The Black Star (Book 3)

by Edward W. Robertson

  "I spoke to Rotterdun," Lolligan said. "At first he was a bit cagey, but when I told him it was related to the disappearance, he confirmed Tallivand had been to see him."

  "You mean recently?"

  He nodded. "Last month, he allowed her to see his library. Discussion wandered to the subject of histories and he mentioned one that snagged her ear. She wanted to buy it, but he'd loaned it to a friend who was away on business in Tantonnen. Two weeks ago, Rotterdun let her know his friend would be back soon. She returned to complete the purchase four days ago."

  "In person? She's either very bold or very obsessed."

  "There was quite a large sum on the line. He got the impression she was there to confirm its edition for herself." He leaned forward and glanced around, mock-conspiratorial. "There's more. When she left, she forgot her coat. It was a few minutes before anyone noticed. Rotterdun dispatched a servant to the piers, but by the time the man got there, her vessel was already plowing across the lake."

  "Tell me he remembers the boat."

  Lolligan grinned. "The Blind Eye. Known, suitably enough, for its discretion."

  Blays clapped, the report echoing from the stone walls. "About time I had a bit of luck. Make sure Rottendun's man gets a raise."

  He all but ran out of the cellar, then rowed into the city so fast it was a wonder his boat didn't take to the air like a rotund wooden eagle. He'd never heard of the Blind Eye, but he easily bought info on its berthage from one of the other boatsmen. It was currently out on the lakes dropping off a well-heeled passenger. Blays settled in at a pub on the docks and treated himself to a beer while he waited for his ship to come in.

  That took all day and half the evening. As dusk encored, with fish breaking the surface to nibble at the few flies alive this time of year, an unmarked sloop slipped up to the pier and tied off. Blays finished his beer—just his third, he needed to stay sharp-witted—and headed toward the Blind Eye.

  A gangplank connected it to the dock. Blays started up, but a man loomed on the other end. "Sure you're on the right ship?"

  "I'm here to see Captain Kessel," Blays said. "So unless he's left your vessel for another fair lady of the lakes, I'm pretty sure I've got my mark."

  "Who shall I tell him is here?"

  Blays jangled his purse. "Opportunity."

  The man snorted and headed toward the single deck at the aft. To avoid attention, Blays had left his sword at Dennie's, but he found himself regretting his caution. He had brought knives, though. He never didn't have knives.

  The sailor returned, wordlessly gestured Blays aboard, and led him to the captain's cabin. This was as cramped as they always were, wallpapered with maps of the lakes and the channels connecting them. No other records were visible.

  Blays closed the door, but declined a seat on the bench/shelf that ran along the wall. "I'm here about one of your passengers."

  "What passengers?" Captain Kessel was younger than Blays expected, maybe no older than Blays himself. He had a burn scar on the left side of his jaw and looked as lean and mean as a lake pike.

  "Just one. A woman named Tallivand."

  The man regarded him blankly. "I repeat, what passengers? This is a fishing trawler."

  "Captain, while I have nothing but respect for the value you place on your passengers' privacy—"

  "Do you? Then turn around and walk off my boat."

  Blays stepped forward. "One of your nonexistent passengers kidnapped the family of someone close to me. Putting me in the unfortunate position of giving a shit. I can see that if I tried to bribe you, you would laugh at me. If I threatened you, you'd probably try to stab me, and I'd have to kill you before I learned what I want to know."

  Kessel sniffed. "Then it sounds like walking away is even smarter than it was a minute ago."

  "Yep," Blays said. "But I never was too smart."

  They eyed each other. Blays made no move, but Kessler was canny enough to pick up something in his face. The corner of the captain's mouth twitched. His backside was leaned against a compact table thick with charts. He lunged forward, driving a two-pronged drafting compass at Blays' throat.

  Blays stepped forward and to the man's right, draping his left hand over the man's incoming wrist and guiding it past his body. In the same movement, he slammed a right hook into the side of the captain's head. The man sprawled to the ground. Still holding his wrist, Blays stomped Kessel's shoulder and twisted his arm until the compass dropped from his slackening grasp.

