Thief of Lives

by Barb Hendee

  At the sound of Karlin's voice, Chap dashed off to meet him. When the two of them jogged up together, Magiere noticed Chap fidgeting, nearly beside himself looking out at the approaching skiff.

  "Not you too," she muttered at him.

  Leesil blinked. "Too? What about him?"

  Chap stopped and looked up at her, ears stiffly attentive.

  "Nothing," Magiere answered.

  "We came to see you off," Karlin puffed, out of breath.

  His apron was covered in stains of melted butter and dusted with streaks of flour.

  "We?" Magiere asked.

  Down the dock behind the portly baker came Loni, walking toward them at a more sedate pace. The wind blew back his long hair, exposing his ears and making him appear strange and otherworldly with his narrow frame, long, triangular face, and large amber eyes. Loni walked up and took her hand.

  "Thank you," he said seriously, his manner completely altered from their last meeting. "What you are doing will be greatly appreciated by all."

  Only slightly moved by his words, Magiere pulled her hand away.

  "I'm not doing it for you."

  Undaunted, he nodded. "I thank you anyway."

  "Yes, yes," Karlin said. He turned pointedly toward Leesil and made a half bow, as Leesil often used when dramatically charming his way into someone's graces. "We thank you both. There is no way to express how much. Once more, you have come to Miiska's aid."

  He clapped Leesil on the back and stepped up to embrace Magiere. She noticed her partner was glowering at Loni, who seemed oblivious, but before she could consider the matter further, Karlin wrapped her in a bear hug.

  His large, ale cask body was comforting. She had no wish leave him or Miiska. He held her for a moment and then pulled back to face her.

  "We'll return as soon as we can," she said, trying to smile with encouragement. "Bank draft in hand and ready to start rebuilding."

  He patted her shoulder, and a tear gathered in his right eye.

  "Oh, you'll need this," he said, and held out a small pouch. "Traveling money. It's the last of our community funds, but your trip is an investment. No, no," he added when she backed up. "You'll need food and lodging and who knows what else. Take it… or I'll just give it to Leesil."

  Magiere glanced at her partner. The community purse in Leesil's care?

  "I'd best keep it," she said.

  "Pardon me?" Leesil asked with a frown.

  In truth, they needed the money, and she took it with a nod of thanks as the skiff pulled up to the ladder hanging down from the dock. Chap whined once, pushed his head into the back of Karlin's knee, and before anyone moved to collect luggage, he jumped off the dock and down into the skiff. The small vessel rocked sharply, and its two rowers began cursing. Chap merely sat down between the benches and stared up at everyone, his tail thumping a hollow rhythm against the skiff's bottom.

  Leesil looked down at Chap and back to Magiere. "Well, at least we don't have to talk him into going," he joked.

  Or you, Magiere thought. As she helped him gather the chest, she noticed Karlin's attention focused down the dock.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Oh, Poyesk is leaning on his warehouse door, watching us," he answered.

  Indeed, following Karlin's gaze, Magiere saw the spindly man on the shore.

  "He does own a warehouse. He might be here on business," she said.

  "Perhaps," Karlin answered slowly. "But he was against our even showing you that offer from Bela. The last thing he wants is competition from a community-owned warehouse."

  The two sailors helped passengers load their belongings. The schooner, filled with cargo for return to Bela, had simply stopped at Miiska out of habit to pick up possible fares. Besides Magiere and Leesil, three other men waited with little baggage. From their dress, she took them for unemployed dockworkers.

  Magiere suddenly wished Karlin hadn't come to see them off. It only made things harder.

  "Well…" she said, uncertain how to finish.

  "Good-bye, Karlin," Leesil said. "We'll see you again, soon enough."

  "Yes." Karlin smiled. "Soon. Off with you both. Chap's waiting with his tail in the air."

  Lighthearted banter made things easier. Magiere nodded to Loni as well and climbed down into the boat. Leesil followed.

