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Chapter 30. The Night Wind |
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emony had her little hand slate of boat names and was busily rubbing them out if they were gone, adding a tick next to them if they were still there, or scrawling the names of new ones. Keisha had somehow obtained the slates and badges of port inspectors soon after their arrival. The thin disguise gave her an aura of invisibility. No one troubled her or did anything to draw her attention for fear of an inspection or a demand of tariffs. Of course, it also meant she had to be wary of city guards or actual port officials. Keisha had warned her that getting caught impersonating one could get them into serious trouble. There was little danger of that here, of course. These were the docks that bordered the slums and the bases of criminal gangs. The city guard was noticeably absent and she had only seen a port official once in the last three days. Keisha suspected the man had come to collect a bribe. Lemony sighed, nearly done with her survey and glad of it since the sun was now well above the horizon and it was shaping up to be a hot sultry day. It gave her no joy to dwell in the shadow of so much misery. When the three of them gathered for the first meal of the day, they exchanged tales of the horrors they had seen. It was clear some of the boats were trafficking in sentient creatures, an offense against the Emperor but also one easily overlooked for a price. Keisha had little doubt Pendaran would end up here. Three days after his estimated arrival, however, there was no sign of him. She paused at the end of the southern pier, gazing upon a sleek black ship with two masts. Wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming odor of festering animal dung, she watched as three men cleared away the filth. Two occasionally emerged from the hold with a shovel to take a breather. Both were stripped down to grimy breech clouts while the third stayed above decks and seemed to be in charge. As the other two shoveled, he received the filled buckets and tossed the contents overboard. Emphasizing his higher esteem, the man wore an ill-fitting embroidered vest with mother of pearl buttons that glinted in the sunlight. The rich cloth with its subtle blue, green and purple foliate pattern was out of place on the man’s muscular frame. It was a stolen thing worn as a trophy, too valuable to be tossed away with the muck but not worthy of being sold on shore. “Pen,” she murmured, recognizing it and recalling that he was fond of wearing the waistcoat to the dances. Oh gods, of course. He had been abducted shortly after quitting the dance for the night. She swallowed, trying not to think too hard about what might have happened to him if someone had stolen his clothing. No one paid her any mind as she strode closer, scrawling the name of the ship, the Night Wind, on her slate and chalking a star next to it. She was all urgency as she moved away, trying to appear nonchalant as she scanned the neighboring pier and shore for signs of Keisha. She was almost out of breath when she ran into the woman at their appointed meeting place. The lithe little assassin looked worried, her dark eyes flicking to and fro as she searched the alleys and buildings. Mog was notably absent. He was always waiting for them here when they finished their rounds and set off in search of breakfast to plot their next move. “Have you seen Mog?” Keisha asked as Lemony strode within earshot. “No, but I think I found the boat that Pen is on,” Lemony replied quickly, scared the ship would suddenly disappear while she had her back turned. “You saw him?” Keisha demanded, unable to keep the excitement from her voice, “Was he alright?” “No. I saw something that belonged to him. I am not sure how he fares.” Keisha nodded, then bit her lip, her eyes narrowing as she scanned their surroundings. “Maybe Mog saw something that struck his fancy in the market,” Lemony offered lamely. The truth was, Mog did not like this area of the city and stayed close. It was unlike him to wander off alone, particularly when he had dropped so much coin on an expensive spyglass with the express purpose of keeping an eye on them. He was overprotective, which amused Keisha since she was more than capable of looking after herself. Lemony, however, adored him for it and felt better knowing he was there. For a moment, the two women said nothing, only waited and watched until the distant peel of Kaineng’s bell struck the tenth hour. “Something has happened to him,” Keisha said, confirming what Lemony had feared all along, “Our first priority has to be getting Pen to safety.” “Why?” Lemony choked, although neither alternative sounded good to her. “Because there’s a good chance Mog is not in trouble but has merely gone into hiding or is delayed. Pen, however, we know is in trouble. Let’s take care of that mess first. With any