Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2)

by Seth Skorkowsky

  Sea of Quills

  Tales of the Black Raven 2

  Seth Skorkowsky

  © 2015

  Cover Artwork by Alex Raspad | alexraspad.deviantart.com

  Cover Design by Shawn T. King

  Copy Editor Amanda Shore

  All rights reserved. The author and publisher have made this eBook available to you without Digital Rights Management (DRM) software. This eBook is intended for use only on your personal devices. This eBook or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  Worldwide Rights

  Created in the United States of America

  Published by Ragnarok Publications | www.ragnarokpub.com

  Editor-In-Chief: Tim Marquitz | Creative Director: J.M. Martin

  Thank you for purchasing this Ragnarok Publications eBook.

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  This book is dedicated to the woman who has always encouraged me to dance to my own tune and embrace my imagination. I love you, Mom.

  Contents

  Temptation’s Proposal

  Washed Ashore

  Treasure of Bogen Helm

  City beneath the Kaisers

  The Noble Hunter

  The Blossom of Eternity

  The Second Gift

  The Gilded Noose

  The Raven’s Cage

  About the Author

  Sea of Quills

  Tales of the Black Raven 2

  Temptation’s Proposal

  COLD WIND SWEPT THROUGH the city, casting dried leaves and debris along the narrow streets. Wooden shutters rattled against the sudden blast, their owners sheltered inside from the nightly chill. The few people that ventured out, hurried, huddled inside wrapped cloaks. Whores stalked the more populated districts, competing for the scarce game. Beggars circled tiny fires of rotted wood, and stray dogs crawled beneath buildings and homes to escape the biting elements.

  Keeping alert for any wandering guards, Ahren slunk through the Noble District. Clomping hooves echoed up the cobblestones, and a blue carriage turned onto the lane. Another frigid gust billowed his black cloak as he tucked into an empty alleyway. He made his way through the narrow passages and stopped beside a gray, stone wall. Ahren glanced back. No one was around. He rubbed his hands briskly to heighten their sensitivity and climbed up. Stopping at the top, he peered over. The small courtyard lay silent. With one quick motion, he swung over the side and dropped to the gardens below.

  Pale statues populated the yard. Crouching behind a marble woman, he watched silhouettes move past the windows of Count Prystin’s palatial house. Ahren brushed off the dirt and leaves, unclasped his cloak, and flipped it over to expose black velvet. From under his brocade doublet, he removed a bundle and unwrapped a silver and ivory-colored mask.

  Music poured from an open doorway. A pair of men in painted masks stepped out. Ducking into the shadows, Ahren slipped on the paper-mâché mask and pulled the velvet hood up. He drew a deep breath, raised himself straight, then strode confidently across the yard and entered through one of the open doors.

  Laughter and glasses tinkled beneath the music filling the massive hall. Masked guests talked, drank, and danced across the inlaid floors. White-masked servants, dressed in orange vests and pantaloons, navigated the crowd, carrying silver, drink-laden trays. Ahren took a wine stem from a passing waiter and casually made his way across the ballroom. The swept-forward mouth of the full-face mask forced Ahren to tip his head back to drink. The last time Ahren infiltrated a party, he’d posed as one of the faceless servants. Uncomfortable shoes, scratchy uniform. Being a guest was far more enjoyable. He meandered toward a long table covered with steaming dishes and bowls of sweetmeats.

  Their host had spared no expense for his masque. The count held great reputation for throwing the finest parties. But unbeknown to his guests, his reputation as the biggest smuggler in Southern Rhomanny was well-known to the Tyenee, the criminal syndicate whose fingers spread across all of Delakurn and to whom Ahren owed his allegiance. Word had spread that Count Prystin was expecting a large shipment of Mercińan gold. The messenger bringing the captain’s directions to where the cargo would be hidden for pickup was coming tonight, and Ahren’s job was to intercept it.

  “The Lord and Lady Tchailchev,” a masked servant called as a man and woman stepped through the foyer.

  Scanning the crowd, Ahren spotted their host in a red and gold cloak and elaborate, gem-encrusted mask. The count talked with a trio of noblemen, yet his eyes seemed to search the room from beneath his mask.

  “Pytor Mlykrev,” the chamberlain announced from the door. His voice held the resonant inflection as if every person he called were the most important in the world.

  The count’s attention immediately shot toward the slender man in an unimpressive green doublet and lemon-colored mask stepping inside. His worn and simple boots revealed he was no gentleman. Ahren wove closer as the count broke away from his guests and approached the newcomer. They spoke briefly and then headed up the sweeping staircase to the second floor.

  Ahren slipped a candied nut under the mask and into his mouth while watching the two men turn down a hallway toward the count’s office. The messenger had arrived. It was time to work. Setting his glass down, Ahren casually climbed the wide staircase. The Tyenee had learned that the count’s messages were cryptograms. Ahren would need to steal both the note and the key to reading it in order to locate the drop off.

  “Baron Skerkyv and Guest,” the announcer called.

