Revenge

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘And do you still…?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know…get involved with the day to day business yourself?’

  ‘Do I give sex for money, do you mean?’

  Tor blushed and nodded.

  ‘Sometimes, if they’re really handsome.’ She grinned. ‘Rarely,’ she added.

  He cleared his throat. ‘And what of Quist? He does not mind?’

  ‘Mind? No. I told you, Janus is an amazing man. He married me to give me status in this town. His name protects me because people respect and…yes, fear him a little. When he is home, which is not all that often, I am his wife and he my husband. But my life is my own; he does not interfere in my business. The money I earn is mine.’

  Tor shook his head. ‘And what of that rascal, Locky?’

  ‘Oh, he’s wonderful, Tor. He’s thirteen, almost a man. He lives here; the girls adore him, as you might imagine, and he plays up to them ruthlessly. My income means I can afford to educate him. I hired a tutor to teach all our girls to write and read. I think it’s very important; I’ll never forget how much it meant when Captain Margolin helped me with this.’ She sighed, remembering another life. ‘Anyway, Locky is happy, wants to join the Shield when he is of age and is far too clever for his own good sometimes.’

  ‘He was at eight!’

  They both laughed.

  ‘So what will you do then, Tor…about Janus, I mean?’

  It was his turn to shrug. ‘I mean to find him. Will you help me?’

  ‘What has he taken from you that is so important?’

  ‘He stole my bird.’

  She looked incredulous as he pushed on. ‘We have shared much together, that falcon and I. Janus stole him from my friend, Saxon, and said he would sell him in the Exotic Isles for a high price.’

  She nodded. ‘It’s true. Falcons are prized over there. Could you not make a pet of another one if I was able to, shall we say, appropriate one for you?’

  ‘No. It must be Cloot. I’m sorry, Eryn; he’s my companion. I promise you this. When I find your husband, I will not hurt him.’

  Eryn threw her head back and laughed fiercely. ‘Hurt him? Tor, you watch out for yourself. Janus is a fearsome fighter. He is stronger than ten men. I have seen him fight off six on his own, unarmed.’

  ‘There will be no fight,’ he said calmly. ‘I wish him no harm. I just want back what belongs to me.’

  ‘And should he no longer have it?’

  ‘Then he will help me to find it.’

  ‘Tor, there’s something quite arresting about your arrogance. You have changed from the insecure virgin I met.’

  Tor grinned. ‘I had reason to change. But you have not changed at all, Eryn. You are still most direct and very beautiful.’

  He could see she enjoyed the compliment.

  ‘So will you help me?’

  She gave him a puzzled look. ‘How?’

  ‘Tell me where you think Janus might have sailed to and then help me get aboard the next ship sailing there.’

  Eryn took her time. She sipped some wine and stared at the fire. Tor gave her this time. He knew she was weighing up whether such help could be deemed a betrayal of her husband. Finally, she spoke.

  ‘He sailed to Voronin in the Exotic Isles and on to Cipres.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘Three days.’

  ‘And how long will it take me to get there?’

  ‘On a fast ship with kind weather, probably an Eighthday.’

  Tor nodded. ‘Would you know anyone who has a ship like this—one which is in port now?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But The Black Hand, as we call him, is about as nasty a man as you could be unfortunate enough to meet.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances, Eryn. How do I get on board?’

  ‘I can get you on board. He owes me money to begin with and…’

  ‘He wants to stay on the right side of Janus Quist, right?’

  Eryn laughed. ‘Something like that. I believe he’s sailing tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do, Tor, but tonight, what are your plans? Do you have lodgings?’

  He noticed she was fighting a yawn. He kissed her hand. ‘I’m staying at The Anchor.’

  She pulled a face of disgust.

  ‘Yes, a flea-ridden pit, to be sure, but adequate. I can cope.’

  ‘Stay here,’ she said. It was not a suggestion.

  Tor shook his head and stood. ‘No, I won’t impose on our old friendship any further. Thank you for what you may be able to do tomorrow.’

