by Leah Ross
“On what?”
“Mezriel’s Hoard.”
“So… theoretical information? Brushing up on your Annali folklore?”
“I’m going after it.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
Guinn shook his head. “Nope.”
“Exactly how many tender brain cells have you fried beneath the tropical sun, my delusional friend?”
Guinn smiled. “Can’t you join me in my enthusiasm just a little bit?”
“Um, no. I prefer sanity. But thanks for the offer.”
Leaning his arms on the desk, Guinn grinned. “I already have the first piece.”
William raised a skeptical brow. “You better check its legitimacy.”
“I have, but I’m going to get it verified.”
“Well, if you’re going through with this lunacy, and I know you are, then you’ll need to see the top informationmonger in the city.” William grabbed a piece of paper, wrote down a name and address, and slid it across to Guinn. “He’ll be able to help you. I go see him when I want the latest news on you, since the silence from the source himself is nigh deafening.”
Guinn took the paper and shot a withering look at his friend. “Complaint duly noted, Will. Thanks for the information.”
“You’re welcome,” William replied. “Do you have anything requiring your immediate attention, or can you stay and chat for a while?”
“I’m yours for as long as you can stand me,” Guinn said with a smile. “But I did promise the others your presence at dinner this evening.”
“I’d be delighted, of course.”
~*~
Their favorite Terracovan tavern also boasted one of the city’s finest dining rooms and gourmet menus. Upon entering, Guinn searched the room for any sign of his wife and crewmates, and, not finding them, began to approach the greeter’s podium. William halted him with a hand on his arm.
“Allow me,” he said. He strode confidently up to the young man signing patrons in. Saying nothing, he politely waited to be addressed.
The young man quickly jotted notes in his ledger as he finished entering the previous party’s information, and then he looked up to greet his next guest. Eyes widening, smile faltering slightly, the lad hesitated only a moment as he recovered from the shock of recognizing the two men standing before him. “Good evening, Mr. Hannigan, Captain McCabe. How may I help you?”
“Good evening, Liam,” William said. “I apologize for our lack of reservation tonight, but I’m sure you can understand that the captain rarely has the opportunity to send advance notice of his arrival in port. I don’t suppose you could squeeze us in?” He snuck a small pouch of coins across the podium with a smile.
Liam smiled warmly, slid the pouch out of sight, and consulted his ledger. “I understand completely, sir. I’m certain I can find something. Let’s see… Ah, it looks like the private room can be made available.”
“That would be perfect, Liam, thank you.”
Liam crossed out a few lines of text and inserted the new information. Then he gestured to an attendant waiting nearby. “Evan will escort you gentlemen to the private room. Evan, please ensure that Mr. Hannigan and Captain McCabe have everything they require.”
“Thank you, Liam. We are also expecting the captain’s wife, Mr. Declan Maclairish, and a young man by the name of Jonathan Morgan,” William added.
“Of course, sir. I’ll have them escorted immediately upon their arrival.”
Evan led them back to the private room, and Guinn smiled in satisfaction as they walked through the doors. The round table in the very center was large enough to seat ten, its highly-polished varnished dark wood surface gleaming in the low, warm light. Every place was set with fine china, silver flatware, crystal goblets, and pristine white linen napkins. With a small gesture, Evan directed a couple of servers to remove the extra settings and rearrange the table decorations to make it look like the table was now meant for five. The extra chairs were neatly arranged along a wooden wall of intricately-grained caramel panels, and then Evan escorted Guinn and William to their seats.
“Do you require anything at the moment sirs?” Evan asked softly.
“Water, please,” William responded, “And a bottle of wine. I’ll trust you to bring something appropriate.”
“Very good, sir.”
Guinn waited until they were alone in the room, the thickly draped double doors cutting off all sound from the main dining room, and then he laughed. “Well done, mate! Feel like the big man now, do you?”
William just raised a brow at him.
