by Giles Carwyn
“The pale one.”
He craned around again, and this time Lawdon let him see her face. His mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened. “Y-You’re…”
“Lawdon,” she said. “Reignholtz’s captain.”
The servant’s muscles tightened, readying…
“Don’t be stupid,” Lawdon said, twisting the dagger. The man gave in, breathing hard, his hands pressed against the wall. “Now calm yourself before you lose something important to you. If you help me without a fuss, you may come through this intact. I have some questions about the albino.”
“But V-Vinghelt is my m-master.”
“Not two nights ago he wasn’t. Come on, we’re going for a walk. You still need to relieve yourself.” She led him along the deserted edge of Lady Gildheld’s ship. It was of the new design that had a narrow companionway running all the way around the outside, which made for a perfect little alleyway for her to hide and attack a man on the way to the privy. She had waited over half an hour for the man to drink himself into a full bladder.
Together, they shuffled to the stern and down the steep ramp to the latrine barge anchored below Gildheld’s ship. When they reached the bottom, Lawdon hooked her toe under the plank and flipped it into the water.
“Now, love,” the man said nervously, trying to seem confident. “If you wanted some privacy, all you needed to do was ask—”
She pushed the dagger forward slightly.
“Ah! You cruel b—”
“Don’t say it,” she said in a lethal voice. “I’ve never gelded anyone before, but I can learn as I go.”
His head bobbed up and down quickly. She shoved him through a curtain into one of the velvet-draped toilet stalls. He stumbled right into Mikal’s waiting fist and reeled at the punch.
Mikal slugged the man in the gut, stood him up, and slugged him in the face again. He crumpled to the ground, coughing. Mikal knelt on the man’s head, pressing his cheek into the wood floor.
“Just remember,” Mikal said. “She’s the nice one. So if you don’t answer her questions, you’ll be answering mine. Understand?”
The man’s head shifted against the floor in a stilted nod. Mikal eased up a little, and the man blinked up at him, eyes wide. Blood trickled from a split lip.
Mikal’s eyes narrowed. “Waitaminute,” he murmured. “You’re the ass who pushed me in the duel, aren’t you?” He shoved the man’s face into the floorboards again.
“All in good fun, sir!” the servant mumbled. “The summer was in m’blood!”
Mikal growled. “My footprints will be in your blood if you don’t give us answers we’re happy with.”
“I live to serve, sir,” the man said in a muffled tone, his lips mashed into the wood.
Lawdon knelt before Vinghelt’s servant, put her dagger next to his nose. A single rivulet of the man’s blood lingered on the blade, and she made sure he saw it.
“Where did you take Shara-lani two nights ago?”
“W-Who?” the man said, then cried out as Mikal dug a knee into his back.
“Let’s try that again,” Lawdon said. “Where—”
“He’ll bury me, my lady. Have mercy!” the servant said. “Vinghelt is a mage. He has ways of knowing things. And the Kherish physician’s eyes…” He shuddered. “They go right through a man.”
“So will my dagger. Best you worry about that first.” She placed the edge very carefully against the man’s eyelid.
“No! No!” he whimpered. “I took her to the physician’s ship. It’s no great secret.”
“And where is that?” Mikal rumbled.
“Balbont’s Cove, a league east along the coast.”
“And what did you do to her?” Lawdon asked, keeping the knife blade where it was.
“Nothing, milady. Nothing at all. We took her there and left her, just as he ordered.” He gave a little pause, looked at each of them.
Lawdon narrowed her eyes. “And?” She pushed the dagger against the top of his cheek, cutting.
“This morning!” he gasped. “We were ordered to return. We collected a bundle wrapped in a sheet.”
“A bundle?” Lawdon said. “What kind of bundle?”
“Just a bundle.”
“What was in it?”
“I don’t know, milady. It was wrapped in a sheet.”
Lawdon narrowed her eyes. “Guess. How big was it?”
“Fairly big, milady.”
“Was it roughly the size and shape of a woman?” Mikal growled.
The servant swallowed, terror in his eyes. “C-Could be, milord. I didn’t see anything.”
