Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  “In time,” Viston said with a dismissive wave. “The Tyenee doesn’t share its secrets quickly.” His eyes twinkled. “But as you move deeper into the circle, you’d be amazed at how few it takes to control a city even as large as this. Now go. I will have a job for you in a couple of days.”

  #

  Perun stepped into his small room above The Laughing Gull and barred the door behind him. Tingling excitement shivered through him like a drug. Months of patient hunting had finally come to fruition. He’d infiltrated the Tyenee.

  Licking his lips, he opened the rough-sanded trunk beside his bed and withdrew a stitched leather tube hidden beneath his clothes and spare blanket. He removed the cap, slid out a stack of rolled parchments, and laid them out across the bed.

  Many of the posters were tattered and stained. Their script and writing varied from each of the countries and city-states from which they had come, but one thing remained consistent: the face sketched across them. Some were nothing more than crude drawings; others were finely drafted and wood-etched. They each varied in their own way. Eyes wider than others. The nose long or flattened. A few depicted a beard while most were just a goatee and moustache.

  Perun unrolled a crisp poster. Unlike the rest, this one he’d personally sketched. Taking aspects from each of the other renditions, he’d compiled a face consisting of their most common traits. He studied the drawing, memorizing the man’s high cheekbones and slender nose. He had drawn the hair a medium length since the posters showed such a variance. The only thing he had yet to complete with confidence was the eyes. None of his examples gave a consistent depiction of the Black Raven’s eyes.

  Even if his quarry had already fled Frobinsky, Perun was close. It only made sense that the Black Raven worked for the Tyenee. His frequent movements from city to city and seemingly endless supply of high profile heists couldn’t be orchestrated alone. And while many refused to believe such an organization could even exist, Perun had made it into the Black Raven’s circle.

  Count Gsanrovich had been most generous in lending Perun his wife’s necklace. Now that the ruse had worked, he would kill Viston and return the valuable treasure to its rightful owner before the count’s patience waned. But first, he needed to find the Black Raven.

  #

  “Are you the Black Raven?” an older, well-dressed man asked nervously, closing the door behind him.

  Ahren smiled, hiding the wince at his alias being said aloud. “Please.” He offered the man a chair across the worn table before him. The small, open window in the room at the back of the inn did little to cool the summer heat. “I’d prefer it if you only call me Ahren.”

  The gentleman skittishly dabbed his brow then set a wide-rolled parchment on the table and sat.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Laurente,” Ahren said, filling a pair of tankards with water from a clay pitcher. “I’ve seen your statues you made around the gates at Nadjancia and also the arches in Lunnisburg. You are truly a gifted artist. But I admit that the man who painted the Heirophant’s portrait is somewhat different than my usual clientele. What can I do for you?”

  “Thank you, Bla… Ahren.” Laurente pulled on his long, salt-and-pepper beard. “But desperation affects all men whether they wear a crown or pauper’s rags. And I am a desperate man.” He picked up one of the cups and gulped a mouthful. “Three years ago, I came to the city to work a commission for Yaskrim Veetrael. He wanted me to design and make statues and columns for his courtyard. He took me in and paid me well. I was finished within seven months.” He chuckled. “When it was completed, he presented me with this.” Laurente brushed his hand across an ornate gold and silver necklace draped around his neck. Small gems adorned the linked square plates forming the chain, and an azure stone decorated a round pendant at the end. “He had a new commission for me and wished me to paint a mosaic along his hallways. I told him I had already been commissioned for a new project in Porvov. That was when he told me that he was my patron, and if I tried to leave the city, this cursed necklace would tighten around my neck until I was dead.”

  Ahren’s brow furrowed. “The necklace?”

  Laurent nodded. He squeezed the pendant in his fist. “I tried to take it off but couldn’t. Not even my tools can scratch or damage the metal. Just stepping outside the gates or sailing outside the harbor will cause it to cinch. I am a prisoner.”

  “Have you told the city guard about this?”

