Gerard shrugged. “That description would fit any number of fauns in Wefrivain.”
The smuggler smiled like a gambler playing his trump. “But Gwain is supposed to be half grishnard.”
Gerard’s eyes widened. Normally, matings between panauns (shelts with paws) and fauns (shelts with hooves) produced no offspring. Some claimed that very rarely a child could result, but Gerard had never seen one.
“Half grishnard,” repeated the smuggler, “and I believe it. He has dewclaws above his hooves. I saw them, and that’s how I know he was Gwain.”
Chapter 6. Mystique
The relationship between the Temple Sea Watch and the Temple Police is ambiguous. Traditionally, the leader of Police is ranked as captain, so that the admiral of the Sea Watch (and his lieutenants, for that matter) outrank him. This reflects the importance of the sea in the politics of Wefrivain. However, the Police are the administrators of the Priestess’s will on land, and they receive their orders directly from her.
—Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns
Gerard left the Temple complex feeling bleak and vaguely dirty. He’d spent the day questioning and executing shelts whose courage he could not help but admire. More than any shelt I’ve met in the Sea Watch or Police.
He was grateful when Alsair swooped into the street in front of him. “I need to ride,” he said, without so much as a greeting.
“Where?” asked Alsair.
“Anywhere.” Soon they were climbing, climbing—up over the dome of the Temple, over the streets and markets of Dragon’s Eye. Lecklock was the smallest of the Great Islands, and Alsair climbed rapidly to a point where they could see half the island.
There in the harbor stood the three tall ships of the Sea Watch—the Fang, the Dark Wind, and the Sea Feather. The Fang was Silveo’s flagship and the place where he lived, even when he was not on assignment. Gerard had heard that when Silveo took over the Sea Watch eight years ago, he’d wanted to gild the entire ship silver. Vain fool. Gerard could not think of a more unfortunate color for a ship chasing a prize. Apparently, even Silveo’s supporters thought so, and he’d been persuaded to paint the ship scarlet and gold instead.
Gerard had to admit that no amount of gaudy paint could hide the beauty of the vessel—an elegant three-masted ship with four decks and a bronze wyvern figurehead, gleaming with gold leaf. Like many ships in Wefrivain, she had a slave deck with rowers.
She had been Gerard’s home on and off for the last year. However, he’d learned today from Marlo Snale that he had a house in town—the traditional residence of the captain of Police. Marlo had been careful to add that the last three captains had chosen to purchase their own lodgings, and the house had not seen use in some years. Gerard knew the last three captains had been younger sons of wealthy families. He suspected the house was a humble affair, but it would get Thessalyn out of the inns, where she was continually badgered for performances. It would give Alsair a safe place to sleep. Silveo had a low tolerance for griffins aboard ship. The nest box where he’d put Alsair doubled as a storage room and was so crammed with boxes that Gerard feared a crate might fall on Alsair during rough weather. The house would also mean that Gerard would never again be a permanent resident of Silveo’s flagship, a prospect that lightened his spirits considerably. He told Alsair all this as they flew, as well as the story of the traitorous smuggler and the frightened gazumelle youngster.
Alsair listened with uncharacteristic silence. When Gerard finished, he laughed. “So that’s what really happened.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, you’ll never believe what they’re saying about you in the streets. The local griffins are all gossiping about it, and half of them heard it from their masters.”
Gerard could feel his tufted ears prickling. “Heard what?”
Alsair imitated a fluting girl’s voice. “That new Captain of Police is a terror! They say he took a pirate ship single-handedly and—”
“Single-handedly?” interrupted Gerard. “I had six capable—”
“He hacked the pirate captain to pieces and took his tail as a trophy.”
“Took his—?”
“It gets better. Last night you killed half the prisoners in a rage as soon as the Priestess put them into your custody. The cell was blood from floor to ceiling.”
“That sounds like a Silveo rumor,” growled Gerard. The accusation that he’d killed the prisoners because he’d lost his temper, not as a calculated move, irked him.
