by Jane Glatt
If Calder’s Luck couldn’t find Dagrun, then he doubted that someone with the standard non-Trait Intelligencer skills could. He wished he’d given Calder a time limit because really, if Dagrun Lund wanted to run away with her sister and remain Unseen, no one would be able to find her. Now he was left without his most experienced and talented Intelligencer and the knowledge that Tarmo Holt was meeting with pirates.
“Arnor,” he said when he reached his office. “Make some discreet enquiries about Tarmo Holt’s staff, both at his office and in his home. See if there is anyone that everyone despises: someone no one else can understand why they are employed there.” If Gustav was universally loved then his opposite would be universally hated. And capable of recognizing the lad’s Trait and poisoning him.
Tarmo Holt knew about Traits; had he already recruited people with them? Was Joosep putting Gustav in too much danger?
DAG STARED DOWN the slope. It was steeper than the one she’d slid down her first day at Strongrock, and no matter how hard she looked, she didn’t see a good—hidden—way down. They were already pretty far inland: if they were forced to stay on this plateau they’d never find the weapons.
It might make more sense to simply cross the island to where the sailboat was and sail away. Or sail back here, if they were able to steal the boat without being seen. But that meant the possibility of leaving Inger behind, which she wasn’t willing to do. She’d rather stay on this side of the island, collect some weapons, and then go back for her sister.
“It looks dangerous,” Calder said from beside her.
“It does,” Dag said. “Getting down alive doesn’t mean one of us won’t be hurt.” She meant her, of course; she assumed that Calder’s Luck would keep him safe.
“I’ll go first,” Calder said. He took the fishing net off and started shaking it out. “I’ll set this out and hopefully we can use it to climb down part of the way. Once I’m at the bottom of the hill, I’ll try to make a soft landing spot for you.”
Dag sighed. “All right. Let me know when you’re ready for me.”
Calder searched for a few moments before tying one corner of the net to a rock. He tossed the opposite end downhill: it reached just over half way.
Sitting down, he slid onto the net. Half sliding, half crawling, he made his way to the end of the net. Gripping the net with one hand, he rolled onto one side as he searched for a foothold. When he found one, he let go of the net, his hands flat on the hillside as he slipped downhill a few inches before finding a handhold. He repeated his search for a toehold and slid further downslope.
Dag took note of Calder’s path as he painstakingly made his way down the incline. He was careful to keep a steady pace, at times going sideways so he could wedge a boot against a rock, at other times hanging from a handhold. Finally, he was at the bottom.
Calder piled greenery along a six-foot-wide area before waving up at her. Dag took a deep breath before scrabbling down to the corner of the net.
With a firm grip, she reached with her foot to try to find Calder’s foothold. But he was a few inches taller than she was so her boot couldn’t reach it. She rolled sideways, hoping to find something not as far down. Suddenly, she slid down two feet, and a shower of gravel swept past her. Dag was still clinging to the net even as it slid downhill with her.
She let go of the net to free both hands to claw at the earth. On her stomach now, she tried to keep her feet pointed downhill and her face off the rocks as she picked up speed.
“Left, left, left,” Calder called from below. She spared a glance at him and tried to send her feet in the direction he was pointing. Her already bruised hip hit a protruding rock, and she grunted with pain. Her left hand grabbed a tuft of grass, and she slowed a little before the plant slipped through her fingers. Then she felt arms around her: Calder had climbed up a few feet to catch her. He rolled over until she was half on top of him, and then they hit the wall of greenery. The net slid to a stop against them.
She wiped a fern from her mouth and groaned.
“Thanks,” she said as she tried to untangle herself from Calder and the net. “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” Calder said. He gently rolled her off him before he sat up. “Let’s see what the damage is.”
He stood up, pulling her with him, helping her get clear of the tangled fishing net. Holding his arm, she took a tentative step—her left foot seemed fine—another step—and her right foot was also good.
“I can travel,” she said, letting go of Calder. Her hip was sore: bruised but no broken bones, so it shouldn’t stop her from walking.
“Good,” he replied. He bent down and picked up the net. “I wasn’t expecting to get this back, but it might come in handy again.” He grinned as he shook it out. A few minutes later the net—dustier than before—was once again looped over his shoulder.
Dag peered into the darkening woods. They’d come down from the plateau an hour ago, and the sun was starting to sink below the treeline. It was hot and humid under the tree canopy, and the insects seemed to be swarming more intensely than before. She thought they were close to the weapons, which meant they could be close to the pirates.
Ferns rustled and she froze. Then something small ran away from her; a rodent, maybe, or something else that a lynx would eat, but probably not the lynx.
From her side, Calder blew out a breath, and Dag realized she’d been holding hers as well.
“It has to be this way,” she said. “But nothing looks familiar.” She raised the water skin. It was empty, and she found that frustrating. She knew where to find water; just past the beach where the pirates landed and kept the dinghy—but they had to find it first.
“We’ll get there,” Calder said.
“Then we keep going,” Dag said. She was grateful for Calder’s confidence. He was self-assured and calm, and he understood things about their situation without being told.
