The Spine of the World

by Philip Athans

  “I will see him in my quarters,” the wizard instructed as he walked away.

  A few moments later, Waillan Micanty led the shivering little man through Robillard’s cabin door. Several other curious crewmen poked their heads into the room, but Micanty, without waiting for Robillard’s permission, moved over and closed them out.

  “Ye’re Deudermont?” the little man asked.

  “I am not,” the wizard admitted, “but rest assured that I am the closest you will ever get to him.”

  “Got to see Deudermont,” the little man explained.

  “What is your name?” the wizard asked.

  The little man shook his head. “Just got to tell Deudermont,” he said. “But it don’t come from me, if ye understand.”

  Never a patient man, Robillard certainly did not understand. He flicked his finger and sent a bolt of energy into the little man that jolted him backward. “Your name?” he asked again, and when the man hesitated, he hit him with another jolt. “There are many more waiting, I assure you,” Robillard said.

  The little man turned for the door but got hit in the face with a tremendous magical gust of wind that nearly knocked him over and sent him spinning to again face the wizard.

  “Your name?” Robillard asked calmly.

  “Josi Puddles,” Josi blurted before he could think to create an alias.

  Robillard pondered the name for a moment, putting his finger to his chin. He leaned back in his chair and struck a pensive pose. “Do tell me your news, Mister Puddles.”

  “For Captain Deudermont,” an obviously overwhelmed Josi replied. “They’re looking to kill ’im. Lots o’ coin for his head.”

  “Who?”

  “A big man,” Josi replied. “Big man named Wulfgar and his friend Morik the Rogue.”

  Robillard did well to hide his surprise. “And how do you know this?” he asked.

  “All on the street know,” Josi answered. “Lookin’ to kill Deudermont for ten thousand pieces o’ gold, so they’re sayin’.”

  “What else?” Robillard demanded, his voice taking on a threatening edge.

  Josi shrugged, little eyes darting.

  “Why have you come?” Robillard pressed.

  “I was thinkin’ ye should know,” Josi answered. “I know I’d want to be knowin’ if people o’ Wulfgar’s and Morik’s reputation was hunting me.”

  Robillard nodded, then chuckled. “You came to a ship—a pirate hunter—infamous among the most dangerous folk along the docks, to warn a man you have never met, knowing full well that to do so could put you in mortal danger. Your pardon, Mister Puddles, but I sense an inconsistency here.”

  “I thinked ye should know,” Josi said again, lowering his eyes. “That’s all.”

  “I think not,” Robillard said calmly. Josi looked back at him, his expression fearful. “How much do you desire?”

  Josi’s expression turned curious.

  ‘A wiser man would have bargained before offering the information,’ Robillard explained, “but we are not ungrateful. Will fifty gold pieces suffice?”

  “W-well, yes,” Josi stuttered, then he said, “Well, no. Not really, I mean. I was thinkin’ a hunnerd.”

  “You are a powerful bargainer, Mister Puddles,” Robillard said, and he nodded at Micanty to calm the increasingly agitated sailor. “Your information may well prove valuable, if you aren’t lying, of course.”

  “No, sir, never that!”

  “Then a hundred gold it is,” Robillard said. “Return tomorrow to speak with Captain Deudermont, and you shall be paid.”

  Josi glanced all around. “I’m not comin’ back, if ye please, Master Robillard,” he said.

  Robillard chuckled again. “Of course,” he replied as he reached into a neck purse. He produced a key and tossed it to Waillan Micanty.

  “See to it,” he told the man. “You will find the sum in the left locker, bottom. Pay him in pieces of ten. Then escort Mister Puddles from our good ship and send a pair of crewmen along to get him safely off the docks.”

  Micanty could hardly believe what he was hearing, but he wasn’t about to argue with the dangerous wizard. He took Josi Puddles by the arm and left the room.

  When he returned a short while later, he found Robillard leaning over his crystal ball, studying the image intently.

  “You believe him,” Micanty stated. “Enough to pay him without any proof.”

  “A hundred copper pieces is not so great a sum,” Robillard replied.

  “Copper?” Micanty replied. “It was gold by my own eyes.”