Alsair was choking on giggles. “Then you cooked them up and fed them to their hungry comrades as bribes the next morning.”
“What?!”
“You so enjoy your new job that you wouldn’t even let the other Police help you question and kill them. Prisoners went into your office alive, and one by one the bodies came out. You had their tails made into a wreath and mounted the heads on your wall.”
Gerard was momentarily speechless.
“They say you’re a prince with a dark and tragic past.”
“Well, that, at least, is true—”
“They say you committed some terrible crime, for which you can never go home. The ladies are all cooing about you—tall, dark, and oh so dangerous.”
Gerard could not understand how any lady could both believe these stories and find him attractive. “Are they all mad?”
Alsair shrugged. “I think it’s the mystique of the Police combined with your own that’s prompting the rumors.”
“I don’t have a mystique,” said Gerard. “I’m very non-mysterious.”
“Oh, but you do, master of mine. You don’t know it, but you do. It makes shelts either love or hate you.”
Gerard couldn’t argue that. His fellow sailors had liked him well enough to elect him their watch master. They were the only thing he would miss about the Fang. “I suppose the gossips can think whatever they like as long as they respect me. A little fear won’t hurt.” He sighed. The sun was setting, he was tired, and he had one more chore this evening.
“I want to get something to eat, and then we need to pay a visit to the Sea Feather.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to talk to Lieutenant Arundel. He was the Captain of Police four years ago. As far as I can tell, he’s the only one in the last ten years who’s left the Police alive.”
Chapter 7. Insult and Injury
The Temple Sea Watch is about a thousand strong. They are led by an admiral who is appointed by the High Priestess. The admiral, in turn, appoints lieutenants, which have numbered from two to a dozen in the past, and often command their own ships. These lieutenants each appoint captains of hundreds. Captains have ten officers called watch masters, each commanding ten shelts. Watch masters are elected by the sailors themselves.
—Gwain, The Truth about Wyverns
By the time Gerard and Alsair swooped down on the deck of the Sea Feather, it was dark, and torches were burning on deck. Gerard was relieved to learn that Silveo was not there. He found Arundel in his cabin, dictating to a secretary. The lieutenant, it seemed, had heard of Gerard’s promotion. He sent his secretary out of the room as Gerard began to speak. “I trust you are enjoying your time in port, sir?” Alsair came in and lay down along the back wall.
“In my own fashion,” said Arundel. He had a toneless pattern of speech and one of the most expressionless faces Gerard had ever seen.
Gerard’s tail twitched involuntarily. Arundel was the only one of Silveo’s lieutenants who made him uneasy. He was the quietest of the group—a black-furred grishnard with hair as dark as Gerard’s own and eyes as yellow as any hawk’s. For a time, Gerard had thought him the most honest and humane of the group…until Gerard stumbled upon Arundel with a female shavier pirate whom he was supposed to have executed. The memory still made Gerard a little sick.
“What can I do for you?” asked Arundel, his spider-like fingers flickering over the papers on his desk.
Gerard forced his tail to stop twitching. “I understand t
hat you were once Captain of Police. I have been recently appointed to that role, and I’d like to ask you some questions.”
Arundel watched him impassively.
Gerard plunged on. “Were you able to learn anything about Sky Town? Do you believe it exists?”
Arundel sat back. “It existed. I found Sky Town—a pitiful tree fort on Haplag-34, full of ragged fauns with old weapons and older leaders. We burned the whole island. I’m told it’s still bare.”
Gerard was confused. “The Priestess seems to think Sky Town still exists.”
Arundel nodded. “I’m sure it does, but it’s just a name—a banner for Resistance pirates and their sympathizers to rally around. They tell each other that they have clever leaders operating out of some un-findable hideaway called Sky Town. Undoubtedly, the Resistance does have leaders, but, like the place itself, those leaders are periodically killed. The names are passed on to give the illusion of permanence and invincibility. Sky Town is more an idea than a place.”
