Benjamin Ashwood Box Set 2

by A. C. Cobble

  “Sounds like good advice,” responded Corinne. “Come on, Amelie. Let’s go pack up our cabin. Rhys, you want to get Towaal’s gear? I don’t think the mage will be moving until they drop the anchor. Every extra moment she maintains cover is longer that Eldred can’t find us.”

  The boat bumped against the stones of the pier, and Ben leapt across the narrow gap of water. He hauled hard on the hemp hawser he was carrying and looped it around a thick iron bollard. His companions scrambled after him.

  Ben’s knot wasn’t up to sailing standards, but the water was calm, and the boat barely moved with the gentle surf. The sailors told them that the waters off the South Continent were usually calm until a storm rolled in from the sea with lashing rain and driving wind.

  Rhys was the last off the boat. When the rogue set foot on the pier, Ben untied the line and cast it to the sailors. They waved a quick goodbye, and oars dipped into the water, propelling them back to the merchant vessel.

  The captain had been happy to drop them at Indo when he felt the heft and clink of gold in the purse Towaal offered, but his cargo was for Shamiil. For a sailing man, time was money. He was eager to get going.

  Watching the merchant vessel, Towaal stood at the end of the rocky pier. She was anchoring the light shield. By doing so, she thought she would be able to extend it two or three leagues away from the pier. It would be less effective without constant supervision, but since she wasn’t having to move it along with the vessel, she could set it in place and leave it.

  If Eldred happened to be watching when the sloop suddenly appeared from under the shield, she’d certainly suspect what happened. The odds were in their favor that she wouldn’t be watching that small section of the sea, though, and if even she was, they hoped they’d be away long before she reached Indo. As long as they could leave minimal sign of where they went, they would be relatively safe.

  Ben hitched his pack on his shoulders and gestured to Indo. “Shall we?”

  The ladies led the way down the pier to a collection of stark white stucco houses bordered with black wood trim. It was neat and clean. Everything was in its place. Even the fishing boats pulled up on the beach looked freshly painted and fastidiously organized. The scent of the sea hung over the pier without the stomach-churning smell of rotting fish and offal that was common in other ports they’d been to.

  As they drew closer, Ben saw the people wore loose clothing, similar to what Saala wore. It wasn’t as fine or as colorful as the blademaster’s attire, but the garments made sense in the stifling heat and humidity.

  A trio of short-haired dogs burst out from behind a building and charged, barking to scare off the new arrivals. When the party drew close, the dogs turned tail and ran back behind the building.

  “They must have smelled you, Ben,” jested Rhys. “Enough to make anyone turn tail and flee.”

  Ben rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. It was true. He hadn’t bathed in the three weeks on the ship, but neither had the rogue. It wasn’t just the ladies this time who were looking forward to a hot bath.

  Evidently alerted by the dogs, a portly customs official came bustling out of a small shack at the end of the pier.

  “You not docking?” he inquired, glancing hungrily at the sloop anchored offshore.

  Rhys shook his head. “We just caught a ride. They’ll continue to Shamiil.”

  The official frowned, licked the tip of an ink-stained quill, and then made a few quick scratches in a small notebook. “I still have to charge you for arrival. Three silvers will cover the group.”

  Rhys flipped the man the coins.

  “Can you recommend a good inn?” asked the rogue.

  The customs man nodded. “There are only two, the Merlion and the Salty Dog. For you, I recommend the Merlion. It’s where the merchants stay. Classier fare than the Dog. Fewer sailors and fishermen at the Merlion, so you can get rest at night. Head up the street, and you can’t miss it. It’s the tallest building in town.”

  The street was hard-packed dirt. Tiled gutters were built along the sides and sloped down to the sea. Further into town, bright green flowering plants grew in large pots next to the buildings. The street was lined with vegetation. Some of the pots held bushes dangling fat, finger-length peppers or larger squashes. Ben saw strange vegetables he couldn’t identify. Vines were set in pots beside doorways, and twisting creepers climbed up the sides of the houses. Many of the plants were in bloom, decking the street in spots of purple, red, orange, and yellow. The splashes of color stood in stark contrast to the uniform white walls and black trim of the buildings.

