Shadow Dance

by A. E. Pennymaker

  A look of panic crossed Arramy's face, but the Deputy seemed absolutely at a loss, gaping at me, his gun wavering between the two of us.

  "I went down pub last night. Weren't found, were-ee?" I demanded, loud and angry. "Mates din't know where-ee be, niver, but they got a long laugh an' all, given' me such ribs an' looks!"

  Arramy's expression changed, his nose wrinkling in confusion.

  I turned my glare on the deputy as I got closer, deliberately trying to distract him. "What-ee be doffin' yer piece at, man? Ee's not been out tart's 'ouse long 'nuff t'ave done nowt-all."

  The deputy frowned and lowered his gun a fraction, his lips parting as if he were about to ask a question.

  That was the last thing he did before Arramy's fist slammed into the side of his head and he dropped like a rock.

  Arramy bent and swiped the pistol from the deputy's hand, tucking it into the back of his own belt. Then he snatched a folded sheaf of papers from the man's breast pocket, stood up, and turned slowly to look at me, brows lowering.

  I didn't lose my glare. I did, however, back up a step.

  Arramy tilted his head, eyes narrowed. "I've a good mind to turn you over my knee."

  "A simple 'thanks' would do," I retorted. "I just saved your life. Again."

  "We wouldn't be here if you had gotten on the damned ferry." He took a step toward me, unfolded the papers, and held them up with a flick of his wrist. "Instead, you wasted time we don't have."

  I glowered at him for a beat longer, but then my gaze drifted to the papers.

  They were Magistrate's Bureau bulletins. Two of them. The first was a Missing Person's notice with Braeton's handsome mug on it, and a plea for information leading to the safe return of Lexan Rammage, Lord Braeton, Earl of Anwythe. Below that was the description of a person of interest in the search: a petite blonde woman going by the name of Pendar Tarastrian, who was last seen in the Earl's company.

  I frowned, reached out, and plucked the papers from Arramy, shuffling to the second sheet. A front and side sketch of Arramy's face scowled at me from beneath thick black letters declaring Captain Rathe Arramy of the Coalition Navy a dangerous fugitive, to be shot on sight for treason and murder.

  Rathe. His name is Rathe...

  "What in all blazes were you thinking?" Arramy growled.

  "I don't know!" I snapped, quickly folding the bulletins back up. "I don't know what to think, anymore!" I let out a breath and put a hand to my head. "I can't go to Southside. I have to get to Vreis Island, but I'm supposed to go alone or with Braeton. I have no idea what will happen if I show up there with you —"

  "Show up where?"

  I closed my eyes. "Braeton's safe-house. He left papers there for me... I don't know what else to do."

  Arramy's voice was quiet. "You're going back."

  "I have to," I choked out. "Penweather was in the manor. He went down into the bunker with them, he knows who NaVarre is, he knows the location of Aethscaul... And Braeton went down into the bunker. Just... ran after them... " I brought my head up and looked Arramy in the eye, needing him to understand. "I have to get to the Innkeeper. Or at least try." I swallowed hard. "So... I can't go with you. And I don't know if you can come with me."

  He had gone completely still, watching me, and remained that way after I finished. Then, finally, he shifted his weight. Nodded. He was about to say something when I held up my hand, concentrating hard. He heard it then, too, the tramp of boots on the street in front of the jeweler's, fists pounding on doors, voices asking, "Have-ee seen this man?"

  As one, we both turned back the way I had come, dodging around the unconscious deputy slumped against the wall before breaking into a run and careening into the larger rear alley.

  45. Have-ee Seen this Man?

  14th of Dema, Continued

  It was very much like escaping Nimkoruguithu, only without a carnival to get lost in. The auction street was busy, but we were going away from it, not toward it. "What now?" I gasped as we neared the mouth of the alley and the quiet street beyond.

  Arramy grabbed my arm and slowed to a walk, pulling me up next to him.

  "Wait," I blurted, stopping all the way instead and stepping behind him. "Carry me piggy-back. I can hide your hair."

  To my surprise, he went down on his haunches without hesitating.

