“And this spidery man-like creature was working for the mage-assassin Furland Pervis, but he’s also dead?”
“Yes. He was . . .” the words caught in her throat, “. . . raping my sister so I killed him.”
“So, that leaves . . .” Owen started slowly. “Lipscombe and his Bloody Fists, Captain Wolfe Straegar and his warden allies, and Lord Ragget and his men.”
Josephine considered his words and finally nodded. “It’s quite a list, I suppose.”
“I’ve got the time.” Owen bounded out of the coach and disappeared inside the tailor shop. Josephine climbed out more slowly.
“My fare?” the driver called down to her.
She had her belt of gems but only a handful of coins. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day she’d visit one of the larger banks and have a couple of the smaller stones converted into walking-around money. The driver scowled at the few coins in her hand but nodded his acceptance.
Josephine paid the fare and turned to face the familiar building. She had spent so many hours upstairs, it was sad to think that this would be her last visit. Her gaze stopped on a bloody mark which stained the top of the doorframe. She hadn’t seen that before.
A scream echoed down from upstairs.
Josephine charged inside and dashed up the rickety stairs. The door at the top was ajar. She burst into the room with her twin daggers out. Owen had Mister Buckler, the downstairs tailor, lifted off his feet by his shirt front. In his other meaty fist was his wicked-looking knife. The tip was wedged under the old man’s quivering chin.
“Where’s my brother?” Owen bellowed.
“I . . . I . . .” Mister Buckler stammered. “I notified the city patrol . . . they just took him away.”
“Why?”
Mister Buckler looked confused. “I can’t have a dead body stinking . . . uh . . . lying around up here . . .”
“Owen, let him go,” Josephine said.
Owen scowled, but tossed him aside. “Where would they take him?”
“The city patrol?” Mister Buckler scrambled to his feet and glanced back and forth between the two of them. “The cemetery, I assume, how should I know?”
Owen’s scowl deepened. Josephine quickly stepped in front of him and smiled down at the wrinkled tailor. “When did they leave?”
“Just a few minutes ago.” He went to the window and pointed. “See? If you look there you can see their meat . . . uh . . . collection wagon . . .”
Owen was out the door and tromping down the stairs before Josephine could stop him. She tossed some hasty thanks and an apology for everything to Mister Buckler and then sped after him. For a big man, Owen could move. She didn’t catch up with him until he was halfway down the block.
“Owen! What are you doing?”
“I’m going to bury my brother.”
“But that’s what the city patrol will do. They’ll turn his body over to the priests and-”
“He’s my brother. I’ll bury him.”
Owen barged on ahead, shoving aside anyone too slow to get out of his way. Josephine wiped the rain from her face and trailed after him. The wagon was heading east. That seemed odd. The morgue and the Necropolis lay along the southwest border of Belyne.
The collection wagon left the Little Ryerton district and wormed its way southeast moving steadily toward Motre-liare’. This was beginning to seem all too familiar to Josephine. She sprinted forward and caught up with Owen.
“We can’t go much further . . .”
Owen didn’t seem to hear her.
She grabbed his shirt sleeve. “Owen! Listen to me! We can’t-”
The wagon stopped at the end of the block. Two men jumped down and went inside the tenement building on the corner.
“This is our chance!” Owen said. “C’mon.”
Josephine shook her head but chased after Owen as he barreled down the street. He reached the wagon and flipped up the tarp thrown across the rear. There were at least a dozen bodies stacked across the back.
“Gimme a hand!”
Josephine glanced at the ramshackle building the two men had ducked into. There was another bloody mark on the doorframe. Was this some sort of new symbol for the city patrol; a way for them to find dead bodies? She supposed it didn’t matter. If they wanted a bloody fist-sized mark on the door frames to denote . . .
A chill swept up Josephine’s spine. It couldn’t be a coincidence!
“Owen, I don’t think this is a city patrol wagon,” Josephine said. She turned around and found his massive fist flying straight toward her face.
