beautiful mak-ing the noise. A woman singing. And then the woman was a mermaid. Damn.
And then there really was singing. Over the noise of the wind came a sound he’d heard only a few times before but could never have forgotten. The mermaid song swooped on the air and snaked around his soul, wrenching it from his body and carrying it away into the heart of the storm. He didn’t mind a bit.
There was a sudden splintering crack from behind. The Captain’s head snapped around in time to see a section of the mast falling towards him. Then there was blackness.
He’d probably been unconscious for only a moment but there was no telling. No-one had come and moved him, which was ominous. His head was splitting as badly as the wood and his right eye stung with its newly scarlet vision. He wiped the blood as he staggered to his feet but the view stayed red. Leaning on the side of the boat for support he glanced down into the water again. More flotsam eddied past, this time broken pieces of wood and also items that would have been on board the boat. There were even some clothes. But as he stared they moved.
‘Man overboard!’ he yelled frantically, not knowing if there was anyone there to
hear. ‘Man over-’ But before he had time to take any action he saw the sailor look up at him, reach out a forlorn arm and take in a lungful of water as the wave rose above his head and he sank forever. The feeling was in the Captain’s mouth now.
For a few moments he just stood there, gazing helplessly into the waves. He’d had just enough time to recognise the man as the Captain of the Sapphire. Then his attention was caught by a new problem. There was another silhouette out there and this time it was heading straight for the Colleen, and much faster than any fishing boat normally would. He recognised the shape and realised that there was no-one to steer the boat away.
‘Brace for impact!’ he shouted; but his voice was drowned by the hellish choir. He ran, or rather staggered, to the bell and rang it as loudly as he could, not caring that he might be the only person who could hear it.
The silhouette had detail now and as it loomed out of the darkness he could make out the name painted on the side. Sapphire. It seemed much bigger than he knew it really was, somehow towering over a boat its own size. And then it ploughed through the side of the Colleen, sending splintered planks of wood flying through the air. The wheelhouse windows were smashed and the rest of the mast gave way. One of the flying planks caught the Captain a glancing blow across the temple and the rest of his vision turned dark crimson and began to blur. As he struggled to stay upright and conscious, he was vaguely aware of the deck vanishing beneath him. He never felt himself hit the water.
As the Colleen broke up and began to sink, there wasn’t an eerie silence or a gra-dual return to calm now that it was all over. There was still the howling gale, the projectile rain and explosive sheets of lightning. And there was still one more boat being sent to the bottom of the ocean.
It was a dark and stormy night.
Previously published excerpt
The Empire was a confederation of states and independent cities that had sub-mitted them-selves to the Emperor's laws in order to enjoy his protection and the various other benefits of membership such as not being invaded. Of course, it was centuries since the Empire had invaded anywhere but most of the provinces had joined in the bad old days. As well as Imperial law, laid down by the Emperor in Hapsdorf, each province had its own slightly different laws and on the whole existed as an independent state unless it was politically convenient to do other-wise. Each of the provincial rulers was subject to the Emperor but equally was eligible to succeed him, which inevitably resulted in politics.
The Principality of Niederland had no real ambition in that area or in political matters in general, its interests being more mercantile and cultural. Situated in the northwest of the Empire, bordering the Kingdom of Breton, the Principality’s most important role was in controlling the Empire's major seaport, which was also Niederland’s capital, Anterwendt.
Everyone knew that Niederland was flat but Adam had always assumed that this meant it just had smaller hills than everywhere else. It turned out to have no hills at all. It wasn’t even wrinkled. Well, for most of the journey anyway. As the coach neared Anterwendt in the northwest, the landscape began to rise again. Not by much but there were some hills and, as the road neared the coast, there were signs of distant cliffs. Admittedly not very high ones but they counted.
The crisp spring air had a distinctive tinge to it. People say that sea air smells salty but it doesn’t. It smells fishy. Adam had never smelled the sea before but he had smelled fish and it was delicately laced through the background of Anterwendt. It wasn’t unpleasant, which was a good thing because you couldn’t escape it. Yet despite the aroma, the breeze – and there was definitely a breeze – felt fresh and invigorating. Adding to the effect was a distant rumbling crash, like baby thunder, which Adam knew must be the sound of the ocean, although he couldn’t see it.
