Flashman and the Throne of Swords

Chapter 14

by Technomad

For all that I'd rather have leapt naked into a lion's den, Dick Burton was not a man to say "No!" to. Not if I wanted to keep my soft job. Accordingly, after a passionate, night-long farewell from Elspeth, I slipped out of our chamber, leaving her sprawled naked on the beds in a tangle of covers. Always leave things the way you want to find 'em again, says I. I just hoped that nobody else would be slipping in to find her while I was gone. But then, it'd just be for a few days, I thought. More fool I.

I had no idea what awaited us in Dragonstone, so I made sure to pack my weapons. This time, thought I, I wasn't going to be separated from my revolver! If I'd had my barker on me when that b*tch Catelyn Stark had me kidnapped, I could have turned the tables on her, neat as ninepence. Neither she nor any of her men had seen what a pistol could do, and I'd had enough practice, perforce, to be a good shot.

When I met up with Spring, he noted the barker in my belt and my cavalry sabre and nodded approval. He was heeled, too. It was still very early; we had to catch the best tide to make good time to Dragonstone. Our embassy tower was not far from the piers, and we walked down to the quay to get the boat to Spring's ship, the Lady of Shalott. I raised my eyebrow at the ship's name, and Spring saw it. "Aye," he snarled, with a wicked grin, "I thought the name appropriate, considering where this lovely lady was to go!"

She was British-built, as a plaque proclaimed, the work of a Liverpool yard. She was barque-rigged, flush-decked and boasted a steam engine and propeller for the times when the wind wouldn't do. Like Spring's old ship, the Lady of Shalott mounted several cannons, and I noted swivel-guns along her sides. I approved wholeheartedly of that precaution. Spring, having sailed dangerous waters before, was not such a fool as to put all his faith in the Red Ensign as a source of protection. Too many of these Westerosi barbarians, as I had learned to my considerable disquiet, were ignorant of just what the British flag meant. I had to admit that his previous experience in the "black ivory" trade in Africa and the West Indies made him well-qualified to deal with whatever Westeros could throw at us.

As we worked out of the harbour at Kings Landing, the sun was rising in the east, over the land. It promised to be a brilliant, clear day, and visibility was perfect. I could see the great Red Keep, and even at that distance, I could make out the heads of Lord Eddard and his fellow-unfortunates.

I hadn't heard Spring come up beside me. He could move as silently as a cat, curse him. "Aye, a bad business, that," he muttered. "And the way they treated poor Lady Sansa was barbaric!" He spat overboard. "I rather think that King Gezo…you do remember him, don't you, Sir Harry…would've found it revolting!"(1)

I nodded. Privately, I don't think Gezo would've turned a hair on his wooly head to see what Joffrey had done. In many ways, the King of Dahomey could have probably given Joffrey lessons in tyranny, not that the poisonous little squirt needed 'em. If I'd had a son like Joffrey, I swear I'd've drowned the nasty little sprog before he could inflict his madness on others. I've few enough limits, God knows, but Joffrey was well beyond all of 'em.

The ship was heeling along under half-sail. While I'm no sailor and have nothing but contempt for the "Dick Dauntless" school of books, I will say that a sailing ship under sail, on a pleasant day, isn't a half-bad place to be. Particularly when I'm not expected to join in on the work. Spring's crew looked like proper sailormen, and clearly knew what they were doing, so I was content to let them do their work.

Spring noticed where I was looking. "Aye, Sir Harry, when I'm sailing far-foreign, none but the finest seamen will do! I'm no Bully Waterman (2), to take whatever wharfside scrapings I can find! Even though not as many Britons are interested in going to sea as before, there still are some! I did well out of the crew of the Shenandoah, (3) let me tell you! Between offering 'em better wages than they'd see from other masters, and giving 'em the chance to see Westeros, I had my pick of the best!"

I'd forgotten all about the Shenandoah. I wondered for a moment what might've happened had she shown up in Westeros and offered her services to King Robert. That would have put the cat among the pigeons for fair. Her Majesty's Government, and the other powers of our world with interests in Westeros, would not have been pleased to see King Robert acquiring the very latest in modern steam cruisers. We were well content with having the edge on the Seven Kingdoms in warmaking capability. I thought of what might happen if King Joffrey found out about the wealth of Britain, and decided that the sceptered isle would make a lovely addition to his collection of kingdoms, and shuddered.

