Alana paused, considering her lack of options. She could not condone treating people like animals, but on the other hand she needed information more than she needed friends. Maybe, if she was able to befriend Silka, then she could discuss it with her. Later. “We continue,” she said. Fin nodded.
They docked along the street, which had resumed its connection to the canal’s edge here, but still the villa that the punter pointed out was grand, with a wonderful view looking out across the water to the Sanctum of Arloth, his finger reaching high into the sky. Questionable business practices were obviously lucrative. Morris and Joe disembarked first, offering a hand to Alana and Fin as they stepped back on to steady ground. The door to the house was guarded by two armed men—privately hired by the looks of their uniform—who took Alana’s message as she waited outside nervously. Eventually a man dressed in stiff wool clothes, brocaded to the point of exuberance, came to meet them and escort them inside.
The entryway was an open space that led to the separate wings of the villa as well as directly to the enclosed central garden. The brocaded man asked the Ravens to wait by the doorway, but Morris wouldn’t hear of it. Alana intervened and suggested that only Morris should accompany her and Jill.
They were led out into the gardens, where the woman she had met last night sat at a small table. On the table was a glass pitcher of what looked like tea, with three glasses, all set on a silver tray. Silka Nie rose to meet them, shaking Alana’s hand and greeting her warmly, and even taking the time to acknowledge Jill as well. The Sergeant waited off to the side where he had a clear view.
“I am glad to see that you are well,” exclaimed Silka. “I simply cannot believe what happened last night.”
Alana shook her head to mirror her sentiments as well as to banish the thoughts that Fin had planted there. “It was a great shock. I am glad you are safe. I just went to… Did you hear about Actassi Sanfratello?”
“I did,” replied Silka as she poured some tea into the glasses and set one before each of them. “He was a good man. Maybe even a future Speaker—yes even with his business in Edland. But he wasn’t the only member to die you know. Pancieri and DiLello too. Pancieri I liked. DiLello, not so much. It is an outrage, I tell you. An outrage.” Silka’s eyes went wide as she leaned forward to expound on the matter.
“They say… the Devoted did it?” asked Alana tentatively.
“Oh, there are all sorts of rumors going around,” said Silka, shaking her head. “I know that’s the official stance, but they haven’t done anything like this before. Some people are saying Pyrfew is responsible; after all, Sanfratello and Pancieri were hardly on board with having them so embedded here.” Alana gripped her glass tight and took a sip of the tea. It was cold. She lowered it again to the table; she hadn’t considered that Pyrfew could be behind something like this. “But then again, some people are blaming Edland. Maybe more. After all, it was DiLello who made the first contact with Pyrfew, and the story is that you were planning to assassinate the Speaker.”
Alana looked at Fin, her eyebrows raised in shock. Fin was a picture of innocence. She was sure that Mareth had not been behind the attack. He wouldn’t put her in danger. She was sure.
But still… something clicked into place. An insurance policy. What if Fin’s contract wasn’t as an insurance policy to protect Alana, but for something else?
“I can assure you that Edland had nothing to do with the events of last night.”
“Some people are talking about how you killed a dozen of the attackers yourself. ‘A whirlwind of steel in a gown.’ I must say that I’m disappointed that I missed the display. I was too busy hiding unfortunately.”
Alana coughed in embarrassment. Fin had it right. The girl was sharp, in more ways than one. “I had to defend myself. I was just trying to stay safe too. And it was only by the good will of Arloth that a crossbow bolt gave me ten stitches instead of a trip home in a wooden box.”
Silka reached over and patted her hand. “I believe you that Edland would not do this. But you’re going to find that many doors will close to you for a time. You should lie low for a while. Let things blow over. It’s the Blessing of the Swords tomorrow and there is always such a wonderful parade. You should enjoy it. In the new year, things may be better.”
Laying low. That meant having to spend even longer here; being away from her home and her sister. How long would it be until this city would turn her into another version of Katterick?
