by Dave Dickie
“Avast, Matey, and all that kind of stuff that people think sailors say,” said the boatswain, which I took as sarcasm because of my “ahoy”, but he waved me up the boarding ramp anyway.
“Mackner Taffle,” he introduced himself. “Welcome on board. What can I do for you?” Mackner was short and hairy, made obvious because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He had a beard that could possibly be a hiding place for birds and mice, a smile that showed at least four gold teeth, and tattoos that covered an impressive amount of his body.
“I wanted to ask a few questions about your most recent voyage,” I said.
He squinted at me in a resigned way. “Another one.” He glanced at my hands. “But not a warden, not a Holder. What’s your interest?”
“Just poking at things a bit. I’m supposed to determine damages to the ship. Just to assess the cost to the consortium, get it in for repairs a little faster.” A complete fabrication, but while the Fair Elaine was in port, the crew wasn’t making money. Generally when people have an enlightened self-interest in answering questions, they are much less careful about what they say. “Could you just give me a rundown on what happened?” I replied.
He shrugged. “Sure, but I can save you some time. There’s nothing really broke. Just people, and they’re all dead, no fixing them.”
“Please, indulge me.”
“Well, we were pulling in three days ago from a … let’s just say an unusual run.”
“From where?” I asked.
He looked uncomfortable. Almost panicky, which seemed odd. “North,” he said.
“Lot of North up North,” I said. “Pranan? The Evael?” That was a little testing on my part, since I knew it had been someplace north of Pranan. If he’d said anything else, I’d know he was lying and hiding something. I’m tricky that way. But instead of either telling me what I knew or lying about it, he turned positively ashen and started trembling. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was time to take a different tact. “Sorry, forget it, that’s really immaterial. Can you just tell me what happened when you were pulling in?”
He looked instantly relieved, and then went on like nothing had happened, which was also odd. Generally when people have panic attacks, and that’s what it had looked like, it takes them a while to calm down.
Mackner said, “We were coming in at dusk. The Holders were all below decks, seasick, in their private little common room where we should be stacking cargo. People get seasick when we have to jib the sails to slow as we are coming in. The boat rolls a bit more. Although usually you get a couple that are made of sterner stuff. Anyway, the afternoon shift was on deck, along with a handful of the mercenaries, not because anyone expected trouble, you understand, just because it gets stuffy below decks.”
“What’s your total crew?” I asked.
“Fifty, with the mercs, but we work in shifts. There probably weren’t more than a dozen people above decks. So, I’m night shift, and I’d gone to my bunk to get a little shut eye, ‘cause I’d still have the watch even if we were docked. Suddenly, there’s a whole lot of yelling above decks. I go to the door to the bunk room with everyone else that was in there, but it's stuck shut. Noise dies down pretty fast, and the ship settles into the water, you can feel it.” I must have looked confused, because he added “Lost the helm, so the ship turns and you lose sail, not tacking the way you should.” I nodded, understanding. “After a few minutes, the door suddenly unsticks, we rush out, and half the men that were topside are there, dead. Looked like knife and sword work.”
“Half the men?” I asked.
“Ya. The rest are just gone. Probably went over the side. With dusk coming on and the amount of time it took to free ourselves, there wasn’t much chance of finding bodies in the water. We wanted to try, I’ve been crewing with those guys for a long time. They are all mates of Hasamelis,” by which he meant good people, the god of travelers being notoriously picky about sharing the road with others. “And the families,” he continued, “well, it’s nice for them to have some closure. But in a dark sea after running blind… no way to backtrack.”
I nodded sympathetically. “And then?”
He said, “So, we run around checking and it’s the same story for everyone; people below decks were stuck behind doors, but otherwise everyone is fine. Except the Holders. They’re all dead in their room, throats cut. Well, four of them, one’s missing.” He shrugged. “So we man the posts with who’s left and pull into dock.”
“Did you see any other ships?” I asked.
“Well, plenty, because we were close to the docks by then, but nothing moving, just the smaller stuff they moor out in the water instead of dockside, that and the elves’ ship, but those folks never pull in, the fey people don’t like to mix too much, you know.” I nodded and he continued. “We looked for a while, ‘cause you know someone did it, but they must have gone dark and made it look like they were moored, then snuck out of port when the sun was fully set. So we give up, pull in, and we get met by a bunch of Holders, and there’s a lot of excitement. Before the hour’s out, there’s a Magistrate and I’m telling him and the Holders what I just told you with a truthsayer to verify I’m not lying.”
“What happened with the bodies and effects?” I asked.
I was a little worried he would ask what that had to do with damage assessment, but he answered amiably enough. “Bodies ended up with Uncle Wolf. Effects are with the Magistrate until there’s been a final ruling or he releases them to next of kin. I know he’s done that for the crew members. Don’t know about the mucky-mucks.” Uncle Wolf would be the local Kydaos temple. It was fairly standard practice for them to hold the bodies for a week, using preservation spells, giving mourners a chance to come to terms with their loss. And after that, to administer a blessing and disintegrate the body. The Magistrate would hold on to anything he thought might be evidence until final resolution on the situation or a year went by. Those were all things to follow up on later.
