The Last Dragon: Book Two

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T he conversation with Kendra lagged as she let the hints and suppositions swirl around in her mind. Her expression turned flat, her eyes squinted a little as if she could see something far off. She was always better than me at coming to accurate deductions when provided only a small amount of factual information. While I waited for her conclusions, my eyes drifted over her as if for the first time, trying to see her as others did. She was taller than most women from Dire, thinner, too. Almost delicate. Her skin darkened with even limited exposure to the sun until her arms and face were the shade of brown tea. Her thick hair resisted the wind blowing off the sea.

It was not as if I’d never looked at her before but standing alongside Emma and Anna enhanced her features. The girls were simply smaller copies.

She said, “Where would mages in other lands draw their power from? Not from Mercia, for sure. It has to be too far away. They must have a closer source of essence. We still do not know precisely what essence is, you know. We only know mages can make use of it.”

She had hit on one of the two topics that concerned me, although I didn’t consider myself a mage. Others might dispute that and decide I was a weak one, but still a mage.

Kendra continued, “The common thread in each city and kingdom seems to be the rightful rulers are being supplanted by mages and their appointees. We know of at least three and suspect another.”

“But where are they getting essence to use their magic? I thought you freed the last dragon.”

“There are also the issues of the Wyverns and Waystones.” She glanced around to ensure we were alone before continuing. A ship has a lot of ears in a small space. “There is more to them than we know, and of magic in general. You aren’t the only one to listen to others talking on this ship. A belligerent woman from Trager mentioned the old ways as for how to travel quickly from place to place. As we discussed, the two names, Waystones, and ways sound too similar to be an accident. Her statement almost confirms what we suspect.”

I said, “The two Waystones we’ve seen have been old. Ancient. The carvings were weathered and worn like they were hundreds of years old.”

“Is it possible there was another civilization or manner of life long ago that made them? One more advanced in the use of magic?” she asked.

“One more advanced than us? One that maybe lived in conjunction with dragons and other mythical creatures? I guess so, but if that is true, are the Waystones all that is left of them?”

Kendra’s slight smile widened. It was a new idea to her, one she liked. Emma tugged at my shirt and pointed. In the distance to the west, the vague outline of the shore merged with the water at the horizon. Clouds banked against it, while the sky over the sea remained blue. It was the first land we’d seen in five or six days but felt like twenty.

“Thank you, Emma,” I said.

“You’re welcome,” she replied as clearly as if Common was the only language she knew.

We agreed to meet for the morning meal and discuss our questions again after sleeping on them. Kendra would keep the girls in the new cabin, while I spent the afternoon and evening in the salon at the gaming tables again where I might pick up more useful information. The night before arriving in port could have passengers gossiping about Trager, and I wanted to hear all they said.

The salon was filled with more people than at any time since sailing. It seemed everyone was in a partying mood as the prospect of reaching a port in the morning brought a little excitement to the passengers. The wine flowed. People smiled. Later, after the sun sank behind the land on the right side of the ship with a spectacular display of reds and oranges, they gathered into small groups and discussed future plans, and the docking of the Gallant the following morning. A few would leave the ship and never see each other again, but tonight all were fast friends.

At one table in a corner, four men played the nightly game of tiles. Since I had been a loser for three previous nights, they welcomed me eagerly and asked that I join them. My seat allowed me to keep my back to the windows and watch the room—and listen as I played. The voices were louder than normal, and the subjects all dealt with the following day.

It would have been nice to hear a fellow passenger say what would bind the mystery of mages, magic, dragons, and politics together in a manner that would answer all of my unasked questions. That didn’t happen. However, I did hear more tales of the corrupt city government, the decay in the city of Trager, and how the population had declined and continued declining. People were moving away or dying. However, nobody said where. Many were killed, often in the streets by city guards, ex-city guards, and throngs of thieves and criminals, some of them very young.

