The Pirate's Lady

by Julia Knight

  * * *

  It took some time for Van Gast to make it back to the ship. He didn’t hurry, not once he’d shed his little party of followers, but made his way across the city via rooftop and gave himself time to think and to watch.

  He hovered behind a bank of chimneys still warm from the bakery below, wafting up tempting aromas of spice and fruit and yeast. From here he could see across the Godsquare, dim and flickering in torchlight. Everything looked normal, except for the figures hanging by the doors to Oku’s temple. He tried not to look that way, concentrated on the crowds and ignored the persistent itch behind his breastbone.

  At first he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and that was enough to make him frown. As he watched further—the movement of the priests through the crowds, the way the crowds themselves moved—a palpable feeling of unrest drifted up. Nothing overt, not the feeling of a riot about to kick off. Hints that everyone was just that little bit nervous. The way that Kyr’s mummers kept a close eye on the guards. How the stallholders scanned about before they took money, how they subtly but thoroughly inspected all their customers before starting their patter. The way the guards had hands on hilts of swords or butts of pistols, and the bodyguards in the pen milled around, snarling like caged cats.

  Mostly what Van Gast was looking for was some hint of Josie. A clue as to whether she’d shown up and been caught, or got away or hadn’t been there at all. He wasn’t sure what that clue would be. Maybe one of her crew, or her strolling through the crowds like nothing had happened. Something.

  And there it was—the clue.

  A big blond man stood outside the counting house, the main trading area for the richer merchants. He stood head and shoulders above almost everyone else in the square, sweating in mail and a bright tunic, sky-blue with a white stag. A woman in a blue dress to match stood at his side, demure and prim. The big man was a Gan. Not many of them sailed these waters, and Van Gast knew this one. Skrymir.

  The boy was there too, Van Gast’s son, creeping up behind Skrymir. Dark and nimble, Ansen was like a miniature Van Gast. Stole like his father too. Ansen reached up, almost as far as he could manage, and cut Skrymir’s purse with a quick flick of a knife. Van Gast’s knife, the one his little thieving git of a son had once stolen from him.

  Ansen ran, the purse jingling in his hand, the wild grin growing wilder. Skrymir bellowed “Stop, thief!” and made after him. What were they doing? Some sort of distraction, the essence of any good twist. Which meant somewhere close by was—

  The woman turned, coolly watching Skrymir and the reaction of the guards. No braids now, her white-blond hair dyed darker and done in a prim little bun at the nape of her neck, wrapped in a scarf. No snug breeches or silk shirt, no sword or pistol but a dress. Fighting, biting Josie, in a dress. The way she stood gave her away, a subtle grace, the smooth muscles along her bare arms.

  Van Gast slid down from the roof, careful and as quiet as his bells could be. He watched her closely as he slid between hawkers and beggars. A guard strolled alongside her, all dressed up in his best. The gold buttons meant he was a captain, maybe higher.

  Van Gast’s breath was tight in his throat, sweat slick and cold on his back despite the heat. Maybe a captain of the guards who not long before had been trying to kill him. Guards who’d known he’d be there.

  No, no don’t start thinking like that. That’s how you lost her in the first place.

  He followed them for a time, nice and unobtrusive. Josie chatted amiably enough with the guard, but her eyes were sharp. Van Gast could tell the way she was watching the other guards, seeing which followed Skrymir, which kept to their posts outside the counting house. Checking how the wind blew before she set her sail.

  Her sharp gaze caught Van Gast, too, and he tried a grin. He got nothing in return but a blank stare and a coolly raised eyebrow. What was she up to? He slipped through the crowds, keeping someone always between him and the guard. Had she meant to meet him, or not? Had she set the guards on him? No, no, he had to trust her.

  Eventually Skrymir returned, minus Ansen but with his purse and a big scowl. Even he looked rather cozy with the guard. One of the guards who’d chased Ansen with Skrymir came up, hand on pistol.

  “Captain,” Josie said, her gaze bland on Van Gast as though she’d never seen him before. Just a hint of a curving lip, as though something amused her. “I think that man’s following me.”

  The guard’s pistol came up, cocked and ready.

