by Duncan Lay
Bridgit turned back to the silent crowd. “We only have a little of the goat meat left. If you are a fisherman, tomorrow is the time to use your skills. We have to catch something, anything. We need a few men to watch the tiller and everyone else should get some rest.”
They rushed off then and she slid her borrowed knife back into the sheath in the small of her back and leaned up against the side rail, so she could cover the sudden shaking in her legs.
“Are you all right?” Nola said softly, joining her.
“I will be. And I shall be much happier now those two fools are locked up below,” she said.
“You did well taking care of them. All saw it and will remember,” Riona added, hearing the last as she walked over.
Bridgit shook her head. “I was a fool. Nearly as big as they were. I should have been on to them earlier. I have let them gorge themselves for three nights and sail us around in circles. We have lost time and, worse, food. If I had seen it on the first night, perhaps we could have saved one or two of those wounded men.”
“You can’t blame yourself. They were cunning enough to hide much of what they were doing. It wasn’t until they turned their attention to the goat meat that it became obvious,” Nola said.
“Who else can I blame?” Bridgit demanded. “It is my responsibility.”
Riona reached out and held her hand. “We all believe in you. You will get us home. Apart from those two, there is not a man or woman aboard who would not give their lives for you.”
Bridgit looked at her askance, sure her friend was making some sort of jest, but she appeared serious and Nola nodded her agreement.
“We trust you. And you confronting those two idiots has only impressed everyone more.”
“A fat load of good that will do, unless we can make it home,” Bridgit said.
“We will. You will get us there,” Riona said.
Despite their words, Bridgit could not shake the feeling that she was failing. She looked out across the sea, wishing she could spot a landmark, or somehow find an easier way home. Blaine and Carrick had been right about one thing. She did not know how to get them home. And she was worried that others would come to that same conclusion. It was all very well sailing north and east during the day and north at night but those two fools had let them go in any direction. For all she knew, they had turned back towards Adana. As soon as dawn came they could carefully measure their direction and get back on course but who knew how much they had lost. There would be muttering soon, as the rations grew smaller and there was still no sign of Gaelland. She did not know what to do then, except press on and hope.
She placed her hand on her stomach and offered up a swift prayer to Aroaril. That was the one bright spot. For the last two pregnancies she had basically stayed seated or in bed the whole time, trying to give the babe a chance to grow. Yet both had ended in blood and tears. This time she had been running, swimming and fighting – and nothing had gone wrong yet. Of course, lack of food was a worry, but there was nothing she could do about that.
*
“High one, our lookouts still cannot see a ship anywhere around us,” Gokmen announced.
Kemal looked at the slave master. Out of his normal life, he was clearly uncomfortable. But he knew his life depended on Kemal’s happiness, so he was a useful man to have around.
“Signal the other ships in line and see if someone else has seen something,” he ordered.
To keep in touch across wide distances, the Kottermanis used a series of flags. Kemal’s ship was in the center of the line and could only see the ships to either side, but so could every ship. By displaying a bright flag at the top of their mast, they could send messages up and down the line in moments. By the time Kemal had taken up his usual position on the stern deck, under a covering, the answer had come back. Nothing was in sight.
Kemal ran his fingers through his beard while he thought. It was a habit Feray had warned him about but he could not break. They should have caught up to the Gaelish by now. He had the best sailors and they had been pushing the ships to the end of their abilities. There was no way a pack of Gaelish slaves could get the same performance out of a Kottermani ship.
“High one, maybe they are trying to be clever and sail a different route, rather than the direct one,” Gokmen suggested. “Or they are sailing as fast as us.”
“Impossible,” Kemal said instantly, but the idea nagged at him. What if they turned now and Bridgit was just over the horizon? She would get back to Gaelland and he would be left with nothing and no way to face down Fallon again. He came to an abrupt decision.
“We keep sailing fast for Gaelland. Maybe they are better sailors than we thought. But if we have not caught up with them in another quarter moon, we shall turn back and search for them. We have to find that ship!”
CHAPTER 38
Rosaleen worried that she should not have sailed down to Lunster. There was so much to do in Berry, with the church in disarray. If Fallon had asked her to go, she would have refused. But Gallagher was harder to say no to. She told herself it was about finding out the truth and ensuring that Duchess Dina could indeed be trusted. Yet the attraction of time alone with Gallagher was the real lure. Their cover story was he was escorting her around the counties, so she could see how far the evil infection had spread through the church.
Priests and priestesses of Aroaril were encouraged to marry and have children, to tie them closer into their communities. That was always easier for the priests than the priestesses. Rosaleen could still remember the crusty old Bishop at her training house warning her not to get too close to young men while encouraging the male novices to hurry up and marry.
The young men of the village, mostly boastful and foolish, had not appealed to her at all. But Gallagher, although he was nearly ten summers older, did. Perhaps because of the sadness and tragedy that he carried around inside him, perhaps because of his politeness and dignity – perhaps because he alone of the village did not love Aroaril. After all, she had been raised on tales of how Aroaril welcomed the conversion of one disbeliever more than the prayers of a score of uninterested worshippers. Of course, his lack of belief also meant he was seeing her as a woman, not as a priestess.
