Ahren crept to the tall window behind the bed. He opened the shutters and leaned out to see the neighboring window eight feet away. Jutting, brown timbers ran the length of the building along the second and third floors. Two of the short studs protruded in the distance between the rooms. Carefully, Ahren crawled out the window and stepped down onto the exposed beam. His vision blurred. He felt faint. Not yet. Focus. Clutching the wall, he closed his eyes and forced the sensation to pass. He moved across to the second three-inch ledge and grabbed hold of the window frame of the other room.
“Regardless,” Zanjro said. “The rest of the cargo is inconsequential. Did you bring me what I asked?”
“Of course.”
Ahren leapt and swung himself through the open window into the room. The two men jerked their heads around in surprise, and Ahren ripped the sword from his baldric. “Shh,” he hissed, closing the distance to them. “Call for help, and you’ll be dead before the door even opens.”
“Who in Sai—” Zanjro sputtered, but Ahren cut him off.
“Quiet.” He softly slid the bar across the door and took an empty chair at the table. “Remember me, Captain?” he asked, pulling the medallion out from under his shirt.
Oleos gave an impressed grin while Zanjro’s angry scowl went slack.
Keeping his gaze and blade affixed on the two men, Ahren motioned to the crystal vial on the table. “You know who I represent. I’ve come for what's ours.”
“I don’t know who you are,” Zanjro spat, his eyes narrowing, “but I don’t answer to Raul or his foreign errand boy.”
Ahren’s glare hardened. He sat up straighter despite the seething pain. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”
The fat man’s face flushed red. “You’re a dead man.”
“I doubt that.” Ahren grinned. “The captain can tell you how difficult I am to kill.”
Oleos sat silent, studying the two men.
“Even if you do kill me,” Ahren continued, “I’m not alone. The Tyenee’s wrath knows no borders. We exist everywhere. Retribution is inescapable.”
“Enough!” Zanjro yelled. “Arieo, Miguel: intruder!”
The door shook against the beam holding it shut. Shouts of alarm came from outside as the fists and shoulders pounded the locked door.
“Captain,” Ahren continued, ignoring the growing commotion. “I survived your attack. I tracked you across Mercińa in mere days and infiltrated your secret meeting. You know my threat is true. We will find you.”
The door boomed as shoulders slammed into the other side.
Ahren raised his voice. “Side with him, and you’re a dead man. But work for us, and you’ll reap our rewards.”
“Oleos!” Zanjro shouted, jumping to his feet. “This man is nothing. He—”
Ahren sprung up, jabbing his rapier tip under the fat man’s sweaty chin. “Sit down!” He held the blade firmly in place as Zanjro quickly obeyed.
Wood cracked as something smashed against the door.
“Your reputation has earned you an invitation into our fold,” Ahren continued, keeping the sharp tip against the fence’s neck. “It is offered just once. Refusal means accepting your sin and fate for crossing us. All the Tyenee ask is loyalty.”
A board in the door broke loose. Shadows swarmed through the crack as the men outside surged against it.
“Don’t listen to him!” Zanjro screamed.
“Do you accept?” Ahren yelled over the riotous assault.
The door bar splintered, threatening to give way.
Oleos glanced to the failing barricade then tore a hidden blade out from under his arm and lunged across the table. Bracing for the attack, Ahren pulled himself away. The slender blade plunged into Zanjro’s wide eye and buried deep into his head. Quivering, the fat man slumped backward and fell to the floor.
The bar exploded in two, and the door burst open. Six men spilled inside shoulder to shoulder, their weapons drawn. Their gaze fell on the dead man trembling on the floor in a pool of blood and piss. They looked to Ahren.
“Your master is dead,” Oleos said, turning to the two bodyguards in the mob. “No one will pay you for vengeance.”
The two thugs slinked back.
“Captain,” Jorge, the monstrous pirate, asked. “What…”
“I’m fine.” He glanced to Ahren then back to his men. “Close the door until our negotiation is finished.” The men didn’t move. “Go!” he commanded.
Ahren swallowed as the door shut, leaving him again alone with the pirate captain. They sat quiet for several moments before he spoke. “You won’t regret this decision, Captain.”
