Part 1: Tide of Darkness

"Gentlemen of Fortune [...] usually trust little among themselves, and right they are, you may lay to it."

Long John Silver in Treasure Island

Chapter 1 - An unexpected assignment

He wasn't belonging here. This place just felt wrong.

For the third or fourth time, Lieutenant Nicolas Gordon wiped some more or less imaginary traces of dust from the embroidered sleeve of his blue ceremonial uniform. He had to look immaculate for his audience with his empress, Valory I., ruler of the Empire of Albia, if he wanted to or not. For more than two hours, he had been kept waiting in one of the countless antechambers of the palace, and the opulence of the interior was making him feel more out of place by the minute. He hadn't even dared to sit down in one of the gilded, dainty chairs with their soft velvet upholstering for fear of damaging the furniture. There was a crystal pitcher of wine and a few perfectly carved glasses on a small table, but he also hadn't touched them because he needed a clear head, and the rich, dark color of the wine indicated an old and strong vintage.

So there he was, wearing an extremely uncomfortable ceremonial uniform, with nothing to do except walk the length of the room back and forth, listening for any sound like footsteps that might indicate he would be put out of his misery soon.

"Don't worry, my lad," Admiral Barus Morton had said this morning. "I'll see to it that you get your audience in no time. This is an important matter, after all. We can't afford to waste any more time."

Nicolas felt the sudden urge to stuff those words right back into Morton's mouth. Her Majesty was a busy woman with a full time table, of course, but if this really was as important as Morton had said, why was it taking so long?

Nicolas turned around. The door on the far side of the room opened, and a servant in livery appeared. He bowed deeply. "Sir, Her Majesty will see you now. Please follow me."

Nicolas followed the servant through another antechamber until one last door finally admitted him to the throne room.

Nicolas had seen countless pictures of Her Majesty: leaflets and paintings, and of course her sharp profile on each golden rial coin. But none of them compared to the young woman sitting on the throne. She was just twenty years old, slender and fine-featured, her thin frame broadened by a heavily embroidered dress and a voluminous overcoat made of fine furs. Her brown hair was elaborately coiled and coiffed, decorated with pearls and a fine golden tiara. Around her neck, she was wearing a heavy golden chain with a huge sapphire pendant surrounded by diamonds. Her eyes, as deep and glittering as the blue gem, seemed to belong to a much older person.

Three young court ladies in bright dresses were standing next to her throne, whispering behind their painted fans. On the other side, Admiral Morton and a ceremonial guard had taken their place. Morton made a tiny gesture with his finger to remind Nicolas what to do next.

But it wasn't necessary. Nicolas made a deep bow, took his hat off and waved it in a gesture that he had practiced a hundred times. He stopped in this uncomfortable position, head bowed, until he heard a rather deep female voice.

"You may stand at ease."

Nicolas stood straight again and withstood the empress' gaze.

"Your Majesty, this is my protege, Nicolas Gordon," Admiral Morton said. "He served under my command since he was a twelve-year-old cadet, and has risen through the ranks until he is now second lieutenant on your Majesty's flag ship that I have the honor to command. I assure you that he is the perfect candidate for this mission."

"The admiral speaks very highly of you. You seem to be a man who doesn't do things by halves," Empress Valory said. She still looked at Nicolas as if she was trying to look inside his head. "A loyal officer, a fine sailor, and a respected superior to others. You also showed your skills in battle, as We hear. But there are a few things We have to know before We proceed." She leaned forward. "Your father, Sir Edward Gordon, is a well-respected squire with a nice little manor on the coast near Landfall. We heard that he wasn't pleased with your career choice."

"Yes, your Majesty. My father wanted me to stay at home and help administrate his holdings, but since he is an old friend of Admiral Morton, he was finally convinced to let me go." Nicolas chose his words carefully. "My older brother Gabriel is the heir to my father's title and prepares to take over one day, but I'm not made for the life of a country squire. I wanted to serve the Empire on the seven seas."

"Loyal, but he has his own head," Empress Valory mused and smiled slightly. "And speaking of your family: your mother, Lady Margarida, is a Caletian by birth. The Republic of Calez is not an enemy At the moment, but there has been a lot of disputes regarding our trade routes that sometimes end in a captured ship or two."

"My mother might be of Caletian descent, but I can assure you that she is true to Albian traditions as any lady at your court, your Majesty. The only thing she ever complains about is the fact that Albian food is not spicy enough for her taste." Nicolas knew he was taking a risk, but if he had had read her right as well, it would work.

