Chapter Seven

The following morning Chap suffered through another coating of charcoal dust. He choked back a growl as Leesil tied up his snout and bound his ears with those straps. Wayfarer put on her disguise as Brot’an stepped to the window, ready to slip out and head across the rooftops. But when it came time for Wayfarer to slip the rope’s loop over Chap’s head, she stalled and handed the rope to Leesil to do so.

Chap had not spoken to Wayfarer as yet about their strange moment on the waterfront. And he was uncertain whether he ever should.

He had been thinking upon a past incident, the last time they—he and Leesil—had faced down any of the anmaglâhk who had harried them all the way from Calm Seatt. And Wayfarer had jerked away from him, asking: Did Léshil kill . . . one of the caste . . . ?

No one had told the girl about that. Leesil didn’t even want to tell Magiere, and Chap had agreed. So what had prompted that question from Wayfarer as she sat on the walkway, staring at him in fear?

He was uncertain how to even ask her about this, so he did not.

—Ready?—

She nodded, though she didn’t look at him.

This room they all shared was beginning to feel like a prison cell, and the tension was thick. True to his word, Leesil had gone out the night before and returned very late . . . with more than enough coin to pay the exorbitant fee demanded by the captain of the Djinn.

Magiere had paced most of the night, and when Leesil had returned, instead of expressing relief at his success and safety, she’d barely spoken to him. Chap understood this.

Leesil was a good cardplayer, though not as good as he thought, and when pressed, he had no compunction against cheating. Occasionally he got caught. Worse, the more he played, the more he wanted to play.

Magiere was not wrong in her concerns, but Leesil had not been wrong that such a tactic was their only option. Brot’an could not be allowed to gain the money his way.

Inside the tense room, it now seemed that questions by anyone for anyone else had become something to be avoided.

Wayfarer picked up her gnarled walking stick, and Leesil handed her a pouch.

“Tuck this inside your cloak,” he instructed. “I’ve put exactly forty-five silver pennies in there.” He glanced at Chap. “You stay close to her.”

Not dignifying such a comment with an answer, Chap bit back another snarl.

From the window, Brot’an watched all this in silence and then added to Wayfarer, “I will be watching. If you find yourselves in danger, run for the cutway between the harbormaster’s office and the nearest warehouse.”

“Yes, Greimasg’äh,” Wayfarer answered, and as she turned for the door, Chap followed her.

Once they were outside in the morning air, the girl took a deep breath, as if she was relieved to be out of that room. In the not-so-distant past, she’d had to be pried out into the streets of any human city.

She looked toward where the waterfront lay beyond sight. “I did not like the captain of that Suman vessel.”

—Agreed—

These were the first real words they’d exchanged since returning the previous day.

Chap hadn’t cared for Captain Amjad, either, but Leesil had done his part, and now they must do theirs. Leaning down on her gnarled cane, Wayfarer pulled her hood forward to shadow her face and once again shuffled along in the stooped manner of an old woman . . . with a muzzled and huge black dog beside her.

They never paused until they reached the fourth pier and stood near the ramp up to the Djinn as cargo was being loaded. The whole vessel was crawling with activity, and Chap could see that Wayfarer was frightened by the sailors rushing past in their hurried labors.

—We only need to . . . locate the captain . . . and pay him—

Calming slightly, the girl followed as he headed up the ramp and looked around for the captain. A young sailor with curling hair black spotted them and walked over, flashing a set of even teeth as he smiled.

“Hello again,” he said with a heavy accent. “Did your friend find you yesterday?”

Chap’s ears would have stiffened upright if they could.

“My friend?” Wayfarer asked.

“Yes, she came shortly after you left—tall woman who looked a little like you.” His smile widened. “Not such a pretty face, though.”

For the third time that morning, Chap choked back a snarl, though a growl still followed, somewhat muffled by the straps on his muzzle. The sailor instantly lost his smile, but Chap’s annoyance at a flirting deckhand was outweighed by panic.

They had been spotted yesterday and followed at least as far as this vessel. Brot’an had either not noticed or—as with many things—never mentioned this.

Chap turned his head enough to look up at Wayfarer’s green eyes, now fully widened, as she likely came to a similar realization.

—Do not react— . . . —Ask for the captain—

It took Wayfarer two breaths and then, “May we speak to Captain Amjad?”

