by T L Ford
Her father whistled. "You've quite the eye."
"So I've been told." Quickly, she thought of an excuse that would validate the material's quality. She estimated its worth at quite a few gold. "I got a really good bargain on it, too. The shop owner was recently deceased and her brother was selling the inventory."
"Oh? Maybe we should go buy the rest. We could always sell what you don't use later. Your mother always did like fine material."
"These pieces were the only ones left of value." She lifted out a magnificent deep red silk and draped it across her arm. She apparently liked fine material, too. It caressed her skin and she envisioned a magnificent gown. Then she spotted the false bottom in the box and quickly folded the cloth and set it back in, replacing the lid. "I should get these out of the sun."
He nodded. "Here, I'll carry it." He picked it up, commenting that it was quite heavy for silk. She replied that it was heavy-weight silk and that the box was thick. He carried it down to her cabin. There was not really enough room for the box. "Maybe we should set it out in the drawing room?"
"It's a sturdy box. I could use it as a bench. It'll fit right there." She pointed to the spot where the box could be wedged between the wall and the sleeping platform.
"Are you certain? There's space here. You'll need to sew out here anyway."
"Yes, I'm sure. You'd just have to tie it down out here to keep it from sliding around. In here, I can open it and stare at the material and have it tell me what sort of dress it would like to be."
"You are like your mother in that. I'll leave you to it. Maybe later, after we're done loading, you and I could go for a walk?"
"I'd like that," she answered pleasantly. The very idea of leaving the safety of the ship concerned her. She added, "If my headache is completely gone by then."
"Very well." He bowed slightly and left.
Careful not to rush, as she was dying to do, she pulled the door closed. When his footsteps had disappeared up the ladder, she quickly tore the box open and took out the silks. Whispering an apology to her mother, she threw those aside and leaned over to inspect the false bottom. In the limited space, she had to lay on the bunk and drape over the box to pull the bottom straight up. It came free with a fairly loud pop and she set the board aside.
The real treasure lay below. She lifted out each item and inspected it. One perfectly balanced throwing dagger, with a long, very thin, extremely sharp blade, along with an even more valuable oiled leather sheath that was designed to not only poison a blade as it was inserted, but to keep that poison fresh. She smelled no poison in it - it had been thoroughly cleaned and tended. One set of high-quality lockpicks, along with the extended collection of thieves' tools. Several small, concealable weapons, including a garrote, several darts, and sharpened rocks. A small, lightweight grapple, with cord. Lastly, a meticulously wrapped small box that opened to reveal three plain tiny vials, simply labeled A, B, and C.
Very slowly, she lifted out the A vial and held it up to the portal for light. It was about a quarter full, and worth more than the ship and all its contents together. Contact poison, instant paralysis, death by asphyxiation due to not being able to move the chest cavity to inhale. Only a select few Master thieves knew the recipe and it was passed along to even fewer heirs. Guildmaster de Loren was reported to be the only one still making the stuff.
Both the B and C vials were full. Class B poison would kill within several hours. Class C poison within several days. Some worked on contact and some had to be introduced into the blood, typically by knife-wound. She had no idea which these were, but would go for the knife-wound rather than waste it. The more common D-F poisons had to be consumed, with F being the weakest that would only make its target very ill. She instinctively understood that the Guildmaster de Loren felt those poisons were mere toys and beneath him. She carefully studied the vials' lids and markings and peeled off the labels.
She repacked all but the dagger and poisons. Those she hid carefully in her bunk. What use would they be if she couldn't get to them quickly, after all? Short of carrying them with her, as she preferred, that would have to do. Which items were gifts and which were 'repay in triplicate'? A small voice inside her also whispered, 'And which were payment for sex?'
* * * * *
Her father stopped next at Kierg - it was on the way back to Merryweather and between Loren and Behr. Kierg existed solely at the discretion of the mages. The Thieves' Guild and the Mages' Guild tolerated each other, but did not seek each other out beyond some exchange of services or magic scrolls.
