by Wren Handman
She glanced over her shoulder at the shop, and saw that the customers were all staring in her direction, though they turned their heads and pretended to be doing something else the moment she turned their way. Except, of course, for the merchant’s son, who gave her a withering glare. Well, at least she knew that Annelle had prospects in her future. Something bright to weigh against this rotten, sodden, Oblivion-cursed awful day.
She left the shop quickly, empty handed, and gave herself a moment’s pause to rest beside the door. She hoped she was right, hoped that Annelle would calm down and chalk this up to nothing but Taya’s idiosyncrasies. Theirs had always been a strangely matched friendship. She just hoped this wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back.
She sighed and rubbed her eyes, just to get the light out of them, and when she opened them she noticed a man standing across the street. The odd thing was, he turned his face away as she glanced toward him, and she could have sworn he was there when she went inside, too.
Now you’re being paranoid on top of everything. Get a grip, woman! She shook her head, taking a deep breath, and launched herself into motion, determined to shake off these feelings and return to some semblance of herself. She was halfway down the street when she decided that she would be better off avoiding the Hub at this time of day. It was almost dinner time, and the daily merchants would be packing up. There was no reason to fight the throngs. If she continued down Spice Spoke, she could circumvent the evening rush and even take a detour along the riverside. The Tannery district was always a horror to wander through due to the smell, but she could avoid the messier parts of the river and wait to connect with it further upstream, near the Docks. It would bring her through the noble neighborhoods, which could earn a talking down from one of the Gray Men, wanting to know her business, but since she’d only be there for a block or two, it was probably worth it. The nobles were careful not to let their houses come too close to the working parts of the dock—they might actually run into a sailor, and those foulmouthed wanderers were sure to shock their delicate sensibilities.
This internal logic taking but a second in her mind, Taya quickly spun on her heel and started to head back the way she’d come. The man who had been across the street was behind her now, and as she turned he darted into a thin alley between two stores. She stared in surprise, trying to tell herself that she had been mistaken. His clothes had been very nondescript, a simple pair of brown trousers and a homespun shirt, and the same that could be found on hundreds of farmers in the city this day. She was only a little ways away from where the man had been only a moment before, however, and he was gone from his spot by the wall. Surely it was the same man.
Taya reached down and pretended to pick something up off the ground, her mind spinning. She didn’t know if this pursuer had anything to do with Darren or was simply a thief thinking he had an easy pick, but either way was not good news for her. She straightened, turning back toward the Hub, and slowly began walking again. She wasn’t alone on the street, though the passersby were few. Still, if it was a cutthroat he would try to intercept her before she reached the Hub. Unless he was a pickpocket, she suddenly thought, but then quickly discarded the idea. She had never known pickpockets to pursue their marks for very long. It wasn’t a good idea when anonymity was your safety net. So some kind of a spy, or else a cutthroat, but the latter seemed unlikely at this time of day. It was far too visible, and she was walking well away from the alleyways. Grabbing her before anyone saw would be impossible, and if someone didn’t try to rescue her themselves, the Gray Men would come running at the sound of screams—there was a large post within the Hub.
A spy, then, seemed the most likely alternative. A spy would mean that someone had found Darren, perhaps the same someone who had attempted to take his life the night before. Her heart raced, and suddenly she was terrified for his life. She started to quicken her pace, heading still in the wrong direction to get home, but even as she quickened she began again to slow. Perhaps they were following her because they weren’t certain Darren was at her house. It was no secret that Darren and Taya were engaged—quite the opposite, in fact, since they’d made sure to spread the story for Taya’s sake. And if Darren was home, exceptional circumstances or not, that meant that the rest of the crew was home as well, and when sailors are home they drink. When people drink, they talk, and anyone looking for Darren would no doubt come to her. But they must not have seen Darren arrive last night. If they were sure of Darren’s location they would hardly be following her around on her shopping excursions. They would have acted already. Somehow, she had to make them believe that Darren had never come to her home.
A plan was already beginning to brew. She adopted a strolling pace, trying her best to look unconcerned. Let the man behind her think that she had not caught him ducking into the alley. If he had been a second quicker she would not have, and he was certainly not in the position to judge whether she noticed. She nodded occasionally to merchants she recognized, smiling and relaxed, all the while trying to ignore the rapid pounding of her heart.
She knew her plan to avoid the Hub was ruined, but decided that it would be simple to pass through it and still make a riverside path plausible. She often walked the longer route to take in the sights of the city. The routine of people at their work calmed her, and though its effects were far too little to affect her tonight, she appreciated the excuse for her journey. The path would take her directly through the Sailor’s Quarter, and she would be sure to walk past the Mermaid’s Lagoon. It was the inn that was most frequented by Darren’s shipmates, and in fact the place where she had first made his acquaintance. And if she knew Darren’s mates, which she did like the back of her hand, she knew that there would be several of them lounging on the benches outside, taking a breather from the festivities within.
Ashua, let them be their usual sinning selves. Help me now.
And, praise her glory, they were.
