The Island Deception

by Dan Koboldt

  “May I—” the captain began, but cut off as Chaudri slumped over her saddle and fell into the arms of the patrolman beside her. “M’lady?”

  He was out of his saddle in an instant, and ran forward to help the other soldier place Chaudri back in her saddle. “Water!”

  Someone passed him a leather canteen, which he uncapped and brought to her lips. She drank, then coughed, and her eyes flew open. She looked around as if confused.

  “What happened?”

  “You fainted, m’lady,” the captain said.

  “Oh, how embarrassing!”

  “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes, quite. Thank you, Captain. I’ll feel better once we’re in Cambry.”

  The man gave her a side-look, then swung back into his saddle. He glanced down at Quinn’s hands, which were now empty, the parchmap having been tucked quietly up his sleeve during the chaos.

  Quinn kept his eyes on Veena, with his face a mask of concern. He could feel the captain’s gaze, and didn’t dare meet it.

  “Happy to be of service,” the captain said. He replaced his helmet and took up his reins. His horse turned away, and the mounts of his patrolmen fell out of formation with it. They circled around and rode onward, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake that drifted up through the tight-pack trees.

  “Nice save, Veena,” Quinn said quietly.

  “I prefer m’lady,” she said.

  Cambry looked more like a fortress than a capital city. It spread out in the vale below them, a great marble-colored pentagon split neatly in half by the dark blue stripe of the Loutre River. As they rode closer, the whites and grays resolved into a maze of walls and gates surrounding the city proper. Quinn hadn’t imagined there was so much stone in the entire continent.

  “I feel like I’m in Gondor,” he said. “Where do they get all that stone?”

  “Massive quarries north of the city,” Chaudri said. “It’s a light, porous stone similar to limestone. They bring it in one stone at a time.”

  “Sounds exhausting.”

  “It’s a big part of their economy, actually. Good stone is hard to come by.”

  Probably because it’s all been used to build this place.

  Quinn took out his wayfinder stone. It still pointed east, more or less along the line of the Loutre River as it wound away from Cambry. That was good; he didn’t mind sticking with Mendez and Chaudri while their mission took him closer to the Enclave. The problem would come when that was no longer true. The lieutenant didn’t seem enthusiastic about him striking out on his own. But I’ll have to do that eventually, if she wants someone working on Holt’s magical protections. That was his official reason for coming after all. And if he just happened to pick up some real magical abilities while he was working on that, so much the better.

  Quinn Bradley never said no to a windfall.

  The alabaster walls grew as they approached Cambry, eventually towering some thirty feet overhead by the time Chaudri led them up to the gate. It remained open despite the late-afternoon hour, but a small army of armored soldiers stood on guard. They funneled incoming travelers to one side, where an elderly man and woman sat beside a stone table taking roll.

  “Let’s walk the horses,” Mendez said.

  They dismounted and lashed their weapons to their horses. Not trying to hide them, of course, but making them appear more like cargo. Quinn hoped they wouldn’t give his bow too close of an inspection. The cams alone represented a three-hundred-year leap in materials technology.

  “They may ask us some questions at the gate,” Chaudri said. “Keep your answers short and to the point.”

  “My favorite kind of answers,” Mendez said.

  She gave him a fleeting smile, apparently not in a joking mood. “Quinn, don’t mention the Enclave or magic of any sort.”

  “I wasn’t planning to, but why?” Quinn asked.

  “Iridessa said not to, that’s why,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “She said they’re distrusting of magic in this part of Landor.”

  “I wondered what you two were talking about,” Quinn said.

  “Just follow her advice. The less attention we get here, the better.” She took her horse’s reins and approached the intake table.

  The couple taking roll weren’t as old as they’d seemed from afar. They had bone-white hair, but youthful faces with sharp, hawkish features. They’ve got to be brother and sister, Quinn thought.

  “Name?” the man asked.

  “Virginia Heston,” Chaudri said.

  “Origin?”

  “New Kestani.”

  “Reason for entry?”

