“Must be some heavy gods-damned pottery,” D’Jenn said.
Just as the words left his mouth, one of the men began to curse. Dormael’s attention perked up, and he noticed one of the men struggling to hold up a corner of the load, his legs shaking with the burden. Rope creaked in protest as part of the load’s weight was taken by the crane—the other side, however, was not yet tied down. The man under the unsecured side of the load yelped in pain, and everything came apart in an instant.
“Clear the hold!” one of them shouted. “It’s coming down!”
Somewhere a rope snapped. Men cursed and dove for cover as wood splintered all around them. The load slid from its catch-poles, and was upended into the hold below. A terrible clatter issued up from the scene of the accident, and Dormael pushed Shawna and Bethany away from the chaos. The noblewoman gave him an irritated look in the wake of the accident, but Dormael ignored her. He turned back to the cargo hold, and stepped over to see if anyone was hurt.
His eyes almost popped out of his head.
One of the crewmen was picking himself up from the pile of rubble, wiping blood from his face. He grunted with pain, but paused at what he saw beneath him. Scattered with the broken pieces of wood, with the frayed remains of rope and orange pottery, was a multitude of shining gold coins. There were thousands of them spilled into the cargo hold, tinkling as the crewman tried to gain his feet. He stared up at those looking below, bewilderment in his eyes.
“Fuck the gods,” he said.
“Indeed,” D’Jenn said as whispers and muttered curses broke out amongst the crewmen watching. Everyone turned a look on Allen, who was staring down at the gold as if it had risen from the deck and slapped him in the face. His eyes shot to the dock, where yet more crates sat waiting to be loaded into the Midwife’s hold. Dormael followed his gaze, and tried to estimate the amount of money they might be carrying. How many crates had been loaded already?
“Easy run?” Shawna said, regarding Allen with a raised eyebrow.
Allen looked down into the hold, and summed up Dormael’s feelings with a single word.
“Shit.”
The Pirate-Queen and the Midwife
The captain of the Midwife was a lean, balding man by the name of Binnael. He sat across his desk from Dormael and his friends, regarding them with a scowl. Allen loomed on the other side of his desk, staring daggers at the man. Binnael poured himself a mug of firewine, and avoided meeting Allen’s gaze.
“We were contracted to carry the gold back in Wethrael,” Binnael said. “The Midwife is a fat old bitch, and we usually don’t bring her so far into the river. We’ve the keel for it, but we can only get through two channels in the bogs. We spend most of our time tacking up and down between Tept and Orris, but the commission on this job was too good. There were only four of us that knew what we’d be taking on here—myself, the quartermaster, the bosun, and his mate.”
“Where is the gold from?” D’Jenn asked. “You’d think the banking houses would have higher security.”
“It’s not the banking houses,” Binnael said. “We were to meet with an agent here in town, a man by the name of Ester. He was supposed to escort the cargo to its final destination.”
“Sounds like an eastern name,” D’Jenn said. “Shundovian, maybe.”
“Maybe,” Binnael said, scowling at the wall. “Bastard never showed. Sent one of the cabin boys to look for him in town, but no one had heard of him. Cargo’s here, but no agent.”
“Furniture and pottery,” Allen muttered. “By all the gods in the Void.”
“The commission on this run is enough for my crew to retire in comfort, though the bastards would probably drink their way through one half, and screw their way through the other—if you don’t mind me saying so, lady.”
“Well, you’ve already said it,” Shawna replied. She let the comment hang in the air, and Binnael cleared his throat.
“We pulled into Billingshold three nights ago, and I gave the lads a bit of shore leave,” Binnael went on. “The bosun and his mate never showed for their watch—and that’s a damn strange thing, given the bosun needs to set the hold for the cargo. Me and my quartermaster get to asking questions, and track the bosun back to an inn where he was staying. Found him, alright—strangled to death. The bosun’s mate never came back.”
