by C F Welburn
They passed by and took turns at the fire. Abstinence intensified the sensation, and the sky burned above. For a while, the whole wide sea was ablaze.
IX
MASQUERADING
Balagir found himself in high spirits as he made his way into Grimwater.
Perhaps it was the morning sun on his face, the recently converted smoke, his ship floating in the cove, the thought of beer in the taverns below—maybe all of these. It did not alter the fact that he was as lost as ever, but it seemed to rankle him less this morn.
The cobbled square that fronted the busy morning harbour dazzled and buzzed. Dry land felt good beneath his boots, and all that water separating him from foes was as reassuring as a blanket on a chill night. Grimwater’s inhabitants were a blend of men and gillards with the odd jaegir or ‘gnilo thrown in. He saw no other ashen save Goffle, Drak, and the two who had been at the hub, and they had split up to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
In the harbour, vessels were myriad, boasting large galleons whose ornate figureheads were as large as the small skiffs that wove in amongst them. He turned to view the town huddled below the green cliffs upon which a fire still burned. Silione was the largest of the four islands he had encountered, and Grimwater itself, though not as large as Cogtown, was certainly equal to Wormford. Beyond the bustling square and intestinous streets loomed larger buildings whose glaring white facades were capped with red roofs. He scanned the smattering of store fronts, stalls, and workshops until he found what he sought.
Fighting the temptation to enter the Rusted Hook, he veered towards the narrow cartographer’s store, where a weathered green sign creaked in the breeze.
The cartographer glanced up from his work, lingered a moment on Balagir, and then lowered his head as though it had only been the wind that had rattled his door. Undeterred, Balagir moved so that his shadow fell across the balding man’s work, and with a huff, he straightened.
“May I help?”
“What can you tell me of this?” Balagir asked, producing the chart piece.
The cartographer’s expression morphed from boredom, to confusion, to wide-eyed disbelief in a matter of a moment.
“Where did you get this?” he asked, seizing the ashen’s sleeve. Balagir shrugged him off.
“I’ll ask the questions.”
With a furtive glance, the cartographer hurriedly shut the door and, taking him once more by the arm, ushered him through to a dimly lit room.
Balagir looked down at his cloak.
“I don’t care for being manhandled.”
“Shush. Hand me that glass. Turn up the lamp.” Balagir stared, shook his head, and obliged. After an infuriating silence, the cartographer looked up. His monocle popped from his eye to swing hypnotically about his neck.
“How did you come by this?”
“Over a cup of tea,” he grumbled.
“Are you a smuggler?”
“Can ashen even be smugglers?” The cartographer chewed his lip and stared into the distance.
“I can scarcely believe it. Who sent you? Is this for real?”
“I came of my own accord. As for its validity, I presumed you the expert.” The cartographer emitted a long hissing sound from between his teeth and bent once more with the monocle to his eye.
“Incredible,” he muttered.
“I’m not sure I follow—”
“Come now! This is a sign. Has to be! It’s too soon, otherwise. Unless... Are you sure no one sent you? If this is meant to mock me, I assure you I’m far from amused.” The cartographer eyed him narrowly, but Balagir’s beetling brow was enough for him to accept his first answer. “They said it was lost. Do you know what this means?”
“I would like to—”
“Ha! All these years, and an ashen—an ashen!—brings it. Ah, to see the look on their faces. If only my father—”
“You’re rambling.” The cartographer’s eyes shone moistly, and he suddenly cursed and thrust out his hand. “Name’s Hendy, and this is no conversation for parched mouths. Here, sit, I’ll fetch some spirit.”
Balagir watched helplessly as the bald, monocled man clattered around and returned with two tall glasses of amber liquid. Hendy drank his down without ceremony, and Balagir followed; hardened by Murdak’s questionable wine, he maintained a straight face.
“Now, to matters at hand,” Hendy pressed excitedly. “Where exactly did you say you came by this chart?”
“I didn’t. Now, I’ll ask the questions. What’s got your monocle so steamed up?”
“You really don’t know? Ah the coincidence!”
“Hardly. You’re a cartographer. Where else would I go with a chart?”
“I see your point, but this... this is no ordinary chart.”
“I’m listening.”
“You know how long my family has been looking for this half? Centuries, that’s how long. Said it was lost, they did. Said it never even existed. But I knew it. I knew it!”
“This half? Then you’re saying you have the other half.” The cartographer’s excitement dimmed as suddenly as someone who’d had a bucket of water thrown over them.
“Alas, no. My safe was robbed. Two weeks back. You can appreciate my doubt at your timely appearance.”
“Who would have known you had it?”
“Who wouldn’t? You see, it’s become something of ridicule, my obsession. I thought maybe even my brother had been right.”
“Brother?”
“Yes. Riorn. The smith. You’ve not met? That surprises me, you being an ashen and all.”
“The chart was higher on my priorities.”
“It’s good you saw me first. Please, I’d urge you not to mention this to him.”
“I’m sensing some animosity here.”
Hendy sighed, refilled their glasses, but just sipped at it this time.