  Chaudri brushed back a strand of hair from her face. “We’re hoping to take a riverboat to the coast.”

  The man furrowed his brow, as if this didn’t make sense. But he pressed on, and asked in a more formal tone, “On your oath, will you obey all Cambry laws and customs?”

  “On my oath,” Chaudri said.

  The man looked to Quinn and Mendez expectantly.

  “On my oath,” Quinn said, a second before Mendez repeated it . . . I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.

  The man gave a little nod, accepting their oaths. “On your oath, do you have coin or goods enough to pay for lodging while in Cambry?”

  “On my oath,” they answered.

  Another nod, then another question. “On your oath, do you attest that you are not a spell-caster, woods-witch, or magician of any sort?”

  Well, this just got interesting. Quinn locked eyes with the man. “On my oath,” he said.

  Mendez answered without a flinch, but Chaudri faltered a moment before giving her oath. At least she didn’t glance at him. Quinn prayed the clerks wouldn’t notice.

  He glanced at the white-haired woman beside him who thus far hadn’t said a word. She gave an almost-undetectable nod. Quinn held his breath.

  The clerk lifted his hand toward the city interior. “Welcome to Cambry.”

  Quinn exhaled softly as Chaudri led them in. That felt closer than it should have been.

  “One last thing,” the man said.

  They all froze. Shit, here it comes, Quinn thought.

  “Yes?” Chaudri asked with a slight tremor to her voice.

  “You’d best hurry if you hope to catch a river barge. Most have already fled downriver.”

  Chaudri didn’t hide her surprise. “From what?”

  The clerk pointed wordlessly behind them. The entire northwest horizon was dark as night, the distant mountains cloaked in a roiling mass of clouds.

  A northern storm. Quinn gritted his teeth. If that caught up with them, a river was the last place they’d want to be.

  Just as the clerk had warned, most of the river captains had departed ahead of the storm. The docks down by the Cambry riverfront—which were also constructed of stone—were largely empty. A single barge remained. The captain had stuck around to catch a last shipment of expensive-looking timber that was still being loaded.

  He was, without a doubt, the hairiest person Quinn had ever seen. His chestnut beard was so massive and untamed that it was impossible to determine where the beard ended and the long hair began. It was all Quinn could do not to stare.

  Meanwhile, Chaudri had taken the lead on negotiations, and it wasn’t going well.

  “I think you misunderstand, Captain,” she said, allowing the first hint of exasperation into her voice. “We’re only booking passage for three people. Not three hundred.”

  “Three people and three crap-producers,” said the captain, whose name was Benvolio. “Might as well be three hundred.”

  “For what you’re asking, we could practically buy a riverboat of our own!”

  “Couldn’t sail it on your own, though.” He grinned through the beard. “There’s not a riverman left in town, other than my crew.”

  “How hard can it be?” Mendez asked.

  The man gave him a hard look. “You ever
worked a raft before, boy?”

  Mendez stared at him, unblinking. “Damn right I have. And I’m not a boy.”

  The captain grunted something that might have been an apology. Then he smiled again. “You looking for work? We could use another set of hands.”

  Mendez seemed about to retort, but Chaudri cut him off.

  “If you’ll have my man working on the raft, I’m not paying his passage.”

  “I wasn’t really offering to—” Mendez started.

  “Give you a half-rate, if he’s as good as he claims,” the captain said.

  “A third of a rate, and I want reasonable prices on the horses.”

  Benvolio grinned. “Done.”

  Both of them spat into their palms and shook. Quinn wasn’t sure why he’d worried. She’s a freaking natural.

  Mendez was grumbling to himself, but Chaudri looked at him and he managed a halfhearted smile.

  “We’ll leave in two hours,” Benvolio said. “You can leave your horses here.”

  Chaudri pressed a purse on him. “Here’s a down payment.”

  “Much appreciated.” He tucked the purse into a jacket pocket, but it looked like he just shoved it through his beard.

  “We could use some provisions,” Chaudri said.

