Blindly, Ahren crossed the room and crept up the worn steps. A faint crack of light peeked under the door. He peered through a fat keyhole to an empty hallway. It was silent. Ahren checked the door. Locked. He pulled the doe-skin roll from his satchel and removed a pair of picks. A few seconds later, the bolt clinked, and Ahren returned the tools to his pouch. He checked the keyhole again then pulled open the door and slipped into the hall.
Edeline had been thorough when sketching the floor plan. While not knowing where Otto had set the furniture, she’d even noted every nook and cubby in which Ahren could hide. Her grandfather’s criminal mind had undoubtedly passed to her. She’d even offered to wait for him in the square, but Ahren refused. Edeline’s job tonight was to be seen carefree and somewhere else. Ahren couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing as he slinked through the house, making his way upstairs.
Muddled voices came from what was once the game room. Shadows shifted in the light spilling from its open doorway as people inside moved about.
“What about you?” one man laughed. “What will you get with your share?”
“A new house,” a gruff voice answered. “This one will do!”
Laughter bellowed from the room as Ahren crept closer down the hall. His glove-leather shoes padded silently on the polished floor. He knelt before the dark, walnut office door and peered through the keyhole. A green lamp burned on the mantel, but no one appeared to be inside. Slowly, he pushed but found it locked.
“Just be sure customs doesn’t give us any problems,” a third voice said flatly.
Ahren removed his tools and slipped them into the black, iron lock.
“That won’t be an issue.”
“We need more wine,” the third voice said. A bell furiously jangled, its rings echoing through the house. “Henri! More wine!”
Tingles of fear wormed up Ahren’s back as he worked the mechanism. Returning one of the picks to the unfurled roll, he selected a larger one.
“Henri! More wine!”
“Coming sir,” a man yelled from downstairs. Footsteps hurried toward stairs behind Ahren.
Sweat beaded on Ahren’s forehead, and his hands grew slick. Yellow light crept up the stairwell as the servant drew closer. The lock gave, and Ahren twisted the picks around until it clicked.
Snatching his tools from the floor, he ducked through the door and closed it. Through the hole, he watched a lanky man rush up the stairs clutching a candelabra in one fist and a bottle in the other. With a sigh, Ahren looked around the shipping master’s office.
A set of double doors connected the office to the adjoining room. The men’s voices, muted through the thick wood, continued their idle chatter. Faint light peeked through a wavy, leaded window looking out over the city. Charts and brass nautical tools littered a polished, leather-topped table. Beside them rested a domed, steel helm. An elaborate map covered most of the opposite wall. Red and blue lines traced the shipping routes along the coast from Mordakland to Rhomanny.
Ahren flipped through the parchment charts, hoping just one marked the location of the Strounet family treasure. They appeared well-used, but none contained anything aside from the normal coastal ports. Cursing to himself, Ahren inspected the heavy helmet. As Edeline had said, irregular cutouts adorned the back side. He held it up in front of the painted map and peered through the front visor, trying to see what the openings showed. Nothing. Moving it away, then closer, Ahren tried to line up the cutout lines and dots with anything on the mural. As he moved it closer, he smelled the faint tinge of soot. He sniffed again. The sharp stink reminded him of a candle snuffer. Ahren flipped the helm over and looked inside. Black soot stained the top.
A short taper atop a wax-crusted holder rested on the table. Ahren looked back at the map and then to the green lamp burning on the adjoining mantel. Taking the candle, Ahren lit it off the lantern then set it back on the table. Carefully, he lowered the helm over it. Faint worms of light cast across the muraled coastline. He slid the candle back, trying to distance it properly from the wall, but still, the lines were too dim. Ahren eyed the lamp and blew it out, plunging the room in near darkness.
The yellow candlelight patterns seemed to pop from the wall. Keeping the helmet visor open to feed the flame, Ahren adjusted the light until a long, jagged line fell perfectly over a section of the Mordakish coast. He walked closer to the map, careful not to cross the flickering beams.
