The talk continued until the plates were empty and there was nothing left but a cookie or two. At last Lucy sat back and sighed. “You know what I would like now?” she asked no one in particular. “Some kefre. I’ve been around Khurs for so long, I’ve gotten used to it.”
“I haven’t,” Challie said, making a face. “That stuff tastes like old bark.”
“It is old bark,” Ulin laughed.
“Ma has a kefre pot. She keeps it for the Khurs who stop by. Do you really want some?” Pease wiped a napkin across his freckled round face and hopped to his feet. He tucked the last cookie into a pocket “for later” before looking up at Lucy. “I hope you can stay for a while. Captain Fox said you could be a big help.”
Ulin and Lucy looked at him in surprise. Challie stared at the empty fireplace.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Lucy demanded.
The kender suddenly looked flustered. He dropped his napkin, and a flush spread slowly up his face to meet his brown hair. “Oh, I don’t know … really. Just something the Captain said. He, uh, he eats downstairs some nights. You could ask him then.”
Pease abruptly scooted out of his chair and picked up a tray of dirty dishes. “I’ll just get rid of these.” He flew out the door, his topknot bobbing behind him.
Lucy rubbed the bridge of her nose. She could feel a headache lurking on the edges of her skull. “The sooner we get out of this town, the better,” she grumbled.
Ulin agreed.
After a cup of kefre and a nap, Lucy felt much better. By evening she was ready to go to the common room for supper. They found Challie at a table in the busy room beside one of the few narrow windows, and they accepted her invitation to join her. The place was almost full with locals, Khur tribesmen, and a few nondescript humans whose background and livelihood were anybody’s guess. Aylesworthy stood behind the bar, pouring wine and tapping ale.
Lucy and Ulin hoped to find Lysandros there, but the innkeeper informed them the captain had left on a surveillance ride. He assured them that steps were already being taken to find the missing corpse. Lucy thanked him for the lunch and asked him to let them know when the captain appeared.
The newcomers’ arrival drew the attention of the customers and more than a few stamped and cheered for Lucy. The story of her fight with the bandits and her spell for deadly potatoes had already spread around town. To Lucy’s amusement, the tale had already grown in telling to include several draconians, a horde of bandits, and potatoes that incinerated like dragon’s fire. One Flotsam merchant was so impressed that he sent a flask of wine to her table with his compliments. Lucy smiled her most enigmatic smile and accepted the gift. It never hurt, she mused, to have an aura of mysterious power.
The trio ate their meal and watched the crowd, but when Lysandros did not return after several hours, Lucy and Challie went to bed. Ulin stayed for a while longer, nursing the same cup of wine. He stared into the flame of the lamp on his table, his mind years away in memories sharp and sad. The weaving flame reflected in his eyes, yet shadows darkened the hollows of his face. No one tried to approach him. At last, when the bar was nearly empty and the barmaid was clearing off the tables, Ulin tossed back the dregs of his wine and went to his room. He made certain Lucy’s door was locked then sought his own bed. Even then, sleep was long in coming.
The three travelers spent a lazy morning the next day. For the first time in over a month, they did not have to rise early to start fires, or feed grumbling tribesmen, or set out on another long day of travel. Pease brought another laden tray to Lucy’s room and joined his new friends to break the fast. Lucy and Challie indulged in a bath in the inn’s tiny bathhouse, then spent the rest of the morning washing their laundry with the help of Bridget Stubbletoes, the best cook in Flotsam. She was tall for a kender, nearly Challie’s height, and more serious than most. Her face and arm were disfigured from scars suffered in a fire she endured as a young girl when Malys destroyed her village. She had lost everything in that attack but her will to survive. Lucy liked her from the start.
After the midday meal Bridget and her son took the two newcomers on a brief tour of Flotsam and the city market. The sun shone hot in a clear sky and glittered off the water in the harbor as they walked through the maze of streets. A slight breeze stirred the dust but did little to lift the odors in the streets or disturb the flies that hovered over the refuse piles.
