As luck would have it, the noise frightened a large flock of sea birds, who masked the final moments of Rose’s retreat from view. A large stone tile fell with a crack onto the head of Sara’s captor, who released his grip. Sara wiggled free and ran into the narrow maze of streets beyond.
“Run, Sara!” shrieked young Tobi, still held tightly.
Rose didn’t dare raise herself higher to see where Sara sped, though she heard a swearing man rush off in pursuit.
“Damned birds,” grumbled one of the remaining brutes. He tied a gag around the mouth of Rose’s still-shrieking younger sister. Her mother, Rose could only assume, offered up no resistance. They were out of earshot by the time Rose chanced any movement.
Finally daring to take a peek, Rose raised her head above the roofline in time to see Sara’s hunter return empty-handed. He marched up to Oric, who had just finished a third re-count of coins and was placing the gold lovingly back in the satchel. Before Oric knew what was happening, the man snatched the coin purse, snarled at the Innkeeper, and swaggered after the others.
Oric shook an ineffectual fist. His shoulders slumped and he retreated into his inn, defeated. For him as with many, loss of gold was the hardest thing to bear.
On the roof, Rose fought to steady her breathing. She didn’t know where her family was being taken or what would happen to any of them, but she knew that Sara—without burly men to guide her through this nightmare of a city—was likely to be in the most immediate danger.
* * * * *
For Captain Kaille the city of Portridge was proving to be similarly unpleasant.
The door of the Turnside-Down Tavern had barely opened when Kaille was given a true Portridger greeting. This reception included a suspicious leer, a frown, and a swift punch in the face. The blow struck true and, next thing he knew, the Captain found himself coming awake face down on a straw-strewn tavern floor. Kaille struggled against his rope bindings, trying to breathe around his rough gag. His crew, as usual, was at his side—which is to say also tied up and in the muck.
After several long minutes of straining to keep his face out of the filthy rushes, one of his captors spoke.
“Who’s in charge here?” asked a thick, gruff-sounding man.
Captain Kaille made a feeble noise, trying to catch the thug’s attention by wiggling the fingers tied behind his back. With little endeavor at gentleness, Kaille was lifted from the floor and his gag was removed.
“Have you ever been to the Isabien islands?” asked Kaille as he wiped unidentified sludge from his face. “They have this remarkable new thing they’re trying called cleanliness—”
“Why’ve ye come here?” the heavy man spoke.
“I have business with Tavern Tey,” Kaille said, pulling out a handkerchief, which turned out to be significantly covered in the same grime from the floor.
“Is that a fact?” the man asked impassively. “And who are ye?”
“I am Captain Kaille,” he pulled himself up straight, “of the merchant ship Turnagain. This is my…crew,” he extended his arm to include the captive figures. “Despite the fun we’re having here, I would rather get onto my business with Tavern Tey. Do you know him?”
“Aye,” said the meaty man, “that’d be me.”
“Y-You, sir?” Kaille looked at the man’s bulldog face incredulously. He regarded the others in the room. “Are you certain?”
“Aye, fairly,” Tavern Tey cracked his knuckles, a sneer spreading across his face.
Captain Kaille swore and swallowed. He mumbled, “Ten-penny to Hawkesbury. Well done.”
Jas snorted, face still buried in the straw.
“Tavern Tey, indeed. A pleasure,” Kaille attempted to regain his stride. “Tell me, what will it take to get my crew in a slightly more upright position?”
Tey sniffed and spat on the floor next to the Captain’s boot. “Tell me yer business here, stranger. If it don’t offend me, I might let ye live.”
“How…generous,” Kaille shifted where he stood slightly, eyeing the spittle. “I’m in need of men for my crew, which I would gladly have told you at the door, saving you unnecessary trouble and us unneeded bruises. We’re short four hands.”
“Is that a fact?” Tey asked, seeming uninterested. “And how can I verify this?”
The Captain hesitated. He rolled his eyes. It was as he had told Jas. The Fisherman’s Alliance was a secretive and jealous club. He asked, bemused, “Verify what?”
“Verify that ye want what ye say ye want?” Tey said with frustration. Despite himself, the Captain cringed.
