A Wind in the Night

by Barb Hendee

  Jausiff swallowed and glanced sidelong down at Wynn. “Able to assist or not, you are a good deal of trouble.”

  “I’ve heard that before,” she answered, and even before she asked the next two questions, she feared she already knew the answer to the first. “Now, what was stolen from Aupsha’s people? And what is the compass and the device you held in the passage?”

  Jausiff took a step away from Aupsha, though he kept his eyes on her.

  “Aupsha is a member of an ancient sect . . . worshipers of a long-forgotten saint, for lack of a better term. They have been hidden away in the mountains above the great desert for countless years in protecting an artifact. Though she has not been completely forthcoming, she assured me her ancestors acquired this artifact to keep it from the wrong hands, and their only purpose is to guard it. It was stolen from them earlier this year, and she tracked it here.”

  “How did she track it?” Wynn asked.

  Jausiff paused. “The compass, as you say, and the device in my hand last night are one and the same. We were using it in trying to determine where below the keep this artifact has been hidden.”

  “It’s here?” Wynn whispered.

  Nikolas stood staring at everyone as he stepped in behind Sherie. “Father? What is going on?”

  A brief scowl, or maybe a flinch of pain, crossed Sherie’s face at his closeness. “Continue,” she ordered the old sage.

  With a frown of his own, Jausiff pulled a cord around his neck from out of his robe. Dangling from it was a small key. He rounded behind his desk to a heavy chest at the back wall and unlocked it. After digging inside, he turned back with something wrapped in an oilcloth.

  Wynn rose quickly, stepping in to face him across the desk as he opened the cloth.

  There inside the cloth, across his hand, lay a slightly curved piece of ruddy metal, though it looked sound for appearing so old. It was a little longer than the width of his palm, thicker than it was wide, and perhaps the width of two of Wynn’s fingers.

  “Aupsha’s people cut up a secondary object said to have been found with the artifact,” Jausiff explained. “They did so to keep it from ever being a tool to use the artifact, but they discovered its pieces still had an affinity for that artifact. This is how she tracked what was stolen.”

  That was all Wynn needed to jog her awareness and strip away all doubt. Judging from the slight curve of its length and the metal itself, she now knew where it had come from . . . what that other object had been.

  Wynn began to tremble, for Jausiff was holding a piece of an orb handle . . . an orb key.

  Last night Shade had sensed the Fay, just as Chap had once when Magiere used her own thôrhk—key—to open the first orb of Water. Everyone in the guest quarters other than Chane and Shade, and perhaps more throughout the keep, had lost partial control of their bodies and their memories. In those few panic-driven moments Wynn had felt as if her awareness—her self—had been draining away.

  And each night the duke vanished into the depths below the keep.

  Another time, another way, Wynn might have been relieved at the realization. But not this way, here and now, for there was an orb below the keep.

  “This is what you’ve been doing without telling me?”

  Wynn flinched at Sherie’s sharp words and turned to find the duchess shaking her head at the aging sage.

  “And you already knew!” Sherie accused Jausiff. “You . . . knew what was harming my brother.”

  “Forgive me, my lady,” he answered. “I strive in my own way to save the duke, but I vowed to Aupsha and her people to keep silent on all of this . . . in exchange for her assistance.”

  “A promise worth nothing!” Aupsha snarled at him.

  “We have to get the artifact back,” Wynn interrupted. “At any cost.”

  Aupsha turned on her. “We have already sought to do so but cannot penetrate the lower levels. The door is impassable, and only the duke and his foreign guards go below. And there is more to uncover.”

  Aupsha closed on Wynn, which drew a warning growl from Shade.

  “How was it found among my people at all?” Aupsha asked, as if suspicious of everyone now. “I have subtly engaged each Suman guard. None seem clever enough for what was done. It could not have been the duke himself, for he was here when my people were assaulted. Someone else stole our . . . charge.”