Oleos’ lip curled. “We will see.”
Ahren picked up the small, heavy vial. The green eldosia inside shimmered in the lamplight. “If you’ll excuse me, I must verify its authenticity.”
The captain nodded.
Setting his hand on the table, Ahren drew his blade quick across the back. Blood slowly welled up and ran down between his closed fingers. He laid the blade aside and unstoppered the crystal bottle. A long glass rod extended down from the cork. Its bottom bent up into a tiny ladle holding a large bead of the metallic green liquid. Careful not to spill it, he tipped the glass spoon and poured the precious fluid onto his hand. The mercury-like bead rolled across his skin and down into the fresh cut. A cold sensation flowed up his arm, and a citrus-metallic tang filled his mouth. The emerald liquid vanished into the wound, healing the cut behind it. Small scrapes and scars along his arm faded and vanished. Ahren closed his eyes as he felt the elixir course through his body. The stinging pain from his stomach numbed as the infected wound healed. He felt the color return to his face, and he opened his eyes, feeling more refreshed than he ever had. Smells he hadn’t noticed tingled his senses. He heard everything in the barroom and through the window outside. Even his vision seemed sharper.
“Are you satisfied?” Oleos asked.
Pulling his attention back to room, Ahren restoppered the vial. “Yes.”
The captain gave an amused smile. “Clever. I hadn’t realized how near death you were until it was gone.” He nodded to Zanjro’s body lying still on the floor. “Things might have gone different had I known.”
Ahren grinned. “Then it was good for both of us that you didn’t.”
Oleos traced his bloodied finger down his black moustache then gestured to an open coffer beside the table. Gold and sparkling jewelry filled the squat, iron-bound box. “Take anything you want. Consider it an apology for our first meeting.”
Remembering the fair widow who had saved him and the familiar gray wolf that would inevitably escort him back her house, Ahren spied a pale sapphire and gold necklace nestled in the open chest. “Thank you.” He stood. “Our man Raul in Zararisas will have work for you. Obviously, none of your crew can know of our agreement, but I’m sure you will find it to your advantage.”
“I’m sure.” Rising to his feet, Oleos extended his hand. “I never heard your name.”
“Call me Black Raven,” Ahren said, grasping the captain’s rough hand. “Welcome to the Tyenee.”
Treasure of Bogen Helm
“LOOKING FOR SOME COMPANY?” A whore leaned out over a brothel’s railing with a necklace of pink shells dangling just above her corseted breasts. “A handsome man as you shouldn’t be alone.”
Ahren smiled. “Not tonight, love.” He continued down the hard-packed road leading through the harbor district. Illuminated by the dozens of lamps in and around the calm bay, The Vorsehung sat ready for sail. For two days, her crew had prepared for the voyage. Unlike the other vessels in Dammlir’s shipping fleet, the small schooner was not carrying cargo. Instead, the docksmen loaded her with picks, shovels, and only enough food to last twenty men three weeks. Soon, she’d set sail for her unknown destination. But not before Ahren left for it too. He just needed to know where that was.
Turning at Adelmo’s Point, a stone obelisk dedicated to lost sailors, Ahren headed up the paved road into the city. Shops
and taverns bustled with travelers and sailors just arrived in Caldin Port. People hooted and yelled as a bar fight spilled out onto the street. Ahren wove past the commotion of smashing fists and shattering bottles and continued deeper into the city. Tambourine and fiddle music called from a narrow side street, and Ahren followed it to a small square where a band of gypsies played beside a stone well. He circled around to a dark niche outside the square, out of any pickpocket’s reach, and watched the musicians’ show.
As he listened to the quick-paced music, he remembered back on his first meeting with Edeline Strounet.
A relaxing breeze had swept through the open windows of Ziekmun’s Mercantile, bringing with it the seductive smells from the neighboring bakery. The bell above the door had jingled as a slender blonde in a rich, sea-green dress stepped inside.
Garvyn, the shop owner, stood. “Miss Strounet.” He gestured to Ahren beside him. “This is the man I spoke of. Ahren, this is Edeline Strounet.”
Ahren nodded. “Fraulein.”