She was used to Inger, who, no matter how much time Dag spent explaining things to, often just did not understand. She’d never realized how exhausting that was.
And it was probably equally exhausting for her sister. What was it like to be constantly told that you didn’t understand, that the way you felt and what you thought was true was based on incorrect information, that there were things happening that you just didn’t comprehend—and never would, because of your Trait?
She owed Inger an apology, but she wasn’t sure she could do anything different in the future. Was she supposed to let Inger become a pirate just because she believed what they told her? Because making her see the truth was a constant, exhausting struggle? Because as draining as it was for both of them, Dag really did know better.
But Calder’s presence was comforting. She didn’t trust him, not completely, and she was certain he didn’t trust her either, but she did trust his abilities.
She stopped and crouched, signalling Calder to do the same. He crept up beside her.
“I think we found the trail,” Dag said. She pushed aside the leaves of a plant to expose a path worn into the earth. There was a noise from their left, and she dropped to the ground. Calder’s shoulder hit her sore hip when he did the same, and she bit her lip against the pain.
A bird screeched, and she wondered if that was what she’d heard. She was about to look through to the trail when she felt Calder’s hand on her arm. She turned to see him shaking his head.
Ah, there it was. Someone grunted, and then she heard the sounds of footsteps. She thought half a dozen people walked past, and then it was quiet. Calder’s hand was on her arm again, this time pulling her away from the trail.
“Why were they so quiet?” she asked in a whisper. They were about thirty feet from the path: as far away as they could get without going through some very dense bushes and making a lot of noise.
“They know there’s a chance we’re out here,” he whispered back. “They’re listening for us.”
“I need to see if Inger is with them,” Dag said. “We’l
l be able to spy on them at the weapons cache. I can get there from here now that we’re sure we’re in the right place.”
Calder stared at her for a moment before nodding, and she tried to hide her relief. She needed to find Inger: she’d do it by herself, but she’d prefer Calder’s help. And his Trait.
It took them the better part of an hour to wind their way through the forest—too long in Dag’s mind, Inger could have left the clearing already—but they had to circle around thickets of small trees and clumps of bushes that were too dense to go through.
Eventually they looked out past a hummock of grass onto the clearing. As she’d feared, the area was empty.
“Should we get some weapons?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Calder replied. He glanced up at the sky. “It’s too early to know if they’re finished for today. If they come back, they might notice things missing.”
“You are very patient,” Dag said. Even she wasn’t sure if she meant it as a compliment, but Calder just shrugged.
“That’s how my Trait works,” he said. “Luck can’t be forced.” He spread the net out and laid down, resting his head on it.
“Are you going to sleep?”
“No,” he replied. “Just getting comfortable for what might be a long wait.”
HE TRIED TO shift, but his arm was pinned down by something. Calder opened his eyes to find Dagrun’s head on his outstretched arm. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but the heat had sapped his strength.
He was about to gently move Dagrun’s head off his arm when his focus narrowed on the tops of the trees. His Trait was triggered: that may even have been what woke him up.
He stared up at the sky: it was dusk, so he’d been asleep for a few hours. He gently pulled his arm out from under Dagrun’s head. Her eyes opened, and she quietly rolled onto her stomach. He felt chilled where their bodies had been pressed together.
Soft footfalls sounded along the path, and he held his breath as three men stepped out into the clearing. Their dark skin barely reflected the light from the moon, which was probably why Pilalians had been assigned whatever task this was. Unlike the earlier group, no one carried any burdens, although they all held long guns, and the one at the rear had a pistol tucked into his belt. Calder’s focus narrowed on the one with the pistol—his Trait telling him to pay attention to this man.
He turned to Dagrun, held a finger to his lips, and motioned that she should stay here while he investigated. The men were being quiet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t whispering to each other. He wanted to hear anything that was being talked about: any plans the pirates had.
Dagrun shook her head, and he frowned and shook his own head emphatically. He was the best choice for this. Like all Intelligencers, Dagrun would have studied other languages, but Pilalian was his father’s language; there was no way she would speak it with his fluency.
She finally seemed resigned to staying behind, and despite glaring at him, she settled deeper into the grass.
Calder shrugged: he didn’t care if she was angry with him, only that she didn’t put them at risk. He peered out at the clearing. The men had flipped the tarp off the stored goods, and two of them were sorting through the boxes and barrels.
They didn’t seem to be expecting anyone else, so Calder circled to the end of the clearing farthest from the trail. It took time, but luckily the men were having trouble finding what they were looking for. Eventually, Calder found a place to hide that was close enough to hear their whispers.
“We don’t have all night,” the one standing watch said in Pilalian.
“It’s not here,” one of the searchers said. “Charis said it was near the cannon, but it’s not.”
“Someone moved it, that’s all.”
“Or someone stole it,” the third man said.
“Who would steal it?” the watcher replied. “And don’t say spirits. They don’t exist.”
“They do, especially angry spirits: ghosts of murdered men,” the third man said. “I’ve seen them with my own eyes.”
