The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition

by Abigail Hilton

  Farell and several of the captains from the ship met them there, brought by messenger. Silveo sent the rest of the sailors back to the ship with permission to take the evening off and enjoy themselves. Gerard thought of Alsair. The griffin would have been entirely at home in such an environment, and Gerard wished he hadn’t sent him away.

  They had a pleasant ride over the rooftops with the wind in their faces and arrived at last at the hilltop estate amid spreading trees and rich archways of flowering vines. Nothing could seem further from Slag Harbor or the squalor of Ocelon Town, but Gerard noticed that most of the retainers were ocelons. They looked better fed than those in the streets, immaculate in white and gold livery that accentuated their exotic stripes and brilliant eyes. They padded around the estate, bootless on their spotted paws, quiet as shadows and as ornamental as the flowers.

  The light had almost faded when they arrived. Torches had been lit in the garden. Gerard heard harp music coming from the pavilion at the center and strode towards it. “Thess?”

  The music stopped at once, and she came tripping down the steps, as light-footed as a gazumelle. She ran into his arms. “Gerard!”

  He hugged her hard. “Thess.” His voice almost broke. “You cannot follow me around. How did you get here?”

  She laid her head against his chest. “An airship. We had a favorable wind. I’ve sailed that route before.” During her touring days as a minstrel student, Thessalyn had been all over Wefrivain. She’d traveled more than Gerard. “You seemed so unhappy about coming; I thought I’d beat you here and surprise you.”

  “You did.” He wanted to lecture her, but it felt so good to have her in his arms.

  Marlo Snale came slinking out of the pavilion. “Sir, I tried to stop her—”

  Gerard shook his head. “I understand.”

  “There was nothing to do but come with her,” continued Marlo.

  “Thank you for that,” said Gerard.

  “I am sorry, sir.”

  “It’s alright,” said Gerard, although it wasn’t. But there’s nothing Marlo could have done. If I can’t keep Thess from walking in harm’s way, he certainly wouldn’t be able to. He remembered a time he’d found her strolling alone on the beach on Holovarus, how he’d chided her about tides and pirates and wild animals, and she’d just kept talking about shells and ballads and the smell of the ocean. The trouble was that she’d never been able to see. A shelt who’d gone blind later in life would know the world as it was, would fear their vulnerability in it, but Thessalyn knew only the world as she perceived it, the world in her mind. Gerard had never been able to convince her that it was a deeply dangerous place.

  “They have giant butterwort flowers here,” continued Thessalyn. “They’re very interesting. They eat insects. They don’t grow anywhere else. Come and see!” She used that word blithely, knowing that for her it meant to touch, and for him it meant something else.

  “Thess!” Gerard took her by the shoulders. “Listen to me: you really can’t follow me around Wefrivain. It—is—dangerous. Please!”

  She frowned and brought out her practical voice. “You don’t really expect me to sit at home and worry about you like a sailor’s wife? I am a professional wanderer; you can’t take that away from me, Gerard.”

  Gerard bowed his head. There was the trouble. Thessalyn could sing her way to almost any place in the islands. Shelts would not charge her a cowry, and they’d thank her for coming. Normally, her blindness would not put her in much danger—not in the company that would patronize her talents. The title of minstrel gave her a great deal of protection as well, especially to the devout or those who simply feared the gods.

  “Yes,” he said carefully, “but I am making enemies.”

  Someone cleared his throat, and Gerard turned to see Silveo standing at his elbow. “What he’s try to say in his inarticulate fashion is that the world is not a safe place because there are shelts like me in it.”

  Gerard glared down at him.

  Silveo kept looking at Thessalyn. “He’s right about that. However, when it comes to me, he worries needlessly. I would not harm someone so lovely—or, at least, I’d need a better reason than Holovar.”

  Thessalyn smiled. “Silveo Lamire?”

  “For better or for worse.”

  She crouched down so that she was on eyelevel with him. Gerard’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, but Silveo ignored him. Thessalyn put a hand out and went over Silveo’s face lightly with her fingertips—her way of seeing someone. Silveo didn’t flinch, even when her fingers danced around his eyes.

