Gunpowder Read online

  GUNPOWDER

  G.H. GUZIK

  ISBN - English EPUB edition:

  978-83-65070-05-0

  Copyright © 2014 by G.H. GUZIK

  Executive Producer:

  MAGDA STEEL

  Edited and corrected by:

  Małgorzata Guzik

  Nikodem Szadkowski

  Agnieszka Guzik

  Magda Steel

  Cover design and artwork by:

  Magda Steel

  DISCLAIMERS:

  The contents of this book are not to be copied, published or used commercially either as a whole or in any part, without a clear written consent of the author. The same applies to any public reading of this book or distribution of any audio–visual recording of its contents.

  This book is a work of fiction and as such was not created with any intent to offend or ridicule any existing cultures, beliefs or religions. All the opinions and character attitudes depicted in this book are not necessarily those of the author and should not be used in any way to justify, support or encourage acts of violence, abuse or discrimination against anyone.

  G.H. GUZIK

  GUNPOWDER

  To my one and only Magda

  Also, to a certain tea trader,

  who has foretold this book being published

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

  Above all I wish to thank my relentless editorial team consisting of my dear friend Nikodem Szadkowski, my two sisters Gosia and Agnieszka, and my beloved partner Magda, who is also the aesthetic brains of this endeavour.

  My special thanks go also to my two friends: Ania Spakowska and Karolina Eliacik, who supported me with insightful comments about my work.

  Having said all of the above I must stress that any mistakes and errors that can be found in this edition are mine and mine alone.

  Finally, I want to express my special gratitude to Ewa Stala who has made all of this possible by supporting us in every way imaginable.

  Fog hovered over the docks. A big sloop flying the flag of Port Sud, the second largest town of the Trade Guild Federation, was approaching the waterfront. The sleepy supervisor of the harbour’s side pier came out reluctantly of the wooden shack, which served as a shelter from wind, rain and cold. Moist morning air, which still smelled of the ending summer, but also already carried a cooler autumn note, sobered him from the remains of sleepiness and burst into his lungs as a result of a massive yawn. The ship passed the breakwater head and glided slowly along the pier, at which only a lone flat bottom barge used for coastal shipping had been moored. Two seamen jumped from the deck and the third one threw them mooring ropes. Men skilfully slowed the ship down and tied the ropes to the marina posts. The pier supervisor trudged towards them one step at a time until he reached a position parallel to the ship’s bridge. Sailors greeted him with silent nods. The port official pulled a small plate and a piece of chalk from under his robes. He looked at the side of the ship and noted down its name crookedly painted on the side of the vessel - the “Underwater Goat”. He smiled to himself, grabbed his hips, and shouted loudly to the helmsman.

  - Ahoy there, on the bridge. Who is in command of this fine vessel?

  - Ahoy there, on the quay. I am the helmsman, captain and owner. Captain Janus Janus from Port Sud. First time in Haaven.

  - In this case, I will be forced to collect all dues in cash and on the spot then. I can accept bills of payment only after a dozen visits. What purpose of the visit should I put down?

  - Profits, ha, ha, ha...

  - And more specifically?

  - Wine for sale. Ten dozen barrels of Bogony red and nearly two dozen of the finest pink Zirro.

  - Enough for now. I am obliged to warn you that the quarantine period for the freight is twelve hours, during which the captain is required to be on the vessel or assign in his absence an officer accredited to host inspections and pay the customs duties. In case there is no customs control during the quarantine period, a duty of one silver piece per barrel must be paid to me before unloading the goods, and for now I only need to charge the mooring fare. Sloops are due half a gold piece for the first week, one for the rest of the first month, and three more for staying over for the winter.

  - Well then, it seems mooring here is half free. In Port Sud one needs to cough up nearly twice as much. Wait a minute. I'll come down to you and pay you the amount due.

  - And another thing... - Pier supervisor turned more to the seamen than to the captain walking towards the gangplank. - In Haaven pouring any impurities into harbour docks is banned, thus if need arises, use the public latrines, because if I catch anyone with his ass hanging overboard, I will impose such a fine on this vessel that mooring here will become the dearest of experiences.