“Of course,” the sailor answered, and, with one wary glance at Chap, he headed toward the prow.

Chap followed, tugging Wayfarer along toward a stout man giving orders, and Chap’s mouth filled with the same sourness from the day before. The few Sumans he’d encountered in his travels had been careful about cleanliness, along with exhibiting near-meticulous manners.

Captain Amjad proved a severe contrast.

With a protruding belly that nearly split the ties of his shirt, and a noxious odor and greasy hair, likely he had neither changed nor laundered his breeches and shirt in several years. It appeared that he did not bother to shave, though he could not grow a proper beard. His round face sported sparse patches of dark, straggly strands.

Amjad’s surprise at Wayfarer’s return quickly shifted to greed in his hard eyes.

“You have it?” he asked rudely.

“Yes,” Wayfarer answered, pulling Leesil’s pouch from under her cloak. “You will set sail tomorrow?”

“Midday,” Amjad said, and, when he opened the pouch and peered inside, he only grunted in satisfaction. “Be on board, or we leave without you. Only two cabins between you, and our cook serves two meals a day, morning and night. You eat whatever he makes.”

Wayfarer back-stepped and put her hand over her mouth and nose. “That . . . that will be fine.”

—We go—

Chap turned away, and she followed, still gripping the rope. With their transaction completed, he wanted to return to the inn. If they had been spotted and followed the day before, it was possible they had been followed farther than the waterfront. And because of this, once they were off the ramp and onto the pier, he changed their tactics.

—No more . . . playing . . . an old woman— . . . —Pick up the cane . . . and . . . follow me . . . quickly . . . without running—

She obeyed without question, though she was obviously confused and frightened.

“We should go to the greimasg’äh. I promised.”

—No— . . . —To the inn—

“But,” she whispered, still walking, “if anmaglâhk are watching, we will lead them to Léshil and Magiere.”

She was learning and had reasoned the outcome, though this was not what Chap had in mind. He slowed a little to look at her more easily in using memory-words.

—When Brot’an sees . . . us . . . he will know . . . something is wrong . . . and follow closely— . . . —If we are . . . followed . . . he will see. . . . He will . . . keep them from . . . reaching the inn—

Relying on the old, skulking assassin left Chap even more spiteful. Here and now protecting Wayfarer, and Leesil and Magiere’s location, was all that mattered . . . and Brot’an would deal with any pursuit.

• • •

Dänvârfij lay flat on a warehouse roof two buildings south of the fourth pier. Though she had been successful in her secret task the night before, today she faced a new challenge.

Barely past dawn, she had gone to the captain of the Falcon and arranged passage for her team to il’Dha’ab Najuum. She still assumed this was necessary. To her relief, he had agreed, and even appeared glad for extra money in keeping his few passengers. Then he had told her the ship was setting sail today . . . this afternoon.

Dänvârfij was caught in a dilemma, uncertain whether she could convince Fréthfâre to abandon this port so soon. If they missed sailing on the Falcon, there was no certainty of when they could find another ship headed south. She might be forced to disregard Most Aged Father’s instructions and attempt to capture Magiere or Léshil in Soráno to keep them from escaping yet again.

She did not like being pushed into a decision one way or the other, and then her tension was interrupted.

Up the fourth pier, the short, limping female and her large black dog made their way toward the Suman vessel. Dänvârfij’s thoughts cleared and were replaced with a new opportunity as she focused on the tainted quarter-blood girl . . . and the deviant majay-hì.

She waited, though not long. The duo boarded the Suman vessel, but their stay was brief. Within moments they came back down the ramp onto the pier. At first the girl was bent and shuffling in her attempt to feign age, but then she stood straight and picked up the stick. As the dog trotted back up the pier, the girl had to rush to keep up. They were no longer trying to hide themselves in their hurry.

Something had happened.

Still flat on the roof, Dänvârfij scanned every rooftop in sight and the whole waterfront as well. Rhysís was posted somewhere on the waterfront’s north end, but she chose not to whistle a signal to him.

Why was this pair now in such a hurry?

Her thoughts turned to the best strategy as the girl and the majay-hì reached the base of the pier and stepped among the people hurrying along the waterfront. If she could capture the girl, then she and her team could lure the others out of hiding with proper bait for a trap.

Perhaps they would not have to sail farther south after all. Most Aged Father had been clear in his instructions, but he would not wish them to waste a perfect opportunity.