  “So it seemed,” the wizard explained, “but it was copper, I assure you, and coins that I can trace easily to find our Mister Puddles—to punish him if necessary, or to properly reward him if his information proves true.”

  “He did not come to us searching for any reward,” the observant Micanty remarked. “Nor is he any friend of Captain Deudermont, surely. No, it seems to me that our friend Puddles isn’t overly fond of Wulfgar or this Morik fellow.”

  Robillard glanced in his crystal ball again, then leaned back in his chair, thinking.

  “Have you found the captain?” Micanty dared to ask.

  “I have,” the wizard answered. “Come, see this.”

  When Micanty got near to Robillard, he saw the scene in the crystal ball shift from Luskan’s streets to a ship somewhere out on the open ocean. “The captain?” he said with concern.

  “No, no,” Robillard replied. “Wulfgar, perhaps, or at least his magical warhammer. I know of the weapon. It was described to me in depth. Thinking that it would show me Wulfgar, my magical search took me to this boat, Leaping Lady by name.”

  “Pirate?”

  “Likely,” the wizard answered. “If Wulfgar is indeed on her, we shall likely meet up with the man again. Though, if he is, our friend Puddles’s story seems a bit unlikely.”

  “Can you call to the captain?” Micanty asked, still concerned. “Bring him home?”

  “He’d not listen,” Robillard said with a smirk. “Some things our stubborn Captain Deudermont must learn for himself. I will watch him closely. Go and secure the ship. Double the guard, triple it even, and tell every man to watch the shadows closely. If there are, indeed, some determined to assassinate Captain Deudermont, they might believe him to be here.”

  Robillard was alone again, and he turned to the crystal ball, returning the image to Captain Deudermont. He sighed in disappointment. He expected as much, but he was still sad to discover that the captain had again traveled to the rougher section of town. As Robillard focused in on him again, Deudermont passed under the sign for Half-Moon Street.

  Had Robillard been able to better scan the wide area, he might have noticed two figures slipping into an alley paralleling the avenue Deudermont had just entered.

  Creeps Sharky and Tee-a-nicknick rushed along, then cut down an alley, emerging onto Half-Moon Street right beside the Cutlass. They dashed inside, for Sharky was convinced that was where Deudermont was headed. The pair took the table in the corner to the right of the door, evicting the two patrons sitting there with threatening growls. They sat back, ordering drinks from Delly Curtie. Their smug smiles grew wider when Captain Deudermont walked through the door, making his way to the bar.

  “He no stay long witout Wufgar here,” Tee-a-nicknick remarked.

  Creeps considered that, deciphered the words first, then the thought behind them and nodded. He had a fair idea of where Wulfgar and Morik might be. A comrade had spotted them along the dock area earlier that night. “Keep a watch on him,” Creeps instructed. He held up a pouch he had prepared earlier, then started to leave.

  “Too easy,” Tee-a-nicknick remarked, reiterating his complaints about the plan Creeps had former earlier that day.

  “Aye, but that’s the beauty of it, my friend,” said Creeps. “Morik’s too cocky and too curious to cast it away. No, he’ll have it, he will, and it’ll bring him runnin’ to us all the faster.”

  Creeps went out
into the night and scanned the street. He had little trouble locating one of the many street children who lurked in the area, serving as lookouts or couriers.

  “‘Ere boy,” he called to one. The waif, a lad of no more than ten winters, eyed him suspiciously but did not approach. “Got a job for ye,” Creeps explained, holding up the bag.

  The boy made his way tentatively toward the dangerous-looking pirate.

  “Take this,” Creeps instructed, handing the little bag over. “And don’t look in it!” he commanded when the boy started to loosen the top to peek inside.

  Creeps had a change of mind immediately, realizing that the waif might then think there was something special in the bag—gold or magic—and might just run off with it. He pulled it back from the boy and tugged it open, revealing its contents: a few small claws, like those from a cat, a small vial filled with a clear liquid, and a seemingly unremarkable piece of stone.

  “There, ye seen it, and so ye’re knowin’ it’s nothing worth stealin’,” Creeps said.

  “I’m not for stealin’,” the boy argued.

