by Jill Braden
~ ~ ~
When Kyam finally came back, he had a small package in his hand. “I’m almost sorry you missed my performance. I played the obnoxious scion of the thirteen families to the hilt. Swaggered in there as if I owned the place.” He tried to catch her gaze. “No comment? Come on. I know you want to say something.”
“This is your story, not mine.” She hated the way Kyam interrupted the spell Petrof had woven around her. Her nerves felt as raw as her hand.
“You couldn’t have called that scene any better than if you’d written the script. Major Voorus and his men were already beating a confession out of one of the barkeeps in a back room. They weren’t happy about the interruption until they found out they could go after one of the Devil’s thugs. Then they were all ears.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” QuiTai said. She found it hard to summon any interest in his story.
“I told Voorus that everyone knew the werewolves’ blood lust ran high the night of the full moon, and that yesterday while we rode on the funicular down to the harbor, Ivitch had muttered dire threats about teaching Jezereet a lesson for some slight. And I warned them that Ivitch was crazy and they should knock him out the second they capture him. It’s the only way I could think of to stop him from bringing up your name.”
That was smart. It was a relief to work with someone who didn’t screw up all the time.
“I, um, bought something for you.” Kyam thrust the package at her.
The polite thing would be to extend both hands and take the gift with a bow. She kept her hands at her sides. It wouldn’t do for Kyam to think they were friends.
“Okay then.” He ripped the packaging away to reveal a mocha silk scarf. He lightly wound it around her throat. “It doesn’t match what you’re wearing, but it will look nice with the colors you usually wear.” He fussed with the ends. “It hides the fingerprints.”
She could feel tears for Jezereet welling up inside her. She said, “If time had any manners, it would stop when someone dies and let the mourners catch their breaths. But it doesn’t.”
His movements slowed but he didn’t look up. “I never suspected you had such melancholy moods. You’re usually so confident. You saunter around town with that wicked smile playing on your lips… your scathing wit is always ready to draw soul blood.”
“Moods pass.” Grief ended. The world went on. She took a deep breath.
“If I didn’t need your sharper side so much right now, I wouldn’t mind this softer QuiTai.”
She jerked back from his touch. “I’m not soft, Mister Zul. Never soft.”
A glimmer of humor lit up his eyes. “That’s my girl.”
She tried to wither him with her glare. He grinned. “Let’s pay a visit to the harbor master,” he said, and offered her his arm.
Chapter 8: A Narrow Escape
The harbor master’s office was locked. While Kyam rattled the door, QuiTai headed for the wharf. The normally tranquil waves of the protected harbor were white capped, breaking hard on the beach sand, leaving behind a meandering line of foam, broken shells, and kelp when they ebbed. The stiff wind rocked the junk at the dock and whipped her thin sarong around her ankles. Dock workers cast loaded crates onto a net of heavy rope.
She watched a crane lift the net full of crates, the rope creaking as the crane swung towards the junk, where waiting sailors sprang into action, grabbing guide ropes and straining to keep them in place as the ship rolled in the rough waves. The crane lowered the crates through an open cargo hatch into the junk’s hold.
Kyam joined her. “When will the harbor master’s office open?” he asked the dock workers.
“He hasn’t been in since yesterday morning,” a dockworker replied grudgingly. It was clear that was all he meant to say.
“We should look into his office,” QuiTai whispered.
Kyam nodded.
They strolled to the weathered single-story building. Like all Thampurian structures, the eaves of its roof curved upward at the ends, but that was its only nod to style. It was an ugly, squat building in much need of paint.
As they tried to peer through the salt-caked windows, another worked asked, “What are you two up to?”
“Colonel Kyam Zul of His Majesty’s Intelligence Services. I will be entering the harbor master’s office to ascertain whether or not he is inside and in need of assistance. This is a matter of Thampurian national security.”