I looked out over the water, out to sea. The Fair Elaine was a fast ship. Even slowed, coming into port, it would be hard to catch. Particularly if it was dusk. And it would be obvious that someone was coming close enough to board them. Why no alarm? And then the raider melted into the moored ships off the docks and played possum within minutes? Or, even less likely, pulled in and moored at dock? It seemed like a stretch. I thought about Valont saying the Fair Elaine had been attacked by another ship. This was another case where truthsayers can do more harm than good. Because Mackner, and others, I’m sure, would jump to a conclusion a seaman would, they’d believe it, a truthsayer confirmed they believed it, and suddenly a guess was the absolute reality of the situation. I’d seen it in action before, had suffered the consequences of it as a child. I felt myself rubbing the copper bracelet I always wore on my right wrist, one of the few things I had left from my father.
I shook my head. It wasn’t a good time for reverie. I turned back to Mackner. “How long were the doors stuck?”
He scratched his head. “It wasn’t like I was timing it. A minute, two, five tops.” I’d guess two tops. When people are afraid and trapped, minutes seemed like hours. It just didn’t wash.
“So, think back. You were trapped in the room. You heard yelling above decks. What else?”
“What else what?” he said, looking confused.
“What else did you hear? Forget the yelling, what other kind of sounds where there?”
He looked at me quizzically for a moment, then his eyes turned up and he pursed his lips trying to pull those memories to the front of his thoughts. It looked like hard work. After a minute, he shook his head and said, “Sorry, nothing comes to mind. I woke up, heard a bunch of yelling, that’s about it.”
The way he phrased it seemed odd. “You mean the yelling woke you up,” I said.
He frowned. “No, I was awake when it started.” His eyes lit up and he looked excited. “Right, right. The cook. The galley is next to the
bunk room, and my bunk is near the door. Cook was thumping on the door to the galley, I found out later. He was trying to bring food to the guys on watch but his door was stuck.”
“Wait. The cook was stuck, so he was pounding on the door, which woke you up, and then you heard all the yelling top side?” The timeline was wrong. That would mean the attackers had already been below decks before the battle topside had started.
But Mackner was nodding rapidly. “Yep, yep. I remember now.” He frowned. “And now I’m remembering something else. You’re right, it wasn’t just yells, there were these funny crackling sounds, like, like…” he waved his hands agitatedly. “Like crumpling up paper except loud enough to hear it through the floor.”
I had no idea what that was, but generally loud, unusual noises in the middle of a fight meant sorcery of some kind was getting tossed around. battle-sorcery, or something from an artificer’s weapon.
The Fair Elaine was not small, but it wasn’t huge either. Could a single man have slipped by the crew on the deck, sealed doors, entered the Holder’s room and killed everyone? Even a single man slipping by that many people seemed unlikely. One person killing four people fast enough that not one of them had time to defend themselves… well, the killer would have to be faster than anyone I’d ever met, and I’ve met some of the best knife fighters in the business. Not to mention, how had he gotten on board without being detected? And how could he have taken out a dozen men topside by himself?
New theory. What if the missing crew members had been part of the scheme? What if they had done the below decks work, slipped topside, killed the people that were not part of their cabal, had a ship meet them and take them off the Fair Elaine with the prize? But then, why had Maizon disappeared as well? Could he have been part of the cabal, regardless of Valont’s insistence that he would never turn on the Hold? Maybe Maizon had killed the other four Holders? That didn’t seem likely. Valont might be reading Maizon’s character wrong, but if Maizon was some kind of weapons or martial arts expert the lead warden for Grafton Hold would certainly recognize it.
No. And the flip side of the coin didn’t seem plausible either. The idea that a bunch of seamen had suddenly turned into battle-hardened killers without their lifelong companions having a clue was just as hard to swallow.
Nothing was adding up.
I asked a few more questions but Mackner didn’t remember anything else helpful. I thanked him and walked off the ship weighing possible scenarios in my head. At the end of the dock there were two Holders waiting for me, Copper Rings with a Parch Hold glyph on their cloaks. They were wardens, wearing swords, and they didn’t look at all friendly.
Chapter Eight
The first Holder was stocky, with dark hair and dark eyes and light leather armor. The second was taller and a little overweight. The stocky one stood with his weight on the balls of his feet, his hand hanging by his side but never far from the pommel of his sword. I marked him as the more dangerous of the two. The taller one said, “Citizen, would you please come with us?” His expression was not as polite as his words.
“Of course, Holder. Is there an issue?” I asked deferentially.
