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

by Seth Skorkowsky

  She smiled, her dark eyes scheming. "I don’t mind quellens a bit. They need company like any other man.” She sipped her drink. “So tell me about this plan.”

  Ahren nodded. “As I said, the inspector won’t simply fall for the same trick. What I need is for him to try a different bait. Something he knows the Black Raven won’t refuse but also public.”

  “Public?”

  “Yes. Something that would be impossible for him to fake yet easy for him to protect.”

  She sipped her drink again, her eyes regarding him over the glass. “And you need me to help him find inspiration for this plan?”

  “Precisely.”

  “And you have something particular in mind?”

  “I do.” Sliding a hand around her slender waist, Ahren leaned closer, his lips meeting hers. She smelled of lilies and Nadjancian spice wood.

  Her mouth opened to meet his. She pressed against him. “I think,” she said, kissing him again, “I think I’m up for the challenge.”

  #

  Night swallows circled the dark skies above, feasting on the fat, buzzing flies, abundant from weeks of filth piling inside the plagued city. Osgood knelt, hidden behind a stack of empty barrels inside a brick alcove with Ulrut, a reputable mercenary. Through the cleverly spaced gaps, he could see most of Otto Square, empty before him. On the opposite end of the square, beyond the stone well at the plaza’s heart, another man, Steven, hid inside a small niche. To the side, before the dark wooden doors of Hegenstein Convent, the towering statue of Saint Hegenstein stared out from under his hood, his ruby eyes glinting in the Old Kaisers’ torchlight.

  Thieves of course had coveted the perfect gems for decades. Yet the statue’s placement in one of the city’s busier squares, and the white-clad guards that patrolled the Church’s properties, made stealing them impossible. However, with the eels, the square was empty at night, and the bishop had loaned many of his soldiers to help the city in its time of need. Guards were spread so thin that the bishop had secretly ordered the patrols off Hegenstein Convent for one night. At least, that was the story Osgood had spread. The Bishop, of course, was reluctant but agreed if it meant the Black Raven’s capture. With the gems unguarded and a story that Osgood was attending a party with Baroness Jusset, Black Raven was sure to come.

  Osgood scanned the rooftops, haloed in red by the Old Kaisers’ lights, but saw nothing. His man Jan hid behind one of the façade walls with a crossbow and a complete view of the square below. Another man, Max, overlooked the opposite side. He settled back down on to his haunches. Nothing to do now but wait.

  After several long minutes, a hooded figure stepped into the plaza. Osgood leaned forward, tingles of excitement worming up his spine. The figure approached the well and produced a wooden pail from beneath his cloak. Sighing, Osgood relaxed and bitterly watched the man fetch water. He suppressed the gnawing urge to check the vial in his pouch. What if the Black Raven was close? Would he see the glow behind the barrels? No. The vial would remain hidden until he’d captured the bastard, and with it, he’d confirm the Black Raven’s identity.

  A girl’s scream echoed up the street.

  “Papa!” a child screamed. “It has Eva!”

  A banging clatter erupted from outside the square.

  “What’s going on?” Ulrut whispered.

  Osgood peered closer through the gaps. “I don't know.”

  A door two buildings down a side street burst open. A large man dressed in gold and dark brocade ran out. “Help! Someone help. The eels, they have my babies.” He turned and ran down the street, calling for help. “Help me. My children.”

  More young screams poured from the house.

  “Eels have his children!” the mercenary said.

  Osgood raised a hand. “Hold here.”

  The man ran back into the house. A crash came from inside followed by a girl’s terrible cry. Moments later, the man burst back out, clutching his arm. Ribbons of tattered cloth hung from his bloodied sleeve. “Help,” he screamed, charging up toward the square. “Please, help me! My babies.”

  “We have to help them,” Ulrut hissed.

  “No.”

  The man stopped in the square, looking around. “For Arieth’s sake, someone, anyone! Help me!”

  “Papa!” a child screamed. “Papa.”

  “They’re children,” Ulrut pleaded.

  Osgood clenched his fist. Ulrut was right. Black Raven or not, if word spread that he sat by while some merchant’s children were killed, he’d be ruined. He stood. “Come on.”

