by Jane Glatt
Joosep blew out a breath and started tidying his desk. He put the notes he’d written from Dagrun’s report in a pile to be filed. He’d talk to her tomorrow, when she’d calmed down a little. Maybe she would even have found her sister by then and things could get back to normal.
Because Dagrun was right about that; she was the one who would be able to find Inger.
DAG TURNED A corner, staying in the shadow of a warehouse. She paused to survey the dark hulks of barges that were tied up at the docks. Barges ferried goods that arrived on ships up the Dareveth River to the warehouses that lined both sides of the river. The two cities, North and South Tarklee, straddled the Dareveth, each one the capital of a different country.
Beyond the barges, the sea going ships huddled in the harbour, their dark shapes contrasting with the light grey of the Pale Sea. Glacier run-off and silt from chalky cliffs gave the sea its name although beyond the shoreline the water was differing shades of blue, depending on the season. Right now, in summer, the sea farther out would be dark.
A few lanterns shone along the dock, and every once in a while, the low rumble of voices from a tavern or card game drifted to her.
Movement on one of the unlit docks caught her eye: a glint of moonlight on a shiny belt buckle, maybe. Was it her Trait showing her where to look?
Someone in a long coat stepped off the dock that paralleled the shoreline onto a smaller pier that jutted out into the sea. A small dinghy bobbed in the water and a second person crouched beside it. The coated figure stopped and leaned over something behind them on the dock. That’s when Dag saw two smaller figures hanging onto the coat. The person on the dock stooped and one by one, placed the children—it could only be children—into the dinghy. Once they’d stepped in and settled in the middle of the boat, the second person threw something—a rope, she thought—into the boat and shoved it out from the dock, jumping in as it glided away.
Dag was trying to decide if she had time to run down the dock and jump into the dinghy when she heard a cough. Someone stepped out of a shadow and slowly walked to shore.
Dag took one last look at the dinghy: one of the occupants had found some oars and it was silently being rowed out to sea. She tracked its path to a ship that was out beyond the rest that sheltered in the harbour. Then she stepped out of the shadows to follow the person still on land.
She was beside the person—an older woman—before she was even noticed.
“Heya,” the woman said. “What are you doing, sneaking around like that?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Dag said. She stepped forward and pulled her patch from her pocket. It was just a small piece of fabric with the emblem of the Fair Seas Treaty Alliance on it. She didn’t expect the woman to recoil the way she did.
“I don’t want trouble,” the woman said. “I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“I just need information,” Dag replied. She didn’t actually have any authority on the docks; at least she didn’t think she did, but this woman didn’t have to know that. “Who were those children and where are they going?”
The woman stared at her for a moment and then she sighed. She was younger than Dag had first thought, but she was thin and her face was lined with old despair.
“Something this city places no value on,” the woman said. “Children with no homes or families. Mostly girls, left to starve in the street, or suffer abuse unless someone with a kind heart takes them.” She spat towards the city.
“Takes them where?” Dag asked. Had Inger been taken like this? Is this what her Trait was showing her?
“To where they can’t be used by people who don’t care whether they live or die as long as coin can be made off them,” the woman said. “Poor little innocents deserve better than that, and I help them get it.”
“Where do you send them?” Dag asked quietly. “And who takes them from you?”
“The privateers take them and they give them good lives. Better than they’d have here, leastways.”
“Privateers,” Dag repeated. They liked to call themselves that, but her instructors said they were pirates who robbed ships that travelled through the Frozen Pass. She didn’t know much about them. “How do you know? That they have better lives?”
“’Cause they come back to thank me,” the woman said. “Three of ’em have come back to thank me: and to take any new little ones away with ’em.”
“Like tonight,” Dag said. “How often? How often do they come?”
“When they can,” the woman said. “I find the children and keep ’em fed and safe until the privateers show up. They pay me for my trouble, which helps since the little ones are so hungry when I find ’em.”
Wrong question, Dag thought. That wasn’t going to help her find Inger. “Do they take older people?” she asked. “My age?”
The woman peered at her as though she was seeing her for the first time.
“Might be,” she said. “Why?”
“My sister is missing and I need to find her,” Dag said, wondering if anyone Joosep sent had even talked to anyone in the harbour. He’d said he had people looking for Inger but who? And where had they actually looked? “A week ago, so I’ve been told. I was away.” She wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive Joosep for that.
The woman stared at her for a moment before she nodded. “There was a young woman,” she said. “Could be a week ago.”
“She went with the pir . . . privateers?”
“Yeah, though she weren’t in the same circumstances as most people who go. She was prepared. Had a warm coat and all.”
“The same privateers who are on that ship out there?” Dag asked, pointing to the ship. There were a couple of more lights on it now; was it getting ready to set sail?
“The same.”
“Thank you.” Dag had already started to run before she finished speaking. She couldn’t afford to miss boarding this ship, not when it might be her only chance to follow Inger to wherever she was. She headed right toward a small dinghy that was tied up nearby, and in moments she was awkwardly rowing towards the ship.
