Dog in the Dark

Chapter Nine

Two days out of Kêdinern, Dänvârfij’s ship docked in late afternoon at the port of Berhtburh. She immediately disembarked, though this time she took Rhysís with her. He never complained, but she could see he felt confined aboard the vessel.

Since the night in Kêdinern by the river’s mouth, Eywodan had been too watchful, too silently concerned over her state of mind. Rhysís was more than able for any purpose, and he would never give note of her demeanor or ask her about her thoughts.

Still, she needed to stop dwelling upon the past. Some things could not—or need not—be changed.

There was more to Rhysís than met the eye in some ways. Dänvârfij preferred Anmaglâhk garb, even for everyday life, and felt out of place in these human clothes. She suspected Rhysís rather enjoyed their new disguises.

He had chosen his attire carefully and was now dressed in fine breeches and a deep blue tunic. Before, he had always worn his long hair loose, but now it was tied back with a matching but darker blue scarf that covered his head. To her, he looked ridiculous; the contrast of color with his eyes made them stand out too much. He had also discarded his sling and was trying to restrengthen the shoulder of his bow arm.

Berhtburh was larger and busier than Kêdinern and might almost qualify as a city. Here, among an apparent diversity of peoples and manners of attire, she and Rhysís would not stand out so much. Some men along the waterfront were nearly as tall as Rhysís; maybe one or two were as tall. But in their hide-and-fur clothing, and their long, coarse hair and shaggy beards, they looked more like animals than any other type of human she had ever encountered. Their weaponry, from axes and maces to war picks and hammers, betrayed a penchant for reckless carnage.

Two an’Cróan, or “elves” to these humans, passed with little notice along the bustling shoreline as they searched for a harbormaster’s office.

“There,” Rhysís said.

He pointed to a building no wider than a broad cutway, for it looked as if it had been built into the mouth of one, squeezed between one huge warehouse and a fishery. In the late afternoon heat, the stench from the fishery made Dänvârfij cover her mouth and nose.

When they reached the narrow building, Dänvârfij hesitated at bringing Rhysís inside. He spoke less Numanese than most of the team, but she changed her mind. At Kêdinern, the harbormaster would remember only a late middle-aged elf. Here, anyone present would remember a younger couple. It was best to mix any notice of their presence.

She ushered Rhysís in and followed him.

Inside was a typical harbormaster’s office. Desks, maps, a telescope, cabinets full of drawers, and other things lay about in some organization she could not fathom, though the place was long and cramped compared to the wide one on the isle. Four clerks worked in the distance along the interior, for it was barely wide enough for both a desk and room to walk. All the clerks were dealing with either captains or sailors in a buzz of words she could not follow.

Then she noticed Captain Samara of the Bashair.

He was speaking to a wizened elderly man with thinning silver hair that curled around his ears. The stooped little human wore a leather vest that hung too loosely on him, but he gripped a finely crafted cudgel with a brass head shaped like a creature Dänvârfij had never seen.

This had to be the harbormaster, judging by a similar possession of the one on the isle.

Captain Samara spoke too low to hear, but his manner was overly polite, almost subservient. She studied the little harbormaster, and there was a nearly imperceptible hatred in his eyes.

“Until tomorrow, then,” he almost shouted, his voice venomous. “Just be gone by midmorning.”

Samara was the only dark-skinned Suman in the place. Perhaps the harbormaster did not care for him or his kind. The captain nodded once, quick and curt, as if wanting to be gone. When he turned to leave, he spotted Dänvârfij with Rhysís near the door.

“Do you require assistance?” he asked. “May I help with anything?”

“No,” Dänvârfij said, “thank you.”

Samara hesitated but then nodded and left. Rhysís glanced after the captain, but Dänvârfij found the harbormaster watching her the same way he had looked at Samara. She approached him cautiously.

“Pardon,” she said and decided to use Eywodan’s story. “We were ... to catch ... Cloud Queen ... at Wrêdelyd. Our way from Calm Seatt ... was delayed. Can you tell if ship ... came here ... and when left?”

The man’s left cheek twitched at her broken Numanese, and he turned away. “This is a business office for captains and merchants. We don’t cater to those who can’t keep their own schedules.”

He hobbled off, clutching his cudgel, and handed a paper to a clerk at the next desk down the narrow space.

Dänvârfij stared after him. Rhysís took a step to follow the harbormaster, but she barred his way with her arm.

She did not care for the little man’s demeanor and might have favored extracting the information. That was not a wise choice in a busy port, even when dealing with one who appeared to hate other types of humans as much as he did her kind. She pressed her arm back a little to make Rhysís stay and went after the harbormaster.

