by L. L. MacRae
Apollo had long stated that the inn he owned in Foxmouth, The Grumpy Fisherman, had been named for this very reason. But that wasn’t the case at all, as convenient a lie as it was. There was little need to correct the hopeful visitors and customers, who mostly wanted to try their luck at netting a goliath marlin, coldwater tripletail, or perhaps the more elusive silverfins that densely populated the waters offshore.
He’d never been one for fishing himself, and had learned everything there was to learn about the fish native to Foxmouth and northern Porsenthia once he and his wife bought the inn on the wastern edge of town, right on the seafront. Business had boomed, chiefly due to the location providing an unrivalled sea view, but also because it was surrounded by a number of fine establishments; blacksmiths, tanners, bakeries, and fishmongers.
It meant the street was one of the busiest all year round, with a constant flow of people, and a constant flow of coin.
And, given the town’s proximity to the Shrine of Toriaken, many people wanted somewhere to stay within convenient travelling distance to pay their respects to the Iron Dragon. The Grumpy Fisherman, a modest inn, provided Apollo and Malora with a respectable income. Steady. Safe.
‘Are you daydreaming again?’ Malora’s sharp voice cut through Apollo’s thoughts.
He’d been staring out of the window at the Lasseen Ocean, a mug of tea gone cold on the sill. Usually it was his spot for wistful dreaming, but today, the waters were dark and rough, and he’d been afraid one of the large fishing ships currently out to sea might be swallowed up by Neros at any moment. ‘Mal, would I?’
‘You do every day. Sometimes hourly.’ His wife thwacked him playfully across the back with a towel. ‘What is it this time? Reminiscing heists? Poking fun at Inquisitors? Reliving your great escapes?’
‘No, no.’ He looped an arm around her shoulder and brought her in close. Kissing the top of her head, he kept his gaze on the sea. ‘Neros looks to be in a foul temper today.’
‘She’s been in a foul temper for weeks, now. What’s the problem?’
‘You’re the priestess. You tell me why Neros is upset.’
She huffed and pushed him away. ‘I’m not a priestess, Apollo. You know that! Stop expecting me to magically understand any spirit that comes within spitting distance of the coast!’
Apollo grinned and grabbed at her waist, tickling with one hand and pinning her with the other. He knew very well she wasn’t a priestess, and hadn’t had any powers for years, but it was a guaranteed way to wind her up—which never failed to amuse him.
Malora giggled, feebly pushing away his hand. ‘Stop! Stop it, Apollo!’ She writhed in his grip, twisting like one of the slippery fish their patrons were after, and escaped. ‘Can you pay attention for more than five minutes?’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Apollo leaned on the windowsill, admiring his wife. He picked up his mug and sipped it out of habit, screwing his face up at the taste of cold tea.
‘I’m not sure whether you’re the four-year-old or Renys is!’ Malora sighed and shook her head, though she wasn’t really exasperated with him. Not yet, anyway.
‘Mal, I’m hurt.’ He pretended to pout.
‘Yeah, still not helping your case, Apollo. I need to collect our order from the butchers or we won’t have much to feed our guests this week. I left Renys upstairs but please keep an eye on her in case she goes wandering off and ends up on the roof again? I’ll be back in an hour.’
Malora was often busy with the running of the tavern. She was far more organised than he was, and usually arranged their orders to keep The Grumpy Fisherman in business. But in the past two weeks, she had thrown herself into it with more vigor than usual, filling every second of every day with tasks, and already this morning she looked more tired than usual.
Apollo tilted his head, playfulness evaporating. ‘You could have gone, you know. It wouldn’t have been a problem. I’d even have come with you.’
She stiffened. ‘Apollo, why are you talking about that now?’
‘I know it’s bothering you.’
Malora’s shoulders dropped. ‘I think I’ll feel guilty about this until the day I cross to the spirit world. Perhaps even then, it’ll stay with me.’
‘Mal…’ Apollo stepped towards her and pulled her into a hug, close against his chest.
She allowed herself a moment of comfort before pushing him away. ‘No. I made my decision. Too late to go back now.’