Angela stared out at the coastline, trying to think of a good way to bring up the subject of clothing with her father again. The last time she'd hinted at wanting something other than a dress, her father had thought she was jesting.
"It's a pretty land, isn't it?" The First Mate, Jayden, said as he walked over to her.
She agreed. The trees and flowers grew vibrantly, untouched by the seasonal storms. "I think the mages must make sure just the right amount of rain falls to keep everything so green through the heat."
"Have you had much contact with the mages, Milady?"
"None at all. We had one come through Merryweather a few years back, but he didn't stay long." That would have been Evan Dolman, the man who'd taught her about the land history. She grabbed at the length of her dress that was trying to blow up in the wind. "Do you know my father well?"
"I've been sailing with him since he first stepped on a ship."
"Is he from Rashesh?"
"No, from Santali. That's a city on the southernmost part of Verkam. Why?"
"These dresses are all in the style of Rashesh."
"Yes, they're lovely. Your father has an excellent eye for quality."
"Well, as much as I like them, I was wondering if I might get something more in the Verkam style. I'm more comfortable in pants and a tunic. I feel a bit like a charlatan in these."
"Your mother always liked Rashesh dresses. I'm sure your father bought them remembering that."
"I'm glad he wanted to please her. She would have appreciated that, but do you think my father could be swayed to let me shop for other things?"
"I imagine he could be persuaded to let you have just about anything. You really don't need to worry at all. He'll take care of you. He's grown fond of you, even loves you, I dare say, and wants you to have everything you might want out of life."
'But he doesn't know me,' Angela thought morosely. She'd still not quite adjusted to thinking of herself as the man's daughter, let alone the heir to the Merryweather Guild. All the wealth was pointless now and she'd never wanted power. Lately, she scared herself by realizing how much she wanted to find her mother's killer, and even more so terrified herself with what she wanted to do to him when she did find him. What if it were more than one person and they were more skilled than her?
While the ship was unloading the alcohols and reloading preserved fruits and vegetables, Angela convinced the ship's doctor to take her for Verkam clothing. Her father wasn't pleased to see her in pants and tunic that night at dinner, but merely hinted that he thought she might be just as happy in more ladylike outfits. Angela pretended to miss the hint.
They sailed on to Behr. The closer they drew to Behr, the more frequently Angela ignored the dresses and chose her pants and tunic. By the time they reached Behr, she wasn't wearing the dresses at all. She saw Jamil watching her frequently and she did her best to ignore it.
CHAPTER 5: Behr
The ship eventually arrived in Behr in late afternoon and Angela decided to go into the lair that very evening. She spent the afternoon alternating between resting and debating what to wear and bring.
She thought about taking her new dagger but decided against it. She wouldn't need any protection in her Master's best friend's hall. Besides, she expected Jamil to follow her. By now, she was certain he knew she was a guildmember and she was mostly sure he was also a thief, though neither of them broached the subject.
Angela s
lipped off during the night. Jamil probably wouldn't appreciate it when she told him she didn't need any other escort besides him. Sure enough, Jamil was watching and followed, staying in the shadows. Angela thought she'd lose him when she ducked into the Guild passage, but he also entered. She quickly slipped ahead, following the obscure signs of the "public" passage, easily identifying and avoiding the traps.
The man on entry duty smelled so badly of unwashed underarm that she nearly gagged. She told him her name, passed him two copper pieces, and followed the thief assigned to announce her, who at least smelled slightly less rank.
He rang a small gong that echoed off-pitch and gratingly and called out, "Angela Thomas, guildmember of Merryweather, apprentice to Guildmaster de Merryweather!" She scanned the room, finding the throne in its expected place, on the far side. Guildmaster de Behr was a wide, fat man, covered in stretched tattoos. She strode forward toward the audience line. This was her Master's best friend, though they never spoke except at the Gatherings and by letter.
