Chasers of the Wind

by Alexey Pehov

  A cavalcade appeared. I tugged the hood low over my eyes and huddled into my corner. His greatness Joch was deigning to inspect his domain and personally prepare everything for the evening’s Fights.

  First a foursome of horsemen with light crossbows pranced by. It was telling that they had their weapons on hand. Then I got an unpleasant surprise—Threefingers’s bodyguards were kinsmen of Ga-Nor. Severe, red-haired men with grim, whiskered faces and the habits of experienced predators. A dozen Children of the Snow Leopard surrounded the carriage in a tight ring, and another three brought up the rear. I noticed they were carrying short bows.

  The carriage should be given special mention. It had no windows, so there was no hope that a stray arrow could pass through a curtain. Also, I was sure that the doors locked from the inside. While you were wasting your time trying to get into that snail’s shell, you’d be killed ten times over. Yet another crossbowman sat next to the driver.

  The carriage passed by me and disappeared into the tangled streets of Cucumber Quarter. I sat there for a while, and then I stood, gathered my coins, and walked away. I knew everything I needed to.

  A heavy rain began just when I had changed into more respectable clothes in a deserted alley.

  * * *

  Layen was waiting for me in the very heart of Haven, under an awning where cold shaf was served. Having a roof over our heads was a good thing—the raindrops were digging into the pavement like mad. There were almost no customers. No one wanted to sit in a puddle. Streams of water flowed right under the tables and stools, and you could count those who desired to soak their feet on your fingers.

  My sun was grimly sipping the cold drink from an oaken cup while sitting at one of the driest tables. When she noticed me, she smiled in relief.

  The serving girl brought another shaf and a hot pork sausage. I ate in silence while Layen stared off into the distance, in no hurry to begin our conversation. Her lips were compressed tightly, and her short blond hair was wet and sticking to her forehead. I finally finished my food, wiped my hands, set aside the empty dish, and recounted to her what I’d managed to spy out.

  “He’s very cautious. It won’t be that easy to take him,” she said in a whisper.

  “Force won’t work. We’d never make it to the carriage; we’d be cut to pieces before that. I might be able to finish him off with an arrow when he steps out of the carriage, but even if I don’t miss, there’s the northerners to consider. They’re a bit different from ordinary people. Once they’re on your tail, you can’t shake them. It’s a very risky option.”

  “So we have to do it when Threefingers is at home,” Layen concluded.

  “Is it possible?”

  She thought for a moment. “Perhaps. But with a whole host of reservations.”

  “Like what?”

  “In the last seven years, our friend has managed to change his lair. The picture is bleak. He bought a mansion in front of the wall of Hightown. In the hills, in the part of Second City where the orchards are almost continuous. Getting there will be very difficult. It’s a real fortress, and also right next to the barracks of the Viceroy’s Guards. The main gate and the servants’ entrance are guarded. The wall is also under surveillance. By his people and even more northerners. I can’t even imagine how many there are inside.”

  “We don’t know the schedule of patrols. We don’t know how many men he has. We don’t know where he sleeps, where he eats, or where he spends most of his time. We don’t have the layout of the building. Sneaking into his home is practically suicide.”

  “We don’t have a choice. If I had a bright spark it would all work out. It’s flaring up with each passing day, but we don’t have those days. Either we do it or we give up.”

  “I didn’t come to Al’sgara for that, my sun. We’ll think of something.”

  “Or Mols will. He may well know something. I think he and Stump have been calculating how to get Threefingers for many years. We should visit them again.”

  “Not the worst idea. He might be able to help us. After all, it’s in his best interests.”

  “Let’s do it, but only after a walk around the port.”

  * * *

  The main street of Haven abutted the portside docks and the piers. Despite the bad weather, work was at full tilt here. I wouldn’t say that there were many ships docked, but provisions were being unloaded from nearly all of them. The Viceroy was stockpiling food in the event of a lengthy siege.

