So the hunt began anew. Duule had placed men in and around Maribelle's bounty office, but somehow the thing still managed to slip in and out without being caught—or even seen. If it was going to be found, it would have to be the old-fashioned way. A bounty office, one less crooked than Maribelle's, would hold the specifics of the crimes giving the local authorities the most trouble. The malthrope was both troublesome and a criminal, so the local offices were places as good as any to learn if he was back in the area.
Like most such places, this one was little more than a single room with a chest of dispatches and small lockbox inside of it and a crude signboard outside. Inside the cramped space was a burly, heavily-armed man with the task of preventing the lockbox filled with bounty payments from walking away. He was joined by an official of the kingdom, no doubt one who was rather disappointed with his current assignment. The official was responsible for reading out the daily bounties and meting out payments. In lieu of holding cells, a row of thick wooden posts lined the courtyard in front of the building. Holes had been drilled in the tops, and shackles had been threaded through them.
Dihsaad had been a frequent visitor to this particular office in his more active tracking days, so much so that the official and his guard didn't feel the need to offer any more than a nod when he arrived. He stepped into the dimly-lit bounty office, pulled the only unoccupied chair up to the dispatch chest, and began to sift through its contents, muttering to himself.
“Kidnapping. Not his style . . . arson, no . . . stolen jewelry, perhaps . . . poaching.” He nodded. It was certainly a malthrope's prerogative to take advantage of a decent hunting ground. Dihsaad unrolled the scroll and began to read the details, skipping along vaguely. “By the order of . . . for the crime of . . . a sum of . . . ah, here. As evidenced by the discovery of bones stripped of their meat and,” he smiled, “buried to conceal the crime.”
He stood and presented the scroll to the official.
“Has this bounty been claimed?” he asked.
The official yawned, not bothering to look. “No bounty has been claimed at this office for eight months.”
“Has anyone shown interest in this?”
Now the official snatched the scroll and reviewed it. “No. I cannot speak for the other offices, however. That one is offered in every office from here to the border.”
“This one is mine, then.”
“Very well,” the official acknowledged with supreme disinterest. He dabbed a quill into a pot of ink and etched something onto a sheet of parchment. “Noted.”
Dihsaad paced out the door and made his way to the only other building worthy of note in the tiny town, a sizable tavern named Stone's Bottom. It was an inexpensive place for travelers to fill their stomachs and wash the accumulated road dust from their mouths and throats before continuing on to more worthwhile destinations. As tended to be the case for such places, it attracted more than its share of the seedier sort of clientele. Far from interested in the swill they served, it was the riffraff in the back room who Dihsaad was after. Just as the bounty office was ostensibly the local representation of royal authority, the dim recesses of the tavern were an extension of Duule's influence. Notably, Duule's men were far more efficient and enthusiastic in their roles.
Waving off the understandably skittish bartender, Dihsaad shouldered his way through the door that separated the more mannerly patrons from the cutthroats and thugs. Inside the room, lit by a single soot-blackened lamp, the air was thick with stench, smoke, and profanity. As the command structure of a den of thieves was a rather fluid thing, Dihsaad addressed the room as a whole, keeping his message brief.
“Send a message to Duule. Dihsaad may have found his creature.”
#
A message to Duule seldom took long to arrive. Barely three days had passed before a messenger, thoroughly unprepared for the wildfire he was about to spark, arrived at a palatial mansion farther inland. Duule's influence had grown in leaps and bounds in Lain's absence. With it had grown his confidence. After a period of attempting to conduct his business in increasingly secure locations, the banishment of the one foe with the suicidal willingness to turn him in to the authorities gave him a feeling of security. He began to flaunt his wealth, moving in four years from one estate to another, each one larger and more opulent than the last. He conducted his business openly, flaunting his frightening influence upon the underbelly of Tressor with complete disregard to the far less resourceful and less organized authorities of Tressor.