The other principal noise was a high pitched screeching sound from above. Adam looked up and saw that the sky and the rooftops were filled with white birds. He’d seen pictures of gulls in books but hadn’t realised that there were so many varieties. Some were white and pale grey, some had darker wings and others black heads or pink legs instead of yellow. The real show-offs had distinctive red spots on their beaks. They were all much bigger than the pictures had suggested and a hell of a lot noisier. The airborne ones seemed to float effortlessly, bobbing up and down without flapping their wings. Many of the chimney pots had nests on top of them although Adam noticed that a few had strange grey cowls on top
instead.
The buildings were different to any that Adam had seen before. Instead of stone or the more modern bricks, the walls were harled – covered over in tiny sharp stones to protect them against erosion from the salt thrown up by the sea. The harling gave the walls a rough texture that you could sand a brick on. There were other signs that this was a sea port. Some of the houses had coiled ropes hanging decoratively outside and a few had lobster pots on the doorsteps. Inns had names like The Ship and The Sailor’s Rest with brightly painted sailing vessels or white bearded sea dogs on their signs. One had stained glass compasses in its windows and another had an anchor propped up by the door. The nautical theme carried over into the shops, which included more fishmongers than Adam was used to and where else would you find a sail maker? He kept expecting to hear sea shanties. He looked at Jana and saw that she was beaming. She liked this sort of thing. When he had first met her she had kept pleading with him to show her some magic and right now she was probably imagining pirates.
The coach dropped them off in the city square and they soon found the lodging house that Melanin Psalter had arranged for them. It was a seafront hotel called The Stotfold and Adam was surprised to find that it was one of the larger and more expensive hotels in the city. He’d expected the nasty little man to provide some-thing cheap and dingy but presumably Chancellor Tummelwit had ensured other-wise.
The seafront provided three even more impressive sights. The most immediately arresting was the ocean itself. Adam had seen lakes and rivers but he had never seen water that looked so alive. The waves lashed against the shore like they were trying to break it, continually retreating and then renewing the
assault.
‘Breathtaking, isn’t it?' smiled Jana, relishing the feel of the wind in her hair.
‘Have you seen this before he asked her?'
‘I was born in a seaside village. Nothing like this place but it does have the ocean.' She breathed in deeply. ‘We left when I was seven, moved to a small town, but the sea never leaves you. It’s in your bones.'
The grey water stretched away to the far horizon and they could make out the silhouette of a boat in the distance. Adam realised that there was no sign of the harbour and wondered where it was.
The second sight was the beach, something else that Adam had never seen before. He had always imagined it to be something like a desert (not that he’d seen one of those either) and was therefore surprised at the reality. Where the waves rolled up to the shoreline was an expanse of wet sand. There was then a line of smooth, round stones followed by a necklace of some sort of plant life that Adam didn't recognise. Even from a distance he could see that it was a mixture of green, yellow and brown and had lumps all over it. Jana later explained that it was seaweed. This whole section of the beach was punctuated by rocks, some of which had a different, bright green plant coating them. Some of the rocks formed little basins with pools of water in them. This seemed to mark the highest point of the tide because beyond this was a plain of dry, white sand, which eventually led to the dunes. Adam had thought that sand dunes were just hills where the wind made the sand pile up but these were clearly permanent features and were topped with a stiff, long grass and spiky yellow bushes. To the right, the sand eventually gave way to rocks while, to the left, the dunes became cliffs and atop them was the third sight: a tall, gleaming white tower that Adam knew must be a
lighthouse.
He looked out again at the boat in the distance. ‘Will the ship arrive here?'
‘No!' laughed Jana. ‘There’ll be a harbour somewhere. It’s probably too rocky here. Maybe across the other side of town. We’ll go and look later.'
‘Why not now?'
‘Because,' she said slyly, ‘I want something to eat. And it’s on your wizard friends so we can have the most expensive thing on the menu. Coming?'
Adam hesitated for just a moment. He shouldn’t really but…well, he was going to. If he protested, she’d just bully him into it anyway. He turned around and set off back into the hotel. Jana breathed the sea air deeply one more time and then followed him.
Four hundred miles away, another coach was arriving in another city. Hapsdorf was the capital of the Empire and its largest city. Although situated in the heart of the Grand Duchy of Nordland, in the interests of political fairness, Hapsdorf was an independent city state ruled by the Emperor while the province itself was governed from Castle Grünwald near the city of Wertenberg to the east. This did not stop Hapsdorf from being powerful, however. As well as the Emperor, it was home to the Empire’s senior religious figure, the Grand Theoginist of the Church of Marius, and also to the High Palatine of the Northern Provinces, the most powerful administrative officer, both of whom sat on the Electoral Council. While hardly a democracy, the Empire was not governed by a single person. As an alliance of semi-independent states, it was ruled by all of them. Each province and city state had its own ruler, all of whom sat on the Electoral Council, the Empire’s governing body, and voted on decisions. A sort of government of the people, for the people by the people who had the biggest houses. There was only ever one actual election and it only happened when an Emperor or Empress died. All of the provincial and city state rulers were eligible to succeed him or her and the Council did the voting. This gave Hapsdorf another sphere of power because when the new Emperor took office he moved to the capital and his province or city state was inherited by his family, allowing Hapsdorf obvious influence in the
Emperor’s home state.
