by Barb Hendee
The man stepped in, not bothering to close the door, and strode to Ellinwood's table, glaring down while the constable's ale mug halted in midair, almost to his mouth.
"Can I help you, Brenden?" Ellinwood asked, attempting to make his heavy body sit straighter.
"My sister is dead nearly a week, and you sit drinking with your guards? Is this how you catch a murderer?" the man spit out angrily. "If so, I could find us a better constable lying in the gutter with a bottle of swill!"
The townsfolk stopped talking, even those at the faro table, and heads turned. Leesil held up one hand toward Chap before the dog moved, motioning him to wait.
Ellinwood's fleshy jowls grew pink. "The investigation continues, lad. I have found several important facts just today, and now, as any man, I do as I please with my own time."
"Facts?" Brenden's tone rose to a dangerous level.
The solid muscles of the blacksmith's arm tightened as he leaned on the table, and Magiere judged from his build that he could break Ellinwood's neck without trying. Perhaps his accusations were justified, but she wanted no bloodshed in her tavern. She glanced over at Chap and Leesil again, wondering if she should take action or let Leesil handle it. Her partner was more skilled at managing such situations in a quiet fashion.
"What facts have you found?" the blacksmith continued. "You slept till midday, then spent the afternoon eating cakes in Karlin's. Now you're here, in your finest velvets, drinking ale with your lackeys. When exactly did you find your new facts?"
Ellinwood's pink tinge deepened, but he was saved from responding when an unshaven guard in a rumpled shut stood up.
"That'll be enough, blacksmith," he said. "Go home."
He was answered with a resounding crack as Brenden's fist connected with his jaw, sending the man tumbling back into another table of patrons. Another guard started to rise, but Brenden grabbed his greasy black hair and slammed the man's head twice against the table before anyone else could move. The guard slumped off the cracked table to the floor, unconscious. Leesil jumped over the faro table as Magiere unsheathed her falchion from under the bar.
"Chap, hold." Leesil called out. If the dog leaped in, someone would end up bleeding.
Magiere slipped around the bar's front and held her ground for the moment. Leesil could usually stop a fight with few injuries to anyone.
"Gentlemen…" Leesil began.
Lost in rage, Brenden swung a backhanded fist at the half-elf, but his blow met empty air. Leesil dropped, hands to the floor, and kicked into the back of Brenden's knee. The blacksmith's large body toppled and a breath later, he found himself pinned, facedown. Leesil sat on his back, with one forearm against the blacksmith's neck and the other pinning his right arm. Although he was much heavier than Leesil, no amount of bucking from Brenden could throw his lithe keeper off. Every time Brenden tried to pull a leg under himself, attempting to get to his knees, Leesil kicked back with his foot in the blacksmith's knee, as if he were spurring a horse, and Brenden flattened to the floor again.
"It's all right," Leesil kept saying. "It's over."
The first guard Brenden had hit disentangled himself from the table of patrons that he'd landed on. Blood ran down his jaw and chin from his nostrils and it was obvious Brenden had broken his nose. His hand dropped to the sheathed shortsword on his hip, but then his eyes lifted to see Magiere. Her falchion rested on his shoulder, the sharp edge next to his throat. She said nothing. The guard put his hands up in plain view and stepped slowly back.
Finally, Brenden stopped struggling and lay in a smoldering, panting heap.
"My friend's going to let you up," Magiere said to him, not taking her eyes off Ellinwood's guards. "Then you leave my place, understand?"
"Leave?" Ellinwood puffed. "He is under arrest for attacking the very men who protect Miiska. He is a criminal."
While Magiere disagreed, this was none of her concern. She just wanted them all to take it outside.
"He's not a criminal," Leesil protested. "Have some pity, you whale!"
One of the guards-not the one with the broken nose-pulled a rope from his belt and crouched down to begin tying Brenden's hands. Leesil reached out to stop him, but Magiere grabbed him by the shoulder. Cursing under his breath, the half-elf stood up and stepped out of the way.
