Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows

by Ree Soesbee

  A young asura opened the door a sliver, staring at Cobiah with wide eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Where’s Yomm?” Cobiah pushed the door open, shoving his way past the boy. “Go get him. Tell him Cobiah Marriner’s here, and I’m not leaving ’til we have a chat.”

  Gulping, the nervous youth rushed into the store, weaving through piles of imported cotton, foodstuffs, and trade goods toward a light in an office behind the main counter. Cobiah followed. Other asura scattered before him, stumbling and dropping their wares in surprise as he strode angrily through the store.

  Yomm sat in his office behind a wide desk, three pencils tucked behind his ears. On the shelves surrounding him were books, stacks of paperwork, small trinkets and tools, and a pile of rucksacks waiting to be repaired. When the young asura pushed open the door, he scowled and snarled, “Blipp! What is your hypertrophic malfunction? I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

  Cobiah didn’t wait to be invited. Pushing past the asuran lad, he strode to Yomm’s desk and slammed his hands down on the tabletop. “Tell me about the bomb, you sniveling little skritt.”

  Yomm yelped, aghast. One of the pencils fell from behind his ear. Macha and Isaye stepped into the doorway behind him, the first scowling fiercely, the second eyeing the asura and his surroundings with a studious gaze. “What do you want?” Yomm protested with a squeak. Regaining his equilibrium, the shopkeep pulled the other pencils from his ears and tossed them down onto the paperwork. He fixed Cobiah with a withering gaze. “I could have you arrested for breaking in here.”

  “And I could have you hanged for murder.” Cobiah’s voice was cold. Slowly, as if he were talking to a child, he leaned in and repeated, “Tell . . . me . . . about . . . the bomb.”

  The asura’s ears twitched. He glanced at Cobiah and Isaye, and lastly, he scowled at Macha. Turning to his young apprentice, the shopkeep snarled, “Blipp, go adjust the golem pattern so they’ll stack ale kegs. We have a norn freighter coming in this afternoon. I want those kegs marked up by fifty percent and placed prominently in the front of the store.” Eager to leave the room, the youth rushed to obey, not daring to look back.

  Yomm reclined smoothly in his chair. Picking up one of the pencils, he spun it through his fingers with nervous energy, much like a drummer boy on festival day. “I don’t know anything about a bomb, Marriner. You’ve gone completely off the deep end. Are you planning to blame me for some imagined perfidy simply because you disagree with my appointment to the council? Shame on you.”

  Cobiah reached out and grabbed the asura by his ears, lifting Yomm bodily from his seat. Yomm squawked, reaching up to grab Cobiah’s wrists. He hung there, kicking and squirming, his feet flailing above the ground. “I’m telling you—I don’t know anything about a bomb!” Yomm shrieked.

  “You’re lying.” Cobiah bounced the asura up and down. “Talk, you mangy, gold mongering—”

  “Static sucker!” Macha encouraged. “Shake him again, Cobiah!”

  “Cobiah.” Isaye laid her hand on his arm. “Take a look at this.” She spun Yomm’s logbook around on the desk, running her finger down the entries. “Every captain in town owes him something. Grimjaw’s not the only one. Nodobe and Hedda . . . even Moran.”

  Macha stood on her tiptoes and studied the numbers. “Maybe everyone who voted yes on the council owed Yomm.”

  “Well, that would explain part of it. But if they paid him with their votes, where’d he get the retainer money?” Isaye mused. “And why set the bomb?”

  Yomm kicked free of Cobiah’s hands. He landed on the floor with a heavy “oof” and scrambled to his feet. “I don’t make bombs! If you’re referring to the fire down on the docks last night, I had nothing to do with it. I was here all evening.”

  “You could have sent the messenger. That doesn’t prove anything.” Macha poked him, and Yomm squawked.

  “I didn’t send any messages, you nitwit. You and your captain both have heads made of oak!” Seizing an opportunity, the shopkeep kicked her viciously in the shin. Macha yelped and grabbed her leg. While she was hopping about and cursing, Yomm rounded on Cobiah. “I don’t know anything about bombs, or explosions, or murder. I spent my youth in a respectable laboratory, building packing golems like the ones I use to stock my store. I’ve never built an incendiary device in my life.”

