Klye shuddered at the thought.
“What are you going to do?” Leslie asked.
“It looks like I’m going to have to rescue Ragellan all over again, but I’d like to find my other men first. What about you?”
Leslie crossed her arms. “We’ve been scurrying around the city like mice in the shadows for too long. I invited the Pirates of the Fractured Skull to Port Town to serve as the Renegades’ muscle. Maybe it’s time we fought for ourselves.
“There’s nothing I can do about the pirates who perished at Oars and Omens, but I’m not going to let my father hang Pistol. The mayor will soon learn that these mice have teeth.”
“Rats are more ferocious than mice,” Scout pointed out.
Ignoring him, Leslie turned to Klye. “I think we may be able to help each other.”
* * *
The High Priest spent at least one hour every morning talking with his god, but today, Elezar prayed well past when he normally would have said “amen.” He did not join the other priests and priestesses for breakfast, but when his stomach grumbled, it was out of anxiousness, not hunger.
Although he trusted Aladon would see him through all of life’s trials and tribulations, Elezar worried the mayor had finally discovered his ties to the Renegades. He didn’t fear death. The High Priest had cared for Leslie ever since she ran away from her father, and Elezar couldn’t help but think of her as his own daughter at times.
What would become of poor Leslie when he was gone?
“I shouldn’t doubt your will,” he said to Aladon. “Please continue to watch over the girl and all of the other Renegades should my life become forfeit.”
It was nearly noon when Elezar finally finished his prayers. He would be late for his appointment with the mayor, but that didn’t bother him overmuch. Either he was doomed or not; a few minutes weren’t going to change a thing.
As he strode through the streets of Port Town, he realized how much he would miss the city should this day prove his last. Even though he believed he would spend eternity in Paradise, the instinct to fight or flee impending danger surged in his veins.
Approaching the mayor’s mansion, Elezar remembered when he had made frequent visits to the Beryl household. Aleth, Leslie’s mother, had cooked the best rhubarb pie Elezar ever tasted, and he had enjoyed discussing everything from politics to theology with Crofton.
It broke Elezar’s heart to remember the good times. After Aleth died, Crofton had denounced all of the gods. On top of that, Crofton Beryl had turned his back on Leslie, which was the more heinous crime in Elezar’s opinion. The High Priest had done all he could to comfort the mayor, to help him move on with his life, but throughout the year following Aleth’s death, Crofton had undergone a most disturbing metamorphosis.
Elezar had avoided the mayor’s mansion since Leslie ran away from home, thinking it best to keep a low profile for the girl’s sake. And not since before Aleth’s death had Crofton summoned the priest to his home.
He was led by a servant into the mayor’s office, an untidy room with a noticeably bear spot where a portrait of Crofton’s wife once hung. The mayor had changed in appearance as much as he had in spirit.
Crofton sat behind a large desk, hunched forward as though preparing to pounce. His handsome green eyes seemed to have lost their luster, and his face was thinner, accentuating the sharp bones beneath his skin. Patches of white hair replaced the rich brown by his temples.
“Good day, Mayor,” Elezar said, keeping his tone pleasant. “Please accept my apology for arriving late.”
Crofton Beryl smiled coldly. “It’s of little concern, Father. You must be keeping yourself busy.”
Elezar didn’t know how to interpret that, so he decided to not mince words. “I must admit that your message caught me by surprise. It’s been quite a while since we spoke. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You have heard of the incident that took place last night near the northern harbor?” the mayor asked.
“I have.” By now all of Port Town had learned of the battle with the pirates.
Crofton continued, his expression unchanged by the priest’s answer. “We have taken the pirate king alive. He is to be hanged in the Square tomorrow. But this comes as no surprise to you, does it, Father?”
“I have heard these things too.” The mayor was toying with him, but what else could he do but speak the truth?
“The Pirates of the Fractured Skull have all been wiped from the face of the world, except for the pirate king,” the mayor said.
