by Stina Leicht
Katrin swallowed. “All right.”
The line moved a few feet and halted again. The narrow alley running between the last of the Church Tithing Warehouses and a Brocchus East Tahmer mercantile building came into view. Gazing down the garbage-cluttered length of it, he could see that the offices went on for several blocks before ending. The taste of dusty tin flooded Blackthorne’s mouth at once. He spat in disgust as his heart began to thud in his chest. He scanned his surroundings for the cause. As he did, he spotted a four-year-old girl with dark hair and wide eyes dressed in a ragged brown dress at the mouth of the shadowy alley. A fresh bruise darkened the pale skin under the child’s swollen right eye. The orphan was crying piteously as adults ignored her in their rush to get home. Recognizing the ploy for what it was, he wheeled away. His stomach turned. That might have been Lydia were it not for Mal. The thought was foreign and unwelcome.
Katrin made a small, panicked sound. “Where’s her guardian?”
Blackthorne looked at the child. Her bony hand grasped coat hem after coat hem, only to be brushed off or shoved away in contempt. No other orphans were near, all having already taken to their rented bolt-holes.
Katrin turned in the seat twice. “How can they pretend not to see what was happening? How could they leave her to die?”
Frowning, Blackthorne took a closer look. It was possible that he’d been wrong after all. That was when he detected signs he knew he would find. Behind the girl in the advancing shadows, something shifted—a something that crept with the caution and grace of a predator stalking prey.
“I can’t watch and do nothing.” Katrin leapt from the seat.
“Katrin! Don’t!” Blackthorne reached for her arm but was too late.
As Katrin ran to the alley, the orphan seemed to withdraw into it in despair. Her cries became sobbing wails.
Setting the brake with a curse, Blackthorne looped the reins around the handle. He abandoned the wagon and sprinted after Katrin. Inside the alley, the light was almost gone.
Katrin held out a hand to the orphan and got down on one knee. “Hey, don’t worry. I see you. You’re going to be all right. You can come with us. You’re small enough, no one will mind.”
She was inches from the child when Blackthorne snatched Katrin away and then dropped her. She landed on her back in the filthy street with a yelp. He threw himself in front of her and drew his Warden’s knife. A long black leg lashed out from behind a pile of broken crates, slicing through the sleeve of his coat and sending stinking refuse tumbling. He felt the stinging burn of the cut, but the pain wasn’t too bad. Not yet. He’d had time to hope that the wound wouldn’t slow him, when the rest of the creature emerged from its hiding place. Its hulking spidery frame towered over him.
The malorum’s head was that of a kainen but for the uneven insect-like mandibles that consumed the bottom half of the face. It was covered in black hair as coarse as porcupine quills and stank of the grave. It took a lurching step toward him on four bent thin legs, roaring its frustration.
Blackthorne sensed more than saw Katrin scuttle from under his feet—not taking the time to get up from the ground.
Lunging at the malorum, Blackthorne shouted, “Get back to the wagon, Katrin! Now!” He had to keep the thing from risking the light and leaving its lair. If it did, he wasn’t sure he could hold it off. Acrasian malorum were fast and they could jump. He attacked again, this time connecting. The cut traced a wounding line across the creature’s face. It flinched back as if burned, and howled in pain. He took that moment to reach into his inside coat pocket. When he had what he needed, he threw down four silver coins, one at a time. Each one rang out against the worn and broken cobblestones.
The orphan was lying on the ground to his left and on his side of the uneven line of coins. Rain had soaked the little girl’s filthy hair, plastering it to her dirty face. Water pooled in the hollows of her open, unseeing eyes. Her white, translucent skin carried a hint of blue laced with the faint mottling of broken blood vessels. He wasn’t surprised to know that what had appeared to be a bruise was actually the beginning bloom of grave rot.
The dead orphan’s mouth opened. “Mama?”
At the edge of his vision, Katrin got to her feet. She gasped, whirled, and ran for the wagon. The malorum hissed and gurgled, edging around the line of coins—testing for a weakness in the defense. Blackthorne pressed his attack as far as he dared. At last, the malorum retreated to its lair beneath the piled garbage with a wet snarl.
