Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1)

by Karissa Laurel

  “I don’t have any money for a driver.”

  “You take a train.”

  “No money for that either.”

  He leaned forward and blinked at me. “You get a job.”

  “Yes, but who would hire me? I don’t speak the language.”

  My new acquaintance rubbed his chin again as he thought this over. His face brightened, and he shoved himself to his feet. “Mi hermana, my sister, she give you a job. I demand it!”

  The drunken fellow wasn’t up for demanding much of anything, but turned and demonstrated surprising stability as he stomped his way through the pub’s front doors. I followed him inside as he bellowed for someone named Anatella. The windows at the front of the room provided the only light besides a few gas lamps, and the gloom set a somber tone. The rug underfoot once bore a pattern, but dark stains now swirled indiscriminately beneath humble wooden benches and tables.

  “Anatella!” Antonio cried again. The patrons seated around the room ignored him, but a large woman bearing a dark scowl turned toward him. She wore her hair tucked in a thick black bun at the base of her neck, and she shared most of her brother’s facial features, including the eyebrows.

  “Qué quieres, Antonio?” she bellowed back. She was drying a tray of damp glassware, but set down her work and stepped around the bar. Her eyes flickered to me and then back to her brother.

  Antonio explained in a verse of flowing, singsong words about my need for employment. At least, I assumed that was what he told her. Maybe he was convincing her, instead, of his need for another drink. Anatella glanced at me, so perhaps I was the subject of his pleading after all. She shook her head and returned a contrary argument, her intentions obvious, even without understanding her words.

  Antonio’s hands flew into the air and intensified his quarrel. Anatella’s hands joined his, and they danced a ballet of gestures too complex for me to follow, but at the end, it seemed Antonio had lost. He turned on his heel, wobbled once, regained his balance, and approached me, holding his head low.

  “She said no?” I guessed.

  Antonio raised his eyes to mine. “She say you can wash dishes, but this is all.”

  I paused and arched an eyebrow. “So, I do have a job?”

  “Washing dishes is no job.” He spat and clucked his tongue. “Washing the dishes no pay too good.”

  “But it does pay?”

  “Sí.” He bobbed his head. “Yes.”

  I exhaled a noisy sigh. “Good. Then tell her I’ll take it.”

  ***

  Anatella seated me in the kitchen and set a plate before me holding a huge wedge of something hot and fragrant with the odor of garlic and onions. I forked up a bite and discovered it was a pie of sorts, made with potatoes and eggs, and was delicious. Anatella left the meal with me after pointing to a massive stack of dirty plates and utensils towering around the kitchen sink. I studied the pile, trying not to turn up my nose.

  Maybe I had made a mistake, agreeing to the job, but I forked up another bit of potato and decided I might wash the entire establishment from floor to ceiling if Anatella would feed me like this every day. My thoughts flashed to Malita and Jenna waiting on the edge of town. I ate a few more bites, covered the plate, and hid it on a shelf, so I could share it with my friends when I retrieved them later on.

  On his way out, Antonio had explained the job came with a cot in the attic, and I could stay as long as I earned my keep.

  “Thank you, Antonio,” I said as his sister shoved him toward the back door leading into the alley behind the pub. “And tell your sister I thank her as well.”

  “My pleasure.” He tried for a low bow and almost hit the floor again, but his sister caught him and assisted him into the alley.

  “I will see you in the morning,” he called over his shoulder as Anatella slammed the door behind him. She huffed, brushed her hands on her skirt, and strode into the dining room, muttering under her breath.

  I finished washing up late in the evening. My hands had turned into ugly, red, raw things in the hot water and strong soap. Anatella inspected my pile of clean dishes, handed me a broom, and motioned to the kitchen floor. My hair hung in limp, sweaty tendrils around my face, my sprained wrist screamed, and I longed for a moment to lie down and prop up my feet, but I had to pay for my place here, and not just for myself, but for Malita and Jenna, too.

