On the freight wagon, Ulin glanced back at Lucy and saw the expression on her face. It probably mirrored his own. His grandfather, Caramon, had been in Flotsam many years before when the Blue Lady’s dragonarmy made the town its headquarters, and he remembered some of his grandfather’s tales about the town. He looked to find some of the landmarks Caramon mentioned, yet nothing looked the way he thought it should. Where the city wall and its guard towers once stood, he saw only the rubble of its foundations and cut stones scattered across the fields. Where the busy wharves had been, there was only empty water and the bones of old pilings. Two wharves had been rebuilt to service the fishing fleet and the few merchants that sailed in, but the breakwater and its beacon had been destroyed and most of the warehouses were ashes. What was left of Flotsam after thirty years under Malys’s iron claw was perhaps half the original population and the seediest, most dilapidated collection of shops, tenements, taverns, and bawdy houses Ulin could imagine.
The people who hurried out of these buildings to welcome the caravan were hardly any better. The denizens of Flotsam were almost as varied as Sanction’s, including various humans, kender, and a scattering of half-elves, wild elves, dwarves, hobgoblins, ogres, and gully dwarves. The difference was that while Sanction’s people looked fed and prosperous under their circumstances, these people were ragged, thin, and harassed.
They seemed happy enough at the moment, though, as they cheered the caravan’s arrival. Children ran to the wagons and clung to the sides for a ride into town. Ulin found himself with five boys of varied ages hanging like sprites on the wagon and two more riding his oxen. They all grinned and waved to him.
Ulin returned their greeting and tried to look pleased. He combed his fingers through his wind-tangled hair, straightened his loose robes, and waved back to the people. It would be good, he thought, to claim the father’s body and get out of Flotsam as soon as possible. Maybe, if their luck held, they could return to Khuri-Khan with Garzan’s wagons within the next few days.
Following Akkar-bin and his guards, the wagons rumbled into Flotsam past the razed city walls and between the jumble of crude buildings. Years before, in more prosperous days, the streets had been paved with stone. In recent times, however, the stones had been removed for repair or rebuilding purposes, and now the streets ran dry and dusty through out the town. A few wooden sidewalks lined the main road, and a group of enterprising storekeepers had put up water troughs and hitching posts in front of their crude storefronts.
In the center of town, located just behind the wharf area, was the town’s marketplace where a few struggling merchants, farmers, and fishermen came to sell their wares in canopied stalls or open carts. Akkar-bin, ignoring waves and greetings, led his wagons to the open market and parked them in two rows of five. With the skill of long practice, the drivers quickly set to work. Several set up Garzan’s colorful booth while the rest unhitched and led away the oxen before anyone could offer to buy them or try to steal them. The Khurs took no chances with their transportation.
Ulin pulled his wagon into line with a sigh of relief. Wearily, he applied the brake and dropped the whip. His small passengers dropped off and came around to accost him. Their grinning faces looked up at him hopefully, and their hands reached out to him.
“Spare a few coppers, sir?” implored the loudest of the lot. “Just a few? We haven’t eaten in days,”
Akkar-bin strode over to them before Ulin could respond. His whip cracked in the air, scattering them in all directions. “Be off, ye greedy little street urchins!” he yelled.
“Master Akkar!” Lucy’s voice snapped with the speed of the Khur’s whip. “How dare you? They are just hungry little boys.”
Akkar-bin coiled his whip and shrugged. With more patience than Ulin would have given him credit for, he replied, “Mistress Lucy, they are merely emissaries. If you give them even the tiniest copper, they and every other child in town will be hovering around you every time you set foot out a door. They are incorrigible beggars.”
Ulin jumped down from the wagon to forestall further argument from his tenderhearted betrothed. “Master Akkar,” he said, “It is time to complete our business.”
The caravan master nodded and drew a leather bag out of his voluminous waistband. “Your coins, as stated in the contract. The sword must be returned, of course.”
