by Adam Thomas
“So you do have undead in the city?” Rhys asked, and then he added hastily, “I’m Rhys Highridge, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Rhys Highridge. You can call me Collins.” She extended a hand and Rhys shook it.
Behind his back, Alurel giggled.
“How do you plan to deal with the zombies?” Collins asked, as she marched them south along the river.
“Fire, mostly,” Rhys said.
“Make sure it’s controlled. The cemetery is ringed with hedges, which will go up in a trice. We don’t want to catch the city on fire.”
“So much for fireballs,” Emric said.
“I see at least one of you has a sword,” Collins said. “I assume you know how to use it, Rhys.”
This time, Jeral and Shonasir joined Alurel’s giggling.
“Never had a complaint before,” Rhys said.
“Let’s get to it then, shall we?” Collins said.
Alurel spoke up from the back of the group. “Oh, you two should definitely get to it.”
They reached the boarded up cemetery and worked their way methodically across the unkempt grass. Rhys and Collins were both masters with their blades, but where Rhys overpowered with his strength and reach, Collins danced and spun like a deadly ballerina. They cut down each zombie in turn, and Emric and Shonasir burned them with their magic. Alurel and Jeral remained at the entrance of the cemetery, ostensibly guarding it against escaping zombies, but mostly eating the dessert they had snagged from a street vendor on their way.
Within an hour the deed was done. The graveyard reeked of burned flesh, but the zombies were no more. Both Rhys and Collins were drenched in sweat, and the latter’s tight bun had come undone, revealing a cascade of wavy hair that reached to the middle of her back.
“Invigorating,” she said, as she slid her blades back in their sheathes.
“I’m going to be sore in the morning,” Rhys said.
“And here I was going to ask you to do a little more sparring.” Collins stepped towards Rhys and favored him with a winning smile.
She put her hands against his chest, and Rhys realized he had accidentally been flirting with her all evening. He looked over at his friends, who were standing in a group and grinning at him. He looked back at the accomplished swordmaster and said. “Well, my boss always says it’s important to have a good relationship with local law enforcement.”
seventeen
Secureswift
The next morning, Shonasir was up before dawn for a walk along the River Eld. The party had taken rooms at the Drunken Dreamer, and as the elf returned to the inn, they spied the door opening. Holly Collins exited and hurried up the street on her way to the drawbridge. She saw Shonasir and gave them an awkward wave.
Shonasir decided to extend their morning walk and returned to the cemetery to make sure the zombies stayed dead. Thankfully, the party had been thorough the night before, and all that remained were bone fragments and dust. The sun was fully up when Shonasir entered the Drunken Dreamer to find their friends at breakfast. Alurel was needling Rhys with questions about his night time activities, but he was staying steadfastly silent. Jeral answered for him, giving a comically fictional account of what he imagined happened between Rhys and Collins. By the time he was done everyone was either laughing or groaning, even Rhys.
“So what’s our next move?” Emric asked when they were all through with breakfast.
Shonasir unrolled their map of northeastern Sularil across the table. Thousand Spires stood at the western edge of the map about two-thirds of the way to the top. The Eldasin Sea spread eastward from the city in a widening V, with Arillon and Torniel to the south and Sul and Dragonclime to the north.
Shonasir pointed out Port Eldasin, Miresedge, and Cold Harbor. “Here’s the straight line I mentioned yesterday.”
“Could be a coincidence,” Jeral said. “It’s only three points of data.”
“There’s a tiny town called Waypointe on a spur of land jutting out from the coast of Sul. If we went there and they had a zombie problem too, would that satisfy you?”
“I suppose so.”
“Great. More boats,” Emric grumbled.
They booked passage on a merchant vessel called the Archon, bound for Thousand Spires. Captain Reina Naryn welcomed them aboard, and when they asked about her surname, they discovered she was the sister of the library-bound Gaius of light sword fame. They told her about their mission that her brother had assisted, and she promised to divert course to Waypointe, which would only add a day or two to their trip. The weather on the Eldasin Sea was predictably stormy for spring. Emric confined himself to his bunk, but Shonasir never left the deck. They reveled in the tempest and spent hours riding their own Awakened Storm above the ship.
Despite the rough seas, the Archon reached Waypointe none the worse for wear. Captain Naryn explained that the town was so named because it served as a port of call between Thousand Spires and Highpoint Island, where new recruits trained for the Sularin Joint Force. The town was tiny – nothing more than a wharf with a single pier beyond which lay a cluster of buildings. The Archon was too deep-drafted to reach the pier, so the B-Team took a rowboat ashore and inquired at the single small inn next to the general store.
A human woman bustled from the kitchen with a fresh cake held in both hands. She introduced herself as Sheila, innkeeper and town manager. The party sampled her delicious cake as she related the now predictable story. Thankfully, like Miresedge, Waypoint was too wet to bury bodies in the ground, so they had a small mausoleum for their burial needs when cremation was not desired. Sheila told them that recently the mausoleum had been making some strange noises, but no one wanted to check it out. Emric offered the party’s services – and the only fee? More of Sheila’s perfect confections. She readily agreed, and a few hours later, the B-Team returned to the merchant vessel with a three-tiered masterpiece, which they shared with Captain Naryn and her crew.