  Oh shit.

  Van Gast ran, bells ringing louder than his blood rattling in his veins. Rob, kill or delight. Damn the woman. He’d rather have had delight.

  Then he was laughing into the night as he vaulted a stall and led the guards another chase.

  Chapter Nine

  Rillen watched as his new friend poured more tea. Delicate movements, but with something suppressed, some energy he couldn’t quite name. Until she looked up at him again. Hate, that was her energy. I like you more and more, lady.

  Her eyes locked on his, and he could almost feel the loathing that radiated from her. “I can do better than that. I told you, I know his weakness.”

  “How? Or rather, who?” Rillen found himself fascinated by her hatred, so at odds with the naive softness of her. Entranced by the cruelty of her catlike smile.

  “Joshing Josie.” She spat the name like the vilest insult and her tea shook in its glass. “You’ve heard of her?”

  So that was where the hate was. What did it have to do with turning Van Gast in? “Who hasn’t? As bad as Van Gast, and they hate each…” He watched her face as he said it, the triumphal look as what she was saying hit home. “Josie? Are you sure?”

  She shrugged and the sly smile deepened. “I have eyes, and ears. Some people only see what others want them to see, wouldn’t you say?”

  Now there was a surprise. How could he use it? “What else do you know about her?”

  A shrug, a twisting sneer. “More than I want to. Her and that Gan she’s taken on with, Skrymir. They’re in Estovan too. That’s why Van Gast is here, to find her. I don’t know why he bothers, she’ll whore herself to anyone if it gets her something. Wouldn’t surprise me if her and Skrymir were making little Gan babies on the ship she stole from Van Gast. She’s Gan too, partly, or so she claims. And she’s here to make money, don’t doubt it.”

  Rillen blinked at the ferocity of her, the way she leaned forward, jabbing with a passionate finger. Here was the hate all right. Not at Van Gast, he saw that. This woman wanted to hurt Josie through Van Gast. No matter. If Rillen played his informant right, she could change everything for him.

  “You’re sure you can do this? Get on his ship?”

  Her laugh made Rillen’s spine shiver. “They think they’re so devious. I can get on Van’s ship. Easy as winking. And I’ll get you Van Gast.”

  Rillen watched her go, the easy sway of her hips, an irrepressible spring in her step. He couldn’t be sure whether he admired her treachery or whether it was responsible for the chill creeping in the pit of his stomach. Whether he wanted to keep her close or as far away as possible.

  She reminded him of a laceflower—beautiful, graceful, useful. And deadly to the touch.

  * * *

  Holden made his careful way back through the delta, his hand on the butt of his pistol the whole way. He stopped by the exotic animals again, watching the cat pacing in its cage. Lions Ilsa had wanted and he hadn’t even given her that. He tore himself away and kept his eyes open as he negotiated the winding pathways and shadowy alleys. The delta wasn’t for the fainthearted, and Holden wasn’t feeling his bravest.

  He was just another rack now, he had to keep reminding himself. One more rack in a sea of them, among the sounds of bells that washed over him. His only protection was himself. So his hand was tight on his pistol, and he wished that he still had the other hand for his sword. He lost his way past the lion, couldn’t find the path that Tallia had led him down, but the city blazed with light ahe
ad of him, drawing him on. He walked warily past drift-inns alight with booze and racks and noise, made wide berth round a brawl that spilled from one, across the street and into the next. Spotted the mugger just in time, as the man came forward with a club for the back of his head, whipped around and used the butt of his pistol as his own club.

  By the time he reached the relative safety of the plaza, where his purse was more likely to be cut than he was, he was grateful for the crowds, the light and noise. He found a space and leaned up against one of the more substantial stalls to give himself a chance to catch his breath.

  The delta behind was dark, lit with splotches of light that ran from the drift-inn windows. But he’d survived it on his own and that brought a smile to him, made him stand straighter. He’d survived it and would survive more. It would get easier, this freedom, this aloneness. He wiped an arm across his face to clear the sweat of a stifling night and felt like laughing at it, at himself, at the city.