  “Go see Jacques at the Tipsy Rooster. He’ll set you up.” He put a broad hand on Mendez’s shoulder. “We’ll finish loading up.”

  Chaudri looked like she might protest, but Mendez waved her off. He probably wanted to stick around and supervise the loading of the horses anyway.

  Well, as long as we have a couple of hours . . . Quinn tapped Chaudri’s shoulder and beckoned with his head. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  The look on Mendez’s face was priceless.

  The Loutre River ran shallow and fast from the heart of Landor, east through Pirea, and into the Bay of Seals. Quinn wasn’t a river expert, but he doubted it would be a casual float downstream. Mendez looked a little harried when he and Chaudri strolled back, both of them enjoying the warmth in their bellies brought by Landorian ale.

  “How are things?” Quinn asked.

  “Your mare almost wrecked his crane,” Mendez said.

  “She is a spirited one.” He knew it should worry him more, but Landorian ale had a certain soothing effect on him.

  “Well, the captain’s pissed.”

  “Relax, man.” Quinn put a hand on his shoulder. “You know this is a temp job for you, right?”

  The super-beard himself appeared on deck, as if summoned. “Board up!”

  They hurried up the gangplank onto the river barge. Quinn made the mistake of glancing down, to where the river churned and gurgled against the raft hull. Damn, that’s flowing fast. And all that stood between him and it was a glorified pile of logs. It triggered a flash of fear and some deep survival instinct. He froze at the top of the gangplank and gripped the rail to steady himself. “Ohhhhh.”

  “Shake a leg, Bradley,” Mendez said. “Captain wants the plank up.”

  “Which way to the cabins?”

  “Riverboats don’t have cabins. We sleep in the hold.”

  “With the cargo? What’s he got down there?”

  “Goats, mostly.”

  Oh, hell, no. “We’re sleeping with goats?”

  “Relax, I’m just yanking your chain. It’s timber, and the captain had us stack it up so that we can sleep on top. The crew’ll sleep on deck, so we should have the place to ourselves.”

  “What if it rains?”

  “It’s not going to rain.”

  A day later, Quinn stood on the deck when the first snow flurries fell from a shrouded gray sky.

  Not going to rain, huh?

  Captain Benvolio watched the clouds with a jaded eye, while little flakes lodged all over his massive beard. Finally, he swung the tiller and pointed the long, ponderous barge closer to shore. “Lock and stow it, boys!”

  All of the hatches were open, and most of the poles still had to be stowed. Ropes and tools littered the deck. The crew sprang into action. Quinn jumped in to lend a hand, working his way around the edge of the upper deck to pick up the last of the loose equipment. He tossed this to the sailor manning the nearest hatch, and started winding up loose lines.

  Maybe we should have asked for a discount on my ticket, too.

  In the meantime, the temperature dropped by at least twenty degrees. The clouds and the snow brought twilight to midafternoon. Mendez waved to catch Quinn’s eye—he was taking Chaudri belowdecks. He probably wanted to carve out a little spot before all of the river crewmen got down there, which wasn’t a bad idea. Quinn signaled that he’d be right there.

  “Everyone below!” Benvolio bellowed.

  Quinn was near the stern, so he’d be one of the last to take cover. He bent to pick up the last pole. A gray slush coated the deck. He didn’t even think about how slippery that made it, until his boots slid out from under him. “Shit!” He slammed into the edge of the deck. Flailed for purchase, but couldn’t find any. Then he was falling. Terrifyingly weightless.

  The water hit like a freight train. Cold as ice, dark as ink. The shock of it paralyzed him. His arms and legs wouldn’t move. He sank like a heavy stone. No! He forced his arms to move. Then his legs. Flailed against the frigid water to get back to the surface. His head broke the surface. He gulped air and tried to swim, but the current had him. The force of it swirled him away. Shouts drifted down from above, but they sounded so distant. Too far. He tried calling out, but got a lungful of cold dark water instead. It tasted like silt. He gagged, spluttering to clear his airway.

  Jesus, I’m in trouble.