When Brenden was roughly jerked to his feet, he glared at Magiere as if she were to blame.
"Don't come back," she said. "This is a peaceful tavern."
"Peace?" Brenden spit out, sorrow outweighing the anger in his voice now. "How can you talk of peace when you're the one who can stop this killing? No, you hide away, serving ale to the likes of him." He motioned with his head toward Ellinwood.
"I can't stop anything," she said, tensing.
The guards dragged Brenden from the tavern.
Leesil walked away without a word and went back to his faro table, but Magiere could see he didn't feel like dealing cards anymore.
Late the next morning, Leesil stood outside Miiska's guardhouse, which also served as a jail, and checked his purse again, somehow hoping the coins within had miraculously multiplied. It had been hard enough to keep his distance from passersby who could have unwittingly aided him with that need, but he'd promised not to lift any more purses now that they had to stay in one place. Upon rising that day, he'd asked Magiere for his month's share of profits in advance. She'd given it to him with some apprehension, probably believing he needed it for a gambling debt. He didn't care what she thought. She'd never understand the truth. He wasn't sure he understood what he was doing anyway.
When he entered the guardhouse, Leesil paused in surprise. He'd hoped to handle things with one of the witless deputy guards, but there was Ellinwood's massive body behind the small table that served as a desk, rucked into the right corner of the room near the front barred window. He was staring intently down at some scribble on a parchment.
Leesil had seen his share of jails, from both sides of a cell door, and this one appeared no different. A few "wanted" posters were tacked to the walls-those offering a reward or other profit from an arrest-and three cell doors lined the back wall, which was more than enough confinement for a town the size of Miiska.
He swung the front door shut as he stepped over to the cells. At the noise, Ellinwood finally looked up.
"Oh, it's you," he said with thinly hidden impatience, most likely expecting a formal request for payment regarding the broken tavern table. "What do you want?"
Leesil peered into the eye-level slots of each door and found Brenden crouched on the bottom bunk of the center cell.
"I'm here to pay the blacksmith's fine," he answered. "How much?"
"You want to… why would you do that?" The constable looked suspicious.
Leesil shrugged. "It was either come down here or stay home and work on the roof. Which would you choose?" He paused briefly and repeated, "How much?"
Ellinwood sat for a moment before answering. "Six silver pennies, no foreign coin."
Leesil suppressed the urge to wince. It was an absurd amount for the offense. He only had five and that was a month's estimated share, and well more than a month's wage for many in a small town like Miiska. It seemed the constable made good money by charging outrageous fines-or carried a grudge against the young smith and would make it difficult for anyone to interfere. But Leesil wasn't going to give up so quickly, and he doubted Ellinwood was willing to ignore such easily obtained profit.
"What if I pay you five now and sign a voucher on the other one?" he asked. "I can pay the balance at the first of next month."
"I've got the rest," Brenden said quietly from his cell.
Leesil's head turned to find Brenden's large eyes staring out of the cell's peep slot, his red mane of hair sticking out wild and unkempt around his face. Leesil walked over to the cell door, nodding.
"At least I did," Brenden continued, "when I came in." His gaze shifted to Ellinwood with an accusing glare.
"Well, that should cover it
then, eh, Constable?" Leesil added, leaning against the door with his arms crossed.
The constable stared back at them, as if considering some weighty decision. Then he turned around and picked up a small chest on the floor. Fiddling out a set of keys from under his tunic, he unlocked the chest and took from it a small, char-stained coin pouch. He walked over, unlocked the cell door, and handed the pouch to the blacksmith.
Brenden poured a small assortment of coins from the pouch into Leesil's slender hand, who in turn sifted through the contents until he came up with enough copper coins to make up the difference. Leesil then emptied his own purse to complete the fee.
"Here," the half-elf said, holding out the coins in his fist. He dropped them into Ellinwood's open palm.
The constable returned to his desk, counting out the amount carefully. He put the coins into the chest, closed and locked it, and then went back to scanning the documents on his table without a word.
