Authoress's Note: this chapter is another interlude that stands on its own. We will return to Dragon Island in the next chapter. Thank you ever so much for your patience!
Chapter the Forty-second: Spearhead's Fate
24 Greenroof 2076
"Take another tack to Southwest, lieutenant," Captain Allen ordered quietly. The Spearhead's commanding officer paced the quarterdeck of his crippled vessel.
"Aye, aye, sir," the lieutenant answered. "All hands, make sail! Bring 'er round to course two-two-five."
The captain scoffed internally at his lieutenant's order. Make sail indeed—beating against the wind with one jury-rigged mast and what few sails it could carry. In the eight days since the battle with the Dragon, Spearhead finally limped within reach of the Lone Islands. The strong Westerly wind that gave wings to the fleet traveling East had barred their wounded sister's way home. She sailed as close to the wind as she could—first Northwest, then Southwest, then Northwest again—making slow, circuitous headway to the West.
Late that afternoon, Spearhead made port in Narrowhaven harbor. The fishermen and sailors in the boats dotting the harbor gaped at the ruined vessel as it came to its anchorage. Once the vessel was secure (a rather lengthy task for the poor ship), Captain Allen and his first officer disembarked, leaving the second officer in command. When their longboat landed, they found a small contingent of marines from the Archen consulate already awaiting them. The consul was nothing if not prompt.
"Sir, his lordship bids you welcome and requests you accept our escort to the consulate."
"Very well," the weary Archen captain answered. He could see the questions in the sergeant's eyes and took pity on him. "We do not know the fate of our fellows," he added softly. "Let us go."
The road up into the hills to the consulate passed in silence, and silence filled the consulate courtyard as they reached it. It was a hush of dreadful anticipation, Allen mused, of the news he brought. As soon as the two officers dismounted, however, a woman's near-frantic voice disturbed the quiet air.
"Captain!" The poor woman cried as she rushed forward from the front steps, "What has become of the princess? I pray Aslan you have her aboard!"
"Peace, madam," he entreated with some irritation, "Why do you accost me thus? I must report to his lordship."
"I am her highness's maidservant, left behind in the fleet's hurried departure," Eloise straightened with a hint of indignation. "Prithee do not withhold word from me of my mistress."
"Forgive me, madam," the Archen captain bowed slightly, "but you should give thanks that you were not in our company. You are welcome to come as we give our report to his lordship—'tis not a tale I'll repeat."
Eloise blanched but followed the two officers wordlessly as they entered the consulate and presented themselves to the consul.
"My Lord Darin," the captain greeted once the servant showed them in.
"Captain Allen," the Archen consul returned the greeting hastily, "What word from the fleet?"
"Unsatisfactory, I fear, my lord," he answered. "We pursued the dragon several days, until it fell upon the Spearhead and set our sails and masts aflame. The remaining ships continued the pursuit out of our sight. We returned on the princess's orders, but with this Westerly wind and only a jury mast, it took many days to reach port. Our fellows' fate is unknown to us—mayhap they vanquished the beast and are slowly returning against the same wind, or else reduced to charred flotsam on some strange sea."
At this vividly dire prediction, Eloise gasped from the corner of the room.
"Oh, why pursue that evil worm at all?" She despaired, tears running down her face.
"Because it abducted Sir Galen, madam," he answered coldly. "Would you have us abandon a good man to such a fate without attempting to aid him?"
"Nay, my lord," she demurred, "But your news bears so little hope."
"Come, Miss Eloise," the consul comforted, "from what the Captain says, nothing is certain. The Jewel of Archenland may sail into harbor any day, but in this wind we must be patient," he guided the princess's faithful servant out of the office with reassuring words. But once he closed the door after her, Lord Darin questioned the Archen officers more frankly.
"What chance do you honestly believe exists that they will return?"
"Slim, my lord, I'm sorry to say," he answered grimly.
"And chances of sending out a search?"
"With what ships, my lord? Spearhead requires much repair, and even with the whole fleet we could not hope to cover that endless sea."
"Very well," the consul sighed. "Draw whatever resources you need from the consulate treasury. As soon as Spearhead is refitted, you will sail for Archenland to report to the king in person if the fleet has not returned by then. In the meantime, I will send your written report with mine in the next merchantman."
Captain Allen bowed in acknowledgment, then turned to leave.
"And captain," the consul stopped him, "Take care with your men. This is no longer a friendly port."
The repairs to Spearhead began in earnest over the next days. The bowsprit was returned to its proper place, and by the end of the week the captain made arrangements to empty the vessel in preparation for dry dock to replace the masts. Before that occurred, however, the ship's watch continued as usual.
"New sail coming to port, lieutenant!" The watchman on duty cried amid the noonday bustle.
"What flag?" The lieutenant promptly inquired.
"Calormene, sir—a ship of war, mid-size galleon by the looks of it."
"Call the captain," the young officer ordered grimly.
"What news?" Captain Allen stepped onto the quarterdeck with a hefty envelope in hand.
"A Calormene warship entering harbor, sir," the lieutenant answered with a nervous inflection.