  “Course ye’re not,” said Creeps with a knowing chuckle. “Ye’re a good boy, now ain’t ye? Well, ye know o’ one called Wulfgar? A big fellow with yellow hair who used to beat up people for Arumn at the Cutlass?”

  The boy nodded.

  “And ye know his friend?”

  “Morik the Rogue,” the boy recited. “Everybody’s knowin’ Morik.”

  “Good enough for ye,” said Creeps. “They’re down at the docks, or between here and there, by my guess. I want ye to find ’em and give this to Morik. Tell him and Wulfgar that a Captain Deudermont’s lookin’ to meet them outside the Cutlass. Somethin’ about a big hammer. Can ye do that?”

  The boy smirked as if the question were ridiculous.

  “And will ye do it?” Creeps asked. He reached into a pocket and produced a silver piece. Creeps started to hand it over, then changed his mind, and his hand went in again, coming back out with several of the glittering silver coins. “Ye get yer little friends lookin’ all over Luskan,” he instructed, handing the coins to the wide-eyed waif. “There’ll be more for ye, don’t ye doubt, if ye bring Wulfgar and Morik to the Cutlass.”

  Before Creeps could say another word, the boy snatched the coins, turned, and disappeared into the alleyway.

  Creeps was smiling when he rejoined Tee-a-nicknick a few moments later, confident that the lad and the extensive network of street urchins he would tap would complete the task in short order.

  “He just wait,” Tee-a-nicknick explained, motioning to Deudermont, who stood leaning on the bar, sipping a glass of wine.

  “A patient man,” said Creeps, flashing that green-and-yellow toothy smile. “If he knew how much time he got left to live, he might be a bit more urgent, he might.” He motioned to Tee-a-nicknick to exit the Cutlass. They soon found a low rooftop close enough to afford them a fine view of the tavern’s front door.

  Tee-a-nicknick pulled a long hollow tube out of the back of his shirt, then took a cat’s claw, tied with a small clutch of feathers, from his pocket. Kneeling low and moving very carefully, the tattooed half-qullan savage turned his right hand palm up, then, taking the cat’s claw in his left hand, squeezed a secret packet on the bracelet around his right wrist. Slowly, slowly, the tattooed man increased the pressure until the packet popped open and a drop of molasseslike syrup oozed out. He caught most of it on the tip of the cat’s claw, then stuffed the dart into the end of his blowgun.

  “Tee-a-nicknick patient man, too,” he said with a wicked grin.

  h, look at you!” Biaste Ganderlay exclaimed when she moved to help Meralda put on the new gown Lord Feringal had sent for their dinner that night. Only then, only after Meralda had taken off the bunched-collar shift she had been wearing all the day, did her mother see the extent of her bruises, distinct purple blotches all around her neck and shoulders, bigger marks than the two showing on her face. “You can’t be going to see Lord Feringal looking so,” Biaste wailed. “What’ll he think of you?”

  “Then I’ll not go,” an unenthusiastic Meralda answered, but that only made Biaste fuss more urgently. Meralda’s answer brought a frown to Biaste’s gray and weary face, poignantly reminding Meralda of her mother’s sickness, and of the only possible way to heal her.

  The girl lowered her eyes and kept her gaze down as Biaste went to the cupboards, fumbling with boxes and jars. She found beeswax and lavender, comfrey root and oil, then she scurried outside and collected some light clay to put in the mixture. She was back in Meralda’s room shortly, holding a mortar she used to crunch the herbs and oil and clay together vigorously with her pestle.

  “I’ll tell him it was an accident,” Meralda offered as Biaste moved to begin applying the masking and comforting salve. “If he fell down the stone stairs at Castle Auck, surely he’d have such bruises as to make these seem like nothing.”

  “Is that how this happened to you?” Biaste asked, though Meralda had already insisted that she hurt herself by absentmindedly running into a tree.

  A twinge of panic hit the girl, for she did not want to reveal the truth, did not want to tell her mother that her loving, adoring father had beaten her. “What’re you saying?” she asked defensively. “Do you think I’m daft enough to run into a tree on purpose, Ma?”

  “Now, of course I don’t,” said Biaste, managing a smile. Meralda did, too, glad that her deflection had worked. Biaste took the scrap of flannel she was using to wipe the bruises and swatted Meralda playfully across the head. “It don’t look so bad. Lord Feringal will not even see.”

