He hobbled off, clutching his cudgel, and handed a paper to a clerk at the next desk down the narrow space.
Dänvârfij stared after him. Rhysís took a step to follow the harbormaster, but she barred his way with her arm.
She did not care for the little man’s demeanor and might have favored extracting the information. That was not a wise choice in a busy port, even when dealing with one who appeared to hate other types of humans as much as he did her kind. She pressed her arm back a little to make Rhysís stay and went after the harbormaster.
“We have family on Cloud Queen ... and need catch up,” she said as an embellishment. “Please ... can you say ... when left here?”
“I don’t give out information about ships leaving my harbor!” he barked. “Now get out.”
A few others along the office, both patrons and staff, looked over.
Dänvârfij backed away and turned, finding Rhysís watching this exchange. A subtle scowl spread over his face. With a quick lift of her chin, she motioned him toward the door, and once they were outside, his features were tightly set.
“We wait until after nightfall,” he said, quiet and calm. “I will get you an answer from him.”
It was tempting and possibly their only option. She was about to agree when a young clerk slipped out the door. A shock of dark blond hair hung in his eyes, and his fingers were stained with blue ink.
“Pardon, miss,” he said, offering a slight smile. “Don’t mind the old badger. He treats almost everyone that way.”
He held a large open book, covered in lines of writing, in his hands. Dänvârfij was wary and uncertain how to respond. She did not need to, as the young clerk looked up from scanning a page in the book.
“The Cloud Queen left harbor two days ago,” he said, “heading for a cargo exchange at Chathburh. That’s a big port, and I’d guess she’ll be there several days. If you’re sailing on the Bashair, Captain Samara won’t stay here long. It’s a small, fast ship, and you should catch your family, if fair weather holds.”
After facing the harbormaster, Dänvârfij was slightly stunned by this human’s polite helpfulness, to the point of following her out to offer assistance.
“Thank you,” she said, and then chose to press for more while she could. “Can you say ... Cloud Queen’s captain ... if he say ... passengers stay here? We are afraid to miss family ... if they stay this place to wait on us.”
She had learned from Samara that any captain dropping off passengers needed to at least report the number of people. Or so it seemed in major ports. The clerk glanced at the book and shook his head.
“No, he didn’t leave anyone ... or none that he reported.”
“Thank you,” she said again, and he grinned once with a nod and went back inside.
Humans always confused Dänvârfij. They were savages who lived short and cruel lives in their limited awareness. That some could be generous only left her more disconcerted.
“We have the information, tenuous as it is,” she told Rhysís. “We should return and inform Fréthfâre.”
He looked up at the sun, still hanging in the sky. “We could go into this city first. In Calm Seatt, Én’nish mentioned a fondness for almonds covered in the humans’ ... chocolate. I thought to purchase some.”
If he had announced that the Ancient Enemy stood right behind her, Dänvârfij would have been less surprised.
Rhysís had a reputation for near total silence, even when he had lost Wy’lanvi, his young friend, to Brot’ân’duivé’s blade. Now he wished to buy sweets for Én’nish? Perhaps it was his need to have someone to watch over.
“She spends much time caring for Fréthfâre,” he went on, “and little time caring for herself. A small comfort might be welcome.”
Dänvârfij had already decided to indulge him. There was something more to his attentiveness, but she was not about to pry into his personal matters. And Én’nish did spend nearly all her time caring for the crippled ex-Covârleasa.
“We will find a sweet shop,” she said.
Anmaglâhk lived lives of service requiring no such comforts. Whatever additional motivation Rhysís had for this act, Dänvârfij wondered whether perhaps they had all been among the humans too long.
By early evening, Dänvârfij was back aboard theBashair and alone with Fréthfâre.
“Two days?” Fréthfâre said bitterly, shaking her head. “We are not closing the distance fast enough. We have gained half a day at best since our last stop.”
After Rhysís had purchased his chocolate-coated almonds, Dänvârfij had returned feeling more confident about their chances to overtake Magiere’s ship. Within moments of being trapped in this cabin and reminded by Fréthfâre of her failures, she felt smothered by dark doubts once more.
“We cannot make this ship go faster,” Dänvârfij replied, knowing she was being baited.
“Oh, but we can,” Fréthfâre countered. “We take the ship for ourselves.”
This had occurred to Dänvârfij as well. She would do so, if necessary, but such an action risked exposing her team. The young clerk at the harbormaster’s office seemed to know Captain Samara—enough to speak well of him. Others in the office had seen her speaking to Samara. With so few in the office, someone could remember two tall elves with amber eyes.
She stepped to the cabin’s one small porthole and gazed out at other ships docked along the next pier.
“That might bring undue attention,” she returned, “should the event become known. The human clerk seemed certain we could catch our quarry at Chathburh. By the way the harbormaster rules his office—and all ships docking here—it is unlikely the captain of the Cloud Queen would have failed to report passengers disembarking permanently. It would be wiser to disembark at Chathburh and set a trap for them there.”
She looked back to Fréthfâre, bent over on her bunk.
“Unless you would like me to consult Father first,” Dänvârfij added.
That suggestion nearly always brought an end to Fréthfâre’s manipulations. Most Aged Father would counsel them to wait, not risk commandeering a ship they could not sail themselves without keeping and controlling some of the crew.
“We will do as you suggest,” Fréthfâre said tiredly. “And hope that Father’s faith in you is no further undermined.”
Dänvârfij said nothing more. Pricks and jabs from the vengeance-driven ex-Covârleasa were now too commonplace for her to feel them. But the small, stuffy cabin reminded her of being inside Father’s heart-root chamber. She struggled again to push away the past—and the past pushed back.
She could not stop thinking of the day Brot’ân’duivé had forced his way into the great oak while Most Aged Father was questioning Osha. The greimasg’äh had not been down there long.
She had waited above, watching for him to reemerge. To her shock, Osha had come out with him. Not one of the sentries tried to stall them, and the one still rubbing his throat had backed away. Her instinct was to stop them and ask what had happened, but she had no authority.
Neither looked her way as they strode past. Clearly Most Aged Father had turned Osha over to Brot’ân’duivé.
Juan’yâre came out on their heels but only watched them with panic on his face. Then he spotted her.
“Come,” he said, gesturing to Father’s home.
She had nearly run forward, following him into the oak and down into the heart-root, only to find Father dark and pensive. All sign of tears had vanished from his dry, bony cheeks as he raised milky eyes to her and Juan’yâre.