“My father travelled a lot when he was young,” Tyen replied drily.
The manager chuckled, then recounted the coins Tyen gave him before handing over two keys. “Yours is next door to theirs. Number five.”
Sezee followed Veroo into their room, then turned and startled him with a kiss to each cheek. “Thank you. I hope you manage to sleep.”
She glanced at the door to room five and grimaced. Even through the door they could hear the other occupant snoring loudly.
Tyen found his voice. “Have a pleasant trip … wherever you’re going.”
“I’m afraid after our reception here in Leratia, anything would seem pleasant in comparison. But you, at least, have proven that some Leratians are decent people. May you find your hotel without mishap, tomorrow.” She smiled, then closed the door.
The snoring quietened as Tyen unlocked the door to number five, but resumed with gusto after a moment. The other occupant looked a few years younger than Tyen. A familiar smell flavoured the air, but Tyen couldn’t place it. As his eyes adjusted to the faint light coming through a small window, he made out more details. Something lay on the empty bed. He quietly stepped forward.
A shirt. Trousers. All laid out ready for the next day. On the floor below was a pair of shoes. Work boots. The smell was suddenly very familiar. Shoe polish. Tyen shook his head at the luck of it, fighting a sudden urge to giggle. Slowly, so as to make as little sound as possible, he took off his fancy clothing and dressed in the stranger’s clothes, slipping Vella into a pocket. Then he laid out his expensive woollen trousers and jacket, over which he placed the fine shirt. The stranger would be surprised indeed to find his clothes transformed into fine garments overnight.
The man’s boots were a size too big. Tyen silently apologised for the blisters his new shoes would cause, the thought he was actually stealing from the man sobering him. It made it easier to leave the pogbag and his old student clothing behind. But he kept the satchel. Though it looked too new, he could scuff it up a little.
Hanging from a hook on the back of the door was a jacket and the sort of hat favoured by one-seater drivers and morni carers. It smelled of the animals, too. Tyen took both, then opened the door and slipped out into the corridor. Not wanting to risk making any more noise than necessary, he left the door ajar.
He encountered a drunk man swaying back from the men’s room, who barely registered Tyen’s presence. Reaching the locked rear door, Tyen placed a hand on the wall beside it and drew a little magic from within, where the Soot left behind would not be noticeable unless someone with the ability sought it. He used it to cut through the latch, hiding the damage. Opening the door, he looked out.
And cursed under his breath. Before him were a couple of steep steps and a short wooden pier surrounded by water. The hotel façade was part of an unbroken wall curving away on either side, windows and little piers extending from neighbouring houses.
He hadn’t realised they were this close to the water’s edge.
Voices from behind caught his attention. Raised voices, but not in drunken disregard for the other hotel customers. He turned to listen, recognising the hotel manager’s voice.
“… if you’re wrong he’s not going to be happy. Do you want to talk to the two women he was with? He said they were relatives.”
“No. If he isn’t the one we’re looking for, there’s no need to disturb them.”
Tyen’s blood went cold. The second voice was all too familiar.
Kilraker!
He stepped out of the door and closed it, then backed down the stairs. He had only a moment to decide what to do before his absence was discovered. Breathing quickly, he looked to either side, realising that he had very few options.
Maybe even none.
CHAPTER 14
Through the door Tyen could hear footsteps growing louder, then quieter, then louder again. Looking to one side, he considered whether he had enough skill with magic to lift and carry himself to the neighbouring pier. All elevation required a stable surface to orientate to and push away from. He didn’t know if it was possible over water.
He briefly wished he’d learned to swim, then realised a dunking would ruin all the money he had but the coins and might damage Vella. Even if he got to the next pier, he’d still be in full view once Kilraker and the police stepped out of the hotel door anyway.
Something moved under the far side of the distant pier. Looking closer, he recognised the shape of a rowing boat. A shot of hope went through him. He moved to the edge of the hotel pier and looked down. Sure enough, a small boat was tethered there. A ladder descended into the water. He slung his satchel strap over his shoulder and carefully climbed down. The boat was tethered by a rope. He grabbed it and pulled the craft close. As he stepped into it the boat moved under him and he fell forward, his chest slamming into the seat. The hull bounced off a pylon and back underneath the pier.
From above came the sound of a door opening. Tyen froze, not daring to move, or even turn to look up.
“He couldn’t have gone out this way,” a voice said.
“No,” a more familiar voice agreed.
“He must have left again. I knew there was something odd about him.”
“If he’s left, he can’t have gone far. We should hurry,” said another, quieter voice inside the building. The door closed.
Allowing himself to breathe again, Tyen remained still in case someone had remained outside. He’d heard no tread on the steps or pier decking. Looking up, he peered through the cracks between the slats but could see no sign of anyone standing there. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and considered his next move.
He couldn’t go back inside, even once the police and Kilraker had left. The women and the manager would recognise him, and the owner of the clothes he was wearing would spot them. No, he would have to use the boat to get away.
He considered waiting in case someone stepped out onto the pier again, perhaps to search more thoroughly, and saw him rowing away. But if they did come out they might also think to look under the pier. No, he’d best get away now.
