Clear across the water she could see small pagoda style houses surrounded by bamboo forests. Personal-sized vessels lined the bay near the homes like ferryboats intended to give the illusion of being a part of the vast city. The water itself was so still, it was almost crystalline, even around the coast of the mystic’s tower. Here and there, bulbous formations of rock topped with moss jutted out.
When she turned around, she was staring at the Winde Trader’s Guild. The entrance was shaped like a giant ship made of bronze. She looked down and frowned, realizing how underdressed she was likely to be. There was no time to worry about that.
The interior changed her opinion. The guild hall in Winde Port had all the trappings of a noble mansion, but this one was far more reserved. Unadorned walls, with those leading deeper inside made of what seemed like paper and grids of wood. The only decoration were tapestries along the walls portraying cities from around Pantego in a symbolic nature. She recognized Yarrington by the Glass Castle and Mount Lister; Winde Port by the pier filled with ships that no longer existed.
A short and stout Panpingese gentleman awaited her in the lobby. He sat on a cushion directly on the floor behind a low desk and wore a style of clothing she was not at all familiar with. It was a bit like layered robes, but more tightly fitted, and the shoulders were broad with tassels nearly tickling the ground. He barely glanced up from a pile of papers upon which he scrawled in black ink with a thin brush.
“Shi shi,” he said.
“Shi shi,” Sora responded. It was all she knew in Panpingese. She’d learned how to greet travelers who made their way through Troborough long ago.
The man said something else in Panpingese and Sora raised her hands and smiled. “I’m sorry, that’s all I know of your beautiful language.”
“I see,” the man said in perfect common, seeming disappointed. “What brings you to the guild?”
“I am looking for the Bokeo family.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “What business have you with the Bokeos?”
She considered sticking with the story of her and Tayvada’s ill-fated marriage, but anyone who knew the man would know that was a lie. “I know—knew their son, Tayvada,” she went with instead.
“Yes, sad news.”
“Oh, you’ve heard?” Sora asked a little too eagerly. She caught herself and toned it down. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, we’ve all heard. The family has been in mourning since word arrived of his unfortunate murder in Winde Port. A shame what happened there. It’s miraculous any of our people made it out alive, and with the rebels holing up in Nahanab, things will only be getting worse down south.”
Sora nodded her agreement, the horrors of what happened in Winde Port flashing through her mind.
“Will that be all?” the man asked.
“Do you know where I can find them?” Sora asked. “I was there wh… when he… passed on. I’d like to offer my condolences.”
“I’m not sure that is wise.”
Aquira perked up and shuffled on Sora’s shoulder, then released a shrill sound that caused the man to jump.
“I’m sorry about her,” Sora said. “Aquira, stop that.”
“Aquira?” the man asked, for the first time peering up enough from his work to see her. “Is that…. That’s Tayvada’s wyvern?”
“It is. As I said, I was there when he passed.”
“Aquira didn’t like anyone but Tayvada. If that is her—”
“Like I said, it is her.”
“In that case, Lord Bokeo would be most interested to hear your tale, and I’m sure they’d all like to have Aquira back.”
Aquira backed down but still growled softly.
“Back?” Sora asked, a wave of sadness passing over her. She’d gotten used to having the wyvern’s needlelike claws digging into her shoulder, and it had been nice having someone to talk to now that Whitney was gone, even if Aquira never answered with more than a growl.
“I’d suspect so. A wyvern of that rare stock is worth its weight in gold. Is this your first time in Yaolin?”
“Unfortunately.”
Again, his disappointment showed. “Okay. Just follow this road with the statues. That’s Xiahou boulevard. Take a left when you reach the end and look for Bones and Tomes—Lord Bokeo owns a small bookstore, and the family lives in the home adjacent to it. If he isn’t there, please, do not disturb them at home—they deserve time to grieve the loss of their son.”
Sora nodded, and Aquira screeched.
“Thank you, Mr…”
“Kyoto,” he finished for her.