  “Pretty,” mumbled Amelie.

  Corinne added appreciatively. “It’s not Northport.”

  Ben inhaled deeply and smiled. She was right. It wasn’t Northport or like anywhere else he’d been. He thought he could grow to like the suffocating heat, as long as it came with the pleasant scent of the flowers.

  “There,” declared Rhys.

  Ahead of them stood a five-story building. In contrast to the rest of the town, the first two floors of this one were encased in stone, possibly a former keep from when the town was even smaller. Flanking the door were two man-high statues. They had heads of lions and bodies of fish. Their eyes were carved into menacing scowls, their mouths open in silent roars.

  “Merlions?” wondered Amelie.

  “Must be. Maybe the creatures are some sort of local legend.”

  Ben glanced at Towaal to see if she had a comment, but the mage was stumbling along with her eyes fixed on the ground. She’d been awake for two straight days to maintain focus holding the light shield above them.

  They passed between the two statues and ducked through the low door of the inn. Ben blinked in surprise as he walked into a cool wall of air. The low door, lack of windows, and thick stone of the walls had another purpose, he realized.

  The first floor of the inn was a broad, open room with thick columns spaced through it supporting the floors above. Wide planks covered the floor, and smooth circular tables sat atop it, each table with eight chairs placed carefully around. In the back, a bar blocked an open kitchen. Ben could see scullions rushing around, sweating over hot grills and tending to flickering fires. In one corner, there was a small stage with a single woman on it. She was strumming a stringed instrument on her lap. Everything was clean, spotless. It was cleaner than any inn Ben had ever stepped foot in, he was sure of that.

  “This is a nice change,” mumbled Amelie.

  Ben was staring around the room when a petite girl bustled up in front of them. Raven black hair was tied in a neat bun behind her head, and a simple, but well-made, dress covered her from neck to foot.

  “Hello, travelers. Room and board?” she asked in a lilting accent.

  Rhys nodded. “A couple of rooms, cold ales, hot meals, and an even hotter bath.”

  “Of course,” demurred the woman. “Let me show you around the property. You can leave your packs in the rooms and then take your meals or bathe at your leisure. Welcome to the Merlion.”

  The girl took quick, mincing steps to the stairwell, her feet hidden beneath the hem of her dress. It gave Ben the impression she was floating across the floor. He was slightly disappointed when she led them up the stairs and her knees bent to climb, ruining the effect.

  In the room, Ben placed his pack down on one of the three narrow beds. Rhys and Milo were also settling in, dropping packs and sifting through them to find changes of clothing.

  Ben sighed. After three weeks at sea, he had been looking forward to sharing a bed with Amelie.

  “When you pay, you pick the rooms,” said Rhys with a knowing wink. “Come on. Let’s go find these baths.”

  Ben followed his friend down a narrow set of stairs at the back of the inn and they emerged into a quiet courtyard. It was nothing like the muddy stable yard he’d expected. Instead, short, manicured pine trees sprouted from carefully arranged piles of rocks and loam. A creek trickled by and a short foot-bridge crossed it. Behind a hea
d-high embankment on the other side of the creek, they heard splashing.

  Rhys led them along a stone path which meandered through waist-high, flowering bushes until they found an open-air, thermal-heated pool. Steam boiled off the surface of the water, and a dozen heads bobbed, hidden underneath a carpet of mist. Low conversation and the gentle lap of water against stone filled the air with sound. A rack of towels and soap stood beside a table with heavy, earthenware pitchers that beaded with condensation.

  “Ah.” Rhys sighed. “This is what I needed.”

  The rogue peered inside the pitchers then quickly filled three mugs with wine. He passed one each to Ben and Milo, stripped off his clothes, stuck them in a row of cubbies, and dipped a toe into the water. Heartbeats later, he sat his mug down and jumped into the pool, splashing a wall of water that sent bathers scrambling away from him.

