He strode quickly to the Trident Inn. Unanswered questions jumbled about in his mind and in spite of his headache he walked with determination. The people he passed were already garbed in their best black clothes, and as dusk was settling over Triton their darkness only complimented a bleak evening. Xander opened the doors and found no one at the front desk. With a deep breath he trudged up the stairs to Daemyn’s quarters and found the innkeeper scrubbing hard at the stains in the wooden floor.
“Jed,” Xander said suddenly.
“Yes?” the innkeeper replied, his eyes never leaving the floor. His trousers were soaked in the blood and his hands dyed a rusty brown.
“Who was here last night?” Xander inquired. He leaned against the doorway and fought back the urge to vomit.
“None but the prince,” Jed answered absently. “He was the only one to have booked a room and thus the only one to hold a key.”
“And you?”
Jed stopped scrubbing and looked with narrowed eyes at the watchman. “At the tavern, playing host to whoever else needed a drink. Prince Daemyn was not my sole customer, just my sole tenant.”
Xander managed a wry smile. “That’s not the rumor.”
“You were there yourself, Watchman,” Jed said abruptly. “You know there were a few more there last night, not just the prince.”
“And you needed to be present for them all?”
“Just what are you implying?” Jed asked. He stood then and wiped the wetness from his hands on his tunic.
“Nothing,” Xander answered. He drew a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Nothing.”
“Are you certain? Because if I need to gather people to vouch for my whereabouts—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Xander said with a palm upward to placate the grizzled old man. “It would just be nice to know if any had heard the shot. If there was any attempt at seeing what could have went on in this room.”
“Not that I know of,” Jed said with a shrug. “I know this is hard for you, Xander, but I think it is clear what went on in here.”
“You may be right,” Xander said absently. He turned to leave.
“Next time you go pointing fingers you should look to yourself,” Jed said bitterly. Xander halted on the stairs. “It is the job of the Guard to make certain a member of the royal family is kept safe. Yet you left him in his cups and replaced yourself with someone else.”
“Victor was allowed to go home to sleep,” Xander spat over his shoulder. “The prince wishes to be alone sometimes…”
“Sometimes a person does not know what is good for them and what isn’t,” Jed replied. “Prince or not.”
Xander bit his cheek in thought over those last words and stepped from the inn into Triton’s cool air. He hoped that Sophia was still at the nursery so he could tell her that he would be skipping whatever books she had in store for him. That was not the only reason why he yearned to take the walk, though. There were children there, and smiling faces that knew nothing of the sorrows of life and he wanted to feel the tender love of innocence to escape his depression. That’s a lot better than going to the tavern again, he thought as a groan shuddered through his sore body.
Xander walked slowly down Triton’s streets to the grand one story building housing hundreds of children from newborns to two and three years old. The woman at the front desk gave him a sad but knowing smile when he strode in. Xander did not say a word but just moved into the next room, where for the first time that he could remember he saw scores of babies sleeping in their cribs. The older children were beyond, in a separate room connected to that one, but it was the infants that he had come to see.
Sophia was hugging her daughter when he walked in and she broke the embrace when she saw the dark circles under his eyes. The woman moved over to him and gently touched his shoulder. “All of Thalassa weeps on days such as this.”
“I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on my studies tonight…” Xander began.
“Hush,” Sophia whispered. “I would never hold that against you. You have been doing well so far, you can take as much time as you need to get your bearings. He was a great friend of yours, not just your prince, wasn’t he?”
“One of my greatest,” Xander answered. He cuffed away a tear that started to roll down his cheek and shivered in spite of the warmth in the vast room.
Xander heard footsteps and turned to see Ana coming towards them. The young woman had a knapsack with all her belongings slung across her back. She seemed at a loss for what to say at first but eventually found her voice. “You have a big heart, and that is why the loss affects you so much. He must have held you in a high regard for him to have cared for you as he did. Prince Daemyn’s memory shall live on through you. I wish there was something we could do…”
“Me too,” Xander said. “I thank you for the kind words.”
“My shift is up here, and I wish to say goodbye to Thomas before he departs,” Sophia said. “Ana do you think you can watch over the little ones until Elizabeth comes to take over?”
Ana nodded in answer. They were not much to watch at the time. Every one of the babies in the room was fast asleep or cooing peacefully, not one disturbing the other to herald the chaos that normally echoed throughout the building. Sophia left with a swirl of her green skirt and Xander looked at Ana as she smiled tenderly at a waking newborn boy. He gently floated into the air and the watchman thought at first that she meant to guide him into her own arms but found instead that she was giving the boy over to him.
Xander took the child softly and cradled him in his muscular arms. He watched the baby’s grey eyes flutter open and shut as though they were unable to choose whether to watch life around them or enter a dreamland once again. The watchman smiled and held a callused hand before the baby’s face and the small, grey eyes were suddenly wide. The boy reached out to grab an index finger. Xander looked up in excitement to see if Sophia’s daughter had noticed as well, and he saw that she was gazing at the child with an affectionate smile.
