Giffen had been persuaded to give up the names of his agents around Klaar. For the past two weeks Stasha Benadicta had been directing the operation to dig out the last of the rats from the bowels of dank taverns and hidden safe houses. She wanted to give Rina Veraiin a traitor-free city upon her return.
The burly man fleeing from her now was theoretically the last of Giffen’s henchmen. They rounded a corner, and the alley dead-ended at a thick wooden door. The man slammed a big shoulder against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He turned quickly, drawing a short sword, and went into a fighter’s crouch, a determined scowl on his face.
“So the Birds of Prey finally caught up to old Bolger, eh?” He waved the sword in front of him. “You want me, you’ll pay the price in blood, ya cunts.”
Darshia paused, wanting to approach the man carefully, but Lish rushed past her, charging and thrusting her blade.
Bolger swatted her sword aside with his own, stepped in with surprising speed, and smashed her square in the mouth with a fist. Lish stumbled back on noodle legs, dizzy, spitting blood. Bolger followed with his own sword thrust, but Lish collected herself just enough to parry it.
Darshia was already moving, swiping at him from the other side. Bolger had to break off his attack on Lish to block her, but she feinted high and went low. Her sword tip sank three inches into his upper thigh. He screamed and staggered back, slapping a hand over the wound.
Lish had recovered and came back at him. He tried to bring the sword around but was too slow this time. Lish’s blade struck deep between two ribs. He grunted, stumbled back against the door, and slid to the ground, dropping his weapon. It clanged on the cobblestones.
“You . . . bitches.” He’d gone white.
Lish stepped in and put her sword through his throat. Bolger’s eyes rolled up, and it was finished.
Darshia bent, wiped the blood from her blade on Bolger’s breeches. “Search him.”
Lish knelt next to him, pulled a purse from his belt and opened it. “Oi, look here. Two silvers and a gold. Never seen a gold coin before.”
“Somebody must have paid him off for some dire deed.” Darshia smiled. “Keep it.”
Lish grinned wide, showing the gap in her teeth. Might be cute to a certain kind of man, Darshia mused.
Lish went through Bolger’s vest pockets. “He called us Birds of Prey. What’s all that then?”
“You haven’t heard? It’s what they call us now.”
“They who?”
“I don’t know how it started,” Darshia said. “Somebody made a connection. ‘Birds’ since we used to work at the Wounded Bird and ‘prey’ since we prey on guys like this, I guess.” She gestured at the dead man.
“I like it,” Lish said. “Better than being called ‘them whores’ all the time.”
“Fair point.”
“Hey, now, look here.” Lish pulled a folded parchment from inside the man’s coat. “This anything, you think?”
“Read it.”
Lish shrugged. “Don’t read.”
Darshia took it and turned it over in her hands. It was sealed with wax. She almost opened it, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to make whatever might be written within her problem. She’d had enough hunting down greasy oafs in back alleys. She’d had enough of righting whatever wrong Giffen had done to Klaar. Let somebody else have a turn.
“We’ll take it to the steward,” Darshia said. “She’ll know what to do with it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Alem was surprised the most by the completely new aromas.
Exploring randomly, he and Maurizan had crossed through a large arched gateway, the path beneath them paved with a brilliant blue tile. On the other side, they’d found themselves in a bustling bazaar with men and women selling every sort of thing imaginable. They passed a tent in which there were stacked cages of small furry animals neither of them had ever seen before. A turbaned man in a long yellow robe held one of the animals out to Maurizan as they passed by. The creature was like an odd, elongated squirrel, with big yellow eyes and a long, ringed tail. The man spoke in a foreign tongue and was either assuring her the animal would make a fine pet or telling her how delicious it would be skinned and fried.
But it was the food section of the bazaar that won Alem over. Smells hit him that made his mouth water, smoke and the sizzling sound of various grilled meats competing for his attention. After a lifetime of boiled cabbage and potatoes and bland fish, the exotic spices that hit him were too intriguing to resist.