Dänvârfij retreated from the roof’s edge before she rose into a crouch. Before she had a chance to whistle, Rhysís landed lightly on the roof’s south end and hurried to her.

“I saw them,” he whispered.

“The traitor may be watching,” she whispered back. “We must act quickly and precisely. You will take the girl while I distract the majay-hì, and then we vanish.”

• • •

Wayfarer would never argue with a sacred being like Chap, but she had made a promise to Brot’ân’duivé . . . and now she had broken it. The manners and customs of her people had long protected them and kept them safe; to break an oath to an elder weighed upon her.

Chap suddenly stopped ahead of her, and she froze as he looked up the busy main street through Soráno. She tried to follow his gaze but saw nothing that should have stalled him. Their inn was two blocks ahead on the right. They had taken the same route on both trips to the port.

Chap’s head swung sharply to the right, and then he looked up at her.

—Off this . . . main street to . . . a less traveled path . . . should Brot’an . . . need . . . to intervene— . . . —Quickly—

Wayfarer hesitated. Chap might be most concerned about protecting her, but she feared this change might place Léshil and Magiere in danger. She guessed he had discounted that she and he were leading the anmaglâhk. He placed too much faith in Brot’ân’duivé’s ability to both spot and stop any pursuit.

“You should not be more worried about me than about Léshil and Magiere,” she said.

When he glanced up, she could see his surprise.

—I am not— . . . —We do not know . . . if we are followed— . . . —If so, then Brot’an is near— . . . —In our last outing . . . anmaglâhk may have followed . . . may know where we stay— . . . —We are in the dark— . . . —We must warn Magiere and Leesil . . . before we are caught— . . . —Anmaglâhk may know . . . the ship we take—

He seemed to pick words from her memories faster and faster with each passing day. In not knowing whether they were followed or not, all they could do was reach the inn as quickly as possible.

Nodding, Wayfarer followed Chap around a turn down an unfamiliar path, deeper inland into the city.

• • •

In the cutway beside the harbormaster’s office, Brot’ân’duivé was confused and then wary as he watched Wayfarer and Chap leave the Djinn and come down the pier. The girl suddenly abandoned all efforts at disguising herself as Chap set a brisk pace toward the shore.

Brot’ân’duivé looked about the port and glanced up once at the rooftop edges above. He had chosen to stay at ground level to move as needed, but now he was limited in looking for whatever had driven the majay-hì into a rush.

Wayfarer had been raised well by his friend, the old healer Gleannéohkân’thva. She would do as she promised and come straight to this cutway if something was wrong. He waited for her to reach the waterfront walkway and then come to him.

She did not. To his disbelief, Chap turned down the waterfront’s edge.

Brot’ân’duivé peered around the cutway’s corner and watched as the pair turned through the crowd into the first street—not the last—along the harbor. They vanished from his sight into the city.

He turned and ran down the cutway into the broad alley behind the warehouses and then slipped quickly to its end, where it met the next street. But when he peered out, he saw only olive-skinned people in brightly colored clothing.

What had that foolish majay-hì done now?

Brot’ân’duivé spun back into the alley’s shadows and scaled the wall to the nearest roof.

• • •

Chap led the way for a few blocks until he spotted a narrow, less traveled street leading into the city, and there he turned again. He was well aware of the risk in taking Wayfarer out of the more populated areas, but if Brot’an had paid attention, the shadow-gripper would have freedom to act as he saw fit. And Chap as well.

Such actions had to take place away from public eyes or authorities. He paused for only an instant in looking up at Wayfarer.

—Release my straps—

The girl stalled, perhaps knowing what this implied, but then she quickly pulled on the ends of the leather straps at the back of his head. It was a relief not to have his ears and jaws bound, and he shook the straps off to let them fall.

—Hurry—

Chap broke into a trot, with Wayfarer nearly running beside him. Later he never remembered seeing or hearing the briefest flash of movement.

A tall figure dressed in dark blue materialized from nowhere directly beside them. Before Chap could think or move, the figure grabbed Wayfarer, lifted her off the ground, and veered at a run for the closest building.

Chap had barely glanced at the sudden movement when that figure leaped from a porch railing to grab the awning above with a slender tan hand. White-blond hair fluttered from the side of the cloak’s hood. It all happened so quickly that only then did Wayfarer cry out.

