Riyria Revelations #04 - The Emerald Storm Michael J Sullivan

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A third fellow with a red kerchief asked. Hadrian had never seen him before, but guessed he must be the captain of the mizzenmast, as the tops captains along with the boatswains seemed to dine together at the same table.

No, but I

m saying the cook was there and he and Royce are mates aren

t they? I think

Jacob stopped

short when he spotted Hadrian.

Bloody good thing you

re a better cook than your mate is a topman

or Mister Temple

s liable to chuck you both in the deep.

Hadrian said nothing. He looked around for Royce, but could not find him, which was not too surprising as he guessed his friend would not want to be anywhere near food.

Might want to let your mate know I

ve asked Bristol here to have a word with Mister Beryl about him see i>

Beryl?

Bristol responded puzzled.

I was gonna talk to Wesley.

Bugger that,

Jacob said.

Wesley

s useless. He

s a bleeding joke, ain

t he?

I can

t go over his head to Beryl,

Bristol said, defensively.

Wesley was Watch Officer when it

happened.

Are you barmy? What

re you scared of? Think Wesley

s gonna have at ya for going to Beryl? All

Wesley will do is report you. That

s all he ever does. He

s a boy and hasn

t grown a spine yet in that

midshipman

s uniform

o his. Only reason he

s on theStorm is

cause his daddy is Lord Belstrad.

We need to serve the midshipmen next,

Poe reminded Hadrian, urgently tugging at his sleeve.

They

mess in the wardroom aft.

Hadrian dropped off the messkid, hanging it from a hook the way he saw Poe do, and gave Jacob one last glance only to find the fore captain grinning malevolently.

The midshipmen

s mess was far smaller and not much more comfortable than the crew

s quarters. It

was a tiny room aft on the berth deck that creaked loudly as the ship

s hull lurched in the waves.

Normally, Basil delivered the food he cooked for the officers, but this morning he was kept particularly busy working on the lieutenants

and captain

s meal and asked them for help in

delivering the food to the midshipmen

s mess.

What are you doing in here?

the biggest midshipman asked abruptly as Hadrian and Poe entered.

Hadrian almost answered when he realized the question was not addressed at him. Behind them, coming in late, was the young officer who had put Hadrian on report earlier.

You

re supposed to be

on watch, Wesley.

Lieutenant Green relieved me a bit early so I could get some food while it was hot.

So, you

ve come to force yourself in on your betters, is that it?

the big man asked and got a round of

laughter from those with him. This had to be Beryl, Hadrian guessed. He was by far the oldest of the midshipmen

by ten years or more.

You

re going to be nothing but a nuisance to the rest of us on this voyage, aren

t you, boy? Here we thought we could at least have a quiet meal without you disturbing us. What did you do, whine to Green about how your stomach was hurting because we didn

t let you have anything to eat last night?

No, I

Wesley began.

Shut it! I don

t want to hear your sniveling voice. You there, cook!

Beryl snapped.

Don

t serve

Midshipman Wesley any food, not a biscuit crumb, do you understand?

Hadrian nodded guessing that Beryl somehow outranked Wesley despite both of them wearing midshipmen uniforms.

Wesley looked angry, but said nothing and turned away from the table toward his sea chest.

Oh, yes,

Beryl said, rising from the table and walking across the room to Wesley. As he did, Hadrian noticed an old scar down the side of Beryl

s face that looked to have nearly taken out his

eye.

ve been meaning to go through your stuff to see if you had anything I might like.

Wesley turned, closing his chest abruptly.

Open it, boy, and let me have a look.

No, you have no right!

Beryl

s toadies at the table jeered the boy and laughed.

He took a step forward and from his posture, Hadrian knew what was coming even if Wesley was oblivious. The big midshipman struck Wesley hard across the face. The boy fell over his chest onto his back. He rolled to his side, his face red with fury, but never got further than his knees before Beryl struck him again, this time hard enough to spray blood from his nose. Wesley collapsed to the floor again with a wail of pain, and lay crumbled in a ball holding his face. The other midshipmen cheered.

Beryl sifted through the contents of Wesley

s chest.

All that for nothing? I thought you were a lord

son. This is pathetic.

He pulled a white linen shirt out and looked it over.

Well, this at least isn

t too

bad, and I could use a new shirt.

He slammed the chest shut and returned to his breakfast.

Disgusted, Hadrian started to move to help Wesley but stopped when he saw Poe earnestly shaking his head. The young seaman took hold of Hadrian

s arm and nearly dragged him back up to the main

deck where the sun had risen sufficiently to cause them to squint.

Don

t involve yourself in the affairs of officers,

Poe told him earnestly.

They

re just like nobles.

Strike one and you

ll hang for it. Trust me, I know what I

m talking about. My older brother Ned is

the coxswain on theImmortal . The horror stories he

s told me can turn one

s stomach. Blimey, you

act like you

ve never been on a ship

afore.

Hadrian did not say anything as he followed Poe back toward the galley.

You haven

t, have you?

Poe asked suddenly.

So, who is this big fella? Is he Beryl?

Hadrian asked to change the subject.

Poe scowled, then sighed.

Yep, he

s the senior midshipman.

So, Beryl

s a noble?

Don

t know if he is or he ain

t. Most are third or fourth sons, the ones not suited for the tournaments or monastic life who volunteer to serve hoping they can one day manage a captain

s rank, rule their

own ship, and make some money. Most midshipmen only serve about five years before passing the lieutenant

s examination, but Beryl, he

s been a midshipman for something like ten years now, I reckon. I guess it makes a man sorta cranky, being left behind like that. Even if he isn

t a true blue-

blooded noble, he

s still an officer and on this ship that means the same thing.

***

Royce?

Hadrian whispered.

Royce lay in his hammock near the bow of the ship, his head still covered with the white kerchief

the insignia of the maintop crew. He was shivering and wet, lying in soaked clothes.

Royce,

he repeated. This time, he shook his partner

s shoulder.

Do that again and I

ll cut your hand off,

he growled miserably, his voice garbled and sickly.

I brought you some coffee and bread. I put raisins in the bread. You like raisins.

Royce peered out from under his thin blanket with a vicious glare. He eyed the meal and promptly looked away with a grimace.

Sorry, I just knew you hadn

t eaten since yesterday.

Hadrian put the tray down away from him.

They gave you extra duty, didn

t they? You seemed to be up there longer than anyone else.

Bristol kept me on station as punishment for being slow yesterday. How long was I up there?

Twelve hours at least. Listen, I thought we

d have a look around the forward hold. Wyatt tells me

the seret are hiding a special cargo up there. If you can get your stomach under control, maybe you can open a few locks for me?

Royce shook his head miserably.

Not until this ship stops rolling. I stand up and the world spins.

ve got to sleep. How come you

re not sick?

I am, but not like you. I guess elven blood and water don

t mix.

It might,

Royce said, disappearing back under his blanket.

If I don

t start feeling better soon I

ll slit

my wrists.

Hadrian took his blanket, laid it out over the shivering form of Royce, and was about to head back up topside when he remembered something.

Any idea what happened to Edgar Drew?

The guy that fell?

Yeah, some of the crew think he might have been murdered.

I didn

t see anything. Spent most of my time hugging the mast. I was pretty sick

still am. Get out of

here and let me sleep.

It was late and the port watch was on duty, but most of them slept on deck or in the rigging. Only a handful had to remain alert during the middle watch; three lookouts aloft at the masthead, the quartermaster

s mate who manned the wheel in Wyatt

s absence, and the Officer of the Watch.

Hadrian nearly ran into him as he came up.

ster Wesley, sir,

Hadrian said, shifting the tray so he could properly perform the salute.

Wesley

s face was blotchy, his nose and eyes black and blue and Hadrian knew he was standing an additional watch. On his way to Royce, Hadrian had overheard Lieutenant Bishop questioning the midshipman about a brawl, but since Wesley had refused to divulge the name of his adversary the young man took his punishment alone.

Mister Wesley, I thought you might like a bit of hot coffee and something to eat. I

m guessing you

haven

t had much today.

