She rushed to him. Ignoring his filthy garment and all courtly protocol, she hugged the big man tight.
The water boy dropped both buckets and gasped aloud.
Ibis chuckled. “It’s as if they plum forgot you used to work here. Like they think their old Amilia died er sumptin’ and the Chief Secretary to the Empress grew outta thin air.” He put down the spoon and took her by the hand. “So, how are you, lassie?”
“Really good, actually.”
“I hear you got a fancy place up there in the East Wing with all the swells. That’s sumptin’ to be proud of, that is. Yer moving up in the world. There’s no mistaking that. I just hope you don’t forget us down here.”
“If I do, just burn my dinner and I’ll remember who the really important people are.”
“Oh, speaking of that!” Ibis quickly used the towel to lift the steaming pot from the stove. “Don’t want to be ruining the sauce for the chamberlain’s quail.”
“How are things here?”
“Same as always.” He hoisted the pot onto the stone bench and lifted the lid, freeing a cloud of steam. “Nuttin’ changes in the scullery and you picked a fine time to visit. Edith ain’t here. She’s upstairs hollering at the new chambermaid.”
Amilia rolled her eyes. “They should have dismissed that woman years ago.”
“Don’t I know it, but I only run the kitchen and don’t have no say over what she does. Course, you being a swell an all now, maybe—”
She shook her d. “I don’t have any real power. I just take care of Modina.”
Ibis used the spoon and tasted the sauce before replacing the lid.
“Well now, I know you didn’t come here to jaw with me about Edith Mon. This have sumptin to do with the empress crying down here a bit ago? It wasn’t the pea soup I made for her, was it?”
“No,” Amilia assured him. “She loves your cooking, but yes, I did sort of want to explain things.” She turned to face the rest of the staff and raised her voice, “I just wanted everyone to know the empress is okay. She heard some bad news today and it saddened her is all. But she’s fine now.”
“Was it about the war?” Nipper asked.
“I bet it had to do with the prisoners in Ratibor,” Knob the baker speculated. “The Princess of Melengar done executed them, didn’t she? Everyone knows she’s a witch and a murderess. She’d think nothing of slaughtering defenseless folk. That’s why she was weeping, wasn’t it? ’Cause she couldn’t save them?”
“The poor dear,” the butcher’s wife declared. “She cares so much, it’s no wonder she’s so upset with everything she has to deal with. Thank Maribor she has you taking care of her, Lady Amilia. You’re a mercy and then some, you are.”
Amilia smiled and turned to Ibis, “Didn’t she always used to yell at me about the way I cleaned her husband’s knives?”
Ibis chuckled. “She also accused you of taking that pork loin a year ago last April. Said you ought to be whipped. I guess she forgot about that. They all have I ’spect. It’s the dress, I think. Seeing you in a gown like this, even I have to fight the impulse to bow.”
“Don’t do that,” she told him, “or I’ll never come back here.”
Ibis grinned. “It’s good to see you again.”
***
In her dream, Modina saw the beast coming up behind her father. She tried to scream but only a muffled moan escaped. She tried to run to him, but her feet were stuck in mud—thick, green, foul-smelling mud. The beast had no trouble moving as it charged down the hill toward him. To her anguished amazement, Theron took no notice of the ground shaking from the monster’s massive bulk. It consumed him in a single bite and Modina collapsed in the dirt. The musty smell filled her nostrils as she struggled to breathe. She could feel the damp earth against her body. In the darkness, the sounds of splashing told the beast came for her too. All around, men and women cried and howled in misery and fear. The beast came for them all. Splashing, cranking, splashing, cranking, it was coming to finish the job, coming to swallow her up as well.
It was hungry. Very hungry. It needed to eat.
They all needed to eat, but there was never enough food. What little they had was a putrid gruel that smelled awful—like rotten eggs. She was cold, shivering and weeping. She cried so hard, and for so long, her eyes no longer teared. There was nothing left to live for…or was there?
Modina woke in her darkened room shivering in a cold sweat.