“And the ship that got away,” Elezar dared to interject.
The mayor narrowed his eyes. After a brief silence, he said, “Yes, one of the ships did escape, but they will never return to my city. And the pirate king’s execution will teach the other scoundrels who call Port Town home that I do not show mercy to those who don’t deserve it. The pirate king will serve as an example for pirates and Renegades alike.”
“I see,” said the High Priest at length. “And what has the killing of a pirate king to do with me?”
Crofton leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Elezar had seen Leslie adopt that same pose time and time again, though she had never looked as sinister as the mayor did now.
“You will attend the execution,” said mayor flatly. “You will offer the pirate king a chance to confess his sins and die with a purified heart…or some such nonsense. Of course, the knave will refuse, which will only bolster the crowd’s cheers when he hangs.”
As loath as he was to admit it, Elezar knew the execution would, in fact, raise the morale of Port Town. And the people would speak of Crofton Beryl as a hero once more for cleansing the city of pirates.
Elezar wanted to refuse to attend the barbaric display, but Elezar knew the test for what it was. If he refused to participate in the mayor’s presentation, how long before he disappeared or wound up dead in some alley?
The pirate king’s fate was as much a message for the High Priest as it was for Leslie and her Renegades.
His teeth clenched, Elezar said, “I will be there, but only because I have hope that the condemned man will confess.”
Crofton laughed, and the sound made Elezar’s flesh prickle. “I don’t think that is likely, but it’s been some time since you and I saw eye to eye on anything.”
“On that we can agree.”
The sadness that had filled him before the meeting returned as he left the mansion. There was no doubt in his mind that Crofton Beryl knew he was involved with the Renegades. Rather than kill him or imprison him, the mayor was content to warn him that he was watching.
Surely, Crofton didn’t know he was harboring Leslie in the Cathedral. If he had, nothing—not even concern over public opinion—would have kept him from storming the Cathedral in search for her. Or stringing Elezar up beside the pirate king.
Unless Port Town’s Renegades wished to end up like the Pirates of the Fractured Skull, they would have to redouble their efforts to keep their activities a secret.
Or, thought Elezar, we will have to strike first.
* * *
Horcalus woke to the sound of waves plashing against the boat. The sun was on the rise, though the tall trees surrounding the glen blocked much of the light.
They had hauled the rowboat onto the sandy shore last night, and everyone but Othello had chosen to sleep in the boat. The forester had found a spot farther up the beach, lying on the long grass beneath the trees, longbow inches from this hand.
As Horcalus watched the sky grow brighter, it took all of his discipline not to close his eyes once more, to sacrifice his responsibility for the blessed oblivion of sleep. Instead, Horcalus strapped his scabbard to his waist and climbed out of the boat.
Othello was already up. He lingered on the edge of the woods, peering into the shadows. They should have posted lookouts throughout the night, but Horcalus had been too weary to worry about it at the time. And for some reason, he had trusted Arthur when he said that no guards eve
r visited this area.
Glancing back at the boat, Horcalus watched the boy’s chest rise and fall. Rather than escape the moment they had pulled up onto shore, Arthur had chosen to remain with them. Could it be that the young man was also on the run from the law? He was certainly hiding something…
But Horcalus wasn’t worried. Arthur was well-mannered and one hundred times more pleasant than Plake. If the boy had a skeleton or two in his closet, it couldn’t be worse than the Renegades’.
After waking Plake and Arthur and calling Othello back to the boat, Horcalus said, “Arthur, I need you to take Othello into Port Town to see what you can learn. You are the only one of us who knows the city.”
He hated involving the boy further, but what choice did he have?
“I’ll have to stay away from the northern docks,” Arthur said. “I’m supposed to be at work right now.”
“That is fine. Try not to get too close to Oars and Omens either if you can help it. Someone might recognize Othello from the brawl.”
