by Dan Koboldt
The wooden stools along the bar were about two-thirds full, so they claimed a pair and sat down. The marble was cold to the touch, almost like ice.
Like the captains he’d seen in other drinking rooms, the men and women at the bar wore hats with overlarge feathers on them; it seemed to be a mark of captainship in this part of Alissia. The only difference was that where the others’ feathers were simply dyed to their obnoxious hues, those worn in the House of Valteron were naturally beautiful. Some resembled the peacock feathers from Earth, others surely came from birds unlike Quinn had ever seen. Regardless, they all spoke to a certain exotic origin.
A good illusionist could read faces and body language as most people can read billboards. Those skills seemed to translate fairly well to Alissians, though as a general rule they seemed more guarded with their emotions. Even so, Quinn picked up a universal vibe among the Valteroni captains drinking at the bar. No matter how well they tried to hide it.
“They’re nervous,” Quinn said quietly.
“How do you know?” Logan asked.
“I can just tell.”
“Was it here before, or did they become that way when we entered?”
“Not sure. I was too busy being frisked by the doorman.”
“And ogling the ladies.”
“I was trying to get a read on them, too.”
“I bet.”
Quinn shrugged, and made another surreptitious look about the bar. The man on Quinn’s right had the look of a ship captain.
Time to drum up a little information.
“Evening, Captain,” Quinn said.
The man gave him a slight nod. His silk-and-leather jacket was studded with silver thread and decorative jewels; the feather in his soft gray hat looked like that of a pheasant: brown with black stripes and red near the tip. Quinn resisted a sudden, likely suicidal urge to reach out and touch it.
The bartender, an attractive brunette in a spotless white apron, came over to take their order. Quinn tried valiantly to remember what he could about the liquor from Chaudri’s briefings. Now was not the moment to come off as a hayseed.
“What can I get for you, gentlemen?” she asked.
“Something off the dark end,” Logan said.
“How about you, handsome?” she asked Quinn.
Quinn felt his cheeks heating, but a moment of inspiration came. “Gold and cold,” he said casually, as if he’d ordered it a hundred times before.
She smiled; he knew he’d won a point or two with that one. From beneath the bar she produced a delicate glass tumbler for Logan, identical to the others being sipped at along the bar. She poured three fingers of dark liquor the color of motor oil into it. That would be Logan’s drink, and it suited him.
For Quinn, she opened a wooden cabinet nestled among the shelves that lined the back wall. The bottom half of the cabinet was a solid block of ice. Above it rested a wire shelf with frosted, gold-rimmed tumblers. She used a pair of wooden tongs to pluck one of these from the rack and set it on the bar in front of Quinn. His drink cost about twice as much as Logan’s, if he wasn’t mistaken, but the result would be worth it.
The bartender retrieved a round glass bottle from the top shelf and uncorked it. She poured it into the frosted tumbler from beneath the bar. The liquor was clear when it came out of the bottle, but turned a honey-gold color when it hit the glass.
“Beautiful,” Quinn said.
The captain beside him took notice, and gave a nod of approval.
“Perhaps one for the good captain?” Quinn asked the bartender, daring to flash her a wink as well.
“Mmm, handsome and generous,” she said. “Not bad for a northerner.”
She poured another frozen glass of the “gold and cold” for the captain and slid it in front of him. Quinn took his glass at the same time as the other man. They clinked glasses and drank.
The foremost Alissian experts, Richard Holt included, had attempted to describe exactly what Valteroni gold liquor tastes like. Half of them could not put it into words. The other half couldn’t agree on them.
Quinn expected it to feel cold at first, given the frosted glass and everything, but there was no real sensation of temperature, hot or cold. The liquor simply flowed across his tongue, stimulating taste buds he didn’t even know were there. He understood right away why the research team had struggled so much. This one, as far as Quinn could best describe it, tasted like sunshine.
The ship captain’s drink might have been similar, because it made him smile. “Thank you for that,” he said. “I love the golden stuff, but if I let myself drink it without occasion, I’d be bankrupt.”
“I don’t drink any other kind,” Quinn said. Technically, it was true since this was his first glass.
“That, my friend, is an opulent lifestyle,” the captain said.
Quinn shrugged. “Fortune has smiled upon me, and life is short. Why have anything but the best?”
“I’ll drink to that,” the man said. He took another sip, savoring it. Meanwhile, Logan’s drink seemed to make him angry. It was either bad luck with the dark liquor, or else he got what he paid for.
It occurred to Quinn that they hadn’t paid for anything yet, despite being about twenty pieces of silver in to the bartender. He had some vague recollection of how one was supposed to pay for drinks in Valteron, but couldn’t dredge it up. Hopefully Logan would remember.
The captain chuckled to himself. “Strange coincidences.”
“What’s that?” Quinn asked.
“I’m just lucky, that’s all. Two strangers have bought me drinks inside of a week. Not even Valteroni, either.”
“Someone else was in here buying drinks?” Logan asked.
“Sure was. Serious fellow, and he was throwing some silver around buying drinks for all of the captains. Wanted to get to Valteron right away.” His face clouded.
