Ard looked at her for the first time. “When the rest of who gets here?”
“You didn’t hear?” She was noticeably excited about the nugget of gossip that was about to spill across her tongue. “They say it’s a cult.”
Ard stopped in the middle of the street. The Glassmind cult? Had Garifus Floc already returned to Pekal with his followers? Ard’s eyes darted to the myriad pedestrians traveling this way and that. Suddenly, he could trust no one.
Ednes chuckled softly. “A ship with over a hundred visitors arrived earlier today. Word is that they’re the first in a big group. Over the next week, we should expect to receive four times that number.”
Sparks! Over four hundred cultists heading to Pekal?
“Who’s their leader?” Ard kept his voice quiet as he resumed his path down the street.
“How should I know about cults, and such?” Ednes asked. “I’m a good little Wayfarist. Honest to Homeland.”
Ard was relieved by her comment. If there was a transformed Glassmind in New Vantage, Ednes Holcatch would surely be talking about it.
Perhaps Garifus and the other Glassminds were keeping a low profile on their ship in the harbor. Maybe even hiding outside the town. But Ard thought it more likely that the leader of a cult would remain in Beripent to oversee everyone’s departure. Make sure none of the human cultists got cold feet.
“Listen, Ednes,” said Ard. “I’ve got to run up ahead. But do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“If you happen to see Salafan, warn her about the cultists,” he said. Nemery would surely realize who they were on her own, but it didn’t hurt to put Ednes on it. “And tell her I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”
The plump woman seemed excited by his parting words. Ard took advantage of her giddiness to slip into a mossy alley, making for the harbor.
He knew why the cultists were here. There was only one good explanation for it. They were coming to get Moonsick. Having seen Garifus Floc, they were ready to make the leap of faith—or the hike to the summit, as it were. And if they were successful, it would mean more Glassminds by the start of the next cycle. Hundreds more.
Ard slipped out of the alley, pausing for a moment to decide which direction to go. He was easily turned around in New Vantage—especially since the once-familiar harbor had been completely redesigned since New Vantage’s establishment. Steep, rickety ramps that had once been used only by rugged Harvesters now had handrails and carved grooves dusted with sand for traction.
Ard went left, passing a cart full of wooden toys where a family of four was examining the trinkets. Were they cultists, too? Would they be dragging children to Pekal’s summit to expose them to Moonsickness?
Ard reached the checkpoint, noticing a queue of departing tourists lined up to show their bags. Queen Abeth had made sure that security wouldn’t grow lax with the increased tourism. The place was crawling with harbor Regulators determined to search every outgoing person, regardless of the visitor’s rank or social standing.
Moving past, Ard saw the harbormaster’s office, a quaint little log structure that was already pocked with spots of black mold. It was situated well above the harbor, far enough from the entrance checkpoint so the harbormaster wouldn’t be bothered by the sounds of tourists coming and going.
Ard spotted Captain Dodset loitering near a tool shed, an oversized hat with a floppy brim pulled over her shaved head. A smoking reed was clutched between her lips and she gave him a lazy salute to show that she was ready and waiting for his cue.
Ardor Benn usually liked to be the closer on a job, but he didn’t mind playing the part of the opener today. This was why they had gone through so much effort to secure Dodset’s allegiance, along with that folder of papers.
Ard cracked open the office door without knocking, stepping quietly inside. It was a simple room with one hearth for Heat Grit, and another for burning wood. Neither were in use on a pleasant late summer afternoon like this. Instead, windows on opposing walls were wide open, providing a gentle cross breeze that rustled stacks of papers on a desk in the center of the room.
Behind the desk was an elderly man with wrinkled features and a prominent rosy nose. He was so thin that the shoulder pads on his uniform had slumped down with nothing to hold them up.
Ard would have expected a man of his age to be lavishly retired at New Vantage, not overseeing the entire harbor. But he supposed it was a good thing to be dealing with a veteran harbormaster. A bright-eyed, bushy-tailed new leader might not have been as susceptible to the coming threats.