  His clothes grew heavy. The water pushed him mercilessly, like a bouncer keeping riffraff out of the VIP room. The cold zapped the strength from his muscles. Fatigue set in, and it was all he could do to keep his head above the surface. The dark shape of the barge drifted farther away. The river swallowed him again.

  This is it, isn’t it? This is how I’m going to die. A moment of stupid carelessness. God, he was even losing the will to fight it. That’s how goddamn cold the water was.

  A memory popped into his head unbidden. He was back at the Enclave, perching on a rock over a fast-moving stream. One of those “exercises” to help students call on their magic when they truly needed it. He’d bombed that one, of course, as he had all the others. But that little dark-haired girl had done something when she tumbled into the water. Damn, what was it?

  It’s now or never. That’s what it is.

  He felt the pinpoint of warmth coming up from his core. A glimmer of hope. He drew his arms and legs in. Made himself into a ball while his lungs screamed for air. Then he pushed outward with everything he had. Against the water.

  And the water fled.

  It pressed back away from him, pushed by an invisible hand. Air rushed into his lungs. He could breathe! He stopped drifting downstream, and held fast. Heat blazed within him, like he had a fireball in his stomach. It didn’t hurt.

  It felt glorious.

  Then a shadow loomed over him. Torches appeared over the edge. Someone was shouting his name. He didn’t dare move, until he saw the pole. He grabbed it with both hands. The heat dissipated, the water flooded in. But he clung to the pole. A pair of arms reached down and grabbed him under the shoulders. They heaved him up onto deck, and Quinn found himself buried in a scratchy woolen blanket. No, not a blanket. A beard. A wonderfully thick, lustrous beard.

  He tried to laugh and doubled over, retching water. The deck spun, and darkness swallowed him.

  Chapter 13

  The Family Business

  “The best thing an entertainer can do is give someone what they came for.”

  —Art of Illusion, September 8

  Quinn woke to the sound of hail drumming overhead, and the musty smell of horses. A soft, heavy weight pressed on his chest. Blankets. He lay under a pile of them in the ship’s hold, on what felt like a stack of lumber. Mendez sat cross-legged beside him, hum
ming something that sounded suspiciously like “La Cucaracha.” Maybe I’m still dreaming.

  He tried sitting up, but his body felt like lead. He groaned.

  “Hey! Sleeping Beauty!” Mendez grinned.

  Darkness cloaked much of the hold. Dim shapes squatted around gas lanterns. He couldn’t seem to focus. Christ, even my eyes are exhausted. “How long was I out?”

  “Think it’s been about twenty hours.”

  “You kidding?” He felt like he’d barely slept at all.

  “You were dead to the world, man. Veena was worried about you.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Sneaking a little coffee out of our saddlebags.”

  God bless her. “She read my mind.”

  “Yeah, she’s good at that.” Mendez smiled. “So, what happened?”

  “I fell overboard.”

  “No shit. But I mean after that.”

  “The water was so damn cold.” Quinn shivered and rubbed his arms. “I thought I was going to drown.”

  Mendez glanced around and lowered his voice. “By the time I got up on deck, you were gone, man. They couldn’t even see you, and the captain . . . well, his face was pretty grim. Thirty seconds later, he was pulling you up.”

  “I remember that part. Never been so happy to see a beard in my life.”

  “I don’t know how you managed to get back to the barge.” Mendez shook his head. “It was one hell of a magic trick.”

  Maybe it was better to let him think that. It would mean fewer questions. “Well, I am a trained magician,” Quinn said.

  “You’re good, but I don’t know if you’re that good.”

  “Aw, come on. I haven’t even been applying myself. And you’ve never seen my escape act before.”

  Mendez laughed. “Well, there’s something to look forward to.”

  A dark thought intruded. If Logan heard about this, he’d never let Quinn live it down. “Hey, have you made your report to the lieutenant yet?”

  “Nope. I’ll do that when Veena gets back.”

  “How would you feel about maybe not mentioning the whole falling-into-the-water thing?”