Chap’s instant of confused hesitation ended.

He swerved after the figure in blue and leaped upward, catching the cloak’s hem before he dropped and hit the railing.

He, the anmaglâhk, and Wayfarer all crashed down in a tangle on the street’s side. Wayfarer cried out again as her hand latched on his tail, and his panic sharpened.

He had to send her away from this quickly, but there was little time. And their room at the inn was only a few city blocks away.

Chap took only a glance at Wayfarer. —Run to Magiere!—

• • •

Wayfarer felt the shock of pain as her back hit the street. She could not help crying out, but the strong arm that had lifted her off the ground released. In panic she grabbed for Chap and caught hold of only his tail. At that touch, an image of Magiere and Léshil in the inn’s little room rose in her mind and stunned her.

Chap’s head twisted until his eyes were on her.

—Run to Magiere!—

The image and those words tangled in Wayfarer’s head. She did not snatch her hand away from touching Chap, as she had on the waterfront. Her first impulse was to refuse: she could not abandon him. But Magiere and Léshil were alone in their room and did not know what was happening.

Wayfarer let go of Chap’s tail and rolled out of reach as the anmaglâhk tried to grab her. Chap launched into that tall man’s chest with his teeth snapping for the man’s throat.

Wayfarer turned and ran.

• • •

Dänvârfij looked down from a rooftop above Rhysís and was startled at the speed of the majay-hì. It had not occurred to her that the dog would close on Rhysís before he reached the rooftop. Rhysís’s hand barely gripped the awning’s edge, and Dänvârfij could not grab his wrist in time.

The awning crackled as Rhysís’s grip on it broke.

He fell in a tangle with the girl and deviant majay-hì. The girl cried out, grabbing the majay-hì’s tail, and the dog turned instantly to look at her. Dänvârfij was about to drop over the edge when Rhysís made a grab for the girl. The majay-hì lunged into him as the girl ran off down the street.

Dänvârfij hesitated between going after the girl and aiding Rhysís.

From the beginning, all her team had wavered at the thought of injuring a majay-hì. But the dog had no such restraint in going for Rhysís’s throat.

Dänvârfij pulled a stiletto from her left sleeve and prepared to drop to the street . . . when something on the skyline toward the waterfront caught in the side of her view. A shadow floated—ran and leaped—between two rooftops one city block away. It was coming for them, and fear flooded through her. She vaulted out over the roof’s edge before the traitor closed. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she kicked the majay-hì’s side behind its foreleg. It let out a choking yelp as it tumbled away from Rhysís, who had drawn a blade, though his hands were bleeding.

The dog righted itself and made to charge.

Dänvârfij grabbed Rhysís by his cloak’s shoulder and took off down the street.

“Run! The traitor comes.”

She rushed into a cutway to the next street and could hear Rhysís directly behind her. Then she swerved down half the street before veering to another cutway on the street’s far side. The traitor was not her main concern anymore, for from up on the rooftops he could not have seen where they ran. Only the majay-hì could track them and might alert the greimasg’äh to where they fled. At the back of the second cutway, she turned left into the adjoining alley, heading away from the path and whatever destination that the majay-hì and the girl had sought. Near the alley’s end, she dropped to crouch behind a barrel filled with rainwater and cursed herself for a fool.

Most Aged Father had told them they were too few to attempt anything in this city. He had given her clear instructions about how to acquire assistance in il’Dha’ab Najuum. And what had she done? She had allowed her team to manipulate her into rash actions.

No more.

Ignoring Rhysís’s torn hands and wrists, she hissed at him in a whisper, “The traitor will go after the girl and check on his other charges, which gives us time. You get Én’nish and Fréthfâre and all of our gear, including what I brought in last night. Go directly to the Falcon and wait.”

Breathing hard through his nose, Rhysís stared at her for a moment, but he quickly dropped his eyes with one curt nod.

• • •

Brot’ân’duivé heard Chap’s snarls and growls from a block away. Abandoning stealth, he ran openly, leaping from one rooftop to the next. Before he reached the roof’s edge over the next street, a yelp and then the sound of feet running rose from below. One last snarl followed, and then silence as he reached the edge and looked down.

Chap limped down the street’s far side to peer into a cutway. There was no sign or sight of any anmaglâhk . . . or of Wayfarer.

Brot’ân’duivé dropped to the ground and looked all ways as he ran to Chap.

