but that is somewhat formal and too short.”
“And if you left the ship entirely…?” von Bek began.
“Exactly—marsh vermin. We can only hope that the present Baron Captain falls into the rollers or otherwise meets his end as soon as possible! I’m no snob, I hope, but he is the worst sort of
arriviste
.”
“Your titles are not inherited?” I asked.
“Usually they are. But Armiad deposed our old Baron Captain. Armiad was Baron Captain Nedau’s steward and came, as frequently happens when a childless ruler grows old, to assume many of the responsibilities of leadership. We were ready to elect a new Baron Captain, from Nedau’s immediate family. He is related to my mother, for instance, on the Fornster side. Also Arbrek’s uncle,” she indicated a red-headed young man who was so shy his face was glowing to match his hair, “was a Lord of the Rendeps, who had an ancient Poetry Bond with the then incumbent ruler. Lastly, the Doowrehsi of the Saintly Monicans had closer blood-claims, though of late a recluse, celibate and a scholar. All of these were to be voted for. Then, in his senility (it could have been nothing else), our Baron Captain Nedau called for a Blood Challenge. Now such a ceremony has not taken place since the Wars of the Hulls, all those many years ago. But it is still upon the Lawmast and had to be honoured. Why Nedau should challenge Armiad, we never discovered, but we assumed he had goaded Nedau to it, perhaps through some deep insult, perhaps by threatening to reveal a secret. Whatever the cause, Armiad naturally accepted the Blood Challenge and the two of them fought across the main hanging gangway between the great middle masts. We watched from below, according to a tradition all of us who still live had forgotten, and though the smoke from a chimney obscured the final moments of the fight there was no question that Nedau was stabbed through the heart before he fell a hundred or more feet into the market square. And so, because an old law was never changed, our new Baron Captain is a gross, ignorant tyrant.”
Von Bek said: “I know something of such tyrants. Is it not unsafe for you to utter such sentiments aloud and in public?”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, “but I know him for a coward. Moreover, he is concerned because the other Baron Captains will have little or nothing to do with him. They invite him to no celebrations. They do not make visits to our hull. We are scarcely part of the hull-gatherings any more. All we have is the yearly Massing, when all must gather and no contention is allowed. But even here we are offered the very minimum of civility by the other hulls. This
Frowning Shield
has the reputation of being a barbaric craft, worthy of our dimmest past, before the Wars of the Hulls even. All this did Armiad achieve through calling up that old law. Through murdering, we all think, his master. If he were to commit further crimes against his own people—try to silence the relatives, like us, of the old Baron Captain, he would have even less chance of ever being accepted into the ranks of the other noblemen. His efforts to win their approval have been as ludicrous and ill-conceived as his machinations and his plans have been crude. Every time he attempts to win them over—with gifts, with displays of courage, with examples of his firm policies, such as that with the marsh vermin—he drives them further away from him.” Bellanda smiled. “It is one of our few amusements left aboard the
Frowning Shield
.”
“And you have no way of deposing him?”
“No, Prince Flamadin. For only a Baron Captain can call a Blood Challenge.”
“Cannot the other Baron Captains help you against him?” von Bek wished to know.
“By law they cannot. It is part of the great truce, when the Wars of the Hulls were finally ended. It is forbidden to interfere with the internal business of another city vessel.” This last offered by a stammering Arbrek. “We’re proud of that law. But it
“And if you left the ship entirely…?” von Bek began.
“Exactly—marsh vermin. We can only hope that the present Baron Captain falls into the rollers or otherwise meets his end as soon as possible! I’m no snob, I hope, but he is the worst sort of
arriviste
.”
“Your titles are not inherited?” I asked.
“Usually they are. But Armiad deposed our old Baron Captain. Armiad was Baron Captain Nedau’s steward and came, as frequently happens when a childless ruler grows old, to assume many of the responsibilities of leadership. We were ready to elect a new Baron Captain, from Nedau’s immediate family. He is related to my mother, for instance, on the Fornster side. Also Arbrek’s uncle,” she indicated a red-headed young man who was so shy his face was glowing to match his hair, “was a Lord of the Rendeps, who had an ancient Poetry Bond with the then incumbent ruler. Lastly, the Doowrehsi of the Saintly Monicans had closer blood-claims, though of late a recluse, celibate and a scholar. All of these were to be voted for. Then, in his senility (it could have been nothing else), our Baron Captain Nedau called for a Blood Challenge. Now such a ceremony has not taken place since the Wars of the Hulls, all those many years ago. But it is still upon the Lawmast and had to be honoured. Why Nedau should challenge Armiad, we never discovered, but we assumed he had goaded Nedau to it, perhaps through some deep insult, perhaps by threatening to reveal a secret. Whatever the cause, Armiad naturally accepted the Blood Challenge and the two of them fought across the main hanging gangway between the great middle masts. We watched from below, according to a tradition all of us who still live had forgotten, and though the smoke from a chimney obscured the final moments of the fight there was no question that Nedau was stabbed through the heart before he fell a hundred or more feet into the market square. And so, because an old law was never changed, our new Baron Captain is a gross, ignorant tyrant.”
Von Bek said: “I know something of such tyrants. Is it not unsafe for you to utter such sentiments aloud and in public?”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, “but I know him for a coward. Moreover, he is concerned because the other Baron Captains will have little or nothing to do with him. They invite him to no celebrations. They do not make visits to our hull. We are scarcely part of the hull-gatherings any more. All we have is the yearly Massing, when all must gather and no contention is allowed. But even here we are offered the very minimum of civility by the other hulls. This
Frowning Shield
has the reputation of being a barbaric craft, worthy of our dimmest past, before the Wars of the Hulls even. All this did Armiad achieve through calling up that old law. Through murdering, we all think, his master. If he were to commit further crimes against his own people—try to silence the relatives, like us, of the old Baron Captain, he would have even less chance of ever being accepted into the ranks of the other noblemen. His efforts to win their approval have been as ludicrous and ill-conceived as his machinations and his plans have been crude. Every time he attempts to win them over—with gifts, with displays of courage, with examples of his firm policies, such as that with the marsh vermin—he drives them further away from him.” Bellanda smiled. “It is one of our few amusements left aboard the
Frowning Shield
.”
“And you have no way of deposing him?”
“No, Prince Flamadin. For only a Baron Captain can call a Blood Challenge.”
“Cannot the other Baron Captains help you against him?” von Bek wished to know.
“By law they cannot. It is part of the great truce, when the Wars of the Hulls were finally ended. It is forbidden to interfere with the internal business of another city vessel.” This last offered by a stammering Arbrek. “We’re proud of that law. But it
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