The officer glared at him a moment, then looked at the tray. Seeing the steam rising from the coffee cup, his mouth opened and abruptly shut.

Who sent you here? Was it Beryl? Is this supposed to be funny?

No, sir. I just know you didn

t get to eat breakfast, and you

ve been kept on duty through the rest of

the meals today. You must be starved.

You were ordered not to feed me.

Hadrian shrugged.

ve also been ordered by the captain to see that the crew is fed and fit for duty.

You

ve been up a long time. A man could fall asleep without something to help keep his eyes open.

Wesley looked back down.

That

s coffee, isn

t it?

the young midshipman asked astonished.

There

not more than a few pounds on the entire ship and most of that is reserved for the captain.

I did a bit of trading this afternoon with the purser and managed to get a couple cups worth.

Why offer it to me?

Hadrian looked up at the night sky.

s cold tonight, and punishment for falling asleep can be severe.

Wesley nodded gravely.

On this ship a midshipman is flogged.

Do you think that

s Beryl

s plan, sir? For standing up to him this morning in front of the other officers, I mean.

Maybe. Beryl is a tyrant of the worst order and a libertine who squandered his family

s fortune. If it

wasn

t for my brother, Breckton, I suspect Beryl wouldn

t even notice me. Beating me must seem to

Beryl as if he

s better than my brother.

Your brother is Sir Breckton?

Wesley nodded.

But the joke is on him. I

m nothing like my brother. If I was I wouldn

t be on this

lousy floating piece of wood, or allow myself to be bested by a lout like Beryl.

Take the coffee and bread, sir,

Hadrian said.

I can

t say I care for Beryl and if keeping you awake

tonight gets under his skin, it will make tomorrow all the better in my book. The orders of the captain are more important than a senior midshipman.

ll still have to put you on report for this morning. This kindness won

t change that.

I didn

t expect it to, sir.

The midshipman studied Hadrian, his face betraying a new curiosity.

In that case, thank you,

said, taking the food.

***

Dovin Thranic walked through the waist hold. Dark and cramped, the ship

s bottom deck reeked of

animal dung and salt water. A good four inches of liquid slime pooled along the centerline gutter forcing him to walk up the sides, hurdling the futtock rider beams to keep his shoes dry. Tomorrow he would order Mister Bishop to direct the detail of men to work the bilge pump in the evening to ensure he did not need to go through this every night.

His unsettled stomach made the ordeal even more miserable. After several days of sleeping on board theEmerald Storm while she was in dock, he thought he had gained his sea legs. The initial wretchedness had subsided, only to return now that the ship was rolling at a different cadence on the open sea. It was not nearly as bad as before, but it was still a nuisance and would not make his work any easier.

Thranic carried no light but did not need one. The sentry

s lanterns at the far end of the hold gave

sufficient illumination for him to see. He passed several sentries, seret who stood rigidly at their stations, ignoring his approach.

They seem quiet tonight, have they been behaving?

Thranic asked as he approached the cages.

Yes, sir,

the senior guard replied, breaking his statuesque facade only briefly.

Sea sickness. They

all under the weather.

Yes,

Thranic noted, not without a degree of revulsion. He watched them.

They can see me you

know, even in the dark. They have very good eyesight.

Since a response was not required, the seret remained silent.

I can see recognition on their faces, recognition and fear. This is my first trip to visit them, but already they know me. They can sense the power of Novron within me and the evil in them instinctually cowers. It is like I am a candle and the light I give off pushes back their darkness.

Thranic stepped closer to the cages, each so densely packed they were forced to take turns between standing and lying. Those standing pressed their filthy naked bodies against each other for support.

Males, females, and children were jammed together tightly creating a repugnant quivering mass of flesh. He watched with amusement as they whimpered and whined, struggling to move away from his approach.

See? I am light and the putrid blackness of their souls retreats before me.

Thranic studied their

faces, each gaunt and hollow from starvation.

They are disgusting creatures

unnatural abominations

that never should have been. Their very existence is an insult. You feel it don

t you? We need to

purge the world of the stain they cause. We need to do our best to clear the offense. We need to prove ourselves worthy.

Thranic was no longer looking at the elves. He was staring at his own hands.

Purification is never

easy, but always necessary,

he muttered, pensively.

Fetch me that tall male with the missing tooth,

Thranic ordered.

ll begin with him.

Following the sentinel

s direction, the guards ripped the elf from his cage and bound his elbows behind his back. Using a spare rigging pulley, they hoisted the unfortunate prisoner by his arms to the overhead beam. The effort pulled the elf

s limbs from their sockets, causing him to scream in

agony. His wails and the wretched look on his face caused even the seret to look away, but Thranic watched stoically, his lips pursed approvingly.

Swing him,

he said as the elf howled anew from the motion.

The sentinel looked at the cages again. Inside others were weeping. At his glance, one female pushed forward.

Why can

t you leave us alone?

Thranic searched her face with a look of genuine pity.

Maribor demands that the mistake of his

brother be erased. I am merely his tool.

Then why not

why not just kill us and get it over with?

she cried at him, eyes wild. Thranic paused.

He stared once more at his hands. He turned them over examining both sides with a distant expression. He seemed lost in thought, and was silent for so long that even the seret turned to face him. Thranic looked back at the female, his eyes blurring and lips trembling.

One must scrub very

hard to removesome stains. Take her next.

Chapter 7

Rotten Eggs

Modina descended the curved stair, feeling the hem of her new gown drag along the stone steps.

Since leaving her bedroom, she had passed two young women carrying a pile of linens, and a page with an armful of assorted boots who dropped one the moment he spotted her. They only gave her the briefest of sidelong glances before trotting by. The two girls chatted excitedly to each other, but no one spoke to her.

Since her appearance on the balcony over a month ago, Modina enjoyed an unprecedented degree of freedom within the palace. She owed much of this to Amilia

s constant chipping away at the

regent

s resolve, and could now wander freely inside the castle keep.

She walked gracefully in her new dress, silent and pensive, the way an empress should. The dressilia fashioned for her was brilliant white, yet unlike previous imperial attempts to clothe her, this one was simple and unadorned. During the fittings, Amilia repeatedly scolded the seamstress each time she attempted to embellish it. Amilia knew Modina would be more comfortable in a plain gown, but she doubted her secretary realized the unexpected effect this garment would produce.

When Modina had first come to the castle everyone avoided her the way one evades a dog known to bite, but all that had changed. After her speech, those few members of the castle staff she chanced upon looked at her with affectionate admiration and an unspoken understanding, as if acknowledging that they finally comprehended her behavior. Now seeing her in the new gown, admiration became adoration as the white purity gave her an angelic aura. She went fromthe mad empress to the saintly

although troubled

high priestess. They clearly believed her to be the Chosen One of Maribor.

Everyone attributed her recovery to Amilia

s healing powers. After all, she herself had proclaimed it to the kingdom that day on the balcony. Modina also believed Amilia had saved her, ifsaved was the right word. She did not feel saved.

Since Dahlgren, she drowned in overwhelming terrors she could not face. Amilia had pulled her to shore, but no one could call her existence living. There was a time when she would say life carried hope for a better tomorrow, but for her, hope was a dream blown away on a midsummer

s night. The

horrors were all that remained, calling to her, threatening to pull her under again. It would be easy to give in, to close her eyes and sink to the bottom once more, but if pretending to live could help Amilia, then she would. Amilia had become a tiny point of light in a sea of darkness, the singular star Modina steered by and it did not matter where that light led.

Modina took to walking the corridors of the palace each day mostly out of boredom. She never went anywhere in particular and oftentimes after returning could not recall where she had been. She wanted to feel grass beneath her feet, but her newly found freedom did not extend past the palace walls. She was certain no guard would stop her, but Amilia would pay the price. So instead, Modina spent each afternoon wandering the sequestered halls and chambers like a ghost searching for something long forgotten. She heard that people with missing limbs felt an itching in a phantom leg or arm. Perhaps it was the same for her, as she struggled to scratch at her missing life.

