Fotis smiled. “I'll have to visit soon. But Azmar is fine for now. Maybe I'll find myself another ship. This time when I sail for Leith I won't be taking any jaunts through the Shipbreakers.”
Argus and Nasira looked at each other, silent.
“Oh,” the old man said. “Oh I—that's all right. If you two want to go on ahead I understand. You don't know me—”
“That's right,” said Argus. “I don't know you, and I sure don't trust you. The only reason I believe you are who you say you are is because you look identical to that statue on Davos.”
“Fair words, strong and true. Spoken like a man. A son to be proud of.”
“Stop it. I warned you. You may be my kin, old man, but I know you not.”
“Argus,” said Nasira. “Let it rest. At least for tonight. It's my boat, and your father is welcome on it. We'll part ways in Azmar. No one deserves to be stranded here all alone.” Her eyes narrowed. “Even if they are a bastard.”
Fotis held up his palms. “Aye. I've been called much worse, lady, and deserve it tenfold over. You have my gratitude.” He turned to Argus. “And I'm sorry. Truly.”
Argus turned away and shut his eyes. Part of him wanted to explain that he wasn't actually monstrous enough to strand his own father on the deserted platform. He'd just wanted to make him sweat for a while first. Wanted to make his father feel just a fraction of the pain he'd carried for so long it might as well have been a birthmark.
Instead, he decided to sleep.
He lay there while Nasira and his father talked softly by the fire. Fotis had a facility for storytelling. Every time Argus felt himself drifting off, his father would bring him back with a dramatic heist or pirate raid or mercenary battle. He shared his adventures with such zest that, although every sane listener must have known he was taking liberties with the truth, they would forgive him for the exaggerations.
His adventures, Argus thought. Those belong to him, I have my own. At least a few of those tales should have been theirs… but they weren't.
His father was talking about spearfishing in Harlock when Argus drifted to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
In the morning they walked down the hill toward the sea.
Argus kept peeking over his shoulder. The city of Eld was shrinking, and he wanted to remember every detail. He had a persistent, dreadful feeling that he'd never see the place again. His heart couldn't decide if that was a good thing.
Nasira led them east, to the opposite edge of the Cradle where Argus had landed. They followed a stream right into a forest, except where most forests were unruly this one had a path cut through it. Time had left it unkempt, with weeds crowding in, tickling the backs of their knees.
They were surrounded by graves.
Willow had told them about the strange illness that killed off many of the last Cradlekeepers. Countless white grave markers melded into the undergrowth. Roots and moss and etched stone grew together as one.
At the end of that forest they reached a meadow. They followed it downward, scattering rabbits and squirrels, until it stopped sloping and they heard waves.
“There's my boat,” Nasira said. “Think she'll get us to Azmar?”
“She's a beauty,” Fotis said. “She'll do, lady.”
“Nasira. Call me Nasira.”
“Right. She'll do just fine, Nasira. Anything's better than being stuck here. I'm not keen on a repeat of our time down in that dungeon.”
“Neither am I,” said Argus. “Wait. Is your boat covered in metal?”
Nasira smiled. “That's right. That's what got me through the Shipbreakers in one piece.”
As they walked closer, Argus saw that most of the metal was dented. Black streaks covered both sides, like the god Remor himself had surfaced and raked his fingernails across the craft.
“She'll do,” said Fotis, “but how in the blazes does she float?”
Nasira launched into a lecture about buoyancy and physics and other concepts they didn't understand. She was still talking when they boarded and pushed out to sea. They set sail, and with a favorable breeze, got along at a nice clip.
“There's the first of 'em!” Fotis yelled from the bow. Argus looked up ahead. Four rocks sprouted above the waves, clustered like a diamond.
Nasira yelled for them to huddle in the middle of the deck. Fotis retreated from the bow and Argus came up from the stern and everyone found a place in the floorboards.
“This is the best part,” Nasira said. “My favorite part of experiments is putting my theories to the test.”