  “No.” The old man wiped his sweating forehead. “Yaskrim said if I told anyone about it, he would command the necklace to kill me. He has given me a modest, small house near his. I receive payment every month for my work. But I am still his slave. I need your help.”

  Ahren strummed his fingers lightly along the worn table top. “What is it you need me to do?”

  Laurente knocked back his tankard and poured himself another. “I have spent two years studying this necklace and recently found a book which describes such a device. It states the necklace can only come off with a special key.” He turned the pendant to show a small, square hole along the side. “The key is magic and is the only thing that can unlock the latch.”

  Leaning forward, Ahren held the pendant-lock hanging from the artist’s neck. Its craftsmanship was incredible. Even the small rings that linked the metal plates were seamless. The gleaming metal weighed less than solid gold should. “Do you know where he keeps this key and what it looks like?”

  “I do.” Laurente unrolled the thick parchment to show an intricately detailed map drawn with colored pencils. Rug and tile patterns decorated the floors in every room. “Yaskrim gives me full access to his entire house with the exception of one room.” He flipped through the stiff, curled paper and pulled out a floor plan of the third floor. “Here.” He tapped a long chamber running alongside one of the courtyards inside the house. The meticulous decoration was noticeably lacking inside the room. “I have only glimpsed through the door maybe four times since my imprisonment. As for what the key looks like, I have never seen it.”

  Ahren studied the map, tracing his fingers along the hallways and noting outer windows leading to potentially unoccupied rooms. With the artist’s help, entering and leaving the house would be simple.

  “I can pay whatever price you require,” Laurente said. “A merchant in Lunnisburg has a ship docked in the harbor, ready to take me to his home. It needs but three days to ready.”

  Ahren remained quiet, still surveying possible hiding places and escape routes. “Tell the ship’s captain you will leave in a week’s time. Until then, carry out your business as normal. I will contact you when I need to.”

  “Th…thank you,” Laurente eagerly stuttered, nodding his head. His hands trembling, he pushed the maps toward Ahren and stood. “I will tell him at once.” Without another word, he hurried from the room, leaving the door open behind him.

  A moment later, Viston leaned his head inside. “Well?” He slipped inside and closed the door.

  Ahren chuckled. “There are a few details I’ll need to find out. But it’s a straightforward job.”

  Viston scanned the drawings spread across the table. “I have a new talent I want you to take with you. Show him how the Tyenee works.”

  “An apprentice?” Ahren asked, trying to stifle his groan.

  “He’s already done some impressive work. I wouldn’t have recruited him otherwise. I just need someone to refine him, and you’re the best there is.”

  Ahren rubbed his fresh-shaven chin. “Does he know who I am?”

  The thief master shook his head. “He knows only what you want him to. Come by my shop tomorrow morning to meet him. Let him do most of the planning, and guide him if he needs it.”

  “Fine,” Ahren sighed. “The job is easy enough. What’s his name?”

  #

  The pungent stink of filth rose from the cobble streets baking in the late summer sun. The steady bay breeze did little to wash the stench away. Horse-drawn wagons rumbled past as Ahren and his new partn
er left Viston’s shop.

  “How long have you been in the family?” Perun asked, keeping pace with Ahren’s brisk speed.

  “A few years,” Ahren replied. He adjusted his hat to shield his face from the blinding sunlight.

  Perun casually side-stepped a pack of sailors hurrying up from behind. “What all have you done?”

  “A few jobs here and around. Nothing that we should talk about in the open.”

  The curly-haired thief gave an understanding nod. His gaze lingered momentarily on Ahren’s face then turned toward the streets around them.

  They continued up the busy avenues away from the bustling port district. The steep roads leveled as they approached the large homes built along the outer sides of the bowl-shaped city. Looking back, Ahren could see the crowded harbor at the bottom and the wall of packed buildings rising up along the other side.