“Come now, Hannigan! You can’t tell me that kind of influence doesn’t get you off just a little bit,” Guinn teased. “The lad bumped some poor, innocent patrons out of here just because you asked and slipped him some coin. Just because you’re William fucking Hannigan!”
“I think you may have had something to do with ruining that other party’s night as well, Captain.”
Guinn laughed. “Gods, I’ll never get tired of the adulation.” He clapped his hand on William’s shoulder. “How does it feel to have made it at last, my friend?”
William feigned nonchalance for another moment, then grinned widely. “Pretty damn amazing, I must admit.”
Stretching and lounging back in his chair, Guinn watched as wine was delivered and served following William’s approval, reveling in the solicitous service. He raised his glass to his friend in a toast. “To ambition and success and proving to the world just how wrong it was.”
A sly half smile curled William’s lips as he raised his own glass in return. “Cheers.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Liam interrupted gently, poking his head through the door. “The rest of your party has arrived.” He ushered Laria, Declan, and Morgan inside and silently crept back out, shutting the doors and leaving them in peace.
William stood and wrapped Laria in a hug. She hugged him back with equal warmth, resting her head against his broad, muscular chest. He stroked her hair and just held her for several moments. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly, his baritone voice rumbling beneath her ear.
“I’ve missed you too, William,” she said, her voice muffled against his finely-tailored charcoal shirt.
He held her out at arm’s length to look at her. “Guinn wasn’t kidding. You’re huge!”
Punching him playfully in the shoulder, she rolled her eyes. “Thanks. The master of tact, as usual.”
He smacked his forehead. “Where the hell are my manners? What I meant to say is, your breasts are huge!”
“Watch it, Hannigan,” Guinn warned, but chuckled anyway, shaking his head.
“Oh, that’s much better,” Laria said to William, unable to keep a smile off her face.
He flashed a radiant grin back at her. “There it is! I just had to see that smile.” He hugged her again. “It’s great to see you, sweet. Congratulations.” Then he turned to Declan and clasped his friend’s hand firmly. “Declan. How are you, mate?”
Declan shrugged and offered a wan smile. “No’ bad, I suppose.” He did not elaborate. Instead, he motioned Morgan forward to join the group. “This is our recently-acquired cabin boy Jonathan Morgan. Jonathan, this is William Hannigan, the Grimoire’s—”
“Shipwright,” Morgan interrupted in an awed voice, his hazel eyes wide. “Of course. I see your name on the plaque on the hull every time I go to my bunk, sir. It’s an honor to meet you!”
William shook the boy’s hand. Then a very strange shock of awareness bolted though him, making him stumble back a step. He frowned and shook it off. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Morgan.”
They all took their seats, and the head chef came in to take their orders personally. He even directed Evan to bring in a bottle of non-alcoholic cider for Laria and Morgan that Morgan deemed the most delicious beverage he’d ever tasted. As they sipped their drinks and talked before their food arrived, Morgan studied the adults, learning as much as he could.
William intrigued him ve
ry much, and Morgan found himself staring at the charismatic man despite his best efforts not to be rude. William navigated the topics of conversation with an ease only the most confident people could achieve, drawing everyone in with his wit and enthusiasm. It was obvious to Morgan that William cared very much for all of his friends, even if he teased them mercilessly. Yet there was something about the man that Morgan couldn’t place, and it made him unbearably curious.
Dinner was thoroughly enjoyed by the entire party. Laria had perfectly-prepared delicate whitefish with vegetable rice pilaf. Guinn had ordered steak and enjoyed his deep pink filet and roasted potatoes very much. William had chosen a hearty, heavily-spiced meat stew with fresh, hot slices of chewy bread. Declan had ordered a selection of seafood served with risotto, but he’d managed to only pick at it. Morgan, on the other hand, had practically inhaled his spicy sausages and mashed potatoes like they would disappear from his plate at any moment.