Argus looked at her, shaking his head. The sea roared. Waves slung them around, filling the tiny boat with water. Rocks that had splintered countless others loomed…
And the girl from the Comet Tail Isles was smiling.
* * *
Two days later they reached Azmar. The harbor was almost empty with the Turning coming to an end.
“What in the blazes is this?” a customs officer said. While they usually stepped aboard ships as cavalier as pirate captains, this man lingered nervously on the dock with his ledger.
“What does it look like?” Argus said. “It's a boat. It's floating, isn't it?”
The customs officer scowled. “You'd tell me if that iron were stolen, I presume.”
“Of course,” said Nasira, smiling, trying to smooth things over. “I bought it from an amiable merchant in Harlock.”
“Sounds expensive.” The officer put one foot on deck, testing it. Once he was sure it wouldn't sink he climbed in and started going through their things. “Hmm, nothing out of the ordinary here. Though one has to wonder why you'd waste the iron covering such an unremarkable ship.”
“Wasn't wasted,” Fotis said, and puffed out his chest. “Got us through the Shipbreakers in one piece.”
Watch your tongue, old man. We don't need any more questions.
The customs officer offered a wan smile. “You're the third sailor today saying he threaded the Shipbreakers, and it isn't even noon. Forgive me if I'm skeptical.”
“Don't mention it,” Argus said. “He's still drunk from last night.”
The customs officer pounded his boot in the stern. “This must weigh twice as much as other boats her size. I'll have to double the slip fee, what with all the iron.”
Fotis groaned.
The officer ignored him, opened his ledger instead. “I'll need your names and how long you plan to stay.”
Argus looked at Nasira. “One week for now,” she said, and forked over the exorbitant fee. They disembarked and brushed past a few Olive Cloaks, who'd gathered with some dockworkers to marvel at their boat.
Once they were out of earshot Fotis said, “Since when did they decide to charge by weight? That's mad. Lord Syrio's gone absolutely—”
“It's nothing,” Nasira said. “They were counterfeits. That's the only way to deal with imbeciles like those.”
“Oh, well now I feel much better. Don't suppose I could trouble you for a hot meal? I'm famished.”
Nasira smiled. “It's the least I can do after putting you through that ordeal at the Shipbreakers. Do you know a place, Argus?”
He pointed up the hill, toward the heart of Azmar. “I used to eat at the Sagebrush Inn all the time. Best potato soup in the city. Turn right on Lion Street and look for the little green awnings. You can't miss it.”
“You aren't coming?” Fotis said. “If you're half as hungry as I am you're salivating over the thought of some—”
“No.”
Nasira sighed. “So it's straight back to Davos, then?”
“That's right.” He peered into the empty harbor and his eyes narrowed. “As soon as I find a captain willing to take me on.”
The Comet Tailer grabbed his arm, and held it while he tried to wiggle away. “Just come eat with us. Say your goodbyes after a meal and some good ale.”
Argus scanned the paltry selection of street vendors near the docks. Usually they numbered in the hundreds, offering cuisine from eve
ry corner of the world. But today most of them were probably still drunk or sleeping off the last night of the Turning. All the while he searched, his stomach rumbled. “Fine. Just one meal.”
Nasira smiled. “Lead the way.”
They walked through the western gate and onto Urbek Way. The wreckage from the Turning reminded Argus of all the splintered wood swirling around the Shipbreakers. One usually had to jostle his way into Azmar's heart, and not be afraid to throw an elbow or two when the situation warranted.
This morning Urbek Way was mostly empty.
They picked their way past sleeping revelers and a slew of overturned bottles. Soon those sleepers would wake. More than a few would feel a spike of terror when they found a strange lover beside them, then separate as quickly as they could and pretend nothing had happened. Tomorrow, all but a select few would don scarlet debtor robes, and Lord Syrio's money machine would hum back to life.
“Look at that,” Fotis said.