“Thank you, Mr. Kyoto,” Sora said, and turned to walk away.
“Oh, and Miss?’
Sora looked back.
“Take care of Aquira until you speak with them,” he said. “You have no idea how valuable she is.”
X
THE THIEF
“Is that—” Whitney didn’t dare speak the name of the man who’d entered his parent’s house out loud. Bartholomew Darkings was unmistakable. His fat belly was clad in a colorful silken shirt, unbuttoned halfway and more expensive than anything in the Fierstown household. His gold chains jingled, bouncing against his hairy chest.
“Elsewhere has a way of doing that,” Kazimir said, also apparently recognizing the man who’d hired him to kill Whitney. “It’s time to hide. This isn’t our battle.”
“Shouldn’t we do something? You can kill all of them in the blink of an eye.”
“In Elsewhere, always take the path of least resistance.”
Kazimir opened the coat closet, and he and Whitney hid before the men could see them. They watched through a crack as Rocco yelled from the ground, blood dripping from his forehead.
“This is an outrage!”
“Where’s that little rat?” Darkings spat, his mustaches bobbing atop his upper lip.
“How dare you!” Rocco scrambled to his feet.
Five more men shoved their way into the house and pushed him aside.
“Tear the place apart until you find it,” Darkings ordered. Two men clambered upstairs and the sound of things breaking traveled down the flight.
“Rocco,” Lauryn cried. “What’s going on?”
“Sirs, you must leave this instant!” Rocco demanded.
Darkings ignored him and sauntered into the kitchen.
“Oh, roast duck,” he said, eyes unfolding over the dinner table. “How quaint. And is that blueberry?”
“Blueberry and lemongrass… w-with a t-touch of ginger,” Whitney’s mother stammered, though there was no mistaking the hint of pride in her tone even as her voice quivered.
“Get out of my home!” Rocco shouted.
“Boys, shut him up.” Darkings snapped his fingers before pulling out his father’s chair and picking up a fork and knife. He stabbed a piece of duck and shoved it into his mouth, then moaned in ecstasy.
The remaining three thugs accosted Rocco, two grabbing his arms and a third punching him in the gut.
“Please, don’t!” Lauryn cried, starting to stand.
Darkings pointed his knife at her and said, “Sit.”
She returned to her seat and smoothed her apron.
Whitney took a step, but Kazimir held him back.
“Did this happen?” he asked.
Whitney nodded. It did. His younger self even managed to squirm upstairs and hide during the brunt of the action. He drew on the deepest chasms of his memory to try and piece the rest together.
“Then don’t make things worse,” Kazimir said.
“I can’t just watch this.”
“They aren’t really your parents. Just wait.”
Rocco’s lips pursed in anger just before he took a balled fist to the face. He clattered to the floor, taking a table and flower vase with him.
Darkings took another bite of the duck then looked at Lauryn. “You made this? Quite good, quite good.”
“W-what are you d-doing in my home?” she asked.
; “Is there anyone else here?”
Lauryn looked to Rocco, and his father shook his bloody head. “No,” she said.
“It turns out there’s a young boy who lives here, your son perhaps?” Darkings waited, but Lauryn said nothing. “Well, he stole from the wrong man today. We’re just here to recover what was lost and teach the boy a lesson.”
“Boss!” one of the thugs called down. His footsteps grew louder as he clomped down the stairs. He held Young Whitney by the scruff of the neck. “This him?”
Darkings stood, wiped the corners of his lips with a napkin, and threw it down over the plate. He made his way to the bottom of the stairs.
“Get off me!” Young Whitney shouted, kicking his feet frantically. “It wasn’t me.”
Darkings grabbed him by the jaw and forced him to look into his eyes. “You stole from me. Me! Do you know who I am, boy?”
“By the look of it,” Young Whitney said, teeth clenched, “the King’s jester.”
Darkings slapped the boy hard with a ring-covered hand. Big Whitney seethed.
“No!” Lauryn yelled, finally getting up the courage to leave the kitchen table.