“What about me?” Plake demanded. “Why can’t I go along?”
Horcalus took a calming breath. “You and I engaged the city guards in battle. They will likely remember us. Leave your bow, Othello, and do not take too many risks. Learn what you can of what happened to Ragellan and return as quickly as possible.”
As Arthur and the archer walked into the trees, Horcalus prayed that he was not sending them to their deaths. Othello was a godsend in the countryside, but would he prove as valuable in a crowded city?
Horcalus needed something to take his mind off his worries and began to look around in the boat for something to do. They still had the supplies Othello had bought with Klye’s money, but the archer hadn’t bought any food. Klye had planned to take care of that on their way out of the city.
Among the contents of one sack were the swords Othello had bought for Plake and Klye as well as a coil of rope and some small bedrolls.
“Hey, do you know how to use these?” Plake asked, holding up a mass of nets he had found on the floor of the boat.
Horcalus’s stomach growled at the thought of roasted fish. “I’ve never fished with nets before,” he admitted, “but how hard can it be?”
Pushing all of his concerns for Ragellan and the others from his mind, Horcalus sat down beside Plake and joined the rancher in untangling the nets.
Passage XII
Klye had greatly underestimated Leslie Beryl.
While he had been recovering from the arrow’s poison, Port Town’s Renegade Leader had not been idle. She had devised a plan to disrupt Pistol’s execution, weaving Klye and his band into her design whether he liked it or not. Oh, he might refuse, but how would he find Horcalus and the others—not to mention rescue Chester Ragellan—without her aid?
“We both want the same things, Klye,” Leslie had said. “And my plan is solid.”
“I’ll need to at least get a look at the jail,” he had said. “You don’t think I just walked up to the Citadel Dungeon without doing some research first, do you?”
“It’s very risky,” she had argued.
“You don’t have to come along.”
That had earned him a smug look—as well as her company.
Now he, Leslie, and Scout were on their way to the prison. He tried to look relaxed as he and his companions made their way through unfamiliar neighborhoods, heading circumspectly toward the prison. But inside, he was on edge.
He couldn’t afford to worry about Ragellan and the others. He had to think about himself and keep his senses attuned to the here and now. Besides, Leslie had assured him that her Renegades were searching the city for Horcalus, Plake, and Othello. And he believed her.
“What a mess,” Klye muttered.
Leslie laughed. She wore a small cap that kept most of her hair off her neck and shoulders. She still wore Veldross’s shirt but had abandoned the gray coat she had brought from the Cathedral. It was too warm a day for the cloak not to look suspicious.
Scout walked up ahead of them, nonchalantly guiding around the patrols of city guardsmen and toward mostly empty avenues. Since it was the middle of the day, the man was unable to fit the black hood into his ensemble. Instead, Scout’s unruly hair was trapped beneath a dark blue kerchief.
“That’s a terrible disguise. He looks like a pirate,” he said to Leslie. “And if you’re trying to look like a man, you’re failing miserably. You need a fake beard to cover your smooth cheeks and padded clothes to hide your curves…not to mention the way you walk.”
“What about the way I walk?” she snapped without losing her confident smile. “Should I walk as though I have boulders in my trousers?”
Klye smiled in spite of himself. Ever since Scout had interrupted their conversation that morning, Leslie had once more donned the role of Renegade Leader, burying her burdens beneath an act of bravado. Her playfulness was part of the charade, a way to help her distance herself from the reality of all the danger they faced.
Klye didn’t blame her, though. He was doing the same thing.
“It could be worse,” Klye said. “For the daughter of a mayor, your walk is not as feminine as it might be, but you do still lead with your hips.”
“‘Not as feminine as it might be’? And what the hell is that supposed to mean, Mister Tristan?”
Klye shrugged. “Some women practically dance as they move about. They have a certain grace that you lack…which is a good thing, if you are in the habit of pretending to be a man.”