One unlucky bastard's fun was about to end in dramatic fashion. When Argus squinted he made out a wooden platform up ahead, in Velia Square. Workers swarmed around it, driving nails into the structure.
“Not the best way to end the Turning,” Argus said, and wondered what the criminal had done to deserve a trip to the gallows. The platform they were building was enormous. Quite the spectacle.
At last they passed the gallows, and turned off Urbek Way in search of the best potato soup in Azmar.
* * *
The innkeeper was in a sour mood, but when Nasira flashed her dragons he agreed to serve them. They slid into one of the few booths unoccupied by his sleeping friends and relatives.
“I'll go wake my wife,” he said. “In the meantime I'd appreciate it if you kept your voices down.”
Nasira nodded. “Of course.”
So they whispered and smelled the tantalizing soup aroma. Argus reclined in the booth, listening to Fotis's stories, reminding him often to lower his voice. He heard bustling sounds back in the kitchen. Smelled chives and cheese and other delicious herbs. He held his stomach with his eyes closed, reminding himself not to fall into his father's web.
That was the trouble with men like Fotis. They were charming enough to make you forget how they'd wronged you in the past. You always had to be on guard, vigilant about not drifting too close before they plunged the dagger in your back.
At last the innkeeper's wife brought their soups. Not a word passed between them until all three bowls were empty and the innkeeper collected them for more. They devoured their second serving, and then a third. Scraping spoons woke a few of the revelers, who looked too confused to say anything.
Patting his belly, Fotis stood. “Well, that was everything you said it'd be, so—Argus.” He smiled. “I better be off. A few loose ends here need tying up. Then I'll see about finding another ship for Leith.” He extended his hand, waiting for his son to take it.
Argus did. Even after all the soup it felt cold and clammy. They looked at each other for what felt like forever before Argus's eyes found refuge in his empty bowl. There were a thousand things to say. Apologies to make. Well-wishes to offer.
But there was only silence.
Freshly exhumed from the graveyard in Argus's mind, Fotis pumped his hand then released it. He thanked Nasira for the soup and told her to take care of herself. Argus kept his eyes on his bowl, studying the greasy cheese residue. His body was rigid. He couldn't move if he wanted to.
“Farewell,” his father said.
Argus felt those eyes on him, boring into the side of his face. Eyes the same sea green as his own.
The inn door opened and closed, and when Argus looked up his father had disappeared somewhere beyond those filthy windows.
“I'm sorry,” said Nasira, sounding far away. She laid a hand on his shoulder and this time he was too tired to wrench away.
So that's it, then.
Fotis lived. He lived when he shouldn't, and now Argus would have to try something he didn't even know was possible.
He'd go back to that graveyard, where people like Willow and Harun gathered. Then he'd bury his father for the second time.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“What now?” Nasira said.
She had been talking for a while. Argus was too preoccupied to pay attention. A part of him felt that his father had left to spare him from any more disappointment. He felt that way, but he didn't know it. Without trust to rely on, knowing was impossible.
“Now I leave,” Argus said. The Five Branches were waiting back on Davos. His notes and his studies. Once he cocooned himself from the outside world again, maybe he'd find solace.
“Come with me to find Siggi,” Nasira said. “Didn't you want to apologize?”
“Can't you do that for me?”
She shook her head.
“It won't work, Nasira.”
“What won't work?”
“Try to delay me all you want, but I'm going back to Davos.”
She glanced around the inn, busying her eyes even though there was nothing of interest to be found. “You shouldn't. Not like this. Whatever you're doing out there—”
“I'm learning. Just like you.”
“You're losing yourself.”
“I've been lost ever since I left Leith.”
“Stop it! You have friends here. Your story doesn't have to end this way.”
Argus played with his soup spoon, swirling it around the empty bowl. “Friends like my father?”
“Just because he wasn't one before doesn't mean he can't become one now. He would love that—if you let him.”