“Mama?” The child’s small dead face stared back at the blackened clouds with eyes that didn’t blink the rain away.
He unsheathed his saber with his other hand. Nothing could be done about the coins—not without risking the creature’s return—but he could do something about the dead child. He cut the orphan’s head from her body in one powerful stroke that grazed the broken pavement stones. The pitiful cries ended at once, and with that done, he backed out of the alley. He considered four sterling a small loss and returned to the wagon.
The line had progressed fifty feet while they’d been in the alley. Their wagon was now an obstacle. The others waiting behind shouted their exasperation. He waved to them in acknowledgment and stepped up onto the wagon. Freeing the reins took two tries, and he released the brake with trembling hands.
Katrin sniffed. “I almost—she was—was—”
“It was a decoy,” Blackthorne said, keeping his voice as even as he could. “Are you hurt?” When they’d caught up to the queue, he reined the horses, and once again they waited.
She stood up and tried to brush the street muck off her trousers. “I’m all right. At least, I think so.” She resumed her seat with a shiver.
“Good,” he said, and resisted an urge to give reassurance. In truth, he didn’t know how without sounding reproachful. It would only make matters worse.
“That—that could’ve been me.” She clamped a hand over the sob that forced its way out of her mouth.
Blackthorne stared for a moment before he awkwardly patted her back twice. “There are only a few more ahead of us. We’re almost back to the ship. Hold together a little longer.”
She sniffed and then took a deep breath as if to calm herself. “You’re hurt.” She pointed to the bloody rents in his sleeve.
“It’s a scratch. I’m fine.”
Katrin nodded and wiped her wet face with her soggy coat sleeve, not that it dried anything. “I’d—I’d feel better if you let me bandage it now.”
They both knew an open wound was more likely to draw malorum. Blackthorne understood he couldn’t deal with it himself without help. In any case, he recognized an unspoken apology when he saw one. “All right.”
He slipped his wounded arm out of his coat, and she dug around in her bag until she produced a scrap of cloth that might suffice. By the time the queue moved, his arm was securely bandaged and dressed.
The wagon in front eased forward a few more feet. As they got closer to the front of the line, another Warden began his walk along the waiting row of wagons. And then the one thing that Blackthorne had dreaded for more than a year finally happened. The Warden in question glanced up at him, and Blackthorne knew the face. His heart staggered inside his chest, and his blood became ice.
Caius.
At once, Blackthorne turned away and hoped with all his might that he wouldn’t be recognized. He stopped breathing. Caius paused. Blackthorne leaned close to Katrin and whispered in her ear.
“I want you to get down and pretend to check the back of the wagon,” he said. “If anything happens, slip into the crowd at the gate. Get out of sight. Walk through like nothing is wrong. Hear me?”
Katrin’s eyes went wide, but she gave him a slight nod. Then she climbed down and made her way to the back of the wagon.
“Excuse me?” Caius asked.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Blackthorne pretended not to hear. He glanced up at the sky and then started checking under the seat as if looking for a tarp to cover his cargo.
>
“Sir? May I see your identity papers? Sir?”
Swiving hells. That’s it. I’m done. Blackthorne nodded and reached inside his coat. Keeping his head down, he made to hand them over.
“Severus?” Caius asked. “Is it you?”
“Name is Dacian Frost, sir.” Blackthorne kept his voice low and a bit hoarse as if speaking were painful.
“I could swear … Can you turn and face me, please?” Caius asked.
Blackthorne turned to the back of the wagon and mouthed one word to Katrin. Go. He waited until she’d gone to comply with Caius’s request.
“Severus! It is you! I thought it—”
Jumping off the wagon, Blackthorne shoved Caius with all his might. Caius fell backward onto the cobblestones. Blackthorne ran around the wagon and made for the alley. Drawing his dagger, he prayed the malorum lurking there was still nursing its wounds and didn’t have a short memory.
The sounds of high-pitched Warden whistles followed him as he sprinted for his life.