Sitting up, he located the oars and untethered the rope. Awkwardly, trying in vain to avoid splashing, he began to row, wishing that when he’d observed the layout of the town from the air he’d taken note of the waterside features as well. Staying near or disembarking at the neighbouring houses would be foolish, since the police were still searching the area, so he struck out into the bay. Fortunately it was a calm night, the waves mere ripples on the bay’s glossy surface. Ships were moored across the width of Sacal Bay. He wondered if he could sneak on board one, but as he drew closer he saw men aboard, and some appeared to be looking his way.
How suspicious was it for a single man to be rowing a boat in the middle of the bay at night? He had no idea. The crews could be Leratian or foreign. Some might have just arrived and not yet heard about the dangerous sorcerer the police were looking for, but he had no way of knowing which ones they were.
Feeling too exposed, he changed direction, angling back towards the shore and hoping he looked like someone heading home after a late-night visit. The exertion had him breathing hard and eventually he had to rest. Taking the opportunity to survey the bay, he noticed that he could see the ridge that surrounded it and the town, black against slightly paler clouds. He’d noted, while in the aircarriage, that there was one road in and out of the town. The only way out by water was through the bay entrance, which would take him into the sea channel between Leratia and Wendland. Not a good place to take a tiny boat.
He was, he realised with a sinking heart, cornered. The four ways in and out of Sacal Bay – air, sea, rail and road – were each limited to one route that was easily monitored. He would not get away with pretending to be a rich aircarriage traveller again and the airpark would be guarded too closely for him to steal an aircart. The main road and docks would be watched, all railsleds and ships searched.
The ships were the most numerous and varied of th
e forms of transport. They ranged from cargo carriers to passenger liners, small private vessels to company fleet ships, wind-powered craft to magic-driven steamers. Sacal Bay was a busy port, but it wasn’t considered a main one. Larger, magic-powered passenger liners did not stop here. Sturdy enough to weather storms, they only berthed at major cities like Belton. He suspected that Sacal Bay was too shallow for the newer ones, too. Smaller passenger and private vessels might use the port, but most of the shipping coming through here was probably cargo. And from the number of lights bobbing in the darkness of the bay, there was plenty of it.
He didn’t know a lot about ships, but the fact that most here were moored out in the bay might signify that they must wait for the tide to come in to access a dock. He’d noted from the aircarriage that there appeared to be two docks, one near the airpark and one further from the centre of the town. If he was right about the tide, the ships moored here would have a limited time to unload and load. Their crew would not want to wait while the police searched them, one by one.
In such a situation there might be an opportunity. Perhaps he might slip aboard during the mayhem.
He sought the other dockyard. From his vantage point he could see that the sea wall the hotel was built upon stretched around the water’s edge, the surface lighter where the tides reached less often or never at all. Above this the buildings varied in size and shape. In front of the airdock a large pier extended for the passenger ships’ customers. Far to the right of this the wall was divided into a higher and lower section. The lower was supported by pylons and on the higher stood several larger buildings. Warehouses? Cargo ships needed somewhere to store incoming or outgoing goods. This, he guessed, was the wharf.
He set to rowing again. He couldn’t stay out here in the boat all night, and he would have to find somewhere to hide it once ashore again. By the time he reached the wharf he was shaking with weariness. Avenues of pylons supported a deep wooden pier. He found a ladder leading up to the pier and, more carefully this time, stepped off the boat onto it. With a push of magic, he sent the boat into the darkness under the pier.
Once it had disappeared into the gloom he climbed to the pier. The timbers creaked under his boots, but the sound blended with the other dockside sounds. He walked to the end, to the first of the tall warehouses. Testing the high, broad double doors he found them closed firmly against the night and intruders. Walking along to test the rest and finding them all similarly locked, he began to fear there would be no access to the docks other than through the buildings.
At the other end he found a narrow gap between the last warehouse and a neighbouring building, blocked by a gate. Climbing the gate took the last of the energy out of him and he slumped against a wall before he found the will to stagger onward. How long had it been since he’d eaten or drunk anything? Not since the train journey that morning. Which seemed like months ago. Could he risk looking for food now? No. He may as well stay here, if he was going to try finding a ship in the morning. But was it safe? He reached a recessed area filled with broken crates and empty sacks and sat down to rest and think.
Something took hold of his shoulder and shook him.
Opening his eyes, he blinked in surprise to see the narrow passage bright with daylight. A man with tanned and leathery skin from a life in the sun was smiling down at him.
“Wake up, son,” he said. “What yr doing here?”
Tyen ran his hands over his face and smoothed his hair to give himself time to wake up and think of an answer.
“I’m … hoping to buy passage.”
“Got in early, did you?”
“Ah…” Tyen looked around. “Yes.”
“Passengr dock’s back in town.” The old man turned and began to gesture with his hands as he gave directions.
“Wait … They said if I wanted a cheap passage I could try my luck here.”
“Then yr need to see the dockmaster. Queue’s this way.”