“That'll happen when he finds a way to bring my mother back to life and reverse my exile.” He got up and give Nasira a quick hug. “Good luck. I hope you find what you're looking for. The Comet Tail needs you.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Likewise. Whatever it is you're looking for.”
Argus left the inn, and as he wandered toward the harbor he realized that he didn't really know. Davos was peaceful when he'd returned. A quiet life away from the battlefield. But there was no peace. There were only the Five Branches. The desperate need to know.
He kept walking until he reached the harbor. The docks were quiet except where they'd moored Nasira's ironclad boat. A small crowd had gathered there, chattering and offering wild theories about how it was made.
“It's magic, by Blegga!” cried a burly Rivannan. “It shouldn't float but it does!” While the man was shouted down by the others, Argus scoured the harbor in search of a ship.
Of the few captains he found, most didn't have the slightest interest in sailing to a rubble like Davos. Argus tried expanding his offer to Calladon and Mael, the two nearest continents. Bad and worse. The Calladonians were embroiled in a nasty civil war—one that had raged ever since Eamon's empire fell apart. And Mael? Not a soul landed on that island and left to tell the tale. One Pellmerean had seemed just young and stupid enough to sail for Calladon. But when Argus offered all of his eighty dragons, he'd laughed in his face.
Which left him with just one option. His head pounded in the afternoon heat. More festival-goers were peeling themselves off the streets, just sober enough to clog the way. Argus jostled past them. His anger burned hotter with every step. By the time he finished searching dozens of brothels and seedy taverns, he was furious.
He'd left his coin purse back at the Hydra and the Fox, where he and Siggi had booked rooms before the Turning. Finding more dragons meant finding the Rivannan. The same one he'd almost killed in his sleep.
Wonderful, he thought. He could be anywhere. And knowing Siggi he's already spent it.
Sunburned and exhausted, Argus trudged into the inn. It was the last place he expected to find Siggi, who hardly went two nights sleeping under the same roof. But the Hydra and the Fox was the only place left to look.
The place was full but quiet. On a small stage, a beautiful woman with the telltale olive skin of Garvahn sang while sullen faces looked on. The boisterous laughter th
at had accompanied Argus's last night in the Hydra and the Fox was gone. Tonight Azmarites drank thoughtfully, staring into the bottom of their cups, trying to remember enough good times from this year's Turning to carry them through until the next.
One voice was louder than all the others. It belonged to a pot-bellied Rivannan who'd placed that belly strategically at the bar. Nasira whispered in his ear, and he threw back his head and laughed.
At last.
Argus strode over and pulled up a seat beside them.
“Hey!” said Siggi. “Look who it is.”
“Back so soon?” said Nasira.
Argus ordered an ale before facing them. “It was a long hot day down at the harbor. My biggest success was this sunburn.”
Siggi laughed and wrapped him in a bear hug. “Welcome back, old friend. Nasira was telling me everything that happened…” He looked around and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Over on that beautiful Cradle.”
“I'm glad you didn't find a ship,” Nasira said, holding up her glass to clink his. “Looks like we get one more night with you yet.”
Argus gulped down his ale. It cooled his insides, but did nothing to ease his feverish skin.
“Why'd you come back?” she said. “It isn't like you to come crawling back. Disagrees with your pride.”
“Pride is a luxury when all your dragons fly away. The one captain who seemed willing wanted thrice the amount I offered him.”
Siggi smiled. “Ah. Give me just a… there she is!” His hairy fingers flew through his pack until they produced a coin purse. “It's all there. Three hundred and fifty fire-breathers. Count it if you like. You'll have to come upstairs for the rest of your things. They're in my room.”
Wide-eyed, Argus took the coin purse. When he felt the heft of it he knew the Rivannan was telling the truth. “Thank you, my friend. If it's still within my rights to call you that.”
“Aye.” Siggi clinked his glass. “We served together in the Legion of the Wind. What's a little drunken scuffle? Keeps a man on his toes.”
Fortune's Toll (The Legion of the Wind, Book Two) Page 10
