Dog in the Dark

Chapter Twenty-three

After nightfall, as Leesil prepared to leave with Magiere, he was still suspicious of Brot’an’s change in attitude. The old assassin seemed far too willing and helpful in devising a plan, though he refused to take an active role—not that Leesil would have wanted him along anyway. Besides, someone had to watch over Wayfarer and now Paolo.

Chap was another matter, and Leesil already had a headache from the dog’s badgering.

“Are the rope and hook packed in easy reach?” Magiere asked.

“Of course.” But Leesil checked again and made certain all other gear was accounted for, stowed away in his pack. Their plan was sound, though there were always risks—more so this time.

Chap rumbled where he lay on a rug near the bed.

“No more!” Leesil growled back. “And you know why you’re staying behind.”

The dog snorted twice in place of huffs or barks, but raised no memory-words in Leesil’s head.

In fact Chap had stopped talking to anyone. That wasn’t a good sign. He was to remain behind to help guard the young ones in case anyone came searching for Paolo. More to the point, tonight’s attempt to rescue a ship full of slaves was going to involve climbing up the hull. They didn’t have time to hoist an oversized wolf in complete silence.

It had taken both Leesil and Magiere to argue this point, with Chap nearly throwing a full tantrum and calling up memory-words that had previously been shouted at him ... and shouting the words back in pieces that suited his own point. It was the most bizarre, irritating, tiresome argument Leesil had ever had. One more reason to give Wynn a kick—or two—for teaching Chap such a trick.

The real problem wasn’t that Chap wanted to come along; he didn’t want anyone going at all.

“You can change now,” Wayfarer said.

The girl laid out two sets of clothes on the bed. Brot’an had somehow borrowed them from Mechaela that afternoon. However, Magiere frowned as she looked over the new attire.

“What makes you think we might be watched or followed?” she asked Brot’an.

“You should take precautions, regardless,” he answered. “This establishment is busy at night with people coming and going. In those clothes—and in following my instructions—you should reach the waterfront unnoticed and then return as someone else to any watchful eyes.”

Magiere frowned, unconvinced.

Leesil would never admit it, but he found Brot’an’s suggestions sound. He began unbuckling his hauberk as he joined Magiere beside the bed. A stylish black velvet tunic, well-tailored breeches, a charcoal cape, a hat, and a polished walking stick awaited him.

Wayfarer politely turned around while he and Magiere began assisting each other in removing their hauberks. Once he was in the tunic and breeches, she helped arrange the cape. Then he sat down on the bed, and she twisted his hair into a tail and tucked it all up under the hat.

Paolo stood by, watching all this with quiet interest. He’d said little all day but had eaten every bite of food offered.

Magiere studied Leesil. “You look like a dandy.”

“That’s the idea,” he answered. “Your turn.”

Her mouth tightened under a scowl.

They’d both agreed not to wear any armor. If things went badly, they’d have to jump overboard and swim for it. And they needed absolute silence while skulking about—a creak of leather or click from hauberk rings or studs could give them away.

“Only down to your shirt and breeches,” Wayfarer told Magiere. “Step into this, and I will fasten it.”

Wayfarer picked up a voluminous skirt of purple silk, and Magiere reluctantly obeyed, glowering the whole time while Wayfarer dressed her. Once the skirt was in place, the girl draped a crimson velvet cape over Magiere’s shoulders and closed the front so that it covered the white shirt. The skirt wasn’t quite long enough, but at least it covered most of Magiere’s high leather boots.

Wayfarer turned for the last item on the bed.

“I’m not wearing that,” Magiere warned through her teeth.

“Oh, yes, you are,” Leesil warned back. “Now sit down!”

Fuming, Magiere dropped onto the bed’s edge.

Wayfarer arranged Magiere’s long, loose hair around her shoulders and picked up a delicate silver tiara. The girl set it atop Magiere’s head and began pinning it into place.

At night, her red tints wouldn’t show much except in some lantern’s light. Leesil had already noted a number of lovely, overdressed, pale-skinned women floating in and out of the hotel. Up close, Magiere wouldn’t likely be mistaken for one of them, but someone watching from afar wouldn’t notice any difference.

Brot’an had advised that if they tried a full hood, she might stand out as someone attempting to hide. Dressed like this, she fit in as a patron—or someone who worked here—leaving for the night.

“Perfect,” was all Leesil said, appraising her disguise.

Without answering, Magiere rose, so Leesil grabbed his prepared pack and the walking stick. He almost thanked Brot’an for the arrangements but then thought better of it. The notion that Brot’an was up to something still nagged him. Instead, Leesil turned and found Wayfarer watching him with worried green eyes.

“If we’re successful,” he said, “this shouldn’t take long. We’ll be back before the mid of night.” He looked to Chap. “We’ve managed worse than this, and you know it.”