Many people were outdoors in spite of the heat, and the travelers quickly learned that the story of the fight against the bandits had spread all over Flotsam-that and the news that Lucy was Kethril’s daughter. Too many folks recognized Lucy and stopped to welcome her to Flotsam and to talk about her feat or her infamous father. Others waved and called greetings. She wasn’t sure what to make of her new celebrity status in a town like Flotsam, so she just waved and greeted people with a calm smile.
Ulin took her hand and gave a quick squeeze. “Looks like you’ve made a name for yourself,” he teased, reminding her of what she had said on the ship.
She sighed in mock seriousness. “It’s not enough. I should at least rescue a lady in distress or wipe out a troop of Dark Knights.”
He swept a hand around to include the busy streets. “Give this town of storytellers another day or two and they’ll have you doing that and more.”
Still chuckling, Lucy and Ulin followed Bridget as she led them into the marketplace. The two travelers trailed behind the kender while they went from one booth to the next buying foodstuffs for the inn. They studied the different varieties of food available: fragrant spices and herbs, stacks of dark kefre bark, bags of dried beans and grain, boxes of figs, olives, and brightly colored corn. Several farmers had brought late winter cabbage, yams, and potatoes out of storage.
They stopped to visit Akkar-bin and check on the progress of the caravan master’s business. His wares were nearly gone and had been replaced by goods he had purchased in Flotsam to sell along the road to Sanction. He agreed to take Lucy and her party back with his caravan, if they were ready to leave when he was. He refused to wait, so Ulin and Lucy could only hope the council would hurry.
After Bridget bought a box of his dried mushrooms, they bade farewell to the Khur and moved on to visit the fishmongers. Along the street closest to the wharves stood the fishers’ booths, filled with the day’s catch of shellfish, crabs, and fish unique to Blood Bay. The small boats of the town’s fishing fleet were already back from the early morning catch and had just completed their unloading. Their hawkers’ shouts filled the air over the voices of other merchants and the shoppers.
The mongers knew Bridget, and instead of rolling their eyes and guarding their wares as merchants usually did in the presence of kender, they welcomed her warmly and offered her the best of their catch. She bargained with skill and complete knowledge of her needs, and soon she had her son and Ulin laden with parcels and bags.
“Sometimes the fishermen deliver to the inn,” she told them, “but why pay extra when I have willing hands to help?” She gave Ulin a bright smile.
They wended their way back through the market toward the inn and nearly reached the street when a horn blared a long, strident warning from the Rock.
Every person in town froze. Sounds immediately died into a silence, tense and wary.
Ulin and Lucy looked about in surprise. Lucy saw with alarm that Bridget was shaking.
“What-?” asked Ulin.
“Not yet!” Bridget hissed. “Wait. Listen for it.” She clutched her basket so hard that her knuckles turned white.
The sickening fear struck them all at the same time, like a wave washing over the town. People cried out and fell to the ground as a huge shadow swept over the sun. Lucy and the kender cowered, but Ulin had experienced the hideous terror that emanated from evil dragons, and although his knees quaked and every instinct screamed at him to hide, he remained on his feet. He forced his eyes to the sky and saw a monstrous red shape flying high and fast toward the southeast. The dragon was returning
to her lair in the Desolation.
“Malystryx,” he spat the name.
Bridget whimpered.
As quickly as it overwhelmed them, the dragonfear faded from their hearts, and the shadow vanished south. From the Rock came a second horn call, signaling the all-clear. In a heartbeat the noise and activity resumed throughout Flotsam as if nothing had happened.
“Shards of the Gem!” Lucy exclaimed. “Does that happen often?” She dusted off her own skirts and moved to help Bridget to her feet.
“Too many times,” Bridget replied, her voice shaky. “That’s why the Vigilance Committee keeps a watch on the Rock.”
Pease nodded vigorously. “Yup. Even a little warning is better than none. So if you hear two quick blasts. Run for it.”
Ulin glanced dubiously at the rickety buildings around him. He had fought Malys once from the back of the dragon Sunrise and would have died were it not for the speed and courage of the gold. Malys was a monster who stretched over four hundred feet from cruel snout to tip of tail. The titanic beast’s weight would flatten the shoddy little buildings without the use of her scorching breath, sharp claws, or scything tail. In Flotsam, there was nowhere safe to run.