“What reason would you want to think that what I want, being more of a what and less of a want, isn’t in keeping with what you want to give me?” Kaille implored. “Unless what I want is what is wanted by others, which I find hard to believe, seeing as how I never really wanted what I seem to want to begin with.”
Tey’s eyes narrowed slightly at this. He gestured to a metal-clad man in the corner who was leaning against the glowing hearth and twirling a long silver blade. The well-sharpened dagger gleamed menacingly in the firelight. The man stood and approached. He pressing the blade against Kaille’s throat, lip curled in a snarl.
“I’ll have no funny biz-ness here, Captain,” Tey said impatiently, “who are ye and why are ye here?”
Kaille froze with the disbelieving horror of a man who had never expected to die in the grubby tavern of an unknown city. He gulped.
From off to the left, a voice asked, “Auk? Auk McRae, is that ye?”
Auk let out a strangled yell from the floor, his face entirely hidden beneath the rushes.
“Aye, that’s Auk!” cried Kaille, remembering suddenly. “He grew up here—just round the corner, I expect. Isn’t it a lovely neighborhood, too? See, we’re practically family here, you and I. So you don’t have to kill us.”
Auk was pulled to his feet and the gag was removed from his mouth. A stream of obscenities immediately fell out. The bleary-eyed man who had recognized him drew Auk into a rough hug.
“It’s been twenty years,” the rat-like man chattered, “and I still know yer ugly arse from any other! Sorry fer the ruse, but there’s been some nasty trickery happening in these parts recently. Can’t be too careful.”
“Tey, ye miserable excuse of a rat!” Auk brushed the muddy straw from his clothes. “What’d ye gone and tied us up for?”
Kaille cocked his head at the sailor and his rodent-like companion. “You’re Tavern Tey?” He slapped his forehead. “I knew it!”
* * * * *
Sara hurtled through the labyrinthine city. She had no way of knowing that her pursuer had turned back long ago. She ran until, like any rat in a maze, she came upon a dead end.
She gripped at the solid stone wall that barred her path, wishing she could climb through it and disappear. She didn’t dare approach the entrance of the alley, but she eyed it, poised and waiting.
Minutes passed. As she waited, Sara regained her breath. Could it be that she had lost him? It didn’t seem possible. Several more minutes passed. Sara realized that her muscles had relaxed. She let her body slump against the wall, sighing out her relief.
It was short-lived.
Out of the corner of her eye, Sara saw movement along the edges of the dark alley. What had appeared at first to be piles of refuse and rubbish were instead the backs and hooded heads of the homeless masses. She was not alone.
As the faces of depraved beggars turned to her in surprising number, Sara’s heart raced once more. One of them touched her and she attempted to escape towards the street. Out of nowhere, a ragged arm knocked her onto the cobblestones. She struggled against hands too numerous to count as they ripped at her hair and tugged at her skirts. When she felt them grabbing at her thighs, she began shrieking in terror.
In keeping with the laws of the land, any Portridger would quickly tell you that Sara’s predicament was entirely of her own making. He certainly would not have offered any assistance. Not only had she gone a
gainst the wishes of her uncle, which was bad enough, but she had also made the often-catastrophic mistake of running out into the streets without a chaperone or veil. These beggars were no better than animals, he would say, and can’t control their own actions. The girl did wrong to tempt them and deserves her fate.
Rose, as ill disposed to follow this society’s rules any more than those of her erstwhile fishing village, thought otherwise.
Rose’s connection to Sara was not as strong as the one she shared with Benson, but years of sisterly torment couldn’t help leaving its mark. Without thinking, Rose made her way through the winding roads, never far behind. She had stopped briefly at an intersection when she heard Sara’s blood-curdling scream.
Rose froze for a moment in doubt and panic. She remembered all too clearly the last time she had rushed to her sister’s call—remembered the thick hands that had closed around her throat, the boot that had crashed into her side. That had been just one man, how many were in the alley?
Rose considered walking away. Sara, after all, had been willing to betray her location to the men Oric had sold them to. She clenched her battle-bruised fists.
“Who am I kidding?” Rose answered her own doubt. “No one messes with my family. It doesn’t matter how obnoxious they are.”
