Free Scimitar's Heir by Chris A. Jackson

will not attack; not after what happened to their flagship. Fear will hold them back, maybe long enough for us to get word to the emperor and come back.”
    “Maybe.” Keyloo’s tone clearly said that he didn’t agree with Tipos’ logic.
    “Maybe,” Tipos reiterated. “But one thing for sure: I was told by the Shambata Daroo herself to take these letters to His Majesty the emperor, and none other. If they end up in the hands of some navy officer, the emperor might never know the truth.”
    He gritted his teeth and made his decision.
    “We sail on to Tsing, as fast as Flothrindel will go!” Tipos hopped down into the cockpit, snapped closed the viewing glass and pointed north. “Tack her, Keyloo, and mind your sheets! If we crack on, we might just get back before everyone we know is killed.”
    ≈
    “Remember, Mister Huffington,” Master Upton said, “into His Majesty’s hand only. The only other person who may look in this satchel is His Majesty’s bodyguard.” The master of security placed a hand on Huffington’s shoulder in a seemingly nonchalant manner, but Huffington felt the weight of responsibility in the gesture. Count Norris had always exhibited great caution when dealing with this man, whom he called the emperor’s spymaster. Huffington tried not to shudder.
    “So you told me, sir, and so I’ll do.” Huffington shouldered the heavy leather satchel. Not only did it contain dispatches to the emperor from both Upton and the admiral, but also two lead ingots; if necessary, he could toss the satchel overboard and its secrets would be safe forever.
    “There is sensitive information in that satchel—extremely sensitive information—that could make or break men’s careers, and perhaps cost or save lives. Have a care that it does not fall into the wrong hands.” Upton patted his shoulder and removed his hand.
    “Excuse me, sir,” Huffington said, finally dredging up the courage to ask the question that had been nagging him since the previous evening. “But why me? You have aides…”
    Upton stared at him with cold eyes. “You are a witness to the loss of His Majesty’s flagship, and your observations are...untainted by opinion or prejudice. In politics, there are few who are entirely trustworthy; even my own aides may have been compromised. I have…researched your background, and believe that I can trust you. You have worked yourself into a comfortable position as Count Norris’ secretary, but I know that you have other useful skills, including discretion.”
    Oh dear gods , Huffington thought. What does he know ?
    Upton laughed shortly. “If you didn’t want to bring attention to yourself, you should have refrained from requesting an audience with His Majesty to discuss your views of the situation with the seamage. Do you not think we look into the backgrounds of those who will be near His person? It is my job to know everything about everyone, Mister Huffington. And I believe I can trust you.” He cast an appraising eye over Huffington, then handed him a letter sealed with wax and the imprint of a ring. “This letter will gain you an audience with the emperor. Do not fail me.”
    “I’ll deliver the message and bring back His Majesty’s reply, Master Upton, whatever it may be.” He tucked the letter inside his waistcoat and nodded.
    “Very good. Farewell, then.”
    Huffington shook the spymaster’s outstretched hand. The grip was strong, almost painfully so, and he wondered if it was a warning. He turned and boarded the small craft that Upton had requisitioned for the trip, a trim little fishing smack from the local fleet. The smack would make the trip in half the time it would take an imperial launch, and had an enclosed cabin, even if it did stink of fish.
    Four hearty imperial sailors had been assigned the task of taking him to Tsing with all haste, and as they cast off the lines and hoisted sail, it was easy to see that they knew their business. They would reach Tsing in a