by Brian Keller
For the next hour, Kinsman separated himself slightly from the three men. Bosun and the First drank a local firey liquor called Kasta. It was fermented from a grain and later distilled and stored in huge casks for several years before being bottled and distributed. Kinsman knew it was clear and brown and felt like it burned the throat of whosoever drank it. Silas held himself to a couple of beers, much to the amusement of the other two men.
As the sky darkened, the two Wharfsiders and Kinsman moved onto the smaller boat while Mardon observed from the ship. It took another hour to grow dark and two hours later Kinsman began to wonder whether it might not just be better to wait aboard the First’s ship and simply hop down and quickly follow if the sellswords were sighted. Thirty minutes later, after considering voicing this opinion but yet again keeping it to himself, the First leaned over the rail and spoke in a hushed voice, “They’re paddling out. Give them five minutes or so, then row out. You should be fifty, maybe seventy meters behind them.” Bosun muttered, “The way they paddle, we might want to give them a little more time than that.” Kinsman smiled in the darkness.
Five minutes came and went, Bosun lightly slapped his oar against the water and Silas positioned his oar in response. Bosun whispered, “Hup”, and the men began to paddle. Their oars made almost no sound except for a slight rush of water as each oar was pulled. The oars entered and left the water without making a sound. They hadn’t paddled more than thirty strokes when Bosun made a hissing noise. Silas pulled his oar from the water and laid it across his knees. Bosun leaned forward to whisper to Kinsman and pointed to the southeast, “That’s them there, flailin’ their oars as if ta beat the water inta takin’ ‘em where they wanna go.” Kinsman nodded. After watching the two Wharfsiders maneuver this boat, he couldn’t help but notice the disparity. The sellsword’s oars were clattering against the sides of the boat and even from this distance he could often hear the oars being submerged accompanied by a wet “plunk” sound. Bosun whispered again, loudly, “Starboard, ten, for eighty.” Silas’ oar snapped into position and Bosun uttered, “Hup”, and the men paddled the boat on a new course to the right. Once they’d covered the distance they’d intended, Bosun used the momentum to steer the boat, then stopped them. He leaned forward to explain, “We’re usin’ a trick of the moonlight. Where we’re sittin’ now, we should almost be invisible to those fellas.” Kinsman looked around, thinking he could see in all directions fairly clearly, but directly behind them did seem like the light was coming in at an oblique angle, making things slightly obscured. This was something he’d want to remember, and something he’d have never thought of himself.
The other boat had stopped. Even from this distance he could see that it had three men in it. The man in the back remained motionless while the other two were moving about and grunting as they lifted something. They were too far away to see details, but the sound of the splash carried clearly across the water. One of the men, probably the man at the aft, called out, “Dammit! Toss them out easy! You’re gonna dump us all overboard! I dunno about you, but I don’t know how well I might swim in this armor.” One of the other men replied, “Maybe you’d like to come up and help. Instead’a just sittin’ back there on yer ass and bitchin’.” The first man replied, “I’m back here steadyin’ this boat. But if I do come up there, you’d better protect your head. Now get back to it.” The grunting and splashes continued for a few more minutes, then the men grabbed oars and they began to clatter as they struggled to get turned around. Bosun whispered forward, “Silas, mark that spot. I’ll get the grapple ready.” Silas spoke over his shoulder, “Marked. I’m ready.” Bosun checked how the line was coiled near his feet, then watched as the other boat moved back toward shore. They waited a few minutes, then Bosun tapped the water lightly, Silas held his oar above the water, and Bosun whispered, “Hup”. In a little over a minute, Silas thrust his oar into the water, causing the water to “whoosh” around it as he called back, “Toss it.” Bosun dropped the grapple over the side. The line had been anchored to a ring bolted to the floor of the boat, but Bosun placed a foot over the