Gerard thought about that. “What about Gwain? Montpir mentioned him in his papers.”
Arundel’s emotionless face twitched. “A name that gets passed around. There have been many Gwains.”
“One of the prisoners said he’s distinctive,” said Gerard. “Gwain is supposed to be half grishnard. He looks like a shavier with dewclaws. The prisoner saw him. How many such shelts can there be?”
“Your prisoner lied to you,” said Arundel. “Or perhaps he was tricked.”
“It’s possible,” agreed Gerard. But I don’t believe it. I don’t think you do, either. “Montpir also scribbled the word ‘misnomer’ on a sheet of paper headed ‘Sky Town.’ One of my prisoners talked about being taken by the pirates down an incredibly long tunnel from Maijha Minor to a beach he didn’t recognize. Could it be that Sky Town is actually underground with the name intended to mislead?”
Arundel shrugged. “As I said, the name means nothing. I’m sure the original Sky Town was a tree village. However, the Resistance could easily be operating out of an underground fort these days. They may even have no central location anymore. Sky Town is just an idea, Captain.”
If that’s true, then it’s an idea you fought hard, thought Gerard, and lost. Aloud, he said, “And what about the Cowry Catchers?”
Again that curious twitch of the lip. “What about them?”
“Resistance pirates these days are calling themselves the Guild of the Cowry Catchers. It’s an odd name, don’t you think?” The name was, in fact, so odd that Gerard had once believed that grishnards and their allies had bestowed it in contempt. However, his preview of Police papers had made him increasingly certain that pirates had chosen the name themselves. It had a curious double meaning.
“Cowry catcher” was the common name for the despised manatee shelt—a creature that could not even speak. They were dull, spiritless nauns, easily enslaved. Most harbors had a team of cowry catchers, used to repair ships and scrape their hulls. Long ago, they had been used to retrieve the cowry shells from the ocean floor, which were then used as currency. Now most islands used coin, though money in Wefrivain was still called cowries.
The Resistance had chosen to identify itself with these humble creatures. Of course, Resistance pirates were quite literally cowry catchers. But they caught their cowries from merchants and Temple treasure ships, not from the sea.
“Shelts have been talking about Sky Town since I was a child,” Gerard told Arundel, “but the Guild of the Cowry Catchers is new. I don’t remember hearing about it until a few years ago, and I can’t find any mention of it in Police papers more than ten years back.”
Arundel nodded. “Perhaps their leaders decided they needed a fresh focus, a new rally cry.”
“It seems to me,” said Gerard, “that the Resistance shows an increased level of organization since they’ve been calling themselves the Cowry Catchers. I’m wondering whether this Gwain person has anything to do with that.”
Arundel shrugged.
Why don’t you want to talk to me? thought Gerard. Whatever else you may be, you’re not one of Silveo’s pets.
Arundel interrupted his thoughts. “If you have nothing else to discuss, Captain, I will bid you good evening.”
“There is one more thing,” said Gerard. “You are the only captain in living memory to leave the Police alive. In the last ten years, the average length of survival has been less than a year. This seems to coincide approximately with the advent of the Cowry Catchers.”
A thin, mirthless smile curled the corners of Arundel’s mouth. “Nervous, Gerard?”
“Well, yes. Mainly, though, I’d like to know how and why they’re being killed so efficiently and so rapidly. Did anyone try to kill you?”
“Several times. If you really want to survive the Police, I advise you to follow my example and get promoted out as quickly as possible.”
Gerard frowned.
“Learn to get along with Silveo Lamire,” said Arundel. “He makes an excellent alternative to dying.”
Gerard wasn’t sure he agreed. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
He left the cabin with Alsair, feeling dissatisfied. He was about to take his leave of the Sea Feather when two of Arundel’s captains came bumping and laughing up the side. “We sail tomorrow!” they cried to a comrade who’d just come from below deck. “The silver fox has had his way at last!”
“What, you caught one?” asked the other grishnard. “And me not there?”
“Caught one what?” asked Gerard sharply.
