by Guy Antibes
“A politician who helps the Potentate in various capacities. Viziers are close advisors and spend most of their time in Wollin, our capital,” Desmon said.
Sam had offended the king of Toraltia and faced death or exile, so he could understand. However, he wondered if the woman had done other things of which the vizier was unaware. Everything seemed to operate on different layers in Wollia. Sam tried not to think of it because right now his head was spinning.
“How long do you have to live in this cell?”
“Not long,” the woman said, looking at Desmon, not Sam. “Two months and nine days.” Was she giving some kind of message to Desmon?
She asked Sam about Baskin, since she had lived in the city for a few years with her family.
“Was your father a merchant?” Sam asked.
She looked at Captain Penduur before addressing Sam. “He was the ambassador. He was expelled for supporting another for the throne. You might have heard of the king’s rival.”
“Harrison Dimple?”
“That is the man. Harrison Dimple made quite an impression on me, a girl of twelve years, seven months, and eleven days.”
Well, that was an interesting admission, Sam thought. Desmon had to have communicated with the woman before. If that was the case, then why was he here? Did she just communicate some key numbers to Desmon while giving such a precise age? Sam shook his head.
Desmon stood up. “We probably should go. The warden will be waiting for us.” He took the woman’s hand and kissed it before they left. Captain Penduur offered her a deep bow. Sam just smiled.
They walked down to the main level and were shown into a large office.
Captain Penduur performed the introductions in Wollian. Desmon translated before the Captain left them with the warden.
“You speak Vaarekian?” the warden said to Desmon in that language.
“A bit. Sam is fluent.”
Sam smiled.
“It is more polite to speak in your native tongue. I don’t know if I can speak to a foreigner or if I need an interpreter.”
“I speak both,” Sam said. He looked at Desmon. “He does, too.”
The warden chuckled at something. “I hope you got a flavor for our inmates. We house political prisoners.”
“Mr. Lunter is a political prisoner? He said he was framed for murder.”
“A murder he obviously didn’t commit,” the warden said. “The Grand Vizier thought it wise to put him here for a bit before shipping him back to Polistia. Our ways may seem a little strange, and that is one reason for your little tour today. We like our little games,” the warden said. “Some people play rougher than others, and the stakes may be a little higher than many like to risk.”
“But they are forced to risk it,” Desmon said, “aren’t they?”
The warden harrumphed. “It can get serious, but then I am not a particularly serious man,” he said, but Sam wasn’t convinced. “I think your part on this particular playing board is over.” He nodded to Desmon, who pulled something out of his billowy shirt. It was a small package, wrapped in bright blue paper, and he laid it on the warden’s desk.
“Thank you, Warden.” Desmon bowed, putting his hand to his heart.
The warden returned the bow, but Sam caught the smirk on the man’s face. It appeared to be a transaction that the warden didn’t entirely enjoy.
“I think we are finished here, Sam Smith. May you enjoy what few days remain to you…” his face hardened, “in Port Hassin. You may go.”
Sam followed Desmon out of the office and out of the prison.
“Are we done?”
“For today,” Desmon said. “I may need your help later. You might trust Commander Ilsur a bit more than others. Our escort we don’t trust at all, but he is about to retire and has received an augmentation to his pension.”
That was more information than Sam wanted to know. After they returned Captain Penduur at the constabulary, Desmon and Sam were left to find their way back to the hotel.
“Wasn’t that fun?” Desmon asked.
“Fun for you, not for me. I don’t appreciate being an excuse for you to see your contacts in prison.”
“Is that what you think we did?”
“I am sort of a snoop. I didn’t spend months just writing reports,” Sam said, thinking that he still spent an inordinate amount of time with a pen in his hand.
“That is right. I need to respect your observations. What did you observe?”
Sam winced. “You wanted information on the Mandrim, I imagine. Did Lunter get his sentence reduced for showing you the hand sign?”
Desmon’s eyebrows rose. “Possibly.”