  Unsure why, Ahren looked back to see the new arrivals. A plump man with a gaudy mask featuring a golden, curled moustache strode inside. On his arm, a slender woman dressed in frosty blues and white walked beside him. With a tiger’s grace, she stepped down into the main room and glided through the crowd. Despite her mask, a feeling of recognition struck him. As she turned to face a man speaking to her escort, Ahren spied the silken, auburn curls down her back, forcing him to admit his suspicions. Is it her?

  Two years had passed since their paths had last crossed. The world knew her as Polnoch, the mysterious assassin and thief who signed every kill with a glass stiletto. Until Nadjancia, no one had seen her face. No one even knew if she was a man or woman. But after ambushing him and leaving him helpless on a brothel floor at the feet of his dead employer, Polnoch had revealed herself to Ahren and Ahren alone. Karolina. He’d tracked her down, but again, she’d escaped, that time with his consent.

  Fascinated, Ahren descended back into the ballroom, watching the woman weave through the masked guests like a fox among hens. Unrivaled. Unstoppable. He crossed the floor, shadowing her behind the crowd. Count Prystin’s messenger no longer interested him. If Polnoch was truly there, the danger had escalated tenfold. The job could wait. He had to be sure.

  Dancers moved in concentric rings through the ballroom center. The mysterious woman and the pudgy gentleman stepped in to join. Intent, Ahren watched her. Moving with the minstrels’ music, she floated between men, twirling and bowing as she switched to the next partner. Ahren’s eyes were hardly the only ones to notice her. Yearning glances darted in her direction from the corners of men’s masks. So focused was Ahren’s attention he barely noticed the white-masked waiter offer him refreshment.

  The song drew to its close, but the woman stayed. The musicians began again,
and Ahren stepped in to join. He took the hand of a golden-haired woman dressed in sea green and violet. Hand in hand, they slowly circled the marble dance floor. A bell tinged, and they spun away in opposite directions into the hands of their new partners. Fighting the urge to watch her as she passed, Ahren bided his time. Partners changed again, bringing her closer. The next bell would bring them face to face.

  The tiny bell chimed, and Ahren caught the mysterious woman’s hands. They danced. Her vivid green eyes were all the confirmation he needed. He breathed deep, cursing his full mask for denying him her smell. Her soft lips pursed, as if a question lingered behind them. Did she recognize him?

  “What is your name, good sir?” she asked, her sultry voice low.

  “Count Eichefurt,” Ahren replied. “And who does me the great honor of this dance?”

  “Natasha,” she replied through a coy smile.

  They circled the floor, hand in hand. Memories of her touch, her lips, her skin, coursed through his body. The minstrels held the bell ready when she met his eyes again.

  “You have the hands of a sailor.”

  Ahren’s stomach cinched. She knew.

  The bell rang, and she spun from his grasp and into the hands of a black-haired youth. Ahren continued to dance. There were too many witnesses for her to act. As long as they both remained in the open, nothing would happen. A single question burned in his mind. How long has she known?

  The song drew to a close, and the minstrels immediately began into another. The group dissolved into pairs. Karolina continued to dance with her young, well-built partner. Ahren circled toward them, watching the young man’s pitiful attempts to impress a woman far beyond anything he could have imagined.

  He set his hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Do you mind?”

  The black-haired gentleman turned to him, an insulted glare gleaming in his dark eyes.

  Before he could reply, she ran a delicate finger across his square jaw. “No fear, Serlet. Count Eichefurt is an old acquaintance of mine.” Her fingertip kissed his lower lip. “I promise you the next dance.”

  The young man pulled her hand to his lips. “I look forward to it.” He gave Ahren a curt nod and walked away.

  “So,” Ahren said, taking her hand into his. “Here we are.”

  “Indeed.” She placed her hand on his shoulder, and together, they danced. “Tell me, what brings you here?”

  “I would never pass up one of Count Prystin’s legendary masques.”

  She grinned. “I’m sure the count would consider one as renowned as the Black Raven a prized guest.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Tell me, Ahren,” she whispered, pulling herself closer. “What are you up to?”

  Tightening his grip along her waist, he cursed the thick corset for denying him her softness. “You know I can’t tell you, Karolina.”

  Her pink lips twitched at the sound of her real name. “Then that means you’re still fetching for the Tyenee. Pity. Such talent wasted being their dog.”

  “The Tyenee made me the Black Raven. Before them, I was just a thieving sailor.” He twirled her.

  “No, lover,” she purred. “They might have opened your eyes, but you have made the man you are. A great man.”

  Ahren chuckled at the compliment. A great man. He imagined the words emblazoned on one of his many reward posters. “So,” he said, keeping his voice low. “What mischief’s brought you here?”

  “Unlike you, I have no need for secrets.” She motioned her head toward the hefty man who had brought her. “Baron Skerkyv. They say his family has ten times the wealth it claims.”

  Ahren eyed the brightly-dressed nobleman, chatting with a blond man in a mother-of-pearl mask. The baron’s gold wire moustache wobbled with every nod and gesture. “It’s not like you to go through such effort. With the night ruby, you could go invisible, steal his money, and no one would ever have seen you. Why the charade?”