Duule was on the porch of his current residence, sipping from a brandy glass when the messenger arrived on horseback. The young man, recruited chiefly because his downright emaciated frame would do little to slow a horse, marched up to Duule on wobbly legs and declared his cryptic message.
“I have a message for you, sir. Er. Dihsaad found your creature,” he said, his insides not having settled from the ride.
Slowly lowering the brandy glass, Duule looked at his messenger. “Are you certain you have relayed that message properly?”
“Yes. Yes, sir. Dihsaad found your creature.”
He stood. When he began speaking, it was with exaggerated enunciation, but each successive word grew in intensity. “I want you to go back to wherever you got that message. I want you to tell everyone you meet that Dihsaad shall have everyone and everything he needs to find this creature. My forces are at his command. Fast horses, strong men, anything he needs. And tell him I'll be arriving personally in a few days, and when I do, I will be bringing a damned army to find this creature and watch as the heart is torn from that monster's chest. Understand?”
“I . . .”
“Understand!?”
“Yes, sir!” the messenger yelped.
“Then move!”
The messenger fairly leaped from the porch to his horse's back and rode off as though death itself was chasing him. Duule turned to the door of his home, stalking forward and knocking the brandy glass angrily to the ground.
“He dies this time. He dies!”
#
In days, the sum total of Duule's network was turned entirely to the task of finding Lain. Under the guidance of Dihsaad, they swept like flood waters across the land. Sorrel was skilled at hiding any trace of her presence, but with two young children to care for and a legion of highly-motivated individuals searching the land, evidence began to arise. Footprints here. More buried bones there. Dihsaad began to assemble the pieces. There were certainly malthropes. More than one, some of them children. They had spent time in a few different port areas.
Unbeknownst to Lain and Sorrel, the noose was tightening around their necks.
Chapter 32
In the city of Delti, two weeks later, an elf was seated at a desk in his small but respectable home. His name was Glinilos, but somehow the nickname of Goldie had managed to follow him through the years. Spread on the desk before him were maps depicting shipping routes, tables containing dates and values for shipments, and price lists for various services. Absent from any sheet was the name or address of any individuals associated with the shipments. For the most part, the shipments under his supervision were the sort of which the recipients would prefer no records linked them to the items in question. Business was doing well, thanks mostly to the deeply-entrenched war with the north.
With the coming of the war, many vital ores and minerals previously available almost exclusively from the north had suddenly needed to be sourced elsewhere. Things like iron and copper were in horribly short supply. What little supplies of these resources that Tressor could produce were earmarked for the war effort. For the rest of the kingdom, alternative sources needed to be found. Increasingly, those alternative sources had been in the mineral-rich Southern Crescent. Much of the imported ore found its way to the military as well, but people like Goldie could be coerced into providing a steady supply of anything one might find across the sea if the price was right.
Keeping track of such matters and maintaining the necessary network of c
onnections, typically through bribery and partnerships, required a specialized set of skills. Goldie had proven phenomenally well-suited over the years. Though his unfortunate past had left him with a terrible limp and lingering pains, his mind was as sharp as ever. He was currently working long into the night, endeavoring to find room on one of his outgoing ships for a bundle of exquisitely woven rugs that had been purchased by one of his older brothers back on the South Crescent. He took great pains to keep his office private and isolated from his other affairs, and only worked on the most sensitive aspects of his job during those hours in which he was least likely to be disturbed. It was thus a nearly heart-stopping surprise when, without any warning, a voice spoke out from directly behind him.
“Goldie,” Lain said. The elf snapped around and inhaled, ready to scream for help, but Lain was ready for that, seizing the back of Goldie's head with one hand and clamping his mouth with the other. “Do not scream. I come seeking information. Do you understand?”
He nodded. Lain slowly removed his hand.
“Do you remember me?” asked the malthrope.
“You are the mally from the slavery days,” Goldie said.
“I have spoken to Gurruk and Menri in the past. They told me they felt that they owed me a life-debt. They said you would agree.”