“We have family on Cloud Queen ... and need catch up,” she said as an embellishment. “Please ... can you say ... when left here?”

“I don’t give out information about ships leaving my harbor!” he barked. “Now get out.”

A few others along the office, both patrons and staff, looked over.

Dänvârfij backed away and turned, finding Rhysís watching this exchange. A subtle scowl spread over his face. With a quick lift of her chin, she motioned him toward the door, and once they were outside, his features were tightly set.

“We wait until after nightfall,” he said, quiet and calm. “I will get you an answer from him.”

It was tempting and possibly their only option. She was about to agree when a young clerk slipped out the door. A shock of dark blond hair hung in his eyes, and his fingers were stained with blue ink.

“Pardon, miss,” he said, offering a slight smile. “Don’t mind the old badger. He treats almost everyone that way.”

He held a large open book, covered in lines of writing, in his hands. Dänvârfij was wary and uncertain how to respond. She did not need to, as the young clerk looked up from scanning a page in the book.

“The Cloud Queen left harbor two days ago,” he said, “heading for a cargo exchange at Chathburh. That’s a big port, and I’d guess she’ll be there several days. If you’re sailing on the Bashair, Captain Samara won’t stay here long. It’s a small, fast ship, and you should catch your family, if fair weather holds.”

After facing the harbormaster, Dänvârfij was slightly stunned by this human’s polite helpfulness, to the point of following her out to offer assistance.

“Thank you,” she said, and then chose to press for more while she could. “Can you say ... Cloud Queen’s captain ... if he say ... passengers stay here? We are afraid to miss family ... if they stay this place to wait on us.”

She had learned from Samara that any captain dropping off passengers needed to at least report the number of people. Or so it seemed in major ports. The clerk glanced at the book and shook his head.

“No, he didn’t leave anyone ... or none that he reported.”

“Thank you,” she said again, and he grinned once with a nod and went back inside.

Humans always confused Dänvârfij. They were savages who lived short and cruel lives in their limited awareness. That some could be generous only left her more disconcerted.

“We have the information, tenuous as it is,” she told Rhysís. “We should return and inform Fréthfâre.”

He looked up at the sun, still hanging in the sky. “We could go into this city first. In Calm Seatt, Én’nish mentioned a fondness for almonds covered in the humans’ ... chocolate. I thought to purchase some.”

If he had announced that the Ancient Enemy stood right behind her, Dänvârfij would have been less surprised.

Rhysís had a reputation for near total silence, even when he had lost Wy’lanvi, his young friend, to Brot’ân’duivé’s blade. Now he wished to buy sweets for Én’nish? Perhaps it was his need to have someone to watch over.

“She spends much time caring for Fréthfâre,” he went on, “and little time caring for herself. A small comfort might be welcome.”

Dänvârfij had already decided to indulge him. There was something more to his attentiveness, but she was not about to pry into his personal matters. And Én’nish did spend nearly all her time caring for the crippled ex-Covârleasa.

“We will find a sweet shop,” she said.

Anmaglâhk lived lives of service requiring no such comforts. Whatever additional motivation Rhysís had for this act, Dänvârfij wondered whether perhaps they had all been among the humans too long.

By early evening, Dänvârfij was back aboard theBashair and alone with Fréthfâre.

“Two days?” Fréthfâre said bitterly, shaking her head. “We are not closing the distance fast enough. We have gained half a day at best since our last stop.”

After Rhysís had purchased his chocolate-coated almonds, Dänvârfij had returned feeling more confident about their chances to overtake Magiere’s ship. Within moments of being trapped in this cabin and reminded by Fréthfâre of her failures, she felt smothered by dark doubts once more.

“We cannot make this ship go faster,” Dänvârfij replied, knowing she was being baited.

“Oh, but we can,” Fréthfâre countered. “We take the ship for ourselves.”

This had occurred to Dänvârfij as well. She would do so, if necessary, but such an action risked exposing her team. The young clerk at the harbormaster’s office seemed to know Captain Samara—enough to speak well of him. Others in the office had seen her speaking to Samara. With so few in the office, someone could remember two tall elves with amber eyes.

She stepped to the cabin’s one small porthole and gazed out at other ships docked along the next pier.

“That might bring undue attention,” she returned, “should the event become known. The human clerk seemed certain we could catch our quarry at Chathburh. By the way the harbormaster rules his office—and all ships docking here—it is unlikely the captain of the Cloud Queen would have failed to report passengers disembarking permanently. It would be wiser to disembark at Chathburh and set a trap for them there.”