  A second later my arms were around his shoulders, his hands were clasped beneath my backside, the tasseled hem of my shawl was draped carefully over his head, and we were around the corner, Arramy walking down the street like we owned it, bold as brass, right out in front of all the people taking lunch at a soup house and strolling along the walkway.

  No one stopped us. No one even really looked at us beyond a first flicker of interest, and I almost burst out laughing. It seemed murderers and wanted criminals weren't generally expected to behave like children.

  The Island ferry station stood at the bottom of the hill, the boarding piers jutting out into the water, its red slate roof standing tall over rows of wooden benches. My heart was pounding. If we could get there, we stood a chance.

  Arramy's long legs ate up the ground. Two blocks to go, still no Magis raising an alarm. One block. We had to dodge a group of spectators watching a box show on the corner, and a woman pushing a barrow full of gourds. Then we were only a few dozen meters from the boarding gate.

  The ticket clerk came out of the shack in the middle of the station, sonulator handset at his lips, "Last call fer four-bell boat! Last call!"

  A young male voice drifted down the hill behind us, insistent and clear, "Have-ee seen this man?"

  Arramy's shoulders tensed beneath my arms, and that trapped mouse feeling swarmed up my spine, but I didn't dare look back.

  The clerk turned to go into his office.

  "Hold gate, we got fare!" I sang, digging in the pocket of my dress for my opal money as Arramy broke into a jog.

  Somewhere up the hill behind us: "Have-ee seen this man?"

  The clerk paused, keeping the gate open. "That'll be two lyr," he said as we jolted past him through the gate and into the boarding side of the pavilion.

  "Thank-ee e'er so much," I said, smiling like it was all a silly game as I handed over the required coin from my perch on Arramy's back and collected our tickets.

  "Yus, well, go take seats, Miss," the clerk muttered, giving us a dubious once-over.

  Up the hill: "You've seen 'im? Yer sure? Where?"

  Arramy pushed through the turnstile to the gangway and put me down. "Cover up and walk normally," he whispered, then ducked below the level of the pier railing, following along behind me in a crouch.

  I couldn't breathe. I reached the ramp down to the ferry and turned, walking on strangely wooden legs, sure someone would stop us, but then my boots left the ramp and I was stepping onto the deck.

  Arramy stepped down after me, shuffling me quickly to one of the empty bench seats in the middle of the passenger section. He positioned me just so, then sat in front of me and bent over, pretending to buckle his boot for the benefit of the older gentleman sitting next to us. He was actually keeping himself low, using my skirt as a blind between himself and the shore.

  The deckhand disconnected the ramp and locked the boarding door in place. Then the ferry wheels began thrashing the water, and the pilot took us steaming forward out of the dock.

  With a start, I dragged in a breath and glanced back. A handful of deputies were in the ferry pavilion, waving and gesturing and yelling at the departing boat, but the pilot was looking at the river, and the noise of the engines covered anything the men were saying. Then they were out of sight, blotted from view by a passing freighter dragging pallets of logs.

  Arramy sat up and looked at me. "You're getting too good at this, kid."

  My mouth twitched. "Yes, well, I have had practice." I turned around and sat down next to him, facing the other way.

  After a moment he swayed, deliberately bumping shoulders with me. "Thank you. For saving my life. Again."


  "You're welcome," I murmured. Then I glanced at him.

  Rathe. His name was Rathe. I rolled the word silently around on my tongue, soaking it in, trying it on for size. It fit him, somehow, and I had to fight the urge to grin, imagining Rathe the little grey-eyed mountain boy.

  Arramy's first name made me think of NaVarre's many identities, which brought me around to something that had been bothering me since I had read that Missing Person's Notice. "Why are they looking for Braeton?"

  Arramy was slow to respond. "I'd say... either they don't have a body... or they're hiding something."

  "So... He might still be alive?" I asked, staring absently at the blanket of dirty brown fog drifting ten meters above the surface of the water. It was almost perfectly flat on the bottom, as if someone had cut it off with a sharp knife, and it stayed that way even when it swirled and rippled in the wake of the boats running the river.