Behind her, the gong sounded again and a voice called out, "Jamil, independent." She arrived at the audience line and bowed low. Conversations around the room diminished. Guildmaster de Behr gestured for her to speak. In perfect formal thieves' cant, making sure she rolled the 'r' correctly in 'Behr', she said, "Guildmaster de Behr, I am Angela Thomas of the Merryweather Guild. My Master..." these words would tell Jamil she was a sworn apprentice, "sends his greetings and wishes you good health."
"Ah, the traitor my friend warned me about. Good of you to come by and make the chase much less costly." To his apprentices standing nearby, he commanded, "Take her to the dungeon."
She bowed again, with much dignity, and murmured, "I am at your disposal, Guildmaster." He would have received two letters also. This had to be for show. There was at least one traitor in the room or at least Guildmaster de Behr suspected it was the case.
Two of his apprentices came forward and stood on either side of her. A third brought manacles and chained her wrists and ankles. She turned and followed them. They passed Jamil who was looking positively horrified. She discretely winked at him saucily, hoping he'd not mess up an otherwise well-played choreography.
They took her directly to the dungeon, a single, low-ceilinged room, adorned with a single wooden chair and a pot for refuse. As she turned to sit in the chair, she tripped on the ankle chain and had to bend to straighten it. The apprentices did not help. She calmly folded her hands in her lap and settled in. Two of the men left while the third stood and quietly watched her.
It was going to be a long wait. The soonest she could expect the Guildmaster to make his appearance would be early morning, well after court ended. He might not even get to her for several days. She rather hoped he'd come before she was forced to use the chamber pot, because she knew no guard would turn to give her privacy. Also, her ankle chains were now arranged to fall off when she stood again and that probably wouldn't go over so well. She waited, remaining perfectly still so she wouldn't knock off the wrist chains she'd also unlocked and set to fall away.
To pass the time, she mentally designed a new outfit for her guard. His pants size was entirely wrong and he couldn't possibly have full arm movement with that cut of his shoulders. He'd certainly look more dashing with an angled belt rather than the horizontal one he wore. She didn't point this out to him, though, as that same belt held a dagger and a very wicked curved sword.
That started her thinking about the colorful silks she still hadn't touched. Her father expected her to make gowns, but a gown would be more restricting and annoying than this man's outfit. She needed to design something feminine that would pass for a gown, but not be one. Perhaps with a skirt that would quickly unwrap and become a cloak or a sack. The sleeves would need two long layers, also, an outfit that would disguise hidden weapons and have places for coins and gems. Practical, yet elegant, as suitable in the den as on the street. Something worthy of the Dauphin de Merryweather. The innermost layer would have to be a bodysuit that she could perform acrobatics in. Everything else would have to be tied on and easily removed. Flowing outer sleeves could have a loop at her finger to maintain its length when she raised her arm. The legs could have a nicely distracting flash of color along the side. For the bodice, she wanted something the Guildmaster de Loren would say was exquisite. She had it all laid out in her mind. She'd start cutting and sewing when she got back to the ship.
She heard footsteps. Guildmaster de Behr thumped into the room, his weight causing his feet to echo. He was early by several hours.
"Guildmaster." She bowed her head respectfully and looked up at him in what she hoped was a polite, inquisitive manner.
"Milady. I've heard quite a bit about you."
"My Master has spoken highly of you. How may I serve you?"
He gestured to his apprentice who disappeared for a moment and reappeared with a chair for his Master. He sat. His apprentice took up position along the wall, protectively between Angela and his Master.
"My friend appears to be experiencing some difficulties." Guildmaster de Behr commented.
"Yes, I know. I'm going to take care of them on my return."
"I received two letters."
"As did several other Guildmasters."
"Unfortunate."
"Very."
"You are traveling by your father's ship, yes?"
"Yes."