"Come below, Sir Harry. Breakfast is on the table, and my Cookie's one of the best in the business." Nothing loath (I could smell frying sausages) I followed him down to the mess. Sure enough, the food that was served was excellent, and I was soon wiring into fried eggs, sausages, and kippers, all washed down with some excellent coffee. When I was done, I felt like a new man. Breakfast always puts me in a good mood.

"What do we know of 'King' Stannis?" I asked. Much as I distrusted him, Spring had been in Westeros longer than I, and was always one who had his ear to the ground. And, as I had been reminded, we were on the same side this time. At least, I devoutly hoped that he'd remember that. If he took a turn for the worse, I knew that he had some old grudges against me. Being in the bad books of a homicidal madman is no picnic, I can assure you.

"Stannis Baratheon is one of the most upright, honest men in Westeros," Spring said, sitting back in his chair and wiping his mouth with his napkin. "That, to be sure, is no great honour, and is not the safest title to hold, either! Eddard Stark was honest and honourable, and look where he ended up!"

I scowled, remembering. Westerosi court politics, even more than our own at some periods, were a pit of venomous snakes. Even Maharani Jeendan of the Punjab and Queen Lakhshmibhai of Jhansi would have had to gang warily. "Have you met him in person?" Knowing the man we were about to meet would be enormously helpful.

"Aye, I have," Spring said. He scowled slightly at the memory. "'Twas a couple of years ago, not too long after I'd first arrived in these waters. I'd had some problem with storm damage, and put in at Dragonstone to try to get my ship repaired. They sold me the things I needed, but I was just as glad to get out of there. Lord Stannis, as he was then, was interested in meeting me, and I had to go to an audience with him in Dragonstone itself."

"What was he like?" For all that he was murderously insane, John Charity Spring was, as I have noted, no fool, and his observations of men and affairs were worth listening to. Before I had met him, he had survived years in the slave trade, dodging both the Royal Navy (and such other navies as took an interest, notably the Yanks') and the whims of viciously touchy local chiefs on the Slave Coast.

"Stannis Baratheon is the most upright, priggish, prudish person it's ever been my fortune to meet. The man who conducted me to him, Ser Davos Seaworth, started out as a smuggler. We found we had much in common to discuss," Spring added with a wicked grin. "During Robert's Rebellion, when Robert Baratheon was turfing the Targaryens off the throne, Stannis was besieged on Dragonstone, and Davos Seaworth was what kept him and his men alive by smuggling in food. Can you guess how he was rewarded?"

"With his knighthood, I would assume," I ventured. Spring scowled.

"Aye-and with the loss of the end joints of all the fingers on his left hand, too! Lord Stannis said that he deserved a reward, but that smuggling was still against the law, and that punishment was necessary. Ser Davos, the damned purblind fool, agreed with him on both counts." Spring shook his head. "In his boots, I'd have been for the sea, and told Stannis where to stick his damned knighthood and his punishments! Filthy ingrate!"

That was Spring, all over. Murderous madman, pirate, learned scholar, and prone to outbursts of propriety at the most odd times. I'd known him to beat a crewman bloody on the deck of his slave ship, the Balliol College, for wanting to put the Brazilian flag over the corpse of a fellow-crewman who was to be buried at sea. Even though we were under Brazilian colours at the moment, nothing would do but that the wretch go below and rout out a Union Jack for the final honours.

As it happened, Dragonstone was not too far from Kings Landing. Before the Targaryen conquest, it had been held by the Targaryens, which was why they had been spared the doom that came over their homeland of Valyria, which had apparently been destroyed. It was the springboard from which they had launched their conquest of Westeros, and had been their capital de facto until they founded Kings Landing near where they had first touched the Westerosi mainland.

Instead of putting directly in to harbour, Spring ordered the Lady of Shalott to put around, and we started a leisurely circuit of the island. I noticed several sketch artists working away on the deck, and some others in the rigging, calling down to the artists about what they saw. "Aye," Spring muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, "Sir Richard wants to know all about this place! You never know when that'll come in useful!"

I nodded. Information is power, and both Dick and I had served our country by exploring strange new places. We were neutral in the civil war that was beginning to convulse the Seven Kingdoms, but that could change at any time, and good charts and pictures of Dragonstone would be invaluable if we needed to take the place. It occurred to me that it would make a fine base for our forces, if we did decide to get tangled up in the war. It was offshore, small enough to be easy to hold, and looked to be rather difficult to attack. There was only one anchorage we could see; most of the rest of the island was cliffs. Dragonstone Castle crouched on top of the island, looking ominous as befits a castle. Without modern artillery, I'd not want to try taking it. Even with modern cannon, it looked a devilishly hard nut to crack.

