The Island Deception

by Dan Koboldt

  “Hey, that’s pretty good!” Mendez said.

  Logan frowned. “Don’t encourage him.”

  “Logan and I will head overland to Valteron City,” Kiara said. “I want daily updates from you three.”

  “Ooh, can I be in charge?” Quinn asked.

  “Mendez is in charge.”

  Worth a shot.

  “I want you to stick with Mendez and Chaudri until you find a ship,” Kiara continued. “Even if it means a delay in getting to the Enclave.”

  “I guess that’s all right. Moric didn’t exactly give me a timetable.”

  “Try not to cause any riots along the way.”

  He grinned. “I’ll miss you, too, Lieutenant.”

  The way down from Three Corners to the Landorian Plateau was about as treacherous of a terrain as Quinn had ever seen. There was no road, just a narrow winding path that barely qualified as a game trail. They rode single file, with Mendez in the lead. He wanted two horse-lengths between each of them. Never thought I’d be measuring things in horse-lengths.

  They used comm units when they needed to talk. Ninety percent of that seemed to be for Mendez to make sure that Chaudri was doing all right, in spite of her express assurances that she was.

  “So what’s the story with this Holt contact?” Quinn asked.

  “Her name’s Iridessa,” Chaudri said. “Dr. Holt’s journals first made mention of her almost ten years ago.”

  “His journals talked about a lot of people,” Quinn said. He’d read many of them himself. Studious as he was, Holt had excelled at developing human assets here. The guy missed his calling in the KGB.

  “If you look in our archives, you’ll find a file on virtually all of them. Name, age, appearance, occupation. Usually a photo taken from surveillance or wrist-cameras, too.”

  Quinn whistled. “Sounds extensive.” And by that he meant invasive.

  “That’s only the cover page. There’s also a report of all interactions and correspondence with each asset, so most files contain dozens of pages.”

  “How many pages did Iridessa’s have?”

  “One. Which is unusual, given how often he mentions her in passing elsewhere in his reports.”

  “All right, I’m intrigued. What do we know about her?”

  “Just her name and the fact that she’s some kind of herbalist. No photos or physical descriptions, though those things could have been removed later.”

  It wasn’t much to go on. “How do you know she’s in Landor, then?”

  “I cross-referenced all of Dr. Holt’s travel routes from the seven or eight expeditions where he makes mention of her. There’s only one village in close proximity to all of them.”

  Clever. “What did Holt talk to her about?”

  “Horticulture, for the most part. They used to trade notes on the properties of local plants and things. He called her ‘a fountain of information.’ ”

  Quinn didn’t miss the slight cattiness to her tone on that one. “Maybe he was sweet on her.”

  She was silent a moment. “There’s no evidence of that in his journals.”

  “Well, I’m not sure it’s the sort of thing he’d write down, you know?”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Do you think he—” Quinn started, but Mendez cut him off.

  “Let’s stop for a bit. I think the horses are getting tired.”

  They’d taken a break two hours ago, but Quinn took the hint. “Sure, I could stand to stretch my legs.”

  Greenbriar was a single-inn village nestled in the vale between the mountains and the western edge of the Landorian plateau. The company’s most recent census—now some five years old—put the population at around eighty. That made it a small village, even by Alissian standards. If Iridessa lived here, people would know about her. Whether they’d share that knowledge with three strangers who rode into town was another matter.

  “What do you think is our best approach?” Mendez asked.

  “We’ll need some plausible reason to seek out Iridessa, if she’s there,” Chaudri said.

  “What if you played sick?” Quinn asked.

  Mendez laughed. “Come on, the old ‘fake prisoner’ gag?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “A little cliché, don’t you think?”

  Quinn spread out his hands. “I kind of figured we have a naive audience.” And besides, we need to get this show on the road. The longer they spent searching the backwoods for Holt’s contacts, the longer it would take for him to reach the Enclave.

