by Ty Johnston
It did not improve her mood that tonight she was stuck eating dinner in the main dining room of the Rusty Scabbard with Spider, a mousy little man in dark and tattered leathers with a small sword at his side. The man was not a rapirist, a true fencer, so Adara had no respect and no use for him.
The only reasons she continued to work for Belgad were because she felt obligated after Fortisquo had agreed to terms with the hulking northerner and because Fortisquo was still disabled in one of the healing towers. The healer Tendbones had been unable to personally tend to Fortisquo because he had had to use his magical skills for survivors of the Asylum and the floods. Adara understood this, but she was not happy about it. Other healers within the tower had done their best, but Adara recognized none of them were as good as Randall; from what Adara had witnessed, Randall was a more powerful healer than even those employed in the childhood manor run by her mother and father.
Fortunately for Adara, Fortisquo was expected to wake in another day and would be healed other than the lost eye he had not wanted replaced. She still could not explain to herself why she had blocked the assassin from finishing off Kron Darkbow, so she had no hope of explaining it properly to Fortisquo himself. She only hoped the dueling master would not try to kill her. Adara had no fear of Fortisquo, as she had no fear of any living man, but she was not sure she had learned all from him she wanted. Once Fortisquo had no more fencing knowledge to pass on, she would leave him.
Watching Spider spoon gray slop into his mouth pulled Adara out of her thoughts.
The woman dropped her own wooden spoon into the bowl in front of her.
“What?” Spider said with a spoon of gruel halfway to his mouth.
Adara ignored the man and glanced around the room, noting there were few others in the tavern area of the inn tonight. That was to be expected with the flood gates to the Swamps still closed. Adara and Spider had been forced to take a rowboat across the river to reach Southtown and the Rusty Scabbard. She nearly had hoped her companion would have fallen into the rushing waters during the crossing.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended.” Spider wiped his lips with the sleeve of his dark leather jerkin.
Adara continued to ignore him.
“It’s not like I asked to be with you either.”
The woman’s cold eyes shifted to the little man. “What does that mean?”
Spider looked glum, but returned to silence
“Do you have something to say to me?” Adara’s voice pitched higher.
Spider gulped. “It’s bad weather and we are stuck together. Even if Darkbow was Tallerus, the inn keeper won’t tell us which room. Says he doesn’t want to get involved. And besides, I guess you’re still worried about Fortisquo.”
Adara’s right hand snapped across her waist to grip the handle of her rapier.
Spider scooted away from the table as if ready to flee. “No offense. I was just saying it’s a miserable night for both of us.”
“Look for your miserable night with the barkeep,” the woman said, pointing at the long wooden counter to one side of the room.
Spider stood, his hands out before him, and backed toward the bar.
Neither of them noticed the small boy who slid through the Scabbard’s front door and slunk upstairs.
***
Using the tools he always kept hidden on himself, Wyck was quickly able to pick the lock on the door. Once inside he was glad to find Lucius’s room as he remembered it. The bed was shoved in the corner to the left directly across from the entrance. A shuttered window was to the right of the bed with a small table beneath it.
He scurried across the room and yanked the pillow off the bed, diving a fist inside. After a few seconds of rummaging he withdrew a small leather sack that clinked in his hands. Wyck grinned and stuffed the sack inside his shirt.
The boy then dropped to his knees and looked beneath the bed. He found another small sack, again clinking in his hands, and pocketed the bag that belonged to the man he still thought of as Lucius.
Wyck’s fingers grazed the large sword and bow, but he left them where they were as he had been told. It was too bad. A big sword like that could bring a good amount of coin. Maybe he would come back for it later.
The boy’s eyes fell on the black cloak tied into a bundle. This was the main item Lucius wanted. Wyck grabbed the package and pulled it to himself. He was curious to see the grenados and any other weapons Lucius might not have mentioned, but he was smart enough to know he was not in a safe place to let his curiosity get the best of him. Still, he wasn’t sure he would find out more once he got the package back to Lucius. The man held onto his secrets.