“I hope she doesn’t come here any time soon,” Lucy breathed, putting a voice to Ulin’s heartfelt sentiment.
There were no more alarms that day, and life went on in the port town. As evening approached, the activities in the taverns and gaming houses became rowdier and the streets grew more crowded with the rougher elements. The farmers, shopkeepers, and families quietly withdrew to their own hearths and bolted their doors. By sunset the market was deserted and the taverns overflowing.
The Jetties seemed to draw a better behaved crowd, yet even it filled to capacity with noisy people eating Bridget’s food and drinking ale as fast as Aylesworthy could tap it. A pair of musicians passing through agreed to play for an evening in exchange for a room and a meal. Their tunes on pipe and drum kept the common room lively late into the night. Ulin and Lucy stayed for a while, hoping to talk to someone on the council or the Vigilance Committee, but Aylesworthy made himself too busy to talk and no word came from the Silver Fox or the elders. Eventually, Lucy retired, leaving Ulin to his ale and his shuttered thoughts.
Their third day in Flotsam began much like the first. Pease brought their meal on a tray and stayed to join them. As soon as the dishes were washed and the morning’s chores finished, the kender offered to take the travelers up to the Rock to see the observation post. Only Ulin decided to go. Lucy wanted a bridle for her horse, and since Challie had several errands to do, she offered to accompany Lucy to the marketplace.
Lucy and Challie walked north on the wooden sidewalks along a street that seemed to have no name. Challie told Lucy the road bore the original title of Market Street, due to the street’s eventual destination. They stopped at the blacksmith’s shop to deliver a deed written in Challie’s careful hand and picked up a packet of papers from an older couple living in a tiny hut tucked between two brothels. Eventually, wending their way through the busy morning traffic, they soon spotted the crowded marketplace. Wains, booths, and stalls stood in rows between beaten dirt paths on the market grounds while jugglers, minstrels, and other entertainers played for coins and attention along the perimeter. Hawkers carried trays laden with food or trinkets and wandered among the customers.
Lucy and Challie browsed for a while among the stalls, admiring the handiwork of local craftspeople. They soon found a leather worker, and Lucy bought a simple bridle with a snaffle bit for the bay horse. She thought about purchasing a saddle, then changed her mind. They might need the money for a wagon, if her agreement with the council was successful.
“What do you think I should call him?” Lucy asked Challie while they walked back through the market. She had the bridle slung over her shoulder and her purse tucked firmly in her sash belt.
“I don’t know. Why do you bother to name a horse?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “He’s just a plain draft horse, but he deserves a name.”
Challie’s face screwed up with good humor. “Call him Akkar-bin.”
“No, the horse has more personality. How about …” Lucy looked back and saw Challie stopped in place, staring between two small booths at something in the next aisle. She took a step back to see what the dwarf was looking at. Shouting erupted close by and several large crashes rattled the booths. Lucy saw a huge, muscular man with blond hair burst into view. He joined a second, smaller man who stood close to the stall in front of Challie. Lucy realized he was scooping bracelets and rings and small gems into his bag. The proprietor lay on the ground unmoving.
With a nasty laugh, the big blond man kicked the unconscious jeweler and pulled the booth apart with his bare hands. Two more laughing men ran into sight, their arms full of stolen goods. Booth owners and customers scattered in all directions.
The blond man suddenly saw the two women. “What are you staring at?” he roared, and in one abrupt movement, he leaped straight through the gap and pounced on the dwarf. He snatched her arm in one huge hand and backhanded Lucy.
The force of the blow sent her reeling into the cart of a vegetable vendor. The cart tipped over, spilling vegetables everywhere. Pain exploded in her head. She heard Challie scream, but she could not force her body to respond. Desperately, she struggled to her feet and staggered over the vegetables. Her vision swam, and for a moment Lucy thought she would vomit. Somehow, she managed to stay upright in spite of the blood that ran from her nose and forehead. One eye was already swelling shut.
She heard Challie scream again, and fury as white-hot as dragon rage erupted within her. It burned away her dizziness and fired the embers of her strength until she could stand upright and see what was happening around her.
