Dog in the Dark

Chapter Twenty-one

As he passed between the two guards, Chap was somewhat hesitant, wondering what kind of place Wynn had sent them to. But Leesil moved out ahead, opened the door to Delilah’s, and pulled Wayfarer inside.

Upon stepping through the doorway, Chap found himself standing on a huge deep brown oval rug with a border pattern of white flowers. The foyer walls were a rich shade of cream, and dark amber curtains framed the grated windows from the polished wood floor to the high ceiling. Soft tones of a skillfully played flute floated from somewhere unseen, and the air smelled lightly of sandalwood.

“Oh ... oh, no!” Magiere whispered, jabbing Leesil in the back. “Do you know how much this is going to cost?”

Leesil frowned as Wayfarer glanced up at Magiere in confusion.

Chap glanced left at a solid walnut counter with gold inlay. Behind it, a young man in a white linen shirt and black satin vestment looked expectantly their way. Chap heard Wayfarer whispering to Leesil.

“He looks like ... like ...”

The young man had the look of Wynn, with an oval face of olive-toned skin and light brown eyes and hair to match.

“May I help you?” he asked. “I am Mechaela. What do you seek this evening?”

The question was oddly phrased. What would travelers seek here but lodging? Two men dressed similarly to Mechaela passed by into a wide parlor on the right. Neither was armed, and Chap stepped forward to peer after them.

Low, plushy padded couches around small tables bearing glass or crystal vases with fresh flowers filled the room. On the walls were painted seascapes of detailed clarity, and he spotted another archway opening into another room at the chamber’s far side.

Therein, four well-dressed men sat playing cards at a polished black table, while a tall, lovely woman circled them and poured wine. Her gown of layered gauze was ... a bit too revealing.

What kind of place was this?

“We would like two rooms,” Brot’an said, striding to the counter.

“Of course,” Mechaela answered, picking up a quill and opening a very large black book.

Chap was more aware of their financial situation than Leesil or Magiere realized. They had coin, but they also had to make it last. A few nights here would take a sizable stack.

After scribbling whatever names Brot’an gave, Mechaela looked all of them over.

“You will need to relinquish your weapons while inside the establishment,” he said politely. “You can retrieve and return them upon coming and going.”

Magiere stared at him. “I don’t think—”

“That is acceptable,” Brot’an cut in, and he pulled a small pouch out of his shirt.

Chap had never seen this before. So, the old assassin carried some coins. How he had acquired such was better left alone.

“I’m not turning over my sword,” Magiere stated flatly.

Though he hated it, Chap was in agreement with Brot’an, and he looked up at Magiere.

—Guards—at the door— ... —Guards—inside—and—grates—on all—windows— ... —Wynn—sent us—here—with—good reason—

Magiere made no move to hand over her falchion. “I want to talk to the owner, this ... Delilah,” she demanded.

“I’m sorry, but madam is not available,” Mechaela answered. “I assure you, the rule is without exception. I also assure you that first and foremost of all services to our guests is their safety.” He paused briefly and became firmer. “You are safe here. Now ... please?”

The young man held out his hand. It was directed toward Magiere’s falchion, and he did not retract it at her hesitation.

“Oh, just give it up already,” Leesil muttered, but, strangely, he locked eyes with Brot’an, not Magiere.

Chap neither liked the house rule nor Leesil’s duplicity. Certainly the old assassin’s own weapons were well out of sight—unless the host called the guards to search him.

Leesil broke the standoff and unstrapped his blades to drop them on the countertop. When he turned back, Magiere followed suit—but with obvious resentment. Leesil joined Wayfarer, who was now staring off into the parlor.

Mechaela cleared his throat audibly, and Magiere halted. Her unnaturally pale face darkened, but she finally reached behind her back, beneath her cloak, for a weapon the young man must have spotted. Magiere pulled out the white metal battle dagger, sheath and all, at her back and slapped it down on the counter.

Chap looked back over his shoulder and ...