Goldie drew in and released an angry breath before grudgingly nodding. “I do.”
“I am told that you are able to smuggle things to South Crescent, and people as well.”
“I can.”
“I want you to take three of my kind as far as you can toward North Crescent. It must be done secretly, and safely.”
“Three malthropes . . .” Goldie said, his face twisting with disgust.
“An adult and two children.”
“That is . . . that is a very difficult request.”
“Can you do it?” Lain asked steadily. There was no threat in his tone, but there was the ring of bone-deep dedication to the task, the willingness to do anything to see it achieved.
“When I smuggle passengers, they travel in disguise. With malthropes, that will not do,” He explained. “But . . . there may be a way.”
He turned to his bundles of manifests and schedules and one by one drew out the tightly-rolled parchment. He flattened them against the table and ran his fingers along the carefully scribed lines.
“Yes . . . I have something that may do. It will not be comfortable.”
“Comfort is not important. I require only safety and secrecy.”
“Very well. There is a ship coming in twenty days. Just north of Delti, you will find a small inlet. Bring these malthropes of yours there an hour before dawn on that day. They will be brought as far as Qualia. It is near the northern tip of South Crescent. From there, your creatures can make their way north by land.”
“And their safety is assured?”
“One does not remain the overseer of an enterprise such as this by losing cargo. For this matter, I will escort the cargo personally to its final destination.”
Lain stepped back, reaching out to snuff the flame of the lantern. “Do this and your debt is paid. You will forever have my gratitude.” He stepped back into the darkness. “Betray me . . . and I shall take what I am owed.”
With that, he was gone.
#
Days with Sorrel passed quickly. At first, she was concerned that Goldie could not be trusted, but she was nothing if not practical. If she intended to wait until someone she could trust with certainty could take her across the sea, she would never see the Crescents. At Lain's behest, the group made a habit of moving to a new shelter every few nights, in case someone else had taken the bounty and was able to find her trail. Once a temporary home had been selected, the nights and days were theirs.
There were moments, precious and few, when it was as through the long years they had spent apart had never happened at all. Sorrel learned, to her delight, that Lain now spoke Crich fluently. It meant that he at least could share some tales with Reyna and Wren, each of whom knew only a few words of Tresson. Strangely, when she spoke to Lain alone, she insisted on using her broken Tresson. She said it felt better, familiar. It brought back the old days.
The twins were slow to warm to Lain, but they listened in fascination when he spoke, and when his back was turned, they crept near to investigate him. It was the same curiosity he dimly remembered from his youth. For their sake, he pretended not to notice them.
Too soon, the morning of the twentieth day had come. The inlet Goldie spoke of was shallow and marshy, little use for proper shipping or sailing, and thus empty and unused. The four malthropes crouched in a bushy patch of overgrowth and watched the water. A mist hung over its surface, and the deepening gold of the coming dawn was not enough to cut far through it.
“You are sure he will come?” Sorrel asked.
“He will come, or he will answer to me.” Lain reached into his shirt and pulled out the swatch of cloth he'd held for so long. “Take this. When you reach the Crescents safely, give it to Goldie, and give him a message that could only come from you. I will wait for him to return. If he has it, I will know you are safe. If he does not . . .”
As if in response, a skiff emerged from the mists. It was small, barely enough to carry Goldie himself and the shoulder-high crate that took up the rest of its deck. He pushed the vessel along with a pole, and when he reached the sandy shore of the clearing, he looked around and hopped down.
“Well? Where are you hiding?”
Lain stood up and approached him.
“Ah,” Goldie said. “There. Fetch your other malthropes. They shall ride in the crate.”
“First tell me what you have planned.”