William waited until Morgan had scarfed down an entire portion of decadent chocolate soufflé before moving his chair next to the boy to speak to him. “Did you enjoy it?” He smirked at the completely scraped-out ramekin in front of Morgan and wondered if the lad would lick it clean next.
Morgan’s cheeks colored and he looked at the table. “I attacked it, didn’t I?”
William laughed. “Yes, but that’s to be expected. Chef’s soufflé is worth devouring.” He considered the boy for a few moments, noting his lean frame, shaggy light brown hair, and thoughtful hazel eyes. “I’m sorry that we’ve been neglecting you this evening.”
Morgan shook his head and smiled. “I’m just happy to have been allowed to tag along, sir.”
“I haven’t seen them since Guinn and Laria’s wedding…”
“You don’t have to explain, Mr. Hannigan. I understand,” Morgan said. “Anyone could see that you care about them and you’ve missed them. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
William smiled, amazed at the lad’s maturity. “How old are you, Jonathan?”
“I just turned eight, sir.”
“Just?”
“Last week.”
“Did they know?” William jerked his head in Guinn’s direction.
“No, sir. No one did.”
“Why not?”
“They all have more important things to worry about.”
“You are a remarkable boy.” William looked at Morgan thoughtfully. “You seem familiar to me somehow. Have I ever done any work for your parents or anything?”
Morgan laughed bitterly. “I can give you a very confident no on that, Mr. Hannigan. I’m from Ordennon. And my parents most definitely have never been in any kind of position to need services such as yours, sir.”
“Easy, lad. I meant no offense.”
“None taken, sir. But no, we’d not met before today.” I would have remembered.
“Do you like my masterpiece?” William whispered in Morgan’s ear.
Morgan smiled, knowing exactly to what William was referring. “Aye, sir. I like the Grimoire very much.”
“It’s such a shame that I have to leave her in Guinn’s careless hands. Can I count on you to keep her safe?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And my friends as well?”
Morgan hesitated, the worry and concern darkening William’s green eyes tugging hard at his heart. “Yes, Mr. Hannigan. I care about the people in this room very much; I will treat them, and the ship, like they belong to me. And I take very good care of what belongs to me.”
A shudder skipped down William’s spine, Morgan’s words ringing almost prophetic. He marveled that an eight-year-old boy could possess such wisdom far beyond his years. Wondering if he was catching a glimpse of the greatness in the boy that all of his friends had mentioned, he filed the information away and smiled at Morgan. “Thank you, lad. How about another chocolate soufflé?”
~*~
Guinn stepped inside the dim and dusty shop, impressed by the sheer number of volumes stacked, piled, and shelved in every square inch of space. A reverent silence hung in the air, and Guinn found himself making a conscious effort to stay as quiet as possible. Craning his neck for a glimpse into the cramped office behind the counter, he looked for any sign of the shop’s proprietor.
“Hello?” he called tentatively. “Anyone here?”
“Just a moment,” a voice carried from deep within the back office.
Relaxing a bit now that he knew he wasn’t alone in the place, Guinn perused the shelves with interest. William hadn’t been kidding. The shopkeeper seemed to have volumes upon volumes on every subject imaginable. Guinn was amazed. He’d have to thank William later for sharing this resource with him.
“Welcome to my shop, Captain,” a kind voice said beside him. “It’s an honor to have you. How may I be of assistance?”
Guinn turned to the thin, elderly man next to him, a puzzled look on his face. “Did William tell you I was coming?”
“No, Master Hannigan did not forewarn me of your arrival.”
“Then how did you know who I am?”
“Why, who else could you be? I know the Aeon Grimoire docked in port yesterday. I have read and heard enough stories about you to know your description well. You come in here with a sword, dagger, and pistol displayed prominently on your belt; who else besides a pirate would require such formidable protection? Therefore, through simple deduction, a heavily-armed pirate matching the description of Guinn McCabe entering my shop while the Grimoire is in port can be none other than Captain Guinn McCabe himself.”
“Impressive,” Guinn said. “Is there anything that you don’t know, sir?”
