“I’ve got it right here,” Sarken said. “How much is it worth?”
Then there was that problem. Ensara looked over his shoulder at his first mate. Sarken had claimed the wand from the start, saying it was his in payment for the loss of his brother.
“If it was really hers,” Rajana said, “I might be very generous. And I might have other financial incentives as well. A simple examination will inform me.”
“Oh, it’s hers.” Sarken’s lip curled. “That bitch handed it over to me herself.”
The guard beside the woman flinched as Sarken whipped up the wand. The man watched, tensely, as Sarken advanced and slapped the thing down in front of his mistress.
Rajana stared at it a moment, eyeing the smooth, pearl white finish and the small emerald bands that circled its tips.
Then, with seeming infinite care, she used the last two fingers of her right hand to pull the glove from her left. And here Ensara noticed something else peculiar—the other fingers and thumb of the gloved right hand stood out stiffly.
Her left hand, though, seemed perfectly fine. Pale, well formed. Uncalloused, he saw clearly, as she lifted the wand.
“I am a practitioner of magic,” she told them. “Don’t be alarmed, for I mean you no harm. I will examine the wand, and if I find it belongs to Mirian Raas—”
“You bet it does,” Sarken cut in.
She ignored him. “—then we will discuss payment.”
Ensara nodded, and then, to cover his own indecisiveness, reached for the bottle. It was empty. “Sarken, get us another bottle, will you? Some good bourbon. The lady might get thirsty.”
“Sure. You mind if I have a bolt, Cap’n?”
“Help yourself.”
Sarken trotted off.
As the woman muttered under her breath, her eyes seemed to take on a reddish glow. Was it Ensara’s imagination, or were the shadows thickening in the room?
“Oh yes.” The woman finally smiled. It might have been a pretty smile if there was any prettiness in the soul behind those dark eyes. “This is hers. How much do you want for it?”
“How much are you offering?” Sarken asked. Ensara had been so intent upon the woman’s spellwork he hadn’t even heard him return.
The first mate uncorked the bottle and poured a drink for the captain before noisily swirling some whiskey into a glass for himself.
“Are you authorizing him to negotiate for you, Captain?” Rajana asked.
“It’s my wand, now,” Sarken asserted.
Ensara ignored him. “What do you want it for, m’lady?”
“Are you trying to be difficult, Captain, or merely better informed?” She tapped her chin with one red-stained nail. “I don’t think you’re as drunk as you pretend.”
Ensara grunted and took a drink of surprisingly smooth bourbon, then set his glass upon the table and waited.
“Mirian Raas killed my sister with this very wand,” Rajana said. “And nearly killed me as well.”
By the gods. So maybe the whole pamphlet had been true. Of course, the woman in the pamphlet had been a countess, and her name hadn’t been Rajana, but … Ensara couldn’t keep his eyes from sliding over to the remaining, gloved hand.
Rajana frowned. “I see you’re familiar with that laughable fairy tale penned by Galanor’s twit of a son.”
“He didn’t use your real name,” Ensara guessed.
“He left out many crucial details and embellished others. My sister was a beauty, but she was even more of a half-wit than Ivrian Galanor. But Mirian Raas did slice off much of my right hand.”
“Gods!” Sarken said, and leaned closer. As if the woman were going to give him a look. She glared instead, then shifted her attention back to Ensara.
“Are you acquainted with the workings of magic, Captain?”
“My brother was a wizard,” Sarken said. “A water wizard.”
“He served me well for three years,” Ensara said. “May Pharasma guide him home.”
The woman seemed unmoved. “Some practitioners,” she continued, as though lecturing to an intellectually stilted youngster, “are able to look in on people from far away.”
“Like a peeper,” Sarken suggested.
Those thin lips shaped themselves into a frown. “The problem,” Rajana went on, “is that unless one knows the subject well, one has to rely on looking in on them with something they owned. A piece of hair. A personal belonging.”