  Thessalyn giggled. “As Gerard says—too much kohl.”

  Silveo grinned. “Is that all he says?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Her fingers whisked over his hat and earrings. “You love pretty things, don’t you?”

  “To a fault, as I’m sure your husband has commented upon.”

  Thessalyn smiled in the way she did when she was about to say something funny—so that her whole face crinkled up. “I think Gerard is pretty.”

  Gerard rolled his eyes. Silveo seemed momentarily startled, then barked a laugh. He kept laughing helplessly for several seconds, then wiped a tear from his eye. “Lady, you have rendered me completely without comment, and that’s not an easy thing to do.”

  “Please be nice to my husband, Admiral.”

  “I have already told your husband what he needs to do to procure my goodwill, although I see now why he doesn’t want to do it.” Silveo reached into his pocket, and Gerard reached for his sword again.

  Silveo glanced at him and very deliberately brought out a little tin. It turned out to contain some kind of candy. He took out a piece and bit it in half. “Now, your husband will note that I have eaten part of this to demonstrate its lack of poison.” He handed the other half to Thessalyn. “It comes from the Lawless Lands, and they sell it sometimes on Sern. I believe it’s called chocolate.”

  Thessalyn put the candy in her mouth and chewed for a moment. She shut her eyes in expression of bliss. “Hmm…”

  Silveo handed her the tin. “If Holovar wishes, I will bite them all in half, or he can. Otherwise, they’re yours. Have a lovely time on Sern, Lady.”

  Gerard watched him go, frowning. Flirtation was the last thing he’d expected when Silveo crossed paths with Thessalyn. But I really don’t think he would hurt her. The idea filled him with immense relief.

  Thessalyn interrupted his thoughts. “Is he gone?”

  “Yes. Well, he’s across the courtyard.”

  “Is he always like that?”

  Gerard snorted. “That was as gentle as I’ve ever seen him.”

  “He’s not all bad.”

  “No. Only mostly.”

  She hugged him again. “Are you less afraid for me now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s dance. I want to dance.”

  She could dance very well, provided her partner made certain they didn’t run into anyone. Several other musicians had begun to play in the pavilion and they went round and round in the twilight with the torches burning and fireflies glowing over the grass.

  Chapter 15. More Talking

  Cartographers disagree over whether the Lawless Lands are an island or whether they are a large land mass like the Pendalon mountains, which lie half a year’s journey to the East. If the Lawless Lands are an island, then they are larger than any in Wefrivain. They are sometimes called the Godless Lands by the cult of the Priestess, because wyverns have not been able to penetrate the interior.

  —Gwain, The Truth about Wyverns

  Later, when Thessalyn had sat down to sing and Gerard had been introduced to the magister, after he’d eaten, after he’d been sitting alone, sipping a local wine, Silveo came and sat down at his table. The admiral did not speak, but proceeded to help himself to most of the small sweets. A moment later, Farell and several of his captains walked by, talking loudly like shelts who’d had too m
uch to drink. Gerard thought they were all going to sit down and make cunning, inappropriate remarks about his wife, but Silveo waved them off. “Go play somewhere else; go on. Grown-ups are talking.”

  But we’re not talking, thought Gerard. We’re listening to Thess. And as the thought occurred to him, he realized it was true.

  Silveo listened with absolute attention until she finished the song. He shook his head. “I would hate to make a creature like that cry, Holovar.”

  “Then don’t,” said Gerard. He decided he’d better eat the last of the sweets if he wanted any at all.

  “Why in the name of all that’s holy couldn’t you have waited?” asked Silveo.

  Gerard was lost.

  “On Holovarus—make her your mistress and then when you were king, make her your wife? Or just poison your father and be done with it!”

  Gerard scowled.

  Silveo waived a hand. “Oh, wait, don’t tell me; that wasn’t honorable. It was more honorable to drag her into exile and adopt a dangerous profession that will likely leave her a widow. Then she’ll be totally without protection in this dangerous world of ours. That was more honorable than keeping your intentions a secret or poisoning your father.”