Grabbing a loose cobblestone, Rose rushed towards her sister’s shouts. She reacted before her eyes had a chance to adjust to the darkness. Harnessing what remained of her strength, she smashed the cobblestone over one man’s heavily wrapped head. He collapsed with a hallow thud, revealing half a dozen other beggars who had been tearing at Sara’s dress.
None of them moved. They stared warily past Rose at the bloody cobblestone in her grasp. Seeing their pathetic fear, she raised it threateningly. They loosened their grips on Sara, who still lay whimpering, eyes screwed shut.
“Oy, Bat Face,” Rose hissed, trying to maintain an intimidating stance.
Sara opened her eyes. “Oh, Rose! How did you find me? I ran forever and ever and then I came in here and I think I lost those men, but then—”
Rose shushed her sister harshly. When Sara didn’t get up on her own, Rose rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand. Sara took it and got up.
From the corner of her eye, Rose saw shadows off to the side shift. A hand grabbed at her ankle. Rose stumbled, kicking the hand away. Feeling somewhat desperate, she lifted the heavy stone. The figures near her trembled, but she didn’t strike at them. She turned instead to throw it at the group standing at the entrance to the alley.
Her toss was well aimed, and it hit several of the wretches. Some fell back and others scattered.
Rose grabbed her sister’s hand and they broke into a run. Together the sisters sped through the city, leaving a trail of outraged gasps in their wake.
* * * * *
Heavy mugs of ale hit the sturdy table of the Turnside-Down Tavern. Tey was seated with a flourish, making room for Captain Kaille and his men. He gestured for them all to drink.
“My apologies, Captain,” Tey’s face twitched when he smiled. He drained his ale. Winking at Kaille, he shouted, “Jol, we’re short a mug.”
“Mr., um, Tavern,” Kaille began, attempting to smile back, “if you would—”
“What was the ropes fer, ye rat-faced dung eater?” Auk cut in.
“I’m sorry ‘bout that, but we can’t be too careful here,” Tey accepted his new mug, a haunted look coming over him. “The pirates have been…well, a month ago, some o’ them scoundrels come to me, looking fer experienced hands. They looked right enough, so I sent out my best men, some good friends among ‘em. A week later, the dock man found their bodies washed ashore, throats slit. I mean, those damned pirates coulda sold ‘em or anything, kept ‘em alive, but instead they just killed ‘em. Just cause they could. That’s why we all say these days ‘can’t be too careful’.”
On this, at least, Kaille could agree completely. “I’m sorry to hear of it,” he said with a new gravity.
“We forget we’re at war cause there ain’t no armies knocking on our doors,” Tey nodded, “but ye should make no mistake. War’s here.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Kaille said. “We had difficulties with the pirates also…which is why I’m here asking for crew.”
“That’s a right shame. Well, Auk wouldn’t sail fer no purple-bellied traitor. If yer his men, then yer my men too,” Tey approved. “I’ll do the best I can for ye, though, ah…pickings be a bit slim these days.”
“Understood,” sighed the Captain, taking a sip from a mug that had been placed before him. “Well, you can let them know that it’s a fully rigged merchant ship, three masts, and that I don’t have a lot of time for training.”
“I won’t make ye any promises, Captain,” Tey said, grabbing Kaille’s arm. “Most of the men I have now ain’t never been on a ship. The best of ‘em are misplaced fishermen. When a village is attacked, though, it’s the strong men who go to defend it. Them that’s left ain’t necessarily the best and brightest.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting much anyhow,” admitted the Captain, eager to get this already unpleasant task over with. “How soon can I meet them? I’d like to be underway as soon as possible.”
“Come back this time tomorrow,” Tey said. “I’ll send word round and ye can have yer pick.”
* * * * *
Without thinking to do so, Rose led her sister back to their Uncle’s inn. Sara, no expert at climbing, needed more than a little help to scale the angular building and settle into the sheltered alcove on the roof.
“Oh, Rose! What are we going to do? Mama and Tobi are out there and we’re trapped here,” Sara cried. Tears tracked lines down her grimy face.
“I don’t know what we should do,” Rose said, still breathing heavily, “but I know we have to do it quickly.”