  They raced out from their hiding spot. Across the square, Steven emerged from the shadows, clutching his sword.

  The wounded man ran up, his eyes wild. “Please, please. My babies. My Eva. Help me!”

  Glancing to the roofs above, Osgood made out Jan in the shadows. The crossbowman waved him on. “Come,” Osgood said, drawing his rapier. “Show me where they are.”

  “Arieth be praised,” the man sobbed. “This way.” Still cradling the wounded arm, he ran back to the open house. His feathered cap fell off his sweat-slicked head.

  Children’s screams echoed from within. “Save us, Papa!”

  Ulrut and Steven in the lead, they charged into the dim house. An iron candelabra illuminated the room ahead.

  “Papa!”

  They raced toward the sound. Osgood turned. The bald merchant was gone. Ulrut ran toward the children’s voices, not seeing a thin, ankle-high rope stretched across the doorway.

  “Stop!” Osgood screamed. “Wait!”

  Too late. Ulrut hit the rope and went sailing. A bucket, tied near the ceiling, fell, dousing the candlesticks and plunging them into darkness.

  “Help us, Papa!” a boy cried.

  Near blind, Osgood stumbled into the adjoining room. Two small figures peered in through a barred window.

  “Save us,” one laughed. “Save us.”

  “You little bastards!” Osgood screamed, racing toward them. He tripped painfully into a chair and fell onto the wet, wooden floor.

  Laughing, the dirty urchins dropped from the window and fled down an alley.

  “The door,” Osgood cried, scrambling to his feet. He ran back into the other room, nearly colliding with Steven in the dark. The door was shut. He yanked the metal handle, but the door barely moved. He jerked again, fighting what held it. A chain rattled on the other side. “No!” he screamed.

  “Batter it down!” he barked to his men. “Find an exit! Get us out of here!” Osgood pulled the vial out from its pouch. Pink and blue light filled the room.

  Frantically, they checked the rear entrance. Locked. They threw open windows only to find thick, oaken bars.

  “Break them!”

  Steven smashed his steel sword pommel into one again and again. Ulrut found a crude cleaver hanging in the kitchen and hacked at another window.

  “He’s getting away!” Picking up a stool, Osgood hurled it into the bars. Wood shattered across the room, but the bars held fast. He checked the door hinge, but the iron pins couldn’t push out. Don’t panic, he told himself. The crossbowmen. They’ll get the bastard.

  His heart pounding, Osgood ran upstairs, but the thick, octagonal, wood bars blocked every window. He came down stairs as Ulrut started chopping at the top of a bar in the kitchen window. A jagged, v-shaped cut bit almost entirely through the bottom.

  Chop. Chop. Chop.

  Once he’d scored a good notch around the wood, Ulrut shouldered the bar. Wood cracked. He hit it again and again until the cut bar snapped.

  “Move!” Osgood said, pushing his way through. Turning to the side, he slipped through the narrow gap then squeezed his body through. The splintered end of the broken bar caught his trousers. He jerked, ripping fabric and sending him sprawling onto the hard, cobblestone street. Staggering up, Osgood ran down the back alley, the clacks of his boots echoed up the narrow canyon of buildings the only sound in the silent city.

  He reached a street and turned, racing to Otto
Square. You think you’ve beaten me? I’ve got you, you bastard. Sweat beaded his face. It ran down the back of his doublet, sticking to his shirt and clinging it to his skin.

  He reached the square and stopped. The bronze statue towered above the plaza. One hand clutched a sheathed sword at its waist while the other pointed outward, almost accusingly, at Osgood. Beneath the shadow of Saint Hegenstein’s hood, a pair of black quills jutted out from the statue’s empty sockets.

  #

  “Gone!” Osgood exclaimed. Clenching his fist, he squeezed until it hurt. “That filthy dog.”

  “What about the crossbowmen?” Anya asked, refilling his drink. Strings of gold and pearls hung from her neck. That and her green veil were all she wore.

  “Them?” he laughed. “We found them tied up, unconscious on the roof. They’d been out since before the bald man tricked us. I’d looked up to see Jan wave me on, but it wasn’t Jan. It was him. Wearing Jan’s hat. The bastard sat up there and waved at me. Waved at me!”