The old man ushered Tyen out of the alcove and down the narrow passage. Tyen didn’t resist. If the only way he’d get on the ship was by seeing the dockmaster then he’d have to risk it. A line of people had formed, perhaps waiting for access to the docks. Mostly men – crew, he guessed – but also a woman and two small children dressed for travel. Near the end he saw two women and something about them sent a tingle of apprehension through him. Were they…? Surely he couldn’t be so unlucky as to …
Looking up as he and the old man approached, their eyes widened in recognition. Tyen forced his mouth into a smile and bowed as he reached them.
“Good morning, la’es.”
“A good morning to you,” Sezee replied.
“Wait here,” the old man instructed, and Tyen turned to see him turn on his heel and stride away.
“I thought we’d seen the last of you,” Sezee added in a quieter voice. Tyen turned back to her. He would have to leave, but not so quickly that anybody would guess that something was wrong.
“I found it impossible to sleep,” he told them. “So I sought more genial accommodation.”
“After acquiring less conspicuous attire?” Her gaze dropped to his clothing and her eyebrows rose.
“I am ashamed to admit it.” He lowered his gaze. “I hoped the swap proved advantageous to both parties.”
As he met her gaze her eyes narrowed, and he read from her expression both suspicion and amusement. She has considered who I might be, he guessed. They can’t have been oblivious to the police searching the hotel.
If she wanted to expose him she could have done so straight away. But she hadn’t. Why not? Was it gratitude for his help the night before? Did she figure Leratian problems were for Leratians to worry about? Could she be overcome by the mystery of a bold and misunderstood renegade, like the women in foolish romance novels? He doubted the latter: he’d never managed to mystify a woman before, let alone charm one.
“Well, I’d best be—” he began.
“Leaving? You are not seeking passage?” Veroo interrupted.
Tyen shrugged. “I—”
“You’ll need papers.” She lifted her bag and began looking inside. “You have papers?”
“Yes,” he replied even as his stomach sank. He had papers, but they were in his name. Looking around, he saw that any mayhem he’d thought he’d be able to take advantage of clearly did not exist. He couldn’t see himself slipping onto a ship unnoticed. The whole idea seemed crazy now. He bit back a curse. His escape plan was never going to work.
“But you can’t use them,” Veroo guessed. “How about these?”
She drew from her bag a leather wallet of the kind that travellers used to store their papers and tickets, and handed it to him. Puzzled, he opened it and examined the sole document within. It was an identification paper.
“Aren Coble,” he read aloud. “Porter.” The description was for a taller, younger man who had been born in a northern district, but at least his colouring was right.
“Are you sure about this?” Sezee asked in a low voice. Tyen looked up to see her frowning at Veroo.
The older woman shrugged. “As you said: a small revenge.”
Sezee snorted softly. “Now you’re the risk-taker. What does that make me?”
“The less compassionate one?”
“Never.”
“Well, we can always say he tricked us, if they recognise him.” Veroo looked at Tyen and smiled, but her gaze was challenging.
“You could,” he acknowledged. “I am entirely in your power. And I will be in your debt.”
“Only if this works,” Sezee added in a murmur. “In return you must agree to two conditions.”
“Three,” Veroo inserted.
“You will pay your way – you can, can’t you?” Sezee asked.
He nodded. “And?”
“You will not harm anybody.”
“Of course not.”
“And you will tell us the truth,” Veroo finished. “Who you are and what you’ve done.”
“That�
��s fair. I agree to your conditions.”
Sezee smiled. “So, Aren. You are, as you will have noted, our porter. So pick up our bags and do not speak unless you are addressed.” She gave him a lofty look, then walked away. Veroo followed, leaving him with their bags. The gate had opened, he noted, and the line of people had begun to move. He quickly lifted the luggage and caught up with the women.
A man with a notebook stopped and asked them their names and business.
“We are Sezee and Veroo Anoil of the West Isles. We have arranged passage to Darsh on the Nightstar.”
The man waved them on, never giving Tyen a second look as he passed. They walked through the gate into docks now loud with activity. The doors to the warehouses were open and goods were being carted to and from the ships. Tyen and the women had to dodge men carrying heavy loads as they picked their way along the wharf. Sezee walked confidently, Veroo keeping protectively close, while Tyen hurried after, fighting a return of the weakness of the night before that made his legs feel shaky and his head spin.
Instead of approaching the dockmaster, Sezee strode up to a ship and led the way up the removable ramp onto the deck. The crew eyed them, but none seemed surprised. All but one continued with their tasks – currently carrying barrels on board and down a ladder into the hull of the ship. The man directing them smiled and came over to greet the women.
“Captain Taga,” Veroo said in greeting.
The conversation that followed was spoken in a language Tyen didn’t recognise, so he tried to guess its meaning from expressions and gestures. Sezee did most of the talking, though the comments that Veroo inserted here and there gave the impression she was, ultimately, the one in charge. Captain Taga clearly knew them already, but though his skin was also browner than the typical Leratian he had the distinctive lean look of a Great Archipelago man, not a West Islander.
Catching the name Aren, Tyen looked expectantly at Sezee, but she continued talking to the captain. The man gave Tyen a quick look over, then shrugged and held his hand out to Tyen.
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