“Where is Wayfarer?” he demanded, growing angrier than he should have allowed himself.

Had the loyalists from his caste taken her?

Exposing teeth and fangs, Chap whirled and snarled at him. Then the dog turned away and loped—struggling—down the street.

Brot’ân’duivé tried to quell his anger as he followed.

• • •

Wayfarer ran to the door of their room at the inn and pounded on it.

“It is me!” she called wildly. “Let me in!”

The door instantly opened, and as she rushed in, she nearly collided with Magiere.

Magiere grabbed her by the arms. “What’s happened?”

“Chap!” Wayfarer cried amid panting. “He is in trouble! Anmaglâhk!”

“Where?” Léshil demanded.

Wayfarer tried to catch her breath. “They came for me . . . and the greimasg’äh could not have been far behind. Chap sent me to warn you that we have been seen. They may even know of the ship we will sail on.”

“What?” Magiere demanded, her mouth dropping open, and she looked to Léshil.

“Where did you leave Chap?” Léshil asked.

“Two streets north,” she managed to get out.

Before anyone could say more, Léshil pushed past for the door with a few last words to Magiere. “Stay with her. I’ll handle this.”

Wayfarer wrenched out of Magiere’s grip and shoved the door closed, jerking it out of Léshil’s hand.

“No!” she said, flattening herself against the door. “Chap would not want this. The anmaglâhk are after you two most of all.”

“Get out of the way,” Léshil ordered as he grabbed her wrist.

“No!” Wayfarer shot back. “This was a trick to get to one or both of you. Chap and Brot’ân’duivé can protect themselves, and I will not let either of you leave.”

Both Magiere and Léshil appeared beyond surprised at her manner, but then Magiere reached for her this time.

Wayfarer felt and heard something scratching at the outside of the room’s door.

Without even asking, she spun and pulled it open.

Chap limped inside. An instant later, the greimasg’äh entered as well and shut the door himself. Wayfarer was taken a bit off guard as Brot’ân’duivé glared at her . . . but a sudden relief flashed across his face, and a sigh escaped him.

“Where were you?” Magiere snarled, pulling Wayfarer aside and taking a threatening step at the greimasg’äh. “You were supposed to watch them!”

“Only if I could keep them in sight,” Brot’ân’duivé replied and then looked to the majay-hì. “Only if they stayed on the agreed route.”

Wayfarer glanced at Chap and did not follow the rest of the angry conversation, especially whenever Léshil echoed something from Chap, or not, and everyone else was momentarily confused as to who was truly speaking. Though she trusted that the majay-hì had sensed something to make him change their path, she also remembered that one fleeting moment amid her fright.

She had seen something in her thoughts.

Magiere and Léshil had stood in this very room . . . in her mind. Now that she thought about it, she had been looking at them as if she sat low on the floor. It was the same perspective, the same angle of sight, as when she had lurched away from Chap on the waterfront.

Something the greimasg’äh said pulled Wayfarer back to awareness.

“. . . They are too few to try a frontal attack on this inn, if they even know of it,” he was saying. “We will be safe here.”

“Really?” Léshil retorted. “What if they just set the place on fire?”

“They will not. The risk of killing anyone inside is too great, and they want you and Magiere alive.”

After that Wayfarer stopped listening at all and sank onto the bed’s edge. She remembered how easily that one anmaglâhk had lifted her off the ground. She had been unable to do anything about it. And after Chap had pulled her captor down . . .

Her mind slipped back a few years to when she lived on a different continent with her people. She would find herself alone in the forest—and yet not alone. Sometimes she had felt eyes upon her and she had turned.

One of the majay-hì would be watching her from the brush.

At the time she had believed that this meant they were judging her . . . that she did not belong among the people. She was mixed blood; she was not welcome in the lands of the an’Cróan. Then there had been the white female who had come to lead her away. The one whom she later learned was Chap’s mate . . . and the mother of their child, Shade, who had crossed the world to be with Wynn. In Wayfarer’s darkest moment, alone and orphaned, and when she had most needed a guide, Lily had come to her . . . as if somehow knowing of her fear and sorrow.

What did any of it mean? What had happened that morning on the waterfront with Chap?

What had just happened out in the street when in panic she had grabbed his tail?

“Wayfarer, answer me! Are you all right?”

