His wife told him he was being foolish, but Sen Leo knew that his fears were justified. Guard-Marshall Vorannen had promised to increase patrols in the dockside area, but the city guard didn’t have enough remaining members to watch the Dyscovera model properly.
The old scholar was anxious because it had been so long since Aldo had sent a rea pigeon, but he didn’t want Lanni to suspect that her husband might be in danger. Now Sen Leo tossed and turned in his bed. If the last days of the world were indeed upon them, according to Saedran prophecies, then he could not change the fate of humanity. Yet it was necessary as a human being, as an intelligent man, to do something. He could not simply give up.
In bed, his wife gave a loud sigh. “Go there, if it worries you so much. When you’re restless like this, you flop about like a fish on a dock. If you’re not going to sleep, then spend the night watching over the ship model with Sen Burian. At least I’ll have peace here, and one of us can rest.”
Sen Leo did not need to be asked twice. He pushed himself out of bed and pulled on his clothes, while his wife mumbled teasingly into her pillow, “If you think this means you can nap all day tomorrow when there’s work to be done, you’d better reconsider.”
“I always get my work done, dear.”
In minutes, he was out the door and making his way through the quiet streets of the Saedran District. His anxiety increased as he approached the dockside warehouses, where the silence seemed tense and ominous instead of restful. He saw none of the promised guards stationed outside the warehouse building, which meant the Dyscovera model was unguarded! What was Vorannen thinking?
Leo hurried forward and was shocked to find the warehouse door unlocked and ajar. Something was not right here.
He heard voices inside, people stirring. Indignant, sure they were up to no good, he marched through the door, ready to protect the model. Just inside the threshold, he stumbled over a body. He fell to his knees and let out a loud gasp, which made the voices fall silent. His hand landed on the chest of the corpse on the floor and came away wet with the blood that had soaked the man’s tunic. Sen Burian na-Coway.
Sen Leo struggled to his feet, shouting. “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Three forms sprang toward him.
Several candles shed enough light inside the storehouse for him to discern that the figures carried mallets, cudgels, axes, and long knives. Leo recognized the hooligans who had harassed Sen Burian several days earlier. Before, the vandals had seemed intent on annoying the model-maker, but this was different from throwing rotten fruit or breaking windows—they had murdered Burian!
“Stay away from that model!” Sen Leo shouted. “Help! Help!”
But the neighborhood streets were empty.
“And you’re going to stop us, old man?” said one of the young men.
Leo saw the glint in their eyes in the dim light. These were not just restless, irresponsible teenagers. “You are ra’virs,” he said.
“And good ones, too.” The teens snickered and moved closer.
Leo grabbed a broomstick and brandished it as a weapon. With a deep ache in his chest, he saw that they had already smashed part of the model and severed the rigging ropes. One of the masts was down.
Not only did that majestic ship symbolize the hopes of Tierra, it was also the best chance for the Saedrans to complete the Mappa Mundi. If these young men destroyed the model, then the ship herself might be irreparably damaged due to sympathetic magic.
And Aldo was aboard the Dyscovera!
Though he had little chance of defeating these ra’virs, Leo charged, swinging the broomstick. The young men had the gall to laugh at him. Two of them closed in, while the third went back to hatcheting the model with wild abandon.
“Stop!” Sen Leo swung again, but one of the ra’virs grabbed the broomstick and yanked it from his hands.
The second vandal moved close and with an odd, impatient casualness plunged his long dagger into Sen Leo’s chest, driving it deep. He withdrew the knife and let the old man fall to the sawdust-covered floor.
The rattle emanating from Leo’s throat was as much despair as agonal pain. “Stop,” he whispered.
The ra’virs ignored him. All three took up their tools and weapons and fell upon the model once more. They no longer seemed interested in the old man, or in keeping quiet.
The scholar feebly reached out a hand, still trying to stop them. He stared upward as they smashed and pummeled the model. They had nearly finished by the time the life faded from his eyes.