  “You’d be surprised,” Chaudri said. “In any case, they might not welcome an outsider who’s ill. What if it’s catching?”

  Guess I didn’t think of that. “All right, so you’re not sick. Maybe you’re a fellow horticulturist.”

  “Mmm, go on.”

  “And you’ve heard of her, so you’d like to talk shop.”

  “I have been reading up on the herbal remedies.”

  Of course she had. This might even work. “So you’re willing to give it a shot?”

  She glanced at Mendez, and smiled. “Absolutely.”

  “So who are we going to be?” Mendez asked. “Your bodyguards?”

  “I sincerely doubt a horticulturist could afford two of those,” she said. “What about brothers?”

  Disappointment flickered across Mendez’s face. “Does it have to be brothers?”

  “Why not? We’re all a similar complexion.”

  “She’s not wrong,” Quinn said.

  “I guess it would simplify the story,” Mendez said.

  “Good. Let’s try the common room, then,” Chaudri said.

  “All right, sis—lead the way,” Quinn said. “This is gonna be fun.” An Indian, a Cuban, and a magician walk into a bar . . .

  Chapter 7

  Witch Hunt

  “Pireans welcome strangers with open arms, but in Felara and Landor, distrust is the rule.”

  —R. Holt, “Survey of the Alissian Highlands”

  Veena took a calming breath as Mendez pulled open the battered wooden door to the village inn. This was her best lead on Dr. Holt’s backpack. If it led nowhere, Kiara’s superiors might change their minds about sending an anthropologist along for missions in this world. And then I might not get to see it again.

  Or him again.

  She put a hand on Julio’s shoulder, ignoring his quiet protest, and slid past him into the gloomy interior. She made out a handful of other patrons, all of them sitting alone at rough-wood tables. The smell of the place said ale and the froth in the cloudy mugs said cheap.

  She put on a smile and strolled up to the bar before Julio or Quinn stole her thunder. “Good evening.”

  The bartender was short for a northerner, maybe five-foot-five, and pudgy beneath the filthy apron. He was working the cork out of a dark green bottle, and didn’t even glance up. “What’ll it be?”

  “I’d like to buy the next round.”

  “For who?”

  “For everyone here. And I’d like some ale for me and my friends.” She eyed the casks behind the bar, which looked downright ancient. “The best you’ve got.”

  He looked up at her and then did a double take. He forgot the bottle and sucked in his belly. Sweat glistened on his face, and dripped down into his dark beard. His eyes slid past her to Julio and Quinn, who stood a couple of paces behind. “That’s going to run you ten, twelve coppers.”

  She untied a small leather purse, and tilted it so that half a dozen coins tumbled out on the bar. She loved the jingle of soft metal, especially gold. It wasn’t quite the hard clink of copper, but a richer sound that rang like a bell. She felt Julio stiffen as every eye in the common room swung to her.

  The barkeep grinned, revealing crooked teeth. “Right away.” He looked past her into the gloom. “Move it, Saul! You’re at the lady’s table.”

  The husky man in question nearly fell from his stool in his haste to get up from the largest table. He genuflected and
backed away, while another bearded patron hurried forward to offer a third stool. In less than two minutes, the barkeep wiped the table with his own apron and set out three mugs of frothy ale. He stoked the fire in the hearth, which took to burning cheerily. Then he set to delivering the next round to the other patrons.

  “Well, you’ve certainly got their attention,” Quinn said.

  Julio scowled. “Let’s try not to draw any more, comprende?”

  Veena hid her amusement. He’s taking his assigned role more seriously than any of us. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Should we make some friends?” Quinn asked.

  “Enjoy your ales.” Veena took a little sip and regretted it—the lukewarm ale had a strong flavor of hops—but she forced herself to take another gulp. Liquid courage. “I’ve got this.”

  She started with Saul, the man who’d vacated their table. “How’s the ale?”

  He nearly choked mid-sip of it, put the mug down, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Good! Many thanks, m’lady.”