  It was easier as he pushed through the crowds to make for Mucking Lane and the ships. A few fell back before him at the sight of his Remorian features, some made the sign of Kyr’s ward to save them from evil spirits or maybe just bad luck. Even that couldn’t dim his mood.

  The sight of Ilsa ahead could though, dashed ice-water over everything so that he shivered. She moved easily through the crowds, ambling from one stall to the next. A stallholder shooed her off, shouting something about Remorians, but she smiled at him and left without a word.

  Holden moved up behind her, smelled the spice of her perfume, and touched her arm. She spun to face him, and the smile…she was so happy that it twisted his heart.

  Again, he floundered for something to say while she watched him, until the words fell from him without thought. “Would you like to see a lion?” he said, and then regretted it. He didn’t want Ilsa down in the delta, not in the dark. “I could take you tomorrow.”

  She cocked her head, a crease between her eyebrows as though she was puzzled. “Maybe.”

  Yet she was still smiling at him. Happy. He took what he could get and tried a smile in return. “It’s late, maybe we should get back to the ship. See if Van’s back.” And Tallia, but he kept that to himself. He should have been more careful, should have kept hold of her.

  He tried not to see the way Ilsa changed at the mention of Van Gast, the way her eyes lit up, but took her arm as they made their way to Mucking Lane and struggled to find something to say. “I’m glad to see you happy” was all he could manage. Why, why so difficult to talk to her, when he could think of a thousand things to say to Tallia?

  “I think I’m finding out who I am,” Ilsa said.

  “And who is that?”

  She looked up at him from under half-closed eyes and then looked away. “I’m not sure yet. I’m still finding out.”

  He shielded her from the crowds of Mucking Lane and they approached the ships. A figure darted toward the gangplank as they approached and Holden stepped forward to grab an arm. “Tallia, you owe me an explanation. Where did you go?”

  She pulled her arm away and glanced at Ilsa, a strange sort of look as though she was afraid. “I told you, to tell my family where I was. They were worried. You found Ilsa then.”

  Still that look, fearful, guilty. When Holden turned back to Ilsa to help her up the gangplank, the look she was giving Tallia was worse. They looked like two cockerels about to fight, clawing at the ground with their spurs.

  Holden shoved Tallia up the plank first, maybe more roughly than he should have. “Tallia, as soon as Van gets back. you’re going to explain to him just what is going on here, why you make him itch. Get on! Gilda, keep an eye on her. Is Van back yet?”

  Once Tallia was on the deck, Gilda holding her with a sneer that surprised him, and with the news that Van was still ashore, Holden took Ilsa to their quarters.

  “Holden, do you—I mean…” Ilsa stopped, her voice quivering. “Holden, are you going to be like the other racks? I hear them talk, and racks and tumbles and…would you?”

  A break in the ice, just a chink. Enough that he knew this mattered to her, he mattered. And a subtle little stab to his heart, because he already had tumbled, once. Had betrayed Ilsa when he thought Josie loved him. He’d not make that mistake twice. “No, no tumbles. I’m not a rack, and I doubt I’ll ever be one, truly, despite what Van Gast says.”

  Her lips twisted and she blinked rapidly as though holding in tears, but got up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, a light brush of her lips. More of herself than she’d given him in weeks. “Good.”

  He wanted to stay, to talk, to have her kiss him again and make all his doubts sail on the tide. But— “I have to go see Van, see if he’s back. Talk to him about what’s going on. I’ll be back soon, and then we’ll talk. I promise.”

  He dared a kiss in return, and welcomed the soft feel of her hands at his waist, the scent of her, the warmth where once had been ice. When he left to find Van Gast, he could feel himself grinning.

  * * *

  Rillen pasted on his best ingratiating smile and faced his father. Urgaut sprawled on his cushions and picked at some fruit. He and the two other remaining councilors were finalizing their arrangements for the trade reception. He watched them smarm up to his father. No great loss, really, and maybe a lot to gain because then only his father would be in his way.

  Rillen watched the mages from the corner of his eye. They didn’t seem to notice any of what went on between the councilors, or care. They sat in glittering splendor on their own cushions, monstrous and yet somehow hypnotic. And his secret allies.