“His name wasn’t Richard, was it?” Logan asked. “Balding fellow, middle-aged, talks like a poet?”
“Ah, you know him.”
“He’s an old friend,” Logan said.
“Nice fellow. We talked for a couple of hours. Knew even more about Valteroni liquor than I do.”
“I’m not surprised,” Logan said. “He always could talk my ear off. You know, I’d like to catch up with him, actually. Is he still around?”
“Don’t think so. He eventually persuaded old Jock to sell him passage south, back to Valteron.”
“What kind of ship?”
“Coast-cutter.”
Logan smiled, though it was visibly forced. “He’s a persuasive guy, isn’t he?” He rested a fist on the bar, with the thumb between two of his fingers. One of the basic hand signals he’d taught Quinn; this one meant, Time to go.
Quinn pretended not to see it. “Did he seem nervous at all?” he asked.
“Distracted, more like. And eager to get to Valteron.”
That had to mean something. Quinn just couldn’t figure out what it was. Surely Holt had heard the news by then. “A shame about the Prime,” he said.
“Heard about that, did you? Bad news travels fast.” The captain made an odd gesture, pouring just a drop of his liquor onto the counter, dipping a finger, touching it to his forehead. “Gods look after the Prime. He was a good man.”
The barmaid came back. “See anything else you like?” she asked. She met his eyes when she said it, and Quinn liked that. He liked her smile, too, and the way she sort of leaned over the bar a little bit toward him. He’d be happy to buy another round, or ten rounds, but Logan cleared his throat a little too loudly.
Quinn sighed. “I suppose I should settle up.”
Her smile faded just a little, but he tipped enough to bring it back in spades. Maybe on the way back, Kiara would grant them some shore leave. He wouldn’t mind spending a little extra time
here.
He put his hand on the captain’s shoulder. “I’ll pray for Valteron, Captain.”
The man gave him an odd look. “You sound like a brother of the Star.”
“I used to be one,” Quinn said.
They took their wooden markers back to the doorman and reclaimed their weapons. Logan made a big show of unsheathing and inspecting his knives, while the doorman pretended not to notice.
But Logan found nothing to complain about, so the doorman ushered them out into the cool night air. The door closed firmly behind them. Logan made sure that no one was around, and then activated his comm link to raise Kiara.
“We’ve got something,” he told her.
“Better be good,” Kiara said. “I just spent two hours buying drinks for naval officers who didn’t know anything.”
“Holt was in the House of Valteron buying drinks a few days ago. Seems like he caught a ride south.”
“How good is the intel?”
“Bradley can offer his own opinion, but I think it’s legit.”
“I’m with Logan on this,” Quinn said.
“What sort of craft is he on?”
“A coast-cutter.”
“Damn.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Well, that settles it. If he goes by sea, so do we. Go get us passage on the fastest Valteroni ship you can find.”
“Will do,” Logan said. He tilted his head back toward the House of Valteron’s door. They knocked again. The same doorman answered. He looked at them with that same appraising, disdainful stare. “This is a Valteroni bar,” he said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Quinn said.
“Valteron is the most powerful of Alissian nations, owing to their trading fleet and navy. Perhaps also contributory is the omnipotent role of a single ruler: the Valteroni Prime.”
—R. HOLT, “SUMMARY OF ALISSIAN CITY-STATES”
CHAPTER 9
SEA LEGS
Of course it had to be their drinking buddy from the House of Valteron who had the next ship headed south. Something about his conversation with Quinn and Logan had made the man homesick. That didn’t stop him from accepting two more rounds of Valteroni liquor before he agreed to take them on.
Quinn and Logan reunited with Chaudri and Kiara back at the Lost Lady, a two-story inn located uphill, and more importantly upwind, of the crowded waterfront. The liquor had Quinn’s head swimming by then.
The building featured a small common room, stout wooden doors, and a communications relay hidden on the roof. The lieutenant wanted a good signal—they’d probably be out of range while at sea. The inn’s proprietor was a slight fellow of fair complexion; he couldn’t be more than twenty-five. He arranged for a late-night meal while his brother, a much stouter version of the same stock, cleared the drunken sailors from the common room.
The food was good. Quinn remembered that much. The thick white soup reminded him of clam chowder from back home, savory and piping hot. There were loaves of bread, the heavy brown kind. He ate as much as he could, hoping to soak up some of the alcohol. He finished his bowl and another one after that. Chaudri had two bowls; Logan put away three without breaking a sweat. Kiara promised to rouse everyone by sunrise, so Quinn didn’t waste any time after that. He found his tiny room near the attic, feeling dizzy but sated. The Valteroni gold gave him strange dreams filled with sunshine and pretty barmaids.
As usual, it was Logan’s fist on the door that woke him.
“Up and at ’em, ladies’ man,” he said.
Quinn groaned. His head was pounding, and the rest of him felt like he’d been hit by a truck. “Ow.”
“Told you to go easy,” Logan said.
“Can I have another hour?”
“Sorry, we got a boat to catch.”