They paused at a stall and purchased two chunks of brown glazed meat on a stick for a copper coin. They brought the meat to their mouths, both pausing and looking at each other as if waiting for the other to go first.
They laughed.
“You don’t think this is the big yellow-eyed animal with the ringed tail, do you?” Maurizan asked.
“Too late now,” Alem said. “We’ve already paid for it.”
“Together?” Maurizan said.
“On three.”
Alem counted and they both bit. The meat was juicy and the flavor exploded in his mouth. He’d never tasted anything so instantly enjoyable.
A second later the spices hit.
The heat started from a long way off, but soon his mouth was on fire. He looked at Maurizan. Her eyes were watering, a look of panic on her face.
“Dumo help me, I’m going to die,” she said.
The stall next door sold a light and surprisingly cold beer. Four coppers bought them two enormous tankards. They each gulped down a third of the brew without stopping.
“Well, we can’t let money go to waste.” Maurizan grinned and took another bite of the meat. Her face went red, sweat on her forehead. She immediately gulped more beer.
Not to be outdone, Alem took another bite too, with the same result. By the time they had finished the meat, both were sweating and laughing. Passersby shook their heads at the silly foreigners. Their mouths were still burning, and they were forced to buy two more tankards of beer.
By the time they were finished, they were giggling as they moved farther into the bazaar. Maurizan spotted a stall with brightly colored silk scarves and tugged on Alem’s sleeve to pull him along.
“Which do you think?” She held up a scarf in each hand.
“The green,” Alem said. “Goes with your hair.”
She smiled and wrapped the scarf around her head in the fashion she’d seen on the other women in the market. “This is nice. Just shopping like this. You know . . . well, I mean we never did anything normal, did we?”
“What do you mean?”
“The first time we met, you were literally saving my life,” Maurizan said. “I mean, I’m not saying you arranged that just to impress me, but you were off to a pretty good start. After that, we went from one situation in which we almost died to the next situation in which we almost died.”
“You do remember we were recently in a ship-to-ship battle on the high seas and barely escaped a city before it came under siege, right?”
Maurizan rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, yeah. But the voyage since has been pretty calm and . . . look, I’m trying to say that this is nice, and I’m not saying it for any reason.” She looked away, awkward now. “I mean, I’m not trying to do anything or get anything. I just wanted you to know because . . . okay, I don’t really know why. Shut up.”
Alem was about to say something when the scarf merchant approached her, grinning with charm. He seemed to be telling her she could get a special price if she bought three. They both started talking in two different languages, and Alem took the opportunity to drift to the next stall.
Jewelry, necklaces and pendants. Bracelets and brooches.
“And what can I interest you in today, young master?”
Alem looked up into the face of an old, bald man, white beard neatly trimmed. The man’s eyes were such a dark brown they were almost black. His smile showed a gold tooth on the left side.
“You speak my langua
ge,” Alem said. The accent was heavy but not a problem.
“Yes, when I was younger, I took my wares across the seas. Now my sons travel and I tend to business here.” The old man gestured to Maurizan, who was still dickering with the scarf salesman. “Something pretty for your young lady, perhaps?”
Alem reddened. “Just a friend.”
“A shame. Such red hair. So striking.”
Alem cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
“But a friend is a good thing too.” The merchant drew Alem’s attention to a gleaming pendant at the end of a thin leather strap. “Mother-of-pearl. See how it catches the light. Surrounded by these white gems, not diamonds, I’m afraid, but well-cut quartz. Highly polished. Very nice craftsmanship. Very pleasing to the eye.”
It did look nice, but Alem shook his head. “I can’t afford it.”
“Five silvers anywhere else,” the old man said. “But not here. I have the best prices in all of the bazaar. For you, only three silvers.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please, think how happy the young lady would be. So pretty. Two silvers.”
“Really, I can’t.” Alem turned to leave.
“One silver, young master. Such a deal has never been struck in the history of the bazaar!”