A finger. Ensara smiled thinly at his own wit.
“I observed her lizard man several times while I was in possession of his staff. But I no longer have it. You’re acquainted with Mirian Raas’s reptilian guard?”
“I can’t say as I’ve met him, no.” Ensara found himself wondering if there’d be another pamphlet coming out soon featuring his encounter with Mirian Raas, and what it would say about him.
And then he began to wonder what this woman meant to do with an object with which she could spy on Mirian Raas.
But Rajana was already telling him—something about spying on Mirian and listening to what she planned.
“And why would you do that?” he asked.
She gave him a whithering look and gestured with her mutilated hand. “Why do you think, Captain? But it’s not my only reason. I also have friends who’ve learned certain rumors about the elusive Miss Raas and that idiot Galanor.”
Friends, Ensara thought, must mean “spies.” He doubted Rajana had any real friends.
“The Custodian has further plans for them,” she continued. “He’s hoping to lure them into service to search for additional treasures.”
“So you want the wand so you can learn where those treasures are?”
“I will pay you a flat fee of fifteen thousand crowns for that wand. And I’ll pay you a further five thousand to transport me wherever it is she plans to go.”
Sarken grinned, revealing square, gapped teeth. He leaned against the table and stared at the woman. “If there’s any killing to be done to her, I want to be in on it.”
“I think that can be arranged,” Rajana said coolly. “So long as it’s nothing clever. Nothing melodramatic, you understand. Just dead.”
Ensara didn’t like the sound of any of this. “I’m a businessman, not an assassin.”
One of her slim eyebrows cocked at him. “Yet you were willing to take up the hunt for her. I’m the one that fronted that bounty offer on her and her ship.”
Of course she was. “That’s still different,” Ensara protested. “I wasn’t planning on killing anyone who didn’t resist.”
“You can count on her resisting,” the woman said. “What do you want, Captain?
Sarken looked momentarily troubled himself, and then his expression cleared. He slapped Ensara on the shoulder.
“He wants us a cut of the treasure, your ladyship.”
That wasn’t what Ensara had been thinking at all. He’d been trying to puzzle a way through the whole nasty arrangement.
But the woman smiled, genuinely this time. She really was quite striking.
“I begin to see that you’re more than you seem, Captain. Let’s speak clearly, then. If it turns out that Mirian Raas is on another treasure hunt, the important thing to me is that what she’s after never gets into the Custodian’s hands. If you and your men are actively involved in helping me acquire it, I suggest an equitable split.”
“What’s that mean?” Sarken asked.
She lifted her left hand and wagged a finger at Ensara. “I appreciate how you have your subordinate raise the most challenging questions. It makes you seem more approachable. You don’t need to play games with me, though, Captain. I am what I appear to be.”
“I think you’re far more dangerous than you seem.”
“How very astute of you. I begin to think the same of you. By an equitable split, I imagine you will receive between fifty and seventy percent, depending upon how involved you are in the actual recovery of the treasure, how much risk we find ourselves under, and how mu
ch personal risk I myself face in the course of the escapade.”
“And whether or not we put the screws to the bitch, right, m’lady?” Sarken asked.
“I’m not interested in that,” the woman answered without even considering Sarken. She seemed done with him. “I just want her dead.”
Ensara blinked.
“So do we have an arrangement, Captain? Fifteen thousand up front, and then a variable percentage of the treasure?”
“Perhaps a contract is in order,” Ensara said, stalling for time. He didn’t think she’d like a contract.
But damned if that didn’t make her smile again. “To be honored in what court, Captain?”
“I just want everything clear between us.”
“And how much treasure are we talking about?” Sarken asked.
“I was under the impression you only cared about killing her.” Rajana looked sideways at the mate.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested in gold, Lady.”
“I can’t very well determine the sort of treasure until I’ve been able to observe Mirian Raas at length. Which is why,” she continued, “I need to purchase the wand first. I’m prepared to pay you this evening.”
