by Dan Koboldt
Shit!
He crouched down and froze. Two figures were making their way down the wharf, and couldn’t be more than fifteen yards away. One of them had a lantern, a little wick-and-oil job that cast a faint orange glow in the evening mist.
“You hear that, Bert?” asked one.
“No, whazzat?”
“Heard a sound, like a clanging.”
“Where?”
“From that Felaran ship.”
“So?”
“So, maybe they’ve got some of that Felaran liquor on there.”
“You think?”
“Why don’t we have a look-see?”
Damn it. Why did Logan always end up with the worst luck in this place? Bradley could waggle his fingers and stumble ass-backward into the only friendly magician in the entire world, but God forbid Logan should catch a break. It’s just unfair, that’s what it is.
He’d be in trouble if someone spotted him here. He wouldn’t pass for a dockworker or sailor, not dripping wet and dressed in all black.
He should have been more cautious with the chain, but it was too late for that. He crouched in the shadows beside the rail and hoped that the two guys would move on. But no, these Einsteins decided that they should plop down ten yards away, and finish their half-full liquor bottles with their legs dangling over the side of the pier.
He checked his watch; it was a quarter to midnight. Any minute now, the wharf’s security detail would do a sweep of the pier and take tally of the ships docked there. There was a chance they’d notice the broken chain. The sooner he boosted the cog and got clear, the better.
He eased down to his belly and crawled toward the stern of the ship. His back itched between the shoulder blades. He hated that feeling, the nervous tension of waiting to get caught. If they saw him and raised the alarm, it killed the whole operation.
The sailors burst out in raucous laughter. He tensed up like a nervous hare. I’m going to have a goddamn heart attack.
Finally, he reached the stern. The chain stretched taut from the dock to the transom cleat where it was fastened. That meant the ship was starting to drift. If it moved much more before he was ready, someone was bound to notice. He slid himself below the chain and laced some paracord into one of the links. Skip the next link, lace the next one. He tied off both ends, with a couple of feet of slack. Then he got the clippers up, and cut the link in between.
Clink.
The chain snapped apart, but the black cord held it fast. Not completely quiet, but much better than the first time.
One of the half-drunk sailors piped up. “What d’you say, Bert?”
“Huh?”
“You up for a round in town?”
“’Course. Not sure why we stopped here anyway.”
They stumbled to their feet. For a terrifying moment, Logan was sure one of them would fall right into his ship. They found their balance, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Then one of them tossed his empty bottle. It thunked off the ship’s deck two inches from Logan’s head. He bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood. He should stay here and lay low. He should let them walk on. But the bottle was just too much. He started seeing red at the edges of his vision. Knew his temper was coming up, and couldn’t stop himself.
You littering son of a bitch—
He grabbed the bottle in one hand and vaulted over the rail to the pier beyond. The two drunks were about five paces down the dock. Logan took four quiet steps, and grabbed them both by the back of the head.
“Hey—”
“What the—”
Logan scissored his arms and knocked their heads together. They fell like rag dolls. He took a minute to prop them up against a wooden piling, and then tucked the bottle in Bert’s arm. “You dropped something.”
And I’ve got a boat to steal.
Chapter 35
Search Committees
“Watch this hand over here. Ignore the one behind my back.”
—Art of Illusion, July 7
The search for Moric mobilized by evening. Sella notified the rest of the council, who drummed up volunteers to do an organized search of the entire island. Every single Pirean between the ages of six and eighty turned out to help. They gathered in a circle of torches in the green by the Pirean tower. Quinn jogged over to where Sella was handing out assignments.
“That covers the outlying farms,” she said. “Now we just need a couple of people to sweep the docks.”
Quinn’s arm shot up before she even finished talking. “I’ll do it.”
“That’s one,” Sella said.
Leward volunteered about a second later. Sella pressed her lips together on the verge of a disapproving remark, but she’d asked for two volunteers and now she had them.
“Moric’s skiff is at the end of the dock. Stay away from the harbormaster’s ship.”
Time to play dumb. “Which one is that?”
“The biggest one there.” There was a hint of condescension in her tone.
He couldn’t resist taking a parting shot. “What if that’s where he is?”
“It’s not,” Sella said.
Quinn raised his hands in acquiescence. “We’ll search the rest.”
“Don’t dawdle.”
Sella wasn’t necessarily the boss of them, but Quinn and Leward hustled down the road anyway.
“What was that thing Jillaine did?” Quinn asked.
“In Moric’s chambers?”
“Yes. Some kind of location spell?”
“I guess you could call it that, but it’s more complicated. Sort of only works between people who are very close to one another.”
“Family members, you mean,” Quinn said.
“Exactly.”
“Do you and Everett have something like that?’
Leward winced, and wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“What, did I say something wrong?” Quinn asked.
“Well, family bonds are a very private thing.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Leward waved off his apology. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I’m the only magician in my family, so . . .” He trailed off, and shrugged uncomfortably.
