Shay had her brother’s red hair and slight build. But where he was tall, almost lanky, she was small and compact. She had large, wide eyes that gave her a youthful appearance, along with the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She wore a simple, snug outfit of dark green with a dagger stuffed in her belt. Several pieces of gold jewelry, which jarred with the rest of her look.
She gave Aaron and Cal a curt nod, then turned to Jon. “Lorimer’s crew is all over the Laurent House.”
Jon grunted in displeasure. He rapped on the carriage wall, spurring Finn forward. The carriage started moving on the quiet streets before he replied. “They finding anything?”
“Not that I can tell. No witnesses, no bodies. Latest count is twenty-five taken. Nobles and servants alike. There’s a guest list for the party. I’ll get a copy later tonight. The best I could find for a witness is a delivery guy heard some crying. He was on the other side of the exterior wall. Said it sounded like someone being forced to do something they didn’t want to. That was about all he could do. He seemed like he could be led to any conclusion the questioner wanted. I didn’t want to muddy the waters with his guesswork.”
“If that’s true, there’s at least a sign their departure wasn’t some sort of strange collective agreement. Someone led or forced them wherever they went. No trail?”
“What little there is might suggest the group was taken out the back gate. But from there they vanished. I found two of these around the manor.” She held up what looked like a pair of old and severe fishhooks. They were just smaller than her palm, both a dull metal with a hardened green filth on it.
“What do you think, Cal?” Jon asked.
Cal took the hooks from her, weighed them in his hand. “Not a style I’ve seen for a long time. Industrial weight, strong metal.” He hefted them. “These could be used to fish anywhere along the Sea of Colors, nothing to tie it to a region. So safer to assume they’re from around here. But the newer hooks are more smoothly rounded and these are too ugly for sport fishing. I’d guess you could find a hundred like these on every fishing boat in the harbor if you dug to the very bottom of their tackleboxes.”
Jon leaned in to ask a question, but stopped as Finn rapped on the top of the carriage twice in rapid succession. Jon looked up and grunted. “We’re being followed.” He banged on the wall three times. The carriage stopped. “Give me a minute.” Then Jon was out the door. The carriage creaked as he mounted the driver’s perch next to Finn. Aaron and Cal were left staring at Shay as the carriage began rolling again.
“Are you an expert on fishhooks or something?” she asked Cal.
“I’m from Castalan,” he replied. “Grew up on and around boats.” He was looking out the window, noticing a pair of the wetcloaks, that strange, hooded group, standing on a corner in the rain and watching the carriage go past.
He turned back to Shay. “What’s the deal with the wetcloaks?”
“Some sort of cult. They’ve gotten a lot more visible in the past year or so. I can’t say I’ve ever really passed the time with them. As far as I can tell, they spend most of their time telling everyone we’re all going to suffer when the waters rise and the harbor floods. They get rather excited about it. Like they can’t wait until the Plate is underwater and we’re all dead. As far as I know, they’ve never hurt anybody.”
Cal nodded. Aaron was staring out the window, back to his earlier silence. “How’d you come to know Jon?” Cal asked Shay.
“He brought me in for an interview after he learned about the Scags brothers.” When Cal gave her a blank look, she folded up her hands. “I’ll tell you the quick version. I filled a bounty the Palace put out on the Scags brothers, a couple crooks who’d gotten rich running a reverse blackmail racket.”
“I’m not familiar with that one.”
“They’d go to a noble family, tell them that they heard some other rival family was paying out on blackmail. Then that family is all interested in learning what is worth so much money that their rival wants to keep hidden. And you can get them to pay if you do it right, without ever having anything on anyone.”
“How’s that work?”