  “Rillen.” Urgaut’s voice snapped his gaze back to the councilors. “I assume you have good news?”

  Good news, but not for Urgaut. “Oh yes. Van Gast gave us the slip, but I have a better plan now. Your informant was most helpful. I should have Van Gast very soon.”

  Urgaut raised an eyebrow. “I’ll believe that when I see it. But if you can manage it—Van Gast can be our main exhibit at the reception. Prove how we’re taking the racks and their thievery seriously.”

  Ah yes, the reception. His father showing off his new mages, his new power. Rillen assessed the other councilors. Their lives probably numbered in hours. Rillen wondered how he would do it. Wait until he had Van Gast, let him have an “escape” attempt and, so sad, kill the councilors before he was recaptured. That was a plan too good to waste. Old Toady would probably just poison them. No imagination.

  Urgaut eyed him suspiciously. “In the meantime, you can assist.”

  “Of course, in what way?” Rillen made his face eager, expectant, respectful, even as he thought Stupid bastard.

  Urgaut threw a sheaf of papers Rillen’s way. “Get one of your men to check these over. Traders requesting invites to the reception. You can deal with this one, one of the patrol captains just brought it in.”

  A thick card, done in green ink. Rillen raised an eyebrow. Very formal. He quickly scanned the card and a shiver of recognition, of possibility, ran through him so he was hard put not to smile. Oh, Lady Laceflower, I think I may learn to love you. His father obviously hadn’t worked it out, hadn’t talked to their deadly lady friend in any detail.

  Rillen took his leave, handed off the sheaf of papers to an underling and studied the card again, turning over all the possibilities in his mind.

  Esteemed Yelen councilors, the card began in a bold script. Lord Brimeld, Duke of Mimirin and his wife, Lady Amana, ambassadors of Ganheim and His Royal Highness King Jarral, request an audience to discuss the new trade route now open between our countries. We have a most profitable proposition to put to you, one which we hope will meet with your approval. We are currently aboard the Lone Queen and await your prompt response eagerly.

  The bottom of the card was sealed with an imprint in wax.

  The Lone Queen. The ship Urgaut had told him to watch, Van Gast’s ship, as was. Stolen by Joshing Josie and Skrymir, if his hate-filled Lady Laceflower was to be believed. Both of whom were Gan, a r
arity in Estovan, a rarity anywhere on the mainland.

  Joshing Josie, a worse threat than Van Gast in many ways, devious and crafty, and deadly as laceflower too. Josie, who Van Gast was here to find, wanted an audience with the Yelen. Rillen could think of only one reason she might want to get inside the palace, one reason she’d risk it. It was perfect, almost too perfect. It meant failing his father, at least this once, but he could live with that if it meant he ended with control of the Yelen. A large, illicit pile of money, too, and no suspicion would fall on him. Not with Van Gast to blame.

  Rillen sat back in his chair and fanned himself with the card. The gods must be smiling on him. He made a mental note to make a bigger sacrifice at the temple in the morning, and set about crafting his reply.

  Chapter Ten

  Rillen didn’t trust this message to any of his men so he headed down to the delta himself. He lost himself in the city, in the crowds, the heat and dust and noise. His city soon enough. He noticed everything, wondered whether it would look better when it was his. Would the searing night air seem less roasting, the dust not get into his nose and make him sneeze? Would the beggars irritate him less when he knew they belonged to him, to Estovan? In a fit of generosity he flipped a copper fish-head into a bowl and regretted it when he was instantly surrounded by a dozen more beggars, offering him water, cheap little toys made of raffia and worm-ridden wood, a bare outstretched hand, anything in the hope of a coin.

  He pushed through with elbows and curses, through the Godsquare and out onto the plaza. Apart from his vigil at the ship when he’d been too occupied with his thoughts to notice much else, it had been some time since he’d been beyond the broad expanse of dressed stone, the confluence between the respectable and the irrepressible. Sailors, merchantmen crew and racks, were everywhere. The sound of Forn’s bells surrounded him, chiming in a curious offbeat harmony that had always been the music of a city that survived on trade from the water, a soothing sound that was at once known, comforting and exotic compared to the cool silence of the palace.