“Of course.” Leward was silent a moment. “I will tell you that we’re working on it. It would help if Everett could get past this damn block of his.”
“Has he always had it?”
“Almost as long as he’s been a magician. It’s kind of my fault.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” Quinn said. Leward didn’t have an evil bone in his body.
“I made him hide his ability when we were kids.”
“Why?”
“It—it wasn’t safe, to be like us.”
Because it was the Pirean Tip. Damn. “It seems like you wouldn’t be able to hide that forever.”
“Both of us? No. But one of us could.”
Quinn really wanted to know how they’d made it all the way to the Enclave, but he sensed that was a story for another time. Besides, the harbor swept into view, and they had a job to do. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. You guys seem like good apples.”
“We seem like fruit?”
Quinn chuckled. “It’s just an expression.” He counted four ships moving in the harbor, and twice that number secured at the docks. “Harbor’s not too busy.”
“Traffic tends to fall off before an important council vote,” Leward said.
“What will happen if Moric doesn’t return for it?”
“He doesn’t get to vote, I guess.”
Time to plant the seed. “It sounds like an important decision, though. Maybe someone can sit in for him.”
“Sit in for the most powerful magician on the island?”
“I’m sure you could find someone who’d look out for Pirean interests. Someone close to him.” Someone who could break the tie in our favor.
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Right. Me, too.” Quinn’s boots made a loud clunk on the docks wooden p
lanks, and it made him self-conscious. He kept looking over his shoulder.
“Do you think Moric’s really down here?” Leward asked.
“Honestly? No.”
“Then why were you so quick to volunteer?”
Because the Victoria is there, and it’s a great excuse to take a closer look. He couldn’t ignore the growing urgency of Kiara’s instructions for him to install the beacon, and that kind of pressure instinctively made him reach for bigger leverage. Knowing that Kiara’s sister and her ship were at the Enclave gave Quinn a decent chip to play when he needed one. But uncovering how they’d come here, or why Relling hadn’t returned, would hand him a crusher.
Lying to Leward felt wrong, so he settled for a half-truth instead. “I like ships.”
Leward laughed. “You sure you aren’t Pirean?”
Quinn allowed a smile. “Quite sure.”
“I think you’d do well there.”
“Thanks. I know I’d like the food.” Quinn scrunched up his face. “The fishing, not so much.”
“What’s wrong with fishing?”
“It usually happens out in the oceans, and I’m not that great a swimmer.”
“I see,” Leward said.
They walked in silence toward the long line of waiting ships.
Leward cleared his throat. “You know you don’t have to swim to catch the fish, right?”
Quinn snorted. “Yes, Leward.” But thanks for the vote of confidence.
“I’m only making certain.”
They made a sweep of the outer docks, going so far as to call Moric’s name on occasion. Nothing. They found three sailors on the deck of a Landorian sloop, drinking and playing some kind of game with dice. Once it was clear Quinn and Leward weren’t members of dock security, they extended a cheerful invitation.
“Sorry, we’re looking for someone,” Quinn said. Part of him wanted to accept, because he kind of missed gambling. He really should get down to the docks more often.
Well, as long as the harbormaster wasn’t around. He’d given Captain Relling a wide berth since arriving, but she was probably lurking around here somewhere.
Maybe she’d taken the day off. I can only hope.
They neared the end of the dock, and had only three vessels to go, when they started catching glimpses of the Victoria through the gaps. Quinn couldn’t keep from staring.
“She’s a beautiful ship, isn’t she?” Leward asked.
“What?”
“The big three-master you’ve been ogling.”
“I like big ships.” And I cannot lie.
“Sure, sure,” Leward said. “Isn’t that the one you were asking Sella about?”
Damn. He was more observant than Quinn realized. It was always the little guys you have to watch out for. “I’m just curious. Never seen another ship like it.”
“Neither had we, when they towed it in.”
“That thing was salvaged?”
“Two-thirds of it was underwater, from what I heard. Took five or six water mages to get it afloat.”
It took every ounce of control Quinn could muster to make his next question a casual one. “Was anyone aboard?”
“Just the captain. She’d lashed herself to the wheel and was banged up pretty good.”
“Wow.”
Leward nudged him to make sure he was listening. “Ready for the best part?”
“All right. Lay it on me.”
“She can’t remember a thing.”
“About what?”
“Anything. Not even her name.”
Amnesia. That explained how she was still here, and not sailing back. Unless she faked it, so as not to have to answer some difficult questions. There was just no way to know.
Boots rang out against the wooden planks as someone came up behind them. Steel tips. Oh, my God, speak of the devil.
“You boys lost?” Relling asked.
“Evening,” Leward said.
Quinn rubbed his upper lip, hoping it appeared casual, when really it was meant to make sure she didn’t read his lips. “Evening.”
She swiveled her predatory gaze to him. “You again? Didn’t I tell you about the rules for the docks?”
Quinn mumbled something behind his hand.