He dressed slowly and followed Logan out, wishing for sunglasses. The sunlight made his headache even worse.
They met their captain at the end of one of the docks, where two husky dockworkers were loading a wooden crate. The ship was a two-master with plenty of sail, deep-hulled but in good shape. Logan and Chaudri had given it a thorough inspection. The horses were already on board; Kiara had arranged for them to be brought right to the dock. All but the mountain pony, because there simply wasn’t enough room in the hold. The captain wasn’t happy about having any of the “crap producers” on his ship at all until his purse was heavy with lab-created emeralds.
His name was Legato and he’d been running the trade routes between Valteron and the northern city-states for fifteen years. Apparently Valteroni liquor had absolutely no effect on him. Quinn hadn’t even finished his second one, and he was already feeling the start of a brutal headache. Weak as the late-year sun was, it seemed much brighter on the water. He stepped on the deck of Legato’s craft and groaned.
Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “Ever been on a sea voyage?”
“A couple of sunset cruises on yachts. How similar will that be?”
Logan laughed and followed the lieutenant below. Quinn couldn’t make himself follow just yet.
Chaudri put a hand on his shoulder. “Rough morning?”
“My head’s killing me.”
“You got us a ride, though. We’re lucky to have one.”
“You’d think the company would have built us a ship.”
She glanced around and lowered her voice. “We tried that once. It didn’t go well.”
He was curious enough to nearly forget the pain. “Really?”
She pulled a notebook from her satchel and flipped through to a page with a sketch of an old clipper ship. “Here it is. The Victoria.”
“Looks like a whaling ship.”
“Only on the outside. The inside was state of the art. Kiara’s predecessor, Captain Relling, had it built in-world with native timber.”
“So where is it now?” He’d have killed for a modern bed in a dark, dark room.
“Relling and her crew disappeared on their maiden voyage, along with the ship.”
“No wreckage or anything?” Quinn asked.
“Nothing. We searched for months and never found a trace of them.”
“Oh,” Quinn said. “Sorry to hear that.”
“We took it hard. Kiara especially.”
“I can imagine,” he said. The lieutenant didn’t seem one to take failure very well.
Chaudri was about to say more when the captain marched up the gangplank. He spotted them and bellowed a laugh.
“How are you this morning, my friend?” He shook Quinn’s hand vigorously, causing little spikes of pain to begin jabbing at his temples. “What a night we had last night, eh? Look at what I brought to keep us entertained, thanks to your prompt and generous payment.”
He lifted the lid of a small wooden crate nestled inside the ship’s rail. In it, carefully packed with straw, were four bottles that looked all too familiar.
Oh, no, Quinn thought. He shivered involuntarily. “I hope that’s not—”
“Valteroni gold!” Legato said. He saw Quinn’s mouth hanging open and laughed. “I knew you’d be excited. Gods, it feels good to be heading home.”
Within the hour, Legato’s men had raised sail and tossed off the dock lines. Steady wind filled the sails; the ship shuddered into motion. Quinn disliked the sensation of the deck moving slowly, ponderously, beneath him. He found it far more comfortable in the generous quarters Legato had set aside. Apparently the man had decided that Quinn’s taste in liquors meant he could only get by with the finer things. He, Logan, Kiara, and Chaudri had four small cabins at the rear of the craft.
Quinn found his bunk to lie down, which quickly proved a mistake. Once out of the bay’s protected waters, the ship began rolling and falling with the seas, which were just high enough to give Quinn a sense of vertigo every ten seconds
or so.
Not exactly the rest he had been looking for.
He came up on deck after they’d been under way a couple of hours. Kiara was on the deck talking to Legato. Logan stood near the mast, watching the crew while pretending not to. Quinn ambled over to him, close enough for a quiet conversation.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“The captain just told the crew that we’re headed to Valteron,” Logan said. “They were . . . surprised.”
“I’d think they would be glad to head home. Legato certainly is.”
“It’s risky making port in a city that just lost its leader. Every other ship is headed the other way, and the crew knows it.”
That explained the stiff actions of the sailors, the way they shared dark looks with one another as they worked.
“Should I be worried?” Quinn asked.
“Don’t know yet.”
Quinn stretched and looked around, trying to count how many sailors it took to work the sails and the rigging. At least four or five per mast, and the ship had two. They knew their business, though. The sails bulged with wind, and prow of the ship sliced through the sea with the sound of rushing water.
“What’s the worst-case scenario?” Quinn asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Try me.”
“They kill Legato, cut our throats, and feed us to the sharks.”
“Can’t we hole up in our cabins, if it gets bad?”
“Sure,” Logan said. “But then we have no control over where they go.”
They needed the crew on their side; that was certain. If there were a mutiny, the passengers would be the first to die.
“Let me perform for them,” Quinn said.
“Why?” Logan asked.
“Entertainment. Keep their minds off the destination,” Quinn said. And maybe make them wary of him, which could be useful.
Kiara turned away from Legato long enough to weigh in. “I don’t like this idea. The more attention we draw, the more they’ll remember us later.”
