“Lysandros’s men lashed them and left them in the desert to fend for themselves.” Mayor Efrim replied quietly. “He helps us when he can.”
“What happened to your previous sheriff?” Lucy asked, looking around the empty courtyard.
Saorsha, Aylesworthy, and Mayor Efrim avoided each other’s eyes. “He died a few months ago,” Saorsha said sadly. “Natural causes.”
“Yeah, he just naturally—” Pease started to say. His words abruptly cut off as Master Aylesworthy took an unfortunate trip over a stone and crashed into him. By the time Saorsha and Lucy picked up the kender, set him on his feet, and dusted him off, the conversation had been smoothly changed and the group moved toward the Sheriff’s Office.
Located near the front doors, the office was little more than a large room with a battered wooden desk that had seen many better days, one brass oil lamp, two chairs, and a barred holding cell built into the far corner. There were no personal items possibly belonging to the previous sheriff—no decorations, not even a rug on the bare wooden floors.
“It’s rather plain,” Saorsha admitted, “but it’s functional.”
“Boring is more to the point,” Challie said under her breath.
Lucy tore her eyes away from the bleak, impersonal room and stifled a shudder. “It’s close to noon, let’s get this over with.”
They went back outside into the hot noon sunlight. The crowd had grown larger, giving the impression that half the population of Flotsam had turned out for the brief ceremony to welcome the new sheriff. People pressed in close to the foot of the stairs and gathered in the roadway to watch.
Mayor Efrim held up his hands for silence. The onlookers, curious, obeyed until only the cry of seagulls broke the silence. “Raise your right hand and repeat after me,” he said to Lucy. “I give my oath to serve the city of Flotsam, to uphold the city laws, to keep the peace, and preserve the unity of its inhabitants. I will not abuse my power or authority beyond the law, nor will I break my oath. I solemnly swear.”
Lucy lifted her eyebrows as if to say, “That’s it?” and loudly repeated the oath so all could hear. Cheers and shouts burst out from the watching crowd.
“Good luck, Sheriff!” she heard one voice yell. “You’re going to need it!” Others laughed and made more comments she could not hear clearly over the hubbub.
Saorsha, Ulin, and Pease gave her hugs. She was about to ask Mayor Efrim to give the oath to her two deputies, when she became aware of an odd thudding noise. People in the crowd heard it, too, and immediately turned around to look at the harbor.
A strange small craft was moving across the water toward the small dock that served the city hall. The boat had a wide hull, a single flat deck, and a small cabin that was smoking profusely. There were no sails or masts or oars, only the strangest contraption in the stern that turned like a mill wheel and appeared to be driving the boat forward. Notwen leaned out of a cabin window and waved at the crowd.
A pale glitter of interest flickered in Ulin’s eyes. Spurred by curiosity, he walked down the stairs and pushed his way through the people until he reached the rocky edge of the harbor and the dock. He clambered onto the dock just as the odd craft pulled along side. He heard a whoosh of steam and the knocking sound stopped just as the boat bumped into the wooden piling. Notwen ran out of the cabin and threw Ulin a rope. The gnome grinned his thanks as Ulin snugged the boat close to the dock and tied the rope to a stanchion.
The gnome ducked back inside and came out trailing a long dirty-looking rag. His blue eyes shining, he took Ulin’s proffered hand and clambered onto the dock.
Ulin wanted to ask him questions about the boat, the steam, and the odd wheel in the back, but Notwen jogged off the dock toward the group on the stairs of the city hall. The onlookers parted for him, their expressions a collection of awe, respect, tolerant humor, and some suspicious dislike.
The gnome paid no heed. Breathlessly, he climbed the stairs, Ulin close behind him, and stopped in front of Lucy. His small face was red with exertion and excitement, and his white hair stuck out everywhere.
“If this is what I think it is,” he said to Lucy. “I want you to have it.” He held up a dirty, faded strip of cloth about three feet long.
Lucy and the others eyed it askance. “You’re kidding, right?” Challie asked.