This made the court ladies giggle, and Empress Valory smiled broadly for another second as hoped. "Well, We can relate to that. We do employ a few Caletian cooks ourself. - Admiral, We like him," she addressed Morton, who bowed deeply. "He has a certain way about him, and We do need a kind of diplomat, after all. You may brief him for his mission as we discussed earlier. - Lieutenant Gordon, We hereby temporarily promote you to the rank of Commander. This enables you to command a ship yourself or give orders to any captain of the Albian fleet. Do not disappoint Us."

Nicolas made another bow, the blue feathers of his hat dusting the marble floor. "I won't, your Majesty. Thank you for your kindness."

"Kindness? We are not kind to you," Empress Valory replied, eyes suddenly piercing like those of a bird of prey. "This mission will demand everything you can give - perhaps even more. Admiral, Commander, you are both dismissed."

Slowly, without looking up, Nicolas stepped back from the throne, turning around at the very last minute to leave the room. Admiral Morton was next to him with a few quick steps.

* * *

"That went well. You found some respectable answers," Morton said, twirling his gray mustache between his fingers, a familiar gesture when he was truly satisfied with the situation. Servants opened the doors for them as they followed the ways back through the eight antechambers of the palace. Nicolas hadn't really paid attention to them earlier, but now it seemed that the decorations of these rooms were all exactly the same, just in other colors. The faces of the servants seemed also exactly the same.

"Thank you, Sir," Nicolas replied. He was just relieved to have the audience over and done with, so he was imagining things. He focussed on Morton again. "But I have to admit I had no idea where she was heading with her questions at first. This mission... I gather it is secret, dangerous, and not at all of the usual kind?"

"You gathered correctly. Her Majesty and I have been discussing this for some time, and we need someone completely loyal and trustworthy, but no unimaginative, by-the-book navy officer, and someone who doesn't look like a typical Albian. You will have to make your own decisions depending on the situation, and I know that you can do some quick thinking when necessary." Morton smiled slightly. "You have to talk yourself out of any problem that might arise, and in the worst case, you need to fight yourself out of it. So the list of potential candidates grew very short, you see. I hate to lose you as my Second Lieutenant, but this is far more important."

"Please, tell me more, Sir," Nicolas urged. His career as an officer on the proud Albian flag ship, the HMS Valiance, was promising, but this... "Where are you sending me?"

Admiral Morton's smile vanished. "I'm sending you to the pirates."

For a moment, Nicolas thought he had misunderstood - or worse, that Morton was making a bad joke. But the stern face was proof that he was being serious.

"Sir, the pirates? Nobody goes there. The Fortune Atoll lies in the most dangerous waters known, and only those criminals have the knowledge and the charts to navigate there." Nicolas paused. "I can't go there with one of our ships."

"I know. But this isn't the plan. Come on, lad, let's talk some more private," Morton said as they finally reached the exit of the endless maze that was the imperial palace. A carriage was waiting for them outside. It was a bleak, rainy day, typical for Albia, and Nicolas was grateful for the transportation to preserve the immaculacy of his ceremonial uniform.

Admiral Morton, apparently no less uncomfortable in his elegant coat laden with various medals and decorations, took off his white wig as soon as the carriage was moving. He pulled a hankerchief from his sleeve and dapped the sweat from his face and bald pate.

"Concerning the pirates," he continued. "Of course you are right. No one has ever reached their hideouts at the Fortune Atoll. But we will if you are successful. You said it yourself: those cutthroats made their own charts. If we get our hands on them, we can launch a full attack. The wrath of the whole Albian navy will come down on their heads."

"But would it be enough? No one knows how many ships the pirates have, and the Fortune Atoll might be heavily guarded. All we have are rumors. They could await us with ten or with hundred ships," Nicolas loosened the stifling collar of his shirt a bit. This conversation was heading in an uncomfortable direction.

"And this is the second part of the mission: to find out how strong their really are. The empress is willing to form alliances with our neighbors to solve this problem once and for all. Imagine the Jerainian and Caletian fleets joining us." Morton paused and folded his hankerchief before stuffing it back into his sleeve. "There is another option, however. The pirates are a kind of nation in their own way. Not in their own right, of course, because every country out there regards them as outlaws. But you know the old proverb: if you can't defeat your enemy, make them your ally. Empress Valory will officially pardon any pirate captain and his crew if he is willing to sail for Albia. She has no problem seeing the pirates capturing gold-laden Caletian galleons or big Jerainian trade ships if it adds a fair share to her treasury."