Darkings pointed a finger at her and said, “Stop, before you join your husband and make things worse for your boy.”
“Please, just leave them alone,” Rocco grated. “You got what you came for now get out of my house. He’s just a boy.”
Big Whitney’s gaze turned to Rocco, bloody-nosed and eyes that would surely be black and blue in the morning. He remembered all this happening, though not the parts where his father tried to protect him.
Just then, another thug came barreling downstairs waving King Liam’s Glass Crown in his hand. “Got it, Mr. Darkings.”
“I don’t know how it got in there!” Young Whitney shouted. I swear it wasn’t me. “What the yig-and-shog?” Big Whitney whispered. His younger self had only stolen jewelry that day, not the Glass Crown.
“You don’t get away with anything in Elsewhere, thief,” Kazimir said.
“Wonderful.”
Darkings removed a dagger with a red jewel buried into the hilt from his belt and raised it to Young Whitney’s nose.
Lauryn whimpered.
“Get out, now,” Rocco warned. “I had two guests here, sent them after the bailiff the moment we saw you coming.”
“You heard him, boys, it’s about that time to head off.” He lowered his dagger, and his man dropped Young Whitney, who ran to his mother. Then they began ransacking the cupboards and all their unfinished dinner. That’s what the real thugs did before punching Rocco one last time and burning the barn down on their way out.
Whitney finally recollected how he’d been punished for months after. He had to help his father rebuild the barn, harvest the fall crops, help the Father Hullquist—who wasn't the father in this version of Troborough—prepare for post-Dawning festivities and wasn’t allowed outside their fence. Work had him too exhausted even to sneak out. It was the longest he’d gone without being able to spend time with Sora until he left Troborough for good.
“Your boy’s got talent,” Darkings said. “But he’s got to learn that there are consequences to getting caught.” Darkings plucked a candle off a window-sill and headed for the back door. He grabbed Young Whitney again on his way, tearing him from Lauryn’s arms. The boy kicked and thrashed, but was too small and weak.
“Let him go!” Rocco started to rise, but one of the thugs kicked him hard, ensuring he stays put.
This was the moment. That first time Whitney got caught nipping more than a bronzer. The thug hadn’t hurt him, only tossed him in the dirt and made him watch as the barn burned. Besides being punished, his father never let it go, and his mother never looked at him the same. Smiling when he returned for supper grew more and more difficult for her, until it stopped altogether.
Before Kazimir could stop him, Big Whitney threw the door to the closet open.
“Stop!” he shouted. “I did it!”
“I don’t know who you are,” Darkings said, stopping by the door. “but we saw the boy do it.”
“You think that little punk-kid is capable of devising a plan like that? I did it. Paid him to help because I figured even a boy could rob fools like you.”
Darkings looked back at Young Whitney. “Is that true boy?”
Young Whitney looked at his ma and pa, then nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said, just as Whitney imagined his younger self would, eager never to take the blame. “He told me I was doing the right thing.”
“That’s right, it was me,” Big Whitney said. “Whit… I mean Willis Blisslayer, bester of brigands, the filcher fantastic himself. So, let him go.”
The thugs dropped Young Whitney to the floor and moved toward Big Whitney, seizing him and dragging him to Darkings. Whitney had hoped, by that point, Kazimir would've burst out and made quick work of them, but the upyr remained hidden.
So much for saving him from that sea beast…
“Do you know who I am?” Darkings asked.
“Pretty sure the boy just told us all,” Whitney said. “Court jester?”
“Everyone here is a comedian. What an entertaining little town. What’s this little shoghole called?” Darkings turned back to his thugs.
“Troborough, boss.”
“Well, why don’t you teach this Troborough trash a lesson? It’s a shame; we’d have let the kid go. He’s just a kid, after all. But if you did it…” He frowned at Whitney. “Well, that’s a different story.”
One of the thugs approached Whitney wielding a heavy club.
“You don’t have to do this, Barty,” Whitney pleaded. “You got the Crown back, right? No harm done.”
