“If we must do another caper,” he said, “next time I want a better disguise.”
“This is not a caper. My grandpa once impersonated a dock inspector and smuggled a whole shipment of whiskey into Iantiporos, right under the Margravina’s nose. That was a caper.”
“Hush.” Fee gave both of us a stern look.
As we reached the top landing, I pulled open the screen door. The barroom was packed with fishermen and sailors, only a few of whom looked up to note our arrival. A barmaid, apron dashed with amber stains, made a circle of the room, lighting candles with a taper. Each table had an oiled checkered tablecloth, like the one in our cabin.
I let the door bang shut behind us.
Tugging my knit cap lower over my hair, I inspected the crowd. Pa never had trouble starting conversations with folk in bars, but he knew practically everyone in the riverlands. There was no one here I recognized. Perhaps I could ask the barmaid if the Black Dogs had been here.
A man pushed his way to the bar, jostling me. I pressed my hands over my pockets, because there’s nothing a pickpocket loves more than a crowded tavern. Tarquin just stood there, which didn’t surprise me, as he had no sense at all.
Someone grabbed me, encircling my upper arm with an iron grip.
I sucked in a sharp breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed dark hair and a beard. He smelled of wood smoke and soap and something foreign.
“You best come with me,” he said low in my ear.
“What if I don’t?” My nerves were strung tight as a line with a fish on it.
The muzzle of a pistol dug into the small of my back. “Out.” His beard tickled my cheek. “Onto the balcony. Quiet-like.”
I did as he asked, hoping Tarquin wasn’t about to choose this moment to say something stupid. Then I realized a second man had him by his shawl and was steering him outside too.
No one in the barroom seemed to notice our plight. Between my captor’s coat and mine, the pistol was hidden from view. To everyone else, it must have looked like the four of us had simply met up and walked onto the balcony together.
As the door creaked shut behind us, I was relieved to see it had a screen. Surely the Black Dogs wouldn’t murder us within view of everyone in the bar.
The bearded man bent his lips to Tarquin’s ear. “Listen, son, I don’t know what you’re doing down here, especially dressed like that. But you need to be careful.”
I jerked loose from his grip. Spinning around, I got my first good look at his face.
“Oh.” All the fight went out of me.
His cloak was so dark red it almost looked black. Like Tarquin, in his ear he wore a jewel. His clothes were cut like a wherryman’s but made of finely woven cloth, the garments of a rich man trying to hide who he is. But his dark hair and blue eyes betrayed him.
Antidoros Peregrine, the exiled Akhaian revolutionary.
“Ow! Call off your frogman!” Another man struggled through the door with Fee latched onto his arm.
“We’re all right,” I told her. She let the man go.
“I won’t tell the Black Dogs who you are,” Lord Peregrine said to Tarquin. “I didn’t like your father, but the Theucinians are worse. I don’t hold with murdering children.”
Tarquin shoved his veil back. “I don’t know what—”
“What I’m talking about. Of course you don’t.” He glanced at me. “It’s Caro, isn’t it? Forgive me for the guns. I had to make sure you would come quickly and quietly. We have no quarrel with the Oresteia family. I figure we owe you for keeping us supplied this last year.”
His words reminded me. “Oh! I can’t believe I forgot about the muskets.” I rushed to explain. “They were confiscated by the harbor master in Hespera’s Watch. It’s a bit of a mess. I swear, Pa will make it up to you—”
He held up a hand. “No matter. You’ve more important things to worry about right now. Diric Melanos was in this very tavern yesterday.”
Tarquin interrupted. “I know who you are. My father used to speak of you often.”
Peregrine almost smiled. “I doubt it was flattering.”
“It wasn’t. But he respected you as an opponent. I remember you dined at our table once or twice when I was a boy. You’re Antidoros Peregrine.”
“You probably won’t believe me, but I was sorry to hear of his death.” Emotion flickered across his bearded face. “And Amaryah’s.”
I reached out without thinking to touch Tarquin’s sleeve. He refused to meet my eyes, swallowing guiltily. He didn’t look shocked to hear that his father was dead. In fact he seemed more offended than anything else. Perplexed by his reaction, I let my hand drop.
