Stolen Dagger

by Shawn Wickersheim

  Kylpin snorted.

  “I know the royal courts are not popular,” Ian added, “but I can’t accuse Lord Ragget of all these crimes without some sort of evidence. Just because he took the outpost doesn’t mean he’s behind the fires.”

  “I like holding court at sea,” Kylpin said in an uncharacteristically cold voice. “We throw the accused overboard tied to a rope at dawn and if the sharks don’t take them by dusk, we fish them out again.”

  Ian blanched. “What if the accused were truly innocent and a shark attacked? Wouldn’t you feel guilty about what you’ve done?”

  “You’re missing the point entirely, my friend. It’s the threat of such a trial that keeps the men obedient.” He shrugged. “And those too stupid to toe the line end up as shark shit.”

  The tavern door opened, and a pair of women sauntered inside. Like two sparkling jewels lost in a desert, the women’s brightly colored dresses, one ruby, the other sapphire, were stark contrasts to the drab browns and grays of the tavern’s rustic interior. Ian glanced at the scrawny drunks at the bar, curious what they would do when they noticed the newcomers. From her vantage point perched at the bar’s end, Audra saw them immediately and her pudgy face pinched into a puckered frown.

  “Kylpy, I just heard about your lady,” the ruby gem cooed. She was a buxom Yordician and her cherubic face was accentuated with rouge and powder. “Is there anything I can do for you?” She slid sideways onto Kylpin’s lap and ran her pink tongue across the bottom of her upper lip. “Anything at all?”

  Kylpin’s bronze face cracked into an easy smile. “Oh, Evie darling.” His voice sounded jovial and warm again. “I might just think of a thing or two.”

  Ian glanced up at the other woman as she approached their table. She was tall, much taller than Evie, and though she had foregone nearly all the typical paints and powders most prostitutes wore, Ian found her to be the more attractive of the two. Her pale complexion and dark hair revealed a Gyunwarian heritage, but her blue eyes told the truth of her mixed lineage. It was also in her eyes that Ian saw a hint of fear and sadness, but when she noticed him studying her, a warm, welcoming smile immediately bloomed across her face and she gave him a slight nod.

  “Who’s your friend?” Kylpin asked.

  Evie smiled coyly and traced the line of his beard from his ear to his chin with just the tip of her fingernail. “I could ask you the same thing, Kylpy.” She extended her hand suddenly across the table toward Ian, palm down. “I’m Evelyn Gisles, but you can call me Evie, and this here is Josephine Hewes.”

  Ian took Evie’s perfumed hand and gave it a polite kiss. “Delighted.” He coughed. The flowery fragrance wafting up from her fingers was strong. “I’m Lord Ian Weatherall.”

  “Kylpy! I didn’t know you knew any of the Lords!” Evie brushed her ruby lips against his ear. “Are you keeping secrets from me?”

  “Never, my sweet.”

  “I can talk to you more, later,” Ian said, rising. He caught Kylpin’s eye. “Why don’t you join us for lunch tomorrow around noon?”

  “No, don’t go,” the other woman said suddenly. Her voice had a soft, breathy quality to it that startled Ian. His cheeks reddened. She placed her hands on his chest and gently pushed him back toward his chair. He sat and almost went over backwards. His cheeks reddened more. “I mean . . .” She glanced down at him modestly and then glided into the chair beside his. She placed her hands on his forearm. “Don’t go on our account.”

  “It’s . . .” Ian swallowed and tried again. “It’s very nice to meet you both, but surely you would rather spend your time with Kylpin.” He glanced over at his friend for support and found him busy kissing Evie.

  Josephine caressed his arm. “Would you buy me a drink? I seem to have misplaced my etui.”

  Ian glanced over at the bar and found Philson’s jaw hanging wide open as he ogled Josephine. His dark beady eyes were blinking rapidly, and he mopped at his sweaty brow with his drying rag. Ian grimaced at the thought of the sweat-soaked rag being used to wipe his tankard and he would have gagged but Josephine’s fingers suddenly ranged up his arm and slid down to his chest again. More blood surged to his face and neck as her nimble fingers traced the hard line of muscles that lay beneath his shirt. What was this woman doing? He felt a tad uncomfortable, and excited, and very warm, and a bit guilty all at once. Cecily had never touched him like this before, not even on the night they had awkwardly conceived their son, the requisite heir. His mouth was suddenly so dry. “. . . Philson . . .?”