“You may keep the sword, Ulin of Solace, as a gift from me,” a familiar voice called out. The Silver Fox appeared behind Akkar-bin. He had changed out of his sand-colored clothing to a faded blue tunic trimmed with gray fox fur and flowing pants. A dingy yellow burnoose hid his silver hair and pointed ears. Several men were with him, and one carried a small ironbound chest. “The price as agreed with Garzan,” Lysandros said, indicating the box.
The Khur shouted an order to two of his drivers. Moments later they returned, carrying the crate of “Wool Dye” Ulin had opened.
Ulin’s eyes narrowed. So, the Khur merchant who dealt with the Knights of Neraka also sold arms to the rebels in the red dragon’s realm. The man’s reach was wide indeed.
Lysandros opened the crate in front of Akkar-bin and lifted a corner of the dye bags. He nodded with satisfaction and passed the small chest to the caravan master. “Tell Garzan we will take more when he can send another shipment.”
The Khur turned to go, his business finished, when Lucy caught his arm and indicated the bay horse hitched to the cook wagon. “Master Akkar-bin, I would like to buy that horse.” She ran hand down the animal’s neck. “We will need a horse for the return journey, and I have become rather fond of this one.”
The old Khur’s expression did not change. “The horse is stolen. If it wasn’t for your help with the bandits, we might have lost the caravan. Keep the horse.” Pivoting on his heel, he strode away to supervise the unloading of the cargo.
Lucy watched him go, her lips parted in surprise. “I guess that was his way of saying thank you.”
The captain chuckled. “Knowing Akkar-bin, that was the closest thing to a compliment he’s ever given. Just don’t let any Dark Knights see that brand.”
Ulin pulled the sword out from under the wagon seat and laid it with the others in the crate. The half-elf watched, his arms crossed. “I gave that weapon to you, Ulin. Do you refuse it?”
The young Majere bowed. “I am grateful, but I do not want to be obligated to someone in a town I must leave so quickly.”
Lysandros’s rich laugh filled the space between the wagons. “Whether you go or stay, you will need a weapon around here. Keep it. Do not worry about obligation.”
Annoyance flickered in the back of Ulin’s mind. He did not want to accept a sword from this man, for honor demanded that he find some way to repay the rebel leader for this generous gift, but to refuse it now would be an insult. Hiding a scowl, he belted the sword to his waist and tried to appear pleased.
With a brief bow, the captain bade farewell to the newcomers, and with his men, he blended into the crowd with the skill of a pickpocket.
“Thought he’d never leave,” grumbled Challie. “Now, bring your gear. There are some people who want to meet you.”
“Does this have anything to do with my father?” Lucy asked wearily.
“It does. The city council has been waiting for some time, hoping to meet you. I thought they could give you news about him, perhaps tell you more about how he, uh, died.”
Lucy said nothing. She and Ulin eyed the magistrate for a moment then looked at each other and hoisted their packs to their backs. Wordlessly, they followed the dwarf out of the marketplace and into the streets.
Lucy, keeping a firm grip on her horse’s halter, brought up the rear of the little group as the magistrate led them along a street that followed the curve of the harbor. Clusters of rickety one-story buildings sat on both sides of the street. Each had a crude name painted above the door, and from the racket of raucous voices, loud music, and the occasional crack of breaking furniture, the buildings were taverns and gaming houses
with several gaily painted bawdy houses for variation. The businesses and streets in this area were busy even at this time of day with hawkers, pickpockets, barkers, and a rowdy clientele that did not seem to have much else to do in the day’s heat.
Ulin and Lucy stared at the streets and buildings in a mix of distaste and amazement. Every edifice in town appeared to be hastily thrown together from whatever building material was available at the time. One enterprising tavern keeper had hauled an old wrecked carrack out of the water, cut off her masts and rudder, planted her keel in the dirt, and opened for business under the name of The Ship Wreck. Other people used crates or old ship timbers, stones from the city walls, canvas, and even whale bones to construct a hodgepodge of homes, shops, and businesses. Nothing was the same, and nothing looked strong enough to survive a good wind.