  As I scraped up the last pile of dust and flung the rubbish out the door into the alley, Anatella came into the kitchen, knotting a woolen shawl over her shoulders. She ran her eyes over the gleaming dishes and clean floor and nodded her approval. She turned out the two kitchen lamps and handed me a small, lit taper. She showed me to the stairs leading to the attic and pushed me in their direction before spinning on her heel to hurry out the alley door.

  “Goodnight to you, too,” I said to her retreating backside. The door shut with a bang, and I waited several heartbeats to see if she would return. When she didn’t, I put down the taper and dashed through the exit into the backstreet. I hurried to the place where I had left Malita and Jenna hours before.

  “Jenna… Malita…” I whispered and trained my ears on the silence, waiting for a reply. I stepped toward the high grass beside the road and hissed their names again. Please don’t let anything have happened to them.

  A giggle and a harsh shushing came in reply. I recognized that giggle. “Malita?”

  A shadowed head popped up among the grass. An arm extended high into the air, waving happily. Another head bobbed up beside the first and yanked on the waving arm, tugging it out of sight. “What are you doing?” Jenna hissed.

  Malita pointed at me and mimicked Jenna’s hiss, adding a dash of sarcasm. “Evie.”

  She jumped to her feet and bounded over the grass until she reached my side. Her happiness and relief washed over me when she clutched my hand and hugged it to her chest. I patted her shoulder as Jenna sidled up to us.

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight onto one foot. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve got us a place to stay and something to eat,” I said. “You’re welcome.”

  I took Malita’s hand and pulled her toward the road. Jenna followed, but her quiet grumbles punctuated each step. The town had mostly gone to bed, and no one noticed three girls clinging to the darkest shadows, skulking into the alley behind the Bull and Ram.

  “If the pirates are in town,” I said as we stepped through Anatella’s kitchen door, “I haven’t seen them. But, I’ve been in here most of the day. I found a job washing dishes in this place. I don’t think it pays much, but it has a cot in the attic. We can take turns sleeping on it each night.”

  “And the other nights?” Jenna asked.

  “We sleep on the floor, which is better than sleeping in a ditch, don’t you think?”

  I showed them the plate with the potato pie, and Jenner closed her eyes as she inhaled the comforting aroma. Malita bounced on her feet and clapped. They took the plate and cut the remains of the pie in half as I ransacked the pantry and came up with a bit of bread and butter for them to share.

  While they ate, I boiled water on the stove, and when they had licked their plates clean, I washed their dishes. Then I made a pan of warm water for our hands, faces, and anything else that needed a good scrubbing. Our time in the pirate ship’s hold had left us all feeling, and smelling, more than a little filthy and unclean.

  When we had washed ourselves as best we could, I took the small taper Anatella had left me and led my friends to the attic. We found a trunk with blankets and quilts. Hoping to sweeten Jenna’s sour mood, I offered her the cot, and Malita didn’t object.

  “How long are we going to stay here?” Jenna asked and rubbed her eyes. Malita had already made a pallet on the floor and had turned her back to us.

  “Until we can save enough money to find a way out of here.”

  After stretching out on my own pallet, I pulled the blanket up under my chin. The days were warm, but the nights coole
d quickly, and the stars peering through the cracks in the roof revealed where the heat stored up through the day would escape. Those cracks also showed me where the rain would leak in. I yawned and flexed my feet and ankles, savoring the relief of being off my feet.

  “What are Malita and I supposed to do in the mean time?” Jenna asked.

  I exhaled, rolled onto my stomach, and pillowed my head on my hands. My bones felt heavy as stone and consciousness faded around the edges of my thoughts. “I guess the best thing you can do is try not to get caught.”

  Chapter 15

  Antonio greeted me in the kitchen the next morning with a hug and a brief kiss on each cheek. He had come for breakfast, and Anatella made him a plate of dried sausage, cheese, and toasted bread. He sat at the table and ate as I boiled washing-up water on the stove under Anatella’s supervision. He was sober and a little somber, and it seemed like the best time—as if there were a good time—to broach the subject of slaves and pirates.