  Veena smiled. “Just Veena is fine.”

  “Many thanks, m’lady Veena.”

  He sounded younger than he looked, maybe early twenties. The beard and windburned cheeks added years.

  “I was hoping to visit a friend who lives around here. Perhaps you know her,” Veena said.

  He grinned over his beard. “I’d like to know her.”

  “She calls herself Iridessa.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Can’t help you.”

  Veena couldn’t read faces the way Quinn did, but it sure looked like he was hiding something. He didn’t deny knowing her. She pressed on. “I’m an herbalist myself, and hoped we might compare notes.”

  Saul shrugged and buried his face behind his mug of ale. So began a game of conversational cat-and-mouse with the common-room patrons. At last, Veena returned to the table with Julio and Quinn. “I think I’ve made some progress.”

  “And maybe a few admirers,” Quinn said.

  She felt her cheeks heating, and tried to hide them with her mug of ale. It had grown warmer and more flavorful while she made the rounds. Neither of which made it any more palatable.

  “Any luck finding our mark?” Mendez asked.

  “Yes and no,” Veena said. “They certainly know her, and she does seem to live around here.”

  “So?”

  She shrugged. “No one can seem to remember where.”

  Quinn tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Did she move, or something?”

  “I don’t think that’s it. See the woman by the hearth?” Veena asked.

  “That’s a woman?” Quinn whispered. His eyebrows almost leaped from his face.

  “Yes.”

  “She’s got so many knives on her, I—I guess I just assumed . . .”

  “Ditto,” Julio said. “Marked the knives, missed the gender.”

  “Obviously you both are in desperate need of a lecture on the dangers of stereotyping, but I’ll save that for another time,” Veena said. “She went to see Iridessa last year to handle a . . . problem.”

  Mendez wrinkled his brow. “What kind of problem?”

  Veena’s cheeks were heating again. Please, don’t make me say it. It had been bad enough just to hear the story. “The nine-month kind.”

  Quinn was aghast. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “She went to the herbalist to have it handled,” Veena said.

  “And where was that?”

  “Down an old road just north of the blacksmith’s place.”

  “That’s a start,” Julio said.

  “But the bartender went to see her just last week for a poultice, and he took a road south by the chandler’s.”

  Quinn shook his head. “Well, at least we know she’s around.”

  “That might not be enough,” Julio said.

  Veena tried to put herself in the shoes of someone who advertised as an herbal healer in a superstitious time. In a superstitious world. She’d have to be either very foolish, or very clever. And the clever types always kept an ear to the ground. “Let’s leave her a message.”

  “How?” Quinn asked.

  She lowered her voice. “I’ll give the bartender a coin, and say that a friend of Richard wants to meet her. We can come back tomorrow.”

  Julio drew in a quick breath. “That’s a hell of a name-drop.”

  “People talk in small villages like this. She’ll hear we were asking about her, one way or another. We should give her a reason to be curious.”

  Veena looked at Julio. He bit his lip, but gave her a little nod.

  She got up before they could change their minds, and slid another coin across to the barkeep. Gold, this time. She shielded it from view for anyone but the barkeep, and watched his eyes light up. “If you see Iridessa, please let her know we’ll be back tomorrow.”

  The barkeep glanced around to see if anyone else was watching. “Who’s the message from?”

  “Friends of Richard,” Veena said.

  “All right.” He never took his eyes from the coin.

  Veena kept her index finger on the coin. “Say it for me, please.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Friends of Richard.”

  “Right, friends of Richard.” He nodded, so overeager that she nearly laughed. Maybe reading faces wasn’t as hard as Quinn made it out to be.

  “Until tomorrow, then.” She turned hurried to the door, where Quinn and Julio were already waiting. A few of the patrons called out to her.

  “Leavin’ already?”

  “How about another round? Our treat?”

  She smiled and waved the invitations off. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” They all groaned. She savored that moment, the pleading looks on their faces and the too-firm set of Julio’s jaw.