‘Even so, a funeral is—’
‘I made my choice, Apollo. There’s nothing for me in Bragalia.’
He knew arguing with her would only make her upset, so he held his tongue and nodded. He wanted to tell her she could always change her mind and return to Fellwood. That she shouldn't work herself to the bone. That she didn’t need to worry about their daughter getting up to mischief. That whatever was happening with Neros would soon pass. ‘I’ll keep an eye on Renys.’
Malora didn’t quite smile, but she relaxed, the tension dropping from her shoulders. ‘Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘No rush.’
They employed two young lads to help manage guests during peak seasons, and also an old widower who had no home in the town. All three were working at the moment, so he had no need to go back into the crowded tavern and deal with more questions.
Apollo was a notorious man running a notorious inn. A scar ran from his left eyebrow to his chin, a sharp curve cut into his face by Queen Surayo’s Master Inquisitor, so he’d always be marked as a thief. He should have died multiple times over, but he’d turned away from a life of crime after being pardoned by the Iron Crown, and had settled down with Malora to run the tavern. He’d named it The Grumpy Fisherman as a nod to an old ally of his—a grumpy man who had given his life to help Apollo and Malora. Another part of his past, his old life, that he’d turned away from.
Though he never spoke of the specifics, many new patrons saw his scar and immediately bombarded Apollo with questions he preferred to avoid.
So, despite enjoying a busy tavern and the company of travellers from across the country, he often kept out of sight.
Renys, thankfully, provided an excellent excuse for sudden disappearances. ‘Sorry, I can’t stay and talk, Renys needs feeding. Sorry, I’d love to answer your questions, but it’s Renys’s bedtime. Come back tomorrow, and if Renys doesn’t need to be watched, we’ll talk then.’
He watched Malora from the window, keeping an eye on her as she left the tavern, a shawl around her shoulders to protect herself from the biting sea wind, and made her way down the wide street without a look back.
Apollo rolled his shoulders and backed away from the window. Renys was quiet, which usually meant she was up to something. He paused to briefly glance through the crack in the door, checking on the patrons currently eating breakfast, then darted upstairs, taking them two at a time. ‘Renys?’
Reaching the landing with a slight grunt—he’d definitely put on some extra “comfort” weight during these past few years—he looked around for his daughter. The family lived on the first floor above the tavern, a hotchpotch of crooked rooms and corridors that was more rabbit warren than livable dwelling. It was part of the reason why the tavern had been so cheap. But it also meant that Renys could be in one of two dozen hiding places.
Worse, the hubbub of noise and chatter from below drifted up, and the building itself creaked here and there, making it impossible for Apollo to guess where Renys was. He peered past doors left ajar and wondered why his daughter seemed in a constant game of hide-and-seek.
Something fluttered to his right, but it was just the curtain in the wind. In the room corners, spiders scuttled away from his gaze, hiding in the cracks in the walls, looking for somewhere dark.
Apollo dropped to a crouch, putting himself at his daughter’s eye level. All of a sudden, cabinets and cupboards that he’d have overlooked before became prime locations.
Renys giggled from the room opposite.
He darted across the hallway to their bedroom on his hands and knees, hardly suppressing his own laughter at their game. ‘Where’s Renys? Is she in here?’
More giggling.
He saw her bare feet behind the wardrobe, just visible in the gap underneath. With a chuckle to himself, he shuffled away from the wardrobe—pretending to look under the bed, behind the desk, even under loose floorboards.
Each time he searched in the wrong place, Renys’s giggles grew increasingly louder, as if she were having trouble remembering that her part of the game was to hide. Apollo tried to draw out the seek for as long as possible, but their bedroom was not lavishly furnished, and there were only so many times he could check the same place before Renys would no longer find it fun.
Apollo backed up to the wardrobe, still in a crouch. ‘I guess Renys isn’t in here…’
A loud guffaw told Apollo what Renys thought of that.