“What did you call me?” He seemed confused, then looked at his thug. “Make it hurt, would you?”
The club-wielding thug reared back. At the same time, two things happened: Rocco rose and propelled himself at the man, and Whitney heard the sound of a door opening behind him. The club came down hard. Whitney winced, clenching his eyes shut.
A white blur passed him on his right, and Kazimir unleashed a flurry of attacks on the men, though in Elsewhere he was too slow to stop everything and the club found purchase with a loud crack, and a groan. Only, the groan wasn’t Whitney’s.
Whitney cracked open one eye to see Rocco, his father, on the ground, face scrunched up in pain and holding his knee. The thugs who’d been holding Whitney faced Kazimir’s wrath and were face-down on the floor, dead.
“Get him!” Darkings shouted.
Kazimir used his momentum to spear another thug, driving him to the floor. The upyr rolled to his feet.
Whitney, now free, elbowed Darkings in the nose and blood flowed freely.
The remaining thugs dropped into what passed as fighting stances, although they were little more than brutes using their size and raw strength instead of any real skill.
Kazimir reached back, and in one fluid motion, grabbed two knives from the table and threw one. It lodged itself in one of the thug’s throats. He then wrapped his arm around Bartholomew Darkings, who was holding his probably-broken nose, and pulled him in, the other knife at his throat.
“Tell your men to get out of here and never return unless every one of you wants to look like that.” Kazimir wrenched Darkings' neck, pointing his eyes down at the gurgling thug.
“You will not get away with this,” Darkings said.
Kazimir flicked his wrist, and the tip of the blade caught Bartholomew Darkings' ear.
“Okay, okay!” he blubbered. “Let’s go boys.”
Kazimir waited until the surviving thugs were out of the house before walking Darkings to the front door and shoving him down the front steps.
“Do not return,” Kazimir said.
Whitney sidled up to him in the doorway and threw the Crown. “Don’t forget this!” It hit Darkings in the back of the head, and the fat man stumbled before turning to snatch it up.
Whitney turned to see Young Whitney staring, stunned and sp
eechless. Lauryn knelt by Rocco’s side, cradling his head. Whitney gave his younger counterpart a sidelong glance and the boy wiped his nose with his sleeve.
“Rocco,” Lauryn whispered.
His father groaned and sucked in air through his teeth.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Where’s the vagabond?” he asked.
“Right here, Whitney said.
“Thank you for what you did, taking the fall for my boy,” he groaned. Whitney could tell the man was in incredible pain. “It was stupid, but thank you.”
“He was aiming for me,” Whitney said, unable to believe what he was seeing. This was not how the night he remembered had unfolded.
“You were trying to keep my boy safe, and for that, you have my eternal gratitude.”
Whitney never heard his father say a single kind thing about him growing up. He glanced over at Young Whitney, who hid his face. Big Whitney grabbed Rocco’s wrist and tried to lift him, but the man squealed and crumpled back to the floor.
“Are you okay?” Whitney asked. He couldn’t believe he was asking that question of his father.
“I can’t feel my legs, he said. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Oh, Rocco,” his mother said, crying. After a moment hugging Rocco, she pulled back and yelled, “Whitney! Go get Father Drimmond and Wetzel, now!”
Big Whitney nearly started running, then remembered who she was talking to.
“C’mon,” Kazimir said, grabbing Whitney. “Let them handle their own affairs. Let’s get rid of this body.”
Whitney got stuck carrying the thug by the heavy end. Weight didn’t seem to be any different in Elsewhere, the thug may as well have weighed a ton. Whitney had to stop a few times to catch his breath on what Kazimir had assured him wasn’t air before they reached the creek at the back of his family’s property.
“Right here,” Whitney said, groaning. He and Kazimir tossed the body of the dead thug into the brush by the creek. He remembered burying stolen treasures nearby as a kid and even saw the glint of something shiny under a pile of rocks.
The Redstar Rising Trilogy Page 80