“Am I offending you? Will I end up in that prison?”
“Not today,” Desmon said. “What did I get from Julandra?”
“I never was properly introduced. I assume you mean the woman. You have known each other for a time,” Sam said. “There was familiarity in your discussion, and she looked at you, and you at her, often during our talk. She also passed some numbers to you, and I don’t know what she meant, but I’m sure you do. She must have recently received the information from someone else.”
“Good catch. Neither was the original source. I’m here for a few weeks and I get put to work. I didn’t expect to be a go-between during my stay in Port Hassin.”
“Not to mention handing out bribes?” Sam said. “Can you trust those to whom you gave money? I wouldn’t trust the warden at all.”
“I wouldn’t either, so there are other considerations provided to persuade him to help.”
“So that means Commander Ilsur is a member of your faction, whatever that is.”
“He is. I couldn’t have gotten your visits arranged without him. You passed your first encounter in Wollia,” Desmon said. “There will be more now that you have shown your worth.”
“As much as a fifteen-year-old has any value at all.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself. Harrison Dimple and Dickey Nail trained you well, and you learned very quickly. I am impressed.”
“You seem to know more about me than what I told you,” Sam said.
“In my own way, I am a snoop and was able to do some snooping as soon as you booked passage on The Twisted Wind.” Desmon grinned. “You interested me, and my curiosity paid off, at least it did today.”
Sam nodded, but despite the compliments, he silently fumed at being used as he returned to the hotel.
Chapter Thirteen
~
B anna insisted that Sam sit next to her at dinner. She didn’t look happy about Captain Darter joining them, but Banna didn’t insist the captain leave the table.
The captain shook her head with exasperation. “Two weeks, I’ve been told. Two weeks before we see Ziggor Smallbug and his retinue.”
Banna blinked her eyes in astonishment. “Smallbug is the person you are waiting for?”
Darter looked at Banna. “You know the man?”
Banna made a sour face. “A professor at the University of Tolloy and a rival of my father. He is a self-important twit.”
The captain shook her head. “You won’t get me to admit that he is, but the man doesn’t seem to realize he is holding up our departure.”
“Maybe he is held captive?” Sam said. “Wollia is a crazy place. Everyone belongs to one faction or another, and they have to make momentary alliances to get anything done. I wouldn’t blame him for the delay until you hear his story.”
“Don’t defend him. You will regret it.”
“I’m not defending him, Miss Plunk. I’m just saying there is so much going on in this country that it might not be the professor’s fault that they are delayed.”
Banna folded her arms, but it seemed as if she was collecting herself. She took a deep breath. “You are right, young man. I won’t blame him for the delay, but he will make life miserable enough when he arrives.”
“He has already paid very handsomely for passage to Tolloy, more than you two paid f
or yours, if truth be told.” Captain Darter turned to Sam. “What was your afternoon like? I spent mine in my room.”
“I visited the constabulary and a genteel prison, courtesy of Desmon Sandal.”
“The sailor?” Banna asked.
“This is his home country, and Desmon is exceptionally well-connected. At least he knows how to work the factions. He is allied with the head constable and bribed another, not in his faction, to escort us to the prison, where I was used as an excuse to visit two prisoners that Desmon wanted to visit. He masqueraded as my interpreter as I met with a man from Bliksa and a Wollian woman. They both had information for him, or he had information for them, I’m not quite sure. I acted as the interpreter for the man. I didn’t expect to be used, but then I think in Wollia everyone is used by someone at some time.”
Captain Darter laughed and then gave Sam a catlike smile. “You were quickly immersed in what I don’t like about Wollia. But I’m paid well to trade in this island-nation, so I put up with it. Faction upon faction, all layered with favors. Foreigners get caught up in it, and they pay. Jordi did on our last trip. I’d be careful for the next fortnight,” she said.