"Very well," the captain answered calmly. "We'll keep an eye on her, but we aren't at war yet," he reassured the officer of the deck. "We will continue to let the men go ashore, but only in small parties, and they are to stick together. We'll all be relocating to the consulate soon enough anyway when she's in dry dock—I'm headed there myself now to report to his lordship. Prepare a boat."
"Aye, sir!" Came the prompt reply.
That evening, ten of the Spearhead's sailors made merry in a nearby tavern. It still had holes in the roof from the dragon's attack, but this little hindered the raucous patrons' merriment.
"In a blinding flash, the dragon blasted its furnace-fueled breath to our sails! I fell clean from the spar, all the air blown from my lungs!" An Archen sailor recounted vividly as many fisherman and bar maids gathered around.
"Aye, we lost many a good top man that day," another sailor added with melancholy.
"But the cap'n thought fast and set us with axes to our own masts. Billows of smoke choked us, sparks flying to the timbers as we raced to wet down the deck. But over at last all the masts went with their spars, sails, and dragon fire!"
"What happened then?" A green-eyed maiden asked breathlessly.
"Well, lassie," the sailor's ale-heightened voice continued, "the Valiant, Huntress, and Jewel ran up to us and continued the chase merrily—a fine sight, the beauties, as they ran a'fore the wind!"
"The dragon lay low in the sky as we watched—lower and lower to the end of the horizon," another sailor picked the story up, "and the white Archen sails close behind it."
"Surely that is not all you saw?" The girl asked. "What became of the others?"
"We do not know," the first sailor shook his head. "Disappeared over the Eastern Sea for all we know, or drowned in it."
A grim hush paused the story.
"But the watchman in the crow's nest thought he saw something strange," the sailor continued suspensefully, "—a flash of bright blue at extreme distance, just below the horizon and reflected back on the water.
"A blue flash?" A fisherman puzzled. "What devilry could that mean?"
"No one knows," an Archen sailor answered ominously. "We pray the princess and our gallant fellows return one day to tell us."
Murmuring, the patrons digested this tale. The green-eyed girl, though, smiled a little smile, slipped out the door, and made her way back to the Calormene galleon.
28 Greenroof 2076
"Where's the Captain?" The Spearhead's first officer demanded.
"I believe he is at the consulate, sir," the officer of the watch answered nervously.
"But he went ashore with his report two days ago!"
"I know, sir. There's been no word."
"Well, send a messenger to the consulate and inform the captain we are ready to dry dock."
"Aye, sir," the ensign promptly carried out the orders.
About an hour later, the messenger returned with disturbing news that Captain Allen could not be located.
"What do you mean the captain is not at the consulate?" The first officer became even less patient, if that were possible, glaring at the unfortunate bosun's mate who brought the report.
"His lordship says that the captain never reached the consulate. Lord Darin suggested that you proceed with dry docking, then report to him to assist in the search, sir."
The first mate's eyes narrowed even more. "As his lordship wishes then," he growled. "Prepare to dry dock as soon as the tugs come alongside."
Captain Allen awoke in dank darkness, but he did not need to see to know he was in a ship's hold—Calormene by the feel of it. It swayed gently to an anchor, and the motion made his head throb terribly. He rubbed the back of his head, and he could feel dried blood matting his hair. His eyes began to acclimate to the dim light filtering through the cracks in the deck above, and as he shifted he realized his legs were bound in heavy iron shackles. The Archen captain could remember riding towards the consulate. Something had spooked his horse. He remembered falling, struggling with masked men, then nothing. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, patting his now-tattered coat frantically. But the envelope containing the precious report—with a copy of the Spearhead's log—was nowhere to be found. As Captain Allen groaned in frustration, heavy footsteps thudded on the deck timbers. An approaching lantern brought light to the unfortunate officer's cell, and he tried to steel himself for the unpleasant interrogation likely to follow.
31Greenroof 2076
Several days passed as the Spearhead was brought into dry dock and her masts replaced one by one. The consulate bustled to overflowing with her crew, displaced until their ship retook the waves. In the parlor, the first officer paced helplessly. No word had come of his commander. Searches seemed all in vain; he might as well have vanished from the face of the earth.
"Commander, sir?" A voice hesitantly interrupted him, and he turned sharply to face the newcomer. A young consulate servant stood in the doorway. "His lordship requests your presence."
The Archen officer nodded silently and followed, not sure whether to take encouragement or foreboding.
"At your service, my lord," the first officer bowed upon entering the consul's office.
"Commander," the Archen diplomat began gravely, "a search party returned with news."
Lord Darin paused, looking down to his desk. The first officer followed his gaze and noted with surprise that an Archen naval uniform coat lay there—tattered, frayed, and weathered by salt water and sun. The unhappy officer also perceived a captain's insignia.
"A fisherman found it washed up on the shore near a steep cliff," the consul explained at last. "They found no other trace."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
"Despairing people have been known to throw themselves from that height," Lord Darin continued sorrowfully, "but we may never know for sure."
"That is unlike the captain," the Archen officer observed gravely.
