The gambler glared at him blearily. His neat, fastidiously clean clothes were covered with sawdust, dirt, and dark patches of spilled beer. The eye patch had slipped, exposing a bloodshot eye, and the other eye was beginning to swell. “Who are you?” he groaned.
Ulin smiled wickedly and did not answer. He held the man’s arm tighter and twisted it behind Kethril’s back as the gambler started to struggle. He dragged Lucy’s father forward through the crowd toward the door. Patrons laughed and made ribald comments about the drunken state of the filthy Khur.
Two guards suddenly blocked Ulin’s way. “What’s going on here?” one demanded. Short swords appeared in their hands.
“You’re a little late,” Ulin remarked. He kept his voice casual and his expression inoffensive. “My companion here had a disagreement with Feddor over there. It’s over, and I’m taking him to sleep it off.”
“And who are you? We’ve never seen you here before,” said the second guard.
“Of course you have. I’ve been here for hours.”
The guards looked confused. In a moment the bartender came through the press of customers to join them. “This Khur is a good customer of mine,” he declared to Ulin. “I don’t want him in no trouble. What are you doing with him?”
“I’m his future son-in-law,” Ulin replied in all honesty. “His daughter sent me to find him. She’s the new sheriff of Flotsam.” A sudden surge of pride at those words took him by surprise. He savored its flavor.
“The sorceress that killed all those draconians?” the bartender asked, impressed. “And you will take him home like that?”
Ulin shrugged. “He would not come before. Would you, honored father?”
The gambler made no reply—not that he could. He had passed out completely, and his entire weight sagged against Ulin’s side, causing the younger man to stagger.
Ulin was beginning to feel dizzy himself from the small amount of powder he had handled on the coins. It was time to go before Notwen was forced to deal with two large unconscious men.
“Need some help?” one of the guards offered.
Relieved, Ulin transferred some of Kethril to the guard, and together they hauled him out the door. Notwen scooted ahead and made it back to the boat in time to light a lantern and fire up the boiler. He was waiting when Ulin and the guard carried Kethril onto the boat and dumped him on the deck. After commenting on the odd little boat, the guard accepted Ulin’s generous tip and headed jauntily back to the Golden Carp.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Ulin scooped out a pail of river water and plunged his hands in. “Wash your hands quickly,” he told Notwen. “That powder is potent.”
The gnome obliged, and for good measure he dumped the bag of copper, gold, and silver coins in the water and washed those, too. “What is this powder? How did you get it on the coins so fast?”
Ulin dumped the used water and scooped out another, which he poured over his head to help counter-act the dizziness that still swirled in his brain. “I may be a lousy card player, but I was a good mage, and I learned a few tricks from my uncle Raistlin.” He didn’t realize the significance of what he’d said until he shook his head and opened his eyes to see Notwen staring at him with bulging eyes.
“Raistlin was your uncle? The finest, most mysterious archmage in Krynn was your uncle? Then you must be a—”
“A Majere, yes,” Ulin finished for him. “But not here. In this realm I am only Ulin from Solace.”
Notwen drew a long shivery breath. “Oh, yes, of course. No one shall hear of it from me, but … wow. Sheriff Lucy must be something special if she is going to marry you.”
Ulin chewed his lip and rubbed his aching temples. “I’m thinking it is the other way around.”
They poled the Second Thoughts away from the bank and pointed her bow downstream. While Notwen steered, Ulin dragged Kethril over to the side and tied his hands to the rail. He searched the man’s clothes from collar to boots and pulled out an array of small weapons, loaded dice, a few odd coins, and a well-worn medallion of white gold bearing an image of a man with two faces. Ulin felt the telltale tingle of magic from the medallion, and he smiled with certain relish while he removed the medallion from Kethril’s neck.
The transformation happened immediately. The dark hair and beard faded to dark blond grizzled with gray, the skin lightened to a well-worn tan, and the craggy features smoothed into a handsome visage with a long, straight nose and a broad upper lip. The sleeping man did not move a muscle as Ulin tossed the medallion, the weapons, and the dice overboard.