With Wayfarer hanging on Leesil’s arm, they both gazed through the parlor into the room beyond it. Chap peeked around the girl’s legs as he heard Mechaela say, “Very good. I will show you to quiet rooms on the upper eastern floor.”

In the parlor, the woman gowned in gauze stood beside one gentleman and rested her hand on his shoulder. As the man dropped two more gold coins on the table and added to a startling amount already wagered, the woman glanced aside and noticed those watching her.

She smiled softly and winked at them before turning her attention back to the game.

Chap went cold inside.

Worse still, though Wayfarer straightened in bafflement and looked up at Leesil, all he did, still watching, was raise an eyebrow in response. Whether that wink had been for Leesil or Wayfarer—or both—Chap hoped that ...

A vicious exhale sent a chill down his spine to his tail.

“It’s ... it’s a domvolyné!” Magiere snarled right behind him.

Wayfarer flinched and looked back at her as Chap was trying to think of a way to head off what was coming.

“What?” Leesil exclaimed, still looking through the parlor. “No ... Wynn would never—”

Magiere’s hand smacked the back of his head.

As Leesil spun, he nearly jerked Wayfarer off her feet. “Hey! What was that for?”

Chap grabbed the girl’s other wrist in his jaws and tried to pull her toward the stairs, where their host waited and watched. At least he could get the girl out of the way and thereby perhaps draw Magiere off.

Wayfarer clung to Leesil’s arm in confusion and looked between him and Magiere.

“Majay-hì ... Chap—stop!” she said. “What is ... dom ... domvol ... ?”

Even for the girl’s good grasp of Belaskian, it was an old and obscure term.

Chap tugged on Wayfarer again as he warned Leesil. —Do not—

Brot’an cut in. “Let us go to our—”

“It’s a ‘house of leisure,’” Leesil idly answered the girl.

Magiere, incensed, shot back at him, “It’s a brothel!”

Chap wanted to groan.

“What is a brothel?” Wayfarer asked.

Everyone, even Magiere, stalled in silence, and then she stormed off up the stairs past a visibly uncomfortable but smiling Mechaela. Wayfarer glanced after Magiere, looked at Leesil, and then stared once more at the scantily clad woman in the far room.

The girl’s mouth slowly dropped open.

“Oh ... oh ... you!” she gasped.

Leesil frowned and then suddenly turned aghast. “No, wait ... I wasn’t looking at the—”

“You ... you ...” Wayfarer sputtered at him in outrage. She snatched her hand from his arm and whirled to rush off. She grabbed Magiere’s arm along the way and pulled her in a race up the stairs.

Brot’an unfolded his arms with another long exhale and followed them. Mechaela hurried upward, not looking at Leesil even once, though he still had that sly smile on his olive-toned face.

Leesil stood in shock, mumbling, “I wasn’t looking at—”

Chap stalked away up the stairs.

Leesil did not catch up until the host had walked them to their two rooms down a long hallway. Mechaela opened both doors and handed a key to Magiere and then Brot’an.

“Please let me know if I can have food sent up or anything to make your stay pleasant.”

Brot’an stepped into the first room. Magiere entered the second, and Wayfarer followed her. But when Leesil tried to enter, the girl turned on him through the half-opened door.

“You ... shame!” she accused. “And Wynn, too ... shame for this place ... and you for ... Oh, you!”

Wayfarer slammed the door in Leesil’s face.

—Half-wit—

Leesil stabbed a finger at Chap’s nose. “Don’t you start. You know exactly what I was—”

Chap snapped at the extended finger. Leesil jerked his hand back, and Chap scratched at the door. Before anyone answered, Leesil opened it and stormed inside—and stopped cold.

Wayfarer sat on the end of a huge, fluffy bed, while Magiere stood beyond, with her back turned, at the grated window.

“I wasn’t looking at the woman!” Leesil shouted. “Did you see the amount of coin on that table?”

Magiere turned her head, narrowing her eyes.