“Didn’t see anything?! That bastard killed her!” Mikal said, shoving his knee hard into the man’s back and grabbing his hair. The servant squealed.
“No!” he gasped. “No! She moved! She was alive!”
“Enough! Stop playing games, or I take out your eyes,” Lawdon said.
“There were bloodstains on the sheet, milady, but she moved, once, and…and she was breathing.”
“Where did you take her?” Lawdon asked.
“Butcher’s barge, milady.”
“Son of a bitch!” Mikal growled.
“Not what you think! Not what you think!” the servant gasped, groaning under the weight of Mikal’s knee. “The barge was going to the prince’s ship. They loaded her on with the other meat.”
“Other meat,” Mikal hissed.
“Are you sure?” Lawdon asked the man.
“It was morning, milady. We couldn’t just carry a bloody bundle onto the ship in bright sunlight, now could we?”
Lawdon stared at him for a long, hard moment. Mikal seethed. Finally, she said, “All right. That’s it. Stick him in the hole.”
“No! Don’t—”
Mikal grabbed the servant by the scruff, hauled him to his feet, and upended him in the privy hole, headfirst. The latrine was a hand-crafted wooden stool that was open to the ocean below, and the servant hollered, spreading his legs across the rim to keep from falling all the way in.
“What are you doing?” his voice echoed up to them. “I answered all of your questions!”
“We’re letting you live,” Mikal said. “Which is more than you deserve. Now shut up before we change our minds.”
Looking up, Lawdon grabbed one end of the decorative rope that hung above the velvet curtain in ample loops. “Get the other end,” she said to Mikal. Using the rope, they tied the man’s legs apart so he could not fall in.
“No! You can’t leave me here!” the man called.
Lawdon pressed her dagger against his exposed crotch. “We leave you, or we kill you. Which would you rather?”
The man’s whimper echoed up the privy hole.
“That’s what I thought. Now shut your mouth.” She inserted her dagger back into its forearm sheath.
Lawdon and Mikal left the privy stall and looked up to see a woman standing where the plank had been, looking down at them. She frowned to see them both exit together.
Lawdon smiled her best guilty smile.
“You might want to use the privy barge on the port side,” Mikal called to her. Tossing her head, the woman was halfway through her turn when she stopped and turned back. She peered into the darkness. “You’re Mikal Heidvell aren’t you?”
Mikal shrugged. “Alas I am not he. Though many confuse us. He is a spectacularly handsome man.”
The woman scowled and flounced away.
Mikal shook his head. “All my admirers are starting to get a bit annoying.”
“I’m sure you’ll find some way to cope,” Lawdon replied, jumping to catch the rope dangling from the rail of the cottage ship. Mikal followed, and they pulled themselves aboard. They ran along the edge, quickly cutting the ropes that anchored the barge in place. She suspected that Lady Gildheld was still secretly sympathetic to Vinghelt. Lawdon didn’t want word of this incident getting back to him too soon.
Mikal turned to Lawdon as the barge drifted away. “Are you sure you don
’t want to just kill him?”
“No point,” she said. “That’s a nice privy. Lady Gildheld’s men will go looking for it, but I doubt they’ll find it until tomorrow or the next day.”
“So how do we get Shara off Vinghelt’s ship?” he said tightly. “It is still his sovereign territory, and the other princes will be reluctant to violate it.”
“I’ll try to round up a few friends,” Lawdon said. “It shouldn’t be that hard these days.”
“That will take time.”
She could tell from his eyes that he’d rather go now.
“It would be safer, and I’d like to do this without blood, if we can,” she said. “We’ll hit him later tonight, just before dawn.”
He paused a long moment. “Can we afford to wait that long?”
Lawdon didn’t know. Despite her anger at Shara, she had no desire to see her friend dead. The Zelani had kept her promise. By luring away Vinghelt’s physician, she’d made sure no magic was used in Mikal’s duel. She might even have had something to do with Natshea’s disappearance. But Vinghelt was on the defensive. This could easily turn into a bloodbath. “Either she’s alive because they want her alive, or she’s dead because they want her dead,” she said tightly. “Either way, a few hours won’t matter.”