  ‘I absolutely insist, Tor. I can’t let that old rogue at The Anchor take your money. That place is not fit for a dog. Stay here, really. We have plenty of rooms.’

  She knew he was wavering. ‘Perhaps one of the girls has taken your fancy? I noticed how your eyes lingered on Aymee. You might as well enjoy your last night on solid ground. I hear you still enjoy the ladies,’ she said, innocently avoiding his gaze and standing to poke around in the fire.

  ‘Well now, Eryn, how would you hear something like that, living all the way up here?’

  ‘Oh, I kept in touch with your career. Miss Vylet seemed to know plenty about you and was always happy to tell me. You must have had a mutual friend.’

  ‘We did,’ he said, running his hands through his hair.

  She chuckled. ‘You know, you still betray yourself by fidgeting with your hair like that. You used to do that when you were embarrassed.’

  ‘Eryn, just how much did you notice in that short time we spent together?’

  ‘Plenty. What happened, Tor? Before Miss Vylet died, she said you had gone away…on some special royal mission to Ildagarth. I didn’t even know where that was then.’

  ‘I did go there,’ Tor replied, recalling with clarity the moment he had set eyes on his beautiful Alyssa again at Caremboche. ‘And I did not return to the palace or to Tal for a long time.’

  ‘And?’ she said, intrigued now by his wistful, almost regretful air.

  ‘It’s a long story, Eryn,’ he said, sadly.

  ‘May I hear it?’ Her voice was gentle as she sensed his pain.

  ‘Do you have a long time?’

  ‘We have all night. I’m not doing anything special, and I have the most comfortable bed in the whole place…I promise you it won’t break either.’

  Tor did not know whether to laugh at her reference back to their last night together or to be shocked at what she was suggesting.

  ‘I’m not sure I carry enough coin to spend a whole night with the famous Madame Eryna.’ He was tempted to push his hand through his hair but stopped himself just in time.

  She was smiling at him, a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Oh, this one’s on the house, Tor…for old times’ sake.’

  Their lovemaking was passionate and hard. They revelled in rediscovering each other’s bodies, kisses and caresses until Tor fell back onto Eryn’s plump goose-feather cushions, exhausted. This time it was he who snuggled up into her welcoming arms and marvelled at the soft skin of a woman. It was the first time he had touched anything so lovely in so many years; he had forgotten how good for the soul a loving woman could be.

  ‘You are beautiful, Eryn. Thank you,’ he whispered.

  She had never stopped loving him and had always hoped that perhaps one day he might walk back into her life…into her arms. And here he was. Far more worldly now and able to match her in his creative lovemaking, but still so like the lost boy she had chosen as King of the Sea all those years ago. What had happened to make him so sad?

  Tor was stroking her breasts and, despite her mood, she giggled when she realised he was talking to them, telling them how much he admired them.

  ‘It’s lovely to hear you laugh again,’ he said, looking up.

  ‘Tor, it’s your turn to tell me everything. You have a tale—I sense it and I must know it or I shall go mad.’

  She grabbed his thick, dark hair and pulled it hard. Tor smiled ruefully to himself. Old Cyrus was rig
ht. He definitely knew women.

  ‘It is not a pretty tale, Eryn; there are not many laughs to share,’ he warned.

  ‘All the same, I want to hear your ugly story.’

  And so he told her everything. At the end of it, as the first light of sunrise threatened, they hugged each other hard as though they may never let go…and this time they cried together.

  11

  Aboard The Wasp

  Eryn had done well. Understandably amazed and disturbed by Tor’s story, she had vowed never to share a word of it with anyone. After a slow, final helping of Tor’s body, she left to find the captain of The Wasp. Tor did not know what passed between Eryn and Blackhand that day but he was at the Caradoon docks by mid-afternoon, hugging her farewell. She had procured for him a tiny but secure cabin on board The Wasp which was bound for the Exotic Isles.

  ‘How to thank you, Eryn,’ he said, wishing he did not have to say goodbye to this lovely woman again so soon.

  ‘Just keep safe, Tor. Come back and find your Alyssa. You deserve to be together.’