He paused for a moment as he was suddenly overcome by the young woman. The lazy curls of her brown hair fell in ringlets to just below her shoulders, both light and dark colors in them at once. Her face was only dimly revealed to him by the candles of the massive room, but he could see her small nose illumined in the orange light and full pink lips that parted the slightest bit when she was focusing on something. He found himself wondering what those lips would feel like against his own.
Ana glanced away from the baby and her lips set together as she looked into Xander’s amber eyes with her own brown gaze. She smiled shyly and Xander suddenly remembered that she was a Gaian and could hear everything he had just been thinking. He handed the baby over to her, much to the child’s dismay, and hurried quickly from the room to escape further embarrassment.
The night’s air was calming. Perhaps that bastard innkeeper was right, Xander pondered. Perhaps this is my own fault. His friend was dead. Thalassa’s prince had gone to an early grave by his own hand. The watchman inhaled deeply. It was not the time for weeping just yet. Brennus’ vessel would leave at dawn the following morning carrying with it the cleaned body of a dead prince, and Xander was to deliver the news.
Donovan
The port city of Erebus bustled with activity as vessel after vessel moved to and fro. The dockworkers were shouting at one another to keep a steady pace moving and it was not yet noon. Their labor might appear miniscule to the untrained eye, but Donovan knew that each and every one of them was working hard to keep the traffic clear for merchant ships heading for Tellus. Only a couple vessels were going in the opposite direction, each of them sitting like tubs upon the choppy waters of the Skamandros flowing into the sea.
The footpad returned his attention to Thomas’ deck. The vessel awaited stocks of Erebian wine and large crates of cotton, linen, and silk to be sold in Tellus. Donovan envied the trader. Supply a man with a boat and he could make a lot of money, then again he could lose it all jus
t the same. Thomas did not seem the type that flaunted his money publicly, but that was irrelevant. The man has been captain for over two decades, Donovan thought with a shake of his head. He must be worth at least twenty pounds of gold by now.
“Is money forever on your mind?” Nicolette’s voice dragged him back to the present.
“For the most part,” Donovan admitted curtly. “Speaking of which…”
“We will not speak of that here,” Nicolette said sharply.
“Have no worries, woman, I would not wish to taint the heavenly glow you’ve had since we left,” Donovan said. “I was thinking of leaving this ship anyway. There’s bound to be a captain making port in Tartarus within the next couple days.”
“Leaving?” Nicolette was puzzled. “How would that look to Frederick and the others? My second guardsman suddenly gets homesick and no longer wishes to be my escort…”
“You hired me for a job,” Donovan began, “and I did it. I want my money and then I wish to go home. It makes no sense for me to spend a portion of my payment on a ship leaving Tellus to come back here and find another ship to take me to Tartarus.”
“Well then I suppose you shall require that payment now,” Nicolette said in agitation.
“Not here,” Donovan replied. He thought briefly of the layout of Erebus’ streets. Its inns, taverns, shops, and homes were all familiar to him but only slightly. “There’s an inn nearby, I believe it is called The Sailor’s Respite. I shall get a room there under the name Egil and tell the innkeeper to allow visitors.”
“Ever cautious,” Nicolette said with a dry chuckle.
Donovan grunted at that and walked off the ship without so much as a wave to the men and women he had traveled with. The captain’s daughter tilted her head in perplexity as she watched him from the door to her cabin, but she quickly found interest in something else along the shoreline. Besides the girl, no one spared him a glance as he strolled softly down to the dock to ask the first worker he met where the harbormaster kept his office.
The dockhand pointed down the long planking to where a lone shack sat above the water on lichen-covered stilts. There was a gangplank that led from the dock to the shack, and Donovan stepped lightly when he crossed it fearing it might suddenly give way. He opened the door to the shack and stepped inside a dismal little room scattered with crude maps and navigational tools. The desk was littered with parchment and spilled ink that had dried into a gummy paste days ago.
The man seated at the desk looked up at the new arrival and his dark eyes betrayed some apprehension. Donovan could not help but think the old man looked like a bloated fish and scoffed. The harbormaster’s sudden anger pushed aside his timidity and he spoke bluntly. “What is it you need, soldier?”
“I require transport,” Donovan said. “Who makes for Tartarus soon?”
The old man shuffled through some jumbled parchment and finally landed on one that brought him up to date. He took half a century to read it but Donovan stood completely still the entire time. “We do have a ship leaving for Tartarus tomorrow,” the harbormaster stated. “The captain is one of my best—”
“I do not need to be briefed on his qualifications,” Donovan interrupted. “So long as he gets me to the city it makes no difference.”
“His name is Osmund,” the fishy-eyed man said. “His ship is called Vigilance. It is a military vessel so you should feel right at home.”
The footpad ignored the banter. “I suspect I’ll pay him when I board?”
“A few coppers for the information would be nice,” the harbormaster offered.
“With how long you took to read the parchment you should be paying me for my time, old man,” Donovan sneered. Nevertheless he took out two dented copper coins and tossed them amongst the desk’s clutter. With that, he left to find Osmund and book his passage.
*
“Looking for some fun?” a woman called seductively as she stepped from a dark alley.
Donovan looked her up and down with his dark blue eyes and grinned. “I’ll need some later on tonight.”