“Now I know why nobody wanted this job,” Allen said. “The word is out on you, Captain. Sounds like a set-up.”
“Aye, it looks that way,” Binnael grunted. “Either the mate got some grand ideas in his head, strangled the bosun, and started blabbering, or someone got to this Ester before we ever pulled into harbor. Everybody knows about the bog pirates—Hells, half the crews of these river boats spend part of their time in the swamp, anyway. Might as well exchange one for the other.”
“Chances are they’re both dead, and someone more dangerous is privy to the information,” D’Jenn said.
Binnael sighed. “The bosun was a good lad. Gonna take me a whole year to find one as sharp as him. Now I got to tell his wife that he won’t be coming home. We’re simple traders, you hear?”
“How many more of your men will get ideas in their heads?” Shawna asked. “They all saw what happened on deck. I’ll bet some of that gold has already found its way to their purses.”
“They’re here now, whatever ideas they’d get,” Binnael said. “I don’t take on new crew that often, and most of these lads have been with me for years. Now that we’re headed north, the only way they’ll get off this cog is to jump. I don’t think we have much to worry on.”
“What if they decide to mutiny halfway to Jerrantis?” Dormael asked. “Toss you and the quartermaster overboard, then head for the sea. What’s to stop them from doing that?”
“Well, to be blunt, you are here to stop them from doing that,” Binnael said.
“We were hired to guard a hold full of furniture and pottery,” Allen said through his teeth. “Instead, we’ve been saddled with a ship full of gold. You realize there are only four of us, and your men aren’t fighters. You should have hired five companies our size to run that much gold down the river. What were you thinking?”
“You said it yourself,” Binnael snapped. “No one else wanted this job. I would have hired all I could, but you were the only ones willing to take the commission. Plus, complications or no, there are people waiting on the other side of the river for this cargo, people who know my name, know who I am. I’ve the feeling that they’re not the sort to let bygone betrayals go unpunished should their cargo disappear. I have a deadline, see? A man has to take what he can get.”
“A man gets what he deserves sometimes, too,” Allen replied. “And you hired us for the standard rate—that’s going to change, for sure.”
“Whatever you want,” Binnael sighed, running his hand over his sweating pate.
“Four shares for each of us, plus a bonus when we land in Jerrantis,” Allen said.
“Four? You’re mad.”
“Four, plus a bonus, or we take one of your longboats and head for the shoreline,” Allen shot back. “Unless you think your men could stop us.”
Binnael narrowed his eyes at Allen. He looked to D’Jenn, whose cold blue eyes could turn anyone’s blood to ice. He took in Shawna, and the Marks she had been casually displaying since they walked in. For Dormael, he spared only a glance before taking a deep breath, and letting his shoulders fall.
“Four shares, then,” Binnael agreed. “Just keep my bloody ship intact, and her crew breathing.”
“You’re lucky I like you, Captain,” Allen said. “We’ll do our part. Just tell your men to stay out of our way.”
Binnael nodded. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry things turned out this way. It’s not what I would’ve wanted, by the gods’ own teeth.”
Dormael thought his apology was a little like the spider begging the forgiveness of the fly. He could see that Binnael was in a bind, but still—the man’s lie might cost them. With the real mission loomi
ng over their heads, being captured by bog pirates would be a disaster. It may have been better to purchase a longboat and row themselves up the river.
“Sorry, are you?” Allen said. “Keep your bloody apologies, Captain. Just don’t get us stuck in the mud.”
“I won’t,” Binnael replied. “If that’s all, I’ve got work to get done.”
***
Dormael lounged against the railing on the forecastle, watching the river in the afternoon sun. He could see both shorelines in the distance—light forest to the west, rolling farmlands to the east. It would take a few days to reach the southern edge of the bogs, which marked the boundary between Runeme and Farra-Jerra. The going would be easy until that point, the waters clear of danger.