  “Antonio, I have a strange question for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  He brushed crumbs from his hands and smiled. “The strange questions are the best kind.”

  I swallowed and bit my lip, considering how to begin. He had shown me a great deal of kindness so far, and I hoped his generosity spoke to his trustworthiness. In this town, on my own, I lacked options, resources, and allies. Obtaining those things meant taking a great risk, but I was desperate and therefore willing to gamble on Antonio. “Do you know anything about pirates and slave markets in San Marena?”

  Antonio’s eyes widened, and color drained from his cheeks. He blinked at me like an owl. “I think...” he stopped and cleared his throat. “I think, maybe, you need to say this again. Perhaps I did not understand. It sound like you say ‘pirate’ and ‘slave’.”

  I nodded, worrying it had been too risky, asking this question so soon. “That is what I said.”

  “And... do I understand this right? You mean the men who sail the ships and take the things from other ships.”

  I nodded again and grimaced. “Yes. Such as girls.”

  He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Girls?”

  “A wagon with four girls came through here last night. They were probably going to a slave market. I thought it might be possible to find out where they went.”

  “To sell slaves, it... it....” His face flushed and he threw up his hands, obviously discomfited by the notion. “Ay díos....”

  Anatella perked up, obviously picking up on Antonio’s distress. She rattled off a question and he answered her. Another round of hand gestures ensued. Finally, Antonio said, “This a... a dangerous question you ask. These men are very, very bad.”

  “I agree. But they have my friends, and if there’s any way I can help them, I should try.”

  Antonio shook his head. “No. The pirates, the slave men, they probably kill you. Or they lock you up.”

  “They might.” I sighed and my shoulders slumped. Antonio spoke the truth. What could I do against a group of treacherous outlaws? “Maybe I could talk to the constable?” Slave trade was supposed to be illegal. If I told my story to the authorities, they might take up the matter and investigate.

  He shoved his glasses higher on his nose and waved his hands. “No, no, no. You do not tell the police. The slave men, they pay money and the police...” Antonio turned his head and covered his eyes. Ah, the police look the other way.

  “So what do I do? I can’t just forget about them?”

  He pressed his lips into a firm line and narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes, you forget. You never ask these questions to another person. You forget.”

  My eyes flickered to Anatella, the only other woman in the room. She couldn’t understand my words, but maybe she recognized the desperation on my face. Her dark eyes cut to her brother, and in a low, almost threatening tone, she asked him another question.

  They talked. They argued. They waved hands and debated some more. At the end of it all, Antonio shoved back his chair, stood up, yanked the napkin from his shirt collar and slapped it on the table. He glowered at his sister, and his accent thickened, a sure sign of his irritation. “I will wish I never tell you this, but my sister, she can be... ah... very....” He shook his fist and grumbled, obviously at a loss for words.

  “Convincing?” I said.

  “Convincing, yes.” He folded his arms across his chest. “There is a man I know. Maybe he can help you. Maybe not.”

  Relief flooded through me. “Thank you, Antonio. Thank you, Anatella. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

  Anatella smiled, but Antonio waved me off. “Do not thank me. Soon you may wish you had not asked me this.”

  ***

  Later that night, as Anatella closed up, Antonio slipped into the kitchen through the backdoor. He ushered in a companion, a man in a long black coat that brushed the tops of his pointy-toed boots. A floppy black cap drooped over his brow, and his mustache grew in two thin lines, as if he had painted it on in two stiff strokes. “This is the man I tell you about. Diego Morello, te presento mi amiga, Evie. Evie, this is Diego Morello.”

  I bent my knee in a quick curtsy. Old habits. Diego Morello doffed his cap, revealing black hair slicked close to his scalp.

  “You tell him,” Antonio said. “I will translate.”

  In as few words as possible, I told the story of my capture, of Captain Alemar, the wagon ride, and my escape. I left out the two girls who had run away with me and currently, secretly, resided in the attic over our heads. Anatella might have agreed to let Malita and Jenna stay if I had asked, but I couldn’t risk her refusal. Those girls were my responsibility.