  “Look at this.” Isaye was still reading the ledger. “Grimjaw’s last shipment was a load of construction materials to a charr outpost. Charr use explosives to plant deep poles for building foundations. He could have kept some of those to make the bomb.”

  “Aha! Aha! See?” Yomm rubbed his aching ears. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, bookah. I don’t care about your politics, but when you march in here accusing me of attempted murder, you’ve gone too far.” He smoothed his ears back, wincing. “I’m calling the city guard!”

  Cobiah narrowed his eyes, ready to pick another fight, but Macha stepped between them. “Come on, Yomm. They’ve just been in an explosion. Isaye’s ship took a pounding, and somebody tried to murder Cobiah. Give them a break.” She took another step toward the older asura, helping him straighten his clothes. “We’re all friends here, right?”

  “Friends? Are you delirious? I should . . . What’s that you’re doing, woman? Is that some kind of . . . what is that?” While Yomm was talking, Macha had reached for the wand at her belt and murmured a few words of magic. Before he could blink, she passed her palm in front of Yomm’s eyes. Her hand moved away, his eyes unfocused, and the shopkeep began to wobble on his feet. “Oh . . . oh. Oh!” he said, staring blithely at the empty space between them. A slow, droopy grin plastered itself on Yomm’s features and his voice took on a woozy tone. “Councilor Flax! Why, yes, I would like an award . . . and here I didn’t think you’d noticed. How wonderful . . . It comes with a research grant, you say? Marvelous . . . just . . . uumph . . .” Yomm’s eyelids drooped. He muttered something indistinct, and his body sagged toward the floor.

  Catching him, Macha called, “Help me get this idiot back into his chair.” Coby lifted the small asura and placed him in the seat behind the desk. Before he was even completely situated, Yomm was snoring. Macha thumped his head with her finger for good measure. The tap put Yomm off balance, and he slumped face-first onto the top of his desk. “He’s completely down for the count, but it’ll only last a few hours. Sadly, he’ll probably be up and around for the council vote at noon.” Macha went over to the weathered rucksacks in the corner of the room, where Yomm kept his storage goods. Noting a sailor’s name stitched to one shoulder strap, Macha swept up a heavy bag and looked at the letters appraisingly. “Henst,” she read. “Heh heh heh.” She lifted Yomm’s head and shoved the heavy bag like a pillow between the asura’s face and the desk. Patting the sleeping asura’s cheek, she smirked. “Boy, I really hope Yomm drools.”

  “Good work, Macha.” Cobiah crossed his arms grimly. “Darn. I was really hoping it was him.”

  “Me too,” Isaye sighed. “Cobiah, I think we’re working against the clock. Whoever did this had to have worked fast, or the attack wouldn’t have been so sloppy. It would be far easier to spend a few days looking for the opportunity to get a bomb hidden in the berth of your ship than it was to track you down on the spur of the moment and hope for the best. They could even have planted charges on your keel and set it off after you took the Pride out of harbor. You’d be lost at sea. Nobody would have found out about the bomb.”

  “Maybe they weren’t willing to wait that long,” Macha muttered as she draped a lace doily over Yomm’s head. “Could have been years.”

  Cobiah shot the asura a stern look and then turned back to Isaye. “You’re right. There are easier ways to kill one person if that’s your target. It’s messy and designed to work even if you can’t get close. They could have hired a mercenary to attack me at night on the streets.”

  “True.” Isaye added, “Or sneak aboard your ship and set a fire by hand. A bomb does seem like a pretty obviou
s way to go about things.” Isaye’s brows furrowed in thought.

  “What does that mean?” Macha asked.

  Isaye wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “It doesn’t add up.”

  Bombs were hard to make and harder to design effectively. It had to be a makeshift plan, based on something scavenged and used as an attack rather than planning out a better strategy, which meant that Isaye was right: the attacker had been in a rush. Cobiah frowned. Yomm had good reason to want Cobiah dead, but he didn’t have the materials or the skill to put this plan together so quickly. Moreover, now that he was on the council, it didn’t seem like he’d be in a very big rush. He’d gotten what he wanted: a voice. Yomm could afford to take weeks to slowly get control over trade.