The players at the table tonight were excited and playing too aggressively. They over-played their hands. Coins came my way despite my efforts to lose a few, despite our games were for small stakes. A bellicose man who had relentlessly berated my poor play a few nights before joined the game. He was again rude and arrogant with his success. Long after nightfall, he found himself with a hand facing only me in the game. The pot was larger than normal. I bet a small amount. He raised, and I did the same, which caught his attention. His mouth never stopped insulting me. My anger grew.

My hand was a good one. I bet again. It quickly became the largest pot since sailing, by far. Every player and observer in the lounge watched intently, a small crowd gathered behind us. A year’s pay for a tradesman lay in the center of the table, which normally held the price of a few meat pies at most. Smalltalk ceased. The room grew utterly and strangely quiet. The combative player spoke again, warning me of how I’d lost to him before, so he advised me to throw in my hand and allow him to own the pot.

Tiny beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. His hands shook. He needed six spots on the next tile he drew, as all could see, so his odds of winning were one-in-ten. My small magic told me his next tile would have the six he desired—and I would lose not only the money on the table but the respect of others. I would also suffer his public rancor aimed at me. However, I would not use my magic to make the minor change.

He drew his six spots. He sneered my way. To remain even with him and remain in the game, I needed four spots. The tile I drew held only two, so I lost when I displayed them. I held back. There were still two options. Use my skill, not my magic. Without hesitation, as any over-eager player who had drawn a strong hand and a history of losing would do, I broke into a wide smile and confidently raised the bet with all the accumulated coins in front of me.

The man had expected me to fold or make a minimal bet, at most.

He blanched and lifted his eyes to meet mine, to see if I was attempting a bluff. I smiled wider yet said nothing. He now had two choices. He could use almost all of his coins that he still retained to continue playing—or fold. Folding would give me the pot. If he bet, I could change the number of spots on either his tile or mine. I could . . . but still determined I wouldn’t.

He looked hard at me, trying to determine if I bluffed. I still smiled like an inane bumpkin from a farm in the wilds. Neither of our expressions changed. His was one of disbelief and anger. None of the players or spectators moved or spoke. The tension grew.

“You got lucky,” he snarled as he threw his tiles to the center of the table in submission. “I’ll win that back and more before the night is over.”

The conversation around the room picked up again, but I saw triumphant expressions on two other player’s faces. They were like cats about to pounce and glad I’d beaten him. The small pile of coins in front of the angry man left him vulnerable to anyone willing to bet heavily. He’d have to win against players willing to bet large sums against him or fold his hands and drive him out of the game. It took only six hands to break him, none of them my doing.

He stood and announced he would be back with more money. His gait staggered as he left, through no fault of the motion of the ship. A spectator who had played with us several nights was invited to take the empty seat before the other could return, leaving him no seat to claim. The game returned to small-stakes and good-natured humor.

I didn’t wait for the bellicose man to return. The talk around the table was exciting but without substance. I gathered my coins into my purse and stood, taking my leave with good humor. The night air outside was warm and humid, warmer than any in Dire, and before sleeping a walk around the deck would do me good to clear my head of the wine and concentration of playing the game.

Instead of strolling to the bow and back down the other side of the ship as most travelers did, I found a seat on a hatch cover near mid-ship and sat, watching the stars in the moonless sky. There seemed to be more of them at sea. A few people were about. Not many. Most were probably sleeping in preparation for docking in the morning. Others were drinking, gaming, or socializing.

The uneven soft wind popped the sails. As it did, the mast creaked, the lines stiffened, and the air whispered past all of it with rustles and hisses. Despite the boredom of a sea voyage, it can also be relaxing and mind-clearing. When the sound of material moving against material made itself known to my consciousness, my ears brought me alert. Someone was sneaking up behind me—and was very close. I smelled him, stale and sour.

Whirling, I found the tile player who had lost to me, a short club clutched in his fist. He charged. I ducked under his wild swing and smashed my fist into his lower back as he roared past me. The blow was solid, and painful for him. Worse, as he reached the side of the ship, a shadow stepped out and shoved his shoulder, increasing his stumbling speed.