“What time, handsome?” the blonde asked. She ran her hand down the front of his cuirass as though the leather muscles were his own.
“Go to The Sailor’s Respite at midnight,” Donovan instructed the prostitute. “I shall make it worth your while.”
“Midnight?” she asked warily.
“Midnight, ask the innkeeper for Egil,” Donovan confirmed.
The footpad continued down the street and glanced about at Erebus as he walked. It had been a decade since he had been to Gaia’s main harbor with his father, and everything felt so foreign. Donovan marveled at the new shops where before he had been certain ugly hovels once stood. They were well-built stone and wood stores, housing seamstresses, tailors, blacksmiths, cobblers, fruit and vegetable vendors, arrow fletchers and bowyers, and a whole congregation of merchants Donovan did not even bother to count. Erebus had turned from a dismally homely town into a blossoming marketplace. It did, however, retain the same smell it had always had. Fish and salt were the main scents in the air no matter where one ventured in the port city.
The other constant for the assassin was The Sailor’s Respite, which he found in the town center. Not much had changed for the inn. It still kept the dingy appearance it always had. Standing amongst brick buildings, the oak and thatch inn separated itself by more than just appearance. It was older than Erebus’ new construction, and evidently had survived in the town center where several other buildings he had remembered were torn down and replaced by extravagant ones made of red mudbrick. The plaza had a rusted color everywhere Donovan turned and for a heartbeat he felt embarrassed at having chosen the dilapidated structure to do his business. He walked into the inn where the innkeeper instantly ran to greet him.
“I have a vacancy,” the man exclaimed. “Any room in the house is yours, sir.”
“I only need one,” Donovan said.
“Of course; and which will that be?” The innkeeper asked. “We have a room just for one, another for a happy couple, and a third fitting a family.”
Donovan pried through the other Gaian’s thoughts a moment and was pleased with the price of each room. “I’ll take the family one.”
“Will you be paying up front?”
“On the morrow,” Donovan answered curtly.
“Can I take your name, sir?” the innkeeper queried. He produced a quill and parchment.
“Egil,” Donovan said.
“Son of…?”
“Seth,” the footpad lied again. He began to examine the mildewed walls of the inn as the innkeeper studied his thoughts. Contented with the answer, the innkeeper pulled an iron key from a drawer at his long desk. He handed it over and Donovan forced a smile. “I shall have some visitors who will know me by name. Let them up.”
“Of course,” the man beamed happily.
The footpad turned and began climbing the stairs to his room. Room one’s door creaked as Donovan opened it and gazed inside. He strolled in and unbuckled his leather cuirass, tossing the armor onto a worn chair barely capable of holding a child’s weight. Donovan glanced over to where a set of leather-bound books rested on a dusty shelf. He put down the leather bag holding his belongings and pulled a book from the shelf entitled Seamus: The Epic. The assassin thumbed through the initial pages and read a few lines from each.
His father had taught him to read when he was little. He was always saying literacy would pay off one day. Arithmetic had always been much more important, for reading rarely told Donovan when someone had lied to him. Numbers always held the truth. That, in combination with his mental prowess was a surefire way to discover even the most skilled of liars. Sure, every Gaian could speak to another without opening their mouths, and many of them were skilled at moving objects without physically touching them, but Donovan was unusual. The footpad could move many and more objects at once, only restricted sometimes by things weighing more than fifty pounds but momentum could often change that. The
more he knew about an object the more he could manipulate it. When it came to his own physical person he could even hoist himself up fifteen, twenty, perhaps even thirty feet. It was exhausting though. There were always limitations. That’s what Donovan loathed most.
In spite of any limitations he noticed about himself, Donovan knew he was more than gifted. He could read deeply into others’ minds, transcending surface thoughts to the depths within containing lusts, loves, past, present, and future desires. Donovan was unsure whether this ability was innate or whether it had been attuned after years of examining people by both thought and deed. The brain, the very mind itself, fascinated him because it was something that could not be explained by even the most learned of scholars.
“Light reading?” Nicolette’s breathy voice pulled Donovan’s eyes from the book and over to her. She carried a very small purse in her left hand and he extended his own to retrieve it.
“Is it all here?” Donovan asked, opening the pouch to reveal the gleam of gold within.
“Five pieces of gold,” Nicolette declared. “That’s the price we agreed upon, is it not?”
“Aye,” Donovan grunted. “I should have asked for more.”
“Five ounces of gold is more than enough to kill a fool—”
“A royal fool,” Donovan interrupted.
“Nevertheless,” the diplomat continued. “There are many of those who do not earn five gold coins in a year. You have managed it in less than two weeks. I wonder… just what shall you do now that you have your payment?”
“Lay low for a time,” Donovan replied with a shrug. “It would seem strange if someone such as me suddenly came across five gold pieces. I will bide my time and sit comfortably… for a while.”
“Interesting,” Nicolette said though Donovan did not have to read her mind to know that she did not mean it.
“You should lay low as well,” Donovan warned. “If anyone were to discover what you did there would be no limit to the amount of cock you’d have to suck to get out of that ripe mess.”
Severance (The Sovereign Book 1) Page 12