  "Despite all evidence to the contrary, I respect you," Blays said, breathing hard. "Now respect that I can break your arm with a twitch."

  The pressure of Blays' weight on his shoulder smushed Kessel's face to the boards of the floor. "Bones heal. When my crew gets to you, your spine won't."

  "The woman I want is a kidnapper. If she doesn't get what she wants, I expect to discover she's a murderer as well. I doubt that means much to you. Because you've got your own code. Following that to the end—that's what you value."

  He laughed. "Are you about to tell me how we're both the same?"

  "I don't need to tell you that, do I?"

  Kessel's shoulder relaxed beneath his foot. "Get to the point or let me up so I can finish what I started."

  It was Blays' turn to laugh. "Staying silent doesn't protect your code. All it protects is someone who deserves my wrath."

  "Buy me a beer."

  "A beer?"

  "Buy me a beer," Kessel repeated slowly. "And I'll drop you right on her doorstep."

  Blays let go of his wrist and stepped back. "It was the bit about the wrath, wasn't it?"

  The captain sat, rubbing his wrist while he rotated his shoulder. "I figured you were about to hit me with a sob story."

  "Sob story? You thought I'd torture you like that? Maybe we aren't as alike as I thought."

  Blays wasn't entirely sure Kessel wasn't pulling his leg to buy an opportune moment to knife him in the back, but the man seemed relaxed, unruffled. He finished up his business on the Blind Eye, then jogged down the gangplank and walked shoulder to shoulder with Blays to the pier.

  All told, it wound up being well more than a beer, and as they talked and joked, Blays kept in mind the idea that Kessel was lulling him into drunken complacency. But his body language remained right. Blays got the impression he just wanted to get off the water for a couple hours. Or to kill time until his preferred hour to act.

  This turned out to be nearly ten o'clock. Blays would have liked a way to get word to Minn, but figured it was better for her to worry about him than to endanger his chances of locating Cal. Anyway, that was a bit presumptuous. She might not worry in the slightest. This was what he did, after all.

  Kessel ambled back to his ship. With minimal orders, his crew shoved off and turned the boat around, steering north across the lake. In Blays' experience with captains, many of them preferred to embed themselves in their cabins while the ship went about the tedious business of getting from one port to the next, but Kessel stood up front watching the water.

  "On the lookout for pirates?" Blays said.

  "They know better than that," Kessel said. "It's the night. I like to watch it."

  "That's all well and good until the night looks back."

  Like all three lakes in Gallador, this one stretched north to south, and the Blind Eye sailed up its long eastern shore, keeping itself a few hundred feet from land. Wending was by far the largest city on the lake, but lanterns gleamed from numerous fishing villages content to live at their own pace.

  Halfway up the lake, a mitten-shaped bay protruded to the east, leaving a sharp peninsula wrapped around its northern edge. Steep hills surrounded the peninsula, swooping up to Gallador's short but craggy mountains, protecting it from overland approach. What little land was usable overlooked a sheltered bay. Blays wasn't surprised to see the peninsula had been claimed by sprawling estates with high roofs and tended grounds. The Blind Eye drifted to a stop within bowshot of its point.

  Kessel p
ointed to the home on the tip of the peninsula. "See that? Count two to the right. That's where we brought the woman."

  Blays leaned over the railing, as if getting a foot closer would reveal her waiting in the darkness. The grounds were bordered with twenty-foot stands of bamboo. A dock extended from the shore. Behind it, the land jumped thirty feet to a plateau housing an L-shaped manor with towers rising from each of its three corners. Lights burned in its central tower.

  "You're positive?" Blays said.

  Kessel smirked. "Imagine you've made a business transporting people who don't want their movements known. Sometimes these people think your word, your reputation, it isn't enough. They think maybe they should go back and make sure their tracks are covered."

  "Thus, if they try anything foolish, you like to know where to hit back."

  The captain nodded. "Seen enough?"

  "Thanks for your trouble. I can't say more, but I'm sure you'll be rewarded. Handsomely."

  "Just keep my ship and my crew out of it."