“We’re here on council business,” Leward said. “Have you seen Moric?”
“Not since I chewed him out for letting his protégés wander around my docks. Why?”
“He’s missing.”
“Says who?”
“His daughter.” Leward met her gaze and didn’t falter. Didn’t even blink.
Quinn marveled at it. Man, where has this side of Leward been?
Relling harrumphed. “Probably off on another of his secret missions for the Valteroni Prime, if you ask me. But I haven’t seen him.”
“We promised Sella we’d search the docks,” Leward said.
“Looks like you’ve done that.”
Quinn cleared his throat and tilted his head. “We’ll be on our way, then.”
They skirted her and power-walked back toward shore. Her steel-toed boot steps didn’t resume for another half minute. Quinn could feel her eyes on his back. “Here on council business, huh?” he whispered.
Leward grinned. “What can I say? She scares me.”
“I’ve seen scarier,” Quinn said. Like her sister.
Quinn leaned against the wall in the corner of the Pirean common room, bone-tired and trying not to fall asleep. The search had gone through half the night, with nothing to show for it. And only I know why.
“Moric is nowhere on the island,” Sella said. “And that puts us in a precarious position.”
She sat at the head of the table. On her right was Leward, who looked like he might face-plant at any minute. Jillaine sat across from him, the model of perfect posture, but redness tinted the corners of her eyes.
No one offered any comment, so Sella continued. “Given the circumstances, we should find someone to fill his seat ahead of the vote tomorrow.”
Jillaine rubbed her eyes. “What’s so important about this vote?”
“I would not be exaggerating if I said it determines the future of the Enclave’s place in the world,” Sella said.
“Then delay it.”
“If we postponed every vote for the whims of one council member, we’d never get anything done. Besides, the sooner we put this foolishness to bed, the better.”
“It still seems like something my father is best suited to handle,” Jillaine said.
“Which is why we’re looking for him,” Sella said. “Unless he reappears, however, I recommend you find someone to sit for him.”
The choice was so obvious that Quinn wanted to shout it, but he bit his tongue. He was a friend and a welcome guest, but this was Pirean business. Leward perked up.
Here it comes.
“How about Quinn?” Leward asked.
Oh, no.
Sella made a face like she’d just swallowed a lemon.
Quinn was tempted to go for it for about half a second, but he couldn’t risk putting himself in the spotlight. He shook his head before Sella could even reply. “Thanks, buddy, but I’m just a student here.”
“It should really be someone who knows Moric well, and can act on his behalf,” Sella said.
Leward rubbed his eyes. “Fine. Jillaine, then.”
There was a general murmur of agreement among those packed into the common room. Quinn didn’t bother to hide his grin. I always knew he was a sharp one.
“It’s up to you how you decide,” Sella said. The corners of her lips flickered upward. Anyone who was looking saw the hint of approval. “Just give me the name of your delegate to the council tomorrow morning.”
Quinn schooled his face again. Based on the reaction here, they’d almost certainly name Jillaine.
Now I just need to win her back. Again.
Chapter 36
Priorities
“Some people say, ‘Quit while you’re ahead.’ I say, quit be
fore you lose everything.”
—Art of Illusion, September 11
Advanced magic class had been canceled, so Quinn spent most of the morning on his grand gesture. He found Jillaine out in her apiary, collecting honey from one of the hives. He really didn’t want to go anywhere near it, but it was either that or miss his shot entirely.
“Hey,” he called.
She half turned at the sound of his voice. “Hey yourself.”
He tried to mosey in a little closer, but stopped short when one of the bees flew past. Damn, they’re huge. “How are you holding up?”
“As well as can be expected,” she said. There were shadows under her eyes, though.
“I thought you might be hungry.” He brandished the wicker basket he’d brought with him.
“You brought food?” She gave him a suspicious look.
“Consider it a peace offering.”
“You can leave it inside.”
That won’t get me very far. The timeline was too tight to leave things to chance. “I thought maybe we could take it somewhere,” he said. “You know, maybe eat together.”
“Wander off to share a meal with a stranger? That’s probably what happened to my father.”
“I’m not a stranger. I’m just a guy who screwed up, and wants to make things right.”
She waved her fingers beneath the hive before her, a conical basket, daubed with clay, and inverted on a wide wooden plank. There must have been a hole in the bottom, because a comb drifted out from below to settle gently in her collection pot. “Is that really what you want, or is it another lie?” she asked.
“That’s what I want. And I’m guessing you could stand to take your mind off things.”
She paused. “Where would we go?”
“It’s a surprise.” He offered his biggest, most charming smile. “Assuming you don’t mind a little adventure.”
She sighed. “I suppose I could use the distraction.” She walked over and set the honey pot into a little cabinet on the back of the chandlery. Then she turned back to him with an expectant look.
He gestured down the road he’d just taken. “This way, if you please.”
She fell into step beside him, but didn’t take his arm. He tried not to let that hurt him.