Other vessels made their way in either direction, everything from canoes to fishing boats. The Midwife drew interested gazes as it passed, but larger vessels weren’t unheard of on the river. Dormael waved to a canoe full of laughing children, and raised hands in greeting to fishermen as they passed. The sail was so pleasant he even took a short nap.
Judging by the way the journey had started, one might even forget that they were all sailing to certain death.
Dormael had never been through the bogs—at least, not on the water. His ability to shapeshift allowed him a certain freedom when traveling alone, and he’d always elected to fly whenever he could. He had passed over the bogs a few times before, and could remember the vivid beauty of the place. Seeing it from the sky, it resembled a ghostly landscape forever locked in a cloying haze. The wetlands surrounding the swamp were vast, and Dormael could see how careless travelers could get lost in its twisting tributaries, or fall victim to any number of hidden dangers.
He spent part of his day watching Bethany slink around deck like a shadow. She appeared to be playing some sort of game with the sailors—sneaking up on them, then disappearing when they turned to look. Though everyone else had a pall hanging over them about what lay ahead, Bethany’s spirits were undiminished. Dormael watched her sneak about for most of the day, and never once saw her caught.
He also watched the sky. Every bird that came flitting across the water made his hackles rise, and he peered at each one that landed in the rigging. One of the crewmen noticed, and gave him a suspicious look, which Dormael ignored. He’d spent every day since their flight from Ishamael hiding from aerial pursuit, and the open space of the water made him feel exposed. None of the birds did more than peck and leave the occasional dropping, but that didn’t make Dormael feel any safer.
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Bethany appeared with a steaming bowl from the galley. She produced a loaf of bread from a wrapped cloth, and sat down to take her meal with him. Dormael smiled as she handed it over, and they settled down to eat.
“Were you having fun with your little game?” Dormael asked.
“What game?” she replied, chewing on a mouthful of bread.
“The one where you were sneaking up on the crewmen,” Dormael said. “I’ve been watching you all day.”
“Oh,” Bethany smiled. “Yes, lots of fun. I got three silver marks, some string, a really strange-looking rock, and a belt knife.”
Dormael paused with a piece of bread halfway to his mouth.
“You were pickpocketing them?” he asked, leaning close and keeping his voice low.
Bethany nodded, a wide smile on her face. “That’s the game. I sneak up on them, take something, then show it to D’Jenn. I don’t win until I can sneak back, and slip whatever I took back to them. It’s a lot of fun.”
“D’Jenn has you doing that, does he?”
Bethany nodded again. “I get one copper mark for every win. It’s easy. Big people are so slow and stupid.”
“Is that so?”
She smiled. “Well, not you.”
“Are you sure?” Dormael said. He’d been watching the girl all day, and he hadn’t noticed her cutting any purses, or dipping into pockets. She was even more nimble than he’d thought.
His conversation with Lacelle bubbled to the surface of his mind.
“Bethany,” he said, “have you done this sort of thing before? Stealing, I mean. You’re not in trouble, dear, I’m just curious.”
Bethany’s expression changed, her smile sliding from her face. She took another bite of the bread, and stared into her soup bowl. She waited a short beat before answering.
“Sometimes you have to,” she said.
“Well, you’re quite good at it,” he said, nudging the girl’s shoulder and offering a smile. He could see that his questions were bothering her, and the last thing he wanted was to dim her spirits. “Were you always that good at hiding from people?”
Bethany’s eyes grew haunted. “Not always.”
Dormael wanted to ask another question, but the look in her eyes drew him up short. Lacelle’s words came to mind. There is probably a great trauma in the girl’s past—just keep a close eye on her. He decided to abandon the questions for the time being. Dormael wasn’t sure if he cared much about the girl’s past. It would be nice to know—both for curiosity’s sake, and for insight into her personality—but what mattered most to Dormael was that she was happy, and safe. He knew that he couldn’t guarantee the latter, but the former was something he could influence.