Quick as a flash, Apollo lunged behind the wardrobe, finding his daughter covered in dust, cobwebs in her frizzy hair, and laughing so hard she cried. He pulled her out, getting cobwebs on himself, and proceeded to tickle her.
She squealed with delight, tickling him back, her laughter so loud he thought it could light the world.
The two of them played on the bedroom floor, chasing one another around, and more than once, Renys used Apollo as her personal climbing frame. He was on his knees, Renys on his shoulders trying to tickle his ear, when her laughter abruptly stopped.
‘Ren?’ Apollo held both her hands high above his head, but he couldn't see her face. ‘Are you okay?’
She made a noise, a sort of grunt she often did when trying to work something out.
Apollo turned, trying to figure out what had suddenly captivated his daughter’s attention.
‘No!’ Renys yelled. ‘The window!’
Apollo obliged, spinning back to face the window. It was slightly open, the curtains drawn back, and offered a fantastic sea view as all the windows of The Grumpy Fisherman did. At first, his gaze lingered on the water itself, wondering if one of the ships had finally been caught up in the spirit’s terrible power. Although the sea was as choppy as it had been when Malora left, he couldn’t see any of the ships had been damaged or were missing. ‘Ren?’
She pointed, although he could only see the tips of her fingers. ‘Scary lady coming here!’
Apollo stepped closer to the window and peered out, down onto the street.
An Inquisitor.
Her dark uniform was clean and shining, and the people on the street gave her a wide berth, several throwing cautious glances over their shoulders at her.
Scary lady indeed. Renys didn’t know the half of it.
Keeping one hand on steadying Renys—the little girl quite happy on his shoulders—he walked over to his desk and pulled out one of the drawers. He rooted through the papers in there.
‘What’s that?’ Renys asked, ever curious.
‘Something your da needs.’ One handed, he pulled out an old book, battered and with half its cover missing. He flicked through the pages until he reached one with a small tear at the top. Folded neatly inside the page was another leaf of paper—much thicker and of far better quality than anything they owned.
‘It’s different,’ Renys commented from above, clearly watching him with interest.
‘It is. It’s from a very important person.’
‘Mama?’
Apollo smiled. ‘Well…to lots of people, she’s more important than your mama.’
‘Nope.’ Renys’s words were confident and allowed no argument.
Apollo opened the paper, gaze darting down the sentences written in a scrawl so elaborate it was a wonder anyone could read it. But the most important thing was the bottom, where the cream vellum had been signed by Queen Surayo and marked with the Iron Crown’s signature.
That simple note had changed his life. Changed Malora’s.
Hi grinned. ‘You’re right. No-one’s more important than your mama.’
One-handed, he carefully refolded the queen’s pardon and slipped it into his inside pocket. He returned to the window, but there was no sign of the Inquisitor. She had to be inside the tavern already.
‘Come on, Renys. We need to go talk to the scary lady now.’
‘Don’t wanna.’ It was more out of stubbornness than fear.
‘I have to. You wanna wait up here?’
‘No.’
Apollo grinned. His daughter was so brave, so fierce. ‘All right, you can come keep me safe from the scary lady, then?’
Renys immediately laughed, squeezing his hand with her own. ‘Yah, I keep the scary lady away!’
Although Apollo spoke lightly to his daughter, a small seed of doubt plagued him. He’d been free for the past five years. Had built a life with Malora somewhere new, where no-one knew him or his past.
But the scar on his face led many people to summon town officers and even Inquisitors when they passed through. One determined old woman had even brought a priest from Toriaken’s Shrine and been laughed out of the tavern for her suspicions.
He was used to showing his pardon from time to time.
It was the first Inquisitor of the year, so he supposed he’d been due another visit. Renys had seen most of them. Yes, she’d been younger, but she’d never had such a strong reaction to the uniform before.
By now, all the officers of Foxmouth knew about Apollo’s history and pardon, and aside from a few grouches, most bore him no ill will.
There was always something about an Inquisitor, though.
They were closer to the queen.
As if in response, his right thigh burned with sudden intensity. An old mark flaring up where the queen’s magic had once touched him. He winced, dropping to one knee.