  Hustling near the docks was useless and depressing, so we went to a port tavern and tossed the landlord a soren, asking a few questions. He quickly grabbed the money and nodded to a table where two men with tanned faces, hardened by the sea winds, were sitting. Judging by their black hair, high cheekbones, and beards without mustaches, they were inhabitants of the Golden Mark. They were obviously smugglers or those who warm their hands on the fires of impending war. Right now you could get really good money for the sale of food and medicine.

  We sat at their table uninvited. The older one grunted and looked pointedly at the bottom of his empty cup. I got the hint and ordered shaf all around. When the serving girl had brought the frothy beverage, the sailors raised their cups and the older one turned to Layen and said, “To your smile, beautiful! I swear by the great octopus, she’s a wonder!”

  They drank. We followed their example.

  “I am Captain Dazh. This”—he pointed to his companion—“is my first mate. As I understand it, you were sent to us by that corrupt individual at the bar? And I even know why. You’re not the first he’s sent to us.”

  “I think that’s why you pay him money.” I couldn’t resist.

  Dazh bared his teeth, and I decided to interpret it as a smile.

  “A witty fellow, eh, Riuk? I love those. And so. These last few days there’s been no end to people wanting to take a ride on the Lightborn. So many people want to leave this wonderful city.”

  “We are just such people,” I assured him.

  “So I thought.” An anchor and an octopus were roughly tattooed on the back of the captain’s left hand. “The trouble is that when people find out the cost, they immediately shuffle off to look for another tub. Let’s agree on this. I’ll name a sum, you will agree or disagree. No bargaining, no persuasion, no ‘we’ll think about it.’ And twenty percent of the payment up front.”

  “How much?”

  He grinned. “A hundred sorens a soul.”

  “The price of sea travel has soared high in these hard times.” I returned his grin.

  “War has a wholesome effect on our wallets.” Dazh shrugged. He was not about to make excuses. “What’s your answer?”

  Layen and I looked at each other. Two hundred sorens was quite a large amount. We could, of course, look for different passage, but I wasn’t sure the prices there would be any lower.

  “We agree.”

  “Wonderful,” said Dazh in a dry, businesslike tone.

  “Where is the guarantee that we won’t be left on shore once we give you the forty sorens?”

  “I have a reputation, and believe me, it’s worth far more than forty coins. I swear by the great octopus that I do not cheat my passengers. As they say, rumors fly faster over the sea than schooners.”

  “When will you ride away?” asked Layen.

  “We’ll sail, beautiful. It’s called sailing. As soon as we finish our business. After five days, if you count this one. We’ll sail in the morning, as soon as the wind is suitable. So I ask you not to hold us up and to be on time. I won’t wait; I give you fair warning.”

  “That suits us.” Layen stretched out her fist, in which money was clenched.

  Dazh held out his calloused palm, and before the people around us had time to notice the sparkle of the four coins, each worth ten sorens, the money had become the property of its new owner.

  “Outstanding. When Al’sgara is pinned down, you’ll be far away, I swear it by the great octopus! The Lightborn is at pier thirty-six. By the new warehouse a
nd the fish market. The best way to get there is by taking Hemp Street. You’ll recognize it at once—I have a two-masted schooner. The fastest in Hara. And I remind you once again, don’t be late. We won’t wait for anyone. I hope this is understood?”

  “It is.” I was not opposed to such conditions. “May I ask what’s going on at sea right now?”

  “Waves and wind,” said Riuk grimly.

  Dazh chuckled.

  “Don’t pay any attention to my mate. He has a poor sense of humor. The sea is calm right now. But everyone is carrying full sails. Darting about, they are. For now the lanes are free and even calmer than usual—the pirates are acting up far less than before. The Nabatorian fleet is stuck at the Straits. The Brotherhood of Merchants (the Golden Mark is ruled by the Brotherhood of Merchants, which is composed of the most respected and wealthiest traders in the country) is still bargaining, but it’s just a question of time, money, and power. Sooner or later they will give in. The Imperials are settled in at White Cape. They’re waiting for their guests to arrive.”