The night was quite dark, for there was no moon and a new ceiling of cloud obscured the sky. Far to the northwest, lightning flickered in sheets through a dense bank of darkness. The wind had died to a breathless stillness that hung heavy on the muggy air and did nothing to discourage the hordes of mosquitoes. As long as the paddleboat chugged down the river, the numbers of biters stayed tolerable, but the moment the boat stopped at the mouth of the marsh, clouds of insects moved in. Ulin and Notwen debated the wisdom of navigating through the maze of sandbars and twisting channels at night, then decided against it. They did not know the channels well enough to risk the passage. They moored the boat in a backwater and closed the shutters and door of the cabin. Ulin took pity on Kethril and moved him into the meager shelter of the cabin and covered him with a blanket. The cabin was hot and stuffy and not entirely insect-proof, but it was better than sleeping in a cloud of blood-sucking, stinging mosquitoes.
Near dawn, a brief thunderstorm moved through in a gust of wind and a few rumbles of thunder. The rain pounded on the roof of the cabin for about half an hour before it moved on to blow itself out over the bay. By the time it left, the mosquitoes had sought refuge elsewhere, and a rising sun slowly bleached away the night.
Ulin and Notwen got underway early, for they wanted to stop at Dead Pirate’s Cove for supplies and more fuel. With luck and some good weather, they hoped to be back in Flotsam late the next day, two days at the latest.
The morning was fresh and still pleasant after the rain, and the river’s current ran toward the bay as the tide swept out to sea. Kethril showed a few reluctant signs of consciousness, so Ulin dragged him back into the sunshine and tied him to the railing.
He tied the last knot and was straightening when Kethril’s eyes peeled open and revealed irises as green and vivid as Lucy’s. The gambler squinted up at Ulin. “You have ruined my reputation at the Golden Carp,” he said in slow, painfully enunciated words.
“Oh, I doubt it,” Ulin said cheerfully. “From what I’ve heard of your reputation, there was nothing there to ruin.”
The man groaned and tried to move, only to discover his hands were tied. He stared blearily around at the marsh and the boat and finally leveled a glare back at Ulin. “Where am I? And what is that infernal racket?”
Ulin squatted beside him. “You are on the Second Thoughts, bound for Flotsam. That racket is the engine. If you really want to know more about it, I’ll send Notwen the gnome around to tell you all about it.”
“A gnome!” Kethril moaned. “Oh, gods, spare me. My head is fit to burst. That chatterbox would finish me off.” He paused and blinked a few times as if assessing what Ulin had told him. “Why am I here? What is the meaning of tying me up like this?”
“I agreed to bring your body back and I will. Dead or alive is up to you.”
“My body back. Why? What are you, a bounty hunter?” Abruptly he stopped. Ulin, carefully watching his face, saw the light of realization spread into his eyes. “Of course,” Kethril breathed. “Last night, on the boat. Someone mentioned my daughter. What is she doing in Flotsam?” The full ramifications of his predicament exploded in his clearing mind, and the shock waves twisted his features into a mask of despair. “Oh, departed gods, I don’t believe this!” he shouted. “Flotsam! They’ll kill me!”
Ulin rose to his feet and said coldly, “Probably.” He turned on his heel and went to help Notwen with the boat.
The old shipwrecks and rickety buildings were still out of sight behind a low hill when Notwen called to Ulin, “There’s smoke over there.”
Both Ulin and Kethril turned their heads and saw thick gray smoke billowing into the sky from somewhere behind the hill. “That’s from the Cove,” said Kethril worriedly. He straightened and pulled until he worked himself to his knees, then he peered ahead, his entire body tense.
The paddleboat steamed slowly past the hill, around a gentle curve, and entered the open water. Dead Pirate’s Cove came into view. Ulin and Kethril strained to see the town and what trouble there might be. The first thing they saw were two fishing boats burning on the water.
“The gods speed us,” Kethril gasped first. “Get us out of here! Hurry!” he bellowed to Notwen. “It’s ghagglers.”