Leesil shrugged with disgust and motioned for Brenden to follow him out into the street. People bustled by, heading for the market or off to some other business of the day. A small boy hawked smoke-dried fish biscuits by the near corner. The sun beat down through a sparsely clouded sky.
"I… I'll pay you back," Brenden said under his breath, "as soon as I can."
"Oh, that's all right. I don't spend money I can't afford." Leesil shrugged again. He had food, shelter, and an endless supply of wine. There was nothing more that he needed and little more that he wanted at the moment. "I'm sorry about last night," he added.
"Sorry?" Brenden looked away. "Now you shame me. I heard what you said for me, and you could have set that wolf on me. From the way you put me down, you could have done… I guessed you could have done more."
Leesil began walking, and Brenden fell into step beside him. This blacksmith was a man with a strong sense of fair play. It was odd company for Leesil, after years of less-than-scrupulous ventures with Magiere, or on his own before that. He found it difficult to say anything more now that he'd gone to all this trouble for a stranger.
"What you said to Ellinwood was justified," Leesil said finally. "He's done nothing to catch your sister's murderer."
"I'm not sure he can," Brenden answered, kicking at some dust. "I'm not sure anyone can but your partner, and she refuses to help."
"What are you talking about?" Leesil feigned ignorance, hoping to dismiss what he knew was next on the smith's mind.
"Your partner-hunter of the dead."
Leesil's stomach growled, but not from hunger. He was beginning to understand Magiere's restless irritation of late.
"You've been listening to too many rumors," he added.
"Maybe, but too many is always the catch," Brenden countered. "When it's the same rumor over and over, wherever you go, it's got something of truth behind it."
"And I find people just like to use their mouths," Leesil snapped. "They'll talk up just about anything, including… especially what they don't know a whit about."
"Then why did you come to pay my fines?" Brenden barked back at him.
Leesil had no answer, or at least not one he could put into words. Perhaps Magiere's generosity to Caleb and Beth-rae was contagious. Perhaps, like his partner, he was examining his own past and realizing for the first time how much harm they must have caused swindling village after village. But what possible good could this sudden attack of conscience bring? How could he make amends, any amends? And for all this rather new self-examination, Leesil still considered most people to be mindless cattle who deserved to be cheated by the more intelligent, or wolves who preyed on others through power or wealth. Helping any of them seemed pointless… but this blacksmith?
The man had walked into a public tavern and confronted a worthless town constable and demanded justice. Although Leesil tended to circumnavigate problems instead of facing them straight on, he could appreciate bravery when he saw it, and he could respect loyalty to the dead, to those who had no voice.
And for his bravery, Brenden had been called a criminal and locked up in a cell. It wasn't right. Leesil was well aware that his own sense of right and wrong was tenuous at best, but helping Brenden seemed the proper course of action.
The two of them continued walking in silence until they reached the end of the street, where Leesil had to turn down through the middle of town toward the tavern. They both stopped in another uncomfortable pause.
"Don't judge Magiere. You don't know anything about us," Leesil said more gently. "Come to The Sea Lion anytime. I'll tell Magiere you're my friend."
"Am I your friend?" Brenden asked, his tone somewhere between puzzlement and suspicion.
"Why not? I only have two, and one of them is a dog, by the by, not a wolf." Leesil made a mock face of great seriousness. "I'm a very particular fellow."
Brenden slightly smiled, but with a hint of sadness. "I may stop by… more quietly next time."
They parted. In the empty space between them, a light, brighter than the midday sun, flashed once. A few passersby blinked, turning their heads as if something had been there, then went on their way.
"He was with the blacksmith," Edwan said in the small sitting room beneath the warehouse. "I saw him."
Rashed approached Edwan's visage, not certain why the ghost was so troubled. One minute, he and Teesha had been going over import accounts, and the next, Edwan appeared, rambling about the hunter's half-elf and a blacksmith.
"Slowly," Rashed ordered. "What is this about?"