—We—know— And Chap hopped up on the bed behind Wayfarer, but the girl did not know Leesil as well as he and Magiere did.

“I do not believe you,” Wayfarer said coldly, looking away as she crossed her arms. “You were ... are unfaithful.”

At that, Magiere’s ire faltered. She swallowed hard, fighting to suppress a smile, before she said to him. “Either way, it’s not going to happen. So don’t you even think about it!”

Leesil looked around at all three of them and slapped his hands to his head.

“We’re running out of coin!”

“Humph!” Wayfarer twisted away from him a little more. “Liar!”

Chap couldn’t help a little ambivalence. That Wayfarer still did not believe Leesil might be amusing, but what he’d said was true. They were low on money. However, they also could not afford another of Leesil’s fund-raising schemes.

Magiere took a deep breath and rubbed her face. “We’ll figure something out,” she said. “But not—”

Two knocks at the door were followed immediately by the twisting of its handle. Brot’an entered without invitation and looked at the bed. Stepping closer, he pressed his hand down until it sank into the puffy bedding, and he shook his head in disgust.

“Worse than the annex at Chathburh. How do any of you sleep?”

Chap ignored him.

Leesil only frowned. “The price of having any meals brought up may cost more than the rooms. We should go out and bring something back.”

Being frugal didn’t carry any weight with Wayfarer. “I will stay here,” she declared.

“Brot’an stays with you,” Magiere added.

—Then—I—stay—and watch—Brot’an—

Magiere eyed Chap, and Brot’an frowned, likely wondering what he had said to her.

“Perhaps Magiere and I should go,” Brot’an offered. “We speak the local language best.”

Chap didn’t care for that. Brot’an was after two things: getting Magiere alone for more questions and getting her out of Chap’s sight for that. Magiere apparently came to a similar conclusion.

“Leesil likes to pick out his own food, as does Chap,” she said, and looked at him again. “So we’ll bring him with us. Yes?”

This was clearly not a request. Chap wrinkled his jowls at her and wondered when she had become subtle about anything. She was quietly telling Brot’an that she would not go anywhere without Chap. At the same time, she would get Chap off the old assassin’s back.

“Well enough,” Brot’an answered.

With a grumble, Chap steeled himself to go off into another foreign city and leave Brot’an unwatched.

While Magiere didn’t particularly like this cesspit called Drist, she was relieved to have her weapons back as she walked the dark streets with only Leesil and Chap. Much as she’d come to care for Wayfarer, perhaps more than was wise, the girl was too easily frightened.

“What’s it going to be?” Leesil asked. “We could probably get anything we fancied around here.”

True enough, for Magiere had never seen so many races and cultures mingled in one place. The choices for warm, prepared food would be broad. She tried to smile at him.

“Just follow your nose,” she quipped, and then added more seriously, “but don’t think you’re settling in for anything else.”

Leesil snorted and sauntered onward. “Never crossed my mind. I’m sure half the citizens in this port can cheat better than me.”

Only a block away from the hotel, Chap’s ears rose. He began drooling like a hog at the sight of a slop bucket, and Magiere shook her head. Leesil wasn’t the only one to get them in trouble; she hoped Chap hadn’t picked up the scent of some rolling sausage cart. Instead, he steered a quick course and trotted out ahead.

Magiere hurried after, and around one corner she spotted a little brick eatery enveloped in a delicious aroma. Chap was already there by the time she and Leesil caught up. Once inside Chap again caused a fuss by just being a “wolf” ... or just being Chap. It didn’t help when he panicked a couple of old men by sticking his nose over the edge of their table, where they were trying to finish off their meal ... of sausages, of course.

“Stop that!” Magiere warned, grabbing him by the scruff and hauling him off to where Leesil had found an empty table.

As a dusky-skinned proprietor passed by with a tray, Leesil stopped him to inspect what he carried. Leesil pointed to a plate of skewers, each loaded to the ends with roasted chunks of meat, red potatoes, bits of onion, and sweet peppers.

