The Forlorn(58)

There was a faint gargling noise from the barman, and a weak flailing of arms and legs.

"What? Oh," and the viselike hand pushed him back and loosened slightly. But it still remained on the barman's shirtfront.

The barman had a lifetime of experience. This was more than potential bruises. His respectfully toned reply was still faintly choked. "Sorry, sir. I . . . just about every man in this place has asked me to find him or his family a berth . . . on any damn thing that'll float. There's no chance, sir. Not even for all the gold and jewels in Amphir City."

"There's a fair forest of masts out there. Why won't they sail?" Cap asked.

"The Hashvilli!" The barman looked gray just at the mention of the name.

"Hashvilli? Oh, that rabble of pirates and petty slavers from the Ferl Islands. Never used to worry a decent skipper . . . in your father's time that is. I gather they've become something more of a nuisance," said Cap disdainfully.

"Sir! Sir jests! The Hashvilli sea wolves are a scourge on the sea lanes. The Kalmis Navy used to hunt them, keeping the trade route to the north open in return for those extortionate duties at their ports. I'll admit that when the Tyrant up north swallowed Kalmis, the traders were worried, but at least some of the patrols went on . . . up until last year. Since then there's been nowt to stop the Hashvilli. Eight months or so ago was the last time a vessel made it north and back. The news they brought wasn't good. There's a war in Kalmis between the Tyrant and some new Emperor. And the sea is full of Hashvilli raiders," explained the barman, ignoring calls for beer from the far end of the bar. No one this end was being foolish enough to interrupt.

"Shut up," said Cap to the crowd at large, in his voice of command. Even the drunks were silenced. He turned to the barman again. "Then why the panic today?"

The barman's voice dropped to a near whisper. However, in the newly-won silence they had no trouble hearing him. "Two weeks ago they hit Northhaven, forty mile up the coast. Took every able-bodied soul as slaves, impaled the rest. Even a newborn baby. The same again three nights later at Whitesands Bay. But there a few of the farmers got lucky and got away . . . with a Hashvilli prisoner. He talked before they killed him. The Ferl Islands had a drought the year afore last. Bad crop and a lot of starving folk, with no way out except raiding. Then this year, it was a wet winter. The winter crop got the blight. Their wheat turned black in their fields. An' now, there's famine loose there. No food but what the raiders bring home. And there's been no ships going north for dunamany months."

"An' now they're coming here. They'll gut this place like a herring," a panicky voice from the crowd cried. "The Bess was out last night long-lining on Fourteen-Mile Bank. They saw 'em at dawn. Bess's skipper dropped the lines and ran, and she got in maybe two hours ago."

Another took up the tale. "The skipper he took word up to our burgomaster, Johannes the Chandler. Within twenty minutes our brave Johannes'd chartered the Kessaly to run him an' his family and a couple of fat chests south." There was some satisfaction in the tone as he continued: "She was burning off Scarff Point within twenty minutes."

"The Garfish sailed maybe five minutes after. They made it back though."

Another snorted, "Only just, mind. They were so badly holed, with four dead an' seven wounded of a crew of seventeen, that the raiders obviously didn't expect them to see land. Garfish's skipper says the Hashvilli cut an' run as soon as they could see the cliffs . . . But they say there's hundreds of masts just below the horizon."

"Hell's teeth! So what are you folk planning to do now? Run inland?"

There was a silence. Finally a big man in a striped seaman's jersey spoke up. His voice was slow and raw from speaking over a sea wind for half a lifetime. "My boat's here, mister. So's my life. I'm not going inland. What could I do there? Beg?" A murmur of agreement went around the room.

"So, you're going to fight."

"Aye!" a belligerent chorus from the fishermen and sailors. Some of the townsfolk were silent, scared looking.

"But you don't have a leader, and you're passing the time in the bar getting soused." Cap's voice was scathing.

The big seaman pushed his way forward. The crowd melted back magically. "Look, mister. I don't like your tone. I don't like your face. And I don't see what it's got to do with you." He reached out a contemptuous hand.

And found himself flat on his back. "Get up. Don't waste your strength fighting me. You'll need it for the Hashvilli tonight." Cap's voice was icy, commanding. "I want a ship out of here. Seems to me the only way I can get one is to stop the place from being trashed by a bunch of sea scum. I am an officer of the Crew, and I am taking control of the defense of this town. Any man who wants to challenge me is welcome to try his luck. Barman, this place is closed for the duration. Now, finish up your drinks. I want every man, woman and child that can carry arms, and whatever weapons they have to carry, on the quayside in ten minutes." He raised his tankard. "I give you a toast. Death to the Hashvilli!"