After a few seconds of consideration, Wyck decided to open the black package. After all, he had to make sure the silver mug was still inside.
Quick fingers pried apart the tight knot holding the parcel together. The bundle unfolded revealing a black shirt, black pants, a small leather sack Wyck figured held the grenados, several small throwing darts, Belgad’s silver mug, a miniature grappling hook with silk cord attached to it and a small, square leather package tied at both ends. Wyck’s curiosity still had the best of him as he pried open the leather package. Inside were multiple tiny tools similar to the ones he had used twice now to unlock the door to Lucius’s room. Wyck could tell right away these tools were of a craftsmanship beyond his experience. Lucius Tallerus was definitely turning out to be a man with secrets.
Remembering he needed to hurry, Wyck made sure all the items were still wrapped in the cloak as he held its ends together and tied them into another knot. The knot wasn’t quite as good as the one Lucius had tied, but Wyck thought it would do.
The youngster slung the bundle over his shoulder like a backpack, got to his feet and glanced around the room. There was nothing else he could see that might be needed. He would get out of the building, take his load to Lucius, then try to find oil for a fire and some food. If it had been day, oil would have been easy to purchase, but the night limited Wyck’s options. The boy mused that food would be easy enough to buy as there were a dozen or so places throughout the city that stayed open all night and served foodstuff. Wyck just hoped the small skiff he had used to cross the swollen river would still be tied to a pier where he had left it in the east side of Southtown.
***
As much as Adara generally despised men, and as unhappy as she thought Fortisquo would be with her once he came out of his healer-induced sleep, she was wishing he were sitting and drinking with her in the tavern room of The Rusty Scabbard inn. Spider was a bore. He wasn’t crude or filthy, as the lower classes tended to be, but he had no spark of playfulness about him that could keep Adara entertained during their monotonous wait for nothing. Spider just sat at the bar and sipped a watered-down ale that didn’t taste much better than the mud clogging the streets in the Swamps.
It wasn’t that Adara had to be constantly entertained. She was just bored and frustrated. She had a feeling her acquaintance with Fortisquo was coming to an end, and despite her lessening need for the sword master, she still enjoyed his company. She was not in love with the man. She had never loved a man other than her father, but Fortisquo was fun. The swordsman always drew a crowd in any tavern and he always had fantastic stories to tell, songs to sing or antics to perform. Adara had not cared to learn the man had been the leader of Bond’s assassins’ guild, but this business with Belgad and Kron Darkbow had kept her distracted from exploring her real feelings. She didn’t need Fortisquo or even want him, but at least he would have been entertainment for the night.
A heavy clunking sound near the stairs to the apartments above drew her attention.
Adara’s wine glass was almost to her lips as light from the room’s hearth revealed a young boy with a dark package at his feet. The bundle had been ill tied and the boy was gathering various items that had scattered on the floor.
Adara sat not far from the boy, and to ease her boredom she rose from her seat and decided to help the lad. She placed
her glass on a table and approached him.
Without looking up at the person casting the shadow over him, the youth continued to grab items from the floor. “Sorry, sir.” He stuffed a small leather bag into the black bundle. “I’ll have this cleaned up quick.”
“I’m no sir,” Adara said, her eyes noting other items that had spilled. She saw a black pair of gloves and a silver tankard.
She wondered what the boy was doing with all these items, and bent over to pick up the shiny mug.
“I’ll get that!” A small hand darted for the mug.
Adara’s hand fell on the silver vessel at the same moment as the boy’s. Each tugged for a brief second, then Adara let him have it. As the boy stuffed the item into the bundle, the firelight revealed the word “Belgad” engraved into its side.
Adara’s eyes glanced to the bundle again. It was black. The fallen gloves had been black. Everything that had fallen from the bundle other than the tankard had been black.