The blond man held Challie upside down by one foot and was shaking her violently. The other thugs were snatching everything of value they could carry, and no one seemed to be doing anything to stop them.
The smaller man caught sight of Lucy on her feet. Gloating, he snatched her sleeve and hauled her close. “Give us a kiss, girlie. Then maybe we’ll have some real fun.”
Lucy felt her fingers tighten around the leather straps of the bridle still clutched in her hand. She wrenched away from him and whipped the bridle around. The metal bit slammed into his mouth, cutting the flesh and breaking teeth. He fell to his knees, and before he could recover she snatched a clay bowl and smashed it over his head. He sagged to the ground without a sound.
“Hist!” someone cried. “Sorceress! Here, take these!”
Lucy turned at the sound of the voice and saw a young woman crouched behind the spilled cart. The woman held out her hands as if making an offering. On her open palms were three large reddish potatoes. For a moment Lucy stared at them, wondering what on earth she was supposed to do with those, then the memory of her spell and an idea ignited in her thoughts at the same time. It was crazy, but it was worth a try. She snatched the potatoes like a gift from the gods.
Raising the tubers above her head, she faced the brigands and began to chant the incantations to Ulin’s spell in a loud and firm voice. With a prayer that she could force the magic to work again, she focused on the power she could feel around her and drew it carefully into her incantation. She almost completed the spell when something soft as gossamer tickled the back of her neck. Although she tried to ignore the sensation and concentrate on her spell, she felt the magic falter and fade. Several unladylike words passed through her mind, and she had to swallow hard to hide her frustrated disappointment.
“Great bullocks, Grethor!” one of the thugs shouted. “That’s the sorceress who killed those dozen draconians.”
Lucy molded her expression into a mask of stern anger. She lowered her arms, and held a potato ready to throw at the big man holding Challie. He stood stared at her, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
“Put her down this instant or die,” Lucy demanded.
Dazedly, he opened his hand and
dropped the dwarf to the ground where she groaned and lay still.
Lucy wanted to run to Challie, but she dared not take her eyes off the brigand. “Now, tell your men, all of them, to put the goods down and lie on the ground, or I will burn you all.”
Such was the power of Lucy’s reputation-thanks to the storytellers in Flotsam-that the three men took one look at her face and the potatoes in her hand and obeyed instantly. All of them dropped to the ground and spread their arms and legs. One of them whimpered.
Help suddenly appeared from all directions. Booth owners, vendors, and customers crawled out of their hiding places or came hurrying back, and in short order they had all four men trussed and taken away under guard. The young woman under the vegetable cart gave Lucy some water and strips of fabric for her face and helped her revive Challie. The battered dwarf cursed intermittently then laughed at Lucy’s potato trick.
“Did the spell work this time?” she whispered to Lucy when they were alone.
Lucy gave her head a small shake. She kept the potatoes tucked in the crook of one arm. “I don’t think so. They’re not hot like the last ones, but I don’t think I’ll try them out here. I’d hate to ruin my reputation.”
Challie tried to smile through her split lip and started bleeding again. “I wish you had fried that beast,” she groaned.
Lucy put an arm around her companion as much for her own support as Challie’s. The dwarf was not seriously hurt, but she suffered several severe bruises on her legs and face, abrasions on her forehead, and a sprained ankle. All Lucy wanted to do now was go back to the Jetties and lie down.
“Young woman, you are a marvel,” she heard someone say close beside her.
Lucy glanced up with one good eye and looked into the kind, intelligent gaze of Councilwoman Saorsha, the older woman Pease thought was a retired member of the covert Legion of Steel. Looking into Saorsha’s aged face, Lucy could well believe the kender was right. This close Lucy noticed details she had not paid attention to before. Saorsha’s skin was wrinkled and spotted, but it was the toughened, weather-beaten patina caused by years of living in wind and rain and burning sun. Her eyes were bright, blue, and piercing, and her hair had been cut short into a fluffy cap of waving white. When she offered a hand to Lucy to help her stand, her grip was firm and strong. Her hands bore the old callouses of a sword-fighter.
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