Zya did not know quite what to make of Darrow's knowledge of either Ju's doings, or of pickpockets; she just let the comment pass her by. Lorn told the tale of how Ju had accompanied him into the chilly northern wastes and had proclaimed himself a hunter by his hunting down of a deer, and carrying it back.
“Impressive.” Was Darrow's only comment. “Now I know somewhat of a carpenter named Tarim s'Vedai. He would be known to you both.
“He is my father. How do you know him?”
“Who do you think made the door on the front of this house?” The only person Darrow did not seem to know much about was Zya. Lorn concluded with their arrival in Bay's Point, and what they had been doing since.
“I know of your comings and goings in the city,” Darrow stated.
Lorn shifted uneasily, not enjoying the prospect that he had been continually watched for the passing of a moon. “Then why did you wait until now to speak to me, if you knew my father so well?”
Darrow shrugged, a mountainous movement for a man so big. “I wanted to see what you were about, what sort of man you were, and what your companions were up to. I wanted to see if you were trustworthy. It does well to have those as you can trust at your side in a city full of brigands and mercenaries.”
“I have seen no real evidence of such people.”
Darrow laughed out loud at this. “That my young friend is because I have been keeping them off of your back. This city is not the people infested, litter plagued marketplace you believe it to be. There are thugs on every street corner, swords ready and willing to fight at the drop of a hat, and sometimes that is all it takes. This is Bay's Point, the roughest toughest city in the Nine Duchies, the scourge of the seas and the name that puts fear into those little country Dukes that hide up in their mountains. The people are true, but they are of a stock descended from the very bottom of the sea I say. Brine for blood and daggers for teeth, one and all. If I had not kept a watch on you, you would have had as much chance of ending up in a gutter as you did of getting to a marketplace, being an outsider.”
Zya considered this. “It is true that people had almost been desperate to avoid us at times, circling around whenever they had the chance. The people were more than happy enough to barge into each other. What about the alleyway that we were attacked in?”
“Tests, to see if those weapons that you carry are just for show. I could see plainly that they were not. Now my own questions. What are you doing here in this city?”
“I cannot say with complete certainty.” Zya replied, receiving a frown from Darrow. “Honestly, I tell you the truth. We decided to come here, but to what ends I cannot say. I felt that it was the best place to come for information.” Zya knew that she was only telling a half-truth, for she did not want to give anything away without justification.
To give himself time to think, she took a long pull of her ale. It was cold, and extremely fruity. Quite the best ale she had ever had. She sighed with gusto. “This truly is magnificent.”
Darrow laughed out loud. “It is called Autumn Berry, and is brewed far to the South. They say that they add wild berries to the vats to give it that unique flavour.”
“So how come you by it so far up here?”
Darrow looked around conspiratorially. “We, have our methods,” he said vaguely, not looking like he was really willing to say any more on the subject. It was clear that the man was going to give nothing away. Instead, he returned to the subject of them. “So you, Zya. Are you prone to collapsing in the middle of the street?”
Zya knew she was going to get away with no less than an honest answer, but Lorn spoke for her. “Not since I have ever known her, but she has an air about her. It reminds me of our wise women, but is somehow different. She had received training from one such person for a long time while they stayed with the tribe on its southern migration.”
“Really?”
“But of what passed in the tent, only myself and the teacher shall ever know.” Zya gazed around the room as she spoke. Paintings of the sea struck out at her, great ships battling the elements forever in a world of canvas and oils. It reminded Zya that she had only seen the sea for the first time recently. She wondered what it was like to ride the crest of a wave on a great dromond, living only for the thrill of life without the thought of setting one's foot on the land again.
“I think that Zya feels there is something to wait for in this city, and nothing will force the event upon us. We must be patient.”
“Is that why you are reluctant to join any of the numerous crews that have asked for your services?”