QuiTai put a hand over her mouth to hide her smirk. Thampurian national security indeed. As if a corrupt minor local official meant anything to them.
Kyam knocked on the door. “Harbor master, are you inside?” He cocked his head as if listening. “In the name of His Majesty, I command you to open this door if you are able.” QuiTai thought he was in danger of overplaying his part. Still, the dockworker seemed impressed, until Kyam took a small black fold out of his pocket, selected a pick, and jiggled it in the lock.
“Aren’t you going to kick it in?” the man asked.
QuiTai faked coughing to cover her laughter. Kyam shot her a dirty look. “How would I lock the door after I leave if I kick it?”
The lock clicked open. “That wasn’t very exciting,” the dockworker complained. He peered through the doorway. “Is there a body in there?”
“Please, sir, stay back.” Kyam stepped into the office and slammed the door behind him.
The dockworker nodded toward the door. “If he’s in there, wake him up and tell him our boss needs him to sign papers on this shipment we’re loading.” He walked away.
QuiTai knocked gently on the door. It creaked open. She looked inside. “He’s gone. Find anything interesting?”
Kyam stood behind the desk, shuffling through papers in a file. “No. Unless one of these papers has clue written across it in bright red letters, I won’t find anything without spending hours reading through them.”
QuiTai leaned against the doorjamb. “He wouldn’t have left a paper trail if he were helping Ravidians.”
“Unless the ship’s captain knew it was smuggled goods, he would have insisted on an official receipt,” Kyam said as he lifted files off the desk. “This would go faster if you helped.”
“Our business agreement strictly forbade paperwork,” she said.
He almost smiled as he gaze rose to hers.
“It’s an implied clause. I invoke them only as the need arises,” QuiTai added.
From his reluctant chuckle, Kyam was as amused by her as she was by him. “I have a feeling you could swindle a con artist. My grandfather would adore you.”
“If he ever returns to Ponong, I should like to meet the old rascal. I might even like him.”
Kyam tossed the file onto the desk. He leaned on his knuckles. “This is work for a team with some expertise in harbor management. Finding the harbor master is a better use of our time.” He gestured her toward the door.
“See? You don’t need my help. You’re doing fine on your own.”
They stepped outside. “But it wouldn’t be as fun,” he said. He shut the door and re-locked it.
“This is business,” QuiTai said.
“That doesn’t mean it’s boring. This morning was the first time I woke up on this island with something to look forward to.”
“Only a Thampurian would be giddy at the prospect of digging through a mountain of forms.”
“You know that wasn’t what I meant.” Kyam stepped up to the ticket office for the funicular. “Two, please.”
~ ~ ~
While they waited for the funicular to make the slow descent from the town square, QuiTai squatted in the shade and plotted her next moves. She would go back to Petrof and tell him her theory about the Ravidian smugglers – which he probably wouldn’t believe – and hope he didn’t get too angry with her. She touched her throat. The scarf was like water through her fingers. It must have cost Kyam a small fortune. All because he’d upset her and wanted to apologize. For a man of such brusque manners, he had his moments of charm.<
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And he was right: In spite of her grief, this investigation was fun. And she had no right to enjoy herself right now. She should simply tell Kyam why she thought the Ravidians had brought crates of sea wasps to Ponong. If he really thought about it, he would figure it out: Once he did, he’d also have a good idea where to find them. To save them both time and trouble, she should tell him the theory she’d worked out while on the dirt Thampurian’s skiff; then he could tell her the name of Jezereet’s murderer, and they could go their separate ways.
The funicular’s cable twanged as if plucked. Although she couldn’t see the cars yet, that sound was always the first warning that the funicular was near. Kyam offered his hand to pull her to her feet.
The brakes screeched as it slowly slid into the station.
The station master unlocked the doors of each car. Even though Kyam was a Thampurian, they had to wait while crates from the wharf were loaded and strapped in first, and then squeeze in past the cargo. Once they were on board, the station master shut the door and locked it. Moments later, the shrill whistle sounded and the funicular started the steep ascent uphill. The crates strained against the frayed belts that held them in place.