  Ben rolled his eyes and walked down a set of carved stone stairs into the pool. The heat immediately soaked into his body, relaxing tense muscles and soothing aches from the weeks at sea.

  “Not bad, is it?” asked Rhys, a grin spread across his face. The rogue waded over to the side of the pool and tipped up his wine mug. To Milo, he asked, “If you’re not getting in, mind refilling me?”

  The former librarian’s assistant topped off Rhys’ mug then he joined them in the pool.

  Ben sipped his mug, enjoying the contrast between the cool white wine and the heat of the water. He felt a sharp finger jab into his shoulder. He turned and nearly spilled his mug when he saw a dark-haired girl floating just behind him.

  “It’s impolite to be noisy in the bathing pools of Ooswam. I can’t imagine I need to tell you this, but splashing the other bathers is also frowned upon,” she informed him. “I can see you are foreigners and have no knowledge of our customs, so I am reminding you kindly. This time.”

  “I, uh, it was my friend,” Ben stammered.

  The girl swept her long, black hair behind her head with a wet hand. Ben’s eyes bulged as her bare arm and shoulder peeked above the dark water of the pool. He swallowed and looked around wildly. The pool, it seemed, was not segregated by gender.

  The girl was certainly naked and floating half a pace away from him. His face flushed as it occurred to him that he’d just stripped naked in broad view of everyone in the water.

  “You or your friend, I do not care,” declared the girl calmly. “You should both follow our rules.”

  “Ben,” called Amelie.

  He turned and saw her standing on the side of the pool, a short linen robe pulled tight around her. Corinne and Towaal were by her side.

  “Is that you?” she asked. “I can barely see through the steam. I believe this pool is used by both men and women. We did not see a separate one.”

  Ben coughed. “Yes, it is me. I believe you are right. Both men and women use this pool.” He silently wished the girl by his side would discreetly float away.

  “It is the custom in Ooswam to bathe together,” said Towaal.

  Drowsiness clouded her voice, but Ben knew the mage would want to wash away the three weeks of filth from their time at sea before spending the next day in bed. He detected a new lilt to her tone, similar to the serving girl and the one floating beside him.

  He nearly leapt out of the water when Towaal calmly discarded her robe and tossed it into one of the cubbies. The mage’s body was lean and fit, toned from years on the road. Ben tore his eyes away and found himself staring into the face of the dark-haired girl.

  “You should ask your companion about our customs,” admonished the girl. “There is no excuse for ignorance when you are traveling with a local.”

  The girl mercifully shot him one last glare then swam away into the mist.

  Ben turned back to his companions and jumped again. Amelie was right beside him.

  “Who was she?” Amelie asked sharply.

  Ben winced. “I don’t know. She just started berating me because Rhys jumped into the water and splashed everyone.”

  “She was lecturing you, not me,” quipped the rogue. “Don’t bring me into it.”

  Corinne splashed a handful of water at Rhys.

  “That’s what got me in trouble the first time,” moaned Ben.

  “What she said is true,” admitted Towaal, floating over to them. “You should learn the customs of this place and try to follow them. I believe we lost Eldred in the storm, and we can cloak ourselves from magical detection, but she could still locate us through mundane means if we leave a trail. Word of strangers, rumors of magic, all of that could give us away. We should blend in as best we’re able.”

  Ben’s face felt flushed. The heat of the pool didn’t help, but Amelie, Towaal, and Corinne were all bobbing around him, bare shoulders poking up from the dark water.

  Amelie ran a hand across his back. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  He squeaked. “Just tired.”

  Towaal dunked her head under the water and started scrubbing herself with a slippery bar of soap.

  Ben tried to ignore the mage, but he couldn’t help feeling Amelie bump against him. The way her body felt in the hot water was very, very interesting. She wasn’t trying to avoid contact with him, and he realized the innocent seeming bumps might not be so innocent. He closed his eyes and tried to remain focused on the discussion.

  “In the morning,” suggested Towaal, “we’ll talk about Ooswam and its customs. For now, I must rest. If I’m not up by midday tomorrow, wake me.”