“Five,” Leesil said, holding up a hand with outstretched fingers and thumb. “Five ... those ... to take away.”

Magiere shrugged at Chap. Leesil might be a disaster when it came to any tongue but his own, yet in this he didn’t need her to translate. The proprietor came back so soon that it was startling, which made Magiere wonder how long ago that food had been cooked and left to sit. Leesil gave it no mind, paid the man, and scooped up the five skewers, wrapped loosely in some strange flimsy waxed paper.

Their errand was finished faster than Magiere expected, and they were all outside once again. Part of her wished they’d stayed out a little longer, but they had what they were after, so they might as well go back and eat.

“Those do smell good,” she said.

Chap huffed, and instead of stalking ahead, he trailed Leesil closely.

“Will you get off my heels?” Leesil grumbled.

Chap grumbled right back as they headed to the ... hotel where Wynn had sent them. Magiere wouldn’t forget to have a word with the sage about that. Suddenly Chap wasn’t on Leesil’s heels anymore. Magiere slowed and looked back.

There he was, stalled just short of a cutway between two shops they’d just passed; his ears were perked up. Leesil slowed ahead and turned at finding that no one was beside him anymore.

“What’s the matter?” Magiere called to Chap.

Leesil stepped back past Chap to look into the cutway’s mouth just as Magiere heard the sound of running feet. A small, dingy form burst out and slammed straight into Leesil. Skewers went flying and rolling across the cobbled street.

“What in the seven hells?” Leesil choked out.

Magiere looked down at a boy of about twelve, sitting on his butt and staring up at Leesil in terrified shock. He was pale and thin, his hair was filthy, and his short pants and stained shirt were severely tattered. He wore nothing else against the cold night except a pair of hide-and-twine sandals. Stranger than that, he was soaked from head to toe.

The boy scrambled into a crouch, and before Magiere could ask him anything, he looked wildly about, the whites of his eyes exposed in the dark. He glanced once into the cutway and then bolted down the street before anyone could stop him.

The boy skidded to a stop after only four lunging steps.

Magiere heard shouts and more running feet off in that direction.

The boy whirled around and stared at the two people in his way. He didn’t even flinch at the sight of Chap, but he was shaking either from cold or fright or both. He fixed on her.

“Help ... please,” he begged.

Another set of running feet echoed out of the cutway.

“What did you do?” Magiere asked.

He wasn’t carrying anything, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tossed aside something he’d stolen. Thievery was likely in a port like this.

“Nothing!” he nearly shouted, and then covered his mouth in panic.

Leesil stepped closer. “Answer her,” he managed to say clearly. “What you do?”

As he looked into the boy’s eyes, an uncomfortable feeling grew in Leesil’s gut. He’d seen that haunted—no, hunted—look too many times in his life before meeting Magiere. Where he’d grown up in the Warlands, it was so common that everyone there learned to glance away and hurry off before it was too late.

“Nothing!” the boy whimpered. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Shouts and pounding footfalls grew. Chap began rumbling, watching the cutway’s mouth and the open street, but he glanced once at Leesil.

—Whatever—you do—do not—let—Magiere—act—

Leesil lunged in and grabbed the boy’s shirt. He pulled the urchin around and shoved him off into Magiere’s hands.

“Up against the wall, and watch him!” he ordered in Belaskian. “You guard him and leave the rest to us.”

At least in that she might stay out of whatever was coming.

Magiere shook her head. “What are you going to—?”

“Do it ... please!”

With a frown, Magiere backed to the street’s side and pulled the boy out of sight into the shadows of a shop’s landing. She pushed him down behind a railing and remained there. Almost in the same instant, a taller form shot out of the cutway. Leesil was already crouched, playing at picking up the scattered skewers.

Chap snarled and snapped, and the man pulled up short, scrambling backward at the sight of a huge wolf.

“You ... slow!” Leesil snarled in Numanese. “Break my food!”