  The single word barely escaped his lips, but it was loud enough to stir the fat man. He shoved Audra to one side, waddled around the end of the bar and lumbered across the room toward their table like a great hog charging its food trough. For a moment, Ian thought he might just run them over.

  “WhatcanIdoforyou?” Philson asked, making the sentence sound like one long word. He inhaled sharply through his mouth and made a wet, phlegmy noise. His tiny eyes lay glued upon the exposed curves of Josephine’s cleavage.

  “Ale is fine,” Josephine said. “Right . . . Evie?”

  Evie broke free of Kylpin’s lips and sighed softly. “Oh yes . . .”

  “Goodgoodgoodgoodgood,” Philson mumbled. He stood for another long moment, transfixed it seemed, his hands almost touching as they rested on his massive belly. Finally, with a grunt, he backed away and knocked over the table behind him. He stumbled and fell into a second, but amazingly, the table held and Philson righted himself without falling to the floor. A look of terror spread across his pale, sweaty face and he spun around and disappeared into the back room behind the bar with speed Ian had not thought possible for a man his size.

  “You had quite an effect on him, I think,” Ian said turning back to face Josephine.

  “I suppose.” Her hands dropped away from his chest and rested on his arm again.

  “That’s a pretty name . . . Josephine.” Ian glanced down and noticed her long fingers were tracing various patterns on the back of his hand. It looked like letters.

  “I was named after my father, Joseph.”

  “I see. Very nice.” Ian smiled. What was the matter with him? Couldn’t he even hold a simple conversation with a young, pretty woman anymore? He talked to people all the time. He could do this. Just talk to her. About anything at all. There was something about her though. She looked familiar. He opened his mouth to say something to that affect but stopped himself. That sounded too much like a line. He wasn’t here to get involved in any kind of romantic entanglements. The One above help him if that rumor started. He wouldn’t hear the end of it. He glanced over at Kylpin, but his friend was locked in another passionate kiss and he would be no help at all. Ian sighed. For a moment, he envied Kylpin. He hadn’t kissed anyone like that in a very long time. Not since the day he had left Gyunwar for Belyne.

  “Evie!” Josephine’s voice was suddenly much harder, angrier. Her curt tone stunned Ian out of his daydream and he realized his gaze had settled on her cleavage. He had only glanced down, he hadn’t intended to stare! Josephine pulled her hands away from him. “I don’t like it here. Let’s go!”

  Evie broke from her kiss, frowning. “What . . .?”

  Josephine stood and pointed at Ian’s left hand. “He’s married. I can’t-”

  “Don’t worry about that. He’s unhappily married,” Kylpin blurted out.

  “That’s not true!”

  “It is true, my friend.” He gave Ian a look and then grabbed Evie’s hand as she started to rise and pulled her back onto his lap. “Evie don’t go. I lost my lady today. I don’t think I could bear to lose my other special lady tonight.”

  Josephine glared at Evie.

  “I’m sorry, Kylpy.” Evie stood. “I’ve . . . gotta go. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.” She blew him a kiss.

  “I never said . . .” Ian stammered. “I just . . . I thought . . . We were just . . .” Talking? No, he’d said a few words and ended up lost in thought while inadvertently staring at he
r breasts. He frowned at Kylpin as the two women left. “What was that all about?”

  Kylpin shrugged and shook his head. “Evie’s a sweet girl, but she has some strange friends.” His attention was drawn to something behind Ian and he choked on a bit of laughter.

  Ian glanced over his shoulder. Philson was standing at the end of the bar. He had flattened his wildly, curly hair with lard and had replaced his filthy apron with a less greasy one. In his hands he carried two matching tankards. Deep furrows etched into his heavy pale brow and the corners of his plump lips sagged. Without a word, he turned and stomped back to the rear of the tavern. The whole building shook.

  “Someone was smitten.” Kylpin chuckled.

  Ian said nothing.