Alem paused.
The old merchant looked at Maurizan again then back to Alem. “I was young once too. Take this deal, young master.”
“I told you, she’s just—”
“Yes, yes, a friend only. You are kidding yourself. You are young and healthy. The wise men say the flower that blooms today wilts tomorrow. So pick your flower today. The advice is free. The pendant only a single silver piece.”
Alem glanced at Maurizan and saw she was concluding her business with the scarf merchant.
He hastily pulled a silver from his pouch and traded it to the old man for the pendant. He stuffed it into a pocket just as Maurizan approached.
“You’re buying something?” she asked.
The old merchant said, “Alas, I tried to tempt this young master with my wares, but he has an iron will.” He winked at Alem.
Alem grinned at the man. “Thanks anyway.”
They moved away from the stall.
Alem noticed Maurizan’s hair had been pulled back into a long ponytail and secured with the green scarf. The end of the scarf draped over her shoulder. With her hair pulled back, he noticed that her neck was slender and long. Graceful. Her white skin gone a little pink from the sun. Her ear was perfectly shaped, pierced in the lobe with small green gems.
“What is it?”
Alem blinked. “What?”
“You’re looking at me.”
“The scarf,” he said quickly. “I’m glad you got the green one.”
She smiled, looked away, nudged him in the ribs. “Come on. We’re late for the boat. Tosh will be pissed.”
***
“You’re late,” Tosh said.
Alem and Maurizan exchanged grins and failed to hide them. Tosh couldn’t quite bring himself to be irritated. After all, it was his idea in the first place for Alem to let Maurizan tag along. Whatever love pangs Alem might have been feeling for Rina, it looked like the gypsy girl might be the cure.
But what do I know? Tosh thought. Not my business anyway.
“I got no problem leaving his ass behind.” Tosh nodded at Alem. “But we can’t go any farther without you, Maurizan.”
“Oh.” Realization on her face. “I suppose you want to see it.”
“The captain will want to see it if he’s going to lay in a course.” Tosh gestured to the other side of the dock.
Alem and Maurizan turned to look. There was no ship there. They looked back at Tosh.
“Look over the side,” Tosh told them.
They went to the edge of the dock and looked down.
Maurizan looked back at Tosh, frowning, eyes asking, Are you kidding me?
Tosh understood the reaction. The Witch of Kern was a floating palace compared to the weather-beaten forty-eight-foot scow schooner he’d hired. It sat low in the water, flat bottomed to negotiate the shallows between the islands. It was a decade past its last coat of paint, sails hanging limp and dirty.
“Bigger ships can’t go where we need to go,” Tosh explained. “And most of the captains of the smaller ships thought I was crazy when I told them where we were trying to get to.”
“This captain is braver?” Alem asked.
Tosh shrugged. “This captain is more . . . colorful.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Maurizan said.
Tosh grinned sheepishly. “Wait until you meet him.”
They climbed down the ladder and boarded the scow. Kalli and the others were hauling provisions below deck, food, water and spare weapons. I hope it’s enough. Rina was kind of vague about how long this would take.
“It looks like one good wave would knock this tub to splinters,” Maurizan said.
Tosh waved away the concern like it was nothing. “She’s solid stem to stern.” I hope.
Alem threw his pack over his shoulder. “I guess I’ll find a spot below and get comfortable.”
“Cramped down there, and the captain says it gets hot and stuffy,” Tosh said. “He suggests grabbing a spot on the deck where you can get some fresh air.”
“Fine.” Alem headed forward, stepping around a pile of netting and over a poorly coiled stack of rope.
Tosh looked up. “Ah. Here comes the captain now.”
Maurizan followed Tosh’s gaze upward. The skinniest man she’d ever seen shimmied down the narrow mast, jumping the last few feet and landing on the deck in front of her. He was the same height as the gypsy girl, all ropy muscles and dark, leathery skin. His nose had been mashed flat, and when he grinned there was a gap where his two front teeth should have been. He was barefoot, shirtless, pants cut off just below the knees. He looked more like a castaway than a boat captain.