Chapter 7
A steady stream of rainwater dripped into the pail beside Kylpin Caleachey as he drained his second ale. He slammed the empty tankard onto the wobbly table and waved for another. All around the Prancing Piper, tankards, pails, buckets, and spittoons were being used to catch the water leaking through the roof.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever been in this . . . fine . . . establishment,” Sir Lumist Tunney said. The old Gyunwarian knight turned in his chair and studied the crowded room. “But there does seem to be a fair number of Gyunwarians present.”
Kylpin shrugged. “I don’t care the race of the man I drink with, as long as the ale is good, and the company is . . . entertaining.” He eyed the knight meaningfully and fished out a couple of coins. “Let me buy you a real drink, my friend.”
Lumist grunted. “Perhaps if you had suffered the same kind of hatred I have endured my entire life, you would not find my political discussions so boring.”
“You think I don’t know about hatred? I’m Seneician. My homeland has been enemy to both Gyunwar and Yordic at one time or another,” Kylpin said. “What do you say to that, sir knight?”
“I’d say your countrymen are indecisive fools who have throughout history stupidly provoked the ire of two powerful countries.”
Kylpin stared at the gaunt knight for a long moment and then his bronze face broke into a wide, toothy grin. He slapped the table. “You have a sharp tongue, Lumist. I think perhaps I need to dull it a bit. Let me buy you a real drink.”
Lumist sipped his water. “I must decline.”
“Just one?” Kylpin tried again. “I fear my race toward intoxication will allow you to win this battle of words.”
“What makes you think I need you drunk to win?”
Kylpin chuckled. The old Gyunwarian knight flashed a half-smile before turning to survey the room again. The left side of his face was turning an ugly shade of yellow and green.
“Why didn’t you have Sebastian tend to that while we were at Ian’s?” Kylpin wagged a finger at the bruise.
“I will not hide what the Gyunwarian-haters have done to me.”
Kylpin groaned. “Have we returned to that theory again?” He toyed with his empty tankard, spinning it around and around in his calloused hands. “Do you really believe there is a secret order of such people here in Belyne?”
Lumist nodded. “They’re not so secret anymore.” He gestured toward his bruise. “I want them to know they can hurt me, but they cannot quiet me. Not until I am dead.”
Despite his bold declaration, the old knight immediately fell into a brooding silence. Kylpin shifted uncomfortably in his wobbly chair. While they were both Lord Ian’s friends, and had shared many meals together at his estate over the years, they had rarely socialized together without him present. His absence here tonight was glaring.
“To Ian’s return to health,” Lumist blurted out, raising his glass.
“I’ll drink to that.” Kylpin pushed his empty tankard aside. “Once I have a drink . . .”
He waved a hand in the air until he caught Philson’s attention. The portly bartender squeezed out from behind the bar and lumbered over to their table. “Need two here?”
Kylpin glanced over at Lumist. The knight adamantly shook his head. “I guess just one will do us, Philson.”
The big, doughy man nodded and waddled away.
“I should have been with Ian earlier,�
� Lumist said. He bounced a fist on the table. “Ragget wouldn’t have attacked him if I’d been there.”
Kylpin sighed. They’d already had this discussion at Ian’s estate and again in the carriage ride here. Though he was just as unhappy about the turn of the events as anyone else, Kylpin had at least been gladdened to learn from Ian’s new healer that the shoulder wound he’d sustained at the hands of Lord Ragget would heal without any complications and Ian would be fine in a few days. Sebastian’s reassurance hadn’t been enough for Lumist though.
“I know you said Ragget’s man wouldn’t allow you to accompany Ian to the meet, but . . .” the old knight trailed off with a hard shake of his head. “I owe him my life!”
“I’ve heard you say this before,” Kylpin said, hoping to redirect the conversation. “What did he do?”