A dotted line led up from Caldin to one of the small islands off the coast. A triangle marked the northern tip of Bogen Helm Island. A cool smile drew the corners of his mouth. Found you.
The muffled chatter in the neighboring room reminded him to move fast. He was about to turn back to the candle when he noticed several other pinpoint dots on the edge of the map. A list of frequent cargoes that Strounet Shipping had once dominated scrolled up beside the gold-painted border. Several whole and partial words were cast in the candle’s light. Together, they read, “Two casks vinegar for guards.” Ahren reread the cryptic message and checked the wall for any other clues but found none. Maybe Edeline would know its meaning.
Ahren quietly hurried back to the table and lifted the now hot helm from over the candle and set it aside. He relit the lamp and extinguished the taper. After retuning everything as he’d found it, Ahren moved toward the door when it suddenly swung open.
A slender man with a short beard stood in the hall doorway, his eyes wide in surprise. “Father!” he squealed, ripping a long dagger from his belt. “Intruder!” The commotion of surprise as men jumped from their seats came from the neighboring room.
Rosston, the merchant’s son, stepped through the door, his dagger held in front. Ahren snatched the helmet from the table and hurled it. Rosston stumbled backward, trying to dodge. Fervent rattles came from the double doors. Ahren heaved the heavy table toward them. One door burst partially open then slammed shut as the table crashed against the wall.
Ahren looked around. The doors were blocked. Grabbing a wooden chair, he hurled it through the diamond-paned window. Glass shattered, and the chair tumbled down to the street below. Ahren ran. Holding his arms before his face, he leapt thorough the broken window. Wind sailed past him. He hit the hard cobblestones and rolled.
“Ahren!” a voice hissed.
Edeline, shrouded in a hooded, maroon cloak, leaned from an alleyway. She motioned to him.
“He’s getting away!” Rosston screamed as Ahren raced across the lane and dove into the alley. Edeline raised a small crossbow from under her cloak and fired. The merchant’s son leapt back, and the bolt smashed into one of the diamond-shaped panes still hanging from the broken window.
“What are you doing here?” Ahren asked. They fled down the back streets toward the docks.
“I wanted to be close in case you needed me.”
“You were supposed to be making an alibi.”
“And you weren’t supposed to be seen,” she retorted. “Did you find it?”
Ahren nodded. “Bogen Helm.” The alley fed into a larger street. Slowing, they casually walked toward Ziekmun’s Mercantile.
Edeline wrapped the edge of her cloak around the crossbow at her side. “Bogen Helm is a rock. There used to be a monastery and a small vineyard there. It’s been abandoned for a long time. Only wild goats live there now.”
“Sounds like a perfect place to hide it. Let’s hope Garvyn has the boat prepared. I’ll need to leave before sunrise.”
“We’ll need to leave,” she corrected.
“Dammlir knows I broke into his house. He’ll be leaving as soon as possible and will be ready for trouble. It’s not safe.”
Edeline stopped and stared Ahren in the eye. “First, that is my house. He’s just living in it. Second, I’m not giving you the key. So if you want to get to my grandfather’s treasure, I’m coming with you.”
Ahren smiled. Despite her stubbornness, the young woman’s passion only added to her beauty. “If that’s the way it is, then I stand corrected. We’ll sail b
efore dawn.”
#
Salty wind blew across the deck as the Mädchen sailed over the choppy waves. Ahren stood against the starboard railing, watching the steep island grow closer. The spit of land seemed to rise straight out from the sea. Thick trees crowned its rocky crest while only weeds and creeping vines speckled the gray cliffs. The narrow island ran less than two miles wide but more than seven miles long with mountainous hills at either end. It curved like a bow, creating a wide cove where it sloped down to meet the water.
The jagged walls of a ruined castle stood on the southern tip. The still-imposing monastery had been empty for decades. Ahren still pondered on the guards that the map had warned about. Did someone still live there? If so, why bribe them with vinegar? He had asked Edeline, but she didn’t know but suggested someone may have lived on the island when her grandfather ran his operation. Still, Ahren brought two bottles of vinegar in his bag.