  “You’ll get him,” she soothed. Her creamy skin smelled of jasmine. Osgood had bought the perfume for her. She handed him the delicate glass and began unbuttoning his doublet. “You'll catch him and string him up.”

  “I’ll do more than that.” He knocked back the drink. “I’ve been excommunicated, Anya. Damned. I told the bishop to remove the guards. They blame me for losing the saint’s eyes.”

  “You?” Stepping behind him, Anya slid his doublet off. Her hands glided over his shoulders, kneading the tense knots. “That’s ridiculous. You’re the only man who has dared stand up to this brigand, and they see fit to punish you.” She leaned closer, her firm breasts pressed against his back. “When you catch him, they’ll swallow their words.” Her silk-veiled lips brushed his ear. “They’ll saint you.”

  Osgood turned, he hands squeezing the young beauty against him. She rolled her head back as he kissed her neck, burying himself in her scent. He pulled the veil aside. She didn’t resist. His fingers touched the nearly invisible scars along her face. A mystery. One day, he’d coax their story from her. Until then, he could only imagine. She led him down on to the soft bed and melted into his arms.

  For a few sweet minutes, the Black Raven was forgotten. Osgood’s thoughts were only of her: his only joy in this cursed, damnable city. Once finished, he lay on his back with Anya beside him, her head on his shoulder and hand resting above his heart.

  “I don’t understand how he knew,” Osgood mumbled.

  “What, my sweet?”

  “Black Raven. How did he know it was a trap? The crossbowmen, the locked house, he must have known.”

  “Maybe he paid off your men.”

  He sighed. “Maybe.”

  She rolled away and pressed her smooth back against him. “Dismiss them, and find new henchmen. Find men the Black Raven won’t know. Foreigners, perhaps.”

  Osgood nodded. “That’s a sound idea.”

  He lay there for several minutes, his mind tumbling over plans and where he’d missed any clues. Restless, he sat up and poured another drink. He looked at the bottle in his hand and thought of the flask. If only it could show the future. Tell him where Black Raven would be, not just where he had been. He’d been chasing shadows, memories. The trick had worked on lesser criminals, but with the Black Raven, it was his hindrance.

  Spying the discarded belt beside the bed, Osgood picked it up and unclasped the wool-lined pouch. A wedge of light sprung out as he lifted the flap. What’s this?

  He looked around, half expecting to see the brigand before him, but no one was there. Yet the flask told him he’d been here. Recently.

  Cupping his hand to hide the light, Osgood lifted the small, pointed bottle from its protective case. Veins of pink and blue light shone from the swirled glass. He’s been here.

  “What are you doing, my sweet?” Anya asked, her back still to him.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, fighting to keep the tremble from his voice. His heart pounded. He’s been in this bed. His stink is fresh. That son of a whore was here. Pursing his lips, Osgood looked at the beautiful woman beside him. He brought the vial closer to her creamy back. The light beneath his fingers swelled brighter as it touched her. A knot of rage kneaded inside him.

  Filthy liar! Deceiving whore! I’ll kill her. Kill her for her lies, her betrayal. I’ll send a message to the Black Raven that no one tricks Sir Osgood Vankmir and lives.

  Wait! No, if she dies, he’ll know that I’m on to him.

  He let out a long breath, suppressing the rage. At least for now. Rolling back, he slipped the glowing vial back into its pouch and closed the catch, fingers trembling. She’d pay for this insult as well as Karl, her greasy pimp. They’d set him up. Used him. Laughed at him. They’d all pay.

  “Are you alright?” Anya asked as he rolled back behind her. “You’re shaking.”

  “I’m fine,” he mustered, his mind poring through ideas. After a minute, he added, “I think I know how I’ll get Black Raven.”

  “Oh?” She pressed against him.

  “Do you want to hear it?”

  Anya’s hand slid back behind her, caressing his skin. “Of course I do.”

  #

  Red skies glowed above the Guarded City as Ahren followed the silent streets. So far, none of the Old Kaisers’ torches had expired. Only two had burnt out the night before. Reported attacks had waned, and eel patrols in the undercity and harbor all agreed that the Eel Plague was almost over. For Ahren, it also meant that his six-week game with Sir Osgood Vankmir neared its end. Sir Osgood must have felt it as well. His latest scheme stank more of desperation than his previous traps.