Lumist fell into another brooding silence. Kylpin had just about given up on hearing the story when the old knight leaned forward in his chair. “It was the summer before the Weatherall family came to Belyne.” His usual quiet rasp was barely more than a whisper. “Ian and I were hunting deer in the woods north of Ryerton for the annual End of the Year feast. I’d made a good shot, but the deer still had some life left in it and the damn thing bounded away. I put the spurs to my horse and gave chase. Ian followed. I don’t know how well you know Gyunwar, but the woods north of Ryerton are thick, dark, and dangerous. I didn’t see the tibaern until it reared up in front of me. It spooked my horse and I was thrown. I hit my head on a rock, not hard enough to knock me out, but hard enough to slow me down. The tibaern roared again and dropped down on all fours. The damn beast was going to charge. You could see it in its cold black eyes. I tried to stand, to run, to move, but the woods were spinning all around me. I was a dead man. But then Ian rode up and-”
“You know, I’ve eaten a tibaern before,” Kylpin said. “In Seneice. The meat’s a little chewy but if you roast it over a fire all day and serve it with a bit of wild onion it’s not bad. It’s a nice change from fish.”
Lumist glared at him. “Tibaerns in your country are small compared to the ones in Gyunwar. This one was easily the size of my horse.”
Kylpin held up a hand in a gesture of apology. “I didn’t mean to interrupt or suggest you weren’t in mortal danger, my friend, but the mention of tibaern reminded me of food and I’m actually quite . . .” The hard look spreading across Lumist’s gaunt face quieted the rumblings in his stomach. “Please continue.”
“As I was saying, Ian rode up out of nowhere, jumped off his stallion and stood between me and that damned beast. He’d already shot his last arrow and all he had on him was a small knife. He didn’t even draw it. He just stood there and waited for the tibaern to come and when it did, he-”
Lightning zigzagged across the sky and the resounding thunder shook the whole building. The busy taproom quieted. When the building remained standing, a whoop erupted from somewhere on the other side and everyone laughed.
“Perhaps we should go somewhere else,” Lumist suggested. Water started dripping on the table between them. Kylpin slid his empty mug across until it was under the new leak.
“The Prancing Piper will remain standing,” he reassured the old knight.
“Are you certain?”
Kylpin shrugged. “It hasn’t fallen yet. Now please, my friend, continue with your story. The tibaern was charging and . . .?”
Lumist took a deep breath and shook his head. “You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
Lumist raised his fist and mimed throwing a punch. “Ian slugged the damn beast square on its bristled snout.”
Kylpin burst out laughing.
“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”
“No . . . I . . .” Kylpin struggled to regain control of himself but the image of his mild-mannered friend slugging an oversized cross between a bear and a boar was simply too funny to imagine. “What happened next?”
Lumist frowned and shook his head again.
“Come, my friend, don’t be like that. Don’t leave the end hanging. What did Ian do next?”
“He beat the creature to death.”
Kylpin wasn’t sure if it was the tone of Lumist’s voice, or the stern look on his face, but the laughter in him died.
“It was the first time I saw the blood take him like that,” Lumist continued. “He crushed the creature’s skull and nearly tore its head clean off . . . even after it was dead he just kept . . . punishing it.”
Kylpin swallowed dryly.
“Makes me wonder what’s happened to him since.”
“What do you mean, my friend?”
Lumist tapped his shoulder. “Why didn’t the blood take him after Ragget wounded him?”
Kylpin had no answer. He’d heard the derogatory epitaph ‘bloody Gyun’ hurled around Belyne from time to time but he’d never thought there was anything more to it beyond the insult.
Philson returned with a tankard filled to the brim with frothy ale.
Kylpin glanced up at the fat man, glad to have a reason to change the subject again. “Have you seen Evie or her tall friend Josephine this evening?” He dropped a few coins on the table. “I tried her room next door, but she’s not there.”
Philson’s round doughy face turned a faint shade of pink, and his dark beady eyes blinked rapidly. “She was in earlier. Evie, I mean. I haven’t seen the . . . uh, uh . . . other one.” His eyes glazed over, and his phlegmy breathing quickened. “Uh, uh . . . there was a man with her.”
The twinge of jealousy Kylpin had felt earlier outside Ragget’s estate returned and he struggled to brush it away. “Really, my friend? Do you know who it was?”