As well as the provincial Electors, there were several others who were not state rulers and in some cases were not even of noble birth. These were the five religious leaders and the two Palatines, one for the northern provinces and the other for the south. These last two acted as the Emperor’s representatives in the provinces, performing important administrative, legal and ceremonial roles. Neither the Palatines nor the religious leaders were eligible to become Emperor but all were involved in choosing one.
The black coach that was now rattling along the streets in the direction of the Imperial Palace belonged to Lord Adolf Reitherman, High Palatine of the Southern Provinces. Lord Reitherman was a man whose reputation preceded him and took the opportunity to spread vicious rumours before he got there. He was known as the Man in Black and it was widely believed – especially by those who had never met him – that he was a dangerous man and not to be crossed. Those who actually had met him could never usually cite any specific examples of his not-to-be-crossed-ness but usually insisted that his unfailing politeness, tire-less civic work and seeming ability to get on with anyone were merely a front for his true nature and that the drinks he served at his regular parties for the working class pillars of the community, whose opinions he trusted more than those of the wealthy, were almost certainly spiked with hemlock. The fact that no-one had ever been poisoned at one of these parties was just confirmation of his deviousness. He did, after all, dress exclusively in black. Even his coach was black. Of course, most coaches were black but that didn’t prove anything.
Accompanying Lord Reitherman was his secretary, Albert Munster. The Palatine had been involved in the events at Kharesh and, after all of his adventures there, the main thing that he had brought back with him was a newfound interest in what he called ‘the singsong'. For much of the journey he had been trying, with extremely limited success, to introduce Albert to its delights. ‘If I may say so, your Lordship, cream cheese seems a very impractical material for making hats out of and, while I can’t profess to be an expert, I remain unconvinced as to the musical properties of kitchen utensils. Now perhaps we could return to the matter in hand. We’re almost there.' His employer could, at times, be very easily distracted and a large part of Albert’s job revolved around keeping him focussed.
Lord Reitherman smiled thinly. ‘You are quite right, of course, Albert. We have important and difficult work to do and I am wasting our time with frivolity. Please accept my apologies.'
Albert bowed his head modestly but suspected that his master was simply humour-ing him. Lord Reitherman was an astonishingly intelligent man and was usually several steps ahead of everyone else. He had probably considered all of the options and worked out a strategy between his front door and the coach and was likely only wasting his time with frivolity in order to occupy his mind. Discussing and making plans would be more for Albert’s benefit than anything else.
Albert pulled out the letter that was the reason for their journey. It read
simply:
My dear Lord Reitherman,
It has come to my attention that you have neglected to keep me appraised of a possible item of interest under the terms of Edict 37. You are invited to visit me in Hapsdorf to discuss the matter in detail.
Sincerely,
Leopold II
When an Emperor uses the word ‘invited', it’s a polite way of saying ‘summoned on pain of death or, if you really want to make something of it, on pain of pain.' In a similar vein, ‘discuss the matter in detail' is Emperor-speak for ‘explain yourself while a very big man holds dangerous implements near your politically sensitive areas'. The Emperor wasn’t best pleased about something.
It had taken Albert a lot of careful research to find out what Edict 37 was, as it wasn’t contained in any of the normal statute books. He had eventually learned that it was some-thing called a Private Edict, a law set by the Emperor personally and which only applied to certain people, usually the Electors, all of whom were notified individually. In other words a secret that the Emperor didn’t want to be made public. Edict 37 ran as follows:
To all members of the Electoral Council,
PRIVATE EDICT NO. 37
All Electors are requested to report knowledge or rumour of any items which may be deemed of occult significance directly to my person and without delay. This does not apply to everyday magical objects but to anything that is known or held to have inherent power within the terms mentioned above. Even legends and folk tales are of
interest.