The Mermaid’s Lagoon was a roaring haven for sailors on leave, and it often spilled its contents out into the road to create havoc and brawling once it was closed for the morning. The inn was sprawling, with room enough to put up two dozen sailors as long as they bunked together, and a giant common room that was always full of people slaking their thirst on liquor and ale. A large back room served food and wine, but this was reserved for guests at the inn, and their friends on special invitation. It was generally acknowledged as incredibly boring, and frequented only by the captains and the mates.
The sign out front depicted a buxom lass with a slip of seaweed for a shirt, and a long tail which had been covered with shards of broken glass in order to make it glisten. Despite the clientele, the innkeeper worked hard to try to keep the place a step above most sailor slums. Generally, this meant that bar fights were stopped and moved outside, and the sailors were allowed to lynch any pickpockets who were discovered, only calling the Gray Men long after they could have done any good.
Outside the inn, several benches had been set for people who weren’t quite sober enough to make their way home. These had been firmly nailed to the ground to ensure they weren’t carried away by some lively urchins in the night, and had soon become a gathering place for those who wanted a bit of fresh air before plunging back into the morass of the common room. Some people never enjoyed the haven, but Taya knew one of Darren’s mates could be found outside more often than within. He claimed he had chosen the life at sea because he hated being confined inside, and rarely voluntarily submitted himself to the claustrophobic walls of the inn.
Taya walked with every muscle on fire, resisting the urge to turn and look over her shoulder. She knew from subtle glances that the man was still close on her heels, and her skin crawled at the idea that she was under his gaze. Finally, the entire trip a mindless blur in her memory, she arrived at the correct stretch of road and saw, to her delight, that Andrew was sitting outside, his feet crossed casually out in front of him, a lady sitting at each arm as he regaled them with some no doubt f
ictional tale. As she approached within hailing distance she cried in a voice that was surely loud enough to reach the mysterious stranger behind her, “What now, Andrew? Is that really you?”
He looked over from his story mid-sentence, a wide grin splitting his face. His companions eyed Taya doubtfully, unable to believe a woman like her could be competition, but nonetheless wary.
“Alahai’s ball, is that you? Taya, luv! C’mere an’ give yer ol’ friend a kissie!” he roared.
She tried to let looseness back into her limbs, and plunked herself down on Andrew’s lap, planting a kiss on the corner of his bearded lips. One of the women beside her snorted and shifted aside, like she might catch Taya’s strange fashion sense. Taya slung an arm around Andrew’s shoulder, effectively stealing the woman’s place, and feeling not a tiny bit guilty about it.
“I didn’t know The Sea-Serpent was back in port,” she said, careful to pitch her voice loudly enough to carry over the sounds of the inn. She had no need to worry about Andrew’s booming voice being clearly audible—he could no doubt he heard three blocks away.
“What now? Surely Darren’s been to see ya already?” he asked.
She frowned softly, trying to keep her expression sincere. “No…I didn’t realize you had come to town already. I thought you weren’t due for another month yet.”
“Aye, true, but we changed our plans. Never fear, Taya luv. Darren’s sure to have a good reason t’not come an’ see ya like ’e said. Why, ’e was even braggin’ about you to the mates!” he declared, planting his hands on his hips and delivering her a sterling grin.
Despite her tension, she found herself laughing. “Bragging? What in Ashua’s name about?”
“We got ourselves a couple ’a new crew whose didn’t know ’bout you an’ Dar bein’ like this.” He wrapped two fingers around each other. “An’ they was teasin’ ’im about bein’ off to see ya. ’E said ya were a finer lass’n any a’ us was ever gonna see. Course, now ’e’s gone an’ left ya alone, I s’pose I’ll hafta take y’ home wit me.” And in a swift smooth gesture he hoisted her up and threw her bodily over his shoulder.
She shrieked, squirming in his powerful grasp. “Drew!” Normally she would enjoy spending an afternoon with Andrew because of just this kind of easy humor, but today she had no mood for it. He grinned and let her slide back to his lap, surreptitiously squeezing her backside as he did. She flicked him with no malice.
“Y’know, y’ever get tired ’a that skinning rail of a man, you be wantin’ somethin’ a touch more…substantial.” He gave her a meaningful look. “You just needs to ask.”
“Oh, trust me. I’m considering it,” she told him with a laugh, and he swelled with make-believe pride. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then gave the women a significant look. “And trust me—when he says substantial, he isn’t telling a fish-tale.”
Andrew grinned, and one of the girls looked thoughtful, though the other just glared harder.
“You sure are somethin’, Tay,” he told her, and she grinned as she stood.
“I know. I’ll drop by tomorrow and catch up.” She started to walk away, but turned back after a few steps. “And if you see Darren, tell him he’s in hot water!” she called, loud as you please, and Andrew laughed again.
“Will do! Ashua with you.”