“Harbormaster Pike?” Ard said. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
“Not at all.” The man gestured for Ard to have a seat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “What can I do for you, Mister…?”
“Crosser,” Ard introduced. “Elt Crosser.” He didn’t have any paperwork for the name he’d just made up, but he certainly couldn’t use his real one. Holy Isle Ardor Benn was supposed to be visiting his estranged grandmother on her deathbed in Strind.
“I’d like you to authorize a Drift repair on my ship,” Ard said.
“Well, we don’t typically do those here,” said Pike. “Not unless the damage is bad enough that you won’t make it back to the Greater Chain. How much water are you taking?”
“Who said we were taking any water?” said Ard.
“You just requested a lift.”
“Exactly,” continued Ard. “I want your Reggies to Drift my vessel to Repair Field Number Two on the south side of New Vantage.”
“Now, wait a minute—”
“Don’t worry,” Ard cut him off. “We’ll take care of the repairs ourselves. Won’t need more than a half hour. Then your Reggies can Drift our ship back down to the water, where we’ll set sail without a cargo inspection.”
“Who do you think you are to tell—”
“I’m the man with the gun.” Ard quickly drew his Roller, keeping it at hip height, conspicuously pointed in Pike’s direction. “Now, I’m sure you’ve got one, too. In a drawer, maybe in a holster at your side. That’s why I’m going to need you to place your hands on top of the desk where I can see them.”
“You listen to me, Mister Crosser,” Pike said, nevertheless doing as Ard had instructed. “Fire that Roller and you’ll have two dozen harbor Regulators on your back before you reach the first checkpoint. You’ll never get out of the harbor. Not you, nor your crew, nor your ship. Let alone whatever illegal material you’re attempting to smuggle out of here.”
“What do you say we test your theory?” Ard pulled the trigger. The shot went past Pike’s head, lodging into the mortar between two of the logs in the wall behind him.
Harbormaster Pike nearly jumped out of his skin. His hands left the desk, but Ard cocked the Slagstone hammer, readying another shot while clucking his tongue disapprovingly.
The cabin door flew open, but Ard didn’t need to turn to know that it was Captain Torgeston Dodset. He recognized the way she cleared her throat, and the draft of tobacco smoke that accompanied her wherever she went.
“It’s been a while, ole Pikey boy!” She slammed the door behind her, strutting across the room. A silver-handled knife with a wide blade rested loosely in one hand.
“Dodset,” the man muttered. “I should have known.”
“I believe my compadre already told you what we need.” Casually, she used the edge of her knife to trim one of her fingernails.
“I cannot allow it,” Pike said firmly.
Outside the cabin door, Ard heard shouts in a chain of command. The Reggies were responding as quickly as Pike had promised, and the harbormaster seemed to be holding out for their rescue.
Captain Dodset slapped a paper envelope on the desk between his splayed hands. “Hedge Marsool sends his regards.”
The door burst open again, two eager-looking young men in uniform trying to squeeze through the doorway at the same time. Ard shifted his stance to conceal the drawn gun at his side, all the w
hile keeping it homed in on the harbormaster.
“It’s all right, lads,” Pike said weakly. “Just a faulty hammer on my Roller. Nearly put a hole in my foot.” He paused, but the Reggies looked too suspicious to dismiss themselves. “Give us the room,” he said in a tone that demanded compliance.
The Regulators pulled the door closed behind them.
Captain Dodset used the tip of her knife to flick the envelope closer to Pike. “Go ahead and give it a read,” she said. “There’s some good stuff in there. I especially like the last line.”
With trembling hands, Pike tore open the envelope. The letter inside was written on a single page, which the harbormaster read with tears of fear in his eyes.
It killed Ard not to know what Hedge Marsool had written, but this was one of the few benefits of working for the King Poacher. After all, that letter was only in play because Ard had done his part—negotiating with Baroness Lavfa, stealing the Moon Glass, surviving an attack from the Shiverswift.
Harbormaster Pike slowly lowered the page, face blanched. “I will instruct my people to do as you said. Your ship will be Drift-lifted to repair field two, where you’ll have thirty minutes—thirty minutes,” he stressed. “After that, your vessel will be returned to the harbor and you’ll be free to go.”