Lorn had spoken to her about this only once. The man truly seemed to know everything, and Lorn wondered if he was more than he made himself out to be. “That, and I find a great distaste in making arrows to be used as weapons against one's fellow man.”
“Oh come now.” Darrow returned. “You cannot say that your Old Law does not allow you to kill. How do you survive?”
Darrow was trying to bait them. “There is a difference, sir, in killing a deer for survival, and the senseless slaughter of people for vengeance and enjoyment. I abhor the fact that I must kill those magnificent creatures for food and warmth, but I will never for a second shirk from my duty to my people. The same applies to the boy, Zya and her father.”
Darrow leaned back into his seat and laughed out loud.
“I can see little to laugh about in that. Zya was on the verge of getting offended.”
“I mean no disrespect, lass. Lorn is just like his father. I could never draw him into an argument over that sort of thing. Let me guess, you carry on working as a fletcher because it is all you know how to do.”
“I fletch because I enjoy it, and because I am good at it.” Lorn replied. “If you know my father then you know that we are adept at many things. It passes the time for me while I dwell here, though I will never enjoy the prospect that my work would go into battle. The Old Law decrees that violence is only just in self-defence.”
“Well said.” Darrow finished his ale, setting the tankard on a table.
Yneris returned to dabbing at Zya's face with the warm cloth.
“She is so terribly cold.” Yneris stroked back Zya's hair, as a mother would do.
Lorn leaned forward, placing his hand on her brow. “There is a distinct chill there. It does not feel right. They say that the tribal wise-women go into death-like trances when they have a vision. Mayhap this is a similar circumstance.”
“When I first saw you today, she was looking a bit peaky.” Darrow observed as he took his jerkin off and hung it on a chair. The room was warm, and the presence of four bodies combined with the proximity of the steam-filled parlour set the air to heating, and Zya felt herself becoming drowsy. She was content to let Lorn do the talking. “What happened to her?”
“I do not know,” Lorn replied simply. “One moment we were walking along the streets, minding our way and then she stopped, looking up at the clouds. Her face was indescribable. She was not there at all, within her own mind I mean. Then the baker shouted, as did you, and we left. From that point on she was agitated by something, and it reached a peak when we walked past that huge building. Zya became rooted to the spot, and the only time she moved, she looked at the building then at me and just said 'it's wrong'. That was it, nothing more.” Lorn looked up at Darrow, his hair falling loose to cover Zya like a human shroud. “The rest you know, as you arrived soon after that, thankfully.”
Darrow put his hand to his chin, as he frowned in serious thought. “That was a bad place for her to be acting up like that. There are eyes in that building that are unfriendly to people with the best intentions. Even the locals try to stay clear.”
Yneris looked from Lorn to Zya, and finally to her husband. “The mercenary guild?”
He blinked slowly, his tongue in one cheek as he thought of implications that were possibly to come. “Aye, lass. And there's nothing that we can do about it. Those mercenaries are an enigma, a law unto themselves, and they s
ay nothing of what goes on in that building. Even the highest authorities in the city have no idea what occurs in there.” He shook his head regretfully, with the reluctant anticipation of somebody who knew that something was bound to come of the situation. “No, somebody will have seen what happened. You must be careful, though I will do what I can for you, it might not be enough.”
“We need to get word to her father. He will become concerned if neither of us return.”
“Not a problem,” Darrow replied with a flick of his hand. “I have just the person to send a message, your sneak-thief little friend.”
As Lorn looked up, Yneris interrupted his question. “O-ho, not this time, Darrow. You do not have the solution to every problem. That boy is run off of his feet, and he is asleep. You are not going to disturb him.” Her answer was final, and Darrow seemed to know better than to argue with her. Given a chance for his question, he voiced one querying word. “Ju?”
“Aye, that's the one.” Darrow replied, still staring his wife down, to no effect. “A nimble little sprite, that kid. I would have no other message-runner.”
“Where is he?” Lorn asked.