It was the same dream that haunted her each night and made her fear closing her eyes. She got up and moved toward the moonlight of her window. By the time she reached it, most of the dream was forgotten, but she realized something had been different. Sitting in her usual place, she looked out over the courtyard below. It was late and everyone was gone except the guards on watch. She tried to remember her nightmare, but the only thing she could recall was the smell of rotten eggs.
Chapter 8
The Horn
Af ter the first few disorienting days, life aboard the Emerald Storm settled into a rigid pattern. Every morning began with the washing and scrubbing of the upper deck, although it never had a chance to get dirty from one day to the next. Breakfast followed. The watches changed and the scrubbing continued, this t on the lower decks. At noon, Lieutenant Bishop or one of the other officers fixed their position using the sun and confirmed it with the captain. Afterward, the men drilled on the masts and yards, launching longboats, boarding and repelling, archery, the ballista, and hand-to-hand combat. Not surprisingly, Hadrian won high marks in sword fighting and archery, a display of skill not lost on Grady who nodded knowingly.
From time to time, the men were drummed to the main deck to witness punishment. So far there had been four floggings, but Hadrian knew the victims only by name. In the afternoon, the men received their grog, a mixture of rum and sugar water, and in the evening the master-at-arms went about making certain all fires were out.
Most days were the same as the one before, with only a few exceptions. On Make ’n Mend day the captain granted the crew extra time in the afternoon to sew up rips in their clothing or indulge in hobbies such as wood carving or scrimshaw. On Washday, they cleaned their clothes. Since using fresh water was forbidden and there was no soap, shirts and pants usually felt better after a day working in the rain than they did after Washday.
By now, everyone knew their responsibilities and could perform them reasonably well. Hadrian and Royce were pleased to discover they were not the only novices aboard. Recently pressed men comprised nearly a quarter of the crew. Many came from as far away as Alburn and Dunmore and most had never seen the ocean before. The other men’s bumbling presence, and Wyatt’s assistance, masked Hadrian and Royce’s lack of experience. Now, both knew the routine and their tasks well enough to pass on their own.
The Emerald Storm continued traveling due south, with the wind on her port quarter laying her over elegantly as she charged the following sea. It was a marvelously warm day. Either they had run so far south that the season had yet to change, or autumn blessed them with one last breath of perfect weather. The master’s mate and a yeoman of the hold appeared on deck at the ringing of the first bell to disperse the crew’s grog.
About four days into the voyage, Royce finally found his sea legs. His color returned, but even after more than a week his temper remained sour. Much of the reason came from Jacob Derning’s constant accusations about his culpability in Drew’s death.
“After I slit his throat, I can just drop the body into the sea,” he casually told Hadrian. They had collected their grog and the crew lay scattered about the top decks relaxing in the bright sunshine. Royce and Hadrian were no exception. They found a cozy out-of-the-way space on the waist deck between the longboat and the bulkhead where the sailmaker and his mates had left a pile of excess canvas. It made for a luxurious deck bed from which to watch the clear blue sky with its decorative puffs of clouds.
“I’ll dump him at night and he’s gone for good. The body won’t ev
en wash up on shore because the sharks and fish will eat it. It’s better than having your own personal vat of lye.”
“Okay, one more time,” Hadrian had become exhausted from the conversation. “You can’t kill Jacob Derning. We have no idea what’s going on yet. What if he’s Merrick’s contact? So, until we know something—anything—you can’t kill anyone.”
Royce scowled and folded his arms across his chest in frustration.
“Let’s get back to what we know,” Hadrian went on. “We’ve got a cargo hold full of elves, enough weapons to outfit an army, a sentinel with a company of seret, a Tenkin, and an ex-Diamond. I think Thranic must be part of this. I doubt a sentinel is just taking a pleasure cruise.”
“He does stand out like a knife in a man’s back, which is why I doubt he’s involved.”
“Okay, let’s put him in the maybe category. That leaves Bernie at the top of the list. What did you say his name was?”