His expression went a little colder. Commoners did not ask Holders questions unless they were asking for clarification. “No issue, citizen. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
I nodded and he gestured with his hands to a small building, one of the many small warehouses that run along the wharfs for storing spare materials for the ships in dock. That was not a good sign. Inside the building, there would be no witnesses. But there was also no choice in the matter. It wasn’t a request that I could claim would impose some hardship on me. So I walked as nonchalantly as I could, following the tall one, with the other one behind me. The building was empty inside other than a couple of chairs, a table, and some leftover scraps of food. Windows faced out along the pier toward the Fair Elaine. They clearly had been stationed there to watch for anyone boarding the ship. I hadn’t nosed around enough when I was checking out the dock, hadn’t waited a full twelve hours to see if there were people in shift work staking it out. My bad.
I tried to get my back against a wall so I could face the two of them at the same time, but the stocky warden slipped by my side and stood in a way that prevented it, unless I did something that made it obvious what I was doing, which seemed like a bad idea. I did my best to get both of them in my field of view and said, “Holders, please. I’m happy to answer anything you’d care to ask if I can. I am not looking for any trouble.” I thought for a moment about trying to get a hand in the pocket with the lightning stone, but it seemed too aggressive. Better to let things play out a bit.
The tall one said, “Citizen, what were you doing on the Fair Elaine?” I’d been thinking about how to answer that very question. I could lie, but nothing very convincing came to mind unless they were willing to take me completely at my word. That didn’t seem likely. I could tell them, but Leppol had been fairly clear that letting other Holds know about our arrangement was a bad idea. Or I could invoke the Malilatinus Contistes, which also seemed a bad idea because Holders do not like having the law thrown in their face, wardens least of all. But it seemed like the best of three bad options.
"I’m afraid I cannot tell you that, Holder. With all respect, I am under contract, and part of the contract is confidentiality about my client’s interests.” That would invoke the “undue hardship” clause of the Malilatinus Contistes that protected commoners from harassment by Holders unless they had some solid evidence that I was up to no good, which they couldn’t since I wasn’t.
It was the wrong move. I could see immediately that it wasn’t going to play. That there wasn’t any good move didn’t make me feel any better. The tall warden glanced at the stocky warden and the command in that glance was clear. “Well citizen, I’m afraid we have a problem, then,” the tall one said. While I pretended to pay attention to him, I was listening to the soft hiss of stocky one’s blade coming out of the scabbard. I counted to two to give him time to close, then side stepped as a blade flashed through the space my head had been occupying just before I moved. He’d gone for an overhead strike, the attack most likely to kill someone instantaneously, but hard to recover from if you miss. Which was good, because if he’d gone for a horizontal slash, I’d be minus an arm. His blade went into the wood floor and he stumbled forward a step. I took the opportunity while he was off balance to lash out with my foot and connect solidly with his kneecap, which broke with a rather satisfying crunch. He didn’t shriek, which was impressive, and he toppled over, which was expected.
The tall one was trying to pull his sword but, as I had thought, he didn’t spend enough time on the training floor and by the time he had it out I was inside his swing. I battled the long blade out of the way with my hand and while he foolishly tried to hang on to the sword I punched him in the face hard enough to break his nose. He stumbled back enough to give me the exact amount of room I needed for a front snap kick into his chest. His armor absorbed the blow, but he went flying back into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him, and by then I had one of the stilettos out, not to stab him, but to keep my fingers from breaking when I slugged him in the jaw. His eyes rolled up in his head and he went down like an orc hit with a crossbow bolt.
The stocky one had his sword back in his hand but he was trying to use it as a crutch to get himself back up on his feet. Or foot, at least. His right leg wasn’t going to support any weight until he got a physicker to melt all those shards of bone that had been his kneecap back into a single piece. I kicked the sword out from under him and he fell over again. I had to give him points for perseverance, because he flipped over on his stomach and tried to push himself up again with his arms, still hanging onto the sword. I stuck a foot in the center of his back and put some weight behind it, forcing him back down on the floor. He stopped struggling when he felt the stiletto at the back of his neck.
“Holder, I do believe you have broken the
law with an unwarranted attack against a citizen. I do think I will need to bring in a Magistrate to confirm my innocence and to have you and your friend arrested.” Which was pretty funny because, of course, wardens were supposed to do the arresting.
“No Magistrate,” he said. “That’s a command. Let me up.”
And that was standard Holder arrogance. I poked him a bit with the blade of the stiletto. “My apologies, Holder, but it seems like you were about to kill me with no reason and no warning. I see very little in the way of options other than bringing in a third party to witness my innocence.”
“Citizen, if you do that, I will kill you,” he said flatly, which seemed a bit blunt.
"Well, if you are willing to pay the resulting fine, since you will be entirely at fault, I suppose there’s not much I can do to persuade you not to. Which leaves me in a bit of a quandary, as I do value my own life. In fact, it seems my only other course of action under the circumstances is to cut your throat, and the throat of your friend, and hope no one finds out that I did it.”
He stopped moving. I could hear the cogs in his head turning. Finally he said, “My apologies, citizen. Perhaps I was hasty in my assessment of the situation. However, a Magistrate would make things much more complicated. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