“Well, for the Scags brothers, they had it set up like this. Brother one goes to the family, says he knows this guy who’s getting rich off blackmailing their rival family. Tells them he’ll take them to the guy for a fee. He makes it small enough that they don’t think too much of it and pay it and send one of their security people to go with him and check it out. So they go and ‘find’ brother two. Bear in mind these guys don’t look alike. And they make a point that when they stumble on brother two, he’s always caught unawares, in the midst of a spending spree, like he’s suddenly rich because the blackmail is paying so well. They have him trying on new clothes or drunk with a bunch of expensive whiskey bottles around him. They’re a creative bunch and when you hear the stories you can tell they had fun with this part. So the noble’s security offers a reasonable bribe to learn what the guy’s got on the rivals but the guy won’t spill. Acting like it’s his key to all this newfound wealth and no way he’s putting it at risk.”
Shay leaned forward. “So the security goes back to the nobles and it can go a couple different ways. Usually they get authorized for a bigger payment and go back. Only now the blackmailer is gone and brother one, the informant, is hard to find. After they stew for a few days, thinking about missed opportunities, brother one lets himself be found. And he carefully guides them, more or less, to this idea that the blackmailer has a process in place to publicize the blackmail information if he dies under suspicious circumstances, like any good blackmailer would. And slowly, or quickly, depending on how sharp everyone is feeling on this particular day, it dawns on the family that they don’t need the blackmail information. They just need to kill the blackmailer and the info will go public and thwart their rivals. Then brother one hints he might be able to find out the location of the blackmailer, but this whole thing is getting a little dicey and he’s not comfortable with it and all that. So now the family is convinced brother one has a winning ticket. All they have to do is pay him a significant outlay in gold.”
“So he’s selling them a fake location of someone who knows nothing that can help them?”
“Yep. And when they pay and everyone vanishes, there’s not any uproar to deal with. The swindled family fumes quietly, too embarrassed to go public. The supposed blackmailed family was never even involved. And it went that way for a while, until some overly enthusiastic security teams got a bad description at an address brother one leaked and some guy with a passing resemblance to brother two got cut to pieces trying to flee a descending army. Usually a disappearance can be kept quiet with a couple bribes in the right spots, but not when the guy is running down LaCoste Street screaming and bleeding right at the noon bells when all the bankers are in the streets having their lunch.”
Shay shrugged. “It worked pretty well for a time. But there was something to the way the Scags did it. So much theatricality. A couple unnecessary steps. So I checked out the local theaters. Eventually I found a pair who met the descriptions I’d heard. And I dragged them down to the Palace.”
“Did the families always buy it? Seems like a stretch.”
“Well, the Scags did okay by finding those deep family rivalries. The ones with a lot of old, bad blood. When they heard they had a chance to stick it to their rivals…well, it’s a lot easier getting them to swallow a lie if it’s something they really hope is true.” She gave a small smile. “Can I have my hooks back?”
They turned a corner and then the carriage stopped abruptly. Jon was at the door in a moment. “Hop out, quickly. We’re setting a little trap.” They jumped out onto the street. Jon led them back into an alley as Finn urged the horses forward again. Cal watched the carriage rolling away for a moment before Jon pulled him back into the shadows of the alley. “Hold tight for a minute.” Cal looked around quickly. The street ran parallel to a canal. Shay was relaxed, giving a small wave to w
hat looked like a stray dog farther back in the alley. Aaron was drawing his sword, but Jon caught his arm. “No need for that. Not yet.”
They were waiting in the alley for only about twenty seconds when they heard the sounds of approach. A man running, wheezing heavily. He came around the corner and was set to run past the alley mouth, in pursuit of their carriage, when Jon stepped into the light in front of him. “Hello, Jarmis.”
The man Jarmis pulled up suspiciously. He looked over his shoulder for an escape, but only saw Shay and Aaron circling behind him, the canal on his other side. For a second, Cal was sure he would bolt, but then he relaxed and broke into an insincere smile. “Hello, Jon. What brings you out so late?”
“Well, Jarmis. I just came from the Palace.”
Jarmis stood quietly for a moment, then asked, “And where are you headed?” in a half-mocking tone, clearly not expecting an answer.
“That is the question, Jarmis, I’m sure you’d love the answer to.”
There was a rattle from down the street, Finn leading the carriage back towards them. Jarmis looked around nervously, not liking his odds.