Chap didn’t respond, and Leesil headed out. Nothing was going to stop him from freeing those slaves. Magiere pulled the door closed, and they made their way to the stairs.

Once they reached the front desk and retrieved their weapons, Leesil strapped on both of his blades beneath his cape. They were still visible to anyone looking closely enough, but most “gentlemen” here carried weapons.

Magiere put her battle dagger at her back inside the velvet cape, but there was no way she could completely hide the sword as well. Leesil held on to her falchion under his cloak, and they were ready.

“You’re up first,” she said.

“You know the tavern Brot’an mentioned?”

She nodded. “I’ll see you there.”

Mechaela looked over the front desk and assessed her attire.

“Very nice,” he offered.

Leesil swallowed hard, hoping the man didn’t get punched. Leaving Magiere behind, he walked out the front door and headed off into the night. Events were under way.

He carried the walking stick in one hand and clutched Magiere’s sword beneath his cape in the other; he carried his pack over one shoulder. Half a block down the street, he spotted three well-dressed young men coming toward him. They were a bit loud and wandering in their course.

He instantly affected the dandified movements of an overbred nobleman who’d had too many drinks.

“Gentleman,” he slurred. “One of you ... help?”

Taking in the sight of him, they stopped, swaying a little.

“Can you point ... Three-Leg Horse ... tavern?” he asked.

The second one, the most steady on his feet, raised an eyebrow.

“Are you certain, sir? That is too uncouth a place ... by the look of you. And you are obviously not from around here.”

Perhaps that one wasn’t as drunk as he’d seemed. Leesil blinked twice, feigning a bit of trouble in understanding. In truth he did have trouble understanding some of those words, but he nodded.

“A ... lady ... wait for me,” he whispered. “We do not”—and he faltered—“want be see by others.”

At an added wink by Leesil, the third young man choked back a snicker, slapped the second on the back of the shoulder, and nearly missed.

“Oh, for the sake of saints, just help him out, Ogas.”

The first merely chuckled, nodding, and almost lost his footing.

“Ah, grief!” said the second. “Get Hines off to Delilah’s ... before he falls on his face! I’ll show this foreigner the way and meet you there.”

As the other two wandered—and weaved—off the way Leesil had come, the one who remained bowed slightly to Leesil.

“I am Viscount Ogastino.”

“Please to make ac ... ac-guain ...” Leesil fumbled, intentionally this time.

“Yes, yes, come along now.”

Leesil strode off with the reluctantly helpful young viscount, and together they looked like nothing more than two gentlemen out for an evening’s entertainment. The Three-Legged Horse was almost on top of the harbor, and as they stepped inside, Leesil agreed with his companion’s earlier assessment.

Viscount Ogastino then surprised him. “Shall we order an ale? I’d rather like to see this lady who agreed to meet here.”

Leesil had only wanted male company for the walk, to help him blend in.

“Um ...” he began, not certain what to say.

Then the door opened, and Magiere stepped in.

“That her,” he whispered.

As she stood in the doorway in her crimson cape and a small silver tiara holding back her dark hair, the viscount’s eyes fastened on her pale face.

“Oh, blessed deities of woods,” he murmured. “There’s a forest bride I’d have met up with anywhere!”

Leesil didn’t like that insinuation about his wife—not at all.

“Yes ... forest ... bride.” He tried agreeing with that lewd remark. “She want not be seen. You go?”

With that, the viscount composed himself and nodded. “By all means. Have a pleasant night.”

Magiere was already on her way through the smoky tavern. As Ogastino passed her on his way out, he looked her up and down with a smile that made Leesil tense.

“What was that?” she asked as she joined him.

“Forget it,” Leesil grumbled. “Just something to throw off anyone watching.”

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. “I want a dark alley to get out of this damned dress ... and get my sword back!”

Leesil loved her fierce side as much as he did the rest of her. For the first time since launching this undertaking, he looked into her eyes and was unable to forget what happened in Chathburh.

“There are lives at stake,” she whispered, as if knowing his thoughts. “I’m in control.”

Leesil tried to smile. “I know,” he agreed, hoping they were both right.

Once Dänvârfij gauged that enough of the night had passed, she led her team down to the floating walkways below the waterfront. All were once again garbed in their traditional forest gray of light wool. With matching scarves over their faces and only their eyes visible, they slipped among the deeper darkness below.

Rhysís untied a skiff beneath the first pier, and they boarded. Tavithê and Eywodan oared the small vessel, making barely more sound than a seagull swimming upon the briny water. They worked the small craft out beyond the first pier’s end into open water and kept well clear of all docked vessels. Earlier Dänvârfij had noted that the men on watch up in the masts kept their eyes on the waterfront and other ships, and almost never looked out to the open sea.

The skiff slipped by unnoticed all the way to the starboard side of the Cloud Queen at the end of the second pier.

