The Seascape Tattoo by Larry Niven Page B

ambassadors,” the queen said. Her voice was so strong and regal. It was possible that only a liar as accomplished as Neoloth himself could have detected the tremor therein. “Upon your return, convey greetings to your great king. Tell me how I may serve you.”
    â€œWe come seeking no service, Great Queen,” the tallest of them said. “Rather, we seek to offer service.”
    â€œService?” Her puzzlement seemed real.
    â€œYes. One of our trading vessels, bound for the southern kingdoms, encountered flotsam from one of your sailing ships, with sailors clinging to broken wood. Obeying the code of the sea, we rescued them and, upon hearing their tale and provenance, wish only to return them to safety.”
    â€œWhile I appreciate the rescue of our brave sailing men, I do not yet understand why my advisors considered this an emergency requiring my immediate personal attention.”
    â€œYour Royal Majesty. Upon interviewing the rescued sailors, we learned a fact that disturbed us deeply. A fact it would have been remiss not to bring to Your Majesty’s attention. Those rescued claimed to have been sailors aboard three of Your Majesty’s ships. They tell us that the flagship, the Proud Abyss , carried the royal daughter. Would these be considered facts?”
    Neoloth could not see the queen’s face, but he could visualize its sudden tightness. “Yes, it is true.”
    How it must have pained her to say this. What strength it required to keep the strain from her voice, Neoloth could only imagine. What he did know was that he was witnessing magic of a very different variety.
    â€œYour Majesty, it is our sad duty to recount their tale.”
    â€œOr rather,” said a shorter man, “allow the sailor to tell his own tale.”
    He clapped his hands again, and the door opened. Two small, dark Shriker types dragged in a man on a canvas travois. He looked dead but for a fitful, wet snore. A seventh man, face pale and clothes torn, shuffled into the room as if his feet were shackled.
    â€œOh mighty Queen,” the man said, and he was shaking, afraid to meet her eyes.
    â€œRise,” she said, as kindly as possible—again, Neoloth wondered where she found the strength. “Tell me what happened. Omit nothing.”
    â€œI’m Sanam. This is Glarios, but he cannot speak. He’s been sleeping since they fished him out of the sea…” He told of an uneventful voyage, ending with, “We were returning from the wedding,” he said, “and there was a storm.”
    â€œYour ship foundered in the storm?”
    â€œNo, Your Majesty. Our sailors were up to the mark. But in the midst of the storm, strange vessels appeared…”
    And here the man’s tale turned strange. Out of the storm came small fire-breathing vessels that attacked the three royal sailing ships. They carried no flags. No masts. Fire and thunder erupted in the midst of the rain. Sanam’s ship, the Domino , groaned and sank in a chaos of shattered wood and screaming sailors. The next thing he knew, he was being plucked out of the sea by a ship flying under Shrike’s flag. And there remained no trace of the Proud Abyss .
    The queen cleared her throat. Her angular face had darkened, as if choking on her urge to scream curses and accusations at the man cowering before her. “Do you know what happened to the Abyss ?”
    â€œNo, your majesty,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “Four were pulled out. Only me and Glarios are still alive.”
    â€œThese … fires and explosions. Did you see such eruptions aboard the Abyss ?”
    The sailor hung his head in anguish. Such misery made it obvious to Neoloth that he was telling the truth as he saw it. On the other hand, there was something about the three men who had brought him. They were not sailors. Nor were they the usual ambassadors. Or soldiers. No. They were magic users of some kind, but