Finally, when our survey was done, Spring ordered us into the anchorage, and we sailed on in. The wind was fair, so we didn't need to use the steam engine. No sense in showing everything we had, I thought. If the Westerosi thought that we were as dependent on wind and muscle power to move our vessels as they were, so much the better. Being able to steam straight into the wind might get us out of a tight spot at some time.

I noted some ships at anchor that were clearly from our world; they stuck out like Turks at a church service among the locals' galleys and cogs. One was flying Dutch colours, the other two were French, if their flags were anything to go by. Spring and I exchanged glances. While Spring would cheerfully break all the laws of God and man alike if it would bring him profit, or revenge, he was still a true-blue John Bull British patriot. He clearly wasn't too pleased with what we were seeing; his scar was darkening. I prayed that he would keep himself under control. I had seen him in his berserk fits, and if he tried that on at the wrong time, we could both end up back in the dungeons. I wondered, uneasily, if Dragonstone ran to anything like the "sky cells" that still haunt my dreams.

A local barge flying the Baratheons' colors came out to meet us. "Ahoy! Who are you?" came the call.

Spring took a megaphone and answered. "We're the Lady of Shalott, out of Liverpool and Kings Landing. May we enter the harbour?" I didn't fancy our chances if the locals chose to turn us away, and Spring decided to fight. I could see catapults on shore, getting ready to fire, and I knew that while they were less advanced than our cannon, they could throw all sorts of nasty things like big rocks and balls of fire. I devoutly hoped that things would stay peaceful.

"Heave to, and we'll send a pilot aboard!" Spring nodded, and turned to bark incomprehensible orders to his crew. The Lady of Shalott came to a stop, and the barge came alongside. Spring and I watched as the pilot climbed nimbly up the boarding battens, arriving on deck through the entry port looking no more peaked than I would have after an afternoon wandering through Mayfair to seek what I might devour.

"Good afternoon. My name is Ser Davos Seaworth. I've met you before, Captain Spring, but I can't say I've had the honour of making your acquaintance - ?" he said, turning to me with a questioning look.

Spring stepped forward. "Sir Harry, this is Ser Davos Seaworth. Ser Davos, this is Sir Harry Flashman. He's an attache at the British Embassy to the Seven Kingdoms. We were sent here to make contact with your…ruler." Ser Davos shook hands with me. I noticed a small leather bag that hung about his neck, and he saw what I was looking at.

"Those are the end joints of the fingers of my left hand, Ser Harry. While I was knighted for my bravery in aiding Lord…now King…Stannis, I still had to be punished for my smuggling activities before that. I keep these as a reminder." Spring and I exchanged glances. I knew we were thinking the same thing: All Westerosi are barking mad!

"Please, once you've anchored, come ashore. King Stannis is eager to meet you. As you can see…" he gestured to the harbour… "we've a few foreign merchants, but King Stannis wants to establish closer relations with Britain." He smiled. "I shall, of course, guide you to a safe anchorage!"

Under Ser Davos' guidance, we were soon anchored at a snug spot, not too far from shore, and not so close that the stickier-fingered locals could easily board us and see what they might take. Ser Davos watched with interest as we lowered the jolly boat, and when it was in the water, scrambled back down the boarding battens and took his seat with perfect aplomb. Of course, he'd probably been at sea since he was younger than I was when I was packed off to Rugby, and could find his way around anything afloat.

Before we left, Spring left orders to his mate, a scar-faced salt with arms covered in tattoos: "The crew's to stay aboard for now. If all's well on shore, I'll see you get some shore leave, but since we've only just left Kings Landing, it shouldn't be too urgent. I don't know what we're walking into. If Sir Harry and I aren't back aboard by nightfall, weigh anchor and proceed back to Kings Landing, and report to Ambassador Burton at the British Embassy."

"Aye aye, sir," said the mate. With that, we climbed down into the jolly boat.

We found Dragonstone to be a quiet place. The town was overshadowed by the castle, which proved to be carved with extraordinary figures all over it. The people seemed to be suspicious, and sullen. When we'd come to Kings Landing, the local folk had been curious about us, and had called out greetings as we went by. None of that here. Many of the people I saw seemed to be angry about something. I'd seen that before, in Munich in '48, (4) and didn't like the look of it one bit.