He hit the railing and tumbled over. It happened so fast I couldn’t have saved him in any circumstances unless I was a full mage and could levitate a man below water. The shadow stepped into the light, and it was the man named Will, the one who was sent to look out for us.

He said, “Sorry. I should have intercepted him sooner and knocked him out and placed him in his cabin. His death is on my hands, not yours.”

I heard no real remorse in his tone, no regret in killing him, but only in that he hadn’t performed his job as well as he believed he should. He turned and disappeared as Damme and Hannah walked through the door from the dining room. They were the couple from Dagger who had helped me learn a dozen words of the Kondor language. It should have been more, but my capacity for the language was poor.

“Good evening, Damon. Not feeling well?” Damme asked.

“Why do you ask?” I said.

“You appear pale and agitated. The result of winning that hand of tiles? The entire ship is talking about it,” Hannah said in her halting Common.

Damn. That was my only thought. I’d had a confrontation with the belligerent gambler, and now he’d fallen overboard, and all knew of the confrontation. Some aboard the ship were sure to connect the two instances. I said, “I don’t like people like that. They scare me.”

“A good reason to stay away from him. Are you planning on going ashore tomorrow?”

“Yes. All of us are to do a little shopping,” I said to clarify my answer and hopefully to throw a little confusion on the issue. I didn’t want to come across as someone who would throw a man overboard.

Hannah said, “If you must go there, be careful. The city is full of people wanting to rob visitors. Wear a visible weapon and be prepared to use it—or remain on board. Nobody will think less of you for doing so.”

Her suggestions were reasonable and made sense. Too bad I’d ignore them. Well, not all of them, but most. We said goodnight and I went to my cabin and slept as well as any night in my past. On the way, I spoke to three people, so they would remember me, and told each I was going to my cabin early.

The next morning, I was at the rail at the stern where passengers above deck were again regulated to one small space, so we’d be out of the way of the working crew. It was either that, remain in my poor excuse for a cabin, sit in the drab dining room, or the closed-in salon. We sailed into the Bay of Trager as I waited for the girls to appear.

The salon map had not done it justice as far as size goes to the bay. The two points of land that allowed passage were so narrow a rowboat could easily cross them. Beyond was a body of water so large the far shore could barely be seen. Off to our left, which would be south, rose mountains that stood tall, reaching almost to the edge of the water. At least, that was the first impression.

In front of the mountains spread a city on the sliver of level ground between the mountains and the water. Fingers of dozens of piers extended into the bay, where one lone ship was tied. As we lowered our sails, a pair of longboats manned by several rowers headed our way. Soon, our sails were furled, and the ship was pulled by ropes attached to the longboats.

The Gallant was tied to a pier, and a gangplank set. The purser again stood at the top, a clipboard and pen in hand. I wondered if he would record that the man who had fallen overboard was missing. There had not been any mention of him or questions asked. His belongings would still be in his cabin, and sooner or later they would be discovered. If we were lucky, people would think that he went ashore and never returned, so some foul deed had struck him there. My instinct was to help that idea by mentioning seeing him ashore but decided that might cast a shadow on me. Best to remain silent.

Kendra found her way to me, the girls lagging behind, smiling, giggling and wide-eyed. She handed me my sword, and I belted it on and instantly felt better. She hadn’t brought my bow.

The slopes of the mountains behind Trager were green with trees, but the air felt dry and the sky clear. It was hotter than at any time in Dire, which near Crestfallen was often damp, chilly, and cloudy. A light jacket was normal most of the year, and a heavy one in winter.

The contrast meant we’d leave our jackets on board, which would make my sword stand out. She had removed the arrows from the scabbard, so it puckered along the rear edge where the modification had been made and appeared poorly constructed. That was fine with me. An expensive scabbard or sword drew attention.