Wayfarer blinked in a shudder and looked up to find Magiere standing over her in worry. She did not know how to answer and only glanced at Chap.

• • •

After leaving Rhysís, Dänvârfij went straight to the Suman ship. She knew the traitor would be distracted for a short while by his charges. She had one last preparation to complete before her quarry made its next move.

Most Aged Father had provided the only sound way to fulfill her purpose concerning the monster and her mate, as well as the traitorous greimasg’äh. But Dänvârfij had devised something more of her own.

Striding up the vessel’s ramp, she watched as human men loaded cargo into the hold. A filthy one with a round belly shouted orders at the others, and she went straight to him.

When he saw her coming, his expression was one of arrogant authority.

“What do you want?” he asked in Numanese, though his accent was thick.

She needed to exude authority as well for this to work, and she stared him straight in the eyes without blinking and with no emotion on her face.

“To speak . . . you . . . alone,” she replied flatly, and then she fell silent, as if expecting compliance.

He appeared taken aback by this. With a tilt of his head and narrowing eyes, he shrugged slightly and gestured to a door in the aftcastle’s front wall. She waited until he stepped off before she followed. His stench was enough that she had to stop herself from covering her nose as she headed down the stairs and below deck.

He glanced back once, perhaps suspicious, and then led the way to the last door on the right. She followed and found herself in a small, cluttered cabin that—if possible—smelled worse than he did. He did not shut the door.

“What?” he asked.

She kept her eyes on his and tried not to look at his unkempt, unwashed attire.

“I hunt group . . . of thieves . . . murderers. I think they . . . arranged passage on . . . this ship.”

That one sharpened word—hunt—would be enough to give the impression that she was a bounty hunter, so called among many human cultures. That alone might sharpen his interest if there was money involved.

She was not wrong.

The captain’s beady, dark eyes widened slightly.

“You already see girl . . . and black dog,” she said, and then she gave the best description of Magiere, Léshil, and Brot’ân’duivé that she could in her limited Numanese. “In Numan water—in port of Drist—they attack Suman vessel Bashair. They murder all crew.” She paused, granting this slovenly captain a moment to estimate how much profit might be involved. “My words easy prove. Ship found in dock. Bodies of crew . . . in bay, on shore, under dock . . . found dead. You want, check story. All five stayed at place named Delilah’s.”

There was a risk in blaming her quarry for the deaths aboard the Bashair. This captain would obviously pause, worrying about the safety of his vessel—or rather himself. All that mattered was whether his greed was greater than his fear.

Finally, he stepped around her and closed the cabin door. “What do you want from me?” he asked, showing a row of crooked, stained teeth.

“I cannot arrest until they reach . . . il’Dha’ab Najuum. They murder Suman crew . . . so must catch on Suman ground.”

“Arrest them?” he echoed. Though filthy, he was not stupid.

“When word of crime reach Suman . . . law officers,” she continued, “they offer large reward.”

“And you want me to help you once we land? What’s my share of the reward?”

“All. I want them . . . nothing more.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“They kill my . . . friends,” she said. “I want justice . . . not reward.”

She could see he was tempted but still uncertain. Whether he believed her or not, it was time to finish the ploy by tying his greed to a sense of righteousness. Dänvârfij reached inside her vest and removed a folded piece of pale gold cloth that she had hidden there. She unfolded it for the captain to see, and then refolded it when his mouth went slack.

“You are Shé’ith?” he whispered.

She nodded once. “I am in disguise . . . to pursue my quarry.”

With no further hesitation, the captain straightened. “And the entire reward will be mine?”

“Yes. I travel ahead on other ship and wait in il’Dha’ab Najuum. Do not let passengers think you know. . . . When you arrive, I contact you for . . . assistance.”

“Agreed!”

He did not appear remotely afraid of carrying passengers accused of murdering some other Suman crew. The foundation of the trap had been laid. At first, when Most Aged Father had explained his plan to her, she had wondered about the wisdom of allowing her quarry to be arrested by Suman authorities. She then realized that Magiere and Léshil would be disarmed, most likely separated, and locked up. They would be easy targets for any trained anmaglâhk. No Suman prison would be able to keep her or Rhysís out.

Turning without another word, she left the small cabin, headed up on deck, took a needed breath of clean air, and trotted down the ramp to head for the Falcon at a brisk pace.