“No, no. I found it in a clutter of old stuff in my laboratory. It must have belonged to Toede’s wizard. I don’t think it’s just a rag. It’s disguising itself, but it will only respond to a magic-wielder.” He thrust it forward. “Take it, Lucy.”
In the brief moment that Lucy hesitated to touch the dirty thing, Ulin almost snatched it out of Notwen’s hands. He suspected what the rag was, and every fiber of his being itched to touch the cloth and feel it respond to his power. Biting his lip, he laced his fingers behind his back and controlled his desire to claim it. It was too late for him. Besides, Notwen had brought the cloth to Lucy, and if it proved to be what Ulin suspected, she would need it more than he would.
“Take it, Lucy,” Ulin said softly. “You might be surprised.”
She gave Notwen a hesitant nod of thanks and gingerly took the cloth from his hands.
Everyone stared at it as if they expected it to grow wings and fly away, but nothing happened. The cloth lay in her hands, unchanged and unresponsive. She held it up in her hand and shook it. Still, nothing happened.
Notwen looked distressed. “I thought for sure …”
“Try casting a spell, Lucy,” Ulin suggested, “Just a small one.”
“Do you know what this is supposed to be?” she asked him.
“I think it is more than just cloth, but it may be dormant. You need to wake it up.”
Lucy’s eyes grew large. “ ‘Wake it up?’ ” she repeated dubiously. She held it out at arm’s length. The change in distance did nothing to improve its worn and tattered appearance. She might have wadded it up and shoved it in her belt if Notwen hadn’t looked up at her with those imploring blue eyes and Ulin hadn’t shifted from foot to foot like a child drawn by a new toy. “A spell, huh?” she muttered. “What if it doesn’t work?”
Saorsha and Aylesworthy looked on with interest. “What do you have to lose?” the councilwoman pointed out.
Good point. Lucy studied the old rag while she searched her memory for a simple spell, one of the easy ones she learned as an apprentice perhaps. There was an old cleaning spell she remembered that could be used for removing stains from fine fabrics. This cloth could hardly qualify as fine fabric, but if it was something else—something sentient?—maybe it would appreciate a cleaning. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the words of the spell and began the familiar process of drawing the power to her. A breeze wafted gently by, and she felt the cloth stir in her hand. Her eyes still closed, she hummed the words of her enchantment in her soft alto voice.
There was a sudden gasp as everyone took a gulp of air at the same time. Startled voices cried in amazement. Lucy opened her eyes and gasped herself. Two brilliant jewel-like eyes gazed up at her from the length of cloth that was no longer dirty, tattered, and faded. Instead the fabric had transformed to a glowing shade of emerald green and shimmered in her hands like silk shot with silver.
“I don’t think my spell did that!” she exclaimed in raw surprise.
Notwen capered around her. “I was right. It is. It is!”
“It is what?” Challie asked, her eyes huge. She reached out a tentative finger and touched the cloth. Its diamond eyes turned to stare unblinking at her, but it wrapped its trailing end protectively around Lucy’s arm.
The movement startled Lucy more than the color change, and she held the thing on her outstretched arm as if it were a large, poisonous spider. “What is this?”
The cloth immediately turned yellow.
Ulin smiled, pleased for her. “It’s a Vizier’s Turban. They’re extremely rare and totally harmless. Put it on your head.”
“Are you serious?”
“Ver
y. They love to be worn as hats, or veils, turbans, scarves … what have you. They’re symbiotic creatures. They attach themselves to wizards and sustain themselves on the power used to summon magic.”
Lucy almost balked in spite of Ulin’s calm words, for the thought of putting a strange living creature on her head to feed off her magic powers was rather frightening. “Will it do anything to me?” she asked cautiously.
“No,” Notwen said, his face full of delight, “in fact, it will help you. That’s why I brought it. Vizier’s Turbans give their partners a greater resistance to magic and an enhanced ability to cast spells.”
Pease jumped up and down, trying to see around the humans. “Put it on, Lucy, put it on!” he clamored. His cry was taken up by the spectators still crowded around the steps. Soon everyone was shouting, “Put it on! Put it on!”