After I belted it on and adjusted it where it rode comfortably on my hip, my eyes found Will, who nodded slightly as he turned his face away. There was no sign he wore any weapons, but they would be there. He would probably remain close to us as long as we were off the ship. I still hadn’t told Kendra more than the barest of facts about him, and nothing of the man who fell overboard.

Emma and Anna were increasingly excited, talking among themselves, but now and then said words in our language. Their ability to adapt and learn amazed us. We followed other passengers ashore after each spoke to the purser before leaving. When our turn arrived, he repeated what he’d told the others in a bored tone, his eyes never lifting to look at us.

“Trager is considered a dangerous port. Be careful and trust nobody. The ship will sail at sunset. Any passengers who are not on board will be left here, and no refunds will be made. Another ship may not arrive for days or weeks, and it may not have cabins for you. Please be here long before sundown to guarantee your safe passage.”

The information was appreciated, and the fact he didn’t ask about a missing man was also good news. We bounced across the gangplank to the pier with rotting wood planks. Several had broken and hadn’t been replaced. We walked by stepping near the edges where the wood seemed most solid.

The air of frantic activity that had permeated at the Port of Mercia was missing. No vendors were selling food or trinkets. Only a few dull eyes watched us depart.

I turned to the city, or what I could see of it. As expected, the buildings were made of wood, weathered gray, unpainted for the most part. The few that had existing remnants of paint were chipped, faded, and old. The streets were narrower than the alleys in Dire. There were no raised walks for pedestrians, and there were few wagons or animals in the streets to compete for space.

“Guide?” a cripple asked as we neared him. “An honest guide?”

“Directions to the city square or bazaar?” I said.

The man pointed, then looked to the next passengers to offer his services. I tossed him a small copper, which he grabbed from the air like a starving man might grab a slice of bread. He looked at it and said as he held it out for me to retrieve, “This is what I charge for being a guide all day, sir. A tenth is more than enough. I do not need your pity.”

My instinct was to tell him to keep it, but why do that? “There will be another at the end of our day, guide. Come. Show us the way.”

He stood up, a crutch under one armpit, and he kept up with us as he hobbled on his good leg. It made me feel guilty, but he didn’t ask for consideration, and I gave none. We walked along the waterfront for a way, then took one of the few wider streets up the side of the hill to a flat area. It had once been a flourishing city square at one time, I suspected.

The square was paved with flagstones the size of wagon beds, the square as large an area for daily commerce as any in Dire. However, now tall grass, weeds, and even small trees grew between the flagstones. Directly ahead of us, a tangle of thorny vines spread along the flagstones that we went around. Beyond them stood the first of a dozen tattered stalls in an area large enough to hold hundreds.

“Is this it?” Kendra asked.

The cripple looked around and said with a toothy smile, “More sellers are here today than usual. They must have heard a ship came in and brought all they have to sell.”

Kendra drew a deep breath and headed for the first kiosk. I walked ahead of the cripple and asked Kendra softly, “Any mages nearby?”

“None.”

Anna caught up as we reached the first stall, which displayed a variety of dented and battered cooking pots. Her eyes were excited, and she raced to examine a tall copper pot good for boiling laundry. The seller didn’t bother standing or trying to convince us of the quality of her pots. She simply watched us move her along to the next stall, one that sold used clothing. Emma now walked with me, holding onto my index finger as she tried keeping in step with me, taking two for every one of mine. I varied my stride to make it harder and she giggled.

I slowed and took shorter steps as I looked at the trash for sale. I asked the cripple, “Are there any shops that sell new?”

He slowly shook his head.

“None?” I asked unbelievingly.

“Upper Trager has a few, they say. But travelers and us who live here aren’t allowed up there.”

I glanced at Kendra. “Upper Trager? I haven’t heard that term.”

He pointed higher up the slope of the hill, to another part of the city.

Following his finger, we found larger buildings, ones in far better condition. Part of the way up there stood a barren black scar. All the buildings in a five-block area were gone, leaving behind ashes and burned timber. “I see.”