“Pleasure doing business.” Dodset sheathed her knife.
“Please let Marsool know that I was cooperative.” Pike’s voice was trembling.
“I’ll be seeing him tomorrow evening,” Ard said. “Happy to sing your praises.” He’d be happy to say anything to keep Hedge’s attention during their upcoming conversation—to keep him from noticing what they were really planning to do with the dragon.
A lot was riding on that meeting. But first they had to get Motherwatch into the baroness’s storage cavern. Captain Dodset had promised that she’d be just as persuasive in the Helizon harbor, so hopefully they wouldn’t run into any trouble unloading the dragon.
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Harbormaster Pike dared. “Hedge Marsool isn’t your ally. He works only for himself.”
Ard put on a smile. “So do I.”
Quarrah maneuvered the handcart into the spacious warehouse. A small hunchbacked man in a tattered cloak was waiting just inside, quickly pushing the sliding door shut behind her. It was dim in here without a single window to let in the final hour of daylight. A handful of small Light Grit orbs illuminated Ard as he jogged toward her, his boots echoing on what sounded like a metal floor.
“Perfect timing, Quarrah,” Ard said. He looked like he wanted to greet her with a hug, but he didn’t go for it. “We were almost out of Stasis Grit, and Hedge Marsool won’t be here for at least another hour.” He glanced toward the door. “Where’s Raek?”
“He decided to stay in Beripent,” Quarrah said. “But he sent me with everything we need.” She pulled the canvas covering off the handcart. Two wooden boxes filled with vials of Stasis Grit, and six chainspring mantel clocks, rigged to explode twelve hours after being wound.
“Everything okay back home?” Ard asked. “Did you find Lomaya’s friend?”
Quarrah tilted her head, trying to decide how to break the news to Ard. “That’s partly why Raek stayed. We rescued San Green, but Lomaya…” Even a week later, Quarrah could clearly see the still form of the young woman lying upon the rubble of the wall.
“Sparks,” Ard whispered mournfully.
“Garifus Floc was more powerful than we expected,” Quarrah justified.
“You saw him?” Ard asked anxiously.
She nodded. “The Glassmind cult might be a bigger problem than anticipated, Ard. There are hundreds of them.”
“I know,” he replied. “The first shipload had arrived in New Vantage by the time we left.”
“And our reports tell us that Garifus and the other Glassminds are gathering more people every day. But he doesn’t have Portsend’s students anymore, so hopefully it’ll take them a while to figure out the formula for more Metamorphosis Grit.”
Ard winced. “Gloristar said they probably already know it from absorbing the cloud that transformed them.” He scratched his chin in thought. “After all this, I still can’t figure out what part Hedge is playing.”
“The part of our boss, I’d say,” Quarrah pointed out.
“I mean, he knows the formula for Metamorphosis Grit, but he’s not the one making Glassminds,” Ard continued.
“As far as we know,” said Quarrah.
“He seems unrelated to Garifus and his followers,” continued Ard. “But if the Glassminds are going to be such a problem, shouldn’t Hedge have foreseen that with his Future Grit?”
“About that…” Quarrah took a steadying breath. She wasn’t ready to tell him what she’d done, or even what she’d found out. But she needed to know if he had switched the vials back after her sleight-of-hand trickery.
“What did you do with that single shot of Future Grit you stole from Hedge?” she asked. Far too direct. He was going to know that something was off.
“Umm…” Ard raised an eyebrow. “I smashed it on the Shiverswift. Are you really trying to rub this in right now?”
“Have you ever been to my apartment in the Northern Quarter?”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Sparks, Ard! I’m trying to figure something out.” Why did he have to fluster her with that coy smile. Still, he seemed sincere enough that Quarrah found herself ruling out the option that Ard had switched the vials back. That left only one possibility of the three she and San had listed.
Hedge was carrying sugar water.
“Whatever you’re so worked up about is going to have to wait until later,” Ard said. “Right now, we’ve got to deal with Motherwatch.” He gestured over his shoulder.