line so he could gauge if the grapple had hooked anything. The men paddled around the spot a few times, trolling behind them with the grapple, before Bosun hauled the line in. “Nuthin’”, he reported. Silas called back, “Portside, twenty meters. I mighta misjudged the distance.” Without any further conversation, both men put oars in the water and covered the distance in a couple of strokes. Meanwhile, Kinsman had been keeping an eye on the other boat. By the time the men arrived in the new spot, the other boat had disappeared. Bosun didn’t wait, he just tossed the grapple over and pinned the line to the floor, as he had done before. The men paddled around the spot and in a minute or so the line began to get pulled out from under his foot. Bosun quietly called out, “Bite!” and both men pulled in their oars. Bosun reached down and grasped the line in his leathery hands and gave it a powerful tug. “Caught”, he announced. Silas turned and crept towards the back of the boat, keeping his center of gravity impressively low. He helped Bosun haul in whatever the grapple had hooked itself on. Silas joked, “Wouldn’t it make for quite a tale if we had Ol’ Salty on the other end of this line?” Bosun chuckled as he grunted, hauling in line hand over hand, “We don’t have enough boat under us to handle Ol’ Salty. In fact, if this is him, he’ll soon be takin’ us fer the ride of our lives!” Kinsman hadn’t heard of “Ol’ Salty” and wasn’t sure he wanted to know more at this particular moment. He just leaned over to watch as the sailcloth-wrapped bundle reached the surface. Bosun remarked, “Yep. Looks like a body to me.” He guided the bundle towards Kinsman, “You care ta do the honors?” Kinsman pulled a dagger and slashed the bindings. It opened to reveal a body. Kinsman spoke, “Hold onto it. Just give me a couple seconds.” he peeled back the cloth and freed one of the arms. There were raw marks around the wrist. Another thing that simply couldn’t escape his notice was that the arm was completely pale. Like the skin of an albino. Bosun commented, “Usually skin doesn’t look like that til it’s been in the water a coupla days. I never seen the like!” Kinsman agreed, he’d never seen it before either, but he’d heard of it. He heard that Boyd had looked like this moments after he’d died at the north end of Batter’s Field. He pulled his mind back to the task at hand and cut another set of bindings further down, wordlessly asking Utsef’s forgiveness for using a killing knife for cutting cord, and peeled that canvas back. The dead person’s ankles had the same markings and the same lack of color to the skin. Kinsman pushed the body away and said, “Release it. It’s gotta be a slave.” He then turned to face the shoreline, “Can we catch them?” Both Bosun and Silas uttered a couple brief words, consigning the bodies to the deep, then they looked toward shore. Bosun was the first to speak, “I don’t think so, lad. Sorry.”
The First merchant was waiting on the deck for them to return. As he helped hoist the men aboard he asked, “You’re back sooner than I expected. Did you find your answers?” Kinsman replied, “Yes and no. They’re dumping slaves, but by the time we’d verified that, the boat was too far away to catch. I’ll either need to go out again, or wait until they make their next trip out and then follow them afterward once they return to land.” Bosun squinted, “I signed on fer one trip out. If I’m ta go agin, that’ll mean a new bargain.” Silas remained silent, but nodded his agreement. Kinsman turned to Mardon, “I suppose you feel like you’ve honored your obligation as well?” The First merchant’s expression was not one of approval, “By the wording of the deal, yes, I have. But I also recognize that the full intent has not been satisfied. I won’t finance another waterborne venture like tonight, but I’ll have someone stand with you to identify the men the next time they go out.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “Which leaves us with your obligation. How soon are you prepared to deliver? Will you insist that your task be satisfied before you act on mine?” Kinsman shook his head, “I told your neighbor that I’d have it resolved within three days. It seems I have the remainder of
my night free. I’ll see you again tomorrow afternoon, you can tell me then if conditions have become more suitable to you.” The expressions on the faces of all men changed upon that announcement.