She looked back to Fréthfâre, bent over on her bunk.

“Unless you would like me to consult Father first,” Dänvârfij added.

That suggestion nearly always brought an end to Fréthfâre’s manipulations. Most Aged Father would counsel them to wait, not risk commandeering a ship they could not sail themselves without keeping and controlling some of the crew.

“We will do as you suggest,” Fréthfâre said tiredly. “And hope that Father’s faith in you is no further undermined.”

Dänvârfij said nothing more. Pricks and jabs from the vengeance-driven ex-Covârleasa were now too commonplace for her to feel them. But the small, stuffy cabin reminded her of being inside Father’s heart-root chamber. She struggled again to push away the past—and the past pushed back.

She could not stop thinking of the day Brot’ân’duivé had forced his way into the great oak while Most Aged Father was questioning Osha. The greimasg’äh had not been down there long.

She had waited above, watching for him to reemerge. To her shock, Osha had come out with him. Not one of the sentries tried to stall them, and the one still rubbing his throat had backed away. Her instinct was to stop them and ask what had happened, but she had no authority.

Neither looked her way as they strode past. Clearly Most Aged Father had turned Osha over to Brot’ân’duivé.

Juan’yâre came out on their heels but only watched them with panic on his face. Then he spotted her.

“Come,” he said, gesturing to Father’s home.

She had nearly run forward, following him into the oak and down into the heart-root, only to find Father dark and pensive. All sign of tears had vanished from his dry, bony cheeks as he raised milky eyes to her and Juan’yâre.

With two fingers of a hand that did not lift from the moss, he urged Juan’yâre closer. Father whispered something to his new Covârleasa, and Juan’yâre’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded.

“Yes, Father.” And he rushed out.

Dänvârfij heard Juan’yâre’s footfalls racing up the outer steps as Father turned his attention to her.

“Tell me more of this book, this journal, that you saw in Osha’s possession.”

She longed to tell him, but she had already given him everything she knew. This left her feeling she had disappointed him. But when she could tell him nothing more, he was only kind.

“Daughter,” he said finally, “go above and tell two of your brethren to join us ... but leave one sentry on the door.”

She did so, but when she returned with the two, Most Aged Father waved her off.

“Go eat and rest, Daughter. You have served me and your people well.”

Dänvârfij bowed her head and turned away, though she paused at the heart-root’s entrance. The two young anmaglâhk leaned close to Father as he whispered quietly to them. And then she left.

Once outside, she breathed deeply to hold down grief and anger spawned not long ago. She was hungry, and so very tired inside, but still she looked about.

Brot’ân’duivé and Osha were nowhere to be seen. One anmaglâhk remained as a sentry—the same one Brot’ân’duivé had struck down—with his throat darkening in a bruise. He suddenly looked right past her without blinking.

“Greimasg’äh!” he said hoarsely and bowed his head.

At a loss, expecting to see Brot’ân’duivé, Dänvârfij turned to follow his gaze. It was not so, and her confusion doubled.

An elder anmaglâhk came striding purposefully behind Juan’yâre and toward her. This one was short and stocky by an’Cróan standards. Beardless like all male elves, his skin was rough and slightly pockmarked. Her lips parted in silence as he drew near.

It was Urhkarasiférin, another greimasg’äh like Brot’ân’duivé.

She stared as Urhkarasiférin, never looking her way, passed her. She could not bring herself to leave even after Juan’yâre pulled back the curtain and Urhkarasiférin entered without losing a stride. The new Covârleasa cast her one troubled glance before he quickly followed.

And still Dänvârfij stood there.

Only three of the Greimasg’äh remained among the people and the caste. None, and Brot’ân’duivé least of all, frequented Crijheäiche except for duties to the caste. Yet two had come here within less than a day.

What did it mean?

At a knock on the ship’s cabin door, Dänvârfij straightened in sudden awareness.

“Covârleasa, may I enter?” Én’nish called.

She insisted on calling Fréthfâre by that title, though it was no longer accurate.

“Yes,” Fréthfâre answered.

It took Dänvârfij a moment to ground herself as she turned from the porthole. Én’nish entered with a tray of steaming food and tea.

“Dinner was prepared early—herbed rice with salmon,” she said to Fréthfâre. “You hardly ate lunch, and I thought you might be hungry.”

The young anmaglâhk looked different, less angry, and perhaps even content. Dänvârfij wondered why, and then remembered the almonds. Rhysís must have given those to Én’nish by now.

Dänvârfij turned back to the porthole. For such a small thing like chocolate-covered almonds to produce such a change hinted that they had indeed been too long among humans.