Goldie sneered. “From time to time, I receive requests from those in my homeland to send a live specimen of an exotic beast native to these lands. Some friends of my family have a vast and varied menagerie, and they are ever eager to increase its stock. It is one of the more difficult tasks we are called upon to fulfill, but we've managed it with beasts large and small. We will load your malthropes into this crate, take them back to the ship, and load them into a special cage in the hold. Very close slats. No one should be able to see. The crew has been told we are transporting a basilisk. One gaze will turn them to stone. That should keep their curiosity at bay. When we reach Qualia, the cage will be transported to a forest north of the city and left with me for pickup. I will release your creatures and they will be on their way. Does that meet with your requirements?”
“How long will they be at sea?”
“Forty days, depending on weather.”
“And they will be fed?”
“Salted meat and fresh water daily.”
Lain turned to the bushes. Sorrel reluctantly revealed herself and took the twins by their hands. They pulled and tugged, unwilling to step out until Sorrel gathered one into her arms and beckoned Lain to do the same. The four of them walked past Goldie, who recoiled at the sight as though a swarm of rats had scurried by. Sorrel looked him the eye long and hard before loading Wren into the crate and dropping her pack in after him. Lain helped Reyna in, then took Sorrel's hand to help her in as well. She stood for a moment eying the elf warily.
“You are sure we can trust him?” she asked doubtfully.
“I will be near,” Lain said.
She nodded once and finally ducked inside. Goldie closed and latched the lid, then turned to find Lain gone . . . gone from sight, at least. The elf stepped onto the skiff, put the pole to the water, and slowly pushed it back toward the harbor.
Lain was true to his word, stalking the craft as it made its way along the shore. He always kept himself hidden, but never let the skiff out of his sight. The port of Delti was less than an hour away. By the time dawn was finished breaking, the skiff was drifting along the deeper water of the harbor. It was a bustling place, a dozen ships at dock and hundreds of sailors and port workers yelling out orders to one another. Waves rolling in from the sea jostled the skiff, and within
its heavy cargo, the twins began to whimper in fear from the strange noises and sudden motions.
Goldie rapped the top of the box, barking orders in a harsh whisper. “Keep them quiet. I don't imagine these folks know what a basilisk sounds like, but it certainly doesn't sound like a pair of mewling kits.”
Inside the crate, striped by the light shining between the planks, Sorrel gathered the twins closer and hushed them. “Teyn will make sure we are safe.” She repeated it, eyes shut. “He will make sure we are safe.”
The skiff made its way to the rear of a ship marked The Path of the Sun. It was a grand vessel, narrow of hull and with vast triangular sails; a ship built for speed. The deck was already piled with crates, bundles, and bales, shielding the far side of the ship from view from the dock. It was there that the crew on the deck swung a pair of stout wooden struts over the side of the ship, lowering ropes that Goldie secured to the crate. Inside, Sorrel held her children tight as the crate was hauled up and onto the deck. She managed to keep the terrified little creatures quiet as workers nervously lifted the crate carried it below decks to the cargo hold. Goldie docked the skiff and made his way into the ship.
It was no small task to navigate the boat without being seen by its crew, but Lain did so with ease, lurking among the rows of cargo already loaded when Goldie met the workers at what appeared to be the rear wall of the hold. Once there, he pulled aside an inconspicuous plank and tugged at the ropes that it hid. The wall shuddered, and with a shove the workers managed to slide it aside. Within was the cage Goldie had mentioned. It was large, perhaps the size of a prison cell, and made from study wood. The slats were indeed very close, space enough for a finger to slip through between them if that. One whole wall of the cage swung aside, revealing a slatted floor with wider gaps. The floor was raised somewhat, and beneath it was a trio of loosely-fitted troughs with sloped bottoms. The lingering stench in the air left little doubt what they were used for. A long, thin opening on one wall led to the open air outside, providing barely adequate ventilation and virtually no light. Inside the cage, a pair of smaller troughs aligned with two small hatches on the cage wall. The rest of the room was packed tight with the sort of goods that would never be allowed to leave Tressor if the authorities knew about them.
The Book of Deacon Anthology Page 194