Leopold II
Lord Reitherman had discovered that the Emperor had been accumulating such ‘items of occult significance' and also that many religious relics and even local village charms had gone missing or been stolen. At the same time, the numbers of witch-finders had grown and their powers had increased. In fact, technically, witch-finders had no official powers. No-thing was written in the law regarding them but somehow their authority was accepted and the one who had investigated the dragon fossil and followed Lord Reitherman’s party to Kharesh had borne the Emperor’s seal. It all looked deeply suspicious. Neither the Palatine nor Albert could work out why the Emperor would want to collect – let alone steal – occult artefacts or why he would use witch-finders to do it. They weren’t even sure what Lord Reitherman had done, or rather failed to do, that had upset the Emperor so much. Considering the witch-finder had originally come to see the fossil and decry the heretical idea that it might lend support to the new ideas about evo-lution, that seemed to be the obvious connection. Except that Lord Reitherman had left for the March before it was known to be anything other than an unusual
archaeological discovery.
‘I’ve been thinking about the timing of the Emperor’s letter,' said Albert.
‘Really?'
‘The letter isn’t dated but, judging by the date of its arrival, it must have been sent several days before anything unusual had been established about the fossil at all.'
Lord Reitherman stared at him in surprise. ‘Do you know, Albert, I hadn’t even considered that!' Albert allowed himself a pleased smile. ‘So you’re saying that not only could the Emperor not have expected me to know anything about the fossil’s magical properties but that he couldn’t even have known himself at the time the letter was sent.'
‘Well, not by the usual channels,' said Albert carefully.
Lord Reitherman frowned. ‘What do you mean?'
Albert looked nervous but that wasn’t unusual. ‘The Emperor can’t have been in-formed about the discovery until after it had been made. But what if such a discovery had been expected?'
Lord Reitherman leaned forward, his eyes even wider. ‘Do you realise what you’re saying, Albert?'
Albert’s mouth went dry. ‘I’m rather afraid I do, sir. But, if I may be so bold,
do you?'
‘You have a theory?'
Albert found himself leaning forward as well and, involuntarily, he was whisper-ing. ‘Lazlo Winter, the Court Magician, is Professor of Predictive Sciences at the Imperial College of Magic.'
There was a long pause as Albert let this sink in. Slowly, both men sat back in their seats. Eventually Lord Reitherman spoke.
‘You’re suggesting that Lazlo Winter predicted the discovery of the fossil and informed the Emperor, who sent the letter before the discovery was actually made?'
‘I should say that I don’t actually believe in astrology, sir, but I did some check-ing. While the letter must have been sent before the discovery was made, it arrived a day or two after. Had you been at home, it’s quite likely that we would never have noticed the discrepancy.'
‘So you think that the letter may have been deliberately timed to arrive after the discovery had been made?'
‘It’s a theory, sir.'
‘Indeed it is, Albert. A rather clever one at that.' Albert blushed. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions yet. It’s always possible that the Emperor isn’t referring to the fossil at all.'
‘Then what, sir?'
‘I confess that I don’t know. But your theory does raise one rather worrying prob-lem.'
‘It does?'
Lord Reitherman looked at him very seriously. ‘If you’re correct about the timing of the letter then the Emperor did not give me the opportunity to inform him. He assumed that I would not.'
Albert considered this. ‘Why would he do that?'
‘Indeed why?' The two men looked gravely at each other for a moment until, suddenly, Lord Reitherman’s face fell. ‘Because he knows, Albert. The Emperor knows that we suspect him!'
It was a dark and stormy night and a dark and stormy man guided a boat across the dark and stormy waters. It was a small boat, only big enough for one occupant and surely too small to be out in the open ocean but it moved swiftly and surely, negotiating the waves with ease. The boat had no sail and yet it cut through the sea far more quickly than any vessel should have been able to. The occupant appeared to be rowing but no oars could propel a boat at that speed. At least, no natural oars.
Had anyone been close enough, they would have seen that, beneath his hood, the oarsman had a dark and stormy visage, one that suggested dark and stormy deeds. And tonight was the darkest and stormiest deed of all.
The boat stopped. Despite its speed, it did not need time to slow down. It just stopped. There was a pause as the oarsman looked around to satisfy himself that this was the place. Then he started moving again, faster than ever. But this time the boat was sinking. The oarsman leaned forward, pushing his weight into it. He was deliberately sinking the boat. It was below the surface of the water now, but still moving. He brought it around in a tight circle – no boat should be able to perform such a manoeuvre – so that it was heading back to the spot where he had stopped. Now he was leaning forward so heavily that the prow was pointing down at an angle. He was actually driving the boat into the water.
Within moments, his head sunk beneath the waves, still moving with the same phenomenal speed. And then the wind dropped and the water was still.