  “Will we slip through?”

  “You may rest assured.”

  We said good-bye to the sailors and left the tavern. It had started to rain again. It became gloomy, as if evening were already setting in. But it was still a ways off. We walked through the mud; it always seemed that there was more of it near the port than in Dovetown. All around there were puddles with floating debris and little floods of water from the hills streaming toward the sea, trying to carry off heedless passersby, or at least their shoes. The smell of damp earth, wet straw, horse manure, the sea, the rain, pitch, fish, soured shaf, and the Abyss knows what else was so disgusting that it took my breath away. The port wasn’t the cleanest part of the city. We tried to get out of there as quickly as possible, but our boots and cloaks were hopelessly soiled by filth.

  “We have five days,” Layen muttered from under her hood.

  She had a firm grip on my arm, and kept slipping on the wet ground.

  “Four.” I was trying to keep my balance. “We can forget about today. If we don’t have time to get it done, Dazh and his impudent mate will be waving their fingers at us from White Cape.”

  “Hurrying could damage our undertaking, my dear.”

  “And delaying will shove us into the Nabatorians, the Sdisians, and the Whites. And don’t forget about the Damned. She won’t just desert us.”

  “If it was Typhoid.”

  “I don’t think that Pork could have become such a fool as to search for you and Shen.”

  “Shen is probably long dead.”

  “He’s a slippery lad. I’m guessing that the Healer is not yet in the Blessed Gardens.”

  She almost fell while stepping over the next puddle. Swearing softly, she wiped her nose.

  “We’re in the crossfire, aren’t we?”

  “Don’t worry, my sun. We won’t get caught in it,” I comforted her. “We’ll make it. Joch is not immortal. We’ll get him.”

  “Yes. But I beg you, let’s not rush it. We have to think things through.”

  “In order to think things through, we’ve got to have at least a rough plan. And for that we need a bit of knowledge.”

  “Are we going to Mols?”

  “Clever girl.” I smiled and kissed her.

  * * *

  “It’s all ruined, screw a toad.” Luk sighed and, ignoring the rain, sat down on a wet bench not far from the Tower of the Walkers.

  Ga-Nor, grim and angry, stood next to him and looked at the majestic building with hatred.

  “Get up. You need a drink of hot shaf, my friend. You’ll catch a cold,” the tracker said finally.

  “What a business! And you couldn’t have spared a thought for me before?” Luk hissed venomously as a raindrop flowed off his upturned nose. “It’s all because of you!”

  Ga-Nor kept his silence, even though he had something to say.

  “What got into you?” the soldier persisted. “I had almost convinced that goon! He’d already given up! And then you came in. I told you to stand quietly while I settled everything.”

  “You’ve been ‘settling’ for a whole week without any results.” The northerner could not help himself. “I’m sick to death of this cursed city and its stupid people. They look at me like I’m some kind of wild animal!”

  “But you are a wild animal, screw a toad! Come on, tell me, explain to me, why did you have to go and grab the secretary’s throat? Do you think he’d let us in to the Walkers after that?”

  “I don’t. But he has such an arrogant mug. I couldn’t help it.”

  “I would have happily punched him in the nose myself, if not for my task,” Luk growled, and then immediately pounced on his comrade: “And where did your desire lead us, huh? They kicked us out. Thank Melot we weren’t roasted on the spot. And now entrance into the Tower is closed to me forever.”

  Ga-Nor silently chewed on his waterlogged mustache. He had no desire whatsoever to talk about the Walkers. Luk continued to drone and complain until the northerner noticed a horseman riding along the path. The tracker poked his friend on the shoulder.

  “Look.”

  Luk stared in astonishment. “I swear by the Abyss! It’s Gis!”

  The courier drew in his reins and smiled at the two friends like they were old acquaintances.