The look in Ulin’s eyes finally made up Lucy’s mind. If he approved of this thing so much, it could not be that dangerous—she hoped. She would have given it to him, but she didn’t want to hurt the gnome’s feelings. Slowly she lifted her arm and let the creature slide down her upper arm to her shoulder. Once there, it slid around her head, curled over her brown braid, and took the shape of a small, feminine looking turban pinned together with two oval jewels. Happily, it settled in place and gazed down on the world around it. Its yellow color faded to a peaceful blue that matched the color of Lucy’s tunic.
A smile spread over her face. “It told me it is pleased!” she said, her tone rich with wonder. “This creature’s telepathic.”
Ulin held out his hand to Notwen. “Thank you,” he said.
The gnome took the mage’s hand in his own small one. “My pleasure. I brought something for you, too,” he said, and he pulled out a small parcel hastily wrapped in a shred of old linen.
Ulin took the small object and carefully unwrapped it. A pair of wire-rimmed spectacles fell shining into his fingers. “Pink lenses?” he asked dubiously.
“Rose, actually,” Notwen said. “They are Truth-seers. They are spelled to see through magic disguises and deceptions. I thought they might be handy when we go look for Kethril.”
Ulin stiffened. “We?” he repeated, his eyes narrowed.
The gnome pointed proudly toward the boat. “Dead Pirate’s Cove seems like a good place to start. It’s just across the bay. It takes two days if you ride a horse, but it only takes a day if you ride in my boat.”
Challie snorted in disbelief. “That thing goes in open water?”
“I haven’t tried it in the sea yet, but I’ve crossed the bay a time or two,” Notwen answered.
“When could we leave?” Ulin asked. He stared thoughtfully beyond the harbor entrance to the wide bay glittering in the afternoon sun. Although he’d had little time to give any thought to how he would find Kethril Torkay, he began to see some merit in Notwen’s offer.
The gnome lifted his slight shoulders in a shrug, “Now?”
“How about tomorrow?” Lucy suggested firmly. “You need time to pack, to collect supplies, to talk to Lysandros about this Dead Pirate’s Cove, and to pick some men to go with you.”
“Tomorrow it is,” Ulin agreed. That would have been his answer anyway. He wanted to stay in Flotsam long enough to see Lucy settled into her new job. “But,” he added, “I don’t think we need extra men. Too many people might scare off your father before we can get close. Who would be suspicious of a fisherman and a gnome?”
Lucy eyed him while she debated the usefulness of arguing with him, then she nodded once. “All right. If you two try the Cove, I’ll ask Lysandros to check some the outer-lying areas. And Mayor,” she rounded on Mayor Efrim, “if anyone in this town knows or hears anything about Kethril, they’d better tell me. Offer a reward.”
The mayor blanched but nodded. The city could ill afford a reward, but what difference would it make if Flotsam vanished into ashes?
The excitement over, the crowd dispersed, most going back to their work or pleasure. Some stayed and formed a line in front of the group on the steps. Many of them were the same people who had come to the inn at daybreak, and the looks of determination on their faces told Lucy that these would not leave so easily this time.
Lucy sighed. “You’d better deputize Challie and Pease,” she said to Mayor Efrim.
“And the half-ogres,” Saorsha suggested, pointing to the two silent sentries. Their thick lips pulled back in rough grins of acceptance.
The mayor quickly gave the oath to Challie, Pease, and the half-ogres whose names Lucy did not catch, then the entire party traipsed into the city hall to open the building for town business. Lucy discovered the mayor and his councilors had offices right across the hall from hers, a proximity she quickly learned to appreciate.
The first complainants barged in before Lucy and her deputies had time to make themselves comfortable in the stark room.
“His worm-ridden sheep broke into my arbor and destroyed ten healthy bearing vines!” yelled the farmer, his face livid from the remembered destruction.
The shepherd thrust his face close to the other man’s and yelled right back, “Well, maybe if you could tell a sheep from a goat, you’d know it was Widow Brownly’s goats that ate your vines!”
Pease shook his head wearily. He’d heard this argument before in the common room at the Jetties. “Tell Hanley to put up a fence,” he whispered to Lucy.