  The sailors untied the docking lines and shoved off. Magiere knelt down near the side of the skiff and ran her fingers through the blue-gray water. It was bitingly cold and refreshing, drifting past in the autumn morning air. As the gently rocking boat moved out to the waiting schooner, the harbor appeared to open wide to the ocean. The cloud-pillowed sky looked larger than it did from the streets of Miiska, and a twinge of guilt needled Magiere for being so hard on Leesil in her thoughts. There was something to be said for the journey, and some small part of her—a very small part—might find pleasure in at least these first few days at sea. She watched Leesil sitting next to her, enjoying the sea air as well, strands of yellow-white hair fluttering out from beneath his scarf's edges. He appeared lost in thought, watching the dock grow smaller behind them. Ahead, furled sails, masts, and rigging covered the sky as they approached the schooner.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked.

  "I'm thinking how much I hate that elf," he answered. "Who exactly does he think he is to us, grabbing your hand like that?"

  She shook her head. "Well, we may never have to see him again. We may never see Miiska again."

  "Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "Of course we will."

  "You know what we're facing."

  He paused. "How much money did Karlin give you?"

  "I haven't counted it. Why?"

  "As soon as we reach Bela, I need to visit a decent smith's shop and have some new blades made."

  Magiere glared at him.

  "Yes, I'm listening, and I know what we're facing," he answered.

  A change came over his face as he stared toward the docks. His eyes lost focus and his thin brows lowered as if he contemplated something inside himself with weighted awareness. There was no hint of a wry smile on his lips. His jaw muscles clenched slightly, and he appeared stern, without his warmth and innate humor.

  "I have a few ideas… to make sure we come back alive," he said.

  Magiere found herself both apprehensive at his expression and surprised at his words.

  "So you want to come back?" she asked.

  His slanted brows wrinkled in puzzlement, and the moment of cold withdrawal washed from his features. "Of course. Why would you even ask me that?"

  She shook her head, feeling a little better but determined not to let her guard down. Let them stay in their current state and be nothing more, no matter what he, or she, might think to the contrary. It was better to have one close companion than… something more… bloodless and buried in a grave.

  The long, two-masted schooner bobbed on the waves beside them as deckhands dropped a rope ladder. One of the skiff sailors grabbed her trunk, placed it on his shoulder, and climbed up effortlessly.

  "You'd better have that letter from Bela ready for the captain," Leesil said. "He may not be overjoyed at the prospect of stopping for five passengers only to find out two of them, and their dog, are traveling for free."

  She hadn't considered that. "Can you carry Chap and still scale that ladder?"

  He grinned. "You'd be amazed what I can scale."

  "No, I wouldn't," she said frowning. They never talked about his past before they'd met, but during their battle with Rashed and his band, she'd realized Leesil was much more than a vagabond thief. How much more, she was still uncertain.

  "Chap, up!" Leesil barked, and he bent over with his back to the dog.

  Chap vaulted up, and his forelegs hooked over Leesil's shoulders. Leesil quickly climbed the rope ladder with one hand behind his back to support Chap's haunches.

  Once up, he peered over the deck rail and said quite seriously, "Are you ready?"

  "No," Magiere answered,
but she grasped the rope ladder and followed.

  Leesil's poorly hidden enthusiasm drained rapidly over the following four nights.

  As much as he relished the idea of fresh sea air and the rushing wedge of white water slipping past the prow of the wind-bound schooner, sea travel was new to him. By the second midday, the queasiness in his stomach grew to full nausea. Saliva continuously filled his mouth between intermittent dry spells, and food was about as appealing as the slop bucket the cook had just poured over the side. Perhaps there was a reason his mother's people didn't travel.

  He stayed on deck in the open air as much as possible. Eventually the wind would pick up, the ship's rock and lunge would increase, and he would stumble below deck to curl again upon his bunk. All he could do, between heaves, was mope and sulk for the rest of the day. His vision of this journey was a far cry from the reality.

  He'd hoped traveling the open waters with Magiere and altering their routine might present another opportunity to close their distance. Instead of daily matters at hand, there would be the plans, strategies, and tactics that had brought them so close once before. It should've been an opportunity to be off with Magiere, living in inns, eating when and what they could, and sharing days without scheduled responsibilities or mundane tasks of any sort. The old days once again.