“And you!” she said, and then turned back. Her steps were brisker on this leg of the journey, but she decided it was plausible. The sun was setting, sending a crimson glow through the sky, and she didn’t want to be caught out after dark. She glanced again at the red sky, and a rhyme Darren had often quoted came to mind. Red in the morning, sailor take warning. Red at night, sailor’s delight. Sailor’s delight. She hummed to herself, a bounce in her step. She had solved the problem of the spy. Darren would be proud.
Chapter Five
BY THE TIME TAYA WALKED THROUGH her doorway, the sun had set and the Lighters had lit the lamps that were interspersed along the streets. She was so tired her head had begun to throb fiercely, and no wonder. She had been awake for two days straight, and they had been two of the most harrowing of her life. A day and a night of the most harrowing, to be fair, she corrected herself mentally, and couldn’t help but smile. She barred the door behind herself, not needing to put the lanterns out because she had forgotten to light them in the first place. Every step seemed suddenly a battle, and it was with supreme effort that she managed to drag herself step by step up the creaking, groaning stairs.
She went over to Darren’s door, intending to wish him good night, but stopped with her ear to the threshold. Voices were coming from within, and she recalled Darren’s mention of an all-important meeting. She hesitated with a hand half-raised, wondering if she should interrupt to tell them about the man she had seen following her. After long deliberation, she let her hand fall. She had thrown the man off course, hadn’t she? The danger wasn’t immediate. Still, she resolved to stay awake until the meeting was concluded and she could tell someone about what she had seen.
With this in mind she went back down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she set the kettle over the fire, which she then built up to a roaring blaze. When she had finished she sat for a moment on her kitchen stool, waiting for the water to heat up, but her eyes kept sinking closed. She knew she had to do something or she would be out like a candle flame, so with a groan of protesting muscles she heaved herself to her feet. She had left a giant bin of washing sitting outside, and she decided now was as good a time as any to get it all done. Usually she washed clothes outside so they would be easy to hang to dry, but there was no reason not to wash her clothes in the kitchen tub.
She went out and got the wooden bin, dragging rather than carrying it back inside. It was easily small enough to be lifted, but she wanted to conserve what little strength she had left for lugging the water from the pump to the tub. By the time she had carried the tenth bucket there and back, the water was boiling and Taya’s entire body was screaming at her physical abuse.
Wondering what in Ashua’s prayers had made her think that washing her clothes in the dead of night was a good way to stay awake, she temporarily abandoned the task in order to add leaves to the boiling water. She laid her head against her arms, willing the leaves to steep just a little bit faster. Her eyes were closing again, and it was taking a supreme act of will to stay awake. She knew she couldn’t fall asleep—her message was far too important. They would need to know. Never mind the ache in her bones, never mind how long it had been since she had last slept. She was strong, capable. She could go without sleep for another few measly hours. No problem.
She awoke to a hand covering her mouth and a strong arm wrapped around her waist. In the bleary grogginess of exhaustion she tried to scream, struggling even as her sluggish mind tried to take in the details of what was happening. Whomever had hold of her hoisted her off the stool and dragged her out her back door; someone else caught it before it could slam against the far wall. She kicked out, fear lending strength to the attack, but didn’t connect with anything. It would have been pitch black outside, but the light from the kitchen spilled into the courtyard and gave her a good view of the man who had caught the door. He was dressed all in black, a mask covering everything but his eyes, and he carried a large jug of something in one gloved hand. As she watched he uncorked it and began to splash something across her floor. A sharp, tangy scent floated to her nose, and she almost fainted. Oh, Ashua. That’s oil. And then she had an idea.
She drew in a sharp breath, and then went completely limp in her captor’s arms. He gave her a rough shake, muttering a curse as he was forced to carry her entire weight.
Her captor hissed something to the other man in Sephrian. Her understanding wasn’t great, but she was pretty sure he believed she had fainted.
“Good. Something her there and something help me,” the man inside answered, in the same language.
“Something her? You something that’s a good something?”
“We only need he
r if we something this up. And if you something something help me, we won’t something it up. So hurry the Oblivion up,” he snarled in response, and then disappeared back inside.
The man holding her hesitated, and Taya feared he would disobey. The pause proved only to be momentary, and he hoisted her further up and then threw her over a horse’s saddle. It took more willpower than she had ever used before not to cry out as the pommel crashed into her stomach, and even more to remain still as he bound her arms tightly together, but the sounds of retreating footsteps assured her it was worth it. She opened her eyes and froze for a moment, worried there might be others in the courtyard. The saddle beneath her was black, with a strange gold weaving through the pommel and down the side. Noble houses, she knew, sometimes identified their mounts that way.
Assured that she heard no breathing but her own, she lifted her head and scanned the courtyard. She saw another horse standing nearby, and briefly cursed herself. If she had been unaware of the breathing of an animal that large, she never would have caught a third man. As it was she was alone with the two animals, and safe for the moment, but the smell of oil was growing stronger. She considered running inside, but discounted it immediately. She might not get past the two men, and if the stairs caught fire before Darren could get down them, he would definitely be unable to jump from the window. So she did the only thing she could think of. She screamed.