“Up the stairs, on a pallet.” Yneris replied. “Don't either of you dare disturb him.”
Lorn flashed a grin, easing her stern demeanour into a softening smile. “I would not dare to go against the word of somebody so caring.” Lorn left the room, and Zya could hear the creak of the stairs as Lorn and Darrow climbed them.
“Are you all right now?”
“You are called Yneris?”
“Yes.”
“I am tired. My head is fuzzy.”
“Well by all accounts, you have had a rough day. Don't worry, you are safe here until you get better.”
Something nagged at Zya. “No, I need to get home.”
“Young lady, you are in no fit state to move around, let alone travel halfway across the city. Is the boy sleeping?” Yneris directed her question to the returning men, confusing Zya more as she mumbled a reply.
“Out like a lantern.” Lorn replied. “I need to get a message to Tarim, Zya's father. He needs to know of this, and be brought here.”
“That is not wise lad,” Darrow warned. “You must understand that we took a risk bringing you here at all. If it were not for your woman's misfortune, I would have caught up with you elsewhere and introduced myself.”
“I insist,” Lorn replied forcefully. “Her father needs to know of this. There is more happening here than just a faint.”
Darrow looked at his wife. “We must wake the boy, he is nimble and will be there a lot quicker than the lad here.”
“Ju won't wake.” Zya said through half-closed eyes.
“He will if we shake him hard enough.”
“No. Lorn knows.”
“I do not think that Ju will wake until Zya does, sir.” Lorn replied, looking seriously at Darrow. “Ma'am, when did he fall asleep?”
“A while ago, now.”
“Long enough for two people to slowly drag a third back from that mercenary building you mentioned?” Lorn asked, hopefully.
Yneris thought about it, concentration furrowing her smooth brow. “Why yes, I think that would be about right. He had been running an errand while my lump of a husband was out chasing you two around the city streets and arguing with his friends. The boy came back and fell asleep on the bed, almost collapsed onto it as he was talking to me.”
Lorn turned to Darrow. “I need to go. I am almost as fleet of foot as your nimble message boy. Her father needs to see this.”
Darrow looked at his wife, who stared him down, a look of agreement clear in her eyes. She was certainly a figure to match the bulk of her husband. “Very well, lad.” Darrow said in defeat. “But be careful. One of my crew is waiting outside, and will escort you to a place that you know of. He will wait for three soundings of the palace bell. If you are not back by the time the third watch has changed, you had better remember your way here.”
“I will be back,” Lorn said with a grave face. “You have my thanks for all you have done.” He bowed to both of them in the tribal manner, doing them what they knew to be a great honour, for tribal leaders seldom bowed, and he had been next in line. With a smile and a wave he shut the door behind him.
“Do you think he will have any problems?” Yneris asked her big husband.
Darrow sat down and began to polish his falchion with a whetstone and cloth, paying particular attention to the inside of the blue-steeled blade. “I think that the lad will find his way back if he has a need, and he truly does have a need. If he wants to see them again he will have to be quick, and if he wants to make it out of Bay's Point alive, he had better be quicker. If he does not join a ship's crew as an archer, he had better have eyes in the back of his head, for somebody will surely hunt him down and drag him in chains to the bottom of the bay.”
“They will come for me.” Zya defied the previous statement, not caring what anybody thought of her opinion.
During the afternoon Zya drowsed, but never fell fully asleep. She was too worried about being vulnerable in the deep sleep to let it claim her, as it had already claimed Ju. He was surely waiting for her on the other side.
In what seemed but moments, Zya could hear her father, his voice full of concern.
“I would get to know you better, Darrow, but I would like to see my daughter.”
“That is to be expected, Tarim S'Vedai. Please, come this way.”
Then her father was there, kneeling down at her side. “Zya?”
“Father,” she whispered.
“What happened?”
“It is okay. It is part of my training.”
Tarim turned from his daughter for a moment. “I need to see Ju.”