Mikal waited a long moment, then nodded. She was happy to see that his anger had not overcome his better judgment. He gave her a weary smile. “You must be a captain or something.”
She wanted to reach out, touch his cheek, but she didn’t. She managed a half smile. “We can’t all be duelists.”
“Lawdon…” he started, then paused. He frowned, seemed about to say something, then looked out to sea, eyes fixed on the drifting latrine for a moment.
“What?”
He let out a little breath and looked back at her. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “This wasn’t your fault. Shara chose to go.”
“No, not that…” he said. “I’m sorry about forgetting you,” he fought for the words. “I’ve not been a very good man, most of my life. I see that clearly now, and I wonder how I’ve managed to stay blind for so many years. But with you, I mean, when I first saw Shara, she…”
Lawdon swallowed the lump in her throat. “She didn’t really give you a choice, I know.”
Mikal held up a hand. “Stop. Don’t make excuses for me. People have been doing that all my life. Shara gave me many choices, all along the way. And I’m not proud of all the ones that I made. I’m not as stupid as I look. I fell in love with Shara, but I’m not blind to what she’s done to me. I just wanted you to know that it’s all over.”
“Mikal, none of that matters right now.”
“Yes it does. I just wanted you to know—”
Lawdon covered his lips with her fingers, caught his gaze, and held it. “This isn’t the time. I really want to have this conversation, but let’s get Shara back first.”
“Lawdon—”
“That’s an order,” she said, standing. He stood with her, his brow furrowed.
A teenage boy stumbled toward them, looking rather green. His head jerked back and forth as he looked at the empty space where the little barge used to be.
“Where’s the privy?” he asked desperately. His back shuddered, and he grabbed the rail, squeezing his eyes closed.
“This one’s missing,” Lawdon said. “Try the port side.”
“Hey, you’re Mik—” the boy started, but suddenly turned and heaved over the side. Lawdon turned her face away, but she was downwind and caught the full stench of it.
She winced and glanced up at Mikal. “Ah, the smell of home,” she said. “May the summer last forever.”
CHAPTER 29
Phanqui listened to the sound of his breathing, the beating of his heart. There was no light in the cell, and barely any sound. The rough rock walls sweated beads of cold water, and all he could hear was Cesshen on the other side of the cell, thrashing in his sleep. Phanqui knew exactly what the man was dreaming. He’d dreamed it himself almost every hellish night in this jail. The day would come when Vinghelt’s thugs arrived to bury them all alive.
Footsteps clomped up the hall. Phanqui grimaced even as his mouth started watering. He’d never been so weak, so hungry.
Keys jangled in the door, and he backed as far away as the tiny cell would allow. Cesshen woke up and did the same.
“Hungry, maggots?” The jailer’s gravelly voice floated through the crack in the door as it opened. Torchlight flickered around his dark silhouette. He had ugly bristles sticking out of his malformed jaw and looked like he shaved with a sharp piece of glass instead of a razor. With one huge eye and one squinty one, and no more than a half dozen brown teeth in his mouth, he was the very vision of despair.
Despite Phanqui’s hunger, he had come to dread the moments when the jailer brought food. A bite of stale biscuit and a cup of water always came with a price.
The jailer looked particularly pleased with himself today. He set the cup of water on the floor and showed them the wooden plate with the two biscuits on it. “You two must be tired of this crappy food. Even desert dogs can’t like the same old stale biscuits day after day.”
Phanqui said nothing.
“How about a little something extra today?” The guard loosened the drawstring on his pants. “Can’t have anyone saying I don’t take good care of you.” He dropped his pants around his ankles.
Phanqui cringed and turned away.
With a grin the guard picked up his testicles and rubbed them over the top of the biscuits. “How about like a little nut cheese on those biscuits, maggots.” The ugly man howled at his own joke and tossed the plate onto the floor. He pulled up his pants and walked out, locking the door behind him. “Enjoy the hospitality of the Summer Seas. It’s the finest in the world.” The man’s raspy chuckle faded as he moved on to the next cell.