  Rumors had emerged that Lord Frusik, in the wake of the recent thefts, had become distrusting of the safe houses and withdrawn his treasures. Multiple sources confirmed seeing the nobleman’s carriage being loaded at the Kaiser’s Citadel. Three armed guards protected the treasure. Rumors also told that the lord planned to move the riches tonight, load them onto a ship, and take them back to Lichthafen until the eels had completely left the city. Sir Osgood hoped that the Black Raven, blinded by greed, would attack the carriage en route only to find himself surrounded by half a dozen armed men and that the old nobleman was none other than the inspector himself.

  Ahren knew this because Anya knew this.

  As Ahren would have guessed, the treasure was simply more of Osgood’s clever fakes. However, the real treasure that had been removed from the Citadel in order to hook the Black Raven’s attention was hidden at a secret location, and thanks to Anya, Ahren knew that as well.

  So while Sir Osgood trolled the city in a fake beard and padded clothes, hoping for an attack, Ahren made his way to Baron Ludvien’s home. A lover of exotic birds, the eccentric Baron had his house converted into a grand aviary. Tight bars covered every window and even the top of the courtyard. The only two entrances were caged, thus preventing any of the expensive pets from escaping through an open door. The house was a prison and in many respects the most lavish and most secure prison in Mordakland. It made the perfect safe house. And so confident was Osgood in his plan, and of the house’s impregnability, he’d left only two guards to protect the Lord’s treasure.

  Ahren turned onto a wide lane and shortly found himself outside Baron Ludvein’s home. Despite its fortress-like reputation, the baron had fled the city some weeks prior, trusting many of his squawking pets to stay high enough off the ground as to avoid any eels that might find a way inside. Through the tight, ornately swirled bars, lights spilled out from a second-floor window.

  By now, he guessed, Volker was across the city occupying Sir Osgood with a few arrows and other exciting distractions. Keeping his eyes on windows and rooftops, Ahren circled around to the side entrance. Removing his tools, he knelt before the thick door. He peered through the keyhole but saw nothing but the red glow of the Kaisers’ lights shining down into the courtyard. Carefully, he worked the picks into the lock. The bolt clicked open. Ahren scooped up his tools, peered
through the lock again, then carefully opened the heavy door.

  A few birds chirped and rustled as he slipped inside to a four-foot-deep archway. An intricate, wrought-iron gate blocked the other side before a large garden of trees and hanging feeders.

  Boot steps raced up the alley behind him. Two men, armed with swords and crossbows, ran toward him from either side. A trap!

  Quickly, he slammed the door and snapped a narrow bar down across it. The simple latch wouldn’t hold for long, and there wasn’t time to pick the lock closed.

  Pink and blue light came from the courtyard behind him. Ahren turned to see Sir Osgood step from behind a column. He held a rapier in one hand; the other held a pointed bulb of glowing glass.

  “We meet again, Black Raven.”

  Something slammed into the door behind him. Pressing his back against it, he faced the inspector.

  Grinning, Osgood stepped closer. The strange bottle in his hand seemed to grow brighter. “There’s no escape. No rooftop archers to save you. No windows to dive from. You’re trapped, you filthy swine.”

  The door jarred again. Ahren glanced at the cage lock. It looked simple enough. “How did you know?”

  “Your little whore.”

  Fear knotted in his gut. She wouldn’t have. “Who?”

  He laughed the deep guffaw of a madman. “Don’t lie to me. I know all about her. Once we’re done, she’ll hang on the gallows beside you.” The light swelled as he neared the cage. Crimson and brightly colored birds hopped between the branches behind him, obviously irritated by the noise and light.

  The door pounded painfully into his back. Ahren scanned the courtyard. The tallest trees reached the caged roof, but he saw no doors in it. He noticed several doors to the house itself. He just needed to reach them. First, he had to escape. “So you figured it out. I underestimated you.”

  Osgood smiled. “You weren’t the first. We have him, men,” he yelled. “No need to break the good baron’s door. Steven, come around. You others, stay there.”

  The door stopped rattling. Ahren stepped forward, his hands out. “You can have me, Sir Osgood, but the girl is innocent.”