"Don't. The waters have been barricaded. Merryweather is under siege. Your father's ship will be boarded. The land route also has sentries, but you will have more maneuverability and can fall back if you need to."
"The traitor wouldn't dare anything so overt."
"He's already forfeit. He must kill your Master, too. Terribly sloppy of him not to kill you at his opening move."
"I agree. I hope to make him deeply regret that mistake."
"Do you know who the traitor is?"
She shook her head. "I don't. The letters suggest one of the other apprentices, but I didn't think that was possible with the geas."
"It shouldn't be. I expect we'll find out how it was done eventually." He shifted his considerable weight. "I'll keep you 'locked up here' for the next two weeks. That should give you a little lead time. This is my apprentice, Corishm. He'll accompany you and assist as needed."
"Thank you, Guildmaster. My Master and I are in your debt."
He nodded once, in acknowledgement. "I'm told you shouldn't need keys?"
She stood and the chains all fell to the floor.
Corishm gasped. "She never moved!" he said plaintively, "I was watching the entire time!"
Guildmaster de Behr merely chuckled. "They were undone before she sat down." He stood.
"Guildmaster, I have a request," she said.
He raised his eyebrow.
"The independent who walked in after me - Jamil. He's my father's man."
"Yes, he made quite a nuisance of himself. I've banished him from the den. No doubt he's returned to your ship."
"Thank you, Guildmaster de Behr."
"Dauphin de Merryweather." He bowed slightly and left.
De Behr's use of a title that was not yet hers confirmed it; Guildmaster de Merryweather intended to name her his heir.
Corishm gestured for her to come along. They traveled through unlit, empty passages, well off the normal paths and did not encounter anyone. They came to a door. "My cell," he explained and ducked inside. He arrived back with a pack and two cloaks. He handed her a cloak and put his on. "My Master also asked me to give this to you. It's on loan. He expects you to give it back when you next see him." He handed her a ring.
"This isn't..."
"His ring of disguise, yes. I'm more than a little jealous, but geased to give it to you to use."
She digested that but didn't know what to say. "I have a few things at my father's ship to collect and I'll need to tell Jamil I'm safe enough."
"Leave it. It'll lend credence to your incarceration if they keep trying to free you."
"No, they might be tempted to do something foolish. Besides, I have quite a bit of gear that I'll want with me when I get to Merryweather."
"Very well." The speed with which he agreed suggested his Master had given him other instructions, too. Perhaps to obey?
She put the ring on and her body shimmered briefly.
"Forgive the familiarity." He took her hand and lifted it to his cheek. She felt the power flow through her and her skin shifted and tugged. She became him.
"That's weird!" she exclaimed. "I feel like me, but not me."
"Your voice is still yours though. You should avoid talking."
He showed her the way out. No one thought twice about the two men covered in cloaks leaving the den. That was routine.
* * * * *
They took the long way to the docks, staying in shadows, avoiding others also moving in shadows. As they approached the ship, she held up her hand. The ship had more lanterns lit than usual. Jamil had obviously returned. "Wait. My Master's enemy may have someone watching the ship if he's barricaded Merryweather." Angela put her hand on Corishm's arm. "I would have."
They scanned the shadows and eventually found someone out of place, watching the ship. "Do you want to question him?" Corishm asked.
"No, he won't know anything of value."
Quietly, Corishm slipped off. He returned wiping his blade. Angela shuddered. She thought he was just going to knock out whoever it was. She would never have killed someone who'd likely just been paid a copper to watch for something and report back.
"We should be fast, before he's missed," Corishm said.
Angela nodded, sliding the ring off and feeling her body shift.
They crept up on the night watch. "Shhhh!"
"Milady!" the man breathed. "We were told you..."
"Were under arrest," she finished. "I'm not. My father is with Jamil in the drawing room, yes?"
"In the galley, Milady."
"Good. Don't log this. We are not really here, ok?"
"I don't understand. Who is this?"