“Well, just don’t let yourself be caught by one of the crew,” Dormael said. “It would be hard to explain to Binnael what was going on.”
Bethany snorted. “I won’t get caught. I told you—big people are slow. Besides, D’Jenn says the danger is good motivation.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said. “He said if I’m good enough, I won’t get caught and there’s nothing to worry about, anyway. I’m good enough, too—I got six copper marks today. Tomorrow I’m going to win ten.”
“You are?”
“I am,” she replied, raising her chin. “I’m the terror of the blue, the Pirate-Queen of the bloody Seas!”
Dormael couldn’t help but laugh. They spent the rest of the meal in silence, watching the sun paint an orange swath across the river. The evening was cool out on the water, but Dormael could tell that spring was approaching.
He lit a pipe as night came on, and resettled his weapons beside him. His spear was leaned against the railing, along with a shortbow and quiver of arrows. Dormael was getting used to the gear since Shawna had adjusted it for him. It was preferable to the brigandine Allen had brought D’Jenn, complete with a pair of spiked steel gauntlets. The man worried a great deal about having his fingers chopped off. Dormael, though, had never given it much thought. The leather armor suited him.
“Can I ask you something?” Bethany said. Dormael roused himself from his silence, and regarded the youngling. She had a thoughtful expression on her face, and stared out over the silence of the water.
“Any time you wish.”
“Were Lacelle and Lilliane frightened of me?” she said. Her voice was quiet. “They…I don’t know. They gave me funny looks. Lacelle always looked at me like she was measuring.”
“She looks at everyone that way,” Dormael muttered before he could stop himself. “They weren’t frightened of you. They had…concerns about you, about us taking you on the road.”
“Lilliane didn’t know that I knew the Hunter’s Tongue.”
Dormael’s heart did a little flip in his chest.
“What did she say, little one?”
“She said I was dangerous,” Bethany said. “She said that I killed their friend, and that she’d never seen anything so cold in her life.”
Dormael’s stomach twisted with an unnamed emotion—guilt, maybe, or dread. Anger wrestled around with it until he had no idea what he felt. All at once he wanted to punch something, and hug the little one until she felt better.
“Lilliane and Lacelle are different than us,” he said, trying find where to begin. “They’re not used to seeing the things that we’ve seen. They don’t have people trying to hurt them as much as we do. What happened in
the tunnels…well, sometimes bad things happen, and they’ve got to be dealt with. The two of them just don’t understand that fact the same way we do. Do you see?”
“She said I was cold,” Bethany said. “Cold, like something evil.”
Dormael sighed, and pulled the girl under his arm. She was stiff at first, but relaxed against him when he tousled her hair.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Bethany said. “I just…I did something. Everybody was screaming, Shawna was outside with those dead things, and no one would pay attention. So I did something.”
“You wanted to save Shawna.”
“No one else was doing anything,” Bethany grumbled. “Fat, stupid Lilliane had a knife to her throat, and no one would do anything. I don’t understand.”
“No reason to be mean, dear,” Dormael said.
“Well, she called me cold,” Bethany said. “So I call her fat.”
Dormael couldn’t help the snicker that escaped his lips. Bethany looked up at him, and began to smile despite her turmoil. He took a deep breath, and settled back against the railing.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Listen, dear—you want to know what I think?”
Bethany nodded.
“I think it doesn’t matter if Lilliane was scared,” he said. “If you hadn’t done something when you did, Torins might have killed her, and Shawna might be dead, too. Sometimes you have to do something, and things are happening so fast that you don’t have time to stop and think about it. You did, and in this case, you did the right thing.”
“You think so?”
“I do,” he said. “Don’t worry what those women thought about you—you always do what you think is right, and live with the consequences. It’s good that you’re thinking about this, too.”
“It is?”
“Aye, it should never be an easy thing to hurt someone,” he said. “Did you know he was going to die when you threw him out of Lacelle’s ward?”
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 104