  Cobiah looked at the ledger, once more noting Grimjaw’s recent cargo. It had to be more than a coincidence. He set the book back on Yomm’s desk. “We need to have a chat with a certain ill-tempered charr.”

  “So.” Macha trotted behind him as Cobiah left the office. “Tell me we’re not going to use the same tactic with Grimjaw. You don’t grab a charr by the ears. We’ll just talk to him, right?” When Cobiah didn’t answer, Macha asked more stridently, “You’ve got a plan, right?

  “. . . Cobiah?”

  Now the darkness comes, and the stars above

  Circle ’round like sharks at sea, O

  Instead of fighting for our lives

  We should be sitting at our ease

  But I chose the strife of a sailor’s life

  And the ocean, she chose me, O.

  —“Weather the Storm”

  The Brutality was moored at the southernmost dock, sitting low in her berth like a shark prowling still waters. Her shape, long and lean, reminded Cobiah of the Havoc, but no engine chugged in this brig’s lower decks. She had two masts standing fore and aft rather than parallel, and her sails were square-rigged in the way of charr military vessels. Her hull was painted a dark charcoal gray, like raw primer left to dry. Xeres Grimjaw and his warband bragged that it made her harder to see against the ocean. Sykox claimed it was a tribute to their legion: Ash.

  The ship had two decks, with a thick hull designed to ram; she could take plenty of damage and still remain afloat, but that didn’t leave the Brutality with much space to carry freight. As with most charr vessels, it was lightly crewed, and only two warbands—the Grim warband, and another called the Zeal warband—kept her running on long journeys up and down the coast. Those two warbands comprised fifteen sailors between them, plus three more that Sykox and Fassur snidely referred to as “honorless gladium” because they didn’t have a warband. Cobiah understood what that meant. Most humans didn’t.

  The charr were also in the habit of maintaining a guard on their wharf. Day and night, at least two armed soldiers stood watch at the beach end of the pier. The Brutality had few visitors; charr ships were relatively rare, as the great cats weren’t a particularly seagoing people, and other races didn’t tend to make social calls on Grimjaw’s men. Cobiah stood in an alley across from the dock, rubbing his hand against his cheek as he contemplated the Brutality.

  “What are you thinking?” Isaye whispered, pressing back against the wall.

  Macha interrupted, “Tell me it’s not the ear thing. Even if you could lift a charr, Coby, you just don’t have hands enough for all four of their ears. Please tell me—” Cobiah clapped a hand over the excited asura’s mouth before her chattering could attract attention. The sun was up over Lion’s Arch, and the streets were filling with people going about their morning chores. Shops were opening, fishermen were gathering their nets and heading out on the tide, and the charr were changing guard on their pier.

  “Hush,” Cobiah hissed. Sullenly, Macha nodded, and he let her go.

  “Force won’t work. We have to use guile,” said Isaye.

  “Macha, can you make us look like charr?”

  The asura nodded, braids bouncing. “Sure, but it lasts only about five minutes. We wouldn’t even make it to the end of the dock.”

  Cobiah cursed and struggled to think of another way.

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Isaye. “Give me a few minutes and then head for the ship. You’ll know when to move.” She smiled, glancing down the street with sudden enthusiasm.

  “What are you going to do?” Macha snorted. “Sex it up to distract them?”

  Isaye glared at the little mesmer. “By the Six Gods! These are charr, not wharf rats. Get your mind out of the gutter.” She poked her head around the corner and took another look at the dock. “I’m going to give them the one thing no charr can resist. When that happens, you get in the water, slip up the anchor chain, and see if you can find anything that tells us whether Grimjaw made that bomb. I’ll meet you at the Captain’s Council later.

  “And, by the way,” Isaye added, “I’d recommend you cover your faces in case you find yourself creeping into their sleeping area.”

  “So they won’t recognize us?” Cobiah asked.

  “No.” Isaye winked, slipping around the corner. “So you don’t get knocked unconscious by the smell.” She blended into the crowd easily, striding toward the wharf. As she approached the wharf, she singled out in the crowd someone along the way, raising her hand to catch the man’s attention.

  “What’s she doing?”