  Wynn wondered about all of this as well. Who had the ability and knowledge to locate an orb, and more so one hidden for centuries by generational guardians? She was also curious about how this “sect” had procured an orb in the first place. But someone had located it among Aupsha’s people.

  When Wynn had gone looking for lost Bäalâle Seatt, an ancient city of the dwarves from the time of the Forgotten History, Chane and Ore-Locks had been the ones to actually find the orb of Earth. But they’d found no thôrhk or key with it. Sau’ilahk had gotten ahead of them, and for some reason he hadn’t taken that orb.

  Every orb uncovered so far had a handle—a key. Even the deceptively frail and ancient undead Li’kän had possessed one in guarding the first orb. Why hadn’t there been one in Bäalâle Seatt? Or perhaps there had been.

  Had someone taken a key instead of the orb?

  It made no sense until Wynn looked at the “compass” object in Jausiff’s hand. Could a key as a whole be used to track down an orb? If so, and if Sau’ilahk had gained a thôrhk left with the orb of Earth . . .

  The bodies in Aupsha’s memory showed no signs of the way the wraith killed. None had been aged, left shriveled from devoured life, or even marked like young Nikolas with streaks of gray in his hair. Such details might not matter, though. Sau’ilahk might have arranged for human assistance.

  “In your attempt to reach the underlevels,” she said to Aupsha, “how close did you get?”

  Aupsha’s eyes shifted toward Osha. “To the door around the end of the passage where he saw us. We have not found a way through it.”

  “The only key to that door was taken by my brother,” Sherie added.

  Wynn turned. “I need to get to that door. I need time there undisturbed to . . . to study it. Can you arrange this for me?”

  Sherie watched Wynn for another three breaths. “And if this artifact is recovered, what would you do with it?”

  Wynn couldn’t tell if that was a threat hiding behind a suspicious question. “I will take it far from here to where no one, including your brother, will ever see it again.”

  Aupsha spun toward Wynn again, but Wynn looked away to Shade and then Osha.

  “I’ll need you and Shade as well,” she added.

  Neither of them responded, though a worried frown marred Osha’s expression.

  There was only one way Wynn could determine whether the orb was below the keep. As to Sau’ilahk, if he was here, she wouldn’t be able to find him yet . . . not until nightfall.

  Shade wasn’t going to like what Wynn had in mind, but at least Chane was still dormant and wouldn’t be there to argue.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The day after the incident with the apples and just before dusk, Leesil was up on deck at the side rail with Wayfarer when the girl fainted from hunger. He carried her down to the cabin he shared with Magiere and Chap and laid her on a bunk. Both Chap and Magiere sat close in concern, and the anguish on Magiere’s face was the last straw for Leesil.

  Wayfarer’s long brown hair spread out around her now-pale face and closed eyes. She murmured twice as if caught in a dream, and Magiere was about to charge off for freshwater and a rag when Leesil assumed that task himself. It took some arguing with one of the crew to get the extra ration of water, but on his way back below, he took a moment to sneak all the way to the passage’s end.

  Down a set of stairs to the next level was a door where a passage cut left toward the ship’s kitchen. By the door’s position, Leesil reasoned
that it must lead into the cargo hold. He pulled out a steel probe and another tiny pick earlier hidden in his boot, and he set to opening the door’s crude iron lock. When he finished and twisted the lever handle, the door still wouldn’t budge.

  Something blocked it. It couldn’t be cargo; that made no sense. Obviously the door was barred from the hold’s side, though that didn’t figure, either—not at first. Leesil realized that blocking the door from the inside meant none of the crew could get in or out to take anything, even if one them managed to steal a key. With a slight grimace, he stepped back. For what he had in mind now, he’d have to go up on deck to get into the hold . . . and all before Magiere caught on.

  With no immediate way to raid the cargo, Leesil hurried back to the cabin.

  He sat on the floor as Magiere dabbed Wayfarer’s head, and, when night finally settled, the room grew dim around him. Since the day before, Magiere had been watching him like a hawk, but now she was preoccupied.