  "I hope so," Arramy said quietly. "We had our differences, but he wasn't actually all bad for a royal-turned-pirate."

  I smiled a little, then coughed and put a hand over my nose. The stench of raw sewage and dead fish was growing stronger. We were nearing the Island.

  Our little reprieve was almost over. In only a few minutes, we would dock on the island, and then what? I still didn't know how I was going to show up at the safehouse with Arramy.

  The ferry pilot began angling to approach the docking platform. The other passengers were beginning to stir, standing and gathering their belongings. There was a bump as the prow of the ferry met the docking pads, and everyone lined up at the little door to the debarking platform while the deckhand came to unlock it.

  Arramy got to his feet. Then he looked down at me and held out his hand.

  I stared at those long, lean fingers, then slowly slid my hand into his. He pulled me up, and we got into the queue behind a man carrying a crate of chickens on his shoulder.

  We were nearly to the top of the Vreis Island station ramp when Arramy swore under his breath and bent slightly, then peered carefully around the chicken crate.

  There were Magis on the wharf that ran along the northern tip of the island. Even from that distance, it was obvious they were passing out bulletins and asking questions. Three of them were coming toward the ferry station.

  My stomach hollowed out.

  Arramy kept close to the man with the chickens, blatantly hiding behind him as we reached the debarking pavilion.

  I bit my lip and kept pace with him, head down, trying not to attract any attention. The pavilion was surprisingly full of people, all of them waiting for the passengers who were arriving on the ferry. That was the only reason we hadn't been spotted yet. If the pavilion had been empty, the Magis approaching the ferry station would have seen us immediately. As it was, they were closing in, and there was only one direction we could go.

  The chicken man met the fellow he had come to sell his chickens to, and Arramy left him behind, pulling me through the rows of benches, winding among the knots of people talking and laughing and greeting each other. A particularly large, boisterous group of young men were preparing to leave the pavilion, and Arramy squeezed us into the middle of them. Then we were all crowding through the gate and out into the hubbub of the wharf.

  I got a quick glimpse of a deputy trying to catch up with the stream of passengers leaving the station, but there were too many. The last I saw of him, he had given up and was staring about with his hands on his hips. Then Arramy hailed one of the horseless cabs lined up along the walk, yanked the door open, and ushered me in.

  The door shut behind us with a dull thunk, cutting off the noise of the city and engulfing us in the public-cab stink of stale sweat, spilled beer, and engine grease. Heart pounding, I plopped down on the metal bench seat across from Arramy and shrank away from the luxfenestre as the driver pulled out into the rush of traffic.

  A bodiless voice crackled over the sonulator box, "Where to?"

  Arramy lifted the handset from its cradle just as I blurted, "The Hedgerose Inn."

  He gave me a long look, then brought the handset to his mouth. "The Hedgerose Inn."

  I sat forward and twitched the ratty, grimy shades closed over both windows.

  Arramy shifted around, trying to find a more comfortable position. The cab was much smaller than Braeton's luxury vehicles, and his knees had nowhere to go but up against mine. It was unnerving, being that close to him. I glanced away, my face warm. We were being hunted like rats and there I was, noticing the lithe way he sat and remembering the strength of his shoulders beneath my hands as he carried me on his back.

  Neither of us spoke. The sound of the horseless engine filled the compartment. The silence between us was somehow loud, though, lurking between us, heavy and tense. There were too many things I wanted to say, too many questions I wanted to ask, and the words got all snarled up in my head.

  And then it was too late. The cabby slowed and pulled over to the curb. "Hedgerose. That be lyr an' ten."

  Arramy drew a five-lyr note from his wallet and tucked it through our side of the cabby's money cup. Then he got out and stepped onto the walkway, holding the door open for me.

  I almost expected a 'smile, my dear,' as I climbed slowly out of the cab, but that had always been Braeton. Arramy had been the one in the shadows, standing watch. I came to a stop in front of him and tipped my head back so I could see his face.