"Indeed," the consul nodded with resignation, "such actions are often unlike the poor souls who take them. But I'm afraid you and I have little choice but to continue with our duties in the captain's absence. Under my emergency authority in such circumstances, I hereby promote you in the field to captain. Responsibility for returning Spearhead to Archenland and bringing official word of the princess's disappearance now falls to you. When will she be seaworthy?"
"A few more days, my lord," the first officer murmured.
"You and your crew have my condolences, captain," Lord Darin spoke solemnly. "Please let me know if there is anything you need between now and then.
"Thank you, my lord," the officer answered, taking his captain's coat from the desk. "I will speak to the men."
In a cabin aboard the Calormene galleon, Juliana sat quietly at the bedside of a feverish man. She scrutinized his face with keen interest, observing every muttering as he tossed to and fro in the throes of delirium. The lantern swinging from the ceiling threw light through the cabin at sharp angles, contrasting with the inky black night outside the windows. In another lantern beside the bed, a thick candle produced an eerie green light and a sweet, sickly aroma. The emerald around the lady's neck glowed with eerie light as well.
"Perilous...perilous!" The unfortunate Captain Allen groaned in his fevered state. Ugly bruises, welts, and cuts criss-crossed his face and arms, testifying to the interrogations he suffered previous.
"What is perilous?" Juliana pressed a cloth to his brow and spoke gently to the tormented officer.
"Mission," he mumbled, tossing. More broken words followed over the minutes that followed. "Aslan's mission. Resupply full. Madness! Don't trust him. Damn the orders."
"All shall die! All shall die!" He suddenly shrieked in anguish. "Perish in the East! An endless sea!" the wretched man cried out. As he sank deeper into the delirium, groans and unintelligible muttering replaced the words. After a time, Juliana called a servant girl to watch him, while she moved to another cabin.
"What progress, madam?" The Grand Vizier greeted her with a slight bow.
"Much progress, my lord," Juliana returned the courtesy. "I am sure, now, of what I suspected—the princess," she fairly hissed the word, "and her little friend have some business East of the Lone Islands. We must follow."
"You presume too much, witch," the vizier returned sharply. "You propose madness at the ravings of a madman. This does not serve my purpose."
"Do you forget that you made me what I am, sir?" Juliana's eyes glittered venomously. "If I am a witch, it is a witch of your creation," she laughed, "and that is well, for you more than any know my power," she drew closer to him, and he stepped back, repulsed as she caressed his face with cold fingers. She laughed at his discomfort, stepping aside and picking up several papers from the desk.
"It is so simple, my dear tarkaan," she smiled coyly. "The sailors speak of a blue flash. So does the captain's log. And before them, villagers in Narrowhaven recount something similar when the princess's Narnian pet fought with the dragon here on the island." Juliana laughed deviously. "Surely you heard the tales of the Stone Knife's power?"
"Indeed, o lady, the rumors tell of such a blue flash accompanying the barbarians' raid on the prince's villa," the vizier's interest heightened. "But it was said to be destroyed, and even if not, only operable in the Narnian's hands."
"Why, my dear," she laughed, "all these reports are evidence that it was not, in fact, destroyed. And the Knife does not belong to the Narnian—nay, I wielded it in victory before even time began!" Her voice took on a commanding aspect, reflected in her posture and the glint of her eyes. Momentary horror flashed through the vizier's mind; what had he created, indeed?
"And," she continued, "it must return to my side for newer conquest!" She licked her lips greedily in a distinctly snake-like manner. "As for you," the vizier recoiled anew as she spoke, "it serves my purposes to give you the power you crave. You need only follow my counsel and all you desire shall be yours," her honeyed voice tasted sickly sweet to his ears and he began to succumb to its influence.
"What would you have us do, o lady?" He began to speak in more subdued tones.
"The captain breaks under my venom—his ramblings tell clearly that the princess and her pet flee to the East with my possession. But they shall not escape. Set a course to match the Spearhead's log," her eyes fixed on him firmly, the green jewel around her neck still gleaming with unearthly light.
"As you wish, most clever of women," the powerful Calormene acquiesced; he could not do otherwise.
Juliana chuckled, then she returned to the captain's cabin. The unfortunate soul imprisoned there whimpered in his sleep, his tossings stilled for the moment. The former Archen lady returned to his bedside and soothingly pressed a cool cloth to his brow.
"Captain Allen," she called to him gently, and after a moment his eyes fluttered awake. Groggily he tried to process his situation, but the fog upon his brain would not lift.
"Please," he managed to plead in whispered tones, "let me not fall asleep, my lady. The dreams. The dreams! The horrors come alive, I beg you!" His eyes were wide in fear now, desperately trying to cling to his wits.
"Of course, my pet," she soothed with her syrupy voice, continuing to lave his brow.
"Please," he entreated, "I must return to Archenland...must report..." He fell back on the pillows, his feeble strength spent.
"Archenland?" The jewel around her neck began to gleam anew as she spoke, her laugh lilting with its own enchantment. "Why, my dear, whatever is Archenland?"
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