The Dagger of Trust

by Chris Willrich

  The bards ate their stew and reposed on their luxurious straw, feeling inexplicably better.

  "Why am I enjoying all this?" Viridia said. "Truly."

  "Because," Gideon speculated, "there's nothing more exhilarating than almost being killed. Have you ever wanted to know why certain individuals spend their hard-earned coin on weaponry and expedition gear, simply to plumb monster-haunted ruins? They'll tell you it's about treasure, or a lofty long-term goal, or the chance to hone their skills." He shook his head. "Liars. They're addicted to this feeling."

  "I'm in," said Viridia. "Let's go explore some ruins."

  "You're insane," Ozrif said. "Mind you, I respect that."

  "You're all insane," Leothric said. "Have you considered just what we encountered tonight? We went to have a little fun, and perhaps investigate a missing groundskeeper. Now we find out he's dead, having gotten involved in some bizarre conspiracy involving Cheliax, assassins, wizards, and for all I know, warrior bug-women from the planet Castrovel. This is serious. Do you have any idea what's happening?"

  The other three were silent, waiting for someone to go first.

  Gideon ventured, "I've talked with Xeritian, from time to time. I've always suspected he had a hidden life. But I don't know anything certain."

  "You might have warned us better, roommate. Leading us into this trouble. And now we're all in trouble with the prince's government—long may he reign. You're a fool, Gideon Gull."

  "No, I'm a harpist. But you do have a point. Sorry, everyone."

  Leothric looked at Ozrif and Viridia. "Do you two have any ideas? Because groundskeeping now seems like a much more exciting profession than I'd ever dreamed."

  "Chelish wizards don't show up every day," Ozrif said. "At a wild guess, I'd say Queen Abrogail's hatching a new plot."

  "The government should be warned."

  "By now it has been," Viridia said. "Just remember, 'the government' is really many different factions, each with its own agenda. I'm sure we'll hear from at least one of them in the morning."

  The answer didn't satisfy Leothric, but by unspoken agreement the bards ended it there. At last the exhausted party drifted into slumber—except Gideon. Restlessly, he thought of the fog and its victims.

  When the dirge sounded through the window, he at first supposed it was his own imagination.

  But it was clear, and familiar.

  He rose and gripped the bars of the window, hauling himself up.

  As he hung there, he looked out upon the moonlit mouth of the Porthmos, with the curve of Oppara bending north and the dark fortress of Jadrishar Island brooding to the southwest.

  There were the dim sails of great ships anchored in the river.

  And there, too, was the ghost ship.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Madness ran in the family. Great-Grandfather Garrison Gull—who'd returned from an alleged voyage to Arcadia with a chest of weird treasure, bloodcurdling anecdotes, and the passionate desire to become a vintner—had in the end succumbed to the allure of conspiracy theories, and shaped the family sanctum to ward off ancient Azlanti spirits by diverting them to dead-end passages and empty mazes. Grandfather Gerard believed all persons of Varisian descent practiced the evil eye, and so pulled his hat over his head whenever one walked by. Great-Aunt Glynda believed cats were the secret masters of Golarion. Gideon half-suspected she was right, but that concession to unreality did not reassure him now.

  For Demonwake set out to sea, and although he couldn't see the woman on deck, he heard her singing in his mind. The sound was gentle, resonant with sorrow. But it was the same voice that had mocked him atop the conservatory. The same that he'd heard from the mouth of his muse.

  "Gideon?"

  Gideon returned to the cell floor, to find he'd awakened Viridia. "A ship," he said, knowing how foolish he sounded. "There's a ghost ship out there, or something that looks like one."

  Viridia came to the window and lifted herself up. "I see nothing, Gideon."

  He followed suit. The ship was indeed gone.

  "Ah. Well." They dropped. "No worries. Maybe I'm simply going mad."

  "It's a strange night." Viridia put a hand on his shoulder. "I wouldn't blame you for having bad dreams. Talk to me about it?"

  "There's something that happened a long time ago. I haven't talked about it in years. But recent events reminded me."

  "What we saw, in the corridors..."

  "Yes."

  "You never talk about how you grew up. Was it unhappy?"