  Blays stuck out his hand. "My lips are sealed."

  Kessel brought about the ship and hove toward Wending. At the city docks, Blays jogged to his rowboat and returned to Dennie's. It was after one in the morning, but the others were awake, waiting for him. They convened in the business-den.

  "I think I've found him," Blays said.

  Minn pressed her fist to her mouth, eyes bright. Dennie cried out and crushed Blays in a hug.

  "You know the peninsula up north?" Blays said once he'd extricated himself. "Tallivand's operating from a home there."

  "How do you know this?" Dennie said.

  "I promised my source I wouldn't say. But I consider him highly reliable." Blays lowered himself to a chair. "Do you know anyone who lives there?"

  "Sure. Many of the city's wealthy consider themselves too great to live in the city and prefer to isolate themselves on Unber Peninsula. Should I pay it a call?"

  "In the morning, go take a look at the place, get an idea of what we're up against. We can move that same night."

  Dennie held his glass to his stomach. "You're talking about an attack."

  "Do you have a problem with that?" Blays said.

  "None."

  They talked out a few more details, then Dennie retired to catch what sleep he could before morning. Once he was gone, Minn said, "Do you know what it's supposed to feel like?"

  "What's that?" Blays said. "Bloodhunting?"

  "If that's what you call it."

  "Dante described it as a pressure in his head. It got stronger when he was pointed in the right direction, and the closer he got to his mark." Blays smiled. "Feel something?"

  "I'm not sure." She laughed a little. "I guess that means yes. But I don't know what to do with it yet."

  "Keep trying. We don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. If things get nuts and they escape with him, that skill would come in quite handy."

  The next day was a busy one for everyone but Blays. By the time he arrived downstairs for tea, Dennie was already gone. Minn was holed up in her room with the finger, plying the nether. Servants came and went. Jinsen the bodyguard returned with five men, three of whom Blays didn't recognize. They stood in the yard, pointing here and there, maneuvering themselves through formations and arrangements. None bore arms, but earlier, Blays had seen a servant lug three long cloth bundles up from the cellar, along with a chest that almost certainly contained armor.

  Dennie had taken his favorite sloop, but his docks remained busy in his absence, with sailors adjusting and mending the rigging of a sleek cutter whose railings alternated between open gaps and closed planks, like the crenels and merlons atop a castle.

  Blays had half a mind to check in with Lolligan, but the tea baron-turned-rebel would have sent over a letter if anything new had come up. In the interest of not mucking anything up on the day of the assault, he procured a second sword from one of the servants. It had been months since he'd used two and he was happy to burn the hours with practice.

  Early that afternoon, Dennie returned on his sloop and summoned Blays, Jinsen, and Minn to the tower overlooking the lake.

  "I took a stroll around the peninsula," he said. "It appears that Tallivand's home is patrolled. In the middle of the day."

  Jinsen laughed wryly. "Why would you need daylight patrols at peaceful ol' Unber Peninsula?"

  "We don't have to assault them. We could offer to swap the Almanack for Cal. That's what they want, isn't it?"

  "If we let them know we know how to get to them, they're apt to get spooked."

  "I have no intention of letting them escape unpunished," Dennie said. "Not after what they've done to Cal. But I thought I would suggest it in case you thought I was crazy."

  Blays bit his lip. "Either way, we should act today."

  "We attack tonight." Dennie turned to Jinsen. "Have you worked out a plan?"

  With the help of a quill and paper, Jinsen sketched it out for them. They would land their main force down the peninsula, then move to the ridge above Tallivand's manor. Meanwhile, the cutter would position itself off the house's dock, sealing off escape by water. Once the troops were assembled on the ridge, Jinsen would lead a team into the manor and clear it room by room, concentrating any captives they took into one room while they searched for Cal and extracted him. Then they could take one of Tallivand's own vessels out to the cutter and sail home.

  As Jinsen laid this out, Minn and Blays exchanged glances. At last, she could stand no more.

  "All you have to do is get me inside," Minn said. "I can find Cal and get him out without spilling a single drop of blood."