“He went by Ruby when he was in the Diamond, but his real is Defoe.”
“Was he in the guild at the same time as you and Merrick?”
He nodded. “But we never worked with him—hardly even saw him. Defoe was a digger—specialized in robbing crypts mostly, then he got into looking for buried treasure. Taught himself to read so he could search old books for clues. He found Gable’s Corner and the Lyrantian Crypt, apparently buried somewhere out in Vilan Hills. Came back with some nice stuff and all these tall tales about ghosts and goblins. He ended up having some disagreement with the Jewel and it wasn’t long before he went independent. Never heard of him after that.”
“But Merrick at least knew him, right?’
“Yeah.”
“Think he recognized you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. He wouldn’t let on if he had. He’s no fool.”
“Any chance he’s turned a new leaf and taken up sailing for real?”
“About as likely as me doing it.”
Hadrian eyed Royce for a heartbeat. “I put him at the top of the list.”
“What about the Tenkin?”
“That’s another strange one, he—”
“Land-ho!” The lookout on the foremast shouted while pointing off the port bow. Royce and Hadrian got up and looked in the direction indicated. Hadrian could not make out much just a thin gray line, but he thought he could see twin towers rising in the distance. “Is that…”
“Drumindor,” Royce confirmed, glancing over his shoulder before sitting back down with his rum.
“Oh, yeah? We’re that far south? Been a while since we’ve been around here.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Okay, so the fortress wasn’t the best of times, but the city was nice. You have to admit Tur Del Fur is better than Colnora really. Beautiful climate, brightly painted buildings on an aqua sea, and it’s a Republic port. You’ve got to love an open city.”
“Oh? Remember how many times you banged your head?”
Hadrian frowned at him. “You really do hate dwarves, don’t you? Honestly, I’m surprised you let Magnus stay at the abbey. All right, so there’s a bit too much dwarven architecture there, but it sure is built well. You’ve got to admit that, and you liked the wine, remember?”
Royce shrugged. “What were you going to say about the Tenkin?”
“Oh, yeah. His name is Staul.”
“Doesn’t seem like the sailor type.”
“No.” Hadrian shook his head. “He’s a warrior. Most Tenkin men are. Thing is Tenkins never leave the Gur Em.”
“The what?”
“You’ve never been to Calis, have you? The whole eastern half is a tropical forest and the thickest part is a jungle they call the Gur Em. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a Tenkin outside of Calis, which makes me think Staul is an outcast.”
“Doesn’t sound like the type Merrick would be doing business with.”
“So, Defoe remains our number one.” Hadrian thought a moment, “Ya think he had anything to do with Drew’s death?”
“Maybe,” Royce replied, taking a sip of rum. “He was on the main mast that night, but I was too sick to pay attention. I guess Drew could have just fallen, but I certainly wouldn’t put it past Defoe to give him a little push. He’d need a reason, though.”
“Drew and Defoe were both at a card game earlier that night. Drew won the pot and if Defoe is a thief…”
Royce shook his head. “Defoe wouldn’t kill him over a gambling dispute, not unless it was really big money and the coppers and silvers they were likely playing for isn’t what Defoe would think of as big money. That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill him, it just wasn’t about gambling. Anything else happen at the game?”
“Not really, although Drew did mention he was going to talk to Grady the next morning at breakfast about someone coming aboard to help find a horn. Drew thought it was kinda funny, actually. He seemed to think the horn was easy to find. He was going to go into more detai at breakfast.”
“Maybe Drew overheard something Defoe preferred he hadn’t. That’s a more likely reason. But, a horn?”
***
They came across Wyatt at the ship’s wheel. His plumed hat was off and his white linen shirt fluttered about his tan skin like a personal sail. He had the Storm tight-over, playing the pressure of the rudder against the press of the wind. He was staring out at the headland with glassy eyes as they approached, but when he spotted them he abruptly cast his head down at the binnacle and quickly wiped his face with the sleeve of his forearm.