SUVI
NOVUS SALERNUM
THE REGNUM OF ACRASIA
TWENTY-SECOND OF MAITOKUU, 1785
Playing cards with Nels in her cabin, Suvi detected a sudden, hectic rhythm to the pace of the dockmen’s work echoing off the interior of the secured docks. She pretended to muse over her cards. The small mound of black pebbles resting on the table in front of her represented all the “valuables” in play. She’d already knocked Jami and Dylan out of the game. Jami hadn’t lasted long. She never did, not having much patience for five-card-bluff. Nels was down to resorting to IOUs, but Suvi had a feeling he’d picked up on some fresh nuance. He’d won the last two tricks.
On the other hand, it’s possible he’s been leading me into a false sense of security. He’s sly that way. She controlled a small smile at the thought. Her brother was a skilled player. “What time is it?”
“I’ve no idea,” Nels said. “I left my pocket watch in the Hold. It’s still not working right after the last ocean voyage. When is your Mr. Slate going to recruit a watchmaker? At this rate, I may never get that thing repaired.”
She knew he was being facetious.
“I’ll find out,” Jami said, and slipped from the cabin.
That left Suvi alone with her twin brother. Dylan had joined Dar in getting prepared for taking on the stolen cargo. The block-and-tackle hoist had to be ready for lowering the load into Clár Oibre Rúnda’s hold. They would need to do so in a hurry, if they were to leave before curfew.
Thunder rumbled somewhere far off. It’d been a gloomy day, from what she could discern from the confines of the cabin. They’d been playing cards to the light of the oil lamps. Again.
Jami returned. “Dylan says it’s nearly four, and they’ve not returned yet. Says inquiries are being made regarding our remaining here for the night. What’s your answer?”
“We’ve another four hours before curfew,” Suvi said. “What’s the harbormaster’s problem?”
“Dylan says that curfew will be early,” Jami said. “Incoming storm.”
Suvi silently cursed all Acrasians and their grubby, grasping natures. “I assume the harbormaster wants to collect a late departure fee?”
“Says he’ll need at least a hundred fifty sterling to keep the gates open,” Jami said.
“Swiving hells,” Nels said in Acrasian.
“I know this game,” Suvi said. “That’s merely his starting price.” She laid her cards face down and stood up. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Send Dar,” Nels said.
“I’m sick to death of this cabin,” Suvi said. “I could use a breath of fresh air.”
“That would be unwise,” Nels said.
Suvi motioned to her current ensemble—boy’s breeches and a white linen shift. She was also barefoot. “Because so many Acrasians would look at me right now and think, ‘Oh, look! It’s the Queen of New Eledore!’ ” She strode over to the cabin door. “I’m bored. A bit of playful negotiation will make me feel less like cargo.”
“Then I’m going with you,” Nels said.
Suvi looked over her shoulder. “Uh-uh. You’re staying here.”
“I am not,” Nels said.
“I’ve a question,” Suvi said. “Just how many kainen are known to be wandering around with pale blond hair, Mr. Ghost?”
Nels sat back down, muttering a long string of curses in Acrasian.
“I understood that,” Suvi said. “Doesn’t calling to question my parentage also say something about yours?”
“Your Acrasian is getting distressingly good,” Nels said.
“It had better be,” Suvi said. “Negotiating harbor fees in Eledorean isn’t exactly an option. Jami, bring the wallet.”
She left the cabin with Jami in tow. When she got to the main deck, the first thing she did was stretch her arms high in the air. It felt good to not have a cabin ceiling hovering low over her head.
Dylan appeared at her side. “What are you doing up here?”
“Someone needs to negotiate for more time with the harbormaster,” Suvi said, and stared out the huge open sliding door that was used to secure the private harbor. It was raining, and heavy storm clouds clustered on the horizon. She frowned. “You sure it’ll be wise for us to go out in that?”
He glanced at the clouds. “Dar and I have sailed in worse.”
“That wasn’t the question I asked,” Suvi said.
