Dragon Clan #7: Shell’s Story

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The possible Dragon Clan watcher followed them back to the house where they rented the rooms. Shell didn’t make a big deal of keeping an eye on him but didn’t let him out of sight, either. If he tried to slip away, Shell decided to try following him, maybe turn the tables on who watched who. If nothing else, it would serve him right, but with luck, Shell might find where the watcher lived, or other useful information.

Their rooms didn’t overlook the street in front, so they didn’t know if the watcher remained out there on the street. Both entered Shell’s room and took the same spots as before, Camilla on the bed and him sitting on the floor.

She held out her hand. “Let me see that knife, again.”

Shell passed it to her, again noticing how ordinary it appeared while in the sheath. But as soon as he pulled it, the blade reflected light in a way that indicated the knife was anything but ordinary. The surface of the blade was free of rust, dents, and other signs of use, but instead of a bright reflective surface, it had a soft gray finish. The balance felt perfect, the edge looked new, and the metal had to be an alloy he’d never seen.

Camilla examined it near the window, turning it over and over, end over end, and then she held the handle to the light. “I should have kept this for myself. I’ve never seen a knife as well made. Have you noticed that inside the black of the handle are pictures if you hold it to the light?”

“Pictures? I haven’t had time to look at it, yet.”

“If you hold it in the sunlight, there is an elk on one side and a bird, maybe an eagle, on the other. The handle is smooth, so the images must have been carved from the back side, although I cannot imagine how.”

He held the knife in the sunlight and found she was right. He slid his fingernail down the edge and couldn’t feel the smallest chip, or dent as if the knife had never been used. Yet, the scabbard was not new, but well-worn and aged. Why would someone purchase a knife so rare and yet carry it in an old scabbard?

He said, “The knife with the ruby?”

“Safely hidden. I don’t know why, but this place, this city, makes me feel worried. It’s not the place I’d post pictures of the knife at every street corner. At least, not yet.”

Shell said, “How do we proceed?”

“You’re not talking about the ruby knife, are you? Well, remember this is our first day, and we have not even spent a night here. I say we keep exploring. So far we’ve found several interesting things, and I’d like to talk to Red again.”

“I don’t think he will talk to us,” Shell said. “But I keep thinking about the watcher, and wondering if he is Dragon Clan.”

“Why would he stay here two months?”

“Red never said he had been here all that time. Red said he had seen the man around for over two months, I think. What if there is another place he goes?”

Camilla said, “The watcher? Are you suggesting he may travel to his Family? Or that he has a home nearby? Well, how about him watching more than ports than just Fleming? Or he sails to other ports and always returns here? Maybe the ports are in a certain country across the sea?”

Shell stood, stretching and pointing to the door. “My intent was to make a point, not throw out a hundred possibilities and confuse the situation.”

“So, you just want to consider part of the facts, not all of them.”

“No, I am impatient and direct. Sometimes being impatient and direct are virtues.”

She laughed softly, and asked, “And how might that be?”

“I’m going outside, and if he’s there, I’m going to confront him impatiently and directly.”

“You’re going to walk up to him and ask if he is Dragon Clan and he’s going to tell you? You call that a virtue?” Camilla asked. “If he is, or is not, he’ll probably think you daft, disappear, and you’ll never see him again.”

“Which would be better than looking up a hundred times today and seeing him.” Before Camilla could object, Shell strode onto the landing and descended the stairs. He threw open the front door and caught sight of someone ducking into the deep shade across the street; someone dressed in the same dull brown color of clothing as the watcher.

Shell walked down the street, crossing it as he did, and at the next alley turned. He sprinted past the building and leaped behind the corner where he was hidden from sight as he waited. No sooner had he placed his back against the wall than the watcher’s footprints sounded, drawing closer. Shell held still until the shadowed movement approached. He was reminded of Quester sneaking behind him on the path back in the grasslands.

The watcher continued running until he came even with Shell, and he must have seen Shell from the corner of his eye because he spun and reached for his knife. Shell already held his. The watcher stood taller than Shell by half a head, weighed more, and appeared to be younger, but not by much, maybe a few years.

He wore clothing better than most dockworkers, not as good as many who strolled the streets. His beard was neatly trimmed and his light brown hair longer than most, but shorter than the sailors who tied theirs behind their heads to keep hair from blowing into their eyes while working aloft. He’d learned that earlier while listening to conversations at other tables.

“Why are you following us?” Shell asked in a soft voice he hoped sounded as menacing as he intended.

“I’m not.”

Shell felt his hand holding the knife, begin shaking. He had never fought with a knife. But he controlled his voice and lied, “Look at my knife. It was awarded to me for combat. I can probably slice you open before you can say your name, which is my next question. Who are you?”

Fear filled the watcher’s eyes. He saw the quality of the knife, but Shell said nothing else and kept his face passive. Sometimes silence is scarier than words. Shell took a single step forward while raising his knife a few inches higher. “On the ground.”