“Why don’t you drink some more of your tea. And then you should probably be on your way,” smarmed Silka. Out of politeness Alana picked up her glass once more and drank.
Cold tea and civilized conversation with a human trafficker.
Ioth was a strange place indeed.
They left shortly after finishing their tea, Silka committing to help Alana anyway she could once the new year came around and things had settled down. The news of rumors that Edland could be responsible for the attack deeply troubled her. As did the recurring concern that Fin’s purpose in accompanying her on this mission was potentially more than that of a bodyguard. What if the two were actually linked? She shook her head to dispel the notion. No, Mareth wouldn’t do such a thing. Alana stepped onto their boat and the punter asked for their next destination, but Alana told him to turn around and head back to the residence. The look she gave Morris told him to keep his opinions on their destination to himself.
The sun was inching down to the horizon, and its reflection rippled on the canal. Alana closed her eyes, and felt the warmth on her face as she considered what to do next. Should she confront Fin in private and try to get more information from her? Should she discuss her concerns with the Admiral or Trypp? She eventually decided on neither. It was doubtful that Fin would admit anything else right now, and she still had to trust that Mareth had no ill intentions toward her. There was no point raising further distrust amongst their team. No. It was probably best to wait and hope that Motega, Trypp and Florian could discover what actually happened the other night. With more information, she could better strategize about what to do.
After their return to the Ambassador’s residence, Alana led their small band into the house through the canal entrance, where she found Admiral Crews sitting and reading a book, apparently waiting for them. When he saw her, he smiled, causing Alana’s heart to skip a beat. He closed the book, setting it down beside him.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked. She nodded and took a seat opposite him.
“We should talk,” she said. Her stomach was in knots, her heart beat a tattoo against the inside of her chest, and she wasn’t sure what she actually wanted to say—but she’d figured it was best not to let these things linger. “About last night—”
“There is nothing to discuss, Alana,” he interrupted. “I… I should not have let the festivities go to my head so. I am sorry. And I should not have left you alone. I don’t know what I would have done if you had been hurt.” Alana didn’t know what to think right then. In some ways she was grateful that he had done all the talking for her, but simultaneously she was deflated at the ease with which he brushed off what she thought she had felt last night. “You are a remarkable young woman. Brave, strong, loyal, and intelligent. I am glad to know you.”
Well that partially redeemed him.
She smiled. “And I you, Admiral.” Fin poked her head around the door at that moment, most likely to see if Alana needed something, but she waved her away, ignoring Fin’s scowl. She was enjoying this alone time with Crews. “It appears you got straight back to work this morning too?”
He laughed and she found the sound very appealing. “Yes. As did you. It seems we are similar in some ways. I went to my appointment at the Armory.”
“Did you get the tour you wanted?”
“Yes. Eventually. DiPallo was late. Nursing a hangover, but he had left before the attack so he was fine. He was a little uncomfortable about showing me around—apparently, he struggles to handle his wine and he only had a minor remembranc
e of offering a tour. But he was too proud to go against his word, and once I steered him to talking about ship building and what we are doing in Edland, he became quite excited.”
Alana knew how animated Crews himself could become at the topic of ship building, and suppressing a smirk at the thought of the two of these men sharing a like-minded soul, she really wanted to make sure that she wasn’t subjected to the details of which she had little knowledge or interest. “That’s great work. What did you find out?”
Unfortunately, the Admiral was quite intent on providing her with all of the details of how the Armory functioned. How it was actually a number of independent ship yards under separate ownership was of some interest. The fact that they had come together to address the largest contract that any of them had ever addressed was more so. Alana even found it interesting to discover that one of DiPallo’s own designers had been responsible for the turtle ships. But her eyes glazed over at the details of their hull design, and how they were able to float with all that metal clad on the outside.
“Did you find out about the fire?” she asked.