  It was time to do as he’d planned, and he stood up.

  “You and Chap stay with Wayfarer. I’ll let Brot’an know . . . see if he has any ideas to help.”

  That was a foolish comment. If Brot’an could have done anything to help, he would have done it by now. Luckily Magiere was distracted with worry, and only nodded. Chap appeared equally focused on the girl’s condition, and Leesil slipped out.

  However, as he made his way up the passage, he didn’t stop at Brot’an’s cabin door. Instead he went straight for the steep steps and paused at the top, at the door out leading to the deck. In a way it was sadly fortunate that Wayfarer had fainted and thereby kept Magiere and Chap occupied.

  Cracking the door slightly, Leesil peeked out. Dim, dirty lamps hung upon the ship’s masts, but he saw no one across the deck. Two low, muffled voices carried from somewhere above him on the aftcastle, so likely the night watch was up there. He looked to the rope mesh covering the hold’s central opening out in the middle of the deck.

  At its nearer end was a small hatch he’d seen opened a couple of times for access to a ladder down into the hold. Each time, the captain had stood close by, watching and checking crew members coming back up to make certain they hadn’t pocketed anything while below.

  Leesil carefully widened the door enough to slip out. With his back against the aftcastle’s wall, he sidestepped toward the ship’s rail and then crept out a short way to peek back and above. Whoever was up on the aftcastle was too far to its rear to be seen—or to see him. Likewise, he saw no one toward the bow. He crouched and crept to the nearest mast, then ducked in front of it before glancing around its far side and up.

  He just made out the heads of two men at the aftcastle’s rear. They were engrossed in talking to each other, and so he crawled to the small hatch near the hold’s opening.

  Leesil froze, for the padlock that typically held the hatch’s bar in place lay to one side and was still opened from being unlocked. He’d expected to have to pick the lock, for that oily sewer rat of a captain would never leave the hold open while he wasn’t watching.

  Whoever had forgotten to set the lock again was going to suffer by morning.

  Carefully sliding the lock bar out of its brackets, Leesil grasped the hatch’s handle. As he lifted slightly, the hinges creaked and he froze, this time listening for a sudden silence.

  The two on the aftcastle were still chattering away. They hadn’t heard anything.

  He opened the hatch quickly, with a creak from its hinges, and dropped onto the ladder’s rungs. Then he listened again for silence or any footfalls. All he heard were the muffled voices of the watch.

  Leesil stepped a few rungs down the ladder and let the hatch close softly above him. It was a dark climb down the ladder, but once he reached the hold’s floor, the full moon’s pale light filtered though the rope mesh above. To his relief, he could see well enough to move about. The hold was crammed with crates and barrels and smaller boxes. The first thing he searched for and found was an iron hook to wrench open containers. Nothing was clearly labeled—or at least not in a language he could read—and he had to work by trial and error.

  Gripping the hook, and about to pry open the closest crate, he felt rather than heard something behind him. Whirling with the hook poised to strike, he saw an unusually tall, familiar form standing near the ladder.

  “Brot’an . . . what are you doing?” he hissed. “Did you follow me?”

  “I am assisting you,” Brot’an whispered back, soft-stepping closer, and in his off hand was a large, empty burlap sack. “I saw your face yesterday and knew you were planning something. I assume you did not tell Magiere?”

  Leesil kept his voice low, barely enough to be heard. “Magiere is no thief, not even in the worst situations. She might have swindled people in the past, but she doesn’t accept charity, and I’ve never seen her steal anything. It’s not in her.”

  Brot’an studied his face. “But it is in you?”

  Leesil had had enough of this conversation and turned away. Clearly it was in Brot’an as well, or he wouldn’t be down here.

  After that they moved deeper into the hold, almost to the edge of where moonlight could reach. Quickly and quietly, they both searched the crates and boxes. Leesil was astounded by the variety of food down here, considering nearly everyone on board was starving. Between himself and Brot’an, they loaded the burlap sack with crocks of olives, small wheels of wax-sealed cheese, apples, dried onions, and jars of what looked like some kind of orange fruit.