“Come with me.” Yneris led him out of the room. Moments later, they returned, her father's face drained.
Yneris closed the doors to the room, and then joined them around the bed.
“I must thank you for the care you have shown by looking after my family like this.” Tarim said, his face grave, made all the more so by his unbound hair reaching down across his chest. “You did not have to do this for strangers, and I am in your debt. If there is any way I can repay you for your kindness, you have but to name it.”
“Can you shoot an arrow through a target a fingers width wide, like the lad here can?” Asked Darrow.
“Oh hush, you huge fool,” snapped Yneris. “Stop thinking about your ships for a change.” At a warning glance from Darrow, she persisted. “You are not as clever as you think, my husband. I can tell from his face that our guest has already got you sussed, isn't that right?” Yneris looked at Tarim, her left eyebrow raised in query.”
He smiled, the smallest of smiles, but an affirmation nonetheless. “I would say that your husband has been a pirate so long that it is ingrained into his very being, ma'am. His walk has the rolling gait of one used to living on water, and he is used to being obeyed without question. Am I not right?”
“What does a wandering carpenter know about the life of seafaring folk?” Demanded Darrow.
“I wasn't always a carpenter,” Tarim replied, “and I have been around cities enough to recognize the defensive layout of buildings that have been constructed with the dual intention of confusing and trapping the unwary, or unwanted. Am I not right?”
Lorn was looking perplexed, trying to figure out just whom he was actually sitting with. “A pirate captain?” he said, looking at Darrow. “And who exactly are you?” He said to Tarim.
“I am Tarim S'Vedai, father to Zya, onetime a traveller and often a carpenter, as you have seen, Lorn. Anything else is my business, and my business alone. How about you?” Tarim looked at Darrow, who still couldn't believe what he had considered to be an elaborate ploy showing domestic felicity had been shattered by the straight talking and clear logic of an outsider. “I am Captain Darrow, of the pirate ship Nightsnake.” He said simply. My wife Yneris is in truth my wife, and is it seems, far cleverer than m
e. Of course, now you know this, I am going to have to kill you.”
Before Tarim or Lorn could do anything, Darrow let out a bellow of a laugh, and downed his tankard of ale.
“Fool man.” His wife said in a manner that spoke volumes about her having to put up with his stylised sense of humour for many a season. “One day your rash jokes will rub somebody up the wrong way and you will end up filleted like a fish.” She turned to Tarim. “What we mean is that we would rather you not mention to anybody what we have talked about here.”
“Consider it done,” Tarim said simply, grinning at Darrow. “I like a joke, and Darrow's sense of humour is very infectious. Nobody shall hear from my lips that Yneris the captain of the Nightsnake, and her husband the first mate are masquerading as a couple intent upon domestic bliss.” At the shocked look from the two, Tarim continued. “It is more than obvious who is in charge here, but your secret is safe with me.”
Yneris looked shocked. “Who are you?” she asked mysteriously.
“Nobody of consequence,” Tarim replied. “Now Lorn, why don't you tell us what is going on with my daughter and Juatin, and why we should only be mildly concerned, and not worried to death over their fates?”
“I can speak for myself,” Zya tried to protest, though her eyelids were growing heavier and heavier.
Lorn took a swig of the fruity ale, and used the time to gather his thoughts. “It is conjecture, not a lot more than hear say, but I think that it is the key to the unusual behaviour. In the tribal history, the wise women have never ruled the tribes, but have held their own council and have heavily influenced tribal politics. They all have one thing in common, the ability to read the future through dreams, the ability of a seer.”
“You mean your little woman is going to be able to dream the future?” interrupted Darrow. “You are a strange and valuable bounty, the lot of you.” Darrow sat back, smiling smugly, as if he had just uncovered a treasure. He had the confidant air of one who knew how to turn a situation to his advantage.
The Path of Dreams (The Tome of Law Book 2) Page 14