The smell of food indicated she was near the kitchen. Modina did not recall the last time she had eaten, but she was not hungry. Ghosts did not get hungry, at least not for food. She had come to the bottom of the stairs. To the right, cupboards lined a narrow room holding plates, goblets, candles, and utensils. To the left, folded linens were stacked on shelves. Filled with laboring servants and steam, the place was hot and noisy.

Modina spotted the big elkhound sleeping in the corner of the kitchen and immediately recalled his name was Red. She had not been down this way in a long time, not since Saldur caught her feeding the dog. That was the first day since her father died that she could remember clearly, before that

nothing

nothing but

rotten eggs.

She smelled the rancid stench as she stood at the bottom of the steps. Modina glanced around with greater interest. That awful smell triggered a memory. There was a place, a small room. It was cold and dark, no windows, and it was damp. The floor was dirt, and she remembered that smell. She could almost taste it.

Modina approached a small wooden door. With a shaking hand, she pulled it open. Inside, was a small pantry filled with sacks of flour and grain. This was not the room, but the smell was stronger here.

There was another place

small like this

small, dark, and evil. The thought came at her with the force of a forgotten nightmare. Black, earth and cold, a splashing, and a ratcheting that echoed ominously, the wails of lost souls crying for mercy and finding none. She was one of them. She had cried aloud in the dark until she could cry no more, and always the smell of dirt penetrated her nostrils and the dampness soaked into her skin. A sudden realization jolted her.

m remembering my grave! I am dead. I am a ghost.

She looked at her hands

this was not life. The darkness, closed in all around her, growing deeper, swallowing her, smothering her.

***

Are you all right, Your Eminence?

Ya think she

s sick again?

Don

t be daft. She

s just upset. You can see that well enough, can

t ya?

Poor thing, she

s so fragile.

Remember who you

re speaking of. That lass slew Rufus

Bane!

Youremember whoyou

re speaking of,that lass indeed! By Maribor

s beard, she

s the empress!

Out of my way,

Amilia growled, as she shooed the crowd like a yard full of chickens.

She was in no mood to be polite. Fear made her voice harsh and it lacked the familiar tone of a fellow kitchen worker

it was the voice of an angry noblewoman. The servants scattered. Modina sat on the floor with her back against the wall. She was weeping softly with her hands covering her face.

What did you do to her?

Amilia snapped accusingly, while glaring at the lot of them.

Nothing!

Leif defended.

Leif, the butcher and assistant cook, was a scrawny little man with thick dark hair covering his arms and chest but absent from his balding head. Amilia had never cared for him and the thought that he, or any of them, might have hurt Modina made her blood boil.

No one was even near her. I swear!

That

s right,

Cora confirmed. The dairymaid was a sweet simple girl who churned the butter each morning and always added too much salt.

She just sat and started crying.

Amilia knew better than to listen to Leif, but Cora was trustworthy.

All right,

she told them.

Leave

her be. Back to work all of you.

They were slow to respond until Amilia gave them a threatening glare.

Are you all right? What

s wrong?

she asked kneeling beside Modina.

The empress looked up and threw her arms around Amilia

s neck as she continued to sob

uncontrollably. Amilia held her, stroking her hair. She had no idea what was wrong, but needed to get the empress to her room. If word reached Saldur, or worse, if he wandered in

she tried not to

think of it.

s okay, it

s all right. I

ve got you. Try to calm down.

Am I alive?

Modina asked with pleading eyes.

For the briefest of moments, Amilia thought she might be joking, but there were two things wrong with that. First, there was the look in Modina

s eyes, and second the empressnever joked.

Of course, you are,

she reassured.

Now come. Let

s get you to bed.

Amilia helped her up. Modina stood like a newborn fawn, weak and unsure. As they left, excited whispering rose.I

ll have to deal with that right away , she thought.

She guided Modina upstairs to where Gerald, the empress

s personal guard, gave them a concerned

look as he opened the chamber door.

Is she all right?

Gerald asked.

She

s tired,

Amilia said, closing the door on him.

The empress sat on the edge of her bed staring at nothing, but this was not her familiar blank stare.

Amilia could see her thinking hard about something.

Were you sleepwalking? Did you have a nightmare?

Modina thought a moment then shook her head.

I remembered something,

her voice was faint and

airy.

It was something bad.

Was it about the battle?

This was the first time Amilia brought up the subject. Details of Modina

legendary combat with the beast that destroyed Dahlgren were always vague, or clouded by so much dogma and propaganda it was impossible to tell truth from fiction. Like any imperial citizen, Amilia was curious. The stories claimed Modina slew a powerful dragon with a broken sword. Just looking at the empress, she knew that was not true, but Amilia was certain something terrible had happened.

No,

Modina said softly.

It was afterward. I woke up in a hole, a terrible place. I think it was my grave. I don

t like remembering. It

s better for both of us if I don

t try.

Amilia nodded. Since Modina had begun speaking, most of their conversations had centered on Amilia

s life in Tarin Vale. On the few occasions when she asked Modina about her own past, the empress

s expression darkened and the light in her eyes would fade. She would not speak anymore after that, sometimes for days. The skeletons in Modina

s closet were legion.

Well, don

t think about it then,

Amilia told her in a soothing voice. She sat next to Modina on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through the empress

s hair.

Whatever it was, it

s over. Shh, you

here with me now. It

s getting late. Do you think you can sleep?

The empress nodded, but her eyes remained troubled.

Once she was certain the empress was resting peacefully, Amilia crept out of her room. Ignoring Gerald

s questioning looks, she trotted downstairs to the kitchen. If left to themselves, the scullions would start a wave of rumors certain to engulf the entire palace and she could not afford to have this getting back to Saldur.

Amilia had not visited the kitchens for quite some time. The moist steamy cloud that smelled of onions and grease, once so familiar, was now oppressive. Eight people worked the evening shift.

There were several new faces, mostly young boys fresh off the street, or girls still smelling of farm manure. All of them worked perfunctorily, as they were engrossed in the conversation that rose above the sound of the boiling kettles and the clatter of pans. That all stopped when she entered.

Amilia!

Ibis Thinly boomed, the moment he saw her. The old sea cook was a huge barrel-chested man with bright blue eyes and a beard that wreathed his chin. Blood and grease stained his apron.

He held a towel in one hand and a spoon in the other. Leaving a large pot on the stove he strode over to her grinning.

Yer a fine sight for weathering eyes, lass! How

s life treating you and why don

you visit more often?

She rushed to him. Ignoring his filthy garment and all courtly protocol, she hugged the big man tight.

The water boy dropped both buckets and gasped aloud.

Ibis chuckled.

s as if they plum forgot you used to work here. Like they think their old Amilia died er sumptin

and the Chief Secretary to the Empress grew outta thin air.

He put down the spoon

and took her by the hand.

So, how are you, lassie?

Really good, actually.

I hear you got a fancy place up there in the East Wing with all the swells. That

s sumptin

to be

proud of, that is. Yer moving up in the world. There

s no mistaking that. I just hope you don

t forget

us down here.

If I do, just burn my dinner and I

ll remember who the really important people are.

Oh, speaking of that!

Ibis quickly used the towel to lift the steaming pot from the stove.

Don

t want

to be ruining the sauce for the chamberlain

s quail.

How are things here?

Same as always.

He hoisted the pot onto the stone bench and lifted the lid, freeing a cloud of steam.

Nuttin

changes in the scullery and you picked a fine time to visit. Edith ain

t here. She

s upstairs

hollering at the new chambermaid.

Amilia rolled her eyes.

They should have dismissed that woman years ago.

Don

t I know it, but I only run the kitchen and don

t have no say over what she does. Course, you

being a swell an all now, maybe

She shook her d.

I don

t have any real power. I just take care of Modina.

Ibis used the spoon and tasted the sauce before replacing the lid.

Well now, I know you didn

t come here to jaw with me about Edith Mon. This have sumptin to do with the empress crying down here a bit ago? It wasn

t the pea soup I made for her, was it?

No,

Amilia assured him.