Leslie opened her mouth to retort, but at that moment, they spotted Scout walking toward them.
“We’re almost there,” he said, “but I don’t think we should go to the prison.”
“Why not?” Klye asked.
Scout lowered his voice. “I’m pretty sure we’re being followed.”
Klye resisted the urge to turn around. Having been at odds with the law for practically his entire life, he knew better.
“Who is following us?” Leslie asked, keeping her voice low and calm.
“I think there are only two of them, but I couldn’t get a good look at them. Whoever they are, they’re good.” Scout scratched his head sheepishly. “But we really should steer clear of the prison. If our pursuers are guardsmen, they’ll be able to call for reinforcements at the jail. There’s an alley not far ahead. We could ambush them there. If you two are up for it.”
“Let’s do it,” Klye answered, before Leslie could beat him to it.
* * *
Arthur tried to avoid the eyes of the other people walking up and down the lanes, fearing that any one of them might somehow know he was not where he was supposed to be.
He was starting to have second thoughts about leading Othello through the streets of Port Town. The tall Renegade was intimidating to be around even when the others were around, let alone one on one. And if half of what Plake had told him were true, Othello was a cold-blooded killer on top of being a rebel.
In truth, Arthur didn’t really know where he was supposed to be taking Othello. He knew the city’s layout to some extent, but he hadn’t the slightest idea where they should go to learn about Horcalus’s friend.
When he had agreed to be a guide, he had only wanted to impress the former Knight of Superius. Now he felt lost.
“Stop.” It was the first word Othello had spoken all day.
“Why?” Arthur whispered.
Without answering, Othello turned from the path Arthur had chosen and down a side street. He had been planning to take the Renegade to West Market, but now Othello was the one leading, Arthur had no idea where they were heading.
They walked for a little while before Arthur realized that they were shadowing a man and a woman. The couple was too far ahead for Arthur to get a good look at them. Not that he expected to know them. The only people in Port Town that he was acquainted with were dockhands and pier guards.
Othello slowed when a second man joined the couple. Moments later, they disappeared between two tall brick
buildings. Arthur followed.
He rounded the corner to find the three strangers waiting for them.
A woman grabbed him by his shoulders and slammed her knee into his groin. He fell to the ground, grasping for air and trying not to vomit. As he curled up into a ball, he heard the sounds of a scuffle. Absently, he wondered if Othello was killing the woman and her friends as effectively as he had killed the woodsmen from the tale Plake told.
Then someone was helping him back up to his feet. He did his best to stand, willing himself not black out, as he leaned against the side of a building.
“Sorry, kid. We couldn’t take any chances,” the woman said.
Blinking back his tears, he studied her face and was surprised to find she looked familiar. He didn’t know any women in Port Town, except for the trollops that sometimes joined Two-Hands and the others in the glen. How did he know her?
“Leslie Beryl!” he blurted. “You’re the mayor’s daughter…a…a Renegade!”
“Keep it down!” she said, her brow creased in irritation. “Are you sure you know these guys, Klye?”
Arthur straightened up and saw the black-haired man pat Othello on the shoulder.
“I should have guessed it was you when Scout said he couldn’t give you the slip,” the man—Klye—said. “Don’t you remember Othello, Leslie? He was with me the first time I came to the Cathedral.”
“Didn’t recognize him without the priestly robes,” Leslie said with a dismissive shrug.
“Are Horcalus and Plake alive?” Klye asked Othello.
Everyone seemed to have forgotten Arthur, who was fighting the instinct to bolt.
“Yes,” Othello replied. “They are waiting for us to bring back word about you and Ragellan.”
Leslie peeked beyond one of the corner walls. “No one seems to be around right now. I suggest we go find your men, Klye. The prison can wait.”
“Agreed,” Klye said. Then, addressing the archer, he added, “Take us to them.”
* * *
Rebels and Fools (The Renegade Chronicles Book 1) Page 12