Dänvârfij’s confidence in their plan grew a little with each passing moment. Of all that Brot’ân’duivé might suspect, he would least fear allowing Magiere and hers to reboard their own ship. They would be taken in complete surprise.

A number of the Cloud Queen’s crew had been seen going ashore earlier that day; they had not been seen to return as yet. Dänvârfij estimated that less than two-thirds of the crew remained aboard. Before embarking this night, Rhysís had climbed the Bashair’s central mast for a look. He had reported only six men, counting one up the main mast, on deck and watching over the Cloud Queen.

Rhysís and Tavithê had their short bows assembled and quivers of short arrows fastened to their hips under their cloaks. Both shouldered their strung bows, and, once the skiff floated up beside the vessel’s hull, Rhysís took the end of a rope and hook in his teeth. He pulled his bone knife, took the one Dänvârfij handed him, and began the painful process of scaling the hull as quietly as possible.

They could not risk throwing the hook over the rail; silence in that was impossible. In addition, should any sailor come along, this way he would not see a hook and line or hear Rhysís until too late.

Once he was up and over the rail, he set the hook and dropped the rope over the side. Én’nish climbed up to join him. Tavithê went next, followed by Dänvârfij, who had a stiletto already clenched in her teeth. The last to follow was Eywodan, as Dänvârfij retrieved her bone knife from Rhysís.

After that they made no effort to remain unseen, and events sped up quickly as they came out into the open on both sides of the aftcastle. A sailor at the prow on the forecastle spotted them first and shouted. Rhysís ignored the man and aimed his bow up along the main mast.

As soon as a sailor above looked over the crow’s nest wall, Rhysís’s bowstring thrummed.

Dänvârfij was already running.

The first crewman who had shouted never reached the main deck. Intercepting him, Dänvârfij drove her stiletto inside his guard and through the hollow of his throat, and then watched him drop. From the top of the steep forecastle steps, she looked away from his corpse to survey a silent ship.

Only the forest gray forms of her own team moved among motionless human bodies lying upon the deck. All of the anmaglâhk were barely visible by the light of two hanging lanterns, and the smallest was the first to reach the portside door below the aftcastle.

Én’nish stood waiting, flattened against the wall. As the door opened, voices could be heard before anyone came out.

“I’m telling ya, I heard Ethan shout,” one said.

Two disheveled men stepped out, and Én’nish let them both fully emerge.

She sidestepped in around the open door and slashed open the second man’s throat. As the first one turned at the wet sound, Eywodan appeared from the door’s other side and struck the man’s temple.

The crewman’s eyes rolled up, and his back hit the deck. Such a strike would render him half-unconscious, and Én’nish, with her wet blade still in hand, was instantly on top of him.

Dänvârfij quickly closed, but Eywodan was quicker.

“Bithna!” he hissed at Én’nish.

The crewman’s eyes fluttered as Én’nish’s slash halted with her blade merely hovering near his throat.

“Is your captain here?” Dänvârfij demanded.

The man’s eyes finally widened. He looked up at her, and then at Eywodan, and then at Én’nish, whose half-covered face was barely a forearm’s length above his.

“In ... in his cabin,” the man answered.

Dänvârfij scanned the deck and glanced back to see Én’nish clamp her free hand over the man’s mouth and thrust her blade between his ribs.

No more footsteps carried from below, and the deck was theirs.

All of the team gathered around Dänvârfij.

“Rhysís, Eywodan, and Tavithê, go below and finish this,” she instructed. “Lock the captain in his quarters. Én’nish and I will stand watch here to take any crewman who might return from onshore.”

All three men slipped through the door to the stairs. Half the crew would be kept alive to rotate up here for the illusion of normality. But Én’nish, who glared in hungry rebellion once they were alone, clearly wanted to take part in the killing below.

For a moment Dänvârfij thought Én’nish might argue, even now that they were halfway to completing their purpose.

Én’nish finally dropped her gaze and looked away.

When Brot’ân’duivé could no longer hear Léshil’s and Magiere’s steps on the outer stairs, he turned to Chap.

“I am going down for a moment. Keep watch on the young ones.”

Snarling as expected, the majay-hì jumped to his feet, and Wayfarer flinched, as did Paolo. Brot’ân’duivé merely waited, knowing he would never hear Chap’s argument in his own thoughts.

“He says you ... you are not ... going anywhere,” Wayfarer related, visibly embarrassed or perhaps shocked, as she swallowed hard. Perhaps she had not repeated Chap’s exact words.

Brot’ân’duivé responded directly to the adversarial majay-hì. “Stay with the young ones, and I will return in moments. Magiere and Léshil could not be stopped, so they must be guarded without their knowledge.”

Chap fell silent, and his flattened ears rose slightly.

