by T. A. White
“What time do you think it is?” she asked.
Dewdrop looked up at her in question. “About ten.”
He got up to see what had caught her attention and studied the water. The Donza Festival would really kick off in two hours, with everything before a lead up to the main events, and it looked like many had decided to take their party onto the water. The boats had begun to clump into clusters creating makeshift rafts that their occupants used to share food, drink and music. Because of the unique formation of the harbor, the waters were calm with only gentle rolling waves. With the chain dropped across its mouth, the revelers were corralled in its arms with little danger of floating out to sea by accident.
“How good are you at swimming?” she asked with a small smile. Without waiting for a response, she moved towards the door they’d used to get into the building.
He trailed after her. “I’ve never tried before.”
Tate nodded distractedly, not really paying attention. She was already forming a plan. His not being able to swim might be a problem, but they could probably work it out. Her earlier depression floated away as a renewed purpose invaded her. She never backed down from a challenge, and she wasn’t going to start now. By the end of the night she was going to be the first to have gone head to head with Jost and won. She just knew it.
It took some fine tuning and walking around the docks looking for someone who was willing to rent a boat to them, but finally she was paddling back to the boathouse. Their boat was smaller then the ship-to-shore boat Jost’s men used. This one was built to be piloted by two people. It was more a rowboat with a flat bottom than the ship-to-shore boat.
Dewdrop flailed at the water with his paddle, not really being of much help. They started to drift and twist with his wild motions. Patiently she showed him the proper way to grip the paddle with one arm midway down the oar and the other wrapped around the pommel. He caught on quickly, his strokes smoothing out and dipping gracefully into the water in time with Tate’s. Soon they were gliding across the harbor. Tate steered them to one of the floating parties.
“Can we join you?” she called out.
A welcoming cry went out, and they quickly tied their little rowboat to a six-seater. A tipsy woman shoved a mug filled with mulled wine into Tate’s hand, giving her a cheerful smile before clambering into one of the other boats to curl up next to a man’s side.
Tate had made sure they’d tied up their rowboat on the ocean side of the group, not wanting to have her back to the boathouse only a small distance behind the little group.
“Is this your first time?” a man asked stepping into the boat next to Tate’s. At her puzzled look he gestured to her clothes. “You’re not exactly dressed as a reveler.”
She looked around. He was right. Most of the people here had bright colorful clothes with the women adorned in garments decorated with a crystal that sparkled and glowed even at night. Their hair had been swept up into intricate hairstyles with some of the same glowing crystal threaded into the strands.
Tate plucked at her shirt. Next to them she was positively drab in her plain brown pants and tan shirt.
Aware of the man waiting for her response, she smiled at him. “My brother and I just arrived in the city when we noticed everybody heading out on boats.”
Dewdrop adopted the persona of an enthusiastic little brother, his face earnest and young. “It seemed like such fun so I begged my sister to let us try it. Thankfully she was just as curious as me, and here we are.”
“You’ll love it,” one of the women predicted. “At midnight we release the fire bulbs. It’s like seeing a million stars being released at once as they float up into the sky.” She smiled dreamily. “Tell me you each have one.”
Tate held up the little lantern she’d received earlier in the evening. She was just a little surprised when Dewdrop did the same. He shrugged at her questioning look.
“Oh good,” the woman said. “You don’t want to miss this.”
“Because you’ve never done this before, I bet you don’t know that you need to put a wish inside,” the first man said.
Tate shook her head, though Dewdrop rolled his eyes when he thought nobody was looking.
“A what?” Tate asked half laughing.
“It’s tradition,” the woman said. “Does anybody have any paper left?” One of their fellow revelers held up a piece of rectangular paper the length of Tate’s hand and half the width. It was passed around until it reached Tate and Dewdrop. “You write a wish or something you’re grateful for from the past year,” the woman explained. “Then you put it into your fire bulb so when you release it, your wish is carried up into the heavens.”
The woman wrapped her arms around her legs looking up as if she could see the palace of the gods already.
What an odd tradition. Tate wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to participate. According to the stories she’d heard told by seamen on cold nights, the men and women who caught the eye of the gods rarely fared well, usually ending up with some horrible fate while performing some great deed. Not something Tate wished to share. Any wish she had, she’d fulfill under her own power. There’d be no point otherwise.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dewdrop pretend to write something before sticking his blank sheet in the lantern. She went to do the same but stopped. Not knowing what possessed her, she wrote something down. Well not really a wish so much as a goal. Folding it up she stuck it in the lantern before she could change her mind.
The woman who’d been so friendly to them clapped her hands and took the writing utensils they handed back.
Tate eyed the distance between her group and the boathouse. For the next phase of her plan, the raft had to be closer. Tate had no doubt Jost had people stationed in the harbor making sure nobody tried to row up to the boathouse. She’d already considered whether any of their new friends were plants by Jost. She didn’t think so as she recognized pretty much everybody from her time on ship, but it was always possible they’d picked up someone new or outsourced that task.