  So far, none of this had happened.

  Besides being sick, he was almost reluctant to open his mouth, not knowing what might uncontrollably come out— or up. In addition, their cabin was the size of a closet with two bunks and barely enough floor space for their chest and Chap. It was probably the largest private space for purchase on a small but swift cargo vessel where passengers were an afterthought.

  Leesil looked around the cabin illuminated by one lone lantern hung from a hook in the corner. It swung slowly back and forth, making the shadows undulate in a manner his stomach didn't appreciate.

  When they first saw the cabin, Magiere nearly backed over him trying to leave the room. They'd slept for years out on the road with nothing between them but a campfire. Once, after a fight with an undead and the first emergence of her dhampir nature, he'd sat up all night with her sleeping in his lap to make sure she was warm and recovered by morning. Now she balked at sharing a cabin with him?

  Leesil lay curled on his lower bunk, eyes shut, almost wishing they'd never left Miiska. He felt snuffling near his face, and then something warm and wet dragged across his nose. He opened his eyes. Chap licked his face once more with a soft whine that sounded almost sympathetic. Leesil barely patted the dog's silky head and felt his stomach lurch at the smell of Chap's breath.

  "Oh, hell's abyss!" he groaned. "What've you been eating now?"

  The cabin door slowly creaked open, and Magiere leaned in as if snooping to see if he were asleep. With mild annoyance, he noticed that she appeared to feel fine. Her smooth, pale cheeks showed not the slightest tint of sickly yellow and green undertones.

  "Any better?" she asked.

  He grunted in answer. "How much farther to Bela?"

  "Captain says we could reach port tomorrow if the wind holds. If the wind calms, it might be longer… but he also said you'll probably stay sick either way."

  Oh, merciless saints, how wonderful, Leesil thought.

  Magiere's brows knitted. "I guess some people get seasick and some don't, but once it sets in, apparently it takes a week or more to develop what he calls ‘sea legs' and grow accustomed to the motion." She hesitated in the doorway. "Are you going to sleep? Do you need some time alone?"

  Time alone? What did that mean?

  When he was in the cabin, she'd find a reason to be elsewhere. Really, where else was there to go? The schooner wasn't that big. Then it struck him that she was the one who wanted the cabin to herself, and that filled him with enough anger to quell his nausea. Here he was, sick at the mere thought of food, and all she could think about was her privacy. Leesil rolled off the bunk before his stomach tried to stop him.

  "Where's that coin purse Karlin gave you?" he asked.

  "The coin purse?"

  "Yes, I'm going to buy some wine to settle my stomach—up on deck," he said, then added with barely disguised bitterness, "and you can have the cabin to yourself."

  She frowned, started to respond, and then went to their chest and removed the purse.

  "How much do you need?"

  Anger became incensed outrage, which made his stomach feel worse. So now she wouldn't trust him with their coin?

  "I don't know!" he snapped. "How much do sailors charge at sea for their stash of wine?"

  From her stunned expression, Magiere was plainly confused by his outburst, but if she had the sensitivity of a tree stump, she'd have an inkling that she deserved it. He couldn't believe she was this thickheaded. He snatched the pouch from her, poured a few coins into his hand, and handed it back.

  "For safekeeping," he said, "before I gamble it all away… or worse, drop it over the side while puking up the dinner I haven't even eaten yet."

  "Leesil…" Magiere's own anger began to show. "You're ill, you half-wit, and wine isn't going to help. Just lie back down and rest."

  "Oh, I think wine is an excellent idea." Even with the possibility of retching as a real threat, he swept his arm out as dramatically as space allowed and gave her a shallow bow. "I leave you in peace."

  He pushed past through the narrow door into the small hallway and up the steps to the deck. She didn't follow, but he didn't expect she would.