luck, we’ll come back here in an hour and Mog will be waiting for us unscathed.” Lemony nodded and followed Keisha toward the southern pier, speaking only to guide the assassin. With their slates and badges, the two of them walked toward the gang plank rather more boldly than Lemony felt. “I would speak to the captain of this vessel,” Keisha announced loud enough that the three men on deck paused in their dirty job and the one wearing the vest came closer. “Nezrah isn’t here,” the man said gruffly, folding his arms over his stolen vest. “Then who is in charge?” asked Keisha, ignoring the open malevolence of the big man. “That would be me,” he growled, “The rest of ‘em have gone to shore.” “So there are only you three?” Keisha asked, a rather obvious question, Lemony thought. The man looked them over and snorted, nodding. “We’ve already paid the port fee, so mind your business. I’ve got work to do.” Lemony turned away when the man went back to pick up a newly filled bucket of droppings. She assumed Keisha would follow her when she heard a choked shout and a splash. Whirling around she saw Keisha’s lean figure disappear in a burst of shadow through the open hatch and winced in horror at the muffled cries and crunch of bone. The assassin reappeared beside her in a knot of darkness, bloodied, although it was clearly not her own. She was not even out of breath. “Help me search the rest of the ship. He’s not in the hold, so he’s most likely in one of the living areas.” She opened her mouth to say something, still shocked by the suddenness and deadliness of Keisha’s attack. She had never imagined Keisha was capable of such speed or devastation. Hesitating, Lemony stood gaping at the base of the gangplank before she rushed up after Keisha. The assassin was already at a door that was suspiciously barred on the outside. Lemony hammered on it with her fist. “Pen?” she called, “You in there, darling?” “Lemony? Is that you?” croaked a voice, but it was not Pendaran. Lemony hesitated, then swallowed past a rising knot of anger and dismay. “Murdi?” “Yes,” he replied, his voice laden with shame, “I’m sorry. Please, let me out.” Lemony nodded to Keisha and the assassin found a gaffe and used it to pry the boards away from the door until at last it opened and the small dim cabin’s heat and filth washed past them, soiling the air. Two figures gazed back at them, wincing in the brightness of daylight. Belenus and Morisedd, haggard and unwashed emerged from their prison, no doubt starving and thirsty as well. “Where is Pen?” Lemony demanded, “What did you do with him?” “Belenus sold him on the way here,” Morisedd replied, lowering his eyes, “I don’t know how he fares now.” “We need to leave before the others come back,” Keisha said coldly, preventing Lemony from launching into an enraged tirade. There was loathing burning in the assassin’s dark eyes as the two men staggered into the open. The four of them tramped down the gangplank, unacknowledged except for a few looks of disgust as the shaggy stinking figures of Belenus and Morisedd lumbered past. Lemony blinked the tears from her eyes, unable to look at Morisedd as they approached the rows of buildings and warehouses that lined the docks. Then, to her relief she saw Mog waiting for them at their meeting place. His cloak was gone and he was tattered and dirty, his face flushed with exertion as he moved toward her and welcomed her relieved embrace. Then he stiffened and a sound of rage emerged from his throat. “You,” Mog growled and she followed his gaze to Belenus who had the wisdom to back away. Too late, however, as Mog grasped his shoulder and drove his fist into the man’s horrified face. Keisha and Lemony each grasped one of his arms, but in his rage they weighed no more than fleas and both of them were drawn off their feet as he surged toward his cowering brother. “Get outta my sight,” Mog spat, “You are not my brother any more.” Belenus staggered to his feet, his bloodied face stricken with terror. Before Mog could strike him again, he fled into a dingy alley like a frightened dog. “Mog,” Lemony said, trying to call him back across the chasm of his fury. He turned to look down on her, and then knelt, taking her into his arms and holding her. She sensed his immense grief and said nothing, only stroked his short-cropped ginger mane as if he were a child in need of comfort. He was trying to pull himself back together and now was not a time to break down. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Mog croaked, “We are in danger.” “Agreed,” said Keisha, “There is a sigil focus in the city center. Let us make our way there.” Without a word, the three of them turned to leave, barely acknowledging Morisedd. Lemony heard him following several paces behind, silent and desolate. She gazed back at him to see his once proud face cast down in shame. He would go home with them, but he had to know the kind of welcome that would await him there. |