It was not something they had spoken about much but she could see the struggle within him and he had openly admitted he could not think about the future while the families of his friends were trapped in Kotterman. She had been happy to go along with that, for being happy among the misery of the people they knew would be cruel and probably poison anything they did have. But she watched him surreptitiously as he guided their boat into the harbor. Maybe he could help her heal the church …
“What are you looking at?” he asked softly, his eyes on the way ahead but obviously not missing her gaze.
“Just looking around, seeing things of interest,” she replied casually.
He turned his head and winked at her. “The sights around here are beautiful,” he said.
Rosaleen turned her head to hide her laugh. The hull bumped as it nudged through rubbish, while overhead a huge flock of seabirds fought and screamed over the stinking piles along the shore. The smell was incredible and not in a good way.
“Here comes the harbormaster,” Gallagher said, straightening up and pointing towards an approaching boat, propelled by a dozen oarsmen. “I wonder if he will remember us from the last time.”
“He’d be more likely to remember Fallon and Brendan, after what they did to him,” Rosaleen said.
One of the villagers had also seen the rowboat. “What should we do?” he called, hurrying back to where Rosaleen and Gallagher stood.
Subtly she moved away as Gallagher waved the man off. “Don’t worry. We have the Crown Prince’s seal.”
“Maybe he knows where Hagen lived,” she suggested.
Gallagher snorted. “Unless Hagen was his drinking mate, I doubt it.”
Rosaleen sighed. “We would have had an easier time of it if we could have brought along Gannon,
or one of his men, or even had directions from the Duchess herself. Are we supposed to wander the streets, asking for people who might remember the old captain of the guard?”
“Too risky to bring them in,” Gallagher said. “Fallon is right. There are answers hidden here. If the Kottermanis did not take the Duke, then who did? And we never found out how we were betrayed so well.”
“The Duchess was speaking the truth. I would have felt it otherwise,” Rosaleen said.
“But that does not mean she was giving us all the truth. Just because you do not say lies does not mean you tell all the truth,” Gallagher said, signaling for the mainsail to be lowered.
“Then what is the truth?”
“Maybe we can find out,” he said, then reached out and touched her arm. “Better show the seal to the harbormaster. He’s going to be less inclined to ask questions of a priestess than of an old sea dog like myself.”
“Not so old,” she said softly, her arm thrilling to his touch.
*
The walk through Lunster was even better, for the crowds meant there were many times when he had to take her arm to help get through a press of people.
The harbormaster was useless when it came to information about Hagen but eager to please when he saw the seal of the Crown Prince. Their boat had been tucked away in a prime berth and Gallagher left three of the men on board to deter any thieves while he, Rosaleen and the other three set off to search for answers.
“If Fallon was such good friends with the man, why does he not know where he lives? A two-story house with a white door somewhere near the harbor is hardly helpful,” Gallagher grumbled as they trudged up yet another street, looking for something that compared with Fallon’s description.
“Maybe I need to use this robe to help,” Rosaleen suggested.
“What, it’s magical and can find directions?” Gallagher asked with a wink that only she could see.
“In a manner of speaking,” she said and stopped an older couple with a smile and a slight bow of her head. “Peace be upon you, brother and sister,” she said gently. “I wonder if you might help us?”
“If we can, Sister,” the man said immediately, while his wife reached out and took Rosaleen’s hand, kissing it and raising it to her forehead to ask for a blessing.
Rosaleen glanced quickly over at Gallagher, who raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
The couple did not know where Hagen lived but the middle-aged mother they directed her to was more helpful. Her small house was filled with piles of washing, in between which ran laughing children. The woman, who reminded Rosaleen a little of Bridgit, wiped a damp forehead with a reddened hand and stretched her back, seemingly glad of the chance to stop from her work.
“I do the washing for many around here, merchants and the like,” she said, her forearms impressively muscled from her skillful use of her scrubbing board. “I used to look after Captain Hagen, Aroaril bless his soul.”
Rosaleen and Gallagher exchanged smiles. “So where does he live?” she asked. “Can you show us?”
The woman gestured to the piles of washing around her. “Does it look like I have the time to do that?” she sighed.
Gallagher pulled a gold coin out of his pouch and laid it on the top of her scrubbing board.
“Does that help your memory?” he asked.
The woman’s eyes bulged at the sight of the gold. Without saying anything she reached out a hand and plucked a running child from the ground with the ease of long practice. She held it up to see who it was.
“Eamonn. Take these people to where Captain Hagen lived. Do it and there’s an extra chop in it for you tonight. Go now!”
The child, a lad of no more than ten summers, nodded vigorously and grabbed Rosaleen’s hand in his own grubby paw and tugged, his legs churning.