The group turned, saw him, and grew instantly silent. Gerard walked towards them, his long shadow preceding him in the flickering torchlight. “Exactly what did the admiral catch? Where are you sailing tomorrow?”
The group glanced guiltily at each other. “Well, you see, Your Highness—” began the cheekiest. But Alsair’s warning growl cut him short.
“My name is Captain Holovar,” said Gerard quietly, “of the Police.”
The captains were technically his peers, but the Police had special status. Another cleared his throat. “Don’t mind him, sir. He’s had too much to drink. We went with the admiral to question a suspicious faun. We had a bit of sport. In the end, the faun told us the location of a Resistance hideout on Sern. We’re supposed to sail tomorrow.”
“’Suspicious faun,’” repeated Gerard. “He wouldn’t have been one of my recent prisoners, would he?”
Gerard saw their eyes flick away. He didn’t wait for the answer. “Alsair!” The griffin was beneath him in a moment, and they fairly leapt between the ships. Gerard landed on the deck of the Fang, a growl already forming in the back of his throat. He was furious.
There was Silveo on the quarterdeck, chatting and laughing with his other two lieutenants, Farell and Basil. Gerard strode towards them, his hand curling around the hilt of his sword. It had been a long time since he’d felt this angry.
“Lamire! You have overreached yourself. How dare you!”
He was bellowing and certainly close enough for them to hear. Farell and Basil glanced at him, but Silveo kept talking. At the foot of the steps to the upper deck, two burly sailors—part of Silveo’s personal guard—stopped him. Gerard shoved away from them and pointed his drawn sword up at Silveo. “Those were my prisoners! They gave information, and they were promised freedom in exchange. You had no right!”
Silveo had finally stopped whatever he was saying. “Do I hear a yapping?” he asked his lieutenants, still not looking at Gerard. “Is there a griffin cub on the ship? Someone go and drown it.” There was a titter of polite laughter.
“You are a coward and a fool,” snarled Gerard, “still as much a dock rat as the day your mother sold you.” It was a low thing to say, and he regretted it at once. Yet he was still angry, and he could not take it back.
Silveo’s head snapped around. He stared at Gerard as though he could not quite believe what he’d just heard. Then his face twisted, flushed with rage, and his
hand shot beneath his tunic.
Gerard had just time to think, He’s going to kill me. Silveo was indifferent with a sword, but he was deadly with a knife. Then something iridescent shot over the side of the ship in a spray of foam and landed between them. Gerard heard the sharp tink as Silveo’s throwing knife struck the wyvern and bounced harmlessly across the deck. The beast stood there dripping, its scales like mother of pearl, dazzling in the torchlight.
Gerard could not see its expression when it looked at Silveo, but when it turned to him, it was clearly annoyed. “My mistress,” hissed the wyvern, “would like a word with you both.”
Chapter 8. Reprimand
The grishnards think they are the dominant species on Wefrivain. They are wrong. One need only look in the Temple on every island to find the true dominant species.
—Gwain, The Truth About Wyverns
“The gods have informed me that I had better do something with my officers before they kill each other.” Morchella spoke without amusement from her throne. “Explain yourselves!”
Gerard bowed his head. He’d never in his life expected to ride a wyvern, had certainly not expected to be picked up like a mouse from a field and flown away. He felt a little shaken, but the rage that had driven him onto the deck of the Fang was still burning in his chest. He stabbed a finger at Silveo. “Admiral Lamire picked up my prisoners without my consent or knowledge. He tortured and killed shelts whom I promised freedom in exchange for information. I gave my word.”
“A shelt,” grated Silveo. He was wearing an absurd yellow hat with a lavender plume large enough to choke an elephant seal. Gerard noted perversely that his earrings alone looked heavy enough to drown him, should he somehow fall into the sea. “You will be pleased to learn that the grasshopper escaped.”
Gerard felt a measure of relief. “Grasshopper” was uncomplimentary slang for gazumelle, who had unusual jumping abilities.
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