  - Now, do not scare us so... there, six silver pieces, and the seventh for you for your trouble.

  - What trouble would this be, again?

  - Turning a blind eye or, indeed, turning both your eyes away, as the boys will piss from the ship’s side. I give you the captain's word that nothing else will find its way overboard. - He winked slyly to the official and slapped him on the shoulder. The expression on the supervisor’s face evidently pointed to his contempt for the dirty crew as well as the provincial and moronically named ship along with her captain, but that did not stop him from accepting the extra coin. There, just another young trader, with a mediocre ship who though himself to be the greatest seafarer of all times, only because he was able to tell the bow from the stern. Meanwhile, the newly arrived started walking toward the port, looking curiously from left to right, and leaving the ship at the mercy of a big, bald thug, who claimed to be the bosun. The captain passed the supervisor’s shack and having slightly lifted his hat to greet a lady of easy virtue, who watched the mooring sailing-ship with mild interest, went past the waterfront, between the trading rooms and commercial buildings still closed at this time of the morning.

  When the captain disappeared from the sight of the watching officer, he stopped looking around, and replaced a tentative step with the determined walk of a man who knows where he is going. The sudden epiphany in terms of his knowledge of the whereabouts would have undoubtedly surprised a passing bystander, and therefore the man made sure that no one witnessed his metamorphosis. He turned several times into the side streets, making sure he was not being followed, until he stopped in front of the door of an inconspicuous pub, the walls of which were still covered with impurities indicating that the time of morning cleaning had not yet come. The man entered without hesitation, not paying any attention to a drunk kneeling in the gutter and adding his small contribution to the filthiness of the building.

  - Who goes there at this time? Closed till noon. - The voice coming from behind the bar was hoarse and unpleasant. Somewhere behind the veil of neutral words a threat was hidden. - I have not yet washed the bar of the gore of those who did not want to get out last night.

  - Is this how you greet your friends?... And associates?

  The innkeeper took a closer look at the man’s face, which brought a wry smile to his own. His eyes lit up when he recognized his guest and the cloudy, doughy mug beamed a wide smile.

  - Kris, my friend... long time no see, buddy, long time no see... How long has it been? A year? Two?

  - Three - replied the stranger laconically, shaking his hand somewhat involuntarily as it was trapped in both great palms of the host.

  - Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I'll set you a table in a separate room, and give you breakfast. I need to clean up here a little, and when my Anne comes down to sit behind the bar, I will come to you. We shall talk.

  - So be it. - Kristoff slapped innkeeper on the chubby cheek and gave him one of his sly smiles. He followed the host to a secluded chamber in the back. He sat heavily behind the table and
having taken off his gloves, he gently peeled the fake moustache and beard off his face. Captain’s bushy sideburns turned out to be natural. The man rubbed vigorously at his chin and scratched under his nose. He barely finished this peculiar morning routine, when a platter of marinated mussels and eels arrived on the table together with a pint of beer, and before they have been emptied, a steaming bowl of fish stewed in a thick, fat coconut milk, seasoned with garlic and generously sprayed with lemon was placed in front of the guest. To finish the breakfast, the innkeeper himself appeared with two pints of foamy beer and took a seat opposite Kristoff, who was just wiping his fatty mouth with the tablecloth.

  - To be honest, I was not expecting you. In Haaven you are not welcome, and it was only springtime when the arrest warrants with your face on them hung in the harbour. Dead or alive they said. You pissed off some very important people here.

  - Fortunately, they did not yet realise that my “Thunder Led” may look almost like any ship. I entered the harbour as Janus Janus, the captain of the “Underwater Goat”. A huge sloop.

  - Good, because they are looking for a small frigate...

  - I had to sail here, because I have a hold full of nearly one hundred and fifty double-decked barrels of wine stuffed with zemna flowers. So it was easiest to reach Haaven and dump this worry on your shoulders. Buy this wine of me, or find me a tradesman I can trust, and I'll be shoving off soon. You could also get me a freight order of some kind so I wouldn’t have to sail with an empty hold.

  - You must have gone completely crazy from too much sun and sea water. What will I do with such a load of wine?... Not to mention the zemna. After all, it’s illegal here.