  As I spoke, the expression on Antonio’s face crossed the scale from surprise and horror, to amazement and awe. “You do all this? This is true?”

  I nodded. “Yes, this is true.”

  Antonio and Morello muttered back and forth until Morello bobbed his head and clacked his heels together. He winked at me, turned, and disappeared into the gloom in the alley behind the kitchen.

  “Where’s he going?” I asked.

  “To find your friends.” Antonio shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe they are gone.”

  “But he thinks they could be here? In San Marena?” I had worried the wagon might have gone through town without stopping, and the trail would be lost, but if the other girls were here in San Marena somewhere, could we find them? And if so, could we set them free?

  “Why would he help me?” I asked. “Does he like doing nice things for strangers?”

  Antonio chuckled and shook his head. “I do something for him. Now he do something for me.”

  “He owes you a favor?”

  “Sí, a favor.”

  “And you would use that favor to help me?”

  Antonio looked away and shrugged, but a blush burned faintly in his cheeks.

  His generosity left me speechless. I threw my arms around him and hugged him with all my might. He chuckled and patted my back. “All is good, Evie. All is good.”

  ***

  Antonio poured a tall glass of port and taught me an Espiritolan card game called Loba. He drank and we played at the kitchen table for what felt like hours before Morello returned. When a scratch sounded at the door, Antonio wobbled to his feet and let the mysterious man in. He eased into the room, silent and dark as a shadow, carrying a lantern. He muttered to Antonio and motioned for me to follow him.

  “He say he find something. It might be the girls, but I think it no good for you to go. I think it very dangerous.”

  I patted Antonio’s arm. “You might be right, but I can’t live with myself if I don’t try.”

  Antonio’s brow crinkled, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I know... I know we just meet, but I—”

  I rose to my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Antonio. Say a prayer to the gods for me.”

  “Which ones?”

  I flashed a smile, although nothing about this moment felt happy or
lighthearted. “All of them. Just to be safe.”

  I followed Morello into the alley. We skulked through the darkness and turned onto the main street. Morello looked back and put a finger over his thin lips, indicating the need for silence. As if he had to tell me. My heart, however, ignored his suggestion. It hammered like a bass drum in my chest, and blood whooshed like hurricane winds in my ears.

  We crept across the city, shying away from streetlights and porch lamps. A breeze blew in, and thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm brewed on the periphery of San Marena, and I welcomed the rain like an old friend, but prayed it would wait until Morello and I finished our undertaking. The buildings and streets blurred together, and I lost track of our position relevant to the Bull and Ram. If Morello changed his mind and left me here, I would never find my way back.

  Morello stopped us at the side of a large brick edifice and unfastened his lantern’s door. He shined his light on a set of steps leading down to a basement entrance beneath the building. Morello turned and faced me, but shadows concealed all details of his face. He motioned to the basement door and said. “Las señoritas.”

  “In there?” I whispered. My gut clenched. What if Morello worked for the slave owners and had led me to my own doom? How could I trust him?

  His dark head bobbed. “Sí.”

  I drew in a shaky breath, bit my lip, and channeled my best impersonation of Gideon. He had faced danger and survived, all in the name of my honor and safety. Could I not do the same when someone else was in need? Yes, but Gideon is as big as a mountain, and you are more of a small mole hill. You don’t even have your knife or your Thunder Cloak.

  I huffed and chased the voice of doubt from my mind. I drew in another, reinforcing breath and squared my shoulders. Go now or go back to Antonio, I told myself.

  And, so, I went.

  Chapter 16

  Morello held his lantern high, illuminating the way for us both, and I followed him cautiously down the steps. When we reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, Morello set the lantern on a step behind us and sank to one knee. From a pocket in his long coat, he withdrew something like a wallet, but when he opened it, he revealed a row of metal pins—long needles of varying thickness, some bent at the ends in diverse configurations. He slid one pin in the door lock, selected another from the wallet, and jimmied it into the lock as well.