Her frosty blue eyes studied him through a warm smile. “A pleasure. Mister Ziekmun has assured me you are the man for the task.”
Garvyn quickly ushered them upstairs to a private room, away from curious ears. Ahren poured each of them a glass of Riesling that the shop owner had provided. She sipped it quietly, her gaze still probing him. Ahren noted a small fray on the hem of her sleeve. Her silver pendant, while pretty, was beneath what a woman of her manner would normally wear.
After several long seconds, she spoke. “What has Mister Ziekmun told you?”
“That you are the daughter of the Strounet Shipping family, a once powerful company until your father’s passing three years ago.” Ahren sipped his wine. Her reaction told him nothing. “And that you have need of a burglar for a potentially very profitable fortune.”
“Did he mention that my grandfather worked with the Tyenee for nearly twenty years before his death?”
“No.”
She smiled. “A good percentage of the Strounet fortune came from smuggling. When my grandfather grew too old to continue, my father tried very hard to legitimize the business, and until his death, we were the largest merchant family in Caldin.” The blond woman sighed. “Unfortunately, my brother was not so capable. Within two years, bad management and a love of dice nearly bankrupted us. He died in a duel with one of his debtors but not before I watched him sell our remaining ships and family home to our business rival Otto Dammlir.”
Ahren studied the beautiful woman as she shared her tale. Despite his assumption a prideful lady would be ashamed of such events, she showed no discomfort in it. “That is an unfortunate story. It appears you, unlike your father, have no scruples in a den of thieves. How may the Tyenee assist you?”
Edeline gave a coy smile and finished her glass in one swig then refilled it before Ahren could even offer. “My grandfather amassed a sizable fortune over his life. So much that he kept a large portion hidden. Stored away in case of thieves or if the house burned down. Or just in case he needed to make a quick escape, he’d have enough to set his family comfortably somewhere else. Fortunately, he never needed it. So it stayed hidden.”
“Then why not use it?”
She bit her lip. “My grandfather died before telling anyone where it was. In the last few months of his life, I asked him several times. He’d merely pointed to a map painted on his office wall and say, ‘Up there.’”
“What was the map?” Ahren asked.
“The coastline showing all the shipping routes. Nothing more. But before he died, he gave me this.” Edeline removed an eight-inch brass triangular rod from under her corset and handed it to him.
Square cutouts notched the sharp edges along the hollow shaft. An ornately flat loop adorned one end. “Quellish?”
She nodded. “They make the finest locks in all of Delakurn.”
He turned it over, noticing more notches inside the hollow tube running the key’s length. No tools in Ahren’s extensive arsenal could come close to picking such a lock. “Must have cost him a fortune.”
The young woman’s eyes gleamed. “Just imagine the fortune it must protect.”
“But you don’t know where it is.” He offered her back the key. “And a key without a lock is useless.”
“That’s what brings me here.” Edeline tucked the key away. “While I might no longer live in my grandfather’s house, I keep contact with the servants who still do. Four weeks ago, while cleaning a suit of armor in one of the halls, a maid noticed unusual cutouts along the back of the helm. When she showed it to her master, he quickly took it to the office. The next day, he summoned his son, Rosston, and one of the ship captains.”
Ahren finished his wine. “What were the cutouts?”
“She didn’t know. I asked if they were words, but even though she can’t read, she assured me they weren’t. They were shaped like dots and squiggles.”
“And you think it says where your family treasure is hid?”
She nodded. “That suit of armor stood in my grandfather’s office since I was a child. My father had it moved to a different part of the house when he took over. I’m sure those marks are the key to reading the map.”
“Does Dammlir know of the treasure?” He refilled his glass.
“Of course he does. Most consider the stories of Old Man Strounet’s treasure to be sailor yarns. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have lost our fortune. But Dammlir has to believe it; otherwise, he wouldn’t be readying the Vorsehung the same day it returned from Lichthafen.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips. “But without the key, it’s useless to him. And I have that. And I’d rather share it with the Tyenee than with a bastard like Otto Dammlir.”
Ahren leaned back into his chair. “And for a share of the fortune, you need us to find out where it is?”
“Precisely.”