QuiTai leaned against the lower window to watch their rise from the harbor. She always liked this view. The water was the same color as jewels in the windows of expensive shops back on the continent. It seemed so very long ago that she and Jezereet had walked arm in arm through paved streets, dressed in the latest fashions, always happy. Sometimes admirers followed them and bought Jezereet anything she desired. There had been so much wine, so much laughter. If nothing in life was free, then QuiTai was sure she was paying for those carefree days now, with interest.
She shook her head. She was growing melancholy again, and it wouldn’t do. She had to stop clinging to this brief respite from the world that Kyam offered and take up her duties again. She owed that to Petrof. It was time to move on.
“Mister Zul, let me save us both a lot of trouble. I’ll tell you my theory about the Ravidians. Then you can go your way, and I’ll go mine.”
“Oh, no. Our contract clearly states that you’ll continue to help me until I have all the proof I need.”
She arched an eyebrow as high as it would go.
“It’s an implied clause,” he said.
He thought he was so funny. QuiTai gritted her teeth. “There’s ample evidence that you’ve discovered something important. At the very least, the sea wasp stinger in the dirt Thampurian’s boat should raise questions. Get out that farwriter you have hidden in your trunk, and inform your superiors.”
“I need proof, not theories.”
Frustrated, she folded her arms over her chest. “What is Ponong’s primary export, Mister Zul?”
Clearly confused, he said, “Medusozoa for jellylanterns.”
“And what –?”
The funicular car lurched to a halt. The belts securing the crates at the end of the car squealed. A rhythmic clang of metal on metal began somewhere on the track uphill, and the car began to bounce in time.
Kyam and QuiTai exchanged a silent, worried look.
The car dropped several yards downhill. Kyam rushed to the door. Then the frayed end of a cargo belt ripped from its hook. The crates in that stack groaned. The top one slid forward.
A vision of a shard of bloody glass leapt to QuiTai’s mind. This was like her vision of the Ravidian’s crates sliding across the skiff as they sailed to their hiding place.
“Mister Zul?”
“I’m on it. Why did he lock this?” He reached into his pocket for his picks.
“They do it to keep people from jumping on and riding for free.”
“And everyone knows that, don’t they?”
QuiTai worked the cranky window down far enough to stick her head out. They were far above the harbor now. The station below looked tiny. The jungle along the uphill tracks was too dense to see past the first car. Whoever stopped the train probably couldn’t be seen from the town square either. The station masters would figure it out soon; but not soon enough.
The sound of strained metal grew louder.
“Someone is going to a lot of trouble to stop our investigation, Mister Zul.”
“And the sky is blue.” He kept his attention on the pick.
She inspected the belts holding back the crates. If they gave, the crates would slide down the car and crush them. “They haven’t cut through these, so they weren’t at the harbor station.”
Kyam said, “The real plan, I assume, is to cut the funicular’s cable.”
The metallic clanging grew louder and faster. The car slid dropped several yards before jolting to a stomach-churning halt. QuiTai grabbed a belt to stop from sliding to the end of the car; another belt flew snapped loose and flew at her. As she ducked, she saw the belt strike Kyam’s arm. He dropped his pick.
“Damn it!” Kyam searched the floor. “Can you climb out the side window?”
“It would be tight. You’d never fit.”
Kyam strode to her, lifted her up to the open window, and shoved her through it feet-first. Her head hit the frame, and then she landed hard and slid down the slope beside the track, grabbing frantically for a handhold among the plants. Leaves shredded through her fingers. She saw a thick vine and stretched desperately with both hands to grasp it. As she jolted to a stop, she felt the muscles in her shoulders tear. Her injured hand seared with pain.
She heard a loud snap.