“I don’t have anything to steal.”

The voice quavered, and Shell knew he held the upper hand in the confrontation, at least for now. He inched closer, praying to the Six Gods of the Mountains that nobody entered the alley and that the watcher did as told. “Down. Now.”

When the watcher didn’t obey, Shell kicked the side of his knee. The watcher collapsed, and Shell rolled him over and placed his knee on the small of the man’s back as he reached for the waistband and pulled the shirt free. He pretended to search for a purse, but in reality, he wanted the shirt hiked high enough where he could see a dragon birthmark—if one existed.

It did.

Shell stood, glanced around to make sure they were still alone, and lifted the back of his shirt quickly. “Sorry, I don’t have time for a formal greeting to another of the Dragon Clan.”

“I thought so.”

Shell helped him stand. “You knew?”

“Is that Camilla you’re with? Everyone knows of her and what she looks like.”

The mark on the back had told him part of the story, but the question about Camilla and the eagerness with which it had been asked, told Shell all he needed for the moment. “It is Camilla. And you are?”

“River. Raymer is my brother.”

Shell pointed to the street and said, “So you’re from the Raging Mountains Family? Hold on to whatever you’re going to say until we meet with Camilla and then you won’t have to repeat it twice.”

They walked out of the alley and across the street together. River said, “Don’t look to your left until we reach the door. When you open it, glance over there and find a man sitting in a chair watching us. I think he’s a Breslau spy and he is also watching you. I’ve been watching him.”

“And who is watching you?” Shell asked, his tone sharper than intended, but things seemed to be spiraling out of his control.

River said as if he’d missed the anger behind the question, “Nobody. I’ve been careful.”

“Not that careful. Our guest at lunch spotted you right away.” Shell opened the door and glanced at a man sitting in a wooden chair, his gaze fixed somewhere else; his face half-turned away as if he had no interest in him. But a normal person sitting ten steps away would look at a person arriving, and perhaps a nod or say something in greeting. The looking away told more than anything else could. He was trying to conceal himself.

Safely inside, Shell pointed to the stairs and nodded a brief hello to the woman who rented the rooms. Her raised eyebrows said she would keep track of who and how many slept in their rooms, but she said nothing as she went back to her knitting.

River went up first, but said over his shoulder, “You mean Red? I paid him to offer his help to you and ask questions.”

That explained a lot. Not why Red had run at the mention of Breslau, but everything else about the meeting with Red had been too convenient, too easy. At the top of the stairs, Shell stepped in front of him and knocked softly on Camilla’s door.

She opened it and waited, her eyes passing over River and coming to rest on Shell.

He said, “This is River, a relative of ours. His family lives in the Raging Mountains and his brother is Raymer.”

Camilla’s eyes came alive. “You resemble him, all but his attitude I hope.”

“Raymer can be hard to take, but what can I say? He’s my brother.”

Shell motioned to the unseen woman who no doubt listened to every word at the bottom of the stairs while she knitted. “It’s almost time for dinner, why don’t we try another inn and talk over dinner?”

River said, “Good idea, I know a small inn where there’s good food and privacy.”

As they departed the rooming house, Shell again told the old woman goodbye, and as he spoke, he realized that with her watching her rooms as she did, nobody was going to get to the top floor without her knowing. He spun and said, “I haven’t seen anyone else in the other two rooms upstairs. Have they been rented for the next few days?”

She looked up from the almost completed stocking. “Nobody has rented them. Did you want to pay for your relative to stay here?”

River started to shake his head, but Camilla touched his arm and drew his attention as Shell said, “Yes, that’s a great idea. And we may have another relative meeting us here, too, so why don’t I pay for all four rooms and if he does not arrive, I will still have to pay for you holding the room.”

The prospect of renting all her rooms had a wide smile on her face and she almost a giggled. She said, “Half price for the last room if he does not arrive, fair?”

“Fair. Just adjust what I have already paid and if I owe more let me know. Do you by chance sell those stockings you knit?”

“When I can find buyers.”

Shell picked up a completed one and examined the wool and workmanship as if he knew one from another. He said, “I think you have found a buyer. How many pairs do you have completed?”

“Six, but I work fast,” the expression she wore told Shell he could ask for her to repaint the walls of his room and the job would be complete when they returned. If anything, out of the ordinary happened, such as the spy in the chair next door asking questions about her, she would report it to Shell, and he felt confident she wouldn’t reveal anything of him or Camilla. For the cost of a few socks, he’d gained a loyal watchdog.

The suspected Breslau spy was gone when they walked outside, his chair empty. As the three walked down the street, River said, “I already have a place to stay.”