  “Do you honestly think he’d just keep it lying around?” Her emerald eyes glittered with amusement. “Trust earns more than daggers. Although I fear the good baron is more interested in one of the servant boys than me.”

  “I find it difficult to imagine someone could prefer another over you.”

  Karolina smiled. “Nevertheless, the past few weeks with him have been luxurious. He’s given me more jewels in gifts than I could normally steal in three months.” She twirled again. “However, if you ever left the Tyenee… I always said we’d be magical together. Just you and I.” The music slowed, and the dance ended.

  “You know I can’t do that. No one ever leaves the Tyenee.” He bowed. “We can talk some more after your next dance.”

  She curtsied. “I look forward to it, Count Eichefurt.”

  The young gentleman strode across the dance floor, claiming his next dance before any other rivals stepped in. Ahren nodded graciously to him and melted back into the party as the musicians started again. Weaving through the crowd of prattling guests, he spied Count Prystin sharing a drink with a slender man in a long-nosed mask. Ahren headed back up the wide staircase, stopping momentarily to confirm Karolina was still occupied with her enamored wooer. He only had a few precious minutes until the song ended.

  Keeping his pace casual, Ahren followed the hallway toward the count’s office. The hall turned again, and he stopped before a mirror-polished oak door. He glanced back, verifying he was alone, then checked the handle. Locked.

  Ahren removed a rolled doeskin from his back and unfolded an assortment of tools and shims. He examined the lock, selected a suitable pair of flat-wire picks, and slid them into the keyhole. The minstrels’ violin wafted from the floor below, racing against him. The lock clicked, and Ahren slipped inside.

  Smoke from freshly extinguished candles hung in the air. Moonlight spilled in through large, arched windows, casting pale illumination through the quiet room. Against the wall, a figure stood waiting. Ahren froze.

  He let out a sigh, realizing it not more than an antique suit of armor. Ahren hurried to the massive desk before the window and scoured the drawers. He flipped through a leather-bound log, finding a folded letter nestled between the pages. Opening it, he saw indecipherable code composed of blocky and clear letters written in concentric rings around an open circle with three red dots at the center. Ahren had the message but still needed the count’s cipher in order to read it.

  Faint music still permeated through the closed door, but he was running out of time. Frantically, he searched the bookcases along the wall. He checked a silver box atop the mantle, the underside of the count’s desk and chairs, even inside the empty armor watching over the room. Nothing. Please say he isn’t carrying it on him.

  Calming himself with a deep breath, Ahren scanned the room again. An oval painting of a woman hung above the fireplace. He looked behind it, even checking the backside of the canvas. Nothing. A framed map of the city rested above a hideous floral pattern couch along the opposite wall. As the other, he found nothing behind it. Ahren turned to face the room again and spied a tiny keyhole set in the side of the bookcase beside him. Excitement mounting, he inspected the case to discover that a section could swing out like a door.

  Ahren removed his tools and easily picked the simple lock. He pulled it open, revealing a set of shallow shelves nestled in the hidden space behind. Folded documents and jeweled trinkets dominated the hidden cache. A flat, wooden box rested alone atop the highest shelf. Inside, Ahren found a brass disk composed of four moving rings around a central hub adorned with a blood-red stone. Removing it from its velvet lining, Ahren held it up to see a small hole punched through three of the moving rings, all engraved with random letters, words, and numbers. Time was precious, but he had to be sure.

  Placing the coded note on the desk, Ahren set the disk in the center and slid the rings until they aligned with the crimson dots. A small point protruded from the outmost brass ring. Rotating it around the cryptogram’s letters, he could decipher their meaning. Relief coursed dow
n his body. Ahren quickly slipped the parchment and key into pouch at his back and removed a black feather. He returned to the hidden shelves and placed the quill atop the key’s box with a grin.

  As he reached to close the bookshelf door, a sharp point dug into his neck.

  “What are you doing, lover?” Karolina whispered behind him.

  Ahren hadn’t heard the study door open. How long had the dance been over? “I’ve found the count’s hidden documents. The Tyenee plan to blackmail him.”

  “Hmmm,” she purred in his ear. “But that’s not what you stole. What is the brass disk for?”

  Damn. She’d been in the room for some time. “It’s a sentimental trinket the count stole from an old business partner after backing from a deal,” he said plainly. “My job is to take it to prove a point.”

  “And that point is?” The night ruby clacked inside her mouth with every word, making her invisible whenever her lips closed around it.

  “No man is invincible.”

  “True. Unlike your story. The Tyenee would never send their best thief after just a worthless bauble. The Tyenee’s edict for failure is death, an idiotic and extreme punishment that not even their precious Ahren is immune to.” The weapon poised, she moved her free hand around to his chest. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Ahren. But your masters force you to lie to me. How could I ever trust you as long as you belong to them?” Her fingers slid down his doublet then under his cloak to the pouch at his back.

  “Karolina,” he said, moving his hand toward hers. A sharp stab in his throat cut him off. A trickle of blood slowly rolled down his neck from where the weapon tip had broken the skin. He felt her remove the message and the cipher. “Stop.”

  “No, lover.”