Lord Peregrine went on. “I heard everyone was killed in the coup. I suppose there’s a grand tale behind how you came to be here in Kynthessa.”
“There is,” Tarquin said, and that was all.
Lord Peregrine gave him a respectful nod, acknowledging that he would not be hearing the story.
“But how did you recognize him?” I asked.
Lord Peregrine gestured down at Tarquin’s too-short skirt. “The hood hides your face, but I wonder you didn’t take more care about those boots.” He raised his eyebrows. “Gold buttons? The mark of the mountain lion?”
Dismayed, I stared at the boots. He didn’t mean real gold? I’d assumed the buttons were brass. I cursed myself for not throwing those boots overboard when I had the chance.
Lord Peregrine went on. “When I realized who you were, I knew I had to warn you. Melanos sprayed silver all about this tavern, telling loud tales about the wherry he was chasing.” He raised his eyebrows. “Seems it gave him the slip, up near Hespera’s Watch. But he left more than loose coin behind him. That man at the end of the bar—”
He gripped my arm before I could turn.
“Don’t look,” he hissed. “Just know this—he’s dangerous. Every man on that crew is. In the skirmishes of ’88, Captain Melanos made a name for himself as a privateer, that part’s true enough. But then he went rogue. His crew’s sunk fifty ships and killed hundreds of men. Mark my words, they don’t sail for the Theucinians—they sail for themselves.”
If he was a privateer, Captain Melanos must once have had a letter of marque. Just like I did. A funny unsettled feeling shivered through me.
“Who do you side with?” I asked. “The old Emparch or the Theucinians?”
“Neither,” Lord Peregrine said. “The day of the absolute monarchy is past. We want Akhaia to be a republic, with a senate elected from among the people. But I don’t celebrate this bloodshed. People I—” He bent his head. “People I knew are dead.”
Tarquin’s eyes flashed with anger. “How can you say that, when you were stirring up the people! You think there wouldn’t have been blood in a revolution?” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “I don’t understand how you can be a traitor to your own class.”
“Son, my position as a lord provides me with power.” Lord Peregrine set a hand on Tarquin’s shoulder. “Power is a touchy thing. You can use it to crush those without it, or lift them up. It’s a choice. I believe it’s my responsibility to use the voice I’ve been given.”
Tarquin shrugged his hand off.
“Just think on this,” Lord Peregrine continued, unoffended. “The common people of Akhaia are like ants to Konto Theucinian, to be trampled under his boot heel. That doesn’t have to be the way.”
As Tarquin stared out at the darkening river, hands in pockets, I saw his throat bob. I couldn’t say what he was thinking, because his face was painstakingly blank.
I turned to Lord Peregrine. “Where’s Victorianos now?”
“Somewhere between here and the bridge, I expect. I heard they plan to go downriver tomorrow.”
The House of the Shipwright was the last stopping place before Gallos. The drawbridge there was too low for the likes of Victorianos to pass through, and the men who worked the turnstile would have gone home for the night. Wherever they were, the Black Dogs were stuck
there till morning.
“I must go,” Lord Peregrine said. “Current carry you, Miss Oresteia, as they say here in the riverlands. Give my regards to Nick.” He gave Tarquin a small bow. “Your Excellency.”
I froze, unable to breathe.
Tarquin stiffened, his eyes flickering across to me. “She didn’t know,” he said in a strangled voice.
Lord Peregrine grimaced. “My apologies.”
Throwing us a small salute, he shouldered through the door. I watched his dark cloak swirl around him as he slipped through the crowd and out a rear exit.
You didn’t call a courier “Your Excellency.” Even if he was the son of a nobleman. My mind spun, buzzing with suspicion … and a rising sense of dread.
The man at the end of the bar turned. He was a bald bruiser, with arms twice the size of my thighs. His leather gauntlets were scratched, and a blue tattoo curled across the stubbly skin of his head. A conspicuous lump under his jacket led me to believe he had a blade strapped to his back.
“I can explain—” Tarquin began.