“You’re walking around this crap hole with that much coin on you?” Sarken asked.
“Of course not. I can arrange to have it sent your way. My man will bring it to your ship and exchange it for the wand. Then we’ll commence with the rest come morning. Do we have an agreement?”
Ensara tried to marshal his thoughts. This wasn’t at all what he wanted to happen to Mirian Raas. And he sure as hell didn’t want this woman spying on her, although the thought of being able to look in on her was a little titillating. Which embarrassed him, because he knew a gentleman wouldn’t be thinking such things—or maybe, he thought, the difference was that a gentleman wouldn’t act on such impulses—
“Captain?” Rajana prompted. “I’ve made a fair and reasonable offer.”
“The captain’s just weighing his options,” Sarken said, clapping Ensara on the shoulder. “For instance, who’s to say how much a wand like this is really worth?”
“I am,” she answered. “It’s worth no more than five thousand, based on the spellwork involved. Less, if the magic hasn’t been recharged recently. I’m offering you three times that, to avoid the tedious business of haggling.” She leaned forward, looking him in the eye. “I’m sure you’re used to people trying to run gambits on you, Captain. I am not. I am a noblewoman of Cheliax—Galanor got that much right. My pledge is my bond, and I follow the laws of my people.”
“The captain’s a man of his word as well,” Sarken noted.
“And a cautious one. What is it you want that you haven’t heard, Captain?”
Ensara shook his head. “I’m always suspicious of a deal that sounds too good to be true.”
“Ah, well, you see, it may not be as easy as it sounds. There are liable to be unexpected challenges. Mirian Raas is clever, deadly, and surrounded by professionals loyal to her.”
“So I learned.”
“To your detriment, I hear. Come, Captain. Do we have a deal, or not?”
“I suppose we do,” he said, though he wasn’t sure why. He felt trapped into saying it, what with Sarken looking on, and the guard glaring at him and the woman eyeing him like a vampire sizing up her next victim. He wondered if she might really be a vampire, given the dark hair and pale complexion, but surely if she were, Ivrian Galanor’s booklet would have worked that into the story. Besides, couldn’t vampires heal themselves by sucking more blood? If so, then she wouldn’t have missing fingers.
He was too drunk for this. His thoughts kept drifting idly into the wrong channels instead of staying on tack. He rubbed his forehead, not feeling particularly clear on anything. He was aware that the woman was rising, so stood himself, quickly, as it was improper to remain seated when a lady rose. He even tipped his hat.
This time she offered her hand to him. The left one. Automatically, he put his lips to the back of it. Lilacs, he thought. She smelled of lilacs.
“This has been an unexpected pleasure, Captain. My man will arrive at your ship in another hour to make the arranged trade, and then I shall see you in the half hour after dawn so that we can make final arrangements.”
“Charmed,” Ensara said. He felt he should have said something more, but that was all he had left in him.
As the woman turned and left with her guard preceding her, Ensara managed to find his chair, even as Sarken’s elbow dug into his side.
“Damn, I think she’s got the hots for you, Cap’n. And she’s not bad looking, either, for an older lady. She’s got class, you know?”
Ensara grunted.
“Now about the wand. I knew it was worth something, but I didn’t realize it was worth so much. How much of a cut do you want to give me of that?”
“Sarken, piss off.”
“What?” The thick eyebrows rose on that heavy skull.
“Go away.” Ensara took back the bottle, listened to it gurgle as he poured the dark bourbon into his glass.
“We’ve got to get back to the ship and wait for the guy with the money!” He lowered his voice. “We’re talking about thousands and thousands of crowns here, and the chance to put Mirian Raas good and under, and probably get you laid by that fine piece that just walked out of here. What’s your rutting problem?”
Ensara quaffed another drink. “Just handle it yourself, Sarken. I don’t give a damn.”
Frowning, muttering under his breath, Sarken left him there.