  Macha tugged on his sleeve. “No time. Whatever that crazy Isaye is doing, it won’t distract the charr for very long, so we’d better be in the water before she gets rolling.” The two edged through the crowd to the harbor. The Brutality was on a shared wharf, and three potbellied asuran schooners were also docked down its length. Macha waved to one, passing the time as if nothing of importance was happening, while Cobiah kept a watchful eye on the Brutality’s guards.

  Contemplating what Isaye could be doing, Cobiah leaned over the railing of the pier. He looked at the ocean churning far below, frothing in shades of white and gray against a cold, sandy beach. The wood of the railing was hard and cool, thick enough to walk on . . .

  Did you really see a mermaid, Cobiah? A really-real one?

  “Cobiah? Are you all right?” Several moments had passed while he stood in fugue. Macha waited at his elbow, her black eyes wide with concern. “It’s time to go. Isaye and Henst are making a distraction—”

  “Henst?” Cobiah shook himself and raised his head.

  The two charr at the end of the wharf were slouching, weary from a long night’s watch. Their hands rested on the hilts of their weapons and their conversation was kept low. Cobiah could see Isaye and Henst sauntering past the pier, talking a little too loudly. Although he couldn’t catch the words, Cobiah could hear their tone—snarky, taunting, and cruel. “By Balthazar,” Cobiah said, faltering. “She’s provoking them!”

  “Using Henst as bait? Oh, that’s genius. Imagine if old Grist was here to see this! He’d have joined in faster than you can say ‘legerdemain.’ ” Macha eyed the fight with pure joy. “Isaye’s right, though: if there’s one thing those charr can’t resist, it’s battle. Better still if it’s an opportunity to get their claws on ol’ Mr. ‘I’m the prince of Ascalon’!” Macha jumped up, grabbing the rail and pulling herself up to stand on it. “Shrewd. I would never have guessed that human woman had the brains to come up with a plan like that—it’s positively asuran. Who knew? Let me get up here, and I can get a better look—”

  Instinctively, Cobiah grabbed Macha around the waist and swung her down. His reaction was swift and violent. “What the blue blazes are you doing? That’s dangerous! You could slip!”

  “Cogswallop!” Macha yelped, shoving him away. “Coby! Ow, that hurt! What’s your malfunction? I was just trying to see what they’re doing!” Wincing, she grabbed her side where Cobiah’s arm had slung her.

  “You can see just fine from down here.” Now that the adrenaline rush was passing, Cobiah felt vaguely sick to his stomach. Images passed before his eyes—a tiny black shoe with a rusty silver buckle beneath an old green blanket. A crowd of faces on the beac
h. His mother’s curses . . . Cobiah stifled the thoughts, trying to calm down. Macha stared at him furiously. Awkwardly, he added, “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I was just trying to keep you safe.”

  The asura’s demeanor softened. “I’m fine.” Macha might have added something else, but she never had the chance. A roar on the charr dock grabbed their attention. As they watched, Henst slammed the butt of a boat hook into a charr’s belly. The second one charged the black-haired human, but Isaye hefted a huge coil of heavy rope at him. The wrist-thick strands of the coil, bundled together, slammed into the back of the second charr’s knees. He buckled, toppling forward with a yelp of pain. Whatever Isaye and Henst had said to the charr, it had apparently worked. They were certainly distracted.

  “Now, Coby,” Macha insisted. “We have to go now!” She grabbed the rungs of a ladder that led down to the beach, but Cobiah stopped her.

  “There’s still a guard. Look there, on the ship.” He pointed, and they could see a gruff-looking charr standing on the deck of the Brutality, watching the fight on the dock—but not moving. “I need you to cover me with an illusion, so he doesn’t see me swimming out to the ship.”

  “But, Coby, I was going to go with you—”

  “No time. You can’t cast that spell and swim, can you?” When Macha shook her head despondently, Cobiah grabbed the ladder. “I need you here. Cast your spell and then keep an eye out. After I’m on board, head for the drunk tank. Isaye and Henst are going to need you to bail them out of jail.” He shot her a smile.

  Jumping onto the dock ladder, Cobiah climbed down, speeding along its length with the nimbleness of a moss spider. He pushed off the end of the ladder into the ocean, where the water was crisp and frigid, filled with the deep chill of the past night. He gasped as he sank into it. “Melandru’s waggling arse, that’s cold!”