“Enough!” Lucy bellowed, effectively cutting off the argument. Her turban flared red with streaks of orange. “Now, if you please,” she said in a more normal tone of voice. “You.” She pointed to the farmer. “Anyone silly enough to have an arbor without a fence deserves some depredations. Put a fence around your grapes and don’t come back here to complain until it’s finished. And you,” she turned on the shepherd who choked on a snicker. “Help him build it and keep your sheep away from his fields.”
“What about Widow Brownly’s goats?” he sputtered.
“I will talk to her. Make a note of that, Challie.”
And so it went the rest of the afternoon. One after another, Flotsam citizens came to lodge complaints or protests about everything from watered ale and improperly set scales at the market to trespassing, a horse theft, forged coins, stolen goods, a missing donkey, an abusive landlord, and unpaid wages. Lucy would listen to the complaint, and more often than not either the gregarious kender or the magistrate knew about the incident and could offer some insight. The council provided her with a scroll listing the laws on Flotsam’s city charter, and although she tried to be fair and impartial, she had to consult with the mayor several times on certain points of the law before she could settle a dispute or make a decision.
Meanwhile, Challie took notes, collected fines, and filled out papers when needed. The half-ogres made everyone check their weapons at the door.
Notwen fixed the lock on the holding cell, then decided to go back to his boat to prepare it for the voyage across the bay. He paused once at the door and looked back to see Lucy sitting behind the desk, the turban perched contentedly on her head while it watched the goings-on with avid interest in its faceted eyes. A surge of worry and sadness flashed through Notwen’s mind. This situation made him uncomfortable, but he had done his best for her. The rest was up to the sorceress.
He waved to Ulin and ducked out, his mind already on fuel requirements, tools, parts needed, supplies, and instruments. His regret faded into the background behind the anticipation of the journey. He couldn’t wait until the next day.
Ulin stood behind Lucy as her silent bodyguard through the entire long, noisy afternoon. What he observed reassured him—as much as he was willing to be reassured. He still did not like Lucy in this position. Too many things could go wrong, and yet he saw nothing that afternoon that Lucy could not handle one way or another. The problems were minor, the people tried to cooperate, and most seemed satisfied with her decisions. Several even came to congratulate her or just to visit and found her warm and approachable. The farm girl with the vegetable cart in th
e market brought her a bowl of potatoes, and smiling, she set it on Lucy’s desk in a prominent position. Lucy chuckled and left the bowl in place. The potatoes posed a silent reminder of Lucy’s arcane power.
The golden light of sunset was fading into the western hills when the last citizen left the Sheriff’s Office and Lucy and her companions were able to close the door and go back to the Jetties for a long awaited meal. When she suggested leaving someone on duty, Mayor Efrim wearily waved off the idea.
“People know where to find you if there’s an emergency, and the Vigilance Force is keeping watch from the Rock.” He shook his head and his wispy beard swayed in the evening breeze. “We don’t expect you to keep this town peaceful and free of crime every hour of the day. It is too rough for that and would require a force of deputies larger than we may safely have. Just knowing you’re around will keep some of these rowdies in line.”
Lucy was too tired to argue.
Ulin, Lucy, and Challie had their evening meal in their room that night, for once not accompanied by Pease. His mother had put him to work in the kitchen. He brought them a tray covered with dishes and mugs and a pitcher of beer, and after setting their table, he wistfully bade them good night and returned to his duties. They ate well and gratefully and cleaned the plates down to the finish.
Afterward, Challie went to her room, but Lucy and Ulin sat back in their chairs and savored a last few hours together. They talked quietly for a time about little things until their conversation inevitably turned to the events of the day.
Flotsam’s new sheriff grinned ruefully and put a hand on Ulin’s. “I know you’re not happy about this, but believe it or not, I enjoyed today.”
His fingers caught hers and held them tight. “You are a redoubtable woman, Lucy Torkay. I think you have no clear idea of your real ability or potential. Maybe this job will show you what you are capable of doing.”
To his surprise, she blushed a warm shade of pink that put roses in her cheeks and made her all the more self-conscious. Her chin dropped, and her lashes swept down over her green eyes.
Dragon's Bluff Page 14