He shrugged. “City guards are at the upper gates to keep us down penned down here. But before we reach the upper city, the ex-guards, ex-military, and ex-constables will capture us, take all we have, and ransom what’s left.”

“What about down here?” Kendra asked.

He spat. “Here the old rules still hold. Selling and buying are sacred and free to all. Been that way since the first building went up. Not that it means much if one of them catches you out of sight of others. Stay near the ship is my advice.”

Speaking of being out of sight, I turned. Will was back there, or he was supposed to be. If he was, my respect for him increased. We moved on to another stall and another. They featured broken pottery, jugs with broken handles, mismatched plates, and a seller in a stall with a few dull knives displayed. We circled the others and returned to the one with used clothing.

Kendra and the girls pawed through the offerings while the cripple and I kept watching. Not even a stray dog moved. In observing the thin people, the condition of their clothing, the ramshackle houses, and despondent attitudes, my guess would be any loose animals had long ago been eaten. The seller of meat cooked on sticks across the square wouldn’t be getting our business.

The girls found hats referred to as bonnets by the seller. They had short bills and tied under the chin. Still, they kept much of the direct sun off their faces. Kendra whooped for joy when she found a hat made of straw for me. It was mismatched, meaning it was so poorly woven that it was wider on one side than the other. The straw was dry and brittle. I placed it on my head, and it fit, if a bit loose, to the joy of all three girls.

Kendra found scarves for all of us. I didn’t understand why she wanted them until I noticed a seller wearing a similar one. It reached from wrist to around her neck, back down to the other wrist, protecting the back of the neck, shoulders, and bare arms from the sun. It was loose enough to remain cool, provide shade, and made of lightweight material.

I stood aside while they rummaged through the rest of the inventory. On impulse, I asked the cripple, “You got a name?”

“Call me Flier. Time was, I ran as fast as birds fly.”

“Do you travel?”

“Used to.”

“A map on the ship showed a river located to the west.” I pointed, where the river should be.

“The Trager River, same name as the city. You can see the mouth of it from your ship if you look that way,” Flier said.

“The map showed it begins high up in the mountains.”

“Up near Vin Pass.”

“I assume the other river on the other side of the pass is the Vin?”

He chuckled and said, “Want to guess where it goes?”

“Ever been there?” I asked.

He gave me an odd sort of wistful look. Then, his expression eased. “I was born in Vin. If my leg was up to it, I’d go back. My family is there, a good place to live. Not like this dead place at all.”

The girls were about finished and were counting out small coins to the shopkeeper, but Flier still puzzled me. “Why’d you run to earn your name?”

“Messenger for the King’s Army of Vin. That was when we still had one, and I was young. I used to carry messages from Vin to Trager and back, used that mountain pass a dozen times.”

The girls carried their purchases to where we stood, and we walked down the slope towards the ship again. We wouldn’t be eating in any restaurants if they had any, and there seemed no reason to stay ashore.

Flier walked ahead and suddenly pulled to an abrupt halt. He turned to us and shouted, “Run!”

Four men stepped from behind the corner of a building ahead, each with a club of some sort in his hand. Two clubs were little more than sticks, another appeared to be the handle of a shovel or rake and the last a stout length of square oak. Their clothing was filthy, torn and patched, and hung on their thin frames.

Kendra said in a soft voice, “More of them behind us. It’s a trap.”

My concentration was on those ahead. Kendra would have to hold off those behind. Besides, those in front were closer and moving directly at us in a shambling run. I glanced at the three behind, twice as far away and moving slower. Behind them, another shape slipped from doorway to alley, always out of sight and always coming at us. No, it was only three of them, and behind was Will. They had no idea he was there as I slipped my blade free and faced the four in front. Between Will and Kendra, those behind stood little chance. Will would probably take out one or two before they realized he was there.