  He tried to lighten her sombre mood. ‘Ah…and I thought you were hoping I’d stay safe so I could come back to you.’ He found his very best smile and used it.

  ‘Your heart belonged to her first, and…’ she added, very sadly now as she looked at her boots, ‘I suspect it always will.’

  A young lad scampered up to them, a seasoned member of the crew by the look of his badly windburned face. ‘Captain Blackhand is anxious to set sail, sir. You will have to come aboard now.’ He did not wait for a reply.

  ‘Please, Eryn, cheer up. I can’t leave you so maudlin.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, mustering a smile. ‘Last night was lovely. I’m glad you stayed.’

  ‘Er…you won’t be mentioning it to your husband, will you?’ he said, feigning anxiety and at this she did manage a genuine grin.

  ‘Just another paying guest, Tor. No one will be any the wiser. By the way, there’s a surprise on board from me.’

  He looked at her quizzically but there was no more time. Someone whistled loudly from the deck which meant they were serious about departing. Tor could linger no longer so he kissed her lips, squeezed her hand and walked up the gangplank.

  The pirate known as The Black Hand had won his curious nom de guerre as a result of the forty-three withered hands tied to the main mast of his ship, The Wasp. These were his prizes from the men and two women whom he felt had slighted him seriously enough to lose this precious part of their body. He proudly showcased his spoils to Tor, precisely recalling which hand had belonged to whom and why they lost it. Captain Blackhand, as he had come to be known, used this treasure as a ghoulish reminder to all who sailed with him, and especially those who did not, that he was a man to be reckoned with.

  Almost as tall as Tor and twice as broad, he was an imposing figure, loud of voice with a mouth filled with yellowed teeth and bleeding gums. His breath stank so his crew gave him a wide berth whenever they could. He knew this and used his ailment to intimidate them further. Tor weaved a silent spell to counter the stench and Captain Blackhand was surprised when his new ‘guest’, as he called him, did not recoil the moment he stepped within a foot of him.

  The same boy sailor who had called Tor for departure came to his cabin with a terse message from Blackhand.

  ‘Captain hopes you’ll take supper with him tonight, sir,’ was all he said before disappearing hurriedly.

  Well, I simply can’t wait for that treat, Tor thought, as he imagined the bleeding mouth of the captain leering at him across the table.

  He looked around the airless cabin, wondering what the surprise from Eryn could be. She had done more than enough for him already. Her disquiet at his tale had left them both silent towards morning. She had not doubted any of what he had told her, but he had carefully crafted the story. It would do her no good to know of his sentient abilities and so he had been careful to leave out anything which would be inexplicable without the magical component. And she knew nothing of his public execution. Miss Vylet, Eryn’s source of information, had died before it occurred and Tor was glad that news of the famous physic’s death had not reached as far north as Caradoon.

  To Eryn’s ears, it was a tragic tale of love lost, found and brutally taken away again. It appealed to her romantic soul and she drank in his words like sweet wine. He did not like hiding the truth from her but knew that it would not help her to know the full extent of his history. It might even harm her.

  Eryn, he realised, lived in a cocoon. All trade was carried out off shore; the pirates never brought home their spoils, only the proceeds of them. The revenue was ploughed straight back into Caradoon’s economy and, with good arable soil surrounding most of it, the pirate town was able to function virtually autonomously from the rest of the Kingdom. Tor had wondered how this could occur, but as Eryn had explained, why scratch at what does not itch. It had taken him a moment to work out her odd logic but then he realised that Tal probably found it more convenient to observe from a distance. Caradoon operated as a very tiny separate duchy might, and providing its dubious population and their ways did not seep further south, why try to police this northern state from such a great distance?

  ‘But what of the slaves?’ Tor had asked. ‘From where are they sourced?’

  Eryn had shrugged. ‘Well, not from here and hardly from Tallinor. Most come from the fragmented, tiny islands of the south west which are, as I understand it, linked by shallow waterways. Janus says they are nomadic people who live by moving between these islands. They are not aggressive, which makes them easy to capture.’