She straightened as the boy hurriedly tied the bundle again. “Where did you acquire that mug?”
***
Wyck had tried not to look the woman in the face because he was sure she would note guilt in his eyes, but he had seen enough to know she had a rapier slung from her hip. She wasn’t wearing orange, so she wasn’t a city guard. That left one likely option. Belgad. She worked for Belgad.
Wyck knew words would be a waste of time, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He dove forward, straight between the woman’s legs, dragging along Lucius’s bundle.
***
The woman was surprised by the move. A mixture of a noble’s arrogance and her love for children had momentarily blinded her, causing her slow reaction.
Wyck slipped between her legs and was halfway to the door before Adara yelled, “Spider!”
The little man dropped his grog and nearly fell from his stool at the blaring of Adara’s voice. He quickly got his footing and spun to see a boy with a pack over his back running away from the woman.
“Oh hell.” Then Spider lunged forward, dancing around tables and chairs.
***
The boy charged out the door just as Spider reached it. Spider slowed long enough to see Adara was moving in his direction. After that, he was out the door and after the boy now running down the middle of the street as fast as his legs would carry him.
“Get him!” Adara yelled from behind.
Spider wasted no time in putting his leather soles to the cobbled streets. He didn’t know why he was after this boy, but something had tipped Adara that the lad was linked to Kron Darkbow. If that were true, Spider couldn’t afford to let the lad get away. Belgad would have Spider’s balls in a cup by morning if their only clue escaped.
After roughly fifty yards, the boy turned on his heels and shot down an alley.
Spider followed. Rushing footsteps to his rear told him Adara was not far away.
The small man suddenly became winded, but he had known the streets of Bond since he was a boy himself. The boy he was chasing might be younger, but he didn’t have Spider’s experience. Spider knew he would catch the youth.
At the end of the alley, Spider was proven wrong. He catapulted out of the alley and his heels skidded to a stop. Adara halted just short of running into him and they both scrutinized the street they were on. There was no alley or street across from them, so the boy would have had to have gone left or right down the middle of an open street between lines of two-story buildings, mostly businesses shuttered for the night. Rows of gas lamps illuminated the scene, but showed no signs of the boy. Adara and Spider also strained their hearing, but neither could pick up sounds of the boy running.
“Damn,” Spider said, still watching the street. “Belgad is going to flog us.”
“You maybe.”
As they began the long walk to their boat to take them back to the Swamps, the rains finally ended. Spider glanced up at the few stars that were making their first appearance of the night between gray clouds, and thought that the boy’s escape had not been a total loss. At least now they had evidence Darkbow might be alive. Spider only hoped that was enough to save him from a beating.
***
By the time Wyck rowed himself across the South River and was standing on the soggy shore of the Swamps, his breathing had slowed. Running through the back alleys of Southtown, especially with a pack on his back and two people carrying swords chasing him, had kept his heart thumping for a good long while. After he jumped out of the rickety rowboat, he felt like dropping on his knees to kiss the ground; only the wormy mud and the knowledge Lucius needed him kept him from doing so.
Fearing to be on the streets with the pack of Kron Darkbow on his back, Wyck decided not to make a straight line for the graveyard. The boy had escaped the man and woman from the Rusty Scabbard by using low rooftops and he did so again in the Swamps, which made him all the more joyful because he could avoid most of the mud.
Near Beggars Row he spotted a bakery open early for business. Wyck had not expected to be able to buy bread after all the rain of the day, but the waters had ceased falling and apparently the baker was a shrewd vendor who wanted to earn every copper piece he could. Wyck briefly stashed Lucius’s bundle on a roof and climbed down to purchase several loaves of bread and a small blackberry tart for himself. After stuffing down his treat he retrieved the package and added the bread to it. Continuing on his way, he stopped only once more to steal a lit torch hanging near the Stone Pony tavern.