*
Hagen’s house was exactly as Fallon had described it, two stories, white door and close to the harbor, although in a side street they would have missed had they not had a little guide. The neat little door was locked but Gallagher and two of the other men drove their shoulders at it until it finally splintered away from the lock. Unsurprisingly, this drew quite a crowd.
“We are here on royal business,” Rosaleen announced loudly, holding up Prince Cavan’s seal. The combination of that and her distinctive robe kept them back and they showed no signs of running for the town guards, at least. This was a respectable part of town, with houses owned by shopkeepers and tradesmen. She glanced around quickly to see if any of them knew anything about Hagen’s disappearance but there was only curiosity on the faces there. Except for one man, who was hanging around at the back, looking nervous.
She whispered her suspicions to Gallagher and he indicated to two of the villagers, who pounced into the crowd and fished out a small man wearing a flour-covered apron. He was dragged over to the broken front door, where Gallagher grabbed his apron in his fist.
“What do you know about Captain Hagen?” Rosaleen demanded. “Tell us and there is gold in it for you.”
“Play us false and you will regret it,” Gallagher added, his hand resting on the hilt of one of his fearsome knives.
“They took him,” the man whispered. “I am a baker and awake long before dawn. I saw a pair of men carry him from the house and taken him down towards the harbor.”
“Did you know the men?” Rosaleen demanded.
The baker turned haunted eyes on her. “They were covered in his blood. He was a good man. I hid and covered my eyes. I did not want to know who could kill the captain of the guard and laugh,” he whispered.
“But you do know, don’t you?” Rosaleen said, feeling the truth behind his words.
Tears began to flow from his eyes in a silent stream. “Please, I have a wife, a family, friends … They would be in danger!”
“Tell us,” Gallagher insisted, his hand tightening on the man’s tunic.
“You have to tell. Or it will haunt you for the rest of your life,” Rosaleen said, far gentler.
The baker nodded and let out a little sob. “They wore the Duke’s tunic!” he whispered.
Rosaleen and Gallagher exchanged horrified looks, then she nodded at the baker. Gallagher pressed a pair of gold coins into the man’s tunic and let him go. Instantly the man raced away, losing himself in the crowd.
“If Hagen’s own guards killed him, then that means Hagen could not have been the traitor,” Gallagher said. “Let’s look inside his home.”
They all slipped inside to find the house had been gone through by someone already, judging by the mess. There was no evidence a woman had lived there, but it had still been a better house than most of the town enjoyed, until it had been turned upside down.
“They never found what they were looking for,” Gallagher said, stepping over piles of clothes. “Because everything has been searched. So either they found it in the very last place they looked, or not at all.”
She stood very still and looked around the room carefully. She had never known Hagen but she could imagine how he would think. He was a warrior who would want some sort of victory, even in defeat. And he was Fallon’s friend. She allowed her gaze to sweep over the house. Then her heart leaped as she spotted what she was looking for and jumped over the remains of a chair to reach it.
“Here!” she exclaimed proudly, holding up a shillelagh. “Fallon was the expert, not Hagen.”
“Many people have them,” Gallagher said.
But she ignored him and pulled and twisted at the staff – and smiled as one of the metal ends came away. She fished out a small piece of parchment, unfolding it to reveal tight, cramped writing. She read it and nearly dropped it.
“We need to get back to Berry and show this to Fallon,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Gallagher did not ask questions, he merely reached out a hand and helped her across the piles of possessions and out of the door.
They both froze then.
“I was wondering when you would be coming out,” a
strange voice said.
And they discovered the crowd was gone, replaced by men with swords instead.
CHAPTER 39
“And where are the rest of the Guildsmen?” Dina asked sharply, her voice echoing.
Rather than meet with the new leaders of the Guilds in the throne room, they had ordered the men to meet them in the main church in Berry. This was a drafty old stone building, with little light and even less comfort. But it had the decided advantage of showing up instantly anyone who had given their souls to Zorva.
“I do not know, your grace. Your instructions were most clear,” the new leader of the Bankers Guild said, sweating profusely even in the cool of the church.
“We will need their names and where they live,” Fallon said flatly.
“What will you do to them? Kill them as you killed the King?” the Banker sneered at him.
Fallon took three quick steps forward, until he was right in front of the Banker. The man had nowhere to go and could only wilt back against his hard wooden seat.
“I will not harm them. I will bring them here and allow them to wash their faces in water blessed by Aroaril himself,” Fallon said. “What happens to them after that is up to Aroaril. Do you think that is unfair? Would you care for a cup yourself?”
“No, I think that is fair and reasonable,” the Banker said, his eyes darting around, looking for a way out.
Fallon glared at him a moment longer before walking backwards. Dina gave him a sideways glance and he knew she was silently imploring him not to upset the Guildsmen. That was going to be hard. He had faced them too many times in nasty little fight, and seen too many of them praying to Zorva to trust them.
“We know that you are as horrified as we are that the King forced some of your number to join him in the worship of Zorva,” Dina said, her voice pouring oil on the troubled waters.
Fallon could see the Guildsmen relax as she moved among them, and contented himself with crossing his arms and glowering at them.