As she boarded, the captain there smiled, and she nodded to him in turn before descending below to join her team. Opening the door of the first cabin, she peered inside to find Fréthfâre resting on one bunk while Én’nish and Rhysís sat side by side—both working.

Each held a tawny leather vestment with swirling steel garnishes from which they scrubbed away blood. One pale gold sash lay on the bunk beside them, and swords lay at their feet.

“You were careless,” Én’nish complained.

“I had to move quickly,” Dänvârfij replied.

She did not have to explain herself to anyone here, all of whom had—to one degree or another—sought to ignore Most Aged Father’s instructions. And Dänvârfij looked once more upon the folded pale gold sash still in her hand.

She tucked the piece of cloth back inside her vest in case it should be needed once more.

None of them left the cabin that day, and in the midafternoon, the Falcon sailed south.

• • •

The following morning, still locked inside the room at the inn, Magiere had to bite the inside of her mouth as Brot’an took over all aspects of their short journey to the harbor. She didn’t blame him for being overly cautious, considering what had happened—almost happened—the day before. But his manner was coldly insulting, and Magiere wondered how long it would take before either Leesil or Chap—or maybe both—had finally had enough.

“Does everyone know what to do?” Brot’an asked for the fifth time as he pulled up his hood.

Even Wayfarer sighed tiredly as Magiere answered, “I think we are all sure enough, so Leesil and Wayfarer should head out.”

If the port was still watched by the two remaining able-bodied anmaglâhk, then four people and a dog walking together would gain their attention instantly. And it seemed those butchers already knew which ship to watch. Brot’an had reasoned that the only strategy was to break into smaller groups. They would stay within sight of one another and move quickly without running when they all reached the fourth pier by separate routes. Once they were all on board, it was unlikely that only two anmaglâhk would move against them.

Magiere agreed, but the aging assassin looked tense, and that made her tense.

Leesil and Wayfarer would go first, heavily cloaked and holding hands like a couple.

Magiere would take Chap next and lead him on his rope.

Brot’an would follow last, keeping everyone in sight, until it was time to quickly catch up.

“All right,” he said to Leesil. “Go.”

Clearly hating even the idea of following Brot’an’s orders, Leesil glared at him. He hefted their travel chest onto one shoulder, took Wayfarer’s hand, and left.

Magiere picked up the rope’s end. Its other end was tied around Chap’s neck, and once again he was covered in soot—which may have been pointless since the anmaglâhk had already seen him like this, but they’d certainly spot a silver-gray majay-hì more easily. She counted to ten and left the inn, making two turns and coming out onto the mainway filled with people rushing or strolling about their days. Chap kept enough of a pace that Leesil and Wayfarer were still in sight.

—Brot’an is . . . insufferable—

Magiere sighed, not even disagreeing, and whispered to Chap, “Let’s just get this over with.”

The trip to the port felt longer than it was for the tension. But soon they were headed up the fourth pier with most of the distance closed by the time Leesil and Wayfarer walked up the ramp onto the Djinn.

Magiere glanced back, and Brot’an was no more than eight strides behind her.

“How uneventful,” Leesil said dryly as she and Chap reached the deck.

Then she looked around at the medium-sized cargo vessel upon which they would make the long run to il’Dha’ab Najuum with no stops. It was a bit shabby, and a greasy-looking Suman with a protruding belly came right at them.

“This is Captain Amjad,” Wayfarer said politely.

Magiere heard the girl swallow hard with a brief choke, and she smelled . . .

It took no more than one blink to figure out where that stench came from.

However, something beyond revulsion touched Magiere next. The captain’s eyes fixed briefly on Brot’an, then Leesil, and finally on herself. He looked her over as if he knew her, though she’d never seen him before now.

“You made it,” he said bluntly. “Don’t bother complaining about the food or the cabins. No one will listen.”

He turned abruptly and headed toward the prow.

“Charming,” Leesil said, raising one feathery eyebrow, and then he sighed as he glanced out to sea. “I won’t be keeping my food down anyway.”

Magiere was worried about more than Leesil’s ongoing seasickness. Something here felt wrong.

“I am sorry,” Wayfarer said. “This was our only choice.”

Altering her expression, Magiere patted the girl’s back. “You did well in finding us anything at all.”

Still, as the crew prepared to set sail, something nagged at Magiere . . . as if she and her companions should leave this ship right there and then.

Date: 2014-12-29; view: 663