She wasn’t an experienced rower, and keeping the dinghy pointed in the right direction took all of her concentration. Every time she paused to look over her shoulder, the boat drifted off track and she had to pull on one oar to get back on course. Eventually, she made it into the shadow of the ship’s prow.
She stared up at the ship, trying to determine the best way to board it. She heard shouts and saw figures scrambling up the masts in response. White sails dropped and billowed in the faint breeze. But no one looked down, or if they did, they didn’t see Dag in her small boat. Her Trait at work, she assumed.
She managed to maneuver the dinghy close enough to grab a rope that looped over the side of the prow. Standing precariously on the seat, she hauled herself up, wrapping her legs around the rope and shimmying up it. She slipped over the gunwale and dropped to the deck of the ship. Unnoticed, she made her way to an upturned dinghy. She slid under it while the activity of setting sail went on around her.
Eventually, the shouted orders came less frequently, and the sounds that reached Dag quieted to creaking wood and flapping sails. She lay down and stared at the deck just beyond the dinghy but no feet appeared and no faces peeked under to find her. She wasn’t surprised that she hadn’t been seen, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t relieved.
Chapter 2
JOOSEP REACHED FOR his office door and paused. The door was ajar; someone was here. He gently pushed the door open a few inches wider and leaned into the room. A familiar head of hair caused him to sigh, and he opened the door completely.
“This is a private office, you know,” Joosep said.
Tarmo Holt, seated in front of Joosep’s desk, turned and scowled at him.
“And this is a conversation that needs privacy,” Holt said. “Where have you been, Master Intelligencer? Gathering intelligence for me, I hope?”
“I was here late into the night,” Joosep said as he skirt
ed both the desk and Tarmo Holt, to sit in his chair. He scanned the desktop and relaxed; there was nothing out in the open that the Grand Freeholder shouldn’t be privy to, but it didn’t mean that from now on he wouldn’t lock up all his paperwork, along with his office. “Dealing with the report of one of my Intelligencers.”
“Yes, yes,” Holt said. “The Lund girl. That’s why I’m here. Has she found her sister?”
“If she has I haven’t been told,” Joosep said, wondering why that was Holt’s first concern. Had he already looked through the report on Clan Freeholder Timonis? “It’s only mid-morning; surely you aren’t expecting her to work quite so quickly?”
“But isn’t that her Trait? To find the Unseen?”
“To see the Unseen,” Joosep corrected. “Seeing Unseen clues that point to where her sister can be found is very different from finding her. It could take time.” Again, Joosep regretted telling Holt about the Lund sisters’ Traits. “And you agreed that if Inger Lund declined your proposal that you would give up this plan.”
“She didn’t decline me,” Holt replied.
“She ran away. I think that is a very definite no. You must drop this.”
“Why should I?” Holt asked.
“What use is it? The soonest you can be named Grand Freeholder again is in another six years. Even if Inger Lund had agreed to have a child, it would barely be old enough to know what Trait, if any, it had. There is no way that could help you.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Holt said and stood up. “I am sorry for taking up your time. Please let me know when the Lund girl is found.”
Joosep stared at the door for a long time after Holt had left. What was the man planning? He hadn’t even asked about Swyford’s choice of Grand Freeholder: the whole reason for Dagrun’s mission. And it seemed he hadn’t given up on Inger Lund. Or . . . had he set his sights on Dagrun?
He leaned back in his chair and frowned. He almost wished he’d let Tarmo Holt try to recruit Dagrun because she would have quickly discovered what his true goal was, and that was something Joosep dearly wanted to know. He cursed his Unseen Trait for being so weak: his Trait was the main reason why he’d always felt he was such a good Master Intelligencer, but it seemed it was not strong enough to help him uncover Tarmo Holt’s intentions.
In the meantime, he needed to see what information Dagrun had found about Inger’s whereabouts. She must have found something by now. He’d also remind her to write her report. In his opinion the discipline of reporting was one of the fundamentals of spying; no matter what his people were dealing with, the records had to be kept current.
Mid-afternoon, hours after he’d sent Arnor to find Dagrun, his assistant burst into his office.
“She’s gone,” Arnor said, panting. “Dagrun hasn’t been seen by anyone since she talked to Vilis.”
“Calm down,” Joosep said. “She’s just not been noticed, that’s all.” Her Trait meant that she was rarely noticed; that had to be the explanation. “Where have you looked?”
As Arnor went through an exhaustive list of places he’d looked and people he’d spoken to, Joosep started to get an uneasy feeling. First Inger and now Dagrun. Was Dagrun simply following her sister, or was something more sinister going on? And did this have anything to do with Tarmo Holt’s earlier visit?
“Mobilize all of the instructors,” Joosep interrupted Arnor mid-sentence. “Have them start looking for both sisters. And see if any other Intelligencers have returned to the Hall.”
Arnor nodded and rushed out, leaving Joosep wishing he’d involved the instructors in the search for Inger initially, instead of just having the few available Intelligencers look for her. But Inger wasn’t his responsibility and he’d assumed that Dagrun would quickly find her when she returned. But what if Dagrun had found her sister and had now met the same—perhaps terrible—fate?