The Archon nosed into its berth in the Shipping Quarter of Thousand Spires. The B-Team thanked the captain for her hospitality and disembarked. Across the water they could see the mansions of the Diamond Spire, so grand and distant, especially given the grime and odor of the working port.
They were trying to decide their next move – return to Lord Day or investigate the Kindred Society – when they saw a name written in large white letters on the side of a brick building.
Secureswift.
“Makes sense that Lord Sindar’s business is here in the Shipping Quarter,” Jeral said.
“Let’s go check it out,” Shonasir offered. “I have a hunch.”
They made their way past groups of longshoremen unloading the Archon and other vessels. Everywhere there were workers stacking goods, customs agents checking off lists, and drivers loading carts. The bustle was new and welcome after several days on the sea.
As they approached Secureswift’s warehouse, they noticed smaller words printed beneath the name: “Local, Overland, and Oceangoing Shipping – Postal Delivery – Storage – Carriage and Cart Repair – Livery Services.”
“Seems Pelagius Sindar has his fingers in many pies,” Rhys said.
“Mmmm. Pie,” Emric said. “Now I want more of Sheila’s cake. Thanks, Rhys.”
“How about a mushroom?”
“No, not just now.”
“Why are we here again?” Alurel asked.
Shonasir turned to face the rest of the group. “Secureswift commissioned a boat called the Zenith Two. A vampire pirate used to have a boat called the Zenith. There’s got to be a connection.”
“It’s not the Sindars,” Jeral said. “We saw them both in broad daylight.”
“Humor me, just for a few minutes,” Shonasir said.
They entered the office at one end of the long warehouse and found a halfling man with an ample
belly and pair of pince-nez glasses balancing on his nose. He looked up when they came in and said, “Edgar Glinan, warehouse manager of Secureswift, at your service.”
He had a nervous air about him, but that may have been due to the fact that a group of heavily-armed strangers had just filled his office.
“Mr. Glinan, we’re investigating certain matters for Lord Sondal Day,” Shonasir said, hoping that dropping the minister’s name would loosen the halfling’s tongue. “Can you tell us if anything strange has happened around here recently?”
“You mean beyond the business with the diamond mines? I thought Lord Day was satisfied on that account?”
Shonasir blinked, but kept their composure. “Yes, right. We’re doing a follow-up to make sure everyone’s story is still the same. Please, tell yours again.”
Edgar Glinan spoke with rapid efficiency, as if he were reciting a legal document. “The Kindred Society contracted with Secureswift to make regular runs into the biting cold of Sul to take delivery of their goods derived from their various mining operations in the Northern Mountains. Never did a courier of Secureswift enter one of the mines, nor did the company, its agents, or its owner have any knowledge of the abhorrent and illegal labor practices employed within.”
“But you now know of those practices, do you not?” Shonasir pressed.
“It is alleged that the labor in the mines – mostly half-elven individuals – was under the influence of mind control.”
Alurel gritted her teeth. How many more injustices did her people have to face? Jeral must have seen her trembling because he grabbed her hand and squeezed in solidarity.
Shonasir continued their examination. “And what has your company done since to atone for its ignorance?”
“Pardon?” Glinan asked.
“You heard the question, sir.”
“We have been absolved of any wrongdoing. Why this investigation continues months later is beyond my ken.”
“There’s a difference between doing no wrong and willfully ignoring the wrong done near you.”
The halfling was moral enough to look abashed at this assessment, but he still kept toeing the company’s line. “Secureswift acknowledges no culpability, but we did offer our services free of charge to relocate the laborers to Thousand Spires. Where they went after that, I do not know.”
Shonasir fixed him with a piercing glare. Then their eyes softened and they said, “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Glinan. My companions will now tour your facility as part of our investigation.”
“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”
The elf raised an eyebrow and nodded to their companions. The five ‘investigators’ spread out in the massive warehouse. Even with dozens of workers going about their business, the perfectly organized building seemed empty. Most of the space was devoted to goods awaiting transit, which were stacked in neat piles with clear destinations marked on the floor. Along the back wall stood several rows of storage cages, most filled to the brim with the detritus of people’s lives. And in the far corner were parked a fleet of carriages bearing the livery of Secureswift.
No one bothered the B-Team as they poked about; too intent were the workers on their tasks. Rhys and Alurel approached the carriages, and the first thing they noticed was that every one of them was in some state of disrepair: mostly broken wheels or axles or chipped paint, and a few with ripped canvas roofs.
But one carriage stood out from the rest for two reasons. It was much more ornate than the workaday models. And its exterior was pristine.
“Looks like this is a repair shop for their vehicles,” Rhys said. “So why is that one here?”
“Let’s check it out,” Alurel said.