The nighttime performers closed their set. A buck-toothed gypsy girl with bells on her ankles approached Ahren, still watching from the shadows. He dropped a pair of silver sasiks into her cup and waited as the musicians packed their instruments. Once they had left, Ahren casually strolled toward the well and glanced around. No one was out. In the gap between two of the buildings, he could see the rooftop of Dammlir’s imposing house three blocks away. Pulling the damp rope wound around the winch, he lowered the bucket into the unseen water below. He continued unwinding until it stopped.
Squeaks approached from one of the lanes, and Ahren looked back to see a gray-haired woman pushing a weathered cart. She paid him not even a glance as she crossed the small square and continued down the road. As the squeaks faded off, he looked around one last time then swung his legs up onto the well, grabbed the thick rope, and lowered himself down.
Mildew’s stink permeated the shaft. The thatch well covering above blocked out most light, and Ahren could barely see the mortared stones lining the walls two feet on every side. The rope creaked and swayed as he climbed down. He needed to work quickly, before some passerby might notice. Eyeing the lip above, Ahren judged himself about twelve feet down. Carefully, he released one hand and felt the cold stones around him.
#
“Breaking into that house won’t be easy. I’ve seen it before.” Ahren took a healthy gulp of wine. “Your grandfather’s fear of thieves is apparent. It’s a fortress.”
Edeline brushed a wisp of golden hair from her face and smiled. “But there’s another way.”
#
Ahren’s fingers found a smooth crevice in one of the rocks that he could curl his fingers in like a handle. He felt a few inches higher and located a small slit between two of the stones. Squeezing his knees tight against the rope, he removed a dagger from his belt and slipped the blade into the narrow slot. He pushed the blade, but it only swung him out. Ahren drove his weight into the handle, driving it deeper until he felt it click. The rope creaked again under its strain as Ahren pressed against the hard wall. Stone ground on stone and then gave way as a small door fell open. He grabbed onto the edge and cr
awled through.
“My grandfather knew that moving his goods in and out of the house could draw too much attention,” Edeline had said. “So he devised another way. The locals praised him when he commissioned a new well to be dug on the outskirts of a poorer neighborhood. But they didn’t know about a tunnel he had built leading from his house to the well. Through it, he would transport his merchandise to buyers pretending to draw water.” She chuckled. “Arieth only knows how much riches have gone up and down that bucket.”
The tunnel on the other side of the door opened up enough for Ahren to stand. Blindly, he removed a flint and tinder from his satchel and quickly lit a tallow candle he’d brought. Cobwebs draped the walls of the narrow passage leading beneath the city. He removed the protruding dagger from the door and returned it to its sheath. Counterweights, suspended on rust-flecked chains, made lifting the stone door surprisingly easy. A copper latch adorned its back side, and he could see the slot that had allowed him to pop it open from inside the well. Ingenious, he thought, appreciating its simple design. Then he turned, lifted his candle, and headed down the dusty tunnel.
The corridor stretched nearly twenty yards before turning to the right. Ahren’s flickering light glistened off occasional trails of water seeping down from the streets above. Some of the oaken beams holding the ceiling were cracked or worm-ridden. The sharp stink of mold accented the otherwise stale air. After another fifty yards, the passage opened up into what appeared to have been a small storeroom. Only a few empty boxes and shards of glass littered the floor. Through an arched doorway, Ahren spied stone steps spiraling upward.
A thick blanket of dust coated the stairwell. It opened to a short landing with a stone door with a tarnished copper mechanism like at the well. A flat, wooden disk hung above the latch. Ahren shielded the candle behind him and cracked the spyhole open. He saw nothing but darkness. Pressing his ear to the small hole, he listened. Nothing.
Ahren set his lit candle on a narrow shelf beside a dry lantern then pulled the copper door latch. A sharp squeak and pop echoed through the passage. He opened the door, spilling a narrow wedge of candlelight across an empty wine cellar. Stacks of furniture and rolled tapestries littered one wall. A brass Strounet family crest decorated one of the stored cabinets. He quickly surveyed the room, noting the path to the steps leading upstairs, then pulled the hidden door closed, leaving it ajar enough to seal the candlelight but not locked.
Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2) Page 5