"With all due respect, but you don't sound convinced of this last part of the plan, Sir," Nicolas interjected. "And I agree. We could never trust a pirate. I think it best to gather enough information about their navigational charts and their defenses to destroy them once and for all."

"This is not about our personal opinions, my lad. We have to try. Well, you have. I'll be on the Valiance, cruising the Great Sea. We also have to discuss how you can get any messages to me." Morton's cunning grin was back. "Frankly, I don't envy you. This is going to be some piece of work. But if you succeed, Her Majesty will give you anything you want. A much grander title than your father's, a big castle, a marriage with her favorite court lady..."

Nicolas smiled. Morton was teasing him. He knew all too well that titles, prestige, and especially pretty ladies weren't important to Nicolas. "I might ask her to send you to your well-earned retirement and to promote me to captain of the Valiance."

"I'm not giving up that ship while I still breathe!" Morton's portly belly seemed to get bigger with indignation as he sat up straight.

It was an old joke between them. Of course Nicolas had good chances of commanding the Valiance one day, but he was still far too young and inexperienced with his 27 years. If Morton retired, Nicolas would serve another two or three years at least under a new captain where he could make it to First Lieutenant and then get his own command of a smaller ship. Another five or six years with a perfect record, and he might be considered for the Valiance. But this mission might be a shortcut to his dreams. Although temporary, his new rank could give him the command over his own ship right away. Of course, there was still the matter of getting to the pirates. Even the best ship couldn't fly over the treacherous shallows and spiky cliffs surrounding the Fortune Atoll.

"Sir, the way I see it, is the only chance to get to the pirates by either getting captured by them or joining them," Nicolas got back on track. "If I come near them with an Albian warship, they'll either run or try to send me to the bottom of the ocean. They don't take Albian officers as hostages. I have to get onto a smaller trade ship, preferably a foreign one. And as you said, I don't look like a typical Albian. I could pass off as Caletian, if necessary."

Morton leaned back in his seat, pulling his wig on again. The carriage had stopped. "You already started. Very good. Now come on. Her Majesty might be impatient, but she didn't forbid me to tell you the rest of our plan during a nice meal and a good glass of wine at my house."

* * *

It was late at night when Nicolas left Admiral Morton's home. He preferred to return to the officers' lodgings at the harbor of Brighthaven by foot and let the chilly night air cool his head. After the promised meal, two bottles of excellent wine and a lengthy discussion, Nicolas now had a plan. First thing in the morning, he would get down the river to Landfall, the biggest western port of Albia, and take his leave from the Valiance and her crew. Then he would assume his new identity, get some information about where the pirates were last seen and then take another ship to there. He had heard rumors of the pirates having contacts in Calez, so he might cross over to the islands of the Republic, sign on to a weathly trade ship there and wait until it was attacked by the pirates. Then he would offer his services to them.

It all sounded easy enough. The pirates, although cunning and greedy, were usually not overly violent unless the crew of a captured ship was putting up a fight. He would be safe - relatively spoken. This would be, without a doubt, a very dangerous undertaking.

Nicolas stopped at a turning of the street and looked down at the river glowing like silver in the murky moonlight. Dozens of ships with their various lanterns added to the magic of the sight.
This reminded Nicolas how h had gotten this far. Lots of sailors, even officers, hated water and couldn't even swim. They had been pressed into service or seen no better option as to join the navy and benefit from the security it brought their families even if they were killed in the line of duty. But Nicolas was different. Even as a child, there had been no other wish in him than become a sailor and brave the seven seas with all their dangers and wonders. But he knew that it was more than just a simple sense of adventure. He wanted to keep order and bring the just law of Albia to any folk who needed it. And those standing in the way of this order had to be found, trialed by court, and punished.

A sudden gust of chilly wind made him shiver involuntarily, despite the stuffy coat.
Nicolas took a last, long view at the river and its course leading out to sea before he continued his way down. Now he had gotten his big chance to earn honor and glory for his Empire by beating the damned pirates in their own game, on their own field. Those outlaws thought of themselves as the favored children of Meara, the Sea Goddess, of gentlemen of fortune, blessed by the immortal powers, invulnerable and unrivaled masters of the seven seas.

Well, this would be over soon, if he could help it.