Dewdrop stuck his paddle in the water and idly made a side paddling motion. He kept his movements slow and random by picking his paddle up out of the water to bounce up and down as if he was bored. None of the others seemed to take any notice, but Tate’s stomach was tight expecting someone to call them out at any moment.
They still had about half an hour until midnight. That was the time she decided would be the best moment to make her move. She figured people would be looking up at the released fire bulbs rather than at the sea. It might just give her enough of a window to slip in and out.
Dewdrop, by himself, just wasn’t enough to get the coupled boats close enough, and they’d only drifted a little closer to the boathouse in the time since joining the group. Tate’s heart nearly stopped when everybody began to uncouple the boats and drift away one by one. Her friend with the wine, seeing her confusion, explained that everybody separated ten minutes prior midnight to release the lanterns.
She smiled a thank you at him while inside she was rejoicing. That was exactly what she needed to get closer to the boathouse. Pushing away from the others, Tate and Dewdrop steered closer to the seawall. She pulled a black cap from her pocket and toed off her shoes, before removing all loose objects from her pockets. The only thing she kept was the knife at her waist.
“Be careful.”
She nodded and leveraged herself onto the lip of the rowboat before letting herself fall back into the water. The splash was muted and drowned out by the shout that arose as thousands of fire bulbs were released into the air.
Tate opened her eyes underwater and stared up in a brief moment of awe. From her vantage point, it looked like a snaking river of fire ascending into the heavens.
She pulled the black cap over her hair before kicking her legs and arms, scissoring through the depths. She glided beneath the water’s surface towards the dock, one arm straight in front of her to keep her head from crashing into the wood. After what see
med an eternity her fingers slid off the slimy algae that had attached itself to the stone over time. She lifted her head out of the water just enough to draw a breath through her nose and to get her bearings.
In seconds, she had sunk back beneath the surface and was making her way carefully towards the boathouse, keeping close to the seawall. Every few seconds she would reach out and touch it to make sure she wasn’t veering off course. Even with the help of the fire lanterns, she couldn’t make anything out in the black depths of the harbor.
Her questing hand encountered nothing. She turned her body and swam through an opening, praying this was the entrance to the boathouse and not some under water tunnel.
Her feet scraped against slick wood, and moments later her hand hit something. Resisting the urge to simply pop out of the water, she raised up just enough so her eyes were above the surface. She blinked as the water streamed down her face, stinging her eyes.
Darkness greeted her. She blinked again and chanced coming up enough to take a breath. By some stroke of luck, she came up beneath the wooden slats of the boathouse. Footsteps echoed overhead as someone walked back and forth. She was facing out towards the harbor, where they would pull boats in to unload. Tate scooted to the edge of her hidey-hole, peeking to both sides of the pilings. She was careful to make no sound, moving slowly so there would be no splashing.
Nobody came into view. She moved towards the open water, keeping as close to the edge as possible. From the sound of things there was only one person near her. It took a moment to screw up her courage, but she grabbed the wooden edge in her hands and pulled herself up so she could look over it. She held her breath all the while. Nobody sounded the cry however, and she released a sigh.
Jost’s back was facing her as he spoke to another crewmember. Tate chanced a look around, noting the position of several barrels against the wall and netting hanging from hooks on the ceiling. She slipped back into the water before she was seen.
“Our men say the Kairi should be here soon,” Riply was telling Jost.
“Good. The sooner this is over the better,” Jost said. He sounded tired.
“Aye,” Riply replied. After a pause he asked, “Do you think she’ll be alright? Danner said she was hurt pretty bad.”
Tate’s ears perked up, and she stared in the direction of the voices though she couldn’t see them. Her? Who was she? Perhaps Tate? Or were they talking about someone else?
“It doesn’t concern us,” Jost said. “She’s not crew anymore. She made her choice, and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”
Tate sank into the water, her eyes feeling tight and itchy. They were talking about her.
“Yeah, but-“
“It’s already done,” Jost said sharply.
She missed what was said after that, instead dunking her head under the water and curling into a tight ball. It was over. She could never go back, and the only person she had to blame was herself. She’d known all this when she left; now she had to accept it and move on.
She straightened, breathing deep when she came up for air. She cocked her head. It was silent with nobody moving above her.
She swam out of her nook and looked around, finding the room clear. She pulled herself out of the water, a puddle forming at her feet. Anybody who saw the water would know they had visitors. She needed to move quickly.
Hearing voices in the hall, she slipped behind some barrels. Her caution was unwarranted because the owners of those voices turned into a room. Moving silently, Tate followed them and peeked around the corner. Seeing several of the crew playing cards, she crept passed the room. She looked into several rooms and backed out quickly when all she found was the smell of fish and not much else.
As she moved across the floor in one of these rooms, she was startled at the slight give in the boards. She bounced lightly on them. Next, she bent and knocked on one and then walked a few feet to knock on another board. The first knock produced a hollow thump while the second was much crisper.
She grinned. A smuggler’s hole. What better place to hide illegal goods then a hidden hole designed to be undetected? She tapped around until she found the edge and pried up the hatch. Tate peered down into the expressionless face of a young boy.