The carriage did not bear the company’s mark like the others. Its driver’s bench was enclosed, and it had cunningly fashioned skis that swung down from the undercarriage. “This is one heavily improved vehicle,” Rhys said. “Expensive.”
They circled the beautiful vehicle looking for signs of damage. But there was nothing. That is, until they looked inside where it appeared like the carriage had been transporting a pack of rabid wolverines. The upholstery was slashed to bits and the padding was spilling out. The gilded wood of the interior fixtures was scored all over as if by the sharpest of knives. And the side of one of the storage compartments beneath the bench had a hole in it the size of a grapefruit.
“What do you suppose happened here?” Rhys asked.
Alurel looked up just in time to say, “We could ask him.”
Lord Pelagius Sindar was striding across the warehouse and heading directly for the carriage.
“A word, if you please,” Alurel called out, as she stepped down from the carriage.
Sindar froze, turned on his heel, and began walking the other direction. Alurel touched her ear and said to her companions over their iron earrings, “Stop Sindar!”
Thankfully, the other members of the B-Team were on the far side of the warehouse, and they boxed in Secureswift’s owner.
“What is the meaning of this?” Sindar bellowed. “Unhand me, you ruffians.”
“We’re ruffians now?” Emric echoed. “A few weeks ago, we were the saviors of your orphanage. Come on, my friend has a few questions for you.”
They marched Sindar over to the carriage where Rhys and Alurel were waiting. The door stood open and Alurel pointed inside. “Tell us what happened in here.”
Sindar’s sallow face went even whiter, and he hung his head. After a short silence, all he managed was a quiet, “I don’t know.”
“It looks like it was mauled by a bear!”
Sindar looked up and glared at Alurel. “I’m telling you, I don’t know!”
“This carriage is too nice to be one of your rentals. It’s yours, isn’t it, yours personally?”
“Yes, this is my private coach.”
“Was it stolen?”
“Not as such, no.”
Rhys took up position behind Alurel. “What does that mean?”
“My butler told me that Serafina and her friend Rosamund took it out one night last week.”
“I take it that wasn’t a strange occurrence?”
“A common one, actually. What was strange is that they didn’t return the next day. After three days, I recalled the carriage myself, thinking it might help me know where they went.”
“Recalled?”
Sindar nodded and for a fleeting moment a prideful smile dashed across his face. “The carriage is enchanted against theft. There is a special stone integrated into the chassis connected ethereally with one in my home’s garage. All I need do is touch it, and the carriage returns to me as if through a runegate.”
“Fancy,” Alurel said. “What did you find besides all this damage?”
Sindar heaved a great sigh and started shaking. “Just a torn and tattered rope.”
“I suppose you have a theory?”
Sindar balled his fists and gathered himself. “I know it sounds crazy, and I don’t know why or how, but I think Rosamund Steele kidnapped my wife!”
“You mentioned this Rosamund when last we met,” Emric said, his voice soft and soothing. “Tell us more.”
“They’ve been fast friends for years. I had never seen Serafina so happy before, but they must have hit it off. Rosamund even shielded her from the probe into that damn society of theirs.”
Alurel said, “I don’t know how to put this tactfully, but if they were such good friends, why do you suspect a kidnapping?”
“The ropes. The damage. Why else would these things be if not for Serafina desperately trying to escape?”
Behind Sindar’s back. Shonasir gave their friends a significant look. “The Zenith,” they said.
“The what?” Sindar asked, rounding on the elf.
“The boat your company commissioned in Port Eldasin.”
“I know of no such endeavor.”
“Then someone is using your name. I’d wager it’s Serafina.”
Emric stroked his beard and said, “So you think this Rosamund –”
“It all fits. The general’s suspicion. The old man’s story…” They turned their attention back to Sindar. “Do you know where they went?”
“No, not as such.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that,” Alurel said. “Try again.”
“If I tell you, will you help get my wife back?”
Alurel stared him down without responding.
Sindar pursed his lips and exhaled sharply through his nose. “All right. There was snow on the carriage and the skis were down.”
“So we’re going north,” Alurel said.
“And I think I know where,” Shonasir added.
eighteen
Into the North
Sindar’s carriage clattered out of the city through the northern gate. Pulled by a quartet of strong draft horses, the coach made good time along the Sul March until the road began curving eastward and the snow started falling. Half a day out from Thousand Spires, Shonasir directed them due north, off the road and into the snow. Jeral guided the horses into the undisturbed blanket of whiteness and dropped the skis.
“Show me again,” Alurel said to Shonasir, who has spread the map over the slashed cushions of the interior bench.
“The spate of undead passes through four towns in a straight line. The next place it hits is a mine called Sulun Depths, which, until recently, was owned by the Kindred Society.”
“I still don’t see how the two are connected.”
“If you were an undead vampire, who would your most reliable laborers be?”
“Other undead.”
“Precisely. So what if our vampire quarry is still operating the mine, but with zombies instead of enslaved half-elves?”
“How does that connect with the zombies we’ve dealt with?”
“What if the magic to make them went awry? What if the spell kept going when it should have stopped?”