Kinsman wrapped his bow and arrows back into the canvas and tied it loosely. He stood and asked the First, “This will be safe if I leave it with you until tomorrow?” he gestured at the bow. The First pulled himself to his full stature, “I will place it in my own chambers until you come to retrieve it.” Kinsman gave him a nod, then faced the two oarsmen, “Thank you both. Your skills with handling a boat are impressive, even to one such as myself who knows so little about such things.” The men nodded in response to his compliment and the Kinsman departed. It seemed the men were waiting for him to leave before they settled their accounts for the night’s work.
Chapter 29
As Kinsman waited on a Trade Quarter rooftop, near the Whitefoam, he observed the City Watch patrols. Each patrol had a route that took them roughly an hour to complete. The Trade Quarter patrol came in from the east, walked along the River across the front of the Iacoss residence and turned south to walk along the road that divided the Trade Quarter from the Grid. Approximately twenty minutes later, the patrol from the Grid came up from the south, stopped when they reached the River, and looked east along the channel before turning west to continue their patrol across the northern edge of the Grid. That meant they could still look behind them, even a block away, and still be able to see someone walking past the lanterns that were posted along the River. Once they were far enough away, he’d still have at least thirty minutes before the Trade Quarter Guards completed their circuit. In fact, if he timed it well, he could enter as soon as the next Trade Quarter patrol passed, and be working his way to Rylon Iacoss’ bedchamber by the time the Grid patrol was turning west. That’d give him forty minutes to converse with the merchant, and depart. He should almost be back to the Guildhouse within those forty minutes. He double-checked his pouch and felt reassured by what he felt. He settled in to wait for the next patrol, and silently recapped what he’d learned tonight and how it all fit in with what was already known.
Thirty minutes later, he watched the patrol walk from his right to his left and turn the corner to proceed south. He unfolded himself slowly, extending his arms and legs to restore full circulation, then crept to the side of the building and hung down from the edge of the roof. He shifted himself sideways to line himself up with a second floor window and swung himself inward, catching the sill. As he pulled himself up, he was glad he had decided to leave his bow behind on Mardon’s ship. If he hadn’t he’d have needed to either leave it tucked away somewhere to be retrieved later, or made a special trip back to the Guildhouse to drop it off, then return. Either option would’ve resulted in valuable time wasted.
He held his position, crouched on the windowsill, for only long enough to determine that there were no sounds of a sleeping person immediately inside the window. He didn’t want to leave himself silhouetted against the night sky for any longer than was necessary. He quickly shifted the screen and slipped inside. After laying down on the floor to one side of the window, he remained motionless as he listened and learned the sounds within the house. Every residence had its own sounds, though many were extremely similar. Recognizing the individual peculiarities could spell the difference between success, the need for a quick escaping, or fighting for your life. Kinsman took air in slowly through his nose. If this family had a dog, he couldn’t smell any evidence of it. They might have a cat, but then that might also just be some errant odors infiltrating from the street below. There were some light sounds of breathing from one corner of the room. Somewhat rapid and shallow, so either a child or someone quite elderly. Everything he’d been told, however, was that the elderly often slept the noisiest of all, with all nature of bodily noises to accompany their breathing. He had little experience to draw from in this regard, but he remembered that Skaiven, after a bottle or two of wine, used to snore loud enough to wake the dead.