“We’ll be there in under an hour,” Captain Derstom said, walking up beside him. “Zig,” he shouted up to the sailor perched atop the main mast. “What’s back there?”
“All clear, Captain.”
Derstom smiled, revealing several missing left teeth, likely from some tavern brawl. “And we’ll have some time before Dammlir’s arrival.”
“Not much,” Ahren replied. “The Vorsehung is a lot faster.” Pursing his lips, he scanned the island then out across the sea. “The cove is the likeliest point for them to anchor. If they catch us there, we’ll never make it away in time.”
“What do you propose?”
“I want you to drop me off on the island then sail several miles out on the far side. Once I find what we’re looking for, I’ll mirror signal you to pick me up.”
The captain’s thick brow furrowed. “Garvyn said you’d need several men to move the cargo.”
“Maybe. But I’ll have to find it first. If Dammlir gets there before we do, we’ll have nowhere to go. He’ll have more men.”
“And if you don’t find it first?” Derstom asked. “Or if you do but after the sun is down?”
Ahren shrugged. “More men could help find it faster, but if Dammlir gets here before we do, we’ll all be dead. And if I find it after nightfall.” He chuckled. “I’ll just have to keep low until sunrise.”
“If you get killed or that bastard finds it, then I don’t get paid,” the captain grumbled. “Ten percent of nothing is still nothing.”
“And if you’re dead or your ship is lost, you won’t care,” Ahren replied. “Don’t worry. I can’t leave without you, and I have no intention of dying.” He suppressed the urge to tell the captain that Edeline had the key, and without it, Dammlir couldn’t get the treasure. Dammlir probably didn’t even know about the key and just thought he'd find a pile of gold. But years of sailing had taught Ahren that divulging too much to sailors hungry for pay would only get your throat cut.
The door to below deck opened, and Edeline strode out. She’d replaced her scarlet skirts with a pair of gray pants tucked into tall, brown boots. A cup-hilt rapier swung at her side. Either unaware or uncaring of the sailors’ hungry stares, she strode toward the rail where Ahren and the captain watched.
“There it is. Any sign of Otto’s ship?”
Ahren shook his head. “No. But he’ll be here soon.”
“Not soon enough,” she said with a grin.
“We were just discussing that the captain will drop me off and take the ship off the far side. Once I found the goods, I’ll signal for pickup.”
“You mean we.”
“When the Vorsehung gets here, the island will be crawling with Dammlir’s men. It won’t be safe.”
“Exactly; that’s why we both should go.”
“Now, Edeline,” the captain said. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you there in danger. I owe that to your father, Arieth rest his soul.”
Edeline’s blue eyes hardened. “Ahren, I said I was coming with you. I meant it.”
“And you are. I just think—”
“I’m not giving you the key,” she growled through clenched teeth. “I’m coming with you.”
Hesitantly, Ahren gave a slight smile. She’d already proven arguing was useless. It was her job and her decision. “Alright. We’ll need some provisions in case we have to stay the night. Nothing heavy.”
#
Gulls squawked and circled above as the longboat neared the shore. Shallow caves pitted the cliffs along either side. Ahren pointed to a patch of rocky beach, and the oarsmen headed for it. Brown goats bounded away up the hills as they neared.
White surf crashed off the rocks around them as the craft slid onto the shore. Grabbing his heavy gear, Ahren stepped up over the prow and splashed into the shallow water. He offered his hand to help Edeline over. With the grace of a seasoned sailor, she snatched her crossbow, maneuvered past the two seamen, took his hand, and hopped over the front.
“Go. Quickly.” Ahren pushed the boat back out. “The Vorsehung isn’t far behind.”
“Good luck,” one of the sailors said as they rowed back. Ahren suspected the wishes were more for Edeline’s benefit than his.
Ahren marched up the pebbled beach to where his employer waited. “Where first?”
The blond woman pointed to a stone-lined path leading up toward the monastery. Ahren adjusted the coiled rope on his shoulder, and together, they headed up the slope.