Notwen squeaked in alarm and threw the engine into full steam. Ulin had only brief glimpses of the burning settlement, of bodies in the sand, and worst of all, of people herded onto the dock at weapon’s point by large, two-legged monsters. Those glimpses were all he needed. His mouth dry, he dashed into the cabin, belted on his sword, and threw more fuel on the boiler fire. Ghagglers, he thought, fear burning in his belly. Cruel, blood-thirsty, and utterly without mercy, the sea species of sligs were the terror of the marine waters. Why, oh, why did they have to stumble on this place?
“Cut me loose!” he heard Kethril shout. “Cut me loose!” Ulin did not hesitate. There was no chance even Kethril Torkay would try to jump ship with the feared sea-sligs close by, and he needed all the help he could get. He dashed outside, sliced the rope binding the gambler’s hands, and thrust an oar at him.
Kethril looked over Ulin’s shoulder and turned pale. “They’re coming after us.” He struggled to his feet. “Bloody fiends. They must be desperate to be so close to shore.”
“Go, go, go!” Ulin yelled to Notwen.
The gnome leaned on the wheel to turn the boat away from the cove. The engine rumbled and steamed, and the paddlewheel thrashed like a mill wheel gone mad. Ulin grabbed another oar and paddled from the bow as fast as he was able.
But they were too late. Only a fully rigged clipper could outrun a pack of ghagglers on the hunt in shallow water. Ulin glanced down once and stifled a cry. A dark, gray-green body flashed through the water like a porpoise and disappeared under the boat.
“Notwen, get out of sight!” Ulin screamed.
Clawed, horny hands grabbed the gunwales and three hideous faces peered over the edge at Kethril and Ulin. Kethril flattened one with an oar, but a fourth reared out of the water and snatched the oar from his hand. Ulin drew his sword. He brought the blade arching down on the hands of a sea-slig and knocked it screeching back into the water. Two more swiftly slithered up the sides of the boat and tried to crawl over the rail.
Without warning a horrendous sound slammed across the deck. Startled ghagglers ducked back into the water, and both men stumbled back from the edge of the deck. Steam poured from the cabin as the paddlewheel groaned to a halt. Like a kite broken loose from its string, the Second Thoughts sheered sideways from its course and began to drift with the wind across the bay.
The unexpected and abrupt change in movement threw Ulin and Kethril off balance. As they struggled upright, Ulin saw something brown flash through the air toward Lucy’s father. He lunged forward to grab him when a similar something dropped over his own head and entangled his arms. A net as strong as steel and reeking of decay was jerked around his body. Tiny barbed hooks sank into his clothes, his hair, his skin, and he was pulled off his feet. He saw Kethril collapse under another net, and he saw the man’s body yanked off the boat into the water. A tremendous wrench knocked the air from his lungs. Before he could draw another breath, Ulin was pulled off the boat, and the warm, salty water closed over his face.
Lucy stiffened. A taut, frightened expression settled over her face, and she froze in place, her hands poised over the pile of plums she had been admiring. Her skin bleached to a deathly pallor.
Bridget, Pease, and the fruit vendor looked at each other, puzzled by her reaction. “Are you all right, dear?” Bridget asked in her most motherly tone.
Lucy shook her head. Her knees gave way, and she sank down on a nearby barrel. On her head the turban faded to a sickly gray. “I just had the strangest feeling that something is wrong.” She rubbed her aching temples.
The market around her was unchanged. It was still noisy, crowded, and bright with light and color. She had spent the morning collecting fees, calibrating scales, and visiting with people. There was absolutely no reason for this cold, sickening feeling that had sunk its claws into her belly and head.
The older kender paled. She drew back under the awning and scanned the skies for any sign of the red dragon. Pease, who was accustomed to his mother’s reactions, put his arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t hear the horn, Ma. Maybe Lucy meant something else.”
As quickly as it had come, the odd sickly feeling subsided from Lucy’s mind, leaving only an aftertaste of fear. “I don’t know what it was or where it came from. I’ve never felt anything like that before.” She let out a long, cleansing breath to help ease her pounding heart. Some of her color slowly returned, and as it did, the turban brightened to its customary shimmering blue. Lucy cocked her head and looked north where the bay glittered in the midday sun and stretched out to an indistinct horizon. “I hope Ulin is all right,” she murmured.