  * * *

  At one point Luk felt as though he had thrown the dice and the Seal of the Abyss (a combination of four dice, each of which shows a five. It’s a winning roll.) came up. Ten times in a row, no less. Stumbling upon Gis, who surprisingly turned out to be not at all what they thought he was, changed so much.

  The friends had no cause to suspect that the man they’d bonded with in Bald Hollow was the Magister of the Scarlet Order. At first Luk was a bit afraid of him, but over the course of dinner he got used to it and after only ten minutes he was wagging his tongue just as much as before. And he didn’t stop.

  Of course, at first they asked him about Shen and Ness. The wizard knew nothing about the first—the lad had disappeared while they were fleeing from the living dead. But the second had run away from him a few days before Gis’s arrival in Al’sgara.

  “He decided that he and a wizard had different paths.” The “courier” smiled into his mustache.

  After the news and food were finished, Gis asked his friends what they were doing in Hightown. Luk instantly became sorrowful, complaining that he needed to speak to the Walkers, but no one wanted to listen. Then a frowning Ga-Nor said dully that he’d like to see the secretary, who sat like a spider in the Tower’s reception room, damned by Ug.

  “I think I can assuage your grief and arrange a conversation with one of the Walkers. But not right away. It will take a day, perhaps two. And in the meantime you can stay with me, if, of course, you don’t have any prejudices against those who commune with demons,” said Gis.

  “My people have respect for those who wear scarlet,” said Ga-Nor, scowling.

  “Screw a toad!” exclaimed Luk, who had thrown off all reserve and was delighted at the possibility of a meeting with the Walkers. “It certainly doesn’t scare me.”

  “Well, excellent,” said the wizard, laughing. “Right now I have some business to take care of and I’ll disappear for a few hours. My student will take care of you. Make yourselves at home.”

  * * *

  “Something’s different, isn’t it?”

  “You’re right,” I said, assessing the situation. “There’s very little bread. Mols has reduced his inventory. That can only mean one thing—he’s saving grain and flour. And judging by the price of rolls, bad times are upon us.” The familiar pair of “bakers” were standing behind the counter. Luga caught sight of Layen and I, and he almost died of a heart attack. He went all green in the face and began looking around frantically. His comrade, who clearly had not yet learned our names, just looked hostile.

  “We’ve come for a visit,” I greeted them. “It’s been set up.”

  This time L
uga didn’t even think about baring his teeth at us, and he quickly led us to Stump, who met us in the dining room and offered us something to eat.

  “Mols isn’t here right now,” he said as he invited us to the table. “He’s on business.”

  We nodded understandingly, though we both thought that the head of the guild was avoiding us so that there wouldn’t be a repeat of the conversation about Shen. I must confess that I wouldn’t have been able to resist that topic. The baker appeared to have something to hide.

  During the meal we talked about this and that. Stump complained about joint pain due to the bad weather. Layen sympathized with him and recommended several concoctions. This meaningless chatter went on for quite a while, as Mols’s assistant was in no hurry to ask what made us visit. This time he was polite and courteous. But he drank the expensive wine just as quickly as before. And as always, without getting drunk.

  “Today Gray took a stroll through the Cucumber Quarter,” Layen said finally.

  “Was the walk enlightening?” He drank deeply from his glass.

  “Quite so.”

  The Giiyan grinned knowingly. “With the redheads around him, Joch feels like he’s in Melot’s bosom. Getting at him when he sticks his nose out of his lair is difficult.”

  “But possible,” I interjected.

  “It’s possible.” He did not deny it. “But afterward I wouldn’t pay a copper coin for your hide. People have already tried. The northerners ripped the fools to shreds. I don’t think you should take such a risk.”

  “That’s exactly why we came here today. I’m sure that you and Mols have thought more than once about how to get to Threefingers. Layen and I would be extremely grateful if you would share your thoughts on this matter.”

  Stump perked up, and a happy smile blossomed on his red face. “Oh yes! You can believe me, we’ve knocked ourselves silly over this. And spent a whole lot of sorens to find out what’s what.”