“I come from a long line of cartographers,” he said distantly. “My father, and his father before him, and back further still. The chart started as something of a trade obsession but became a family’s curse. I’d have left it, I would. I’ve long given up hope, but it was Riorn that left me no choice.”
“How so?”
“My father, on his deathbed, pleaded with us, his only heirs, to fulfil his work. I would have remained quiet, but Riorn did not. He told our father, in his dying moments, that his life had been a waste. That his obsession had destroyed our family, had driven our mother to drink. The hurt in my father’s eyes was so great, I had no choice. To ease his passing, I gave him my word I’d not let him down. Riorn, of course, despised me for it, and once our father had passed, we grew ever more distant.”
“And you kept your word?”
Hendy shrugged. “I didn’t not keep it. In truth, I no longer believed it, though never said it aloud for the memory of my father. Riorn and I had some bitter arguments about this before we stopped speaking.”
“This robbery, could it have been meditated?”
“I doubt it. A thief will raid the vault through logic. Anything with a lock likely holds greater wealth. The chart was itself useless. Part of an unsolvable riddle. I mourned its theft of course, lamented for my father’s ghost and my grandfather’s. But it was in some ways a relief. A release from my burden.”
“So it’s lost?”
“Not quite.”
“Go on.”
“Well, it’s common knowledge that stolen goods pass through middlemen before being sold on. The smugglers,” he clarified in response to Balagir’s frown.
“So you think one of these smugglers might have it.”
“I know it. One came by last week seeking to resell me my own stock! The audacity. He asked three times more than I could earn in a year. As I said, I’d already come to terms with the loss, finding some sort of peace. Either way, what good was it if one part of the chart did not exist... until now. Hardly worth running my business into the ground. Man’s got to eat.”
“But you’ve seen the other part? You could redraw it? We could find t
his...”
“Mask.”
“This mask.”
“I’m afraid not. There was a code involved, some trick of matching the two halves and using the sun. We were never able to divine the coordinates without the full chart.”
“Do you think the trade will have taken place?”
Hendy shrugged. “The smuggler asked a small fortune. I know of only one on Silione with such resources and an eye for collectables.”
“Where might I find this smuggler?”
“The smuggler’s caves are commonly known as being in Dagger Cove, just north of town. But one cannot simply wander into—”
“I’m an ashen. Wandering into places is what I do best.”
“Even so, it would be foolhardy to—”
“Fear not, Hendy. I will keep the chart safe.”
“But should both parts fall into their hands...”
“What’s so special about this mask anyway?” The cartographer lent in, as if he were divulging his greatest secret or confessing some shameful sin.
“It’s said to offer glimpses of the future.”
“I can see how that could be useful.”
“Useful indeed. Dangerous even. Imagine the power to change events.”
Balagir set his glass down.
“I think I’ll pay these smugglers a visit.”
“Please consider leaving the chart with me for safekeeping.”
“I think I’ll hang on to it for now. Though I may need your help with the coordinates.”
“Of course,” Hendy muttered disappointedly. Then his eyes grew distant, as though he dreamt an old dream. Balagir downed the burning spirit and took his leave.
Without pause he ascended the clifftops, where his cloak billowed like a batling; the only person he encountered was an old shepherd whose crook stood twice as high as his bent form, and whose bell could be heard tinkling long after he had vanished beyond the rise.
He reached a cliff overlooking a small, jagged cove. There, amongst the rocks, lay a watery cave. He would have dismissed it had there not been a boat bobbing outside with a cloaked figure hunched at the oars. He did the same, hunkering down to watch from the wind-buffeted grasses. Reaching the cave without a boat was not an option, and any attempt at descending this cliff would result in a premature end to his venture. With use of Murdak’s spyglass, he could not discern much, save that the figure favoured black and appeared equally as chilly, which appeased his humour.
After some time of bracing the biting wind, his decision to wait paid off. From the cave’s mouth emerged a boat carrying two passengers. The boat lingered long enough for them to board the waiting vessel.
The oarsman pulled away, warming cold muscles, bearing the two men around the headland towards Grimwater. Balagir was drawn to the attire of one man in particular. Beneath his cloak, his collar was clean and tailored; the protruding boots were polished and well cobbled. Men of money visiting smugglers. It could not be coincidence. Whether the trade of the chart was in progress or had been done earlier, this buyer had the contacts and fit the bill.
Balagir kept pace, arriving ahead of the boat to watch it dock. One was clearly wealthier than the other. The poorer looking of the two branched off and vanished down a side street. He stuck to the other fellow, who seemed infinitely more interesting. The further from the docks Balagir strayed, the more reproachful the gazes he drew.
“You’ll get nowt for your begging in these parts,” one bystander grunted, whilst others visibly guarded their purses against such a flea-bitten scoundrel. The portly, well-attired man drew attention, and several people bowed or offered polite greetings.
His progress was impeded at a set of gold-painted gates. The guards let the man pass, then swiftly stepped to block Balagir.
“Away with you, wretch.” One of the guards showed his hilt.
“You’re not welcome here,” warned the other. “Back to the docks with you.”