Spring saw it, too. "Keep close, Sir Harry," he muttered. "There's trouble brewing, or I'm a Frenchman!" He stumped along, and only the slight darkening of the scar on his forehead portended any trouble. However, I could feel the force coiling in him, and if trouble started, anybody who tried anything on with him was in for a very nasty surprise. I'd seen him in action before, in New Orleans, (5) and I'd have backed him against nearly anybody this side of the man-mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane, we'd seen in Kings Landing before the Tournament of the Hand. Gad, that seemed like years ago! Had it only been a few weeks?

As we walked up through the streets to the gates of Dragonstone, I noticed something distinctly rum. People were looting a sept, a temple of the Seven, carrying valuables out to be bagged up, and dragging the images of the Seven Gods into the street to throw them, one by one, into a bonfire. I was reminded of what I'd read about the English Reformation, and wondered if 'King' Stannis had somehow or other got wind of that and decided to imitate it.

While some people were joining in the despoilation of the temple with what appeared to be enthusiasm, that was not the case with everybody. Many people were hanging back, obviously unhappy about what was going on, but a line of soldiers wearing Stannis' livery kept them from doing more than look mutinous.

Ser Davos saw what we were looking at. He gave us an uneasy look, and I wondered how he really felt about this development. "Please. Pay it no mind. Our lord the king has discovered a new faith." I wondered if missionaries from our world had managed to convert him. If so, I could easily see my pious, foolish countrymen demanding that we throw our weight behind Stannis' bid for the throne, and we'd be right in the middle of Westerosi affairs, with no way out. Of course, we poor redcoats would be taking the brunt of things, but what do the churchgoing hypocrites of Britain care for that?

We were led into Dragonstone, up stairs and down corridors, to a large room. At the far end of the room, a large chair, clearly meant as a throne, was set up, and on it sat a man with a shaven head wearing local-style finery and a crown. This had to be King Stannis.

I sized him up as we were led over to be presented. Stannis Baratheon was as different from his elder brother, the late, lamented King Robert, as it was possible to be. Robert, for all his faults and his laziness, had been a jolly companion at table or on the hunt, and could probably have made friends with just about anybody. This fellow, on the other hand, had a disinheriting look in his eye that would have put the Duke of Wellington off, and clearly had no give or humour in him at all. His grey eyes looked at us as though we were something in the market that he wasn't sure he wanted to buy.

Ser Davos cleared his throat. "Your Grace, may I present Ser Harry Flashman, attache to the embassy of Britain, and Captain John Charity Spring?" We both bowed, but not as low as we'd've done to Robert or Joffrey. Britain did not recognise Stannis' claim to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms, after all.

"I remember you, Captain Spring," said Stannis. "But Ser Harry, I have not yet met."

"I have not met either of these men," came a sultry female voice from a corner. "But I have seen them. In my flames I have seen them. I knew that they would come." Turning, I found myself facing a tall, red-headed woman in a long, flowing red dress. At first, I was rather taken with her, and wondered if she'd repay chatting-up. Then I saw her eyes, and discarded that idea. I've seen many women, but never one with red eyes. There was something distinctly rum about this woman, I decided. Spring was also clearly uneasy at the sight of her.

"Lady Melisandre, may I present Ser Harry Flashman, and Captain John Charity Spring? Ser Harry, Captain Spring, this is the Lady Melisandre. She is a priestess of R'hllor, and is now our king's spiritual advisor."

"A pleasure to meet you, Ser Harry, Captain Spring," she said. "We shall have much to speak of. I wish to know more of your homeland." With that, we were led off, and I wondered just what sort of new catastrophe I had landed in this time.

[1] Gezo of Dahomey was a ruler in West Africa, with whom Spring had dealt in his slave-trading days. He was one of the major rulers of the area, deriving much of his wealth from the sale of slaves. He also practiced human sacrifice on a huge scale. Sir Richard Francis Burton met him on another occasion.

[2] Robert "Bully" Waterman was a well-known clipper captain. He had a reputation as a martinet, partly due to the fact that his crews were often filled out with inexperienced men who had no prior experience at sea.

[3] CSS Shenandoah was a Confederate raider. British-built, she never saw Confederate waters, but did a great deal of damage to the merchant shipping of the United States in the last years of the American Civil War. She was the only Confederate-flagged ship to go around the world, finally surrendering in Liverpool on November 7, 1865, months after hostilities had ceased on land. She had been the last Confederate unit to receive the news of the Confederacy's fall.

[4] See the later chapters of Royal Flash.

[5] See Flashman and the Redskins. Spring had, with Flashman's reluctant help, fought off a tavern-full of men determined to take him as an accomplice to slave-stealing (ironically, one of the few crimes of which he was unequivocally innocent.)