Jon walked closer to him. Cal was always struck by Jon’s dangerous grace, so unusual in a man so large. Jarmis watched him warily. “Jarmis, what is Lorimer up to? He seems to be paying more attention to me than his assignment. Has been for a while. He’s been on this case for more than three weeks and still has no leads? Nothing better to do than follow me around?”
Jarmis didn’t look like he was taking the bait. He kept quiet.
“Gentlemen,” Jon said, “this is Jarmis. He works for Lorimer, getting his hands all kinds of dirty. The important thing to know about Jarmis is that he absolutely loves to swim.”
Jarmis had a puzzled expression in the moment before Jon seized him by his shirt, dragged him to the edge of the canal, and threw him in. The splash was loud in the quiet streets and Jarmis’ shout of surprise cut off as the waters folded in over his head. Jon rubbed his hands together as though cleaning dirt off of them and looked down at the dark waters with an expression of quiet pleasure on his face. The steep canal walls were lined with dirty rings left by the tide’s relentless rise and fall. There were rusty ladders along the walls in various states of disrepair. Cal watched Jarmis noisily surface, gasping and swimming towards one at the shore. At Jon’s nod the group moved back to the carriage.
“Lorimer Pender is another, I guess you’d call him an investigator, working for the Queen,” Jon explained once the carriage was moving again. “He’s not my favorite person on the Plate.” He shook his head in disgust and declined to elaborate.
The carriage slowed. “Okay, here we are,” Jon said.
They were parked in front of a store, closed and shuttered. A small wooden sign hung by the stairs at the side. It said Madame Jane, Spirit Guide, Fortunes Told. Cal hesitated, looking at Jon.
“Don’t worry,” Jon said. “This one’s on me.”
The group headed up the rickety stairs, Finn staying back with the carriage. Jon gave a sharp, impatient knock when he reached the door at the top of the stairs. It opened almost immediately despite the late hour.
“Hello, Jon,” said an elaborately dressed older woman, her face wrinkled and pleasant, a smile in her eyes. “You’ve brought guests. Come in.”
Madame Jane held the door open, looking each of them up and down as they passed. As they walked into a sitting room, dominated by a single round table in the center, she shut and bolted the door behind them.
“Oh, Jon,” she cried loudly once they were all inside, “you’ve finally brought them.” She looked at the group, delighted to see Aaron and Cal. “The seer and the swimmer. Just like I asked.”
Chapter 5. The Seer and the Swimmer
“You sit here.” Madame Jane pointed to the table in the center of the room, looking at Aaron. She took a seat across from him, for a moment ignoring the rest of the group. Her eyes were bright, scanning him with a creepy hunger. She breathed deeply through her nose, closing her eyes and shaking her head slightly. “You smell of miles, and dragons, and chalk. We can travel together.”
She opened her eyes and looked at Cal. “You do as well, sweetheart, but you have no eye.” She made as if to touch Aaron’s pixie eye, still looking at Cal. “We will speak of swimming later.” She turned back to Aaron. “But first things first, what has Jon told you of the Sunken?”
When Aaron shook his head, she made a chastising noise. “Jon, your feet are planted too firmly. If you wish to help Cassie, and I’ve been led to believe you do, you must bend your stance, flow with the tides. You must let some in. Wet footprints and a missing child and you don’t think mention of the Sunken is warranted?”
“They just arrived. You tell them about the Sunken. I never get the same answer out of any two people on the Plate.”
The Madame turned back to Aaron and explained to him as if he were a child. “The Sunken live below the Plate. They are trapped, have been for hundreds of years. But sometimes they find the surface.” She nodded briskly as though that had answered all questions.
Jon added, “Half the city doesn’t believe in them. The other half believe anything you tell them. No two people answer the question the same way. It’s murky. I’m not ruling anything out, but I don’t have the luxury of chasing down old folktales. I’ve heard enough different versions of what could be the Sunken from my Navy days. Stories to make the days less boring and the nights more fearful.”