Brot’ân’duivé took that moment of stunned confusion to slip out. Quickly descending the stairs to the last landing above the entryway, he hovered around the stairway’s turn to watch below.

Magiere stood with her back to him, and somewhere off to her right was the front counter. Brot’ân’duivé could not hear whether their olive-skinned host was down there as well, but Magiere remained, perhaps counting under her breath.

Léshil was nowhere in sight and had likely already left, beginning the night’s plan. Magiere suddenly stepped toward the front door in her crimson cape. Her long gait did not match the look of an elite woman seeking a night’s pleasure.

As soon as she was gone, Brot’ân’duivé descended and found Mechaela on duty behind the counter. It would seem the man rarely slept, for he had been there at dawn that morning.

“I need another room, possibly for half the night, in the most secure part of the inn,” Brot’ân’duivé said. “Cost is irrelevant.”

He felt no pride or shame at theft but had put his skill to use several times in Calm Seatt. The pouch he carried held more than sufficient coins, though he had kept this information, like all else, to himself unless otherwise necessary.

Mechaela tilted his head in puzzlement. “I assure you, the rooms you were given are quite secure.”

“I need to leave the young woman and a boy behind tonight. I want no one outside of the staff to have any chance of knowing where they are. Another room, please ... now.”

Mechaela hesitated and then curled a finger, motioning Brot’ân’duivé around the counter. The host gestured toward a set of small bells below the counter.

“This way,” he said, and stepped to the door at the counter’s far end.

Brot’ân’duivé followed as Mechaela opened the door and passed through into a dim, plush hallway. Almost immediately Mechaela turned aside to open the first door to his right. Brot’ân’duivé entered a bedroom with paintings of beautiful but scantily clad women on the walls.

“These rooms are for patrons who require extra privacy,” Mechaela said as he stepped near the bed. “I seldom need to ... intervene for those who work here, but it has happened.”

He pinched a dangling end of a ribbon near the headboard that tied back one corner of the bed’s canopy curtain. The ribbon slid without untying the curtain and retracted when released.

Out of the room’s doorway, Brot’ân’duivé heard a small bell ring lightly.

“Should one of our employees require assistance,” Mechaela explained, “I can be inside the room before the bell fades. Other interior guards will follow quickly.” He paused. “I assume this is safe enough for your need?”

“You will be at the desk all night?”

“Yes.”

Brot’ân’duivé nodded and pulled out his pouch.

Chap bristled as he waited for Brot’an’s return. The old assassin had counted on his being unwilling to leave Wayfarer and Paolo alone. Brot’an had something in mind and knew Chap would wait, caught unaware and baffled.

Chap hated being played so easily.

“It is all right, majay-hì,” Wayfarer whispered as she knelt beside him. “The greimasg’äh wishes to protect Magiere and Léshil in all that he does.”

Chap did not snarl at her gullibility. He cared for and worried about her too much for some angry retort.

Brot’an was not gone long, and when he hurried back in, he left the door open. Before Chap could even snarl ...

“We will place Wayfarer and the boy in a safer room,” Brot’an said. “Then we go after Magiere and Léshil. Now.”

Chap glared at him. With no way to speak directly into Brot’an’s mind—having never dipped into the man’s memories for words to use—he was not about to use the girl again for some long attempt at getting answers.

“The team of anmaglâhk is here,” Brot’an said flatly. “I have seen them in port.”

Chap’s rage erupted, and he snarled, baring his teeth.

Wayfarer drew away in fear, and Paolo jumped up from the floor and flattened against the wall.

Chap ignored them, for everything was now clear. Brot’an was using Leesil and Magiere as bait in a trap for his enemies.

“There is no time for this!” Brot’an snapped. “Neither you nor I could dissuade Léshil. I watched you try—and fail. We have a chance to pass unnoticed, as our enemies will focus on them.”

These anmaglâhk were not Leesil and Magiere’s enemies as much as Brot’an’s. Chap lunged, snapping for Brot’an’s leg.

“Majay-hì, no!” Wayfarer blurted out.

Brot’an hopped to get out of reach and stood in the open door.

“They were coming sooner or later,” he said. “Better that they come on our terms. We have a chance to take them unaware and end this ... if we act now.”

Chap hesitated. Brot’an was using Magiere and Leesil because he had not been able to stop them. Now he wanted to go after his enemies while they were distracted ... in going after Leesil and Magiere.

Brot’an looked to Wayfarer. “Come.”

“But ...” Wayfarer stammered in confusion, and Paolo didn’t move.

In two strides Brot’an swept in, not even glancing at Chap. He grabbed Wayfarer’s hand and snatched up Paolo in his other arm. The boy looked so frightened that he didn’t struggle.

“There is a safer place for them downstairs,” Brot’an said and, turning his back, he slipped out the door.

Chap followed with no other choice.