Philson shrugged. The rolls of fat along his sides and spilling out of his patched trousers jiggled. “I’ve seen him once or twice before. Can’t remember his name, but he had a nasty look about him.” Philson scratched his greasy head. “One of his eyes don’t work too good.”
“What do you mean?”
Philson stuck a fat finger on his forehead and traced a line down across his left eye to his pudgy chin. “Big fat scar and a twitchy eye.”
A fist tightened around Kylpin’s heart. “Missing the top part of his left ear?”
Philson’s head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, and skinny too. I shit turds fatter than him.”
“Do you know who he is?” Lumist asked Kylpin.
Kylpin stared at his ale. It couldn’t be him and yet, it couldn’t be anyone else. “I know who he was, but . . .”
Philson pocketed the coins and with a shrug headed back toward the bar.
“Wait!” Kylpin jumped out of his chair and grabbed one of his flabby arms. “What was this man doing with Evie?”
“I think he was looking for the . . . uh, uh . . . other one. The dark-haired beauty.” Philson started breathing heavy again. “Evie didn’t know where . . . uh, uh . . . she was, and I hadn’t seen . . . uh, uh . . . her since the other day.”
“Then what happened, my friend?” Kylpin asked. “What happened to Evie?”
“Dunno.” Philson chewed on his thick lower lip. “Twitchy-eye grabbed her and dragged her out of here.”
“And you didn’t try to stop him?”
“I . . . uh, uh . . . I . . .” Philson’s little eyes blinked rapidly, and he took a step back. “I’m just a bartender now.” He pulled free and waddled away.
Kylpin dropped back into his chair.
“Who is this man?” Lumist asked. “The one with the scar and the bad eye?”
“His name is Natham Lipscombe. We used to call him Ole’ Nate. He used to be a sailor on my ship.”
“Used to be?”
Kylpin looked up. “He’s dead.” His grip on the handle of his tankard tightened. “He’s got to be dead. No one could have survived in those waters!” He stared into his drink, lost in thought. Last time he’d seen Ole’ Nate, he was being pulled underwater by a shark! There was just no way he could have survived that. No way at all! His eyes widened as he remem
bered an earlier conversation with Ian. “Ragget’s ships!”
“I’m not following you,” Lumist said. “What does your Lipscombe fellow have to do with Lord Ragget’s ships?”
“Don’t you see? He must be the one who guided them to Scylthia! No one else knows how to safely sail through the Northern Reef.”
Thunder shook the building again and again the room quieted.
“So, what do we do now?” Lumist whispered. “Shall we go find Ian and tell him this news?”
“Yes, of course, but first we must find Evie.” Kylpin drained his ale and slammed the empty tankard on the table. “She’ll need our help if Lipscombe’s got her. I fear what he might do to her.”
Another whoop erupted throughout the room when the building stopped shaking. Kylpin and Lumist stood and pulled on their cloaks and hats.
“Where do we start looking for-?”
A loud clanging interrupted Lumist’s question. Everyone in the common room fell silent as the discordant bells tolled. Philson tossed his drying rag onto the bar and stared off in the direction of the bell tower. “What trouble coulda caused those . . . uh, uh . . . bells to ring?”
Kylpin exchanged glances with Lumist.
“Ian . . .?” Lumist whispered, his lined face going gray.
Kylpin shrugged. Ian had had an appointment to see the king and considering how poorly things were going for their friend lately it wouldn’t surprise him any to learn the bells were clanging in response to something concerning him. “Go to Tower Square and find out what’s going on! I’ll search for Evie. Meet me back here at dawn and together we’ll pay Ian a visit.”
Not waiting for a response, Kylpin ducked out of the tavern and into the pouring rain. He would have preferred having a few of his old ship mates along when he eventually confronted Lipscombe again, but they were all dead now. While they sailed across the endless seas of their next life, he was left here to face the evil old bastard alone. Neither situation was fair, but then again, he’d learned a long time ago, life wasn’t fair, and if you went through life trying to make it so, you’d often find yourself greatly disappointed. “Don’t worry,” he muttered to himself, “you’ll join your shipmates soon enough . . .”
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