Blue and yellow flowers grew in the cracks between the large boulders, some of the few places the residential goat herd had not attacked. Only thorny bushes and scraggly trees thrived. Small ground birds chirped and fluttered away as Ahren and Edeline made their way up the trail. Below, they could see a triangular pond in the middle of the island, obviously dug to collect rainwater off the neighboring slopes.
Salty wind whipped in from the sea. Ahren peered out to see the Mädchen heading around the rear side of the island. Far on the horizon, he could see the square, tan sails of another ship sailing toward them. “Looks like Dammlir’s on his way.”
Edeline squinted to the distance. “They’ll be here before nightfall. We’d best hurry.”
They trudged up to the remains of a rotted barn. Time and storms had reduced the once massive structure to little more than piled timbers. Beside it, a stone statue of a hooded man praying stood next to a dilapidated wine vat. Removing his wide-brimmed hat, Ahren wiped his brow then headed across the grounds to a long, stone building along the sea cliffs.
Hooves clattered away as he stepped into the dim refectory. Light spilled in through open windows and holes in the sagging roof to reveal nothing but broken refuse and goat droppings. Whatever furnishings the monastery once had were either rotted or plundered by looting sailors. They searched the grounds and cellars for any signs of where Edeline’s grandfather might have stashed his treasure but found nothing. Ducking beneath a fallen roof timber, they headed up a stone-stepped tower and peered out one of the narrow windows. Scurrying sailors were clearly visible on the Vorsehung’s deck as the ship sailed into the cove. Ahren ducked back into shadows and scanned the rest of the island. The remains of a watchtower stood on the cliff the on the opposite side. The buildings were the most obvious places, but the old smuggler could have hidden his riches anywhere. It could take years to locate the lock for Edeline’s key. Ahren didn’t have that long, but he needed to rule the ruins out before Dammlir’s men arrived.
After leaving the monastery, Ahren crept to the tree line overlooking the sea. The Vorsehung sat anchored in the middle of the bay, its tan sails tied. Two dinghies, each carrying six men, rowed up onto the sand beach. Chests, folded tents, and other provisions filled the small boats, suggesting the treasure hunters intended to camp on the island rather than aboard the ship. The sailors hopped from their vessels and pulled the boats ashore. Ahren watched them shoulder their gear and split into two parties, one headed north and the other south toward the monastery ruins.
He crawled back to Edeline. “They’re on their way.”
&nbs
p; “Where do you want to look next?” She wiped a bead of sweat from her dusty brow.
“We’ll follow the back side of the island. Maybe find something there. If we stick to the trees and large rocks, we can avoid being seen.” Ahren wasn’t worried about himself. Working amidst danger was hardly new. Him they’d only kill. But Edeline. The fate she might suffer at their hands was unfathomable. He had to keep her safe.
They circled around, cutting past the neglected remains of a vineyard. Gnarled trees and jagged, gray boulders gave ample cover. Twice, the rustling of a fleeing goat gave them a moment’s fright. Ahren maintained a constant look out for any traces of the smuggler’s hiding place. He investigated piles of stone for a hidden entrance and checked the small caves and nooks pitting the island.
The sun drifted lower on the horizon, streaking the sky in orange and fiery hues. Squinting his eyes to the distance, Ahren could barely make out the top mast point of the Mädchen hidden behind one of the nearby islands. He imagined Zig, the lookout, searching for Ahren’s signal mirror. A steady breeze grew, chasing the fleeing tides. Soon, it would be too dark to search and too dangerous to negotiate the rough terrain.
From behind a thorny shrub, laden with citrus-scented flowers, Ahren spied the team of treasure hunters returning from the monastery. Aside from a goat lashed to a pole between two men’s shoulders, they appeared empty handed.
They found a jagged semicircle of boulders to set camp. Ahren cut several leafy branches and set them around the small enclosure to further shield themselves. Their meal consisted of dried food and a few handfuls of nuts.
#
They lay beside each other with their cloaks pulled over them, watching stars emerge from the darkening heavens.
Sea of Quills (Tales of the Black Raven Book 2) Page 6