"You need to kill that hunter now," Edwan said, with emphasized precision in his voice.
"No." Rashed turned away. Rash actions on top of Ratboy's foolishness would only make them more vulnerable to discovery. "It's too soon. We will wait until she has lost some of her apprehension."
"You're wrong. She visited the death place of the girl Ratboy destroyed. I saw her."
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Rashed asked angrily.
"And today the half-elf, her partner, paid for Brenden's release. They talked together."
Rashed shook his head and turned to Teesha with a questioning expression.
"Brenden is the dead girl's brother, and the blacksmith in this town," Teesha said from the couch.
"What?" Rashed turned back on Edwan as if the agitated spirit had suddenly become the source-rather than messenger-of misfortune. He began pacing again in silence, eyes shifting about without focus as his thoughts worked on themselves.
"She's preparing to hunt, isn't she?" Teesha asked. "Why else would she be searching for a trail, sending the half-breed to befriend the victim's remaining family?"
Yes, why else would she? Rashed asked himself. Moving this quickly after one murder was dangerous, but that damned Ratboy had left them little choice. If she investigated too far and some connection led back to any of them or the warehouse, there would be little time to prepare. Ratboy had been reckless, and there hadn't been enough time to even clean up after him. It was impossible to guess what clues might have been left at the site of the girl's slaughter.
"We'll have to move against her first," he said. 'Teesha, stay here, but prepare us to leave if it comes to the worst. Ratboy will come with me." He raised a hand calmly to her coming objection. "No, I'll do it quietly myself, and no one will find a body. She'll simply disappear. But I need someone to watch the others, the half-elf and the dog."
"Then you should take me. I could do better for you than Ratboy."
"I know you would, but"-he walked over to the couch-"just stay here."
"A noble gesture," Edwan said from the center of the room, "but I agree. Do be careful, Rashed. It's been a long time since you fought anything stronger than an accounting error. Something unfortunate might happen."
Rashed did not respond, but he could feel Edwan's attention upon him like the first glimmer of dawn burning at his skin. He wondered what he had ever done to earn the ghost's venom. It had been Corische who'd falsely accused and beheaded him.
"Yes, you must be
cautious," Teesha agreed, either missing or dismissing the ghost's sarcasm.
Rashed nodded and left to get his sword.
Chapter Nine
Several patrons-mainly young sailors-remained talking and drinking at The Sea Lion until well past midnight. Magiere felt some relief when they finally downed the last of their ale and bid her goodnight. She had set no official closing time, preferring to wait until customers left of their own accord. But tonight had been longer than usual, with less than a handful of hours left until dawn. She was tired, and Leesil had been strangely quiet and distant all night. She overheard one of the fisherwives gossiping about how the half-elf had bailed the blacksmith out of jail. It surprised her and made her ashamed for her assumption that he'd been gambling on his own time and needed the money for a debt.
Beth-rae sighed deeply. "I thought those boys would never tire."
Leesil sat at the end of the bar nearest the door, drinking a cup of red wine. "Perhaps we ought to start asking people to leave at a reasonable time," he added.
"You could have gone up to bed," Magiere said flatly. The last of the faro players had departed hours ago, and, with such peaceful late-night patrons as the young sailors, she wasn't sure why he'd lazed about the bar the rest of the night.
He blinked, then frowned, looking hurt. "I always help close up."
Yes, he did, and that wasn't what bothered Magiere. For all her speculation, she couldn't figure out why he'd spent a month's wage bailing out that headstrong blacksmith and that annoyed her. In fact, it annoyed her enough that she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking him.
Chap slept contentedly by the fire, curled in a huge silver ball. With half the lamps and candles in the room snuffed out, the hearth threw its dim red light across the room, reflecting off Leesil's yellow-white hair and smooth skin. It suddenly occurred to Magiere that she really had no idea how old her partner was. With mixed blood, he'd likely live longer than a human, but then she had no idea how long full-blooded elves lived.