I held up a hand. “Not here,” I growled. “Go straight for the door. Keep your head down.”
We almost made it out.
Muscles flexing, the bald man pushed off from the bar. As he jostled his way through the crowd, he slid one hand inside his coat.
Tarquin—I didn’t know what else to call him—pushed up the sleeves of his dress. All pretense of his being an old woman had gone out the window. “If only I had a sword.”
“Well, we haven’t got a sword.” The better for us, I suspected. His confidence probably far outweighed his actual ability with a blade.
Fee’s lips curled back, showing small pointed teeth.
The tattooed man whistled a signal. A second and third man lunged out of the crowd, arrowing toward us. I didn’t know if they were part of the Black Dogs’ crew or simply bold river men lured by the promise of coin.
But Oresteias are bold too. I kicked over a table, halting them in their path. Empty mugs hit the floor with a clatter, and the candle landed on its side, where flames immediately began to lick up the checkered tablecloth.
“Fire!” someone yelled.
The tattooed man charged us. I picked up a chair and heaved it at him as hard as I could. It bounced off his head. Howling like an enraged bull, he stumbled into a table of fishermen and knocked their game pieces onto the floor.
The largest fisherman jumped to his feet, belly bulging under a wool sweater, and told him exactly what he thought. The tattooed man threw him aside, causing his friends to stagger up with shouts of protest. Meanwhile the flames had jumped to a second table. The barmaid shrieked.
Tarquin stepped between me and our pursuers, but I seized the collar of his dress, hauling him toward the door. We clattered down the stairs. Fee reached the bottom first, leaping them three at a time. Frog legs are an advantage when you’re in a hurry.
“Fee, cast off!” I yelled.
She let loose the mooring ropes, and Cormorant drifted sideways out of the slip.
“Pierhead jump,” I gasped, taking a flying leap. Dark blue water flashed under me.
I hit the deck running and went straight to the mast. Without the sail, we were helpless to steer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tarquin jump aboard. My breath heaving in my throat, I tugged down on the halyard. The black sail rose in jerky lengths until finally the blocks clanked together.
A gun went off. Splinters exploded from Cormorant’s wooden trim.
“The paint!” I shrieked.
Tarquin spun on the deck. “The paint? Really?”
But the paint was soon the least of my worries. The man with the tattoo leaped across the gap and landed on the deck. He leered, exposing two missing teeth. “Hello, love.” He held a long, dirty knife.
I drew my own blade. It looked like a child’s toy next to his.
A pair of oars lay stacked alongside the cabin wall. Tarquin grabbed one up, holding it like a spear. He shoved me roughly behind him. “Get back.”
The tattooed man, narrowing his eyes, lunged toward him with the knife. Tarquin struck out with the blunt oar end, easily parrying the thrust. The man attacked again. Tarquin darted forward, moving so fast he was almost a blur. Wood slapped against flesh as he clubbed the man over the head. He howled, toppling overboard.
I realized my mouth hung open and promptly shut it. “You’re good.”
Tarquin grinned. Then he slipped on a wet piece of deck, and I felt less confident in him.
He recovered his feet. “I am the Emparch of Akhaia,” he said, drawing himself up. “Did you think I wouldn’t be good?”
CHAPTER
TEN
He tossed the oar down with a clatter. “You already knew. I may as well admit it.”
I turned away and walked up the deck, trembling with anger. His betrayal lay like a hard stone on my chest. How could he not have told me something as big as this? It changed everything.
Tarquin followed me. “I said, I’m the Emparch of Akhaia.”
“I heard you.”
With Fee at the helm, Cormorant slipped downriver, picking up speed. A mist had begun to roll in, wet splotches of the first rain dotting the deck. Holding on to the forestay, I leaned out to scan the riverbank. Danger hung over us like the low, damp clouds. We had to find a place to hide.
“What would impress you?” Tearing off the flowered veil, Tarquin began to unbutton his dress. “I suppose it’s impossible. I suppose it would require an encyclopedic knowledge of fish. Or ropes.”
At least now I understood why the Black Dogs wanted to kill my passenger. I could not say I blamed them.