She loves your cooking, but yes, I did sort of want to explain things.

She

turned to face the rest of the staff and raised her voice,

I just wanted everyone to know the empress

is okay. She heard some bad news today and it saddened her is all. But she

s fine now.

Was it about the war?

Nipper asked.

I bet it had to do with the prisoners in Ratibor,

Knob the baker speculated.

The Princess of

Melengar done executed them, didn

t she? Everyone knows she

s a witch and a murderess. She

think nothing of slaughtering defenseless folk. That

s why she was weeping, wasn

t it?

Cause she

couldn

t save them?

The poor dear,

the butcher

s wife declared.

She cares so much, it

s no wonder she

s so upset with

everything she has to deal with. Thank Maribor she has you taking care of her, Lady Amilia. You

a mercy and then some, you are.

Amilia smiled and turned to Ibis,

Didn

t she always used to yell at me about the way I cleaned her husband

s knives?

Ibis chuckled.

She also accused you of taking that pork loin a year ago last April. Said you ought to be whipped. I guess she forgot about that. They all have I

spect. It

s the dress, I think. Seeing you in

a gown like this, even I have to fight the impulse to bow.

Don

t do that,

she told him,

or I

ll never come back here.

Ibis grinned.

s good to see you again.

***

In her dream, Modina saw the beast coming up behind her father. She tried to scream but only a muffled moan escaped. She tried to run to him, but her feet were stuck in mud

thick, green, foul-

smelling mud. The beast had no trouble moving as it charged down the hill toward him. To her anguished amazement, Theron took no notice of the ground shaking from the monster

s massive

bulk. It consumed him in a single bite and Modina collapsed in the dirt. The musty smell filled her nostrils as she struggled to breathe. She could feel the damp earth against her body. In the darkness, the sounds of splashing told the beast came for her too. All around, men and women cried and howled in misery and fear. The beast came for them all. Splashing, cranking, splashing, cranking, it was coming to finish the job, coming to swallow her up as well.

It was hungry. Very hungry. It needed to eat.

They all needed to eat, but there was never enough food. What little they had was a putrid gruel that smelled awful

like rotten eggs. She was cold, shivering and weeping. She cried so hard, and for so long, her eyes no longer teared. There was nothing left to live for or was there?

Modina woke in her darkened room shivering in a cold sweat.

It was the same dream that haunted her each night and made her fear closing her eyes. She got up and moved toward the moonlight of her window. By the time she reached it, most of the dream was forgotten, but she realized something had been different. Sitting in her usual place, she looked out over the courtyard below. It was late and everyone was gone except the guards on watch. She tried to remember her nightmare, but the only thing she could recall was the smell of rotten eggs.

Chapter 8

The Horn

After the first few disorienting days, life aboard theEmerald Storm settled into a rigid pattern.

Every morning began with the washing and scrubbing of the upper deck, although it never had a chance to get dirty from one day to the next. Breakfast followed. The watches changed and the scrubbing continued, this t on the lower decks. At noon, Lieutenant Bishop or one of the other officers fixed their position using the sun and confirmed it with the captain. Afterward, the men drilled on the masts and yards, launching longboats, boarding and repelling, archery, the ballista, and hand-to-hand combat. Not surprisingly, Hadrian won high marks in sword fighting and archery, a display of skill not lost on Grady who nodded knowingly.

From time to time, the men were drummed to the main deck to witness punishment. So far there had been four floggings, but Hadrian knew the victims only by name. In the afternoon, the men received their grog, a mixture of rum and sugar water, and in the evening the master-at-arms went about making certain all fires were out.

Most days were the same as the one before, with only a few exceptions. On Make

n Mend day the

captain granted the crew extra time in the afternoon to sew up rips in their clothing or indulge in hobbies such as wood carving or scrimshaw. On Washday, they cleaned their clothes. Since using fresh water was forbidden and there was no soap, shirts and pants usually felt better after a day working in the rain than they did after Washday.

By now, everyone knew their responsibilities and could perform them reasonably well. Hadrian and Royce were pleased to discover they were not the only novices aboard. Recently pressed men comprised nearly a quarter of the crew. Many came from as far away as Alburn and Dunmore and most had never seen the ocean before. The other men

s bumbling presence, and Wyatt

s assistance,

masked Hadrian and Royce

s lack of experience. Now, both knew the routine and their tasks well enough to pass on their own.

TheEmerald Storm continued traveling due south, with the wind on her port quarter laying her over elegantly as she charged the following sea. It was a marvelously warm day. Either they had run so far south that the season had yet to change, or autumn blessed them with one last breath of perfect weather. The master

s mate and a yeoman of the hold appeared on deck at the ringing of the first bell to disperse the crew

s grog.

About four days into the voyage, Royce finally found his sea legs. His color returned, but even after more than a week his temper remained sour. Much of the reason came from Jacob Derning

constant accusations about his culpability in Drew

s death.

After I slit his throat, I can just drop the body into the sea,

he casually told Hadrian. They had

collected their grog and the crew lay scattered about the top decks relaxing in the bright sunshine.

Royce and Hadrian were no exception. They found a cozy out-of-the-way space on the waist deck between the longboat and the bulkhead where the sailmaker and his mates had left a pile of excess canvas. It made for a luxurious deck bed from which to watch the clear blue sky with its decorative puffs of clouds.

ll dump him at night and he

s gone for good. The body won

t even wash up on shore because the

sharks and fish will eat it. It

s better than having your own personal vat of lye.

Okay, one more time,

Hadrian had become exhausted from the conversation.

You can

t kill Jacob

Derning. We have no idea what

s going on yet. What if he

s Merrick

s contact? So, until we know

something

anything

you can

t kill anyone.

Royce scowled and folded his arms across his chest in frustration.

Let

s get back to what we know,

Hadrian went on.

ve got a cargo hold full of elves, enough

weapons to outfit an army, a sentinel with a company of seret, a Tenkin, and an ex-Diamond. I think Thranic must be part of this. I doubt a sentinel is just taking a pleasure cruise.

He does stand out like a knife in a man

s back, which is why I doubt he

s involved.

Okay, let

s put him in the maybe category. That leaves Bernie at the top of the list. What did you say his name was?

He went by Ruby when he was in the Diamond, but his real is Defoe.

Was he in the guild at the same time as you and Merrick?

He nodded.

But we never worked with him

hardly even saw him. Defoe was a digger

specialized in

robbing crypts mostly, then he got into looking for buried treasure. Taught himself to read so he could search old books for clues. He found Gable

s Corner and the Lyrantian Crypt, apparently

buried somewhere out in Vilan Hills. Came back with some nice stuff and all these tall tales about ghosts and goblins. He ended up having some disagreement with the Jewel and it wasn

t long before

he went independent. Never heard of him after that.

But Merrick at least knew him, right?

Yeah.

Think he recognized you?

I don

t know. Maybe. He wouldn

t let on if he had. He

s no fool.

Any chance he

s turned a new leaf and taken up sailing for real?

About as likely as me doing it.

Hadrian eyed Royce for a heartbeat.

I put him at the top of the list.

What about the Tenkin?

That

s another strange one, he

Land-ho!

The lookout on the foremast shouted while pointing off the port bow. Royce and Hadrian got up and looked in the direction indicated. Hadrian could not make out much just a thin gray line, but he thought he could see twin towers rising in the distance.

Is that

Drumindor,

Royce confirmed, glancing over his shoulder before sitting back down with his rum.

Oh, yeah? We

re that far south? Been a while since we

ve been around here.

Don

t remind me.

Okay, so the fortress wasn

t the best of times, but the city was nice. You have to admit Tur Del Fur is better than Colnora really. Beautiful climate, brightly painted buildings on an aqua sea, and it

s a

Republic port. You

ve got to love an open city.

Oh? Remember how many times you banged your head?

Hadrian frowned at him.

You really do hate dwarves, don

t you? Honestly, I

m surprised you let

Magnus stay at the abbey. All right, so there

s a bit too much dwarven architecture there, but it sure is built well. You

ve got to admit that, and you liked the wine, remember?