“Miko.” He tapped a thumb against his bony chest, indicating himself. “Captain Miko. I captain. I also crew and cook.” He laughed at this like he’d made the greatest joke in the world.
“Show him the map,” Tosh said.
Maurizan hesitated, eyes darting to Miko then back to Tosh. Then she reached into the waistband of her breeches and came out with a folded piece of parchment. She handed it over to the captain.
He unfolded it and squinted. Tosh moved to look over his shoulder.
“Oh, you want go see the fish man, yes?” Miko said. “And the water ghosts?”
The captain’s accent was thick, so Tosh thought he might have heard him wrong. “Fish man?”
“Yes, yes.” Miko wiggled his hand through the air to mimic a fish swimming. “Fish man.”
“You’ve seen a fish man?” Maurizan asked.
“No, no. Is legend,” Miko said. “Always others see. Somebody say fish man, and so you ask, you see? But always friend of a friend.” He grinned at this. “Same with water ghosts. Legends and tavern talk.”
Tosh drew the captain’s attention back to the map. A dotted line went from the Red City, winding its way in and around the smaller islands to a spot almost right in the middle of the Scattered Isles. Tosh pointed at the map. “Why not go a more direct route?”
“Many problems. Many bad things,” Miko said. “Sharp rocks. Bad currents. Cannibals. Maybe map show the safe way. Avoid the bad things.”
Yes, avoid the bad things. That would be nice.
Miko gestured at the sky. “Come. Hurry. Cast off before storm comes.”
“Storm?” Tosh looked at the sky but didn’t see anything. “Maybe we should wait for it to pass.”
Miko laughed again. “Storm season. Wait for no storms, then we wait a long time. Go now in between storms.”
Miko used a long pole to push away from the dock then ran aft, skipping over crates and cargo like some scurrying animal. He took up his position at the tiller. He yanked a rope, and a small sail all the way forward dropped into position. I
t caught just enough wind to ease them away from the dock.
Miko cackled from his perch on the stern, one hand on the tiller. “Fish man, fish man, we are coming to see you.”
“Is this going to be okay?” Maurizan asked. “With him, I mean.”
Tosh sighed. “Oh . . . probably not.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Talbun rolled over beneath the covers, her hand finding Brasley. It slid down his flat stomach until she found what she wanted between his legs.
Brasley’s eyes popped open. Again?
The wizard worked him with her hand until he was erect, then whispered, “Get on.”
They’d always tried to be quiet about it. It was a small boat.
The first night aboard, Brasley had dutifully kept his distance, sleeping on the far edge of the bed so as not to disturb the wizard. Without a doubt, Talbun was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, but above all else, Brasley cherished his own hide. He didn’t want it fried by one of the woman’s dire spells.
The second night, she’d scooted close to him in the wee hours, had thrown a naked leg over him and begun kissing his ear. Disappointing a wizard was not a risk Brasley had been willing to take, and so he’d risen to the occasion. Twice.
What had surprised him most was the pang of guilt he’d felt, being a married man and all. He’d married Fregga strictly as a matter of self-preservation. Yes, he was fond of her, but the idea he might alter his behavior one whit when nobody was looking was a foreign notion to him. Certainly it wasn’t his intent to hurt the woman’s feelings. That she might be hurt bothered Brasley, he suddenly realized. Obviously, discretion would need to be—
“Pay attention to what you’re doing,” Talbun whispered.
Oops.
He crawled in between her legs, took himself in hand and aimed, easing himself inside. The familiar resistance, then the sweet welcoming slide the rest of the way. She crossed her ankles at the small of his back as he found his rhythm, her fingers gripping his back hard, digging in, her breath hot on his cheek. She bit his earlobe and kissed a trail down his throat.
The Tattooed Duchess (A Fire Beneath the Skin Book 2) Page 27