  It was Dennie and Jinsen's turn to frown at each other. Dennie lowered his eyes to the map. "This involves your sorcery?"

  "They'll never know I'm there."

  Dennie rubbed his beard. "Minn, I can't let you put your life on the line for me."

  "Because I'm a woman?"

  "Because you're my niece."

  A few seconds of silence ensued. Blays leaned over the table. "She's been training me. I can assure you that if you want to get your son home, she's the most powerful weapon we've got."

  At least three emotions fought for control of Dennie's face. At last, love of his son—or respect for his niece?—won out. "Tell us what you can do."

  She did so. The two men listened, stunned. As soon as she finished, Jinsen recovered, amending his plan and leaving the old one as backup. He then left to drill the men in accordance with the revised strategy. Dennie went to consult with the sailors of his cutter.

  "I won't insult you by asking if you're ready," Blays said.

  Minn gazed out on the shining lakes. "Do you do this sort of thing a lot?"

  "Enough that my parents' ghosts must have died all over again from worry."

  "Then I'm glad you came with me."

  Though their exact strategy had been drawn up on the spur of the moment, Dennie had been planning for potential hostilities before Blays and Minn had arrived in Gallador. By nightfall, all his assets sat ready. At midnight, Blays boarded the sloop along with Dennie, Minn, Jinsen, and five other men-at-arms. Four bowmen boarded the larger cutter. The two boats launched at the same time, but the sloop outpaced the other vessel, making port in the underarm of the peninsula while the cutter was still ten minutes from its final position. Exactly as planned.

  The soldiers debarked and headed up a path that ran the length of the peninsula's ridge. A rooster crowed in the hills. As they passed a darkened home, a dog barked, chain rattling. Otherwise, it was quiet, and as the cutter came to rest a few houses down from Tallivand's, Blays and the troops hunkered down in a ditch overlooking her home.

  Jinsen murmured to the men, making last-minute reminders of their next move. Before he had the chance to finish, Minn stood bolt upright, slapping her hand to her forehead.

  "Stop everything," she said. "We're at the wrong house."

  23

  After searching so long for any knowledge about the object of
his quest, Dante climbed the stairs in a daze. Horace took them to a cozy room with thick rugs, a few low tables, and sunken nooks. Two narrow floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the cavern. Horace closed the glassless windows' shutters. Given that they were already in a giant cave, this did little to diminish the light, but it would keep their voices from carrying. He settled his lantern into a sconce beside the door and sat in the middle of the room. The others settled down on the rugs.

  "I will begin with an apology," Horace said. "I expect I know less than you would like. As compensation, I can explore two paths for you. The first is the story of the Black Star as it has always been told. And the second is our understanding of how it manifests itself in the world." He looked up from his hands. "How much do you know? Are you familiar with The Cycle of Jeren?"

  "Not all of my friends are," Dante said. "Best to start from the beginning."

  "Do you know the story of Arawn's Mill?"

  "At first Arawn's mill ground the ether that bound the world. There was harmony in the heavens and on earth. No hunger, no death. Then mankind grew too many. The ground broke under our weight. Arawn's mill fell and cracked. He returned it to the sky, but couldn't fix it; it no longer ground ether, but nether. And nether brought death."

  "Yet it also returns men and women to the heavens. Turned a broken line into a circle." Horace waited for an argument, then went on. "But when Arawn restored his mill, it had a wobble. With each year that passed, the wobble worsened, until all who looked up could see it—and feared that it would fall again. If the fall repeated, the floods would, too. And perhaps this time the mill would shatter beyond repair. No more nether, no more life.

  "They prayed. Begged. But Arawn did nothing. Some said he was still angered that his mill had been broken to begin with. Others thought he had decided to bring this cycle to a close. The rains began. Crops and men were washed out to sea. Still the people prayed, and still Arawn did nothing.

  "Then his mortal daughter Jeren thought that if he refused to listen to the living, perhaps he'd listen to the dead. She put a knife into her heart. When the nether came, she followed it to him. And demanded he set his mill to true before all was lost. For the first time in centuries, he spoke. He said: 'How do you find a black star in the night sky?'