  The mage dunked herself again to rinse off the soap and then strode out of the pool. Ben couldn’t help but watch her, seeing water cascade down her slim figure until Amelie dug an elbow into his side.

  “You should be paying attention to me, not her,” complained Amelie quietly.

  Ben grinned at her. “Sorry. This is all so strange to me. I’m not sure where to look. It’s nothing like Alcott.”

  “Ooswam is not all strange, is it?” asked Amelie, drifting closer to him. “The wine looks the same.”

  Ben took a sip to steady his nerves. “Yes, that is the same.”

  “Let’s get you another one and then come with me. We’re going to have to figure out a way you can bathe on this continent without getting distracted.”

  “You’re the only one who distracts me,” claimed Ben.

  Amelie snorted.

  He refilled his wine from a pitcher Rhys had set on the side of the pool.

  Amelie clasped his hand and pulled him deeper into the water and the steam. At the back of the pool, away from their companions and other bathers, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and kissed him deeply. He forgot about everything and everyone else. Even his wine sat untouched and unnoticed beside him. Gentle waves lapped around them as they tangled together in the hot water.

  The next morning, Ben sat in the common room with a wide grin plastered across his face. The ladies hadn’t appeared yet. Milo was fixated on his breakfast, and Rhys was engrossed in repairing a tear he’d found on his cloak. Ben was sitting, enjoying the relative cool of the morning and sipping at a hot, mint-flavored tea. He missed kaf. Apparently, it was rare in the South Continent.

  He’d gone to bed content, but since waking, all he could think about was Amelie and the way her wet body had felt when she pressed it against him, the passion of her kisses, the thrill of being in the pool with the others just out of eyesight in the cloud of mist.

  “No more splashing in the bath after I left?” asked a soft voice, jolting him out of his day-dreaming.

  Ben coughed, choking on his tea.

  He glanced over and saw the small girl from the night before. Jet black hair hung around her shoulders and she wore flowing, bright green trousers and tunic. She was young, about his age, but her eyes looked at him with an elder’s disapproval. She reminded him of Towaal after catching him hungover from drinking with Rhys.

  He gagged, trying to clear his airway of the minty tea.

  The girl rolled her eyes. “Foreigners.”

  S
he spun on her heel and glided away with the smooth grace of a dancer.

  Two hulking, bald-headed men stalked after her. Each had broad bladed scimitars hanging from their belts. They moved with grace too, the grace of predators.

  “Just like Saala,” mumbled Rhys.

  Ben glanced at him.

  Rhys nodded after the departing pair. “Swordsmen, trained just like Saala. Not far from him in skill either if I’m any judge of these things. Paid for by the girl’s family. They’re most likely top tier merchants or even the lords of these parts. My advice, keep your head down and stop antagonizing her. She’ll cut your heart out in the blink of an eye. In Ooswam, if her family is powerful enough, no one will raise a hand to stop her.”

  “I’m not antagonizing her!” exclaimed Ben. “You were the one who jumped in the pool.”

  “Who is Saala?” asked Milo.

  Ben met Rhys’ eyes. He’d forgotten the former librarian’s apprentice was with them. Milo was so silent he seemed to blend into his surroundings. They had told the young man much of their story, but after the first few days with him on the ship, they started holding back. Milo knew all about their struggles against the demons and quest for the Purple. He even knew Towaal’s and Rhys’ place in the group, but there was something unusual about him, and they decided anything he didn’t know yet would remain unspoken.

  “A friend,” responded Rhys. “One we haven’t seen in a long while.”

  Milo nodded, apparently content with the vague answer.

  A quarter bell later, Amelie and Corinne arrived at the table. They ate a hearty breakfast, seemingly glad to be off ship’s rations. Then they all went about keeping themselves busy until they could wake Lady Towaal. Ben and Rhys found a quiet place on the grounds of the Merlion to spar while Amelie, Corinne, and Milo went into the town to restock supplies.

  Shirtless in the sticky morning heat of the South Continent, Ben and Rhys swarmed back and forth across a small, tree-encircled space. Mage-wrought blades flashed in the sunlight.