He had long white hair coupled with pale skin and a tracery of iridescent blue patterns on his forehead and neck. His eyes were so pale a blue that they were almost colorless. His gaze seemed ancient in his young body.
Tate had opened her mouth to form an apology when he shifted and the heavy clink of metal on metal reached her. Her eyes flicked to the chain that disappeared under his ornate robes. She licked her lips. It couldn’t be. This child couldn’t be the fulcrum everybody was fighting over.
The boy still hadn’t spoken and watched her passively. His skin was remarkably clean for someone being held in captivity, she noted, and only the smallest smudges of dirt showed on his rich clothing. An empty plate and mug beside him said his captors had been feeding him regularly.
Object her ass. The fulcrum wasn’t some artifact to be placed in a room and forgotten. He was a hostage for his people’s good behavior.
“Hello,” Tate said weakly.
He didn’t respond. Not even to blink. Tate glanced over her shoulder. How much more time did she have before she was discovered? After a brief war with herself, she dropped into the smuggler’s hole beside him. He backed up to make space for her, as it was a narrow space with little headroom. She had to bend over to avoid hitting her head against the ceiling. He was short enough to be able to stand fully upright with about an inch of space between the top of his head and the wood.
“My name’s Tate,” she said. “What’s yours?”
His face remained neutral, and he didn’t answer. Tate’s smile wilted around the edges. She didn’t want to just grab him and run. That seemed wrong after everything that had happened to the poor guy. Scarring a kid mentally for life wasn’t appealing, but they were running out of time. Any second she expected to hear feet pounding toward them.
Leaving him here wasn’t an option either. Umi was coming, and her plans for the fulcrum didn’t sound pleasant. She resisted the urge to kick something. A child shouldn’t be caught up in this situation.
“How about we get that chain off you, and then get you home to your mother and father?” she offered.
He watched her curiously as she poked at the lock on his ankle. She hissed when it zapped her, putting one finger into her mouth.
“Ouch.” She shook her hand back and forth. “Did it get you, little man?”
He watched her curiously and shook his head slightly to the left and right. Good. He could understand her. For a child his age he wasn’t very talkative. Maybe he was in shock. Tate had heard of that happening before, of events being so traumatizing that a person just faded back into himself or herself. His reactions didn’t quite fit, though. His eyes were alert, and he seemed aware of his surroundings.
Tate wrapped a piece of cloth around the metal, tucking it next to his ankle. She hoped that would keep him from getting shocked. Judging from what happened earlier, the ankle cuff wouldn’t shock him unless she messed with the lock.
She wrapped another piece of cloth around her lock picking tools and screwing up her courage, she inserted it into the lock. She jerked at the sharp shock she received but kept at it until she felt a sharp give and the tools in her hands suddenly bent. She held them up and cursed under her breath. The metal at the tips had been warped and half melted. What kind of lock was this? She’d never seen anything like it
“Damn the Creators and their misbegotten spawn to the abyss,” she swore, tossing the now useless scraps of metal aside.
The little boy watched as she paced up and down his tiny cell, muttering imprecations about annoying captains who just had to plan for every contingency.
She ran her hands through her hair and then shook them out. Alright. Picking the lock wouldn’t work. What else could she do? Jost always said, if you couldn’t come a
t a problem directly, to come at it from a different direction.
“Don’t worry, little man,” Tate said, bending to study the chain connected to his ankle. “I’ll figure out a way to get you out of here and back to your family.”
She picked up the chain and followed it to where it attached to the floor. She fingered the bolts lightly and jerked once hard. Dust flew, but not much else. It was made of strong stuff. Not bending, much less budging. That way was a bust too. She hung her head. Idea after idea turned out to be fruitless. All the while, time was counting down. She’d been in the warehouse, ten maybe fifteen minutes at this point.
She placed one hand on the floor to push herself up and paused midway. Tate lowered herself back down. Hesitantly, she brushed her fingers across the floor. The wooden floor. Slowly, she smiled. Sideways, huh?
“Wait here,” she told the boy before scrambling up the steps.
There were fishermen’s tools, including some very sharp blades in one of the empty rooms she’d passed earlier. With a sense of urgency and renewed purpose, she crept back to a room that reeked of fish. Tools hung from the wall in neat little rows. She smiled in victory. Those would do nicely. She grabbed the first bladed item she could find. It turned out to be a long pole with a hooked blade at the end. Having never fished before, she wasn’t entirely sure what it was used for. It was sharp and that was really all she cared about.
She was about to turn to leave when a small hand ax caught her eye. The pole fell from her hands, and she grabbed the ax. This would be perfect.
“Alright, little man. I’ve got what we need, and I’ll have you out of here shortly,” Tate said dropping down into the smugglers hold.
The boy was as quiet and calm as before as Tate drew the trapdoor closed. Hacking through a wood floor was going to be noisy, and she didn’t want to make anyone who happened by suspicious enough to take a look. Hopefully having a wooden door between her and them would help mute some of the sound.