Royce shrugged.

What were you going to say about the Tenkin?

Oh, yeah. His name is Staul.

Doesn

t seem like the sailor type.

No.

Hadrian shook his head.

s a warrior. Most Tenkin men are. Thing is Tenkins never leave the Gur Em.

The what?

You

ve never been to Calis, have you? The whole eastern half is a tropical forest and the thickest part is a jungle they call the Gur Em. This is the first time I

ve ever seen a Tenkin outside of Calis,

which makes me think Staul is an outcast.

Doesn

t sound like the type Merrick would be doing business with.

So, Defoe remains our number one.

Hadrian thought a moment,

Ya think he had anything to do

with Drew

s death?

Maybe,

Royce replied, taking a sip of rum.

He was on the main mast that night, but I was too sick to pay attention. I guess Drew could have just fallen, but I certainly wouldn

t put it past Defoe to

give him a little push. He

d need a reason, though.

Drew and Defoe were both at a card game earlier that night. Drew won the pot and if Defoe is a thief

Royce shook his head.

Defoe wouldn

t kill him over a gambling dispute, not unless it was really big money and the coppers and silvers they were likely playing for isn

t what Defoe would think of as

big money. That doesn

t mean he didn

t kill him, it just wasn

t about gambling. Anything else happen

at the game?

Not really, although Drew did mention he was going to talk to Grady the next morning at breakfast about someone coming aboard to help find a horn. Drew thought it was kinda funny, actually. He seemed to think the horn was easy to find. He was going to go into more detai at breakfast.

Maybe Drew overheard something Defoe preferred he hadn

t. That

s a more likely reason. But, a

horn?

***

They came across Wyatt at the ship

s wheel. His plumed hat was off and his white linen shirt fluttered about his tan skin like a personal sail. He had theStorm tight-over, playing the pressure of the rudder against the press of the wind. He was staring out at the headland with glassy eyes as they approached, but when he spotted them he abruptly cast his head down at the binnacle and quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his forearm.

You all right?

Hadrian asked.

Y-yeah,

Wyatt croaked, then coughed to clear his throat.

Fine.

He sniffed and wiped his nose.

There

s a good chance we

ll find her,

Royce assured him.

See,

Hadrian said,

you

ve even got Mister Cynical feeling optimistic about your chances. That

gotta count for something.

Wyatt forced a smile.

Hey, we

ve got a question for you,

Royce said.

Do you have any idea what thehorn is?

Sure, you

re looking right at it,

Wyatt declared, gesturing toward the point.

That

s the Horn of

Delgos. As soon as we clear it, the captain will likely order the ship to weather round the point and then tack windward.

Royce frowned.

Let

s assume for just a moment that I

m not an experienced sailor, shall we?

Wyatt chuckled.

re gonna make a left turn and head east.

How do you know?

Wyatt shrugged.

The horn is the farthest spit of land south. If we stay on this course, we

ll sail into

the open sea. There

s nothing out there but whirlpools, Dacca, and sea serpents. If we weather round

turn left, we

ll sail up the eastern coast of Delgos.

And what

s up that way?

Not much. These cliffs you see continue all the way round to Vandon, the only other sea port in Delgos. Besides being the headquarters for the Spice Company, it is also a haven for pirates, or more accuratelythe haven for pirates. We aren

t going there either. TheStorm is as fine a ship as they come, but the jackals would gather like a pack of wolves, and dog her until we surrendered or they sank us.

How does the Spice Company manage any trade, surrounded by pirates?

Who do you think runs the spice company?

Oh.

Beyond that?

Royce asked.

Dagastan Bay and the whole coast of Calis, with ports at Wesbaden, and Dagastan. Then you drift out of civilization and into the Ba Ran Archipelago, and no one, not even pirates, go there.

And you

re sure this here is the horn?

Yep, every sailor who

s ever been in the Sharon knows it. It

d be impossible to miss old Drumindor.

Though the coast was still many leagues off, the ancient dwarven edifice was clearly visible now. It stood taller than anything Hadrian had ever seen, and he smiled at the irony knowing dwarves built it. It was close to eight hundred feet from the raw rocky base where waves crashed, to the top of the dome. It appeared to be equal parts fortification and monument. In some respects, it resembled two massive gears laid on their sides, huge cylinders with teeth jutting seaward. From the tops of each tower, smoke rose skyward. Midway up were fins

arced openings like gigantic teapot spouts that

pointed seaward. Between the twin towers was a single-span stone bridge connecting them like a lintel over the entrance of the harbor.

Can

t even miss her at night the way she lights up. You should see her during a full moon when they blow the vents. It puts on quite a show. She

s built on a volcano and the venting prevents too much pressure from building up. Ships in the area often arrange to pass the point at the full moon just for the entertainment. But they also keep their distance. The dwarves that built thatfortress sure knew what they were doin

. No ship can enter Terlando Bay if the masters of Drumindor don

t want them

to. They can spew molten rock for hundreds of feet and burn a fleet of ships to drifting ash in minutes.

re familiar with how that works,

Royce said, coldly.

Wyatt cocked an eyebrow.

Bad experience?

We had a job there once,

Hadrian replied.

A dwarf, named Gravis, was angry about humans

desecrating what he considered a dwarven masterpiece. We had to get in to stop him.

You broke into Drumindor?

Wyatt looked impressed.

I thought that was impossible.

Just about,

Royce answered,

and we didn

t get paid enough for the trouble it gave me.

Hadrian snorted,

You? I was the one who nearly died making that leap. You just hung there and laughed.

How

d you get in? I heard that place is kept tighter than Cornelius DeLur

s purse,

Wyatt pressed.

It wasn

t easy,

Royce grumbled.

I learned to hate dwarves on that job. Well there and

he trailed off

rubbing his left shoulder absently.

It will be the harvest moon in a few weeks. Maybe we we

ll catch the show on the way back,

Wyatt

said.

The lookout announced the sighting of sails. Several ships clustered under the safety of the fort, but they were so far out that only their topsails showed.

I would have expected the captain to have ordered a course change by now. He

s letting us get

awfully close.

Drumindor can

t shoot this far, can she?

Hadrian asked.

No, but the fortress isn

t the only danger,

Wyatt pointed out.

It isn

t safe for an imperial vessel to

linger in these waters. Delgos isn

t officially at war with us, but everyone knows the DeLurs support the Nationalists and

well

accidents can happen.

***

They continued sailing due south. It was not until the point was well astern and nearly out of sight that the captain appeared on the quarterdeck. Now, at least they would discover which direction theEmerald Storm would go.

Heave-to, Mister Bishop!

he ordered.

Back the main

sl!

Bishop shouted, and the men sprang into action.

This was the first time Hadrian had heard these particular orders and he was glad that, as ship

cook, he was not required to carry them out. It did not take long for him to see what was happening.

Backing the mainsail caused it to catch the wind on its forward side. If the fore and mizzenmasts were also backed, the ship would sail in reverse. Since they remained trimmed as they were, the force of the wind lay balanced between them, leaving the ship stationary on the water.

Once the ship was heaved-to the captain ordered a reading on the ship

s position, then disappeared

once more into his cabin, leaving Lieutenant Bishop on the quarterdeck.

So much for picking a direction,

Hadrian muttered to himself.

They remained stationary for the rest of that day. At sunset, Captain Seward ordered lights hauled aloft, but nothing further slipped his lips.

Hadrian served supper, boiled salt pork stew again. Even he was tired of his menu, but the only complaints came from the recently pressed who were not yet hardened to the conformities of life at sea. Hadrian suspected most of the veterans on board would demand salt pork and biscuits even on land rather than break the routine.

He ez a murderer, dat ez why!

Hadrian heard Staul shout as he entered the below deck with the last of the evening meals. The Tenkin was standing slightly crouched in the center of the crews

quarters. His dark tattooed body

and rippling muscles were revealed as he removed his shirt. In his right hand, he held a knife. A cloth wrapped his left fist. His chest heaved with excitement, a mad grin on his face, and a sinister glare in his eyes.