Three more stocky men rounded the corner from out of a side street down the way. They stalled at the sight of him and the other man held at bay by Chap. As they came up the street more slowly, Leesil whispered to Chap in Belaskian.

“Put that one down if he moves!”

All of them were dressed alike in leather and canvas attire. They didn’t strike Leesil as constabulary, if this port even had such. Two of the three carried wooden cudgels in hand, and all wore sabers or shortswords sheathed on their heavy studded belts.

He’d seen their kind before—too many times—in childhood.

“Did a boy run past here?” the first man barked, his stubble-shadowed face twisted in suspicion.

Leesil scoffed, as if annoyed. “Boy? Yes, boy. Little beast knock ... food ... over.” He rose with only two skewers in hand and pointed off beyond the trio. “Went there.”

At a mumble from the one without a cudgel, the other two took off down the street. The one giving the orders lingered, looking Leesil over from his slightly slanted amber eyes and white-blond hair to the strange weapons strapped to his thighs.

“Come on,” he barked at the one Chap had cornered. “Stupid runt doubled back toward the docks without knowing it.”

The one at the cutway’s mouth inched away but kept his eyes locked on the large, growling wolf, and then he took off after the other two. The apparent leader looked Leesil over once more and followed the rest. Soon they were gone from sight.

Magiere came out into the street, pulling the boy along by the shoulder of his shirt.

“Why are they after you?” she asked him.

“I jumped ship and swam for shore,” he whispered. “I couldn’t sneak off and take the pier, so I jumped.”

“So you are ... deserter?” Leesil asked, but even then he didn’t believe it.

The boy’s mouth opened, but all he did was shake his head.

Leesil looked down the street. Four armed sailors were chasing a boy for jumping off a ship? The uncomfortable feeling in his gut began to burn with anger.

“Why you on ship if not want be?” he asked as best he could, not certain he wanted the answer. “Where family ... Where you live?”

At the mention of “family,” the boy winced. Leesil waited for Chap, whose eyes fixed on the boy’s face.

—I think—those men—were—slavers— ... —We—should not—get—involved—

Something inside Leesil snapped. “We’re taking him with us.”

Magiere’s brow wrinkled. She glanced once at Chap, likely when he was explaining to her, and she exhaled, shaking her head. But Leesil knew she wouldn’t argue.

—No—we have—enough—problems—

“Those men will find him,” Leesil countered in Belaskian. “The boy hasn’t got a wit in his head the way he’s running around instead of finding a hiding-hole!”

The boy appeared even more leery at Leesil’s talking to a wolf in some strange tongue. He clutched himself in his wet clothes.

“What your name?” Leesil asked.

“Paolo,” the boy whispered.

“Come. You safe.”

Dänvârfij hoped they might turn failure into success this night, but she held that hope at bay. There was much to do. She had been more than relieved when Rhysís had earlier arrived at the shabby inn to report that the Cloud Queen was in dock and Én’nish was watching for their quarry. Soon they would know how to proceed.

Even Fréthfâre was less free with her barbs and focused on their purpose. Hunched in the room’s one chair and obviously in pain, she listened silently to everything Rhysís reported. Perhaps the ex-Covârleasa might for once use her influence to genuinely help.

While waiting, the three of them talked of possible tactics, depending upon what Én’nish reported upon her return, to trap their quarry. Dänvârfij’s relief came when Én’nish finally swung in through the open window.

“They are on land,” she said immediately and looked to Fréthfâre.

Dänvârfij swallowed an irritated reply to this obvious comment; otherwise the small one would still be watching the port.

“Is the traitor still with them?” Fréthfâre asked.

“Yes, but they are only five. The traitor, Magiere, Léshil, Leanâlhâm, and the majay-hì.”

“Not Osha?” Dänvârfij asked.

“No.”

This troubled her. An outcast anmaglâhk was loose, unwatched and unaccounted for, in the world.

“There are issues with their quarters,” Én’nish went on. “It is a large hotel of three stories. I do not know their location inside, and there are iron grates on all windows and armed guards at the entrance. We cannot take the guards without being noticed. Their presence—and the windows—suggests further security within.”