  Arramy's gaze roamed my features, a subtle, almost wistful smile deepening the corners of his mouth. Then he nodded once and took a step back. "Well, kid... I guess this is goodbye."

  All I could do was press my lips together in a funny, wobbly little smile and knot my fingers into my skirt. It was very different, this leaving face to face. Sneaking away had been so much easier.

  He took another step. Then he nodded again, more for himself than for me, turned around and began walking away, heading off down the covered walk toward the open end of the courtyard.

  I lingered, watching. Waiting. Maybe he would waver. Maybe he would look back, but he didn't. He kept going, and then he disappeared from view around the shop on the corner, and I was alone in the street.

  46. The Keeper of the Hedgerose Inn

  14th of Dema, Continued

  For several long, interminable moments, I stood looking at the place I had last seen the captain. Finally, I took a shaky breath and glanced around. The Inn. Where was the Inn?

  There. The building in the middle of the right side of the courtyard had a wreath of yellow roses painted on the window overlooking the street. I started toward it. He'll be fine. He's doing you a favor, really. He'll find this friend of his, get new papers, and live a long life in the mountains. Get a dog. Have a family... What did you think, he'd always be around to save you? You're better off without him.

  I reached the front doors of the Hedgerose Inn and lifted my hand to take hold of the pull bar. Then I frowned and turned to look at that shop on the corner. Footsteps, in a rather familiar firm, decisive stride. It sounded an awful lot like Arramy was about to come storming back —

  My heart missed a beat, then began hammering as Arramy rounded the corner, moving at a near-jog. His eyes zeroed in on me, and he broke into a full-on run, rapidly closing the distance between us.

  I didn't have to ask what was going on. I just opened the door to the Inn, stepped inside, and kept out of the way when Arramy whipped into the little vestibule and went crashing right on through the second set of swinging doors to the foyer, yanking me along with him, his grip hard around my arm.

  "They've got your real face on a bulletin and they're going house to house," he said, his voice rough. He stopped, taking stock of the empty foyer. There wasn't anyone at the Reservations podium, and he hauled me past it into the dining room. It was empty too, with only a blaze going in the fireplace and cloths on the tables suggesting that the place was even in use.

  A long polished wooden serving counter ran the length of one wall, bottles of alcohol visible in cubbyholes behind
it. Arramy and I glanced at each other. He raised a brow in question. I shrugged. Then we headed quickly for the bar. We had just hunkered down behind it when a girl of about fifteen pushed through the half-door from the kitchen, carrying a bucket and a scouring brush.

  Her mouth went perfectly round when she saw us. Then she backpedaled, calling loud over her shoulder, "Da!"

  I reached after her. "Wait, it's alright, we're not going to hurt you! We just need somewhere to —"

  A slender middle-aged man came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His, "What's a'worry, Kaier?" died on his lips, replaced by a frown as his gaze fell on us.

  At that same instant, the vestibule doors slammed open and several Magistrate's deputies tramped into the foyer.

  The Innkeeper's expression smoothed. He took the bucket and scrub from his daughter with a quiet, "Second cellar."

  Suddenly all business, Kaier put her finger on her lips and beckoned with her other hand, indicating that we were to keep down and follow her – as if she had been sneaking random people into the kitchen her whole life.

  Once we were in the kitchen, she pulled one of the pantries away from the wall on a hidden hinge, revealing a space behind the cabinetry just big enough to hold several alcohol crates. Or, in this case, one large man and a mid-sized woman standing side by side. We shuffled in, and then, ever so calmly, Kaier closed the pantry after us, shutting us up in the dark.

  For several minutes nothing happened. The smuggling nook was apparently soundproofed, and it was impossible to make out what was going on elsewhere in the building.

  Trying to rein in my heartbeat, I closed my eyes and swallowed hard.

  Arramy shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. His body heat was warming the inch or two between us, his hand near enough to brush against mine. The scent of his pinewood and coconut soap teased my senses, bringing back a whole host of memories. Arramy calling me a silly girl in NaVarre's cabin on the Angpixen; the reassuring strength of his arms around me after a fiery nightmare on the Stryka; all those training sessions on the Coralynne.