  “My friend, if you’re upset by what I said about your marriage, I apologize.”

  “No.” He twisted the tight gold band around his finger. “Cecily and I have had some difficult times, sure, but I feel like we are . . .” He was about to add ‘much closer now,’ but that was a complete lie and he was tired of lying. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re in the city so infrequently, I wasn’t aware you knew anything was . . . wrong.”

  “I could tell you two were having troubles at Tyran’s seventh birthday celebration.” A faint smile crept onto his bronze face again. “Remember that gift I gave him?”

  Ian’s thoughts drifted back to that party. He snickered. “I thought Cecily was going to kill you! It’s hard to believe that was nearly five years ago.”

  Kylpin’s eyebrows shot up. “I almost forgot. I left Tyran’s birthday present in my cabin!” He stood abruptly and then sank back in his seat. “I was going to go back to my ship-”

  “If your gift was anything like . . .” Ian trailed off. Kylpin’s somber mood was obviously returning. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you on another ship.” He envisioned the contents of his vault. “It may take some time, but I swear I will have you sailing again before the end of summer.”

  “With an army?” Kylpin’s earlier determination had also returned.

  Ian sighed. “Let me talk to the king first. He has always liked me and has always been a very strong ally.”

  “Yes, but at one time Ragget was-”

  “I know,” Ian cut him off. “You don’t need to remind me.”

  Kylpin raised his tankard. “Well then, here’s to a long life and good health for the King, eh, my friend?”

  Ian smiled and nodded and together they drank to the king’s health.

  “I should be getting home,” Ian said once he’d drained his drink. “Would you care to join me for a late supper?”

  “Perhaps another time.” Kylpin slammed his empty tankard on the table and signaled for another. “Tonight, I think I’ll sit right here and continue to honor Arne and my lost mates.”

  “Are you sure you will be all right, alone?”

  “I am touched by your concern, my friend, and though their loss pains me, Arne and my mates are sailing the Great Sea tonight,” he paused, “and someday, I too will join them there, to be their captain again.”

  “Not any time soon, I hope.”

  “No man knows his fate, so I cannot promise you that, but I will not do anything to hasten that journey if that is what you are worrying about.”

  Ian shrugged. “I just-”

  “Besides, my mates would never forgive me for leaving this world without first avenging their deaths.”

  Ian nodded grimly and tossed a handful of coins on the wobbly table. He removed a folded note; the same one he had tried to give Kylpin earlier and forced it into his friend’s hands. “Then at least allow me to help you honor them properly.”

  He left before Kylpin could refuse or argue.

  Outside, he found an empty city carriage and climbed inside. “Weatherall Estate,” he called out. He settled back against the worn, thinly padded seat and closed his eyes, exhausted. Unfortunately, instead of enjoying a peaceful respite, he found the day’s troubles waiting for him in the darkness behind his eyelids. He tried to ignore them. That didn’t work. He tried to shove them aside. They wouldn’t budge. Very well, he could be stubborn too. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and began to work out what he could do to put his world back right again.

  The largest of the three wardens sat with his back to the wall. He watched as Lord Weatherall got up and left the tavern. He waited. He exhaled slowly. He liked how the blue pipe smoke curled out from his nostrils and hovered just above his head. The other two men shifted in their seats. They were anxious. He was not. They could have left already. He let them squirm.

  “Let’s go,” he murmured softly to the other two.

  “What about his friend?”

  He glanced across the tavern at the two unshaved Yordicians by the door. They were tasked with keeping an eye on Kylpin tonight. “He’s not our concern.” He placed a coin on the table and stood. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 23

  “Are you his whore now?”

  Josephine stood in the doorway of her father’s keep and stared at her mother in shocked silence.

  “I asked you a question, and I expect an answer!” Her mother’s tone was harsher than normal.

  “He . . . he let you go . . .?” Josephine blinked.

  “We were here the entire time, bound and gagged upstairs in our rooms. If you had stayed in your room like I told you last night, NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED!”

  “But Pervis took Father!” Josephine said. “I had to do something!”