Joosep needed to put all of his resources into finding Dagrun—so many of his plans depended on her. And her Trait.
SOMEONE SHOUTED NEARBY and Dag woke up, her heart pounding. She blew out a breath. She was still under the dinghy and she hadn’t been discovered. She hadn’t meant to—it went against all of her training to sleep when in a dangerous place—but she’d fallen asleep. At least the shout hadn’t been about her.
Daylight edged under the overturned dinghy and bare feet scampered past. Someone shouted again and the reply came from nearby.
“Drop them sails quick, now,” a rough, male voice called out. “Unless you wanta end up on the Teeth.”
He has to mean the Serpent’s Teeth, Dag thought, surprised. What were they doing here? It was a notoriously dangerous expanse of sea that paralleled the eastern shore of Ostland Island in the north all the way south to the Blighted Woods. The Teeth were jagged pieces of rock that punched up through the waves, barring any southern route around Ostland that could lead out of the Pale Sea. To Dag’s knowledge, no one had been able to map all of the Teeth. There were rumours that they actually shifted, but her instructors had explained that wind and waves never revealed them the same way twice.
Was the ship heading to Lavais and the shipbuilders? The island was part of Swyford, one of the three Fair Seas Treaty Alliance countries, but it was possible the pirates had business there. Perhaps they had to get their ships repaired at Lavais: it was the only ship building facility in the Pale Sea.
She was more interested in finding out if that was where Inger had been taken. And what about the children she’d followed on board? Would they be left on Lavais? And would it be with pirates or with honest Swyfordians? She had her patch so she’d be safe enough if she was discovered, but that wouldn’t help her find Inger.
An hour passed and she heard more activity: calls for jibs and mainsails to be trimmed and other orders she didn’t understand. Then the boat stilled, and she heard sailors calling from all over the ship. To starboard five feet: hard to port and hold the wheel for a count of eight then hard starboard again.
It took a few moments to realize that they were sailing through the Teeth. But she’d been told that it was impossible!
Did the pirates have a map or were they navigating solely based on sight? The constant calls that came from across the ship sounded practiced, like they’d done this before. She had to wonder if there was a Trait involved, maybe even an Unseen Trait.
In the next hour, the calls came faster and faster and the ship barely seemed to move. Wood groaned and every once in a while, the ship dipped slightly. The air under the dinghy was hot and still. She wiped sweat from her forehead wondering when she’d feel a breeze again.
There was a long silence, and then someone shouted, “We’re out!” and a cheer went up.
A few minutes later multiple, sets of bare feet ran past Dag, and someone called for the sails to be let out. The ship lurched and rolled as it gained speed across waves. Finally, a puff of wind made its way under the dinghy and she sighed.
DAG JERKED AWAKE, her heart pounding. Someone was handling the dinghy she was under! A pair of bare feet moved from one end to the other, and a rope coiled onto the deck near the bow.
“Bow’s untied,” a female voice said. “You get the stern.”
Dag rolled away from the feet to the far edge of the dinghy. They were getting ready to put her dinghy into the water. How would they do it? She wished she knew more about the workings of sailing vessels, but no one had ever told her to expect to work on one, let alone stow away on one.
They’ll lift it where it is, she thought. She crawled towards the bow: its slight curve left a foot of space between the deck and the gunwale of the dinghy. Hopefully, she’d be able to get out from underneath it without being noticed.
“Man the boat,” someone called, and dozens of bare feet lined the side of the dinghy. Thinking that her boots would be noticed amongst all of the bare feet, Dag pulled hers off and awkwardly tucked them into her shirt.
Fingers lined the underside of the dinghy as people gripped it and someone shouted, “Hands on an
d up!”
The bow of the dinghy lifted, and Dag ducked out from under it, squeezing in beside the boat and the outside wall of a cabin, across from the sailors raising the boat. She was half standing with her hands on the gunwale by the time it reached her waist. A few sailors slid underneath the dinghy to join her, and together they lifted their side up until the boat evened out at waist height.
No one seemed to notice Dag; she assumed it was her Trait at work. She kept her head down as she walked forward, carrying the dinghy towards the ship’s gunwale.
“Anchor’s down,” a large woman called as she strode past. “Get this dinghy into the water. We’re home.”
As soon as the woman passed, one of her neighbours leaned towards her. “We all know the Captain’s real home is this ship,” she said. “Strongrock’s just a safe harbour.”
Dag simply grunted in response, which seemed to satisfy the woman who’d spoken to her. Strongrock Island was just south of Ostland but the only way to get there—so she’d been taught—was to go north through the Frozen Pass. That journey took two or three days, depending on the weather, not the single night and day they’d just spent coming through the Serpent’s Teeth from North Tarklee.
The group of them—about a dozen sailors, half men and half women—walked the dinghy towards the side of the ship.
“Overhead!” a woman called, and in unison they hoisted the dinghy above them.
“To the gunwale,” the woman said. Dag almost stumbled and the bow dipped towards her as she fought to keep the boat aloft. The sailor beside her shifted over a step, taking some of the weight as a boy who looked to be about ten scampered around the dinghy, making sure that a rope that was tied to the bow was clear.