Camilla said, “You have a lot to learn. Shell just made us a friend. That old woman had four empty rooms and nobody to buy her stockings. She might not even have enough coin to eat, but Shell has managed to pay her for things we don’t need, but, what information is she going to share with strangers about us? I’ll tell you. None. Very nicely done, Shell.”

Shell shrugged and said to River, “Besides, her rooms are probably nicer than yours and more secure. After we talk at dinner, I suspect you may need to be closer to us. And I’d think from the way you spoke earlier, you’d want to be closer to Camilla.”

Both turned to face him, one on either side, Camilla in puzzlement, and River in embarrassment. She glanced at him and said, “Not another one.”

Shell laughed, and before long both the others did, too. River guided them higher on the hillside, away from the ships and activity, to a third street parallel to the piers, a residential street for the most part, but a few shops were located there. The shops served the locals instead of the ships. A sign hung over a door with a crude elk carved on it. No paint, no words, just an elk.

River opened the door and entered, leaving Shell and Camilla to fend for themselves. A fat woman wrapped him in her arms and swung him around before looking at the newcomers. “Who do we have here?”

“Distant relatives I ran into. Friends of my brother.”

“Well, do they have names and want to eat the best food in Fleming?”

“Shell and this is my sister, Camilla,” he said almost automatically.

The woman placed her hands on her heavy hips and said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think your mama was messing around a bit if you think you have the same father. Not that I’m an expert—oh, never mind the humble pie—I am an expert, and the two of you can say you’re whoever you want. Now, find a table you like, I’ll throw together a dinner you’ll remember a year from now.”

Her jovial words and quick smile took the sting from her revelation. He and Camilla needed to add a layer or two to their story. Different fathers. Shell’s died, and their mother remarried. The glance he’d stolen at Camilla when the fat woman was talking said Camilla already knew it.

They sat at one of the two larger tables, Camilla and Shell sharing the bench that ran along the wall so they could face the room. They pulled the table closer to them as River grabbed a chair and sat across from them. The serving-woman rushed back with three tankards of ale.

“Watered wine for me,” Camilla said.

“What do you think this is? A deluxe inn, or something? We got ale. You get ale.”

As River laughed, she spun and hurried back to the kitchen. There were no others eating yet, and the room was muted and comfortable. Shell tasted the ale and found it bitter, but drinkable. He glanced at River and caught the smirk. He’s paying me back for the comment about him and Camilla.

In that light, River’s response was fair, probably should have been expected. Shell said, “While we’re alone, let’s talk. Red said you’d been here two months watching all strangers.”

“Yes, I’ve been here two months watching strangers. I was down in Racine and sailed up here. Then I found I should have stayed there because about ten of our family arrived right after I left and sailed not long ago. I missed them, but decided this was a better place to find family.”

“Why here?” Camilla blurted.

“Racine is small. Shrewsbury lies all but deserted. I think people from different families are going to make their way here to Fleming to try and help turn back the invasion or find a way to go over there to help. I want to travel there.”

“You know there are no ships that cross the sea, right?” Camilla asked.

“Well, none do these days, but there used to be a lot of them.”

Shell rolled his eyes, “The point is, none do it now.”

River leaned closer to them. “You’re right, but there are ships here that used to cross the sea. At least five right here in Fleming.”

“But they don’t do it anymore,” Shell said, the anger at River’s oblique attitude increasing.

The woman returned with three bowls of hearty stew, coarse grain bread, jam, and a pitcher of ale. She said, “Don’t fill up on that beef stew, hear me? I have apple cobbler topped with cinnamon and sugar. Do yourself a favor and leave some room.”

When she was gone, River said, “I suggest you eat or Rachael will punish you, probably by not letting you have cobbler. Now, I know ships don’t cross the Endless Sea today, but that doesn’t mean they cannot. If for instance, a new owner bought a ship he could sail it anywhere he wanted, if he bought the right one. I discovered a family messenger here a few days ago and sent her to the Raging Mountains for me. Our family has a war fund that will be enough to buy a ship if they will allow me to use it.”

Camilla seemed to accidently jab Shell in his rib with her elbow before she said, “Keep talking.”

“My idea is this. The other ship sailed from Racine so it can make land south of Breslau, and they’ll probably make their way north across the land to reach the city. What if another ship sails north with the same intent, but we travel south and meet them?”

“Three of us will make a difference?” Camilla asked.

River cleaned the last of the stew from his bowl, leaned back and shouted, “When is that cobbler going to get here?”

“When I feel like bringing it,” the woman shouted back.

River grinned and said, “I don’t think the three of us are the only Dragon Clan coming this way.”

Shell instantly thought of Quester. After telling his story to Myron, probably many times, Shell expected Quester to reach Fleming as quickly as possible. Shell’s mind was spinning at River’s suggestions and ideas. Counting Quester there would be four of them, and a wolf named Pudding and an unnamed red miniature dragon.

Camilla spoke before Shell had his thoughts together. “But is there a ship like that for sale?”