Without thinking, Rose ripped out a panel of her dress’s lining, moistened it, and began rubbing the dirt from her sister’s face. Sara, who didn’t think Rose capable of such a motherly gesture, assumed it to be some hitherto unknown form of torture.
“Rose!” Sara squealed, flailing. “Why are you wiping your spit all over my face?”
“What?” Rose asked, startled. “I know you hate being dirty…I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking.” Somewhat confused, she passed the rag to Sara to let her finish. Sara looked at the rag, and then at her sister.
“Thank you,” Sara said doubtfully.
Rose leaned back and closed her eyes, not answering.
“What’re we going to do?” Sara asked quietly.
“Get Mama and Tobi back,” Rose replied, eyes still closed.
“But how?” Sara whined softly. “This city has so many rules! I wish papa was here. Or Tad. Or any man at all. They would know what to do.”
“I would love to see any of them,” Rose said, glancing at her. “But we can’t wait on someone else to make a plan. And we don’t have to. Have we not brains?”
“I just meant,” Sara, as unladylike as she’d ever been, wiped her nose roughly, “you can’t seem to do anything in this city unless you’re a man…”
This was a fact that Rose was having trouble grasping. She shifted uncomfortably in her mother’s wool dress, feeling it restrict her breathing and movement. She was accustomed to the loose and free clothes of a boy. Her unruly ways and masculine attire had often gotten her in trouble in her village. It seemed a strange irony that she would be yelled at in this strange stone city for walking around in proper female garb. She bet the people of Portridge wouldn’t glance at her twice in her usual clothes.
She pictured herself once more in the cast-off clothes of her older brothers, marching up to Oric and demanding that he buy her family back. Even as Benson, she would be too young and slight to bully or frighten him. She was fairly certain he wouldn’t listen to reason. But she supposed there were other ways to be convincing…
“If I could get boy’s clothes,” Rose inhaled excitedly, “I think we could get them back.”
“Boy’s clothes? No, you can’t!” Sara looked horrified. “If walking in the street without a veil is against the rules, I can’t imagine what they’d do to a girl who dresses as a boy—“
“Since when have rules stopped me?” Rose hissed, raising a hand for quiet. Sara found brief comfort in this truth, though annoyance remained below the surface. “Besides, it’s not as though I intend to be caught.”
“Rose,” Sara said with the utmost seriousness, “you’re not a boy.”
Something about the solemn lines on her sister’s face as she said this made Rose snort in amusement. Sara, whose instinctual reaction to anything her sister did was to take offense, grew even more serious. This made Rose cackle all the louder.
Tired, tense, and more terrified than she was letting on, Rose tried in vain to catch her breath. Once she had begun laughing, however, it seemed impossible to stop.
“Are you making fun of me?” Sara cried after several minutes of this. She was angry to find herself once again the butt of her sister’s joke. Tears flooded her eyes when Rose’s reaction was continued mirth. “Stop it!”
Rose put a soothing had on Sara’s arm, but couldn’t speak for some time. When she could, she gasped: “A couple weeks ago you told me I was practically a boy, now you insist I’m not. If you are the shining example of womanhood, then no wonder girls are called indecisive!”
Rose dissolved again into desperate giggles. Sara’s tears broke free and tracked once more through the grime.
“You are practically a boy!” Sara yelled defensively. “And if you had any sense of propriety you would stop!”
“Propriety?” Rose sputtered. “Look where we are. What defect of your brain is telling you to still worry about being proper?”
“If you follow the rules,” Sara argued, “everything has to turn out alright—”
“Okay then, go knock on the door of the inn and let uncle sell you,” Rose offered. “Go right ahead.”
Sara crossed her arms, not moving. “So, maybe not this city’s rules.”
Rose threw her head back with a guffaw. “It’s not a lot, but I’ll take it.”
“But I still think you should try to fit it!” Sara couldn’t let Rose win. “If you want to marry well and—”
“All right, Princess,” Rose snorted, reaching for her rag. “If that’s how you want it. Gotta get you cleaned up for your wedding to a prince. Here, let me rub some more spit on your face.”
The Rose's Garden and the Sea Page 9