I whirled to face him. His shirt, sticky with sweat, clung to his shoulders. The discarded dress lay in a pile at his feet, and the red jewel shone in his left ear. It marks me as a member of a great Akhaian house, he’d said. Everything finally fit together—his formal manner of speech, his arrogance, and most importantly the Theucinians’ desire to have him out of the way.
“Look, whatever-your-name-is—” I started.
A raindrop rolled down his forehead. “Markos. My name is Markos.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m—that is, I was the second son of the Emparch,” he said, a strange note in his voice. “I was never meant to inherit the throne. But now …”
“Wait—the second son? Then why—” Horror trickled through me and I halted, immediately dreading his answer.
His voice trembled. “The man who slaughtered Loukas—my brother—was the captain of our guard. The Theucinians must have bribed him. Konto killed my father himself,” he said in a rough whisper. “Slit his throat, in our private quarters. That’s when I ran.” He shot me a look, eyes gleaming. “I suppose you’re going to call me a coward for that.”
I should’ve said I was sorry for his loss. It was the polite thing to do, but my anger at him stopped up my throat, preventing the words from coming out.
“My father the Emparch was not a fool,” he continued hoarsely. “He knew the people were restless. He was preparing for a revolution. So he called his own personal shadowman, Cleandros, and instructed him to enchant five crates. Once the lid was closed, the person inside would fall into a deep sleep.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because. You should know.”
I swallowed. He said that now. Now, when it meant nothing. After he’d lied and lied and lied some more.
“In case of an attack on the palace,” he went on, “each crate was to be shipped in a different direction. But—” His voice cracked. “He never expected the attack to come from someone in our own family. The only ones who ever made it to the boxes were me and—” He hesitated. “And my mother. She was supposed to be sent to Iantiporos, to prevail on the Margravina for—for asylum.”
“Amaryah,” I said out loud, remembering. “That’s who Lord Peregrine was talking about? Your mother?”
He sniffed. “He ought never to have spoken of her so familiarly.”<
br />
“Why in the name of the gods didn’t you tell him she’s alive?” I demanded. “Don’t you think that’s a detail he might’ve wanted to hear?” Turning my back on the Emparch of Akhaia, I strode down the deck.
I heard his boots behind me. “I don’t trust Antidoros Peregrine.”
Fee blinked her yellow eyes as we stepped into the cockpit. She bowed almost to the floor. “Excellency.”
“Stop that,” I told her, climbing through the hatch. He didn’t deserve that. He hadn’t earned it.
Tarquin—or Markos or whoever he was—followed me into the dimly lit cabin, ducking his head to avoid the ceiling. “Well? I just told you I’m the Emparch of an entire gods-damned country. Aren’t you going to say something?”
Raindrops formed a glistening mist on his black hair. I opened the locker and grabbed Pa’s oilskin jacket. “Here,” I said gruffly, throwing it at him.
He caught it. “You’re taking this very calmly.”
“No, I’m not.” My voice was flat. “I’m furious. I knew you were lying about being a courier, but this”—I swallowed over the painful lump in my throat—“this is too big a secret to keep from me. Did you even think about my life?” I demanded. “Or Fee’s? We deserved to know how much danger we were in. And it is a lot of danger.”
A line appeared between his eyebrows. “You knew I was lying?”
“A real courier would be street smart. Accustomed to rough travel.” I paused, hand on the locker door. “You acted … well, spoiled.”
“That’s what you really think of me?” he asked quietly.
I shrugged on my jacket. “ ‘Why’s everything so dirty?’ ” I mimicked. “ ‘Why are there so many flies in the riverlands? I’m bo-ored.’ ”
“All right, you’ve made your point,” he choked out, cheeks reddening. “Just … stop using that voice.”
I slammed the locker. “I never asked to be involved in this! The man who gave me that box lied to me. And then you lied to me.”
“My family has an estate in Casteria,” he said. “When we get there, I can pay you. Gold, silver, whatever you like. In compensation for the extra danger.”
I stared at him. “You really must be thick. We’re not going to Casteria.”
Song of the Current Page 8