“You named the dragon?” Quarrah said. Like it was some kind of pet…
“Actually, Nemery can take credit for that,” Ard said. “I’ll have time to fill you in on everything later.” He stepped over to the handcart and popped open one of the boxes that held a clock.
“But she’s down there?” Quarrah pointed to the huge metal hatch that Ard had walked over. It took up the entire floor, save a ten-foot border around the edge.
“Oh, yeah.” Ard lifted one of the clocks from its sawdust packaging to inspect it. “Sleeping like a baby. Well, in Stasis, so technically not sleeping. But she’s been quite comfortable down there since this morning.”
“How the blazes did you move a dragon through Helizon in broad daylight?” Quarrah asked.
“This is the Shipping District,” Ard said. “Close to the harbor and not exactly the nicest part of town.”
“Still…” Quarrah said. There had to be more to it. Ardor Benn would never risk parading his hard-earned dragon through any neighborhood unless he wanted people to see it. “Did you show her off?” Quarrah accused. “Does everyone in Helizon know she’s here?”
Ard drew back. “Don’t be absurd. You realize how fast the Regulators would be on us? And the queen would surely get involved for something as big as a live dragon. That would be a glaring blemish on my inscrutable new name.” He carefully set the clock back into its box.
“How’d you do it, Ard?” She hated when he did this, stringing her along so that his final reveal would seem more impressive.
“Well, Hedge’s papers and Captain Dodset’s threats to the Helizon harbormaster got the Stern Wake Drift-lifted to a repair yard above the harbor,” Ard began. “Then Gloristar manipulated a detonation of Shadow Grit, spreading it across the sky to look like a thunderhead. She kept Motherwatch in Stasis and used Drift Grit to push the dragon straight up. Half a mile in the sky, at least, hiding her in the cloud. Then we just walked down the street until we got here.”
Quarrah glanced back at the sliding door to the warehouse. It was large, but she’d seen a mature sow dragon. “And she fit?”
“Roof lifts off,” Ard said, pointing up. “Part of Baroness Lavfa’s recent renovations. We opened
it up and Gloristar quickly lowered the dragon out of the cloud, through the roof, and into the cavern below.”
“So basically Gloristar did everything,” Quarrah pointed out.
“Well, it was mostly my idea,” Ard said defensively.
These days it seemed like ideas were all Ardor Benn could manage. His ability to execute them was waning like an overly Prolonged cloud of Light Grit.
“Where is Gloristar now?” asked Quarrah.
“She left with the Stern Wake once the dragon was in place,” replied Ard.
“Where did they go?”
“Back to Beripent,” he answered. “You would have passed them in the InterIsland Waters. Gloristar still has no interest in being discovered, and Captain Dodset has the unique ability to move our Glassmind friend through harbors without questions. Gloristar was going to wait for us at Tofar’s Salts. I’m guessing she’ll meet up with Raek and San before we get—”
Ard was interrupted as the heavy sliding door rolled open, spilling flat evening light into the warehouse.
“Pincher!” Ard barked at the strange little man attending the door. But he stepped back, raising his dirty hands to show that he wasn’t moving it.
Instinctively, Quarrah reached out, flicking the edge of the canvas over the handcart as a familiar misshapen silhouette appeared in the threshold.
Hedge Marsool. Woefully ahead of schedule.
The King Poacher limped forward, his spike arm tucked against his side and his other one swinging extra-wide to compensate. This evening, he was accompanied by two massively muscled Trothian men wearing Grit belts and more knives than Quarrah could count at a glance.
“Hedge!” Ard cried, his voice carrying an edge of forced merriment. “I take it my message reached you. We weren’t expecting you for another hour—”
“Now, that gives me the puzzles,” the man replied. “You weren’t expecting me, but you’re already here… Didn’t I say to give me a holler the moment the dragon was in place?”
“You did,” Ard said. “We were just giving ourselves a bit of flexibility in case something unexpected happened during transport—”
The Last Lies of Ardor Benn Page 35