Renys gasped at the sudden drop, but he kept her safe. ‘Da!’
‘Sorry, Ren. Spent too long on my hands and knees. Leg’s cramping up!’
‘Da, why did you hurt your leg?’
‘I didn’t mean to!’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Come on. Scary lady will come upstairs looking for me if we don’t move soon.’
‘No!’
Apollo used the windowsill to pull himself up to his feet. His shoulders ached with Renys atop them for so long, but he had no intention of moving her. Firstly, she wanted to see. Secondly, the Inquisitor might soften at the sight of such a young child with him.
Some of the previous conversations with the queen’s police had been rather aggressive.
He’d need to put out word again, remind townsfolk of his pardon. But that would come in time.
Gingerly, Apollo exited the room, crossed the landing, and made his way down the creaking staircase. Already, the usual hubbub of noise and chatter from the tavern had quietened.
Before he reached the bottom, one of the lads who worked for him, Michal, appeared. ‘Apollo! There ya are! Got another of them Inquisitors here looking for ya!’
‘I know, I know. I saw her from the window.’
‘Want me to hold Ren?’ Michal raised his arms, as if to take her from his shoulders.
‘It’s fine, she’ll stay with me. Just keep everyone eating and drinking. Don’t wanna sour the mood in there.’
‘Mood’s already sour, but I’ll do what I can. She’s standing by the door, not moving. Said no-one can come in or out ‘til she’s spoke to ya.’
Apollo groaned inwardly. Great. A jobsworth. He wondered if she worked with Torsten to have such a ridiculously blinkered view of rules. ‘I’m coming.’
Michal nodded and hurried back into the main tavern. Apollo watched him go and saw the full tables through the open doorway. Just what he needed, another public talking down.
‘Ready, Renys?’ he asked.
‘Time to fight scary lady!’ she cried, far louder than he’d expected.
‘Okay, okay. Just stay quiet while your da talks to her.’
She tapped him on the head twice, confirming her assent.
Apollo tested his weight
on his right leg. His thigh twinged but there was no pain. He shifted Renys a bit higher on his shoulders, then followed Michal through the doorway. Most of the tables were full of his regulars, with a few patrons sitting at the bar.
Just as Michal had warned, the Inquisitor stood beside the door, one foot blocking it from being opened. She was tall and well-built, in the dark regalia of all Inquisitors, a silver dragon pin above her breast. The same dragon insignia was on the scabbard at her hip, a longsword sheathed within it from the size of the weapon.
Her head snapped up the moment Apollo entered the main tavern room.
‘Morning, morning. Carry on!’ Apollo waved to the patrons who nodded at his arrival. ‘Get that tea down you! Makes for a good day’s work.’
A few chuckles answered, the mood obviously too tense for any genuine laughter.
‘Inquisitor. There’s a table here for you if you’d like to sit down?’ Apollo turned to her, scanning for any softening expressions. He gestured with one hand, the other held onto his daughter’s. ‘We’ve a special on roast ham this week, and the Horush cheeses are shipped over every—’
‘I’m not here for breakfast, Apollo.’
Apollo had never appreciated being interrupted, and even with Renys atop his shoulders, the woman cut straight to the point.
‘Well, as we’re on a first name basis, would you care to introduce yourself? Or should I just call you Inquisitor?’
She plucked a small iron dagger from her belt and held it up. A ruby had been pressed into the hilt, glinting in the morning sunlight. ‘I am Inquisitor Nadja. In service to Queen Surayo and the Iron Crown.’
The dagger was proof of her legitimacy. She was the real deal, not some foolhardy person trying to impersonate an Inquisitor.
‘Nadja. Fine. If you’re not here for breakfast, perhaps you’ve heard about the great fishing here in Foxmouth? Season’s right for the silverfins, but if you’re going to stay a few weeks, that’ll put you right on time for—’
‘Apollo Tamlin. With respect, I am not here to fish. We need to talk. If your responses do not satisfy me, you will be under arrest by order of the Iron Crown. Tell your patrons to leave.’