  The street opened into a small square. Cascading water poured down a fountain decorated with stone horses and mermaids. Traders sat in the fountain’s shadow, their goods laid out before them on dusty, multi-colored blankets. Beyond them, an imposing brick and stone building dominated a full side of the square. Graven figures framed the windows and dark, wooden door peppered with triangular studs. Ahren and Perun strolled past, continuing down the street.

  After three blocks, they circled around and headed back from a different direction. Ahren stopped, pretending to adjust his boot as he scanned the building. A six-foot gap separated the building from the three-story home beside it. He walked closer.

  “Interest you in a purse?” a velvet-faced gypsy boy asked, gesturing to the blanket beside him crammed with leather goods.

  Ahren surveyed the boy’s wares and picked up a hard, green leather pouch. He ran his fingers across its tooled design as he held it up. His gaze moved up the poorly made purse and surveyed the rest of the square over the top. An eagle head-shaped sign hung above a tavern door only a few buildings away. He’d need to come back later to see how busy the nighttime crowd would be. Returning his attention to the pouch, he shook his head and returned it to the blanket then scanned the gypsy’s remaining goods.

  Perun leaned over the fountain, scooping water into his mouth. His hand quickly moved to the brown purse at his belt as a pair of barefoot children quietly moved up behind him. Wide-eyed, the boys stopped then hurried away.

  Smiling, Ahren nodded that it was time to leave. They circled the square one last time then left, following the side-street that the house’s servants’ entrance bordered. The searing sun had reached its peak by the time they had made it to Captain Jyoder’s Inn. Ahren nodded to the barman, Kurtis, to fetch them drinks as he led Perun into the back meeting room.

  #

  Sweat beaded Perun’s brow, trickling down to the tip of his nose, threatening to drop onto the maps strewn beneath him. Dabbing his face with his shirtsleeve, he continued scanning the parchment drawings elaborately detailing the intricate floor tile designs. His finger followed a path up the servants’ staircase along one of the long, windowed corridors to the room where Yaskrim kept his magical key.

  “So?” Ahren asked, sipping his drink.

  Perun sighed. He traced another possible route from the ground floor, through one of the inner courtyards, into the dining room, up a grand staircase, and up to the third floor. It was by far the most direct path, but doing it unseen in an occupied house would be impossible. As a bounty hunter, his job was to capture a man. The law usually favored his actions, and killing anyone between him and the target was often forgivable. But killing a household of people was never how the Black Raven operated, and if he was to draw the Black Raven out, Perun needed to think like him.

  Ahren leaned over across the table and followed Perun’s imaginary path through the house. “What do you think?”

  Perun gulped a lukewarm swig of water. For a bounty, he’d simply wait for a man to grow bored and careless, making a fortified stronghold useless by leaving it. For the key, they’d have to go inside, leaving Perun at a serious disadvantage. “It won’t be easy. There’s several ways we could do it. The trick will be narrowing them down to the best.”

  Ahren nodded. “Go on.”

  “The front door is out. Too visible.” He pointed to the side servants’ entrance. “This door faces a smaller street, but aside from passersby seeing us, I noticed two people moving in the window beside it. We’d need to learn when the servants go to bed, otherwise they’ll catch us.”

  “How could you see into the windows?” Ahren asked. “They’re seven feet off the ground.”

  “There’s a mirror along the wall here.” Perun pointed to the map. “I noticed the reflection of their shadows when we passed.”

  Ahren’s brow rose. “Impressive. Tell me; without turning around, what is the picture on the wall behind you?”

  “A man and woman dancing on a hillside.”

  “What color are the flowers?”

  “Yellow,” Perun answered with a shrug. “There’s blue ones in the distance to the right.”

  Smiling, Ahren nodded. “Incredible. It’s like you have eyes beneath that curly mop.”

  Perun chuckled. “Thank you.” His gaze returned to the map. “Right now, the problem is getting inside. Once done, the rest should be easier.”

  “Very true. What about the windows? We can try those.”

  Perun pursed his lips. “Bottom floor is too high to reach easily.” He visualized the building in his head. How would the Black Raven do it? “The neighboring building is shorter. From the roof, you could easily reach the fourth floor windows along this side.”