When the bottle was empty, he ordered another.
7
RIVER OF BLADES
MIRIAN
The Daughter of the Mist dropped anchor that evening at one of the so-called “ocean piers” on the outskirts of Port Freedom. Due to the shallow anchorage near the city itself, the harbor mostly consisted of a series of dismasted hulks a quarter league off shore, linked by walkways. Some sailors never even bothered leaving the hulks for the city, for over the years an astonishing assortment of storefronts, inns, brothels, restaurants, taverns, and merchant stalls had been erected upon them or floated nearby.
Only flat-bottomed barges could navigate the maze of sandbars that led to Port Freedom itself. A virtual fleet of them was for hire, controlled by the infamous Rivermen’s Guild, and Mirian studied the vessels idly as hands lowered the ship’s gangway. Dozens were rowing from the mainland to reprovision nearby ships, their decks stacked high with fruits, cages of live animals, and barrels of water or grog. Others were poling their way toward the city invisible behind the sandbars, heavy with passengers, luggage, crates, and the occasional oddity, like what looked to be an expensive racing horse.
Rendak shook his head as Mirian checked the placement of her gear a final time. “I still don’t like this,” he groused, then ran a hand back through his thinning hair.
“You’ll be fine.”
He sighed at her. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”
Gombe had come up behind him. “It should be. Every time she leaves us, we run into pirates.”
That earned Gombe a scowl, which he studiously ignored. “What Rendak really means is that you should take us with you.”
“I’m going to be gone for an overnight, possibly two. I’ll send word if it’s two,” she added, before Rendak could suggest the obvious. “Don’t let more than three of the crew off the ship at once.”
Rendak grunted. “They’d rather get fleeced by familiar faces in Eleder.”
Mirian hoped he was right, but knew the crew was liable to get bored, and enticed by the thought of new sights. “Try to keep them from doing anything too stupid, will you?”
And with that she glanced to her shore party: Ivrian, Jekka, and Jeneta, the young priestess of Iomedae who’d joined them in Crown’s End near the end of their last venture and seemed inclined to continue her association.
Mirian didn’t mind having a healer along, though she still missed super
stitious, crotchety old Tokello. Jeneta was almost her complete opposite, full of a deep-seated faith that lent her dignity beyond her years. Tokello had been blocky and plain, to be charitable, while slim Jeneta, with her natural grace and pert features, tended to draw stares.
Yet it wasn’t Jeneta who drew attention as the four of them crossed the gangplank to the hulk where they’d anchored. Their fellow travelers and merchants were clearly curious about a lizard man. Jekka wore his beige belted robe, hood down, and carried a staff. It granted him a more civilized aspect, true, but there was no mistaking his alien appearance. Even in such a cosmopolitan location as this busy harbor, lizardfolk were a rare sight.
From the fronting ship they passed on through a series of connected vessels, arriving finally at a rickety dock lined with passenger barges. Those intended primarily for cargo were either pulled straight up to ships or rowed into the northern side of the docks. Here a long line of merchants, travelers, sailors, and even some scholars and pilgrims wandered along the line of docked boats, sizing them up.
The sailors who manned the transport vessels were a blend of tribes and colonials and mixed races, and this being their living, different groups put flare into their presentation. One set of men at the oarlocks wore the same white-and-blue striped shirts. Another band was garbed in yellow and wore black kerchiefs.
To a one, though, the steersmen wore traditional tall rounded hats, and they were a boisterous, smiling bunch, calling to passersby with practiced patter. They complimented and promised smooth rides and juggled, danced, or even played flutes or beat tambourines.
“Is it always like this?” Ivrian asked Mirian.
“You should see it in the morning. It’s even wilder as the first passengers disembark.” She passed by the blue-and-white sailors, no matter the fine singing of their steersmen, because the crew looked sullen, and headed for an older man who’d pinned a colorful parrot pin to his tall black hat.
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