Madame Jane leaned across the table and whispered to Aaron, “I’ve given up trying to open his eyes. We needed you. You I can show. Let’s begin.” She reached below the table and carefully pulled out a heavy silver bowl. She placed it in the center of the table. It was low but wide and full of a dark, greenish water. She rose from her seat and selected one of the many lit candles from the shelves around the room. She placed the candle in the center of the dish. “Now,” she said, “take my hands.” She held her hands out on either side of the dish, forcing Aaron to lean in close. There was an unpleasant, fishy smell coming from the water. It mixed with the smell of hot wax.
“If you get lost, or if I do, the answer lies in there,” she said mysteriously, looking at the dark water. “Now, blow out the other candles,” Madame Jane said to the rest of the group. “Then be quiet. No interference.” She gave Aaron an enthusiastic smile he didn’t return. “Focus, Aaron Lorne. You have three eyes to see with. One will work if you let it. Focus on the wax as it enters the water. Try to join it.”
Aaron let his shoulders slope down, ignoring the eyes of the others around the table. He took a deep breath and stared at the wax running down the side of the candle. The bright light at the top flickered, the water bubbled up and out as another drop of wax ran into it, forming a small white tentacle before it hardened in the colder water. He tried to concentrate, putting aside his tiredness, his worry over the outcome of the Borhele war, the confusion that had been stalking at his heels since landing in this strange city. The endless parade of strangers. More drops followed, marching steadily down. He could feel her hands pulling him forward, downward. He leaned in, shifting his weight across the table. The wax kept falling, faster and faster, racing to join with the water.
Aaron looked up to ask the Madame what was happening to the candle, but he realized he couldn’t see her. Her hands were gone from his. The room was dark, so dark he could see nothing. He was alone and his face was wet. At some point he’d closed his eyes. He could feel nothing but cold air around him. Fear gripped his chest and he opened his eye.
The wind tore at Aaron’s face, howling in his ears. He raised his head, the dark colors blurring around him as he did so, and saw a creature standing on an old pier at the harbor. Whatever it was, it was not human. It had a greenish flesh, smooth and dead-looking. It was covered with a deeper green substance, rocky like coral that appeared to have been molded into elaborate shapes. There was a long ridge of it atop its head and running down its back, its branches wound in arches and s
woops. Was this a Sunken, one of the creatures the Madame had referenced? Its bright eyes stared at the sky. Aaron turned to see what it saw. A dragon flew overhead.
Aaron felt the majesty of the beast, as its wings pumped the night air. Its grace, its deadly beauty, its power. Everything he’d learned to take for granted over his years spent with the dragons. It washed over him again as it had the first time, when he’d seen them in the night sky approaching the Tower of Sidvale, where he’d sat awaiting his death, the Dura Mati beside him. Aaron had seen salvation then, the power to fix his broken dreams, his broken people. He saw that again now as the dragon slid past the bright, full moon.
The creature from the water, the Sunken, saw all this too. Its jaw dropped, its eyes shiny with covetousness. It saw and it wanted. It hungered. The wind tore at Aaron and pulled him away.
“Where did you go, you tricksome young man?”
Aaron was again staring at Madame Jane. He was holding her hands and, somewhat foolishly, looking at a candle drip wax into dark water.
“That was not what I wanted to show you,” she said, a hint of amusement but no reprimand in her voice.
“What was it?” Aaron asked. “What did it mean?”
“How would I know?” she replied with a playful smile. “But if it drew your eye, it must hold meaning. Now, stay with me this time. There is something more relevant. Hurry, we are late.”
She returned her focus to the candle and, after a moment, Aaron did so too. With surprising ease, he slid back into the meditative state, and almost immediately could feel his eye yearning to open. He obliged.
The hallway was shimmering, coming in and out of focus. The light from the torch on the wall wavered, no match for the darkness that breathed heavy and loud. Aaron took a step forward and immediately sensed an awareness turn towards him. A sound rose up like a thousand voices screaming in distress, anger at his intrusion. The wind pummeled him as though to push him back through whatever door he’d tumbled through. He pressed forward.
Alliance of the Sunken (Spies of Dragon and Chalk Book 3) Page 4