“He wouldn’t tell me how it was done unless I shared with him the mechanism for our repeating ballista. But I did see one ship pumping a thick black liquid from its hold into containers before he hurried me along. I have a mind that is the substance, but I don’t know what it is. He didn’t permit me to go aboard one of the turtle ships, either. Just admire it from the quay. Hardly elegant but functional nonetheless.”
“Wait,” she said. “You saw one of the turtle ships in the yard?”
“Not just one. Nearly a score from a quick count. The fleet was not finished until last week. It appears that the information that the former Chancellor extracted from Aebur was not accurate. It explains why we’ve found it difficult to find the blighters on the Sapphire Sea. Apparently, they are going to launch as part of the Blessing of the Swords festivities.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, my lady. It doesn’t. DiPallo expects that there will be further contracts to maintain the fleet and perhaps even construct more ships. It doesn’t sound like Pyrfew has any intention of leaving the Sapphire Sea.”
“You’ll have to advise me on martial matters, but I assume that means they could attack anywhere they chose to if they had a mind.”
Crews nodded. She wished she had been wrong. “That’s not what worries me most though. That many ships putting out to sea tomorrow means that we have half the fleet between us and Kingshold.”
Alana sighed. It looked like Silka was going to be right. They would be stuck in Ioth for some time unless something changed quite quickly.
Chapter 35
The Blessing of the Swords
The streets of Ioth were narrow affairs; many of them wouldn’t be wide enough for more than three people side by side, but that didn’t seem to stop what seemed like the whole of the city packing them, trying to get a look at the parade. The Blessing of the Swords took different forms in different cities. Motega had seen the prize fighters in Carlburg walk before the celebratory tournaments. He’d seen the children dressed as soldiers in Redpool, with wooden swords and mock tabards. And in Kingshold, the Blessing of the Swords always meant parades of nobles with representatives of their home county contingents to present themselves before the King and renew their oath of fealty.
Motega wondered what was going to happen this year now that there was no king. Would they be swearing their allegiance to Mareth? He supposed that was more than likely, given that he doubted anyone wanted the same fate as Lord Eden.
He, Florian and Trypp slowly threaded their way through the crowds, attempting to get out of the Fan and closer to the Sanctum. They hadn’t been operating on much sleep for the past couple of nights, and Motega was hoping his morning coffee would kick in once he got moving. It had been very early in the morning yesterday when they finally made it back to Atarah’s Hearth, and they’d hit the streets not too long after dawn to try and track down the Devoted. Trypp had a few ideas on where to get information, but by the time they’d been pointed in the direction of a few of the group’s meeting places in the Fan and the Old City, the city guard had beaten them to it. It looked like that wasn’t the only thing to get beaten, either, by the remains of broken teeth and upended furniture in the simple halls that those people had frequented. They had heard how the Devoted had originally started in the oldest parts of town and so that was where they had started, even though more than one informer had told them it had caught on more in the poorer areas of Ioth.
Their failure and the miles eaten on foot around the city were tiring to Motega; the former biting particularly hard. But today was a new day, with a new plan. Get out closer to the Sanctum, and see if they could get a step ahead of the Ioth guard. At least it seemed like the guard were occupied by the parade today; those who weren’t marching or playing drum and bugle, were hopefully too busy with crowd control instead of investigating the Devoted.
The parade began by the Palazzo Confluens and it ended at the Sanctum, before the Saint himself, who would bless those who guarded Ioth’s independence. The steady stream of soldiers and navy was in full effect. At the end of one long street they could see the procession of pikemen following behind their mounted captain. It was strange to see a horse in Ioth—Motega wondered if this was the only time the horses got any exercise each year. It was hardly as if the beast would be useful in a fight in a city like this. Not much room for cavalry charges.
Motega led them away from the crowded thoroughfare, and once they lost sight of the parade, the streets became more manageable, though they could still hear the cheers of the crowd. He thought it odd that the citizens of Ioth were excited by this display of their limited martial power; they hadn’t been in any kind of fight for as long as Motega knew of. But then again, most people he knew were always glad of an opportunity to toss some rose petals and indulge in a little day time drinking. He’d also met more than a couple of fellows who always pretended to be in the guard on the Blessing of the Swords as a way of getting the friendly attention of the local women.