  “Lord Feringal’s looking at me more carefully than you think,” Meralda replied, which brought a great laugh from Biaste and she wrapped her daughter in a hug. It seemed to Meralda that her mother was a bit stronger today.

  “Steward Temigast said you’ll be walking in the gardens tonight,” said Biaste. “Oh, and the moon’ll be big in the sky. My girl, could I even have dared hope for such a thing for you?”

  Meralda answered with another smile, for she feared that if she opened her mouth all of her anger at this injustice would pour out and knock her mother back into bed.

  Biaste took Meralda by the hand, and led her to the main room of the cottage where the table was already set for dinner. Tori was sitting, shifting impatiently. Dohni Ganderlay came in the front door at that moment and looked directly at the two women.

  “She ran into a tree,” Biaste remarked. “Can you believe the girl’s foolishness? Running into a tree when Lord Feringal’s a-calling!” She laughed again, and Meralda did, too, though she never blinked as she stared at her father.

  Dohni and Tori shared an uncomfortable glance, and the moment passed. The Ganderlay family sat down together for a quiet evening meal. At least it would have been quiet, had it not been for the bubbling exuberance of an obviously thrilled Biaste Ganderlay.

  Soon after, long before the sun even touched the rim of the western horizon, the Ganderlays stood outside their house, watching Meralda climb into the gilded coach. Biaste was so excited she ran out into the middle of the dirt lane to wave good-bye. That effort seemed to drain her of all her strength, though, for she nearly swooned and would have stumbled had not Dohni Ganderlay been there to catch and support her.

  “Now get yourself to bed,” he instructed. Dohni tenderly handed his wife over to Tori, who helped her into the house.

  Dohni waited outside, watching the diminishing coach and the dusty road. The man was torn in heart and soul. He didn’t regret the lesson he had given to Meralda—the girl needed to put her priorities straight—but hitting Meralda hurt Dohni Ganderlay as much as it had hurt the girl.

  “Why’d Ma nearly fall down, Da?” Tori asked a moment later, the sound of the girl’s voice catching the distracted Dohni by surprise. “She was so strong and smiling and all.”

  “She gave too much of herself,” Dohni explained, not overly concerned. He knew the truth of Biaste’s condition, �
�the wilting” as it was commonly called, and understood that it would take more than high spirits to heal her. Good spirits would bolster her temporarily, but the sickness would have its way with her in the end. It would take the efforts of Lord Feringal’s connections to truly bring healing.

  He looked down at Tori then and saw the honest fear there. “She’s just needing rest,” he explained, draping an arm across the young girl’s shoulder

  “Meralda told Ma she ran into a tree,” Tori dared to say, drawing a frown from Dohni.

  “So she did,” Dohni agreed softly, sadly. “Why’s she resisting?” he asked his youngest daughter impulsively. “She’s got the lord himself fretting over her. A brighter world than ever she could’ve hoped to find.”

  Tori looked away, which told Dohni that the younger girl knew more than she was letting on. He moved in front of Tori, and when she tried to continue to look away, he caught her by the chin and forced her to eye him directly. “What do ye know?”

  Tori didn’t respond.

  “Tell me girl,” Dohni demanded, giving Tori a rough shake. “What’s in your sister’s mind?”

  “She loves another,” Tori said reluctantly.

  “Jaka Sculi,” he reasoned aloud. Dohni Ganderlay relaxed his grip, but his eyes narrowed. He had suspected as much, had figured that Meralda’s feelings for Jaka Sculi might go deeper, or at least that Meralda thought they went deeper. Dohni knew Jaka well enough to understand that the boy was more facade than depth. Still, Dohni was not blind to the fact that nearly all of the village girls were taken with that moody young lad.

  “She’ll kill me if she thinks I told you,” Tori pleaded, but she was cut short by another rough shake. The look on her father’s face was one she had never seen before, but she was sure it was the same one Meralda had witnessed earlier that day.

  “Do you think it’s all a game?” Dohni scolded.

  Tori burst into tears, and Dohni let her go. “Keep your mouth shut to your ma and your sister,” he instructed.