  His mentor watched him with expressionless blue eyes.

  “But the windows themselves could be locked,” Perun continued, muttering to himself. “Without breaking the glass, we couldn’t open them.” He sat silent for several heartbeats then chuckled. “Unless we tell Laurente to unlock one of them for us before we get there.”

  Ahren nodded. “Just what I was thinking. Our man on the inside is the biggest asset. Very good.”

  Pulling his curly hair back into a loose ponytail, Perun tied it back. He opened the shuttered window to the small garden behind the inn, allowing a soft breeze to blow out the hot, stale air. Closing his eyes, he pieced the Black Raven’s picture over Ahren’s face. They seemed similar but not enough to be sure. “It’s funny,” he chuckled to himself.

  “What’s that?”

  Perun shook his head. “When Viston told me I’d be working with one of his best men, I’d hoped it would be the Raven.” He turned around and shrugged apologetically. “Not that I’m upset to be working with you. It’s just…”

  Ahren gave a small nod. “No offense. Black Raven is a bit of a celebrity. But it’s best not to talk about him too much. Just implying you know him to the wrong people might get you killed for information. Don’t worry; if you stick around long enough, you’ll meet him.”

  “I understand.” Are you him? Just say it. “How do you want to set up watches?”

  “We’ll take turns each night,” Ahren replied. “Pay attention to city guards, pedestrians, and neighboring buildings. Four nights should be enough.” He stood and rolled the parchments back up. “We’ll start tonight after dark.”

  #

  “Coin for the poor,” Ahren pleaded in a raspy voice, holding up a wooden plate. A rosy-cheeked, blond woman in a rich, plum brocade hurried past without a glance. He set the plate back on the ground and leaned back against the building front beside him.

  Lights flickered behind curtained windows in the house across the street. As Perun had mentioned, the rooms near the servants’ entrance appeared the busiest. The rest of the Yaskrim’s massive home seemed fairly unused with the exception of only a few rooms. So far, the fourth-floor windows beside the neighbor’s home were still dark.

  The neighbor’s blue and white house, however, bustled with activity. The owners had at least five children, including two teenage sons who enjoyed staying up on the warm summer nights.
He’d also spotted a half-dozen servants bustling through the home. Moving unheard across their roof could be tricky.

  Ahren dabbed his forehead then raised his plate as a slender man sauntered up, wearing simple dun clothes. “Spare a coin?”

  Perun dropped a silver zlad into the wooden plate and continued down the street to a low alleyway. Ahren waited a few moments before crawling to his feet, gathering his half-empty bottle and begging plate, then followed.

  “Have you seen anything?” Perun asked in a low voice.

  “Yeah.” Ahren nodded. “Like last night, the house is mostly unused. The third room to the front is the only one on the southern fourth floor being occupied, and that was for only a few minutes. The square is mostly empty as long as the bar down the street has music. Also, the house opposite the square has a good vantage point of the rooftops. The family there has been keeping their window open, so we’ll need to keep them in mind when getting in the house.”

  The curly-haired thief sucked his lip. “Good to know. I’ll report back in the morning.”

  “If anybody pays you any attention, wander off before they get suspicious.”

  Perun nodded.

  “Good luck.” Ahren turned and headed back toward Captain Jyoder’s.

  “Can I have my coin back?”

  Ahren waved his hand over his shoulder and kept walking.

  #

  After locking the door behind him, Ahren peeled off the dingy beggar’s clothes. He cracked the window open to allow the fresh night air inside then sat on the edge of his bed. The sweltering heat had grown tiresome, and he looked forward to heading back north to Mordakland once Viston was done with him. Fantasies of cool nights prowling Lunnisburg played in his head as he reached down for his bag.

  He stopped.

  His room appeared just as he had left it before dark. A half-empty pitcher still rested on the table beside his bed. His regular boots leaned against the wall where he had left them. But someone had been in his room.