  Leesil set to opening another crate, and even before he finished, he could smell jerked beef. The crate was packed with it. Beyond hungry and unable to stop himself, he shoved some in his mouth. So fresh and tender, it nearly came apart on his tongue.

  His anger at the captain grew as he loaded a good amount into the sack.

  When he finally looked up and about, Brot’an was stuffing various food items inside his own shirt. Leesil ignored him and kept to his task. As he finished filling the sack, Brot’an approached, looking at it curiously.

  “What will we do with all of that?” he whispered. “We cannot risk bringing it into your cabin.”

  “Not to mine . . . To yours.” Leesil paused. “Yesterday, when you were up on deck taking some air, Wayfarer was with Magiere in our cabin, and I went into yours. I pulled up three floorboards and found a space beneath. I put the boards back but removed the nails. We’ll hide the food under there.”

  Brot’an was quiet for a moment. “Like your mother, you are ever resourceful.”

  Leesil stiffened. Brot’an was the last person he’d ever want to talk to about his mother. Putting down the hook, he turned and made his way toward the ladder with the now-heavy sack in hand.

  “Let’s just get this hidden before we’re caught.”

  “Not that way . . . at least not for you,” Brot’an said. “Look where we are standing. These food stores have been placed near a lower access point into the hold, so that supplies can be moved more easily to a kitchen or elsewhere below . . . through a door.”

  Leesil turned around. “I tried coming in that way. The door was barred.”

  He thought he heard the old assassin sigh, just barely.

  “Yes,” Brot’an whispered, “but at least one crew member has come or gone from the hold by using a key on the door. How and why else would one have come up into the passage at the noise made by the girl and the majay-hì? Or did you not remember this while picking the door’s lock from the outside . . . and too noisily?” Brot’an turned, heading even deeper in the hold’s rear. “Enough talk. Come.”

  Leesil wanted nothing more than to get this food to Magiere, Chap, and Wayfarer. With a glance up at the hold’s opening, he crept after the master assassin. It still made no sense that any food would be placed near a hold’s lower door.

  “This captain doesn’t care about supplying the crew,” Leesil whispered.


  Again he barely heard Brot’an sigh. “A ship is constructed like any structure for efficiency of use, not a single captain’s deviance. A glutton and miser still wants discreet access to his hoard, preferably in a way that does not display it before all whom he considers potential thieves.”

  The crewman who’d appeared in the passage might have been secretly trying to move more food to the captain’s quarters—and maybe sneak out some for himself. Unfortunately Chap and Wayfarer had gotten in the way. That also meant someone else would have had to block the door from the inside—after it was locked—and then climb up the ladder to the deck.

  There must be a few crewmen Amjad either trusted or had terrified enough to allow them inside his precious hold without worrying about theft.

  “Here,” Brot’an whispered.

  “What? Where?” Leesil asked.

  Inside this far, it was too dark to see much. But as he closed behind Brot’an, he heard the scrape of wood on something hard, perhaps metal.

  Leesil realized that Brot’an was removing whatever barred the door from the inside. At the soft click that followed, a little light showed the stairs beyond the open door.

  “Go,” Brot’an said. “I will bar the door and return the way we came in.”

  Leesil stepped out, glancing down the side passage along the outside of the hold’s wall. Down the way, light spilled from the entrance into the kitchen. Perhaps the cook was still up, but he rarely seemed to leave his stench-ridden cabin.

  So far Leesil had been successful. There was nothing left to do but sneak up the stairs and hide the bulk of the food in Brot’an and Wayfarer’s cabin. And then he had to hope the theft was not discovered anytime soon, and, when it was, that no one connected it to the ship’s passengers.

  He stalled briefly as he heard the wooden brace slide home beyond the hold’s door, and then he slipped up the stairs to the passage lined with cabin doors.

  • • •