She looked to Kalen. “Well?”
“I’m sure no one in Luskan heard that,” Kalen said.
“Of