“I’ve been here once, before on my way to Toraltia,” Banna said. “Two evenings in a hotel not as nice as this, and then we left with the tide. I stayed in a small room with my three dogs, I had more than Emmy on the ship, and I’m rather glad I didn’t stay longer. I hope to continue to do much of what I have done on the voyage, stay in my room, although I would like to venture out to a bookstore or a curio shop for a souvenir. I hope never to return.”
Sam thought about his stay in Port Hassin. “One afternoon in Port Hassin has convinced me that I won’t be settling here,” he said. “I’m still in a state of confusion about what really happened.”
“But what a challenge,” Captain Darter said, trying to needle Sam. “Make your stay a victory!” She narrowed her eyes. “As long as you don’t hold up The Twisted Wind.”
A male server wearing baggy linen clothing walked forward. Sam wondered how much the man had listened in. From what Jordi said, the man probably heard every word said. He couldn’t recall anything they said that was subversive, other than their frustration with the factions, and that had to be obvious to everyone.
The man spoke poor Vaarekian as his only foreign language, but they were able to get their orders. The food would be strange, from its description on the menus, handwritten on little cloth scrolls with paper backing.
“Nosy man,” Captain Darter said, watching their server disappear through a swinging door into the kitchen. “You have to watch everything you say.”
Banna nodded. “I can do that. Can you, Sam?”
“Not as well as you two,” Sam said.
~
Banna dragged Sam and Emmy with her as they ventured out after breakfast. They could spend the day on the ship, and that was what Banna intended after she had found something unique to give to her father, and maybe something for herself.
The hotel staff had told Banna that items unique to Wollia were in more abundance a few squares to the east of the hotel. Sam made sure he had a map of the city, remembering the time he was assaulted in Baskin when he became lost.
The locals definitely noticed the three of them as they made their way to the shopping district, but no one bothered Sam and Banna when Emmy growled at those who ventured too close. Sam would have chided Emmy for such behavior, but in Port Hassin, he recognized Emmy’s growls as a benefit.
The market was where the hotel person said it was, which was verified by the map. At least Sam was confident they would easily find their way home. As they approached the booths and tents spread out on a packed dirt square, Sam took in smells and aromas he had never experienced. Not all were pleasant, but most were. Banna took her time looking at the goods provided in each booth or tent, skipping the myriad of food vendors.
Men and women dressed in heavy robes, mixed in with others dressed in the more familiar baggy style they had seen closer to the wharf and the hotel. Sam could tell the nomads were shorter, just like Desmon said they were. Their faces were different as well, more angular like the faces of Asul Kindra, the murdered sailor, and the nomad wearing a mask at the Pelican’s Maw in Carolank.
Occasionally Sam heard Toraltian or Vaarekian spoken, and when he did, it was a nomad bargaining with a normal Wollian.
“The nomads must speak a different language,” Sam observed.
Banna paused when she heard a Vaarekian exchange. “I think you are correct. Their accents are somewhat different,” she said.
Someone taught other languages to the nomads, so they weren’t so insular as Sam thought as he followed Banna into a tent with trinkets hanging on the outside after he had tied Emmy’s leash to a wagon. The tent held better stuff. Sam took off his spectacles to see that the more expensive items were made out of painted pollen, so it wasn’t better at all.
Banna strolled in a different direction, and when they met, she frowned. “Fakes,” she said quietly.
Sam nodded. “Perhaps we can find real goods elsewhere.”
Banna grunted. “Maybe these are the real goods in Port Hassin.”
Sam wouldn’t know, and he wouldn’t have thought such a thing a year ago. They walked out of the tent. Sam still had his spectacles off, and it caused him to stop dead in his tracks. The nomads’ felt robes were all made out of pollen. Nomad men and women walked through the streets in their underwear.
He put his spectacles on again as quickly as he could.
“Caught stealing or something?” Desmon Sandal said, walking up to Sam, Banna, and Emmy.
Sam put his hands up to his face. “I just saw something I shouldn’t. Are you following us?”