  A knock on the cabin door interrupted Tor’s thoughts.

  ‘Come in,’ he called, turning.

  A rangy lad stepped into the room. He was of middling height, around thirteen summers, with a thatch of unruly dark hair.

  He grinned broadly. ‘Remember me?’

  Tor looked puzzled. ‘I can’t say I do,’ he said, after a pause.

  Green eyes regarded him with mirth. ‘A ship on fire…a brothel…three dukes and—’

  ‘Locky!’ Tor exclaimed. ‘Light, boy, look at you.’

  Eryn’s cocky brother showed off his best profile. ‘Handsome, eh?’

  ‘And modest,’ Tor added, before grabbing the boy’s hand. ‘It’s good to see you, Locky. Eryn has told me so much about you.’

  The boy smirked. ‘I’m surprised she found the time,’ he said, eyebrows arching.

  Tor had forgotten how direct the small child of eight had been. The boy of thirteen had not lost the smart mouth; he was simply taller. But Tor was taller still and he used this now to good effect.

  ‘Being disrespectful towards your sister is rather ignoble of you, considering that it is her wealth—no matter how she has earned it—which has allowed you to look forward to being an educated man with choices.’

  It was a rare occasion when Locky Gylbyt was speechless. But he was now.

  Tor had not finished; he surprised himself at how angry he sounded. ‘Furthermore, she is an exceptional woman with more sophistication and intelligence than you would find in all the whorehouses of Tallinor put together. Honour her, Locky, for she is worth every ounce of your respect.’

  That hurt the boy, Tor could tell. He knew deep down that Locky was simply being witty but he was not in the mood for it. Seeing Eryn again had reminded him of how much pleasure a woman could bring to a man’s life. The physical benefit was obvious, but he could not remember a time since those early halcyon days in the Heartwood, newly married and deeply in love with Alyssa, when he had enjoyed such companionship. His friendship with Cloot was something else—they had shared their bodies more intimately than anyone could imagine possible—but to hold a woman close, to laugh with her, to hear her thoughts and to love her…it was as though one had glimpsed the paradise of the gods.

  And now, as he accepted the uncomfortable fact of sailing with Blackhand for at least an Eighthday on a long and tedious voyage to who know
s what, and suffering the cramped and stifling conditions of this cabin…well, Locky just happened to be a convenient target for Tor’s bad temper that afternoon.

  ‘Tor, I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘I know you didn’t. It’s all right. Don’t dwell on it, just try and remember—when you are insulting someone, be sure they really deserve it.’

  ‘I will. Again, my apologies.’

  Tor watched him close the door quietly and instantly regretted the incident. He would have to make it up to Locky later. He knew his heavy handling was an over-reaction; he was worried about Cloot and concerned at how Alyssa would react to the news of Goth being alive. He was anxious that in chasing down Janus Quist, he may have let his real enemy slip through his fingers. Where would Goth run to? Tor asked himself over and again. Would he stay with Xantia? The questions tumbled around until he could stand it no longer and decided to head out onto the deck.

  There he found Blackhand’s second mate speaking to the crew. The Wasp’s sails were being swelled by a handy late afternoon wind, which ensured that she cut swiftly through the narrow pass and out into the open sea. Tor leaned against the rail and half listened to the mate briefing the men. The Wasp’s first stop would be a rendezvous with Blackhand’s first mate at one of the uncharted islands of the Trefel archipelago. Here slaves would be boarded before they made for Cipres, the capital of the Exotic Isles.

  Tor had vaguely heard of Cipres, an immensely wealthy city ruled by a Queen Sylven. Merkhud had once told him that it was rumoured she kept a harem of men to ‘service her needs’. Tor remembered how they had both smirked at the thought of it. Nevertheless, Cipres was a powerful city within a powerful nation run by a powerful woman. It demanded respect, even though it was involved in only minor trade with Tallinor.

  ‘There’s talk of storms coming through,’ the deputy finished. ‘We must be especially alert.’

  The ship’s boy, Ryk, who had summoned Tor aboard earlier, sidled up to him.