  "No! Not at first." He recalled a green hill and a manse upon it, sprawling bright in the summertime. "We're a family of vintners. You should see our winery. Great-granddad built it like a castle, but the kind of castle you only get in books, with a great green area for the folk of Carpenden to come and enjoy music. That's how I came to know and love performance."

  Leothric was awake now. "That's strange, Gideon. Here I thought you came from poor farmers from the backwoods. But it seems you're as much a son of privilege as I. Is it morning?"

  Viridia snorted. "No. You should sleep."

  Ozrif was awake too. "Leothric, the elite of Andoran are modest merchants compared to the poorest nobles of Taldor."

  "So we've woken everyone up," Viridia said.

  "I'd like to hear how Gideon learned about backwoods music," Ozrif said.

  "Well," Gideon said, "I did listen to poor farmers. They had wonderful songs. I made my own."

  "But it was an affectation!" Leothric chortled. "Your supposed common touch. So, too, your great-grandfather's."

  "Indeed!" Gideon refused to take offense. "He didn't cotton to real nobility. But he loved the idea of pretend nobility, and he made himself a pretend noble, ancient ruined family seat and all. That's how it should be, I think. The trappings of nobility for the rich, with all the comedy that implies. But the real gravitas with ordinary folk."

  "Every society," Leothric insisted, "needs a class free of toil, a class that can think, and plan."

  "And throw wild parties," Viridia said, laughing. "Don't forget the wild parties."

  Leothric didn't appreciate the teasing. "You commoners would be nowhere without the guidance of nobles!"

  "The nobles who lost two-thirds of the empire with their incompetence?" Viridia scoffed. "The nobles who spend most of their days plotting against each other, instead of our enemies?"

  "You know nothing of my world," Leothric answered. "You lack the background."

  "I know enough. Your ilk thinks you live in a secret realm, Leothric. Let me tell you, you're constantly surrounded by commoners, retainers, servants—do you truly think they never talk about you? Do you truly think they're ignorant of how you live?"

  Leothric flushed. "You dare to say these things because we're all in jail together. You have the illusion of being my equal."

  "You're the one who knows nothing. And I will say anything, anywhere."

  "I'll hold you to that."

  "We were talking about me." Gideon smiled.

  "Very well," Leothric snapped. "Talk about you."

  "So...as vintners it was important to find markets. From time to time my father had to travel to Almas, or Augustana, or other places around the land. Sometimes he took some of the family along. Well, the day came when we went to Bellis."

  "Not sure I've heard of it," said Viridia.

  "It's not a huge place. It's up the Sellen River, many days beyond Cassomir and the druids' isle, in the thick of the Verduran Forest. Lots of lumbering up that way, and beekeeping. Bellis Mead comes from there."

  "Oh, I have heard of it. You mentioned it when we saw..."

  "Saw what?" said Leothric.

  "Never mind," said Gideon. "We went there to see about getting wine barrels sent up to Galt and the River Kingdoms and farther north, and also to get a low-tariff inroad to Taldor. Dad also wanted to learn more about the mead. We thought it was just a woodsy town full of good, honest Andorens. It was—on the first day. And then night came."

&nbs
p; Gideon sat down, linking his hands. "The fog rolled in. And people saw strange visions in it, and those who stayed in it for long...they changed. It started by the docks, and Dad had the good sense to lead us away from there. The people who stayed became a mob. I don't know why. Maybe I'll never know."

  He remembered the jeering nightmare monster invoked by the Chelaxian's spell. The mob at Bellis had stayed human in form, but for Gideon's family it had indeed seemed one vast beast.

  "They started screaming, crazy stuff. I've heard stories about how things went insane up in Galt, when the cause stopped being about democracy and started being about killing anyone the crowd didn't like. Andorens will tell you we could never do such things. That's a lie. The good people of Bellis turned into a bloodthirsty mob. They ransacked their own town, burned houses, and killed seventeen people. My brother Gareth was one of them. We'd gotten separated from our family. He tried to save me—"

  Gideon studied the gaol stones. "I ran. I was only ten. I knew with a cold clarity that I couldn't save Gareth. But I hated myself for running. Somehow I got away from the mob, but to do it I had to run through the fog. There was something—Erastil's antlers, I don't know how to describe it. A strange voice in my head. A woman's voice, singing. Despairing and lonely. If sadness is like a stone in the gut, her voice was like that stone chipped down to a knife-point. I felt like it was singing to me. Just to me. I got away from it and rested beside the river. I—I slept. When I awoke, I saw things..."