  - It is illegal everywhere. If it were legal, I wouldn’t have to hide it in double-decked barrels. Just find someone who will take it to Daelwynn or straight up north, to the Kaesary.

  - And how am I supposed to suddenly get you a caravan heading to the Kaesary?

  - You can always try to pull it out of this fat ass of yours... Think about it. This is the only place I could think of I could safely sell my cargo and I even can’t stay here, as I am wanted by the Guild’s guards, so I don’t think I should moor in the harbour for a long time. You have to figure something out, because if they catch me, I have to warn you that they will come here for you fifteen minutes later.

  - And how did you even come across such a load?

  - Don’t be nosy. I just have it, all right? Let's just say that for some time I should refrain from showing up in the western ports of Ipion, because back in Trogar, I accidentally loaded some merchandise that was supposed to end up on a ship of the Ipionese mob.

  - So: the Ipionese mob is chasing you because you nicked their zemna load that could stone the whole city. The Eastern Company is after you too, because somehow they found out who picked up the drugs and now they think you work for the Ipionese mob. The Smiteverden harbour is blockaded and effectively cut off, and in Port Sud the guards check each ship from top to bottom and from the bow back, so you came up with a brilliant idea to get lost in the port of Haaven and push the hot merchandise on me.

  - Nice summary. Accurate. Precise.

  - And on top of that you ask me to find you a freight order so you wouldn’t have to sail with an empty hold... You're crazy, Kristoff. As I said, you simply lost it because of all the wine and the zemna. Admit it, you smoked that shit, or at least chewed it. There is no other explanation.

  - Don’t be so dramatic, Hans. Ask around among your customers. After all, all the scum of the harbour gathers in this hole. Your thresholds are probably a bit too humble for someone wealthy enough to buy a whole load of drugs, but just right for someone who can be a middleman. All your regulars smoke zemna, they're bound to know the dealers.

  - You know, if I had not known you for so many years...

  - ...and the fact that you always get a hefty share...

  - ...I would have thrown you right out on your ass. - The men smiled at each other and raised their tankards in a silent toast. - And now... get some sleep. Anne made you a bed upstairs. I'll talk to some people that need to be talked to, so your ship gets proper customs papers with no questions asked, and nothing suspicious found. It should whitewash the merchandise a little. Do you have any money? - Kristoff shook his head. - As usual. I will add the bribe and the duty fee to my share of the profits. When you come back down to the tavern in the afternoon, this chamber will be waiting for you. Perhaps I will too.

  - Thanks, Hans. Give me another pint of this piss you dare call beer in this place... - The innkeeper stood up and put his hand on the shoulder of Kristoff who was just finishing his pint. The host patted his guest with a sigh, gathered the dirty dishes from the table and left the captain alone.

  Kristoff von Truanpago was no ordinary captain. It was said that for a suitable price he would sail to hell itself, if need arose. For years his “Thunder Led” eluded the pirate schooners, coastguard frigates, Eastern Company’s ships of the line and Ipionese Mandarinate’s junks. Nimble, fast, and shallowly submerged ship, with a changeable silhouette was a perfect smuggling vessel.

  The ship’s silhouette was changeable, because the “Thunder Led” was not an ordinary ship, just as its captain, was no ordinary captain. Kristoff developed her design himself, taking handfuls from the treaty “On the mechanics of moving parts in shipbuilding and seafaring, or how to enable any ship to be sailed by a threesome party”, which he had purchased in Ulhn, the capital of the afar Northern Kaesary, for two flasks of famous Karahamian rum. The author was an Arokanian perpetual student, whose name was no longer remembered by the captain, and who apparently did not value his work high enough to put it on the title page. The treaty proved to be surprisingly interesting and contained many useful insights into the flaws of popular hydro- and aerodynamic designs in shipbuilding topped up with countless comments on how to improve the ergonomics of the rigging.

  Upon returning to the Karahams, sailor Kris Truanpago bought a lightning struck schooner with a lovely, slim line, decaying aground on the atoll of one of the smallest island of the archipelago, and thus became captain Kristoff von Truanpago and slowly took up her renovation. He decided that the lightning strike was a good sign, because firstly, he thought the chances for a second strike were incredibly low, and secondly, because his name in Karahamian language with a little good will could have been translated as “thunderflash”. Both of these circumstances led him to the present name of his ship, which he had bestowed upon her before the very first trial cruise.