In front of Staul stood Royce.

He ked Edgar Drew. Everyone knows et. Now, he

ll be dee one to die, eh?

Royce stood casually, his hands loosely clasped before him as if he were just one of the bystanders

except

his eyes never left the knife. Royce followed it as a cat might watch the movement of a string. It only took Hadrian a second to see why. Staul was holding the knife by the blade. On a hunch, Hadrian scanned the room and found Defoe standing behind and to Royce

s left, a hand

hidden behind his back.

Staul took his attention off Royce for a moment, but Hadrian noticed his weight shift to his rear foot and hoped his friend noticed as well. An instant later Staul threw the knife. The blade flew with perfect accuracy, only when it arrived the thief was not there and the tip buried itself in a deck post.

All eyes were on Staul as he bristled with rage, shouting curses. Hadrian forced himself to ignore the Tenkin and searched for Defoe. He had moved. Spotting the glint of a blade in the crowd, he found him again. Defoe had slipped up behind Royce and lunged. Royce spun. Not taken in by the plot, he faced his old guild mate with the blade Staul had provided. Defoe halted mid-step, hesitated, then backed away melting into the crowd. Hadrian doubted anyone else noticed his involvement.

Ah! You dance well!

Staul shouted and laughed.

Dat ez good. Perhaps next time you trip, eh?

The excitement over, the crowd broke up. As they did, Jacob Derning muttered loud enough for everyone to hear,

Good to see I

m not the only one who thinks he killed poor Drew.

Royce,

Hadrian called, keeping his eyes focused on Jacob.

Perhaps you should take your meal up

on the deck where it

s cooler.

***

That was pleasant,

Hadrian said, after the two had safely reached the galley and closed the door behind them.

What was?

Poe asked, dishing out the last of the stew for the midshipmen.

Oh, nothing really. A few crewmen just tried to murder Royce.

What?

Poe almost dropped the whole kettle.

Now, can I kill people?

Royce asked, stepping into the corner and putting his back against the wall.

He had an evil look on his face.

Who tried to murder him?

Defoe,

Royce replied.

So, what am I supposed to do now? Lie awake at night waiting for him and his buddies

m sorry, hismates

to knife me?

Who

s Defoe?

Poe, would it be possible for Royce and I to sleep in here at night?

In the galley? I suppose. Won

t be too comfortable, but if Royce is always on time for his watch, and if you tell Mister Bishop you want him to help with the night time boils, he might allow it.

Great, I

ll do that. While I

m gone, Poe, can you go below and get us a couple of hammocks that we can hang in here. Royce, maybe you can rig a lock for the door?

s better than being bait.

Who

s Defoe?

***

Royce worked both the second dogwatch and the first watch, which kept him aloft from sunset until midnight. By the time he returned, Hadrian had obtained permission for Royce to sleep in the galley, and Poe had moved up what little gear they had and strung two hammocks between the walls of the narrow room.

How is it?

the thief asked entering the darkened galley and finding Hadrian hanging in the netting.

Hmm?

he asked waking up.

Oh, okay I guess. The room is too narrow for me so I feel like I

being bent in half, but it should be fine for you. How was your watch? Did you see Defoe?

Never took my eyes off oldBernie ,

he said, grinning and dodging a pot that hung from the overhead beam. Hadrian knew Royce must have enjoyed a bit of revenge on Defoe. If there was ever a place where Royce held an advantage, it was a hundred feet in the air dangling from beams and ropes in the dar of night.

Hadrian shifted his weight causing his hammock to swing.

What did you do?

Actually, I didn

t do anything, but that was what drove him crazy. He

s still sweating.

So he did recognize you.

Oh, yeah, and it was like there were two moons out tonight his face was so pale.

Royce checked the lines and the mountings of the hammock Poe had installed for him and looked generally pleased with the work.

To be honest, I

m surprised Defoe didn

t suffer an accidental fall.

Royce shook his head.

Two accidents off my mast is just bad planning. Besides, Defoe wasn

t trying

to kill me.

Sure looked that way from where I was standing. And it seemed pretty organized too.

You think so?

he asked sitting on the crate of biscuits Poe had brought up for the morning

breakfast.

s not how I would do it. First, why stage the fight in a room full of witnesses? If they had killed me, they would hang. Second, why attack me below? Like I said, the sea is the perfect place to dispose of a body and the closer to the rail you get your victim, the easier it is.

Then what do you think they were up to?

Royce pursed his lips and shook his head.

I have no idea. If it was a diversion to rifle our

belongings, why not hold it topside? For that matter, why bother with a diversion at all? There have been plenty of times while we were on deck to go through our stuff.

You think it was just to intimidate us?

If it was, it wasn

t Defoe

s idea. Threatening to kill me but not finishing the job is famously fatal. He would know that.

So, Derning put them up to it?

Maybe, but

I don

t know. Derning doesn

t seem like someone Defoe would take orders from

at least,

not such stupid orders.

Makes sense, so then

The muffled thump, like another body hitting the deck, brought them to their feet. Hadrian threw open the door of the galley and cautiously looked about the deck.

The larboard watch was on duty but rather than the typical watch-and-snooze routine, they were hard at work running a boat drill. They hoisted the longboat from the yard and had it over the side where it bumped the gunwale once more before being lowered into the sea.

Odd time for a lifeboat drill,

Wyatt said, walking toward them from the shelter of the forecastle.

Trouble sleeping?

Royce asked.

Wyatt beamed a grin.

Look who else is on duty,

he told them, pointing at the quarterdeck where

Sentinel Thranic, Mister Beryl, Doctor Levy, and Defoe stood talking.

They slipped around the forecastle, moving quickly to the bow. Looking over the rail, Hadrian saw six men rowing toward a nearby light.

Another ship,

Royce muttered.

Really?

A small, single mast schooner. No flag.

Is there anything in the longboat?

Hadrian asked.

If that

s payment going to

Royce shook his head.

Just the crew.

They watched as the sound of the oars faded, then waited. Hadrian strained, peering into the darkness, but all he could see was the bobbing light of the little boat and the one marking its destination.

Boat

s coming back,

Royce announced,

and there

s an extra head now.

Wyatt squinted.

Who would they be picking up in the middle of the night from Delgos?

They watched as the longboat returned. Just as Royce said, there was an additional man

a passenger.

Wrapped in ship

s blankets, he was small and thin, with a long pasty face and white hair. He looked to be very old, far too old to be of any use as a sailor. He came aboard and spoke to Thranic and Doctor Levy at length. The old man

s things were gathered and deposited beside him. One of the bags came loose and two weighty, leather-bound books spilled onto the bleached deck.

Careful, my

boy,

the old man cautioned the sailor.

Tho are one of a kind, and like me, are very old and sadly fragile.

Gather his things and take them to the guest quarters,

Thranic ordered. Glancing toward the bow,

he stopped abruptly. He glared at them, licking his thin lips in thought, then slowly approached. As he did, he held his dark cloak tight, his shoulders raised to protect his neck from the cold wind.

Between this and his stooped back, he resembled a scavenger bird.

What are you all doing on deck? None of you are part of the larboard watch.

Off duty, sir,

Wyatt answered for them.

Just getting a bit of fresh air.

Thranic peered at Hadrian and took a step toward him.

You

re the cook, aren

t you?

Without thinking, Hadrian felt at his side for the hilt of his absent sword. Something about the sentinel made him flinch. Sentinels were always scary, but this one was absolutely chilling.

Returning his gaze was like staring into the eyes of restrained madness.

You joined this voyage along with

Thranic

s eyes shifted to Royce.

This one

yes, the nimble

fellow

the one so good at climbing. What

s your name? Melborn isn

t it? Royce Melborn? I heard you

were seasick. How odd.

Royce remained silent.

Very odd, indeed.

Sentinel Thranic?

the old man called, his weak voice barely making the trip across the deck.

would rather like to get out of the damp wind if I could.

He coughed.

Thranic stared a moment longer at Royce then pivoted sharply and left them.

Not exactly the kind of guy you want taking an interest in you is he?