The other characteristic of Flotsam the travelers noticed immediately was the smell. In the heat of early summer on a windless day like this one, the odors rose from the town in powerful waves that assaulted the nostrils of new arrivals who had not had time to become inured to the stench. Ulin recognized the smells of tar, horse manure, refuse of all kinds, dead fish, and poor sanitation before he gave up and tried to breath through his mouth. He just hoped the sea breeze would pick up very soon.
Following the curve of the harbor, the small group soon arrived at a complex of large stone buildings on the northwest shore, directly across the water from the Rock. Most of the outer buildings had collapsed into rubble, but the main wing still stood. Scorched by old fires and missing part of its roof, it remained a silent testimony to the skill of its original builders.
“This used to be the barracks of the Black and White armies stationed here before the Chaos War,” Challie said before anyone could ask. “Malys has burned it several times, but I think it has protective wards built into the walls. It won’t fall down.”
“What is it now?” asked Ulin.
“Our lord mayor uses it as his city hall.”
A laugh welled out of Lucy. “This place has a mayor?”
The dwarf nodded, her dark eyes unblinking. “To give him credit, he tries.”
The title of lord mayor triggered a memory in Ulin’s mind of another detail from his grandfather’s tales. “What happened to Highmaster Toede?”
“Who?” Lucy said.
“He was a hobgoblin who wormed and kicked his way into a position of power in the service of the Dragon Highlord.” Ulin explained. “He was lord mayor of Flotsam for years.”
Challie agreed with his description. “The old monster died about five years ago after Malys razed his manor and everything else on the Rock.”
Ulin found his gaze searching the rocky headland for landmarks he’d heard about. Nothing was there. The Rock had been stripped bare of Toede’s two-story manor, the inn called the Saltbreeze, the treasury, and every hut, house, shed, or outhouse all the way down to the wharves at its base.
“The Red Marauder has been rather hard on this town,” Challie observed.
An obvious understatement, thought Ulin.
A party of four waited for them on the step in front of the old barracks. They greeted Challie warmly then turned to meet the two new arrivals with barely concealed relief.
Challie made the introductions. “Ulin, Lucy, this is Lord Mayor Efrim Getani and the Flotsam City Council.”
Mayor Efrim bowed stiffly, and Ulin feared for a moment the mayor would not be able to straighten up again. The man was at least as old as his grandfather and not nearly as hale. His fragile body swayed within his red robes that seemed several sizes too big for him. Pushing on his cane, he managed to lever himself to an upright position and bestow a toothless smile on everyone. A thin beard framed his narrow face and continued in a ring of white around his bald head.
“Mayor Efrim was a pirate once,” Challie said, eyeing the old man with a glint of irritable respect. “He and my grandfather fought together.”
“Saved your life, too, you old rascal,” Efrim said through toothless gums.
“And he thinks I’m my grandfather,” the dwarf added to her two companions.
“I, however, suffer no such delusions,” said the second man. He was much younger, perhaps in his fifties, and the only portly man they had seen so far in Flotsam. His round face sweated profusely in the hot afternoon sun, and he constantly wiped it with a damp handkerchief. He took the mayor’s arm to help support him. “I am Geoff Aylesworthy of the Flotsam City Council. I am also the owner of the Jetties, the finest inn in Flotsam. Please allow me to reserve two rooms for you at my establishment.”
“Take them,” suggested Challie. “He’s not kidding. He does have the best inn since the Saltbreeze burned down. I’ve had a room there for several months.”
“And a stall, too?” Lucy asked.
Aylesworthy mopped his face again. “Of course. It will be my pleasure to have you stay.”
“HowlongareyouplanningtostayinFlotsam?” inquired the third person. Shorter than Challie, the diminutive, bright-eyed male was a gnome with rich brown skin, a snowy-white beard braided in two braids, and a large nose. He had a small lantern tied to his stiff hat and a fistful of small tools on his belt. His clothes were dusty and smudged with something gray. Like most gnomes, he tended to talk so quickly his words bumped and ran together into a bouncing stream of words.
