The oldest of the journals had a parchment covering folded over it. The covering was annoying in handling the book, so Chane took it off. And there on the left of its inner surface was a list. Though most were common herbs, one was written in Belaskian among the other Numanese terms.
Dyvjka SvonchekBoars Bell.
Chane knew it, also called by other folk names such as Flooding Dusk, Nightmares Breath, and Blackbane. Its yellow bell-shaped flowers faded to dark plum at the edges. Toxic and deadly to the living, its mere odor could also cause delirium. He knew its fishy scent in two ways. One from dried petals left on a table in the back room of the healer-monks hidden mountain monastery. And the other ...
Chane fished deep in Welstiels belongings.
He pulled out a long and shallow box, bound in black leather and wrapped in indigo felt. Inside were six vials in felt padding, each with a silver screw-top cap. But only one and a half held any of the strange liquid. The unwary might have thought it watery violet ink.
Chane carefully sniffed at the full one without even opening it. His head filled with its fishy sweet odor, and he quickly pulled the vial from his face.
He looked back to the parchment covers inner surface. On the right half was a diagram with symbols, most of which he didnt know. Perhaps it was a formula of some kind.
All the vials had been full when he and Welstiel had left the monasteryin company with six monks raised as feral undeads. Somewhere along the journey to the Pock Peaks and the castle of that ancient white female vampire, the rest of the vials had been used. What purpose had Welstiels concoction served? And how was it made, let alone used?
All Chane knew was that during the journey, Welstiel continued to grow more agitated and more obsessed with getting his orb. That and when Chane slipped into dormancy each night, Welstiel was still up and alert. When Chane arose the next dawn, Welstiel was already up and about, perhaps for a long while.
Chane had no doubt the list of ingredients was for this deadly liquid, and only the flower would be difficult to find. Some claimed it had healing properties, but he did not think so. Chane rewrapped the vial case, stored it in the pack, and refitted the parchment cover on the journal.
On a few nights his frustration at too little progress began to mount, and he would return to Belas great docks. Or he would wander to the citys southern edge and stand upon the shore, staring out over the Inner Bay and ocean beyond. He did take the time to seek an apothecary, who reluctantly admitted that he carried Boars Bell in secret, for sale to select customers. Chane paid heavily for a small amount, not having the time or opportunity to search for the flower in the wilderness.
Sometimes he hunted, turning more often to the lowly districts.
His existence became more and more pointless, until one night he caught a flash of dark fur near a loading platform on the southernmost pier.
He ignored it at first. Dogs often roamed the citys quarters, scavenging for a quick meal. But the animals movement pulled his attention back.
The dog hung its head over the docks upper level and watched the men below.
On the lower level of that nearest dock, three men busily loaded cargo into a wide, flat-bottomed skiff. Even under the docks hanging lanterns, they couldnt see as well as Chane in darkness. He stepped close to the docks landbound end, having nothing better to occupy him.
The dog was taller than he had first thought, perhaps the height of a timber wolf, but with long legs and muzzle, and taller ears. Charcoal-colored, its coat seemed to shimmer faintly in the lanterns light.
Im sick of all the rush, said one sailor below. When are we going to take time for some eats?
Get on with it! another snapped. Were outbound by dawn, and were short on cargo for the crossing. So much for profit shares at the journeys end.
Well fix that once we hit the far coast, the third replied.
The dog lifted its head and looked out toward a three-masted vessel in the harbor, almost as if it knew what the men spoke of.
Chane saw its blue crystalline eyes catch the lantern light.
The animal slunk silently to a side-hanging walkway and padded softly down the ramp to the docks lower level. For a moment, Chane thought he was looking at Chap.
But this dog was much darker, more slender in build, and a younger animal, perhaps not yet having gained its full weight. Chap was unique, a hunter of undead, yet the animal was certainly of the same breed. Chane moved quietly out to peer over the docks side.
The dog crept around a massive, slightly dented trunk waiting to be loaded. The sailors were busy grumbling and wrestling with cargo and never noticed as the dog parted the trunks lid with its nose. It squirmed inside amid piles of folded cloth.
Chane watched in fascination before he called out, You, there ... where is that ship headed?
One sailor straightened up, wiping his sweating brow with a sleeve.
Langinied, at first light, he replied, if we can get her loaded in time. Weve cargo going straight across; then were south for the long haul to the eastern Suman coast.
Chane lifted his eyes to the vessel out in the bay. He knew of Langinied, a large island off the coast across the ocean. It was supposed to be one of the few civilized places this side of that continentWynns continent. There was a long land journey beyond that to reach the far west coast and her homeland.
Two sailors picked up the old trunk and hefted it atop the crates already overburdening the skiff.
A strange dog stowed away on a ship bound for Wynns continent. The only other of its breed that Chane had ever seen was a close companion to Wynn.
Is it still possible to buy passage? he asked.
What? the third sailor called back, steadying the skiff as his mates loaded a rope-bound bale. Perhaps he could not catch Chanes words in his voiceless rasp.
Passage! he called again.
The man huffed at him. All passengers are supposed to be onboard already. Youll have to speak to the purser ... over there.
The sailor pointed along the piers lower level. Chane spotted a gaunt man directing others in loading water casks onto another skiff.
Before long Chane had arranged passage, and the price took nearly all the money he possessed. He ran inland, and was well beyond the port before finding a coach to hurry him the rest of the way out of the city to his inn. By the time the coach returned him to the docks, the eastern skyline was just barely lightening. The purser was waiting impatiently by an empty skiff.
The moment Chane boarded the ship, he hurried below, but not to his cramped quarters. He crept into the cargo hold, searching among lashed crates, barrels, and bundles for that one old trunk.
If the dog were truly like Chap, it could sense an undead, let alone anyone elses approach. But this did not concern Chanehe wore Welstiels ring of nothing. More than once the ring had hidden Welstiel and himself from Chaps and Magieres unnatural awareness. And Chane needed to learn why this animal appeared to be heading in Wynns direction.
He found the trunk, its straps still unbuckled, but he hesitated at flipping it open. Though the ring hid his nature, startling the dog could ignite an assault. He lifted the trunks lid half a handbreadth, but it was too dark in the hold for even his eyes to see into the hidden space. Finally he had to open it wide.
The trunk was empty but for the bolts of cloth.
Chane glanced about the hold. There was no sign of the dog, nor could he smell it. He finally turned away, heading back for his small cabin.