  “Told you that you’d made some admirers,” Quinn said.

  “Hush, you.”

  They mounted up and rode north for half an hour to find a place to camp. The ground had risen steadily since leaving Greenbriar, and most of the outlying areas were farmland. All of those lay fallow this deep into winter, which meant for good visibility. Once they’d set up a camp and set up a security perimeter, Julio kept his field glasses on the village. He marked a dozen people going in or out—and was careful not to assign any of them an assumed gender—before sundown.

  “You think one of them might be our herbalist?” Quinn asked.

  Veena smiled with a confidence she didn’t feel. “We’ll know soon enough.”

  The morning brought a chill that threatened the coming winter. Greenbriar and the vale around it lay hidden beneath a blanket of fog. The others were still out when Veena woke. She crawled out of her tent as quietly as she could, hoping not to wake the others.

  Quinn slept fitfully, his arms moving around at random. Julio slept as quiet as death—and with his pup tent rather close to hers, she couldn’t help but notice. The common room at Greenbriar probably wouldn’t open for at least an hour. For the first time, Veena had a moment to simply enjoy being here on this mission, inside the very world she’d devoted her career to studying. Immersive research was proving every bit as thrilling as Dr. Holt had promised.

  The fire they’d built the night before still smoldered beneath a dusting of ash. Veena poked at the coals and fed it wood to get it going again. The portable heaters in the tents kept her warm in the cold Alissian nights, but they couldn’t boil water for coffee. Maybe she should bring that up with the prototyping lab.

  The men both managed to stay deep in slumber right up until the coffee was ready. Veena was just pouring herself the first cup when Quinn crawled out of his tent and stretched. Julio emerged about a minute later. Not that Veena blamed him—he’d jumped onto this mission right after finishing his last assignment. Judging by the shadows under his eyes, he was still playing catch-up.

  “Anything moving in the village?” Julio asked.

  “Too much fog,” Veena said.

  The sun was coming up fast, though. By the time they�
�d all finished a second cup of coffee, the fog was a distant memory. And Greenbriar was already starting to wake up, too.

  “Let’s get down there,” Quinn said.

  “Do you think she got our message?” Veena asked.

  Julio began saddling his horse. “One way to find out.”

  The whole way back to Greenbriar, Veena racked her brain for other ways they could draw the herbswoman out, if she didn’t choose to reveal herself. Nothing came to mind. They could try lurking around the inn to collect more intel, but the villagers wouldn’t tolerate that for very long.

  Julio insisted on riding fifty yards ahead of them, in case of ambush. Never mind that the ground was so flat in this part of Landor that they’d see other horsemen long before they approached. There was just no point in arguing with Julio when he got stiff-backed about security.

  A quarter mile outside of the village, Julio’s voice crackled in their comm units. “Did we pass any signposts on the way out of town yesterday?”

  “I don’t think so,” Veena said.

  “There’s one here now.”

  Veena shared a wide-eyed look at Quinn. They nudged their mounts forward at a decent clip.

  The wooden post stood just off the dirt road. It was tall, almost to eye level when they were mounted, and pale because the bark had been shaved away. The wood itself was carved in the rune-like patterns of Alissian script.

  “Oh, I’ve got glasses that’ll read that.” Quinn started rooting through his saddlebags.

  “No need,” Veena said. She had hers on a slender chain around her neck, and slid them into view. The lenses autofocused on the Alissian scripts, and their translations scrolled across the bottom. Veena read them and gasped, hardly able to believe that the glasses had gotten it right. “Gods above.”

  “What’s it say?” Julio asked.

  Veena looked away, and back at the signpost. The words never changed. “It says, ‘Friends of Richard.’ ”

  A faint trail led into the woods behind the signpost. The trees were sparse, leafless things here, but dense enough that they couldn’t see more than the first twenty yards or so.

  “Wow.” Quinn chuckled. “I guess she got the message.”