  He didn't want to talk about the insectile monster. That surely had just been a nightmare.

  "I saw the ghost ship for the first time. It didn't look identical to the ghost ship I saw just now, but very similar, gliding down the Sellen, as if in mockery of all the life upon the shore."

  He rubbed his temples. "I do fear that I am going just a trifle insane. I wonder if perhaps I should give up the...college."

  "No," Viridia said.

  "Don't be foolish," Ozrif said. "We all have bad dreams, visions—"

  "I just had one," Leothric said. "I decided to have a night on the town and ended up in jail. Wait a minute..."

  No one laughed, but the darkness seemed to lift a trifle.

  "They're right, though," Leothric added. "You shouldn't give up on anything, even if there's a little madness in your life. It's like you said in the disputation: the world is full of wonders, and terrors. And they can all wait till morning, at least."

  Gideon blinked at Leothric, surprised. "You're right. May I count on you all to keep this possible...madness...to yourselves?"

  "Of course," said Viridia, and Ozrif nodded.

  "You have my word, roommate," Leothric said, with surprising formality.

  "Thank you all," Gideon said. "We'd better sleep. I'd like to prepare spells in the morning, at least."

  But he couldn't sleep. Not until the moon had passed by, taking all hint of ghost-light with it.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Gideon woke to find Viridia snoring and Ozrif and Leothric performing a routine for the guards. Ozrif would juggle Leothric's puppets before tossing them to Leothric for various skits. The story was Sir Gothmoor's endless doomed pursuit of the dragon Yallazak. The guards were clapping.

  "So," said Sebastian Tambour, entering the gaol. "This is keeping a low profile?"

  "We're model prisoners," said Gideon, getting up. "Just ask the guards."

  "Can they stay a while?" asked one guard. "They're fun."

  "They beat the last bunch we had," said another. "Crew of lunatics from those pirate isles, the Shackles. They told us how they'd boil our eyes, stick our heads on a prow, gamble with our bones."

  "We might all be safer if my friends here stayed locked up," said Sebastian. "But that is not to be. I've shown the Harbormaster a writ from the prince's magistrates—may he live a long and opulent life—pardoning them and releasing them into my care." Sebastian raised a scroll and the guards scrambled for their keys. Viridia groaned at the noise, stretched, and got to her feet.

  "You?" said Leothric. "With a writ? You're just some kind of bard."

  "Oh, I'm not just some kind of bard. I'm a sea-captain in the service of Taldor. I have a little sway."

  "Thanks." Gideon was glad he didn't have to improvise a cover to explain the situation. "When may we return to the college?"

  "Immediately." As the others showed their relief, Sebastian raised a hand. "But—temporarily."

  "What?"

  "There's a catch, I'm afraid. You're released into my custody as commander of Riposte, bound today for Cassomir. You're now my crew, you see."

  "What?" Gideon said again.

  "You overreached by investigating the death of—" Sebastian paused only the tiniest bit—"the groundskeeper. There are consequences."

  "But the Chelaxians!" Leothric sputtered. "The fog! Something is going on here, Tambour!"

  "The authorities have been told. But you four need to be away from here, for your own safety. It's not all bad. There may be other ways to investigate this situation."

  "Cassomir," Gideon said. "They've seen fogs like this too."

  "Indeed," Sebastian said.

  "I'm in."

  "You just want to see Corvine Gale," Viridia said, but her tone was light.

  "Guilty," Gideon confessed.

  "The lovebird needs looking after. I'll go. I've never been to sea."

  "It's not as romantic as advertised," said Ozrif. "I much prefer the city. But I'll show you the ropes."

  "Aboard ship," Sebastian said dryly, "they're called 'lines.'"

  "I don't think I can leave in any case," Leothric said. "My family won't like it."