“I can get us underway,” Dylan said. “The storm may even be to our advantage. That is, if it doesn’t get any worse.”
“How’s that?” Suvi asked.
“If I nudge it just so,” Dylan said. “I can use it to cover our leaving. The Acrasians definitely won’t want to follow us.”
Suvi gazed at the clouds. “All right. Sounds like a plan. Let’s go talk to the harbormaster.”
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Blackthorne hasn’t returned,” Suvi said. “Who else can convince our friends to keep the gates open with less than fifty sterling?”
“Don’t cut the price too deep,” Dylan said. “We don’t want suspicion to fall on us after the fact.”
“Why would that matter? We’ll be gone,” Suvi said.
“You’re forgetting,” Dylan said. “We’re Clan Flounder. Such a thing would make it more difficult for future family business.”
Sighing, Suvi nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been too long in that musty cabin.”
Dylan said, “Clár Oibre Rúnda isn’t musty.”
“I didn’t mean to insult your girl,” Suvi said. “She’s beautiful and fast and—”
“About to save your skin,” Dylan said, and pointed to the loading area. “They’re here.”
Suvi frowned. “I only see one wagon.”
“No doubt the other is on the way,” Dylan said. Then he shouted, “Dar? Is everything ready? We’re about to be very busy.”
Suvi went to the gangplank and met the harbormaster waiting on the dock. He was a balding Acrasian with a red face and an impatient air.
“Good afternoon, madam. Is Mr. Frost here?” the harbormaster asked.
“He has been unavoidably detained,” Suvi said. “He has, however, left me in charge until he returns. I am Tabitha Sternchaser, First Mate of Clan Flounder’s Clár Oibre Rúnda. May I be of service?”
The harbormaster made to scan the ship’s deck, apparently for someone with more authority.
“Let me assure you, sir,” Suvi said, “I am in charge.” She hoped that would be enough to convince him. She didn’t want to resort to command magic. Not yet.
He paused. “Miss Sternchaser, I’m here to inform you that the rent on your berth is expiring in a half hour.”
“I understand that you’re willing to grant my ship an extension,” Suvi said.
Frowning, he said, “That might be … costly. The storm—”
“I am authorized to pay seventy-five sterling,” Suvi said.
“The fe
e is one hundred, plus an extra fifty for keeping the gates open after curfew,” he said.
“Curfew is at least four hours away,” Suvi said.
“Curfew is contingent upon available daylight hours,” he said in a bored tone. “The coming storm has reduced those hours. This is a secure facility. In the event a malorum gains access, my employer would be liable.”
Suvi hesitated. “Seventy-five for the extension and twenty-five for the gate fee.” She moved aside as Viktor Reini and a gentleman she didn’t recognize walked past while carrying an oblong wooden crate. Three more crates followed the first. “We won’t be here much longer, I assure you. The delivery we were expecting has arrived.”
“One hundred and fifty,” the harbormaster said. “I have other responsibilities that I should be seeing to, Miss Sternchaser.”
Unfortunately, she only had one hundred thirty sterling with which to work. “One thirty.”
He frowned. “How much longer will you be? I must close the gates in three quarters of an hour.”
“As long as it takes to load our cargo,” Suvi lied. In truth, they would have to wait until Mr. Blackthorne arrived with the second wagon.
The harbormaster seemed to judge the speed with which the wagon was being unloaded. Natalia Annikki and another woman moved past with yet another crate.
Suvi took the opportunity to seemingly bump into the harbormaster. In the same instant, she lowered her voice and charged her words with a discreet amount of magic. “Fortunately, ours is not the only ship running behind its time. You will be happy to accept one hundred and thirty sterling. Say so now.”
The harbormaster blinked, and his expression grew distant. “Fortunately for you, Clár Oibre Rúnda is not the only ship running behind,” he said. “I will be happy to accept one thirty. Thank you for your business. The gates will be closing in three quarters of an hour.”
“Very good. Except you will wait to close the gates until after we have left harbor,” Suvi said. “You will not remember the name of our ship, nor any details about us, or our cargo.”