  “I would have poisoned the island deity,” spat Gerard, “if I had known how.” Did I say that out loud? Perhaps I’m the one who’s had too much to drink.

  Silveo’s eyebrows rose. “So, the rumors are true. You did lose a child.”

  Gerard said nothing, only glared into his glass. If you make a joke, I will break your jaw, superior officer or not.

  “Girl or boy?” asked Silveo.

  “A girl,” whispered Gerard.

  Silveo shook his head. “A shame, if she took after her mother at all.” Gerard tried to decide whether this had actually been a joke and if so whether it was worth breaking all codes of conduct over. “Wyverns can be killed,” continued Silveo. “I wouldn’t advise it, though. The gods hold long grudges.”

  Gerard glanced at him. “I thought they were invincible and immortal. Thess thinks so, and she’s studied on Mance.”

  Silveo shrugged. “They may be immortal in the sense that they don’t sicken or age, but I know they can be killed. We’ve found the pelts in Resistance hideouts.”

  Gerard was fascinated. “You found wyvern pelts?” That would be a sight. Wyverns came in as many shades as jungle butterflies, but they were all lustrous.

  “Yes,” said Silveo sorrowfully. “The Priestess made us burn them. They were splendid, though.”

  Gerard laughed. “Wouldn’t let you make a hat, eh?”

  “Not even one. Now, tell me about your supposed meeting with the infamous Gwain. I’ve chased him on and off for years and never laid eyes on him, but dumb luck seems to be your strong point, so maybe you really did see him.”

  Gerard told Silveo about the teahouse and his conversation with the shelt who called himself Flag. Silveo interrupted when he got to the book and Flag’s explanation of it. “Impossible. The phonetic is not a recognized form of writing in any court in Wefrivain. No merchant vessel would dare keep records in it. If they found themselves in a legal dispute, those records would be useless.”

  “Do you read the phonetic?” asked Gerard, before he realized that he might be asking something insulting.

  Silveo glared at him. “Of course I read it. They use it all over Slag for unofficial purposes.” He hesitated. “And if you’d like to learn, I have a couple of books on the subject. Although…” He smiled sweetly. “I doubt you’ll be around long enough.”

  Gerard decided to ignore that. He must have taught himself grishnard characters as an adult, or at least a teenager. It was no mean accomplishment. He almost said so, but decided Silveo would probably throw the compliment back in his teeth. Instead, he finished his story about the teahouse. When he got to the part where he asked the shelt’s name, Silveo laughed.

  “Flag. Oh, that’s cute.”

  “What does it mean?” asked Gerard.

  “You should ask Thessalyn. She’ll know, if she’s the professional I take her for.”

  “What does it mean?” Gerard repeated.

  “Flag is a mythological hero from the very old ballads. His stories are somewhat controversial. The originals call Flag a servant of the Firebird who fought wizards and shape shifters, but they also mention him killing wyverns.”

  Gerard sat back. “Ah.”

  “And Defiance,” continued Silveo, “is definitely not a merchant vessel. I’d bet a heap of speckled cowries it’s a pirate ship.” He shook his head. “How did he get away?”

  “He walked out of the teahouse. I couldn’t think of a good reason to detain him.”

  Silveo stared at Gerard. “He walked out? You just let him walk away?”

  “I didn’t know who he was. I just had a general suspicion, and—”

  Silveo groaned. “What was the Priestess thinking? She has put a lamb in charge of the Police! Holovar, you do not need a ‘good reason’ to detain anyone! You serve an organization renowned for arresting shelts without a ‘good reason’! Next time you get pricklies in your tail or twinges from whatever passes for thought inside your head, take the shelts responsible into custody. If you don’t have the stomach to question him, I will!”

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. “What did you do with the guard on the warehouse?”

  Silveo shrugged. “Took him inside, broke a few fingers; he didn’t know anything. I think he really was just hired to patrol.”

  “And afterward?”