Bridget’s nervousness retreated when she did not hear the signal horn. Her body trembled once as if to shake free of the fear, and she came to stand by Lucy. Her round face crinkled with concern. “I’m sure he is fine. He is a strong lad, well used to taking care of himself. But you … Lucy … I …” She hesitated, stumbling over something she wanted to say. Her eyes sought the sky again. “You be careful,” she finally managed to say in a whisper Lucy could barely hear.
“Sheriff Lucy!” An irate shopper stomped up to them. “Come check the baker’s scale. I think he’s shorting the bread again!”
“Back to work,” Lucy said, trying to sound cheerful. She bought a handful of plums from the fruit vendor and followed the complainant through the market with Pease and Bridget close at her heels. Only once did she pause and look again to the north. “Hurry back, Ulin,” she prayed.
The Second Thoughts drifted silently out of the cove on the tide. Held by the current it drifted far from land and was soon caught by the warm water currents of the bay. The ghagglers, suspicious of the strange noises and fumes that emanated from it, left it alone and let it drift beyond their caring after they took the men. For hours it remained silent and seemingly empty. A few seagulls perched on the cabin for a while before winging away after a shoal of fish.
At long last, a shining wet head popped out of the water near the still waterwheel. A slim hand touched the paddles and eased noiselessly up the side to the gunwale. A sleek, shapely body slid out of the water and climbed easily onto the deck. Trailing wet footprints, the girl walked to the bow and back along both sides of the cabin. Her delicate nostrils flared at the powerful odors of ghagglers, burned wood, and stressed metal. Finding no one on deck, she opened the cabin door and peered inside. The little room was a mess of spilled tools, scattered charts and maps, tumbled wood, and broken crockery and bottles. The girl tiptoed into the room, her face woebegone.
“Is anyone here?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. The ghagglers never left potential meals behind if they could help it. She pivoted around to leave when a tiny rustle caught her ear, just the faintest sound of something brushing against wood. On silent feet she crept to the wood box ne
ar the engine and peeped over the edge.
A white-haired gnome took one look at her, screeched in terror, and tried to burrow deeper into the tumbled stack of fuel.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said.
Notwen peeped through his fingers up at the aquamarine face and the sea-green eyes of the sirine. He was so relieved to see a familiar, unthreatening face—female or not—he hugged a length of wood to his chest and gave her a small smile.
“Come on,” she offered him a hand. “Come out of there and tell me what happened. Where is Ulin?”
Notwen’s smile evaporated. He ignored her proffered hand and pressed back against the wall. “Sea-sligs.” He could barely get the words out. “Ghagglers attacked Dead Pirate’s Cove this morning,” he said full of misery.
She shuddered. “I was there after they left. It was horrible.”
Notwen could barely nod. “They saw us coming out of the marsh and chased us. Ulin told me to stay out of sight. That’s all I know. I haven’t seen him or Kethril since then.” Unshed tears glinted in the corners of his eyes.
The sirine’s hand went to her mouth, and her clear eyes grew huge. “Kethril Torkay? You found him? He was on this boat? Those sea-sligs took him?” In a whirl of silver-green hair, she twisted toward the door and bolted out before Notwen could answer any of her frantic questions.
“Wait!” he cried. “Don’t leave me!” But his words were lost in the sound of a splash as the sirine dived into the water. Dismayed and still badly frightened, Notwen stayed huddled in the box.
If this was death, Ulin decided he did not want any part of it. He never imagined death could be so cold and painful. First was his head. From the pain that thundered behind his eyes, his skull must have been split wide open. Beneath his head, his entire body felt weightless, yet it ached and shook with a strange ague, and his skin felt as if he were being stabbed by hundreds of tiny knives. His mind reeled from the unreality of it. He thought his eyes could be open, but he saw no light, only an intense darkness so thick that there were no shadows or definition of anything.
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