“Shut up about spirits,” the second man said. “We’ll be pretending to be them soon enough.” He stood up with a wide plank in his hand. “I found it. Let’s get back to the ship.”
The two who had been searching jumped off the stacked goods. The plank was handed off, and they started to pull the canvas back over the crates. The man in charge shifted, and Calder saw what he was holding: an engraved and painted name plate from a ship. And he recognized the name: Diamanto.
They had the nameplate of a ship reported lost at sea. He tried to remember what type of ship the Diamanto had been. Were they going to disguise the Bright Breeze as the lost ship? Sailors were a superstitious lot: what would a crew do when they saw a lost ship bearing down on them? Especially at night and crewed by silent, almost invisible Pilalians.
He waited half an hour after they left before creeping back to Dagrun.
“Dagrun,” he called when he thought he was where he’d left her. “Dagrun!” He tripped over something—the fishing net—but Dagrun was gone.
He couldn’t stay here. If she was caught, they’d know he was close. If she wasn’t caught, he still needed to find the sailboat.
With a silent curse, he picked up the net and looped it over his shoulder before setting off through the forest.
DAG’S SHOULDER BLADES itched: they’d been itching ever since the three men had walked out of the clearing and back onto the path. She’d waited for Calder as long as she could stand to before she’d stepped onto the trail and followed the men back here, to the beach.
She tucked herself under a huge fern and worried that Calder would never find her in the dark. She crouched down to watch.
A dozen sailors sat around a big fire: she recognized the three she’d followed from the clearing. A second dinghy was pulled up onto the beach. Beyond the fire, waves rolled up along the sand, their frothy tips glowing in the firelight.
“I thought we’d be sleeping on board,” one of the men she’d followed said over the sound of the waves.
“Captain wants us on shore tonight,” another sailor said. “So, we can start searching again at first light. She figures they’re out of food and water by now.” He looked at each sailor as though daring them to disobey him.
“Water,” a woman said. “I’m missing rum! I bet the crew is getting a full measure tonight.” Others grumbled about that, but the one in charge shushed them.
“You all volunteered, so stop whining,” he said. “Plenty of sailors would trade places with you for the opportunity of extra shares.”
“Only get extra shares if we catch ’em,” the woman said. She frowned, but didn’t say anything else.
“Who’s coming now?” someone else asked.
Dag looked out past the group around the fire to see another dinghy being rowed towards shore. Three people were in the dinghy, but only one was manning the oars. And there was Inger! She was in the back, gripping the sides of the boat as it rose and fell with the waves. And up in front, riding the powerful swells with ease was Captain Margit Ansdottir. What was Inger doing with her?
The man who seemed to be in charge rushed into the surf, grabbed the rope that Ansdottir tossed his way, and towed the dinghy in to shore. Ansdottir jumped out and waded up to the beach and the group at the fire. The rower stowed the oars and followed the captain before Inger climbed over the gunwales and waded ashore.
Ansdottir was already sitting on a log recently vacated by one of the sailors by the time Inger joined her at the fire.
“Charis, did you get it?” she asked.
The man in charge nodded and grabbed a long plank. “The Diamanto,” he said, holding the board up. “We can get a copy made for the other side. The ship is already getting new paint.”
“Good,” Ansdottir said. “I just received word about a meeting I need to attend in Strongrock.” Dagrun caught the way she looked over at Inger. “With one of our backers. Pack up here. We’ll worry about the . . . loo
se ends later.” She stood up and walked back into the surf while the sailors on the beach hurried to get the dinghy afloat. A few minutes later and Ansdottir was on her way back to her ship, Inger sitting in the prow.
Dag slipped back into the forest. The itch between her shoulder blades had subsided, but it wasn’t completely gone. Who was Ansdottir meeting with, and what did she mean by calling them a backer? And what did the pirate captain want with Inger? All Dag wanted was to save her sister, but could she if Inger had become some kind of mascot for Ansdottir?
In less than half an hour the pirates had doused the fire and loaded themselves into their own dinghy and rowed away from the beach.
It was too dark for Dag to see very far, but she didn’t need to. She knew where the spring was, and it was time to fill up the water skin. She felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Calder to fend for himself, but he’d followed his Trait, just as she’d done.
“There’s no sailboat on this beach.”
She’d been about to jump from the rock into the small, hidden bay. She turned to face Calder, who wasn’t angry. At least he didn’t seem angry.
“No,” she agreed. “There never was. I do know where one is. Or where one was, when I passed it. And that’s the truth.”
“Are you heading there now?” Calder asked.
“No.” She held up the water skin. “There’s a spring just off a small beach over there.” She pointed towards it. “You can’t see it from here, but I found it last time I was here.” She stepped off the rock and plunged the few feet into the shallow water. “It’s just soft sand,” she called over her shoulder.
She barely got the words out before Calder splashed down beside her.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he said. “Until I know where the sailboat is.”
“All right.” She hadn’t been trying to get away from him, but she could see how it looked that way.
They waded up onto the beach. Calder sat down and pulled off his boots, and Dag did the same, hoping they weren’t ruined after getting soaked in seawater yet again.