Wyatt offered.

With the longboat back aboard, the captain appeared on the quarterdeck and ordered a new course

due east, into the wind.

Chapter 9

Ella

Another dispatch from Sir Breckton, sir,

the clerk announced, handing a small scroll to the imperial chancellor. The elderly man returned to the desk in his little office and read the note. A scowl grew across his face.

The man is incorrigible!

The chancellor burst out to no one, then pulled a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped his quill.

The door opened unexpectedly and the chancellor jumped.

Can

t you knock?

Sorry, Biddings, did I startle you?

the Earl of Chadwick asked, entering with his exquisite floor-length cape trailing behind him. He had a pair of white gloves draped over one forearm as he bit into a bright red apple.

You

re always startling me. I think you get a sadistic pleasure from it.

Archibald smiled.

I saw the dispatch arrive. Is there any word from theEmerald Storm ?

No, this is from Breckton.

Breckton? What does he want?

Archibald sat in the armchair opposite the chancellor and rested his booted feet on a footstool.

No matter how many times I tell him to wait and be patient, he refuses to grasp that we know more than he does. He wants permission to attack Ratibor.

Archibald sighed.

Again? I suppose you see now what I

ve had to put up with all these years. He

and Enden are so headstrong I

Were,

the chancellor corrected,

Sir Enden died in Dahlgren.

Ballentyne nodded.

And wasn

t that a waste of a good man.

He took another bite and with his

mouth still full went on.

Do you need me to write him personally? He is my knight after all.

What would help is to be able to tell himwhy he doesn

t need to attack.

Archibald shook his head.

Saldur and Ethelred are still insisting on secrecy regarding the

The chancellor raised a hand stopping him. Archibald looked confused and the chancellor pointed at the chambermaid on her knees scrubbing the floor near the windows of his office.

Ballentyne rolled his eyes.

Oh, please. Do you really think the scrub girl is a spy?

I have always found it best to err on the side of caution. She doesn

t have to be a spy to get you

hanged for treason.

She doesn

t even know what we are talking about. Besides look at her. It isn

t likely she

ll be

bragging in some pub. You don

t go out at night boasting at bars do you, lass?

Ella shook her head and refused to look up so that her brown, sweat-snarled hair continued to hang in her face.

See!

Archibald said in a vindicated tone.

It is like censoring yourself because there is a couch or a chair in the room.

I was referring to a more subtle kind of danger,

Biddings told him.

Should something happen.

Something unfortunate with the plan such that it fails

someone always has to be blamed. How

fortunate it would be to discover a loquacious earl who had boasted details to even a mindless chambermaid.

Archibald

s smirk faded immediately.

The third son of a dishonored baron doesn

t rise to the rank of imperial chancellor by being stupid,

Biddings said.

Point taken.

Archibald glanced back at the scrub girl with a new expression of loathing.

I had best

return to Saldur

s office or he

ll be looking for me. Honestly, Biddings, I

m really starting to detest

staying in this palace.

She still won

t see you?

No, I can

t get past her secretary. That Lady Amilia is a sly one. Plays all innocent and doe-eyed, but she guards the empress with ruthless determination. And Saldur and Ethelred are no help at all.

They insist she plans to marry Ethelred. It has to be a lie. I simply can

t imagine Modina wanting

that old moose.

Particularly when she could choose a young buck like yourself?

Exactly.

And your desire is true love, of course, with absolutely no thought how marrying Modina would make you emperor.

For a man who went from third baron

s son to chancellor, I am surprised you can even ask me that.

Archie!

bellowed the voice of Regent Saldur, echoing down the hall outside the office.

m in with Biddings!

Archibald shouted back, through the open door.

And don

t call me

He was

interrupted by the sudden rush of the scrub girl running bucket in hand from the office.

Looks like

she doesn

t like Saldur any more than I do.

***

Arista had spilled scrub water onto her skirt causing it to plaster the rough material to her legs. Her thin cloth shoes made a disagreeable slapping noise as she ran down the corridor. The sound of Saldur

s voice made her run faster.

That was close, too close. Yet even as she fled through the corridor, she wondered if Saldur, who had known the princess since birth, would recognize her. There was nothing magical about her transformation, but that did not make it any less impenetrable. She wore dirty rags, lacked makeup, and her once lustrous hair was now a tangled mess. It had lightened, bleached by the same sun that tanned her skin. Still, it was more than just her appearance. Arista had changed. At times when she caught her own reflection, it took a moment to register that she was seeing herself and not some poor peasant woman. The bright-eyed girl was gone and a dark brooding spirit possessed her battered body.

More than anything else, the sheer absurdity of the situation provided the greatest protection. No one would believe that a sheltered, self-indulgent princess would willingly scrub floors in the palace of her enemy. She doubted even Saldur

s mind would grant enough latitude to penetrate the illusion.

Even if some thought she looked familiar

and several seemed to

their minds simply could not bend

that far. They could no more accept that she was Arista Essendon than the notion of talking pigs or that Maribor was not god. To entertain such an idea would require a mind open to new possibilities, and no one at the palace fit that description.

The only one she worried about, beside Saldur, was t empress

s secretary. She was not like the

others

she noticed Arista. Amilia saw through her veneer with suspicious eyes. Saldur clearly surrounded the empress with his best and brightest and Arista did all she could to avoid her.

On the road north from Ratibor, Arista fell in with a band of refugees fleeing to Aquesta and arrived nearly a month ago. The spell led her to the palace itself. Things grew more complicated after that. If she was more confident in the magic and her ability to use it, she might have returned to Melengar right away with the news that Gaunt was a prisoner in the imperial palace. As it was, she felt the need to see him for herself. She managed to obtain a job as a chamber maid, hoping to repeat the location spell inside the castle walls at various locations, only this turned out to be impossible. Closely watched by the headmistress, Edith Mon, she rarely found enough free time and privacy to cast the spell. On the few occasions she succeeded, the smoke indicated a direction but the maze of corridors blocked any attempt to follow. Magically stymied, Arista sought to determine Gaunt

s whereabouts by eavesdropping while at the same time learning her way around the grounds.

What have ya done now!

Edith Mon shouted at her, as Arista entered the scullery.

Arista had no idea what a hobgoblin looked like, but she guessed it probably resembled Edith Mon.

She was stocky and strong. Her huge head sat on her shoulders like a boulder, crushing whatever neck she might have once had. Her face, pockmarked and spotted, provided the perfect foundation for her broad nose with its flaring nostrils through which she breathed loudly, particularly when angry, as she was now.

Edith yanked the bucket from her hands.

Ya clumsy little wench! Ya best pray you spilled it only on yerself. If I hear ya left a dirty puddle in a hallway

Edith had threatened to cane her on three occasions, but was interrupted each time

twice by the head

cook. Arista was not sure what she would do if it came to that. Scrubbing floors was one thing, but allowing herself to be whipped by an old hag was something else. If it came to that, Edith might discover there was more to her new chambermaid than she thought. Arista often amused herself by contemplating which curse might be best for old Edith. At that moment, she was considering the virtues of skin worms, but all she said was,

Is there anything else today?

The older woman glared.

Oh! You think yer sumptin

, don

t ya? You think yer better than the rest

us, that yer arse shines

o silver. Well it don

t! Ya don

t even have a family. I know you live in that

alley with the rest

o them runners. Yer one dodgy smile away from makin

yer meals whorin

, so I

be careful sweetie!

There were several snickers from the other kitchen workers. Some risked Edith

s wrath by pausing

in their work to watch. The scullery maids, charwomen, and chambermaids all reported to Edith.

The others, like the cook, butcher, baker, and cupbearer reported to Ibis Thinly, but sided with Edith

after all Ella was thenew girl and in the lives of those who lived in the scullery this was what passed for entertainment.

Is that a yes or a no?

Arista asked calmly.

Edith

s eyes narrowed menacingly.

No, but tomorrow ya start by cleanin

every chamber pot in the

palace. Not just emptin

them mind ya, I want them scrubbed clean.

Arista nodded and started to walk past her. As she did, cold water rained down as Edith emptied the remaining bucket on her.