  The ship took two years of his work and all his savings. The result was a true masterpiece of the shipbuilding art. The slender hull had been enriched at the front by two slanting fins ending with bent oblong runners. They raised the hull at high speeds, significantly reducing water resistance, while at the same time tightening the arcs made by the vessel in a tight turn. The keel was slim, and the two horizontal plates had been fitted to the sword with bends corresponding to the front runners. In the rear, on both sides of the stern, vertical stabilizing fins had been added. All new elements could be drawn up into the hull of the ship, so that the reduced immersion allowed approach to virtually any shoreline. All three original masts were cut into parts, hollowed and equipped with a telescoping mechanism operated by winches located at their bases below the deck. Each top of the four parts of the mast was equipped with sockets ready for mounting yards or gaffs. Shrouds and stays had been fitted with pulleys allowing to adjust their length. Thanks to this, the “Thunder Led” could in just a few minutes change from a huge sloop rigged with a big gaff into a small and agile three-masted frigate.

  Of course, there were also disadvantages. Retractable masts reduced the hold and the standard amount of room for the crew. The cannon deck was non-existent, and the artillery on the open deck was severely limited due to the lack of possibility to accommodate more gunners. Lack of space and shortage of guns meant that she was not fit for freight or trade cruises, and neither was she a warship. She was designed fo
r smuggling, and when it came to smuggling, Kristoff was an artist. His latest masterpiece was talking a slower than usual zemna grower from the suburbs of Trogar into believing that before him stood an agent of the Ipionese Family Syndicate, which resulted in having his ship loaded to the brim with zemna flowers packed in double-decked wine barrels.

  Left to himself, in a side chamber of the tavern, the smuggler took a deep breath and followed it with a solid sip of beer brought in by a smiling wench. Judging by her almost exposed breasts resting on a loosely tied bodice and her skirt ending barely an inch or two below the buttocks, the girl was not merely a waitress. When she left, with a flirtatious wink at the captain, Kristoff rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. He needed a few hours of peace. Thoughtfully, he finished the beer, got up and went upstairs, greeting Anne on his way up and dismissing with a decisive gesture the advances of the wench, clearly interested in a closer encounter.

  Sailor threw himself fully clothed onto the prepared bed, not even having used the steaming water left for him in a basin in the corner of the room. He fell asleep immediately, as soon as his head touched the soft pillow. He slept deeply, for the first time in many days. He got up late in the afternoon when the rays of the sun crept to his bed through the cracks in the shutters. A jug of light, white wine diluted with water was standing on a simple table pulled near the head of the bed. The perfect companion of late awakenings.

  Kristoff ignored the tin cup standing beside the jug and drank a sip straight from the vessel, to gulp half of its contents a moment later. He went to the basin of water still waiting for him in the corner of the room and proceeded with the morning ablutions, which inevitably were not so morningly, and due to lack of time not so accurate either. He went unsteadily down to the inn, tidying his clothes as he descended the stairs and also propping his weapons hidden in his laps, pockets, and other nooks and crannies of his attire. Anne was standing behind the bar, beautiful and silent as usual. She smiled at him, sent him a kiss and motioned him to the room, where he had breakfasted. Kristoff waved to her friendly and turned towards the chamber. He pushed aside a thick, plush curtain concealing the narrow entrance and plunged into the gloom of the empty private chamber. He sat at the table and leaned back. He tossed his hat onto the bench next to him and undid the hooks of his jacket. A bowl of fish soup waited for him on the table together with a basket beside it, holding a fragrant golden-baked loaf of bread. Before the smuggler even turned to the food, Hans walked into the room and sat down opposite him. He was tired and out of breath, but clearly pleased with himself. In his hands he was carrying a large stoneware jug full of golden beer and two slender metal tankards. He set them on the table with a wink and filled them with the beverage he had brought. He put down the jug, reached under his coat and pulled out a roll of documents that he then threw on the table.