Dänvârfij took a slow breath. If this was the case, their quarry could not be attacked within the building, even if the targets were located before Dänvârfij’s team entered. She glanced at Fréthfâre.

“What do you counsel?”

Fréthfâre hesitated. “Additional surveillance. We must know more, such as their length of stay. One on watch there, one at the port, and one to gather information regarding their ship’s schedule. If the vessel is to remain several days, we have time to study our quarry’s movements and plan their capture in the open.”

“Agreed,” Dänvârfij said, for it was what she had calculated, and that boded well for later cooperation. “Én’nish, watch the hotel. Rhysís, to the port. I will check in with Eywodan and Tavithê, and then gather information about the Cloud Queen.”

One by one they left the filthy inn. While it was clear they would not fulfill their purpose tonight, Dänvârfij took relief in knowing that they would soon enough.

Chap sat on his haunches in one of their luxurious third-floor rooms and could not believe Leesil had brought the boy here. Magiere appeared unsettled but did not argue. Brot’an stood near the window and stared hard at Leesil as if he’d lost his mind.

Perhaps Leesil had.

Only Wayfarer took direct action where the boy was concerned. Upon seeing his dripping clothes, she pulled back the bed’s plush quilt and stripped off the blanket beneath to wrap around Paolo. At least her presence distracted the urchin, for he kept staring at her in wonder.

“We must find him some dry clothes,” Wayfarer said, looking to Magiere.

Those words broke the tense silence. Brot’an began pacing in irritation, while Leesil unwrapped the skewers and held one out. Paolo’s hollow eyes fixed on it, though he hesitated until Wayfarer encouraged him. Then he grabbed it and tore into the meat and vegetables with his teeth like a starving cub.

Wayfarer watched him with a startled expression, but for once she did not appear remotely afraid of a human stranger. Paolo finished every bite off the skewer and licked the stick itself. Leesil shooed Wayfarer up, turned her to face away from the boy, and stripped the blanket off him.

“Take off wet clothes,” he instructed.

Numbly obeying, the boy relaxed slightly once he was wrapped in the warm blanket again. He dropped onto the floor and leaned against the wall beyond the bed’s foot. Wayfarer turned around with another judgmental glance at Leesil, likely about the woman in the foyer.

Now that he and Magiere had taken on the girl as their responsibility, whatever infatuation she had once carried for him had transformed into something else concerning his fidelity to Magiere. But Leesil didn’t notice Wayfarer’s misguided judgment.

He appeared caught in the throes of an overwhelming flash of protection concerning the boy. Chap knew better than to argue with him and looked to Magiere instead.

This boy was not their prime concern, but for the moment Leesil had forced the issue.

—Time for—answers—from—the boy—

Magiere glanced down at him.

—I saw—memories— ... —Men—women—locked in—a ship’s hold—

Magiere poured water from the porcelain pitcher into a waiting cup on the side table and brought it to Paolo. She waited until he finished.

“Why were those men after you?” she asked. “It’s no crime to leave a ship, that I know of.”

Paolo looked up at her, hesitated, and appeared to grow more aware of his surroundings.

“It is, if you’re property,” he said quietly, setting the cup on the floor and pulling the blanket tighter.

Even Brot’an stopped pacing. “What do mean by ‘property’?”

Paolo looked up at the tall, scarred elf, and his mouth closed.

“From what Wynn’s told us,” Magiere said, “slavery is illegal in the Numan lands. The captain of a ship can’t own him.”

“When have most humans ever obeyed their own laws?” Brot’an countered.

“Drist is not in the Numan countries,” Paolo said quietly. “It is a ... free port. I was traded away to cover a debt, and the captain now owns me.”

Chap closed his eyes. They were up to their necks now—the boy was an indentured servant or laborer. Leesil had broken what constituted law here by harboring stolen property.

Leesil crouched down. “What you mean?”