  Leesil leaned against the rail, one hand clasped tightly around the braid of a rope ladder leading up into the rigging. Nightfall sometimes brought a calmer sea and smoothed the ship's rolling. He breathed in mouthfuls of fresh night air and felt his stomach settle to a low grumble.

  Embarrassment filled his slightly cleared head. Behaving like a peevish child wasn't going to make Magiere wish to spend time with him. Hearing voices, he turned toward the stern.

  Just below the ship's elevated rear squatted four sailors playing cards by lantern light. Now and again, they passed a large gourd, stained dark around the neck from years of wear by rough, sweaty hands. Leesil forgot the lingering seasickness, his mind now better occupied.

  In addition to the lean, weathered captain, the schooner boasted a first mate, eleven hands, and a cabin boy. These four were apparently off duty, and a round or two of cards might be distracting. Leesil walked over but didn't sit down uninvited.

  "I don't suppose there's D'areeling wine in that gourd?" he asked with an overinnocent smile.

  One sailor with a missing ear and only three fingers on his right hand paused and looked up.

  "Of course, and we'll make you a roast pheasant with almond gravy for a late supper."

  The others laughed, but no one asked him to join the game. They sat on small casks or piles of canvas and rope and used an old empty crate for a playing table. One large, off-white sail flexed above them in the breeze.

  This was a rough life, and Leesil had already surmised that most sailors found passengers to be little more than a necessary annoyance, if not an outright inconvenience. However, he knew the most common way to find acceptance at any gaming table, and he gently clinked the coins in his hand.

  "Well, wine or no," he said, "this damned seasickness won't let me rest. Could an honest and sleepless fellow join your game for a while?"

  The sailors exchanged glances, probably thinking him a witless ne'er-do-well riding on some recent rise in fortune. The earless man handed him the gourd.

  "Don't ask what's in it. We make it out of whatever's handy."

  Leesil smiled broadly, playing the fool, and took a long pull on the gourd. He regretted it immediately.

  The liquid burned down his throat and tasted like rancid potatoes. His empty stomach lurched, threatening to expel what he'd just swallowed. The sailors laughed again, and the youngest with salt-crusted blond hair grabbed an empty box and pushed it toward Leesil.

  "You'll get used to it," he said good-naturedly, while shu
ffling the cards. "You play Jack o‘ Knives?"

  Leesil had been playing Jack o‘ Knives when Chap was a pup still peeing on the floor.

  "Hmmm, I may have," he said. "Tell me the rules again?"

  While the rules were explained, he took another long pull on the gourd.

  He lost the first game on purpose with a small bet, and his third pull on the gourd actually made him feel better. The burning lessened, and there was no desire to retch. His head felt lighter, and he suddenly didn't care that Magiere wanted him out of the cabin. Why should he care?

  And he took another gulp.

  He won the second hand, making it look like a spot of luck. No one seemed suspicious, and the one-eared sailor handed him the gourd again. Leesil knew better than to drink while gambling, but whatever was in the gourd drowned some of the nausea. He'd been thrown out of his cabin and deserved a little indulgence.

  His head began to swim, and his fifth hand of cards held nothing of note.

  Leesil decided to bluff, and built the pot up with a few extra coins to scare off those with too little to lose. The youngest sailor called him and took half the money Magiere had given him.

  No matter. He'd just win it back.

  He took another drink from the gourd.

  Alone in the cabin, lying in the lower bunk while Chap dozed on the floor, Magiere puzzled over Leesil's outburst.

  Though he was seasick, he wasn't given to childish fits of temper. He'd snapped at her and stormed out. That wasn't like him.

  He was the type to keep arguing until she wanted to strangle him or stuff a wad of wet wool in his mouth to shut him up. She'd briefly considered following him and then changed her mind. Was he worried about the coming days and too proud to admit it? She quickly rejected that thought. Leesil didn't fear anything he could fight.

  Magiere unbelted her falchion and laid it on the floor next to Chap, who watched her with miserable crystalline eyes.

  "Oh, don't be so tragic," she said. "He's just seasick. He'll be fine once we reach Bela."

  She rolled over and ignored the little voice in the back of her mind.