Desmon smiled. “As a matter of fact, I am. The hotel said you were directed to this market.”
“We were, but the merchandise isn’t as,” Banna looked around, “authentic as I would prefer.”
“What are you looking for?”
Banna shrugged. “Something for my father that is Wollian and something less masculine for me. I like original things,” she said.
Desmon smiled. “Ah. Sam and you can detect pollen in an object.”
Banna gave Sam an enigmatic look. “Especially Sam.”
“Come with me,” Desmon said.
Sam didn’t want to be used again, but Banna pulled his arm. “Let’s go. Locals always know the best places.” She took Emmy’s leash.
Desmon might not be a local at all, Sam thought, but Banna, Emmy, and Desmon were already ten feet ahead of him. He followed them through the market and off into a side street. Sam pulled out his map and found where they were. He sighed, now that he had his bearings, and caught up to them.
“This is an expensive place,” Desmon said as they approached a pale yellow building with bright blue-painted iron scrollwork on the windows. Tru would have loved to spend a week looking at decorative grills in Port Hassin, Sam thought. “The merchandise is of dubious provenance. None of what you seek are fakes—”
“But they are stolen. You are taking us to a Wollian fence, is that it?” Banna asked.
The sailor’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, you caught me. Does it matter to you?”
Banna shrugged. “Not if they have what I am looking for.”
“They won’t let a foreigner in unescorted, but now you have one,” Desmon continued.
“A foreigner or an escort?” Sam asked.
Desmon waggled a finger at Sam. “We have both in our party and a very large canine.” He walked to the door and knocked. “As I said, exclusive.”
A small grill opened in the door, and a conversation ensued in Wollian. Banna looked impatient, but Sam tried to understand the emotions behind the conversation to see if Desmon would be successful or not. He couldn’t hear pleading in Desmon’s voice, so perhaps they would be admitted, after all.
The door opened, and Desmon beckoned them to follow him in. After walking through a large foyer filled with curio
s of all kinds, they proceeded into an even larger room stuffed with merchandise. Sam removed his spectacles and could see only a small portion of the goods were pollen-made. Desmon was true to his word…this time.
Banna’s eyes grew large as she fondled piece after piece. He could see her concentrating on the objects. Sam wondered if her magical capabilities granted her a memory of the curios, so she could duplicate them.
Sam strolled through the large room, followed by Emmy, her claws clicking on the tiled floor. He passed an alcove filled with weapons, and his eyes caught a real version of the cast Wollian sword that had broken.
“You like the swords?” Desmon asked.
“The harbormaster’s sword had a cast blade that was shattered.” Sam watched Desmon’s face darken at the comment. He wondered why before continuing. “Am I allowed to carry a weapon in Wollia?”
“You are if you know how to use it, and I can attest that you do.”
Sam looked through the swords of that style, for there were some very ornate ones. His eyes stopped on a used sword with a few embellishments, but it was the blade itself that drew him in. It had a colder sheen. That was the only way Sam could describe it. The steel was different from the others swords in the shop. He lifted his spectacles to see if the gold tinting of his spectacles was creating the effect.
The blade looked even colder and bluer with his naked eye. Some alloy had been used to forge the sword. He tested his find. The sword had balance, the edge was sharp, and the blade had a flexibility no cast sword could imitate. His years watching at the forge told him that Tru or his father could have never produced steel so fine.
“What about this? Is there a knife to go with it?” Sam asked Desmon, who watched Sam with curious eyes.
“I don’t know, but I will ask.”
Desmon sought out the merchant who had let them roam unaccompanied in his exclusive shop. They conversed in Wollian.
“No. This is an antique sword that came as it is, except for a certain amount of required conditioning. No scabbard either, but if you buy it, the merchant has a few to choose from.”
The word conditioning struck a chord. Was the surface part of the steel or had some process colored the blade? He took a knife and tried to scratch the metal. The merchant ran up.