He’d been told that children either slept the soundest of all, or the lightest. There was no explanation for this, only what he’d remembered from his lessons. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he rose to a crouched position and crept to the door. He inspected the latch and then ran his fingers over the hinges. There was no sensation of an oily residue, but neither did they feel rough, as many did from being exposed to the sea air. He operated the latch and gently pulled the door open far enough to slip through into the hallway beyond. Once he was through and looked around, he realized it wasn’t a hall but a landing. There was a rail on the other side and beyond that was open space overlooking the shop below. He could see two more doors on this level, one to the left, closer to the stairs leading down, and one to his right. The conventional rule of construction suggested that the Master’s chambers would be the furthest within the residence, but local experience and propriety suggested that the adult’s bedroom would be the closest to the stairs. He followed that line of reasoning and went to the door to his left. He took a moment to draw a vial from his pouch. He held it carefully as he uncorked it. He then drew a dart from it’s sheath on his wrist and dipped the dart into the fluid of the vial, coating the first couple of centimeters and carefully tucking it between two of his fingers, holding it by the shaft. He then repeated the procedure for a second dart, then recorked the vial of Debilitas and replaced it in his pouch. As he slowly and carefully lifted the latch on the door and gently eased it open, he listened for any sounds from within the room. He paused only briefly enough to assure that he could hear the sounds of two people breathing regularly. As he eased the door closed behind him, he was careful to leave the door unlatched. In the almost nonexistent light he could make out the bed. Kinsman stepped around to one side and leaned in closer. The breathing and the scent suggested this was the wife and mother. Kinsman backed away and circled the bed, repeating the procedure. The depth of the breathing and the scent of tobacco reinforced the suspicion that this was Rylen Iacoss. He turned to inspect the bedside table and as was the typical custom there was an oil lamp along with flint and a small clay jar. The small jar commonly held matches, and the clay was usually left unglazed so it could be used as a striking surface. Kinsman raised the lid to the jar and dipped a finger inside to confirm… matches.
He wasted no more time and deftly jabbed a dart into the man’s shoulder, then leaned across and did the same to the wife with the other dart. He then drew the sheet over the wife’s head and withdrew to set aside the spent darts on the bedside table and lit a match. The flash of light illuminated the entire room for an instant as he lit the oil lamp then adjusted the wick to reduce the flame to a dim flicker. He then turned his attention to the man but spoke to both of the paralyzed residents, “I understand what you must be feeling at this moment. Knowing there is someone at your bedside and you cannot move, or even call for help… I can imagine the terror. Calm yourself. You’ll both be fine very soon, with only a pinprick in your shoulder to remind you of this conversation. Ma’am, I’ve covered your face. Don’t fear for your sight. I’ve done that because there’s no need for you to see anything. As for you, sir. I understand that you’ve just been rudely awakened and may be a little disoriented. I need to know that you’ve understood everything I’ve said so far, and can respond appropriately. Blink once if you’ve understand.”
The man closed his eyes and opened them again. Kinsman sat on the side of the bed but turned his head so that his face remained in the shadow of his hood, “I am here for one reason only. Once I have your word that you’ll do as my client requests, I’ll leave. I’ll only harm you if you refuse to comply with my client’s wishes and I’ll only return if you go back on your word. Do you understand everything so far? Blink once.” Rylen Iacoss closed his eyes and opened them again. Kinsman laid a gentle hand on his cheek, “Very good, sir. I am confident that I’ll soon be on my way and everyone in your household will remain safe and snug in their beds. Now to the matter at hand… St
arting today, you’ll direct your fishing boats away from the Wharf City and inform everyone in your employ to never harass the Wharfsiders again. Simple, yes? Blink once if you intend to comply or twice if you have some other concerns or stipulations that need to be addressed.” Kinsman hadn’t even finished his sentence before Iacoss had blinked a single time. Kinsman stood to take his leave, retrieved his darts and placed them carefully back in their sheaths, “Very good, sir. And ma’am, do not fear. The only persons in this house that I have disturbed are the two of you. Had there been another way I would’ve been happier to involve only your husband, but my client’s instructions were to wake your husband and have this conversation. There was never any malicious intent to involve you. My apologies. As for you, sir. If your actions cause me to return, there will be no conversations, and no one in your household is safe. Are we clear?” Kinsman didn’t wait to confirm whether Iacoss blinked only once. He simply doused the lantern and departed.
As he returned to the Guildhouse, he considered whether he’d taken the role a little too far. He shrugged off his concerns when he considered the fact that the man was knowingly, even intentionally, causing a volatile situation in the off-chance that he might somehow improve his standings. That seemed like a very callous approach for an uncertain return. It took a particular kind of man to even consider such a thing. This kind of man might only be manipulated through stringent measures. Still, it was unfortunate that it had required involving the man’s wife.