  "I'm sorry, Leothric, but I don't think you realize how serious this is. Once I explained the situation, your father agreed it was for the best."

  "What? I won't!"

  "There's no choice. If you don't come with me now, you're technically a deserter. Boss Hallador would have no option but to transfer you to the Screaming Pillars. One way or another, school is at an end."

  Chapter Five

  Shanty for Vagabonds

  Faring better?" Gideon asked Ozrif, who was staring into the portside waters as though divining a fortune.

  "You're only asking because you're smug about your iron gut."

  "You do sound better," Gideon decided, but was cut off by a tirade from Leothric to starboard.

  "I don't need your sanctimonious pity! I'm no beggar pleading for alms. My father raised himself from nothing, and I follow in his footsteps. From the time I could talk, I instructed and rebuked the servants myself. I managed and budgeted my allowance from the day I could count. I need no one! I can vomit my stomach juices all on my own, thank you very much."

  "I think Leothric needs me," Gideon said.

  "I might just muster the strength to help you push him overboard. For your consideration."

  "Thanks."

  Gideon shifted carefully across the deck. He remembered the advice to always seek three points of contact when on a ship, two feet and one hand, or two hands and one foot. The lurch and heave of the vessel was greater than he remembered, perhaps because Riposte was petite for a warship, about seventy feet long and twenty across, with two masts and a great complexity of rigging, and a crew of perhaps two dozen, including the bards.

  "If you don't want help, then stay out of the way," Sebastian was telling Leothric. "We're focused on the crossing."

  "What do you mean, crossing? I see only water all around."

  Yesterday's clouds, with their foretaste of true winter, had dispersed, and the afternoon was bright and clear with a chill that had soothed Gideon's stomach. The waters were choppy from a strong breeze from the west.

  "No, you don't see." Out here upon the waters, Sebastian's voice was more clipped and brassy than sardonic and smooth. "You don't see the currents shaped by the rocky coasts. You don't see the hidden shallows. You don't see the tidal surge."

  Gideon wanted to spare Leothric a fraction of Sebastian's ire. "If the mo
uth of the Porthmos is so dangerous, why not use a river pilot?"

  "Too much delay. I have a feeling time's of the essence."

  Gideon nodded. Sebastian had indeed moved with dispatch. They'd departed Oppara in the gray of dawn, steering out of the harbor and around the naval fortress of Jadrishar Island. Beyond they'd entered the main flow of the Great Porthmos, so wide as to seem a bay. But it had still been a full thirty miles to the river's mouth and the sea. Sebastian had been keen to get them into open ocean before sunset.

  "The day's near spent!" called Sebastian. "Look alive as we cross the bar!"

  "Jibe ho!" called the helmsman, and Gideon got Leothric out of the way of a shifting boom.

  Leothric muttered, "Why do the sailors use so many strange terms? It's as if they're deliberately confounding us."

  Gideon shrugged. "Every occupation has a tongue of its own. The more canny the trade the more uncanny the language."

  A green-haired gnome keeping watch near the bow overheard him, grinned, and called out to a brown-skinned, black-haired human supervising the riggers. "Away put the quizzlesticks! Step lively past the snipewinders! Tie off the loopmonkeys!"

  "Fool!" bellowed the human without cracking even a hint of smile. "We dare not tie up the loopmonkeys in a sizzlesquawl like this. It'll stockhammer the fishermizzen!"

  Gideon waved. "Even I know you're talking nonsense...Adebeyo, isn't it? Hello, Grizzendell."

  The gnome guffawed, and the human grunted.

  They were an eccentric crew, for an unusual ship. It was always unclear to Gideon if Sebastian's true second was First Mate Adebeyo, the cheerfully dour man from the southlands of Garund who seemed to know everything about motivating crews; or perhaps Quartermaster Grizzendell, the cackling gnome from Taldor's southern garrison town of Zimar, who seemed to know everything about ships. Then there was Zethril the bosun, an imperious elf of Kyonin who split the difference between them and seemed expert about everything and sardonically superior about it; and Lunette, a sad-looking silver-haired woman of Yanmass in Taldor's far north, who seemed a jack-of-all-trades, and whom they simply called the carpenter.