The room burst into an uproar of laughter.

A shame it wasn

t clean water, ya could use a bath.

Edith

cackled.

The uproar died abruptly as Ibis appeared from out of the cellar.

What

s going on here?

The chief cook

s booming voice drew everyone

s attention.

Nothing, Ibis,

Edith answered.

Just training one o

my girls is all.

The cook spotted Arista standg in a puddle, drenched from head to foot. Her hair hung down her face, dripping filthy water. Her entire smock soaked through, the thin material clung indecently to her skin causing her to fold her arms across her breasts.

Ibis scowled at Edith.

What is it, Ibis?

Edith grinned at him.

Don

t like my training methods?

No, I can

t say I do. Why do you always have to treat them like this?

What are you gonna do? You gonna take Ella under your wing like that tramp Amilia? Maybe this one will become archbishop!

There was another round of laughter.

Cora!

Ibis barked.

Get Ella a table cloth to wrap around her.

Careful, Ibis. If she ruins it the chamberlain will have at you.

And if Amilia hears you called her a tramp, you might lose your head.

That little pretender doesn

t have the piss to do anything against me.

Maybe,

the chief cook said,

but she

s one ofthem now, and I

ll bet that any noble who heard that you

insulted one of their own

well, they might take it personally.

Edith

s grin disappeared and the laughter vanished with it.

Cora returned with a tablecloth, which Ibis folded twice before wrapping around Arista

s shoulders.

I hope you have another tunic at home, Ella, it

s gonna be cold tonight.

Arista thanked him before heading out the scullery door. It was already dark and, just as Ibis had predicted, cold. Autumn was in full swing and the night air shocked her wet body. The castle courtyard was nearly empty with only a few late carters dragging their wagons out through the main gate. A page raced between the stables and the keep hauling armloads of wood, but most of the daily throng of activity that usually defined the yard was absent. She passed through the great gates where the guards ignored her. The moment she reached the bridge, and stepped beyond the protection of the keep

s walls, the full force of the wind struck her. She clenched her jaw to stifle a cry, hugged her body with fingers turning red, and shivered so badly it was hard to walk.

Not skin worms. No. Not nearly bad enough.

Oh, dear!

Mrs. Barker exclaimed, and rushed over as Arista entered Brisbane Alley.

What

happened child? Not that Edith Mon again?

Arista nodded.

What was it this time?

I spilled some wash water.

Mrs. Barker shook her head and sighed.

Well, come over to the fire and try and dry off before you catch your death.

She coaxed Arista to the communal fire pit. Brisbane Alley was literally the end of the road in Aquesta, a wretched little dirt patch behind Brickton

s Tannery where the stench from the curing

hides kept away any except the most desperate. Newcomers without money, relatives, or connections settled here. The lucky ones lived huddled under canvas sheets, carts, and the wagons they arrived in. The rest, like Arista, simply huddled against the tannery wall trying to block the wind as they slept. That is, until the Barkers adopted her.

Brice Barker worked shouting advertisements through the city streets for seven coppers a day. All of that went to buy food to feed six children and his wife. Lynnette Barker took in what sewing work she could find. When the weather turned colder, they offered Arista a place under their wagon.

She had only known them for a few weeks, but already she loved them like her own family.

Here, Ella,

Lynnette said, bringing an old kirtle for her to put on. The dress was little more than a rag, worn thin and frayed along the hem. Lynette also brought Esrahaddon

s robe. Arista went

around the corner and slipped out of her wet things. Lynnette

s dress did nothing to keep out the

cold, but the robe vanquished the wet chill instantly in uncompromising warmth.

That

s really a wonderful robe, Ella,

Lynnette told her, marveling at how the firelight made it shimmer and reflect colors.

Where did you get it?

friend left it to me when he died.

Oh, I

m sorry,

she said, sadly. Her expression changed then from sadness to concern.

That reminds

me, a man was looking for you.

A man?

Arista asked as she folded the tablecloth. If anything happened to it, Edith would make Ibis pay.

Yes, earlier today. He spoke to Brice while he was working on the street and mentioned he was looking for a young woman. He described you perfectly, although oddly enough, he didn

t know

your name.

What did he look like?

Arista hoped her concern was not reflected in her voice.

Well,

Lynnette faltered,

that

s the thing. He wore a dark hood and a scarf wrapped about his face so Brice didn

t get a good look at him.

Immediately seized with fear, Arista pulled the robe tightly about her.Was he here? Had the assassin managed to track her down? Lynnette noticed the change in her and asked,

Are you in

trouble, Ella?

Did Brice say I lived here?

No, of course not. Brice is many things, but he

s no fool.

Did he give a name?

Lynnette shook her head.

You can ask Brice about him when he returns. He and Wery went to buy flour. They should be back soon.

Speaking of that,

Arista said, fishing coins out of her wet dress,

here

s three copper tenents. They

paid me this morning.

Oh, no. We couldn

Of course, you can! You let me sleep under your wagon, and you watch my things when I

m at

work. You even let me eat with you.

But three! That

s your whole pay, Ella, you won

t have anything left.

ll get by. They feed me at the palace sometimes, and my needs are pretty simple.

But you

ll want a new set of clothes, and you

ll need shoes come winter.

So will your children, and you won

t be able to afford them without an extra three coppers a day.

No, no

we can

t. It is very nice of you, but

Ma! Ma! Come quick! It

s Wery!

Finis, the Barkers

eldest son raced down the street shouting as he

came. He looked frightened, his eyes filled with tears.

Lynnette lifted her skirt and Arista chased after. They rushed to Coswall Avenue where a crowd formed outside the bakery. Pushing past them, a boy lay unconscious on the cobblestone.

Oh, sweet Maribor!

Lynnette cried, falling to her knees beside her son.

Brice knelt on the stone holding Wery in his arms. Blood soaked his hands and tunic. The boy

eyes were closed, his matted hair slick as if dipped in red ink.

He fell from the baker

s loft,

Finis answered their unasked question, his voice quavering.

He was

pulling one of them heavy flour bags down cause the baker said he

d sell us two cups for the price of

one if he did. Pa and I told him to wait fer us, but he ran up, like he

s always doin

. He was

pullingreal hard. As hard as he could and then his hands slipped. He stumbled backward and

Finis

was talking fast, his voice rising as he did until it cracked and he stopped.

Hit his head on the cobblestones,

declared a stranger in a white apron holding a lantern. Arista thought he might be the baker.

m real sorry. I didn

t think the boy would hurt himself like this.

Lynnette ignored the man and pried her child from her husband, pulling Wery to her breast. She rocked him as if he were a newborn.

Wake up, honey,

she whispered, softly. Tears fell on Wery

blood soaked cheeks.

Please baby, oh for the love of Maribor please wake up! Please, oh please

Lynn, honey

Brice started.

NO!

she shouted at him, and tightened her grip on the boy.

Arista stared at the scene, her throat tight, her eyes filling so quickly she could not see clearly. Wery was a wonderful boy, playful, friendly. He reminded her of Fanen Pickering, which only made mattered,orse. But Fanen died with a sword in his hand, and Wery was only eight and likely never touched a weapon in his short life. She could not understand why such things happened to good people. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she watched the small figure of the boy dying in his mother

s arms.

Arista closed her eyes wiping the tears, and when she opened them again she noticed several people in the crowd backing away.

Her robe was glowing.

Giving off a pale light the shimmering material illuminated those around her in an eerie white radiance. Lynnette saw the glow and hope filled her face. She looked up at Arista, her eyes pleading.

Ella, can

can you save him?

she asked with trembling lips and desperate eyes. Arista began to form the wordno , but Lynnette quickly spoke again.

You can!

she insisted.

I know you can! I

always known there was something different about you. The way you talk, the way you act. The way you forget your own name, and that

that robe!You can save him. I know you can. Oh, please, Ella,

she paused and swallowed, shaking so hard it made Wery

s head rock.

Oh, Ella I know

I know

s so much more than three coppers, but he

s my baby! You will help him won

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