When the lad entered the big mausoleum he found Kron where he had left him, sitting on the limestone floor and leaning back against a stone coffin. The man appeared asleep, his eyes closed and his breathing slow.
Wyck had been careful to make sure no one had been following him or his torch light since he had entered the cemetery, but he felt more at ease inside the mausoleum and with Lucius again. The crypt had provided shelter many times in the past, giving Wyck a sense of protection about the place. And despite his injuries, Lucius was a capable man who had never shown Wyck a mean side. He felt as close to Lucius as he had anyone in a long time, and though he would never admit it, he admired the man as if he were an older brother returning from battle. Not just anyone could go toe-to-toe with Belgad the Liar and come out alive.
The boy placed the bundle on the ground next to Kron and glanced about the room for possible fuel for a fire. He found nothing useful, so he stored the torch in an iron sconce on the back of the door. He turned to exit, thinking of searching outside for branches or dry grass to make a fire.
“Don’t waste your time.”
Wyck spun to look at the man who sat staring at him. A grin grew on the boy’s face. “I knew you weren’t really asleep.”
“Sure you did.” Kron pointed at the exit. “There’s no use looking for tinder outside. Everything will be wet. You might be able to pry open one of these coffins, though.”
Wyck’s smile dropped away and was replaced with a look of disgust. “Why would I open a coffin?”
“The clothes are old and dry. They’ll burn, as will the bones. Necessity has to overcome revulsion.”
“You say that knowing I’m the one who’ll have to overcome the revulsion.”
Kron grinned. “Right you are, but we need the fire. Get to it.”
Wyck looked disgusted again, but with hesitant steps he made his way to the nearest coffin. As small as he was, he had strength in his arms and had little trouble prying aside the stone lid. He jumped back as gray dust shot into the air from the opening, then put a hand over his nose and mouth as he leaned forward to stare inside at a dry skeleton covered by a musty, toga-like covering.
“I guess this will do,” Wyck said, reaching in with trembling fingers and snagging the cloth. As he tugged on it, the bones broke apart, most disintegrating into dust before his eyes.
“Tear it into shreds and make a pile. Then get some bones. Thick leg bones will burn best.”
Wyck wasn’t happy about it, but he did as he was told
and soon there was a small fire burning in the center of the room.
***
The youth watched as Kron warmed his hands over the flames.
“There’s some bread in your bundle.” The boy pointed at the package next to Kron’s legs.
The former Asylun guard winced from the pain shooting through his body as he reached for the bundle and pulled it onto his lap. He had it open in seconds and his fingers plunged a loaf of rye into his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed for several minutes, enjoying the flavor that was quickly knocking back the taste of the river still hanging in the back of his throat.
“I don’t suppose you brought anything to drink?” Kron asked after finishing the bread.
“I didn’t see a place open other than taverns, and I didn’t think you wanted that kind of drink. I could take Belgad’s mug outside and fill it with rain water.”
Kron waved the boy off. “No need just yet. I’m not dying of thirst, and I think I’ve had enough water for one day.
The man’s eyes went to the black bag on his legs. “You did well.”
“Nothing to it, but for a moment I thought I was going to be caught at the Scabbard.”
“Why?”
“I was so busy making your stupid fire I almost forgot to tell you. There was a man and woman at the Scabbard who chased after me.”
Kron’s eyes narrowed. “Describe them.”
Wyck did.
Kron nodded afterward. “The woman is Adara, but the man I do not know. He doesn’t sound like her usual companion.”
Wyck waved a hand at the black package. “I think I got everything you needed, but I’ll have to get more coin before I can bring a healer, and they might not come in the middle of the night. I might not be able to get anyone until morning.”
Kron slung one of the clinking bags to the boy, who caught it in the air. “That should be enough to interest them, but you might be right about the morning. I could use the sleep and I have some healing ointments here.”
“Where?” Wyck looked at the open bag. “I searched the bundle and didn’t see any herbs or powders.”