“And have a wash while you’re at it,” jeered the other, and they laughed at his back as he wordlessly crossed the square, simmering.
Having no better option, he sought out the street where he had seen the man vanish. There was no trace, and cursing the cold trail he headed to the smithy. The chart would have to wait. In the meantime, he had other matters to address.
His side quest was immediately rewarded, as the black-aproned smith was none other than the second passenger on the boat. Balagir suppressed a smile as the fog of mystery cleared.
“Riorn, I presume.”
“Who wants to know?” the smith growled.
“Consider me a friend of the family.”
Riorn’s eyes narrowed further. “You’ve been speaking with Hendy.” It was not a question.
“He didn’t have many compliments.”
The smith set down his tongs. “And why would an ashen concern himself with our affairs?”
“Let’s say I’ve come to make you an offer.”
The smith’s face screwed distastefully.
“You’ve nothing I want.”
“My silence.”
“Not that I deny your silence would please me, I don’t follow.”
“I, unfortunately, did. I wonder what Hendy might think of your little visit to the smugglers.”
Riorn’s face grew taut.
“You were spying?”
“You make it sound sordid. I consider it more observing.”
“So what? Plenty of folk ‘round here trade through the smugglers. Half the maps in my brother’s store have come through them.”
“I don’t doubt it. But this isn’t just any map we’re talking about here, is it?”
Riorn dropped all pretence, knowing a ruse when he saw it.
“Out with whatever you’ve got to say.”
“I think I know who robbed Hendy’s store.”
“You’ve no evidence. Now get out, before I lose my patience.”
“I’m sure Hendy would be interested to know of your meeting.”
“Stay out of this, ashen. I’ll not warn you again.”
“I cannot stay out of something that concerns me.”
“Concerns you how?”
Slowly Balagir drew the second half of the chart from his pouch.
The smith’s eyes bulged. “Impossible!”
“How so?”
“You cannot be serious? You truly believe—”
“Let’s just say I’m not discounting the possibility.”
“The whole thing’s a hoax!”
“And yet you saw fit to steal the other half.”
“You think I believe it? Hendy’s as much a fool as our father,” he snapped, bunching his fists. “That plight has been the ruin of our family. Naught but a merry chase.”
“Then why go to such lengths? To ease your brother’s suffering? I don’t see it.”
“I’m done with Hendy. I couldn’t care less. This was about coin. Come now, you saw my meeting. Let’s not dance.”
“Ah, yes, the wealthy man. Why not deal with him directly?”
“Barrowhawk?” the smith scoffed incredulously. “You think he’d deal with me? I’m not sure out of which of your fires you’ve crawled, but trade on Silione is never orchestrated that way. Even with the smugglers taking their cut, I’ll be off this rock within the month. Good riddance to it.”
“Hm. Barrowhawk. Remind me, I’ve been abroad for a while.”
The smith snorted. “Ashen. Memories of fish. Thell Barrowhawk.”
Balagir still shook his head. “First name terms aren’t helping.”
Riorn smirked. “The Thell Barrowhawk. Fancies himself equal to the southern Dunns, isolated out here on this rock.”
“I think I see why you sold him the map.”
“I despise what my brother has made of his life, with what he’s wasted, but I can’t hate him. Barrowhawk though, is a greedy, pitiless man who has taxed us to breaking point. I’ve made enough money to leave this place, which I intend doing in good time.”
Balagir grinned slowly in the forge’s glowering light. When he spoke, he ignored the smith’s questions.
“I’ll accept some of your wares if you wish to aid me.”
“Aid you?” Riorn blurted. “Get out of my forge this instant, Black-Eye.”
“The completed chart would not interest you? An end to your family’s suffering? A truce with your brother? You’ve your coin now, why not tie up these loose ends before taking your leave?”
Doubt flickered across the smith’s blackened brow.
“You’d bring it me?”
“I’d need someone to help decipher the coordinates, now wouldn’t I?”
“And you’d choose a smith over a cartographer?”
“You’re both your father’s sons. And I’ll admit, your wares interest me more than your brother’s.”
“Ha. You believe it, don’t you? These blasted charts perpetuate madness even unto an ashen!” He shook his head sadly, but when he at last looked up, there was resignation in his eyes. “It’s time we were done with this for good. I suppose for the full chart, I could lend you a few items.”
“Good,” Balagir said. “Then I’ll inspect your talismans.”
Riorn nodded, disappeared, and returned with a fold of black velvet.
“Is that a Fumbling Frostbite?” Balagir asked, squinting.
“Better. Enfeebling Frost.”
“I’ll borrow that.”
“I’ll just attach it now...” he reached for Balagir’s blade, but the ashen had his eyes on the far wall.
“On that.”
Riorn laughed aloud.
“You jest. That sword is too valuable to lend—”
“In addition to the chart, what say I bring you the mask if I find it?” Balagir bartered.
The smith’s smile died, and he frowned into the furnace for some moments.
“Trade in your sword and talisman, twenty ikmas, the map, and the mask. If it exists.”