“You all right?” Hadrian asked.
“Y-yeah,” Wyatt croaked, then coughed to clear his throat. “Fine.” He sniffed and wiped his nose.
“There’s a good chance we’ll find her,” Royce assured him.
“See,” Hadrian said, “you’ve even got Mister Cynical feeling optimistic about your chances. That’s gotta count for something.”
Wyatt forced a smile.
“Hey, we’ve got a question for you,” Royce said. “Do you have any idea what the horn is?”
“Sure, you’re looking right at it,” Wyatt declared, gesturing toward the point. “That’s the Horn of Delgos. As soon as we clear it, the captain will likely order the ship to weather round the point and then tack windward.”
Royce frowned. “Let’s assume for just a moment that I’m not an experienced sailor, shall we?”
Wyatt chuckled. “We’re gonna make a left turn and head east.”
“How do you know?”
Wyatt shrugged. “The horn is the farthest spit of land south. If we stay on this course, we’ll sail into the open sea. There’s nothing out there but whirlpools, Dacca, and sea serpents. If we weather round—er—turn left, we’ll sail up the eastern coast of Delgos.”
“And what’s up that way?”
“Not much. These cliffs you see continue all the way round to Vandon, the only other sea port in Delgos. Besides being the headquarters for the Spice Company, it is also a haven for pirates, or more accurately the haven for pirates. We aren’t going there either. The Storm is as fine a ship as they come, but the jackals would gather like a pack of wolves, and dog her until we surrendered or they sank us.”
“How does the Spice Company manage any trade, surrounded by pirates?”
“Who do you think runs the spice company?”
“Oh.”
“Beyond that?” Royce asked.
“Dagastan Bay and the whole coast of Calis, with ports at Wesbaden, and Dagastan. Then you drift out of civilization and into the Ba Ran Archipelago, and no one, not even pirates, go there.”
“And you’re sure this here is the horn?”
“Yep, every sailor who’s ever been in the Sharon knows it. It’d be impossible to miss old Drumindor.”
Though the coast was still many leagues off, the ancient dwarven edifice was clearly visible now. It stood taller than anything Hadrian had ever seen, and he smiled at the irony knowing dwarves built it. It was close to eight hundred feet from the raw rocky base where
waves crashed, to the top of the dome. It appeared to be equal parts fortification and monument. In some respects, it resembled two massive gears laid on their sides, huge cylinders with teeth jutting seaward. From the tops of each tower, smoke rose skyward. Midway up were fins—arced openings like gigantic teapot spouts that pointed seaward. Between the twin towers was a single-span stone bridge connecting them like a lintel over the entrance of the harbor.
“Can’t even miss her at night the way she lights up. You should see her during a full moon when they blow the vents. It puts on quite a show. She’s built on a volcano and the venting prevents too much pressure from building up. Ships in the area often arrange to pass the point at the full moon just for the entertainment. But they also keep their distance. The dwarves that built thatfortress sure knew what they were doin’. No ship can enter Terlando Bay if the masters of Drumindor don’t want them to. They can spew molten rock for hundreds of feet and burn a fleet of ships to drifting ash in minutes.”
“We’re familiar with how that works,” Royce said, coldly.
Wyatt cocked an eyebrow. “Bad experience?”
“We had a job there once,” Hadrian replied. “A dwarf, named Gravis, was angry about humans desecrating what he considered a dwarven masterpiece. We had to get in to stop him.”
“You broke into Drumindor?” Wyatt looked impressed. “I thought that was impossible.”
“Just about,” Royce answered, “and we didn’t get paid enough for the trouble it gave me.”
Hadrian snorted, “You? I was the one who nearly died making that leap. You just hung there and laughed.”
“How’d you get in? I heard that place is kept tighter than Cornelius DeLur’s purse,” Wyatt pressed.
“It wasn’t easy,” Royce grumbled. “I learned to hate dwarves on that job. Well there and…” he trailed off rubbing his left shoulder absently.
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