“My father was unable to pay our tithe for the last three years. Our chief covered the debt in exchange for services. Father couldn’t leave the farm with no one else to work but my mother and three younger sisters. So our chief sold me into service to cover the loss—sold me to a captain bringing workers and laborers up north.”

“Sounds like slavery to me,” Magiere said.

Chap clenched his jaws. Now Magiere was turning to Leesil’s side.

“In my years among human nations, I have seen this arrangement often,” Brot’an said. “Indentured servitude is a binding agreement. If what the boy says is true, we are now thieves in possession of stolen property.”

Chap concluded this as well, but Leesil whirled on the balls of his feet.

“Legal or not, it’s slavery!” he shouted back in Belaskian. “The strong—the rich, the so-called nobles—controlling the weak and poor ... like livestock!”

Paolo, not understanding what was said, shrank against the wall in confusion. Even Wayfarer winced at the open anger in Leesil’s voice.

All this was getting out of control, though Chap was at a loss for how to stop it.

Leesil knew what it meant to be a slave and worse. He had grown up as a spy and assassin, like his father and mother, serving Lord Darmouth in the Warlands. He’d betrayed peasants and nobles alike, and had even killed them upon the warlord’s command. Only one, perhaps two at most, of the three members of Leesil’s family were ever allowed—at the same time—to go beyond their home on the lake’s edge below Darmouth’s keep. If any one of them disobeyed, the others’ lives would be forfeit.

“The captain let me up on deck to help scrub,” the boy blurted out in Numanese. “That’s how I jumped overboard. But there are many others ... in the hold.”

Leesil turned on the boy and demanded, “What ship?”

Chap tried to interrupt. —No—

Paolo looked around at everyone. “A big one, from Witeny, at the end of the third pier.”

No one spoke for a moment. They had all seen that ship.

“Leesil?” Magiere finally whispered.

He turned his head, and his eyes narrowed in warning.

“Where were they taking you?” Magiere asked the boy.

Paolo shook his head slightly. “Somewhere north, farther. The crew was set for a long journey. That’s all I ever learned, except that we stopped at every port along the way, sometimes for days. Some crew always came back with more people. A few in the hold mentioned a camp ... and ...”

He paused, lost in thought.

“And what?” Magiere asked.

Paolo looked uncertain at first, as if whatever he thought of confused him. “Some were kept apart. Somebody said they were craftsmen: carpenters and smiths. One time they pulled someone out to help mend the bonds. I think they called him a ... a ropewalker?”

Chap did not know that term.

“A shipyard,” Brot’an interrupted. “A ropewalker works the lines and machines that make the heavy cables for ships. The indentured servants in the hold are to be used for labor in a shipyard.”

“We’re getting them out,” Leesil said, switching back to Belaskian. “I don’t care what else is going on. I’m not letting that slaver leave the harbor with anyone in its hold!”

Chap had had enough. —No— ... —I feel—for them—but we cannot—stray from—our purpose—

Leesil ignored him and turned to Magiere. “I’m going to check out that ship. Are you coming?”

Chap eyed Magiere, who stood watching Leesil. She didn’t need to answer. She would never refuse her husband, even if a part of her disagreed, here and now. Chap struggled for any way to stop them, for as much as he, too, wished to help, he could not risk either of them being lost.

“Wait!” Brot’an barked, and he looked at the boy. “When did your ship dock?”

“Two days ago.”

“While on deck, did you hear of how long it would remain here?”

Paolo nodded. “Some of the crew said this was a good place for their ... needs. Maybe a while.”

Brot’an turned to Leesil. “That ship is not going anywhere tonight. Let me look it over in the morning. I can accomplish this without being noticed and return with what I learn. I can gauge the size of the crew and their capabilities better during the day.”

Leesil didn’t say anything, and his expression was unreadable.

“That does sound best,” Magiere put in. “We’ll have a better chance, if any, if we know what we’re up against.”

“All right.” Leesil finally answered, “but we will have a chance ... one way or another.”