  Annie stalked across the hall and slapped her across the face. “All you had to do was stay in your room!” Her blue eyes flashed. “Pervis’s instructions were simple. Now Leigh is in her room rocking back and forth and staring at the wall, and you . . .” she crossed her arms, “. . . you’re Lipscombe’s new whore!”

  “I am NOT!” Blood rushed to her injured cheek. “I only did what Lipscombe told me to do, to save you and Leigh, and it’s not what you’re thinking. And when I was done, I left the tavern and came straight home.”

  Annie tossed a piece of paper at her. “This is for you.” The corners of her mouth drew down sharply. “Lipscombe says he’ll know if you don’t do as you’re told.”

  Josephine glanced at the note. The handwriting was poor, and the words misspelled, but the directions were explicit enough. She was to go to pier seven and look for a warehouse with a black dragon painted on the door. There was a room inside on the third floor. She was to go to that room immediately and wait for further instructions.

  “I want you to lock and bar the door behind me when I go,” Josephine said after she was done reading the note. Her mother scowled, shook her head and walked away. Josephine stared after her and then without another word, she stormed out of the keep and headed back toward the docks. Her mother and Leigh might be free, but she was still Lipscombe’s puppet until her father was safely returned.

  Chapter 24

  As the carriage ascended the brick lane leading to the noble district, Ian opened his eyes. He had replayed the day’s events over and over in his mind, but there were just too many unanswered questions and too many variables to successfully plot out a singular solution. It was not a welcomed conclusion. It meant he’d likely spend another long night pacing the floor in his private study unable to sleep.

  He glanced out the window hoping to find a distraction for his mind and noticed for the first time just how low the sun had dipped in the sky. Behind him, the city was cast in soft, purplish-gray shadows. Had the day fled so quickly? He drew back from the window, but his gaze lingered on the lighted castle. Perched high upon the northwestern ridge of the city, the castle practically glowed from the illumination of a thousand lamps and along its tall crenellated walls and atop its six massive towers, torches and watch-fires burned brightly, boldly throwing back the oncoming blackness of night. Seeing the castle reminded Ian he needed to draft a letter requesting an audience with the king. He would have Wynston deliver it at first light tomorrow and hop
efully by tomorrow night, the entire matter regarding his outpost could be settled. The king would surely rule against Lord Ragget and declare his actions unlawful. To avoid a scandal, Ragget would quietly return the outpost and Ian would allow the matter to drop. War would be averted. Peace would continue. It was a wildly optimistic outcome to one of his problems, but it was a solution Ian hoped might bear fruit.

  Which if it did, it meant he’d only have the matters of the missing cargo, the emptied vaults, and the rogue fire mage to sort out and resolve. He sarcastically congratulated himself on making some headway with his problems.

  Ian unbuckled his sword-belt and placed it on the seat next to him. Of course, he shouldn’t forget about the variety of stories and rumors which would be running rampant throughout the city tonight. He would likely be the main topic of many conversations tomorrow. The fires, the altercation with Captain Straegar, a renewed passion with Cecily, Sir Nelson’s death, Ian sighed, rumors would eventually be forgotten or replaced with some other tidbits of gossip, and Cecily would surely find another reason to glare at him over supper, but for him, Sir Nelson’s death and the deaths of Kylpin’s men would trouble him long after others had moved on. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tighten. Their senseless deaths would not go unpunished, he promised himself. He would find the culprits and see them brought to justice.

  His stomach rumbled, and he tried to ignore the pain. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and the ale was now sitting rather heavily in his gut. Hopefully, Wynston had reserved a plate of food for him, otherwise at this late hour, he would have to raid the pantry and hope Gertrude was not still patrolling the kitchen.

  Her kitchen, he corrected himself.

  Gertrude had made the long trek from Ryerton to Belyne with his family when she was sixty-eight. Now, eighty-four, she was still as spry as the first time she had caught him stealing her fruit pastries when he was a boy. Time could wrinkle her it seemed, but not slow her down. And she ruled his . . . her . . . kitchen just as ruthlessly as she had ruled his parent’s. Even Tyran had felt her large wooden spoon rap against the back of his head once or twice, but he had turned the art of pilfering food into a game of stealth. Ian smiled to himself. Perhaps he should send Tyran down to the kitchen tonight instead of-