Flier moved off to my left a few steps but didn’t retreat. He stood on his good leg and pulled the crutch free. He held it across his body like a staff, ready to punch, swing, or defend. I felt certain that if he chose to try to slip past the men advancing, they would have allowed it.

Instead of waiting for them to reach us, I moved ahead where my sword had space to swing without accidentally striking one of the girls who were terrified. Using a sword properly required room for not only the blade but dancing feet to misdirect. They surged ahead as they attacked. They came as one, shouting and yelling. That caused so much noise that those coming from behind had no idea Will was rushing up behind them under cover of the buildings and noise. My first slash cut one high on his arm, almost to his shoulder, a sliding cut of my blade that bit deep into the muscle.

My training kept me from stabbing. Too often a blade stabbed is reflexively grabbed by a dying man, or it gets stuck inside a body as it falls forward, ripping it from the swordsman’s hand. I sliced a return swing to greet the next man, cutting another man high on his chest, from one side to another. Two down as I sidestepped and looked behind.

Will swung his sword low, cutting across the back of a leg. Looking ahead again, Flier swung his crutch and caught a man charging at me and ignoring him. The crutch struck right under his chin, on his unprotected neck. He fell forward, determined to take another breath, but was unsuccessful. The last man saw all three of his fellow attackers down, and he spun and ran. As he did, Flier’s crutch swung again and caught him with a solid blow to his head right above his ear. He fell like a piece of split firewood after a wood chopper’s ax struck. I spun, expecting to join Kendra in another fight. I was wrong.

Of the three who had rushed her from behind, two were on the ground, writhing in pain. She stood over one, her boot on his neck as she reached down and pulled one of her new blades free from his stomach. Another other wore her blade high on his thigh, the blade had penetrated nearly half its length. She moved to him and pulled the second knife free, to the wails and protests of the attacker. Kendra hadn’t been very gentle in recovering them. The last man lay at Will’s feet as he wiped his blade clean.

Will walked closer to us and shook Flier’s hand as he muttered something to him I didn’t hear. Only then, did I reach out with my mind and find my small-magic worked. Looking up, more from habit than any other reason, I spotted the far-off dragon approaching. Turning away, I paused and looked up again. It was a Wyvern, not Kendra’s dragon. The shape of the body was too thin. Was my magic sourced from it, or Kendra’s dragon? I didn’t know.

Emma and Anna were pale, silent, and scared as they huddled together. When I spread my arms to hug them, both backed away. Neither wanted any part of me. Glancing at my hand, my sword was still clutched around the hilt and ready to slash. Kendra spoke to them and finally managed to calm them down slightly.

“Flier,” I said as I indicated those on the ground with a wave of my arm. “Does this sort of thing happen often?”

“When there’s not enough food to eat, men do whatever it takes.”

So, he was something of a philosopher too. If he had run away from us, the thieves would have allowed him to go in peace. Now word would spread of how he’d helped us. I glanced around, at the nearby buildings, looking for more danger. There had been more than one set of eyes watching from the windows above, and those people would carry the tale of what we’d done. And of what Flier, the cripple had done. There would be retribution aimed at Flier.

Will said, “Sorry, I should have been closer. They moved in from a side street quickly and without being seen.”

“Most were in the King’s Army ten years ago,” Flier said in a somber fashion as if that excused their actions as well as explained why it had been a precise military operation.

Will said to Flier, “Is this going to cause you trouble?”

Flier started to lie but finally nodded, eyes on the ground.

Kendra was still consoling the girls and had moved them down the hill where the dead and wounded attackers were not so close. The cries of pain from them were difficult for my ears, too. The smell of blood scented the air. I said to Flier, “You didn’t have to help us. Now, it’s my turn to return the favor. You said you’d like to go home to Vin. I’ll purchase you passage on our ship.”

Will said with a grin, “If you don’t, I’ll do it. Bravery and loyalty should be rewarded.”