  “Killed him, of course.” Silveo watched Gerard’s expression. “I know you think I’m just bloody-minded, but I’ve been doing this a long time. Acts of mercy have a way of coming back to haunt you. If you question a shelt—frighten him and hurt him—and then let him go, he will not thank you for your mercy. He will hold a grudge. His family and friends will hold a grudge, and they’ll have a name and face to go with it. If you kill the shelt and you do a good job of it, his family and friends may never even find the body, and they can never be certain what happened.” He sipped his drink morosely. “There were a few shelts on Sern who should have never let me go. They regretted it very much in the end.”

  “Was the magister one of them?” Gerard knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he was curious. The magister had seemed as nervous as a cat in a cage when Gerard met him. His hands fluttered like frightened birds, and he kept bowing and simpering.

  Silveo laughed. “No. But I put him where he is, and I could take him away. He knows he’s here not because I like him, but because I hate him less than any of the others qualified for the job.”

  So that’s it. Gerard wondered whether the fear in Ocelon Town had been fear of the Sea Watch in general or of Silveo in particular.

  “I left Sern a mess,” said Silveo, “but, then, Sern left me a mess.” He spoke lightly, but Gerard detected an undercurrent of pure rage. “I would set fire to the entire island if I thought I could get away with it. Gods, I hate this place.”

  Gerard decided he’d better change the subject. Silveo was suddenly drinking much too fast, and the little ocelon servants kept refilling their glasses. Silveo spoke again before Gerard could think of anything to say, “Do not think that just because I’m talking to you you’re safe, Holovar. You should not trust me. You really shouldn’t.”

  Gerard watched Thessalyn re-tune her harp for a new song. “You keep saying that.”

  Silveo shook his head. “Yes, I must like you. I’ve given you more than fair warning.”

  Gerard surprised himself by saying, “You didn’t give me much warning the first two times you tried to kill me.”

  “Half-hearted experiments—poking a rat in a cage to see how hard it bites. But when I decide to break its back, I won’t just poke.”

  “Your own officers,” continued Gerard, “are nothing exceptional.” Because you don’t trust anyone who’s as smart as you are.

  “Of course they’re not,” said Silveo. �
��They’re obedient, moderately intelligent, un-ambitious, and ruthless—exactly the traits desirable in an officer.”

  “And good in bed?” asked Gerard, and then he knew it was time to put down his glass.

  Silveo, however, took the insolence in stride. “Well, it never hurts,” he said with a smirk. “But it’s not a prerequisite. Look at Arundel.” He shuddered. “You, on the other hand, are none of these things—well, the first things, anyway. I’d have to ask Thessalyn whether you’re anything other than pretty.”

  I suppose I earned that, thought Gerard. “My point is: for all you keep sniping at me, I’m better than what you’ve got to work with. The Priestess was right. We could eradicate the Resistance if we worked together.”

  Silveo rolled his eyes. “Holovar, the Resistance is something to be controlled, not eradicated. As long as we make faun pies on Wefrivain, there will be fauns—and some other shelts, too—who object. The only way to eradicate the Resistance is to kill every single faun in the islands. We won’t do that, so we’ll keep controlling them.”

  “But you’re not controlling them,” said Gerard. “They are getting better, more organized, more dangerous. The average lifespan for a Captain of Police in the last ten years is less than a year.”

  “Noticed that, have you?”

  “Unless you’re killing them all, I’d say the Resistance has become very efficient.”

  Silveo spread his hands. “Not me. The Police are land-based, which means they have potential to come into contact with a lot more hidden dangers. Still, I’ve suspected for some time that there’s a spy somewhere in their organization. Could be one of your wardens on the ship. That’s one reason I haven’t encouraged their participation.”

  Gerard thought about that. And someone searched my office.

  Silveo grinned. “I bet you thought it was just to slight you, but that was only an added bonus. I’ve treated everything and everyone from the Police as suspicious for years. I suspect it’s kept me alive.”

  “You treat everyone as suspicious anyway,” said Gerard, deciding that he’d been reckless enough already in this conversation that he might as well speak freely. “It sounds to me like the Resistance’s attack on the Police was even more effective than I thought—it’s kept the Watch and the Police isolated.”