The man smiled warmly. “Probably, but I have yet to discover what it is.”
Guinn grinned. “Well, you have deduced correctly that I am Guinn McCabe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister…”
“Just Ambrose, Captain,” the man replied, shaking Guinn’s proffered hand firmly. “It’s all anyone has ever called me. I haven’t used my surname in so long, I very nearly forget what it is.”
Guinn nodded. “William sent me to see you. He recommended you quite highly, saying you were the only one capable of helping me.”
“I am honored that Master Hannigan thinks so much of me. I will do my best to provide the answers you seek, Captain.”
“What I’d like to discuss with you is somewhat sensitive. Is there somewhere we may speak in private, Ambrose?” Guinn glanced around for any sign that anyone else was in the shop.
“I assure you, Captain, that you may place your trust in me with confidence. Nothing we discuss will leave the premises. I am the only one working here, and no one is in the shop at the moment aside from the two of us.” Ambrose went to the door, locked it, and flipped the sign to ‘Closed’. “Now we won’t be interrupted.” He gestured to a table in the corner. “If you’ll assist me in clearing this table, we can work here.”
Once the table was clear, Guinn wasted no time getting right to business. “I wanted to see about having something authenticated.”
“Is the item in question in your possession?”
Guinn pulled the small chest from his satchel. “Yes, it is.”
“May I see it?” Guinn nodded and pushed the chest across to Ambrose. Carefully lifting the lid, Ambrose’s sharp eyes widened and his jaw fell open. With a shaky hand, he pulled his glasses from his pocket and slid them up his long nose to examine the details. “I’m honored, Captain,” Ambrose said softly, glancing at Guinn over the top of his glasses, “that you’ve brought Ahnrah’s Circlet to share with me.”
“I’m pleased that you recognize it… and that you haven’t thrown me out of your shop in disgust.”
Ambrose knitted his overgrown white eyebrows together in a frown. “Why would I do that?”
“William thinks I’m delusional and that I’ve taken up a quest fit only for the insane,” Guinn explained.
“Ah, yes.” Ambrose nodded knowingly. “You must not take comments like those to heart. Th
e truth of the legend has become so diluted by fantasy over the long years that most people don’t believe in it anymore.”
“But you do?”
“Yes. The study of this particular subject has consumed the better part of my life, in fact.”
“And can you verify the authenticity of this artifact?”
“I believe, given my knowledge, that you’ll find no more accurate assessment anywhere else,” Ambrose replied confidently.
“Then please proceed at your convenience, sir.”
Ambrose gently lifted the coronet and studied it closely, admiring the intricately carved patterns. Then, setting it down briefly, he retrieved a small box of tools and a notebook from his office. He took various measurements, recording each one, and spent several minutes scrutinizing every detail through the lens of his magnifying glass. Guinn sat patiently and watched. Finally, Ambrose sat back in his chair, removed his glasses, and regarded Guinn thoughtfully.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Guinn said.
“It’s incredibly exquisite indeed,” Ambrose agreed. “How did you manage to acquire it?”
Guinn smiled. “I’m sure you understand that I can’t share that information.”
“Fair enough. Did you not ascertain its authenticity yourself? You are a licensed mage, after all.”
“I did, but I wanted a second, more experienced, opinion on something so potentially important. I am definitely not the most skilled mage on my ship,” Guinn answered with a self-deprecating grimace.
“Why didn’t you ask your most skilled mage?”
“I don’t want to share this with anyone else yet.” Guinn sighed at the questioning rise of Ambrose’s eyebrows and continued. “I didn’t want to get anyone else involved until I was certain. There’s no use in getting anyone’s hopes raised if all I have is a forged artifact.”
Ambrose smiled and patted Guinn’s clenched fist comfortingly. “No need for any undue anxiety, son. I just wanted to assess your intentions.”
Guinn’s expression lightened considerably. “And this?” He waved his hand over the coronet.