The funicular barreled downhill, picking up speed as it went. The loose cable whipped through the air, slicing small trees in half as QuiTai flattened herself and kept her head down. Moments later, she heard a horrible screech of metal and loud booms as the funicular hit the bottom of the hill.
Then everything was quiet: even the birds and monkeys were stunned into silence. The quiet made QuiTai feel as if a predator stalked her through the wild undergrowth. The hairs along her arms rose.
She crawled to a tree and rested against it while she checked herself for broken bones. Then as she took a deep breath and tipped back her head to look at the sky, she saw Kyam smiling down at her.
“Survived, did you?” she said.
He squatted beside her, a wild grin on his face. “Opened the lock with seconds to spare. Jumped off right as the cars started to fall. It was very dramatic.”
“Good. I hate a boring escape from near death.”
“Should I be worried?” Kyam asked. “You have that wicked grin.”
”I was only thinking, my dear Mister Zul, that I’m in danger of liking you.”
His lips twitched. “How perfectly horrid for you.”
She felt a pang of regret for her old life, where she could banter with interesting men for hours and the only thing at stake was a night of pleasure. In that world, she and Kyam might have been lovers. He was probably the kind of man who lingered in bed. She gave a rueful half-smile. She had to stop thinking of that. She had a lover. Even if Petrof had never really been enough.
QuiTai tried to rise, wincing. Kyam slipped his arm around her waist to help her. When she was standing, she brushed the broken leaves and dirt from her arms and hands and said, “Well. Where were we? Ah yes. Paying a call to the harbor master.”
Kyam still grinned stupidly at her. “You’re a tenacious little demon.”
“I don’t suppose this is simply a horrendous vapor dream?” She checked her blouse. As far as she could tell, it had survived her downhill slide in fairly respectable condition. The pattern on her sarong was busy enough that the smears of red clay near her knees blended in.
He shook his head. “Not unless we entered the vapor together.”
“Right now, I wish we had. And I wish I would wake up before I really hurt myself.”
“Are you hurt? We can rest longer if you need to.”
QuiTai swatted his hands away before he could coddle her like an elderly aunt. “We can’t risk climbing up the tracks if the saboteurs are still there, so we should hike th
rough the jungle.” She stared up the hillside. “If I’m right, we’re downslope from old Levapur. Once we’re there, you can conduct your Thampurian spy business while I talk to my contacts. One of them will know where the harbor master lives.”
Kyam finally stopped smiling. “Is the Devil a werewolf?”
Confusion was rare for her; she didn’t like it. “Where did that question come from?”
“You’re not the only person who can add things up.”
“Such as?”
“I’m not giving you anything until you help me find the Ravidians.”
“Fine, as long as you stop fishing for information about him.”
“Ivitch is a werewolf, and I’ve seen you around town in the company of a big brute who looks as if he’s the model for werewolf heroic statues.” Kyam struck an ironic pose. He had to mean Casmir, although a few other werewolves fit that description too.
“Still fishing? If you’ve been following me, Mister Zul, you’ve probably also seen me talk to Ponongese, Ingosolians, and a few mixed-blood folk too. On occasion, I even stoop to Thampurians.”
“If I asked you not to meet your regular contacts alone until we have this Ravidian situation cleared up, would you?”
“I’m not sure how the spy business works back on the continent, but around here, we don’t send engraved invitations asking people to kindly stop by for an afternoon water pipe and interrogation. If you want to talk to the harbor master, I have to ask my people where we can find him. That is why you dragged me into this little adventure, isn’t it? My contacts?”
His face flushed with anger. “At least let me come along to protect you.”
Tired of staring at his chest, she shoved him back. “Quit doing that. I’m not some docile daughter of the thirteen families in need of a gentleman to catch me when I faint.”
He made the mistake of reaching for her shoulders as if to shake sense into her. In one fluid movement, she yanked his arm and used his forward momentum to shove him to the ground. She dropped onto his chest as he rolled over.