Cesshen crawled over to the cup of water and took a greedy sip. He snatched up a biscuit and shoved it in his mouth. “What are they waiting for?” he said, careful to catch any crumbs in his hand. “Why don’t they just kill us and get it over with?”
Phanqui crawled over to him and drank what little water Cesshen had left. With a grimace, he forced himself to take a bite of the biscuit.
“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I have no idea what they are planning.”
He lay back on the floor and swallowed the dry lump.
It surprised him every day that he and the other rebels were still alive. Vinghelt must be waiting for something, concocting some new torture for them. Perhaps he would make them into a bloody public example. Or maybe he was just letting the pressure of impending death work on their minds. Nothing was beneath the man.
As Phanqui took another bite of the hard bread, his mind flew back to the agonizing voyage that followed their botched assassination attempt. They had sailed all the way back to the Summer Seas stuffed in barrels. The guards played with them the entire trip, filling the barrels, letting the prisoners gasp, then dumping them out only to fill them again.
Only Phanqui, Cesshen, and two others had survived the journey to this dark hellhole. He couldn’t help thinking the others were the lucky ones.
He had nearly drifted off to sleep when a loud crash and a shout echoed down the hall. He and Cesshen sat up. There was a cry of pain, quickly cut off. Keys jingled.
Phanqui struggled to his feet and moved to the tiny barred window at the door. He strained his eyes to look into the hallway, but all he could see was the bobbing torchlight.
Booted footsteps thundered toward him. More than one man. Not the jailer. Phanqui backed away from the door. This was it. They were coming to kill them.
Torchlight blared through the window, and the key turned in the lock. The door was thrown open.
A Waveborn stood in the doorway, torch held high. Phanqui swallowed down his fear, held himself still. He didn’t try to run. It wouldn’t matter.
“You the Physendrians?” the man ask
ed.
“Who are you?”
The man smiled. “A gift from the King of Kherif.”
Phanqui’s stomach clenched. He looked closer. The hook nose, the brown skin. The man was dressed like a Waveborn, but he wasn’t a Summerman.
“Any friend of the fishlickers can stay here,” the man said. Phanqui could hear the other cell door being opened. “The rest come with us.”
Phanqui helped Cesshen to his feet and half carried him out of the cell. Hythal and Pheirdin were already in the hall with three Khers dressed as Waveborn. “Come quickly,” one of them said, and led them down a long, dark hallway. They passed the guard’s body lying facedown on the floor, and Phanqui snatched up his sword.
They all paused at the front door, and the leader of the Khers peered outside. “Wait here,” he said. “A covered cart will be along in a moment. We’ll hide you in the back.” He reached into his coat and handed each of them a hard sausage. “Here. I thought you’d be hungry.”
The other prisoners attacked the food, but Phanqui just held his in a limp hand. “Who sent you?” he asked. “How did you know where we were?”
“A friend of yours spent a long time and a lot of money finding out where you were.”
“Who? Why?”
“He thought he owed you after running away to leave you for dead.”
“The albino? He’s alive? Vinghelt didn’t kill him?”
The Kher smiled. “That fat man’s hard to kill.” He shook his head. “He sends his eternal apologies for your misfortunes. We’re still trying to discover who betrayed him.”
“What about Vinghelt’s magic?”
The Kher laughed. “That fishlicker is no more a mage than I am. Would we be here if he was?”
Phanqui’s heart surged with sudden hope. If Vinghelt was no magician, if the albino escaped, perhaps his own wife and daughter were safe as well.
“Are you taking us home?” he asked.
“We can leave tonight if you wish; Jesheks has a ship waiting for you.”
The four prisoners looked at each other. “Thank the Nine,” Cesshen whispered.
The Kher paused, his hand still on the door cracked open just enough to let the moonlight fall on his arm. “But,” he said softly, “if you’re willing to stay one day longer, we can give you the chance you missed in Physen. You can strike at the very heart of your enemies.”