Flier had tears in his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“You didn’t have to fight to protect us, either. Come on, what do you need to gather up, so we can go back to the ship?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

The answer didn’t surprise me. He placed his crutch back under his armpit and limped along while wearing a huge smile. Will went on ahead, acting as a lookout, while I hung back behind the girls, my hand still on the hilt of my sword. I hadn’t missed the admiring looks Will had given it, nor his surprise at my skill in using it. That hinted again that he was not from Crestfallen, as I’d suspected. It would be hard to live in the castle and not know me or my reputation.

Not that I bragged about myself, but I often heard others who did. Because of my foreign looks, my position serving the princess, and my penchant for getting into boyish trouble, all made me more than known. Some said I was a scamp. Besides, Will was unknown to me, and I made a point of knowing all the best warriors so I could learn from them. For a swordsman to remain the best, he had to practice. When they did, I attended and watched—and learned. Often, I challenged them in mock battle, and my reputation grew as I defeated them.

However, the king obviously knew of Will—and where and how to quickly summon him to crestfallen. That said they’d encountered each other before. Kendra would be proud of my line of logical reasoning if I shared it, and probably wonder why it had taken me so long to come to an obvious conclusion. While not as accomplished at that sort of thing as her or Elizabeth, I was learning that, too.

The narrow streets allowed for two people to pass each other without contact, yet for the eight or ten blocks we traveled down the side of the hill to the waterfront, not a single person walked the other way. Word of the conflict had spread. Many windows and doorways were boarded up with slats of wood nailed haphazardly across them. At least half the buildings looked totally empty, and far more might have been. The city was dying, the buildings rotting.

The purser waited at the gangplank, his ever-present clipboard in hand. He watched Flier approach beside us with a curl to his lip, and when we reached the ship, he said rudely, “No visitors allowed on the ship.”

“I wish to pay his passage.” My voice was intentionally over-friendly.

He lifted his chin and looked down on Flier. “We have no empty cabins.”

I fought to withhold my smile. “At least six people departed the ship here, and I saw no new passengers come aboard.”

“Nevertheless, all the cabins are bought and paid for.” The purser had moved slightly, so his hip prevented us from advancing until the matter with Flier had been settled. The ship served only passengers, the fares considerably more than on the slower, more cramped cargo ships.

My temper was about to flare. Before it could, Kendra stepped past me and met the cold gaze of the purser with one of her own. She said, “Then a full complement of passengers is good fortune for the ship’s balance sheet, isn’t it, sir?”

“A full ship is always good.” His voice sounded hesitant as if expecting a trap, which showed intelligence on his part.

Her smile grew. “I happen to know that there is an empty hammock in my brother’s cabin, so there is room for one more passenger—and without any expense to the ship, because our guest will eat our food and we will pay for any other food or drink for him. The cost to the ship is nothing. The benefit is all profit with no expense. I’m certain the captain will find a few extra coins in his bonus because of it, and perhaps we should locate him and ask his opinion.”

The purser swallowed and stepped aside as he cleared his throat and said to change the subject, “I am asking all passengers if they know anything about a large man who traveled with us.” He turned to me. “The one you had a confrontation with at the gaming table.”

Will answered before I could. “The man was a bully and cheat if you ask me. As soon as he departed from the gaming table, we did also, to prevent trouble if he returned. Damon and I went directly to our cabins, but I couldn’t sleep and went back on deck for some air. He was there, still cursing and drinking. Not wishing to contend with that, my bed called to me.”

The purser nodded and said, “I heard much the same story from another passenger. We cannot seem to locate him.”

“Do you mean he fell overboard?” Kendra asked, after a brief glance in my direction.

The purser said in a condescending manner, “That is always a hazard when on a ship but happens most when too much wine or ale is involved. Combined with an angry temper, it is dangerous.”

Kendra, never one to argue with, continued in her sweetest voice, the one I detested when she argued with me, “Then you may have a vacant cabin after all? If so, my brother would like to book it and move out of that stink-hole he has below decks. Should he pay you now for Flier’s passage and the upgrade?”