They reached the bridge that led from the Fan across to the island known as the Stepping Stone—or more commonly the Step for short. Here the parade would leave the promenade and the old city to march across the two bridges that led to Iliana’s Square. A dozen city guard were pushing back the people that lined the parade route, clearing space for the marchers who would be there momentarily. The sound of the drums was closing, but Motega could hear closer at hand the ringing of a bell. Trypp prodded him in the back and then pointed out a group of people on the corner of the bridge.
“Look, Mot. Devoted preaching to the crowd. They don’t really look like a group of assassins to me. And if they were, why aren’t they hiding?”
Motega could see a gaggle of people, dressed in rags and varying in size and age. All looking malnourished except for one fat individual who was mopping sweat from his brow. Trypp was right. “Let’s go and take a look,” he said.
Before they could make it through the cordon of people, a mounted guardsman rode by and pointed to the motley assortment of ‘true believers’. He barked an order and the other soldiers made a bee line for them, the crowd melting away to grant them access. There were shouts and cries for help, to the people around and to Arloth himself, as gauntleted fists and the staves of pikes cracked down on the sorry group. Motega and his friends stood still, watching as those they had been seeking were manfully grabbed and pulled pleading away. Most of the group were ushered away over the bridge to where the crowd was thinner, but the mounted guardsman ordered one prisoner, the fat sweaty one, to be taken somewhere else. The man hobbled as he was pushed through the crowd not too far away from them by a lone guardsman, unperturbed by his arrest once he was away from his fellows.
Strange that one was singled out, thought Motega. Perhaps he was the leader who would be taken somewhere for more substantial questioning?
“Look, over there.�
� Florian had worked his way through the crowds to come alongside Motega and see what was going on. He pointed to a boy standing apart from the crowd, watching the scene of arrest, his mouth hanging wide open in a look of visible shock. Tied at his waist by a length of old rope was a hammer.
“What? The boy? Do you know him?” he asked.
“It’s the boy we saw putting the notice up at the inn. For the Devoted. I’m sure it’s him.”
Motega wasn’t sure. Even at this short distance, his eye sight was poor enough for him to have trouble making out faces. But he trusted his friend, and when the boy turned tail and ran the opposite direction from the departing guard and the approaching procession, Motega was certain Florian was right.
“Fuck. We’re never going to catch the little shit through this crowd,” said Trypp. “Mot, can you—”
“Yes. Just hold me up this time.” Motega’s eyes rolled back into his skull and his mind sought that of his spirit animal. It was difficult keeping Per close in the city; it was a little conspicuous for them to walk around with the falcon on his shoulder, and he definitely could not stay in their room at the inn. But the falcon had not been far away. Each morning Motega woke to a dead mouse or rat that had been left on the windowsill of their room, and each day he found a place to toss it as he didn’t want Per to think that he wasn’t grateful. Today the falcon had been stretching his wings, soaring high up in the sky above their heads. Almost instantly, the crowd melted away and Motega was flying.
Motega looked down from on high, the falcon hovering above the crowd. He could see the procession approaching from the old city and, following the parade route, he spotted the tall form of Trypp. Florian was next to his friend, holding up his body—though the swell of the crowd would probably have done that on its own. It was always strange seeing himself when flying with Per. Was that a bald spot forming on his skull? He shook the thought away, angled his wings and flew over the bridge where they had seen the boy disappear. For Per, hunting was typically finding a rabbit in the long grass, or a rat in a dark alleyway; but the bird’s eyes were sharp, and its mind processed the images it saw so quickly, that Motega was soon able to spot the running form of the child. The boy weaved his way through the crowd haphazardly, leaving a wake of shaken fists and missed attempts to grab the urchin as he dashed away from the parade route.
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