Mayor Efrim held a skinny hand to his ear. “Notwen, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Slow down.”
“Only until I identify my father’s body,” Lucy answered before the gnome had to ask again.
A glance, so swift Ulin almost missed it, passed among the council members.
“Ah, yes. Kethril Torkay,” the fourth elder said in a voice meant to be comforting. “A fine man. We shall miss him, dear.”
Lucy curled her lip. “You didn’t know him then.”
The innkeeper chuckled. “We all knew of him, Lady Lucy. He was a man of many talents.”
“Quite,” she replied dryly. “Then can you tell me where his body lies?”
Again that lightning swift look of communication passed between the elders. Aylesworthy barely nodded.
“Unfortunately, we have suffered a miscommunication,” said the fourth council member. She was an elderly lady, almost as old as Mayor Efrim, but her body was not as frail, and when she tilted her head to look at Lucy, Ulin saw the clear glint of a sharp intelligence behind her deep set eyes. Challie introduced her simply as Saorsha.
“We don’t know exactly where he is,” Mayor Efrim said. At least he had the decency to look red-faced and embarrassed.
Lucy’s green eyes darkened. This was difficult enough without these four old politicians acting stupid. She reached into her pack and pulled out the worn, folded letter her family had received. She flipped it open and waved in their faces. “You asked us here on this trumped-up tale to view my father’s remains,” she said angrily. “Now where is he?”
Ulin, wary now, studied the faces of the elders and the dwarf around him to note their reactions. If the blank look Challie gave the council was feigned, then the dwarf was a consummate actress. The rest of the council appeared worried and very uneasy. About what? Ulin wondered.
Mayor Efrim recovered first. He puffed out his thin chest and replied, “He has been buried, of course.”
“Of course,” Lucy said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “We know that.”
“Oh. Um, where did they bury the body?” Efrim fumbled and turned to the innkeeper.
Aylesworthy fluttered a pudgy hand. “That is the problem, remember Mayor? We don’t really know. We asked our usual burial detail to put the corpse in a safe place.” He sighed. “They hid it so well, they cannot remember where they put it.”
“How convenient,” Lucy muttered. “What do you plan to do about this difficulty?”
Mayor Efrim spread out his hands in a reassuring gesture. “Search for him, of course! We haven’t done so yet simply because we were not certain you would accept ou
r offer. Please! Allow us to find his body for you. It should only take a few days, and it would be our pleasure to have you stay in our town.”
Lucy pursed her lips and studied the elders. Something was not right with this situation. She knew the elders were not being entirely truthful with her, and she could sense Challie had something to hide, too. But what? If her father was not dead, why bother lying about it? And if his body was truly missing or destroyed, why couldn’t they just admit it?
It was too confusing. She was hot, tired, and weary of travel. She could see the exhaustion on Challie’s face, too, and the hollows under Ulin’s eyes. They all needed rest. If the city council was willing to help her, she could give them four or five days to prove it. If she didn’t have her father’s body by then, or at least a reasonable explanation of his disappearance, she would take matters into her own hands. She looked up into Ulin’s eyes and saw the same suspicious glint she knew must be in her own. He tilted his chin down and winked once, and she knew without asking that he would accept whatever decision she made.
Lucy extended her hand as if to seal a deal. “Thank you, Mayor Efrim. I accept your offer.”
Innkeeper Aylesworthy was as good as his word. He hurried away after the meeting on the steps, and by the time Ulin, Lucy, and Challie had walked to the Jetties on the south side of Flotsam, he had two adjoining rooms and a stall cleaned and ready for them. The Jetties proved to be a ramshackle, sprawling building that looked like it had been thrown together by shoving several different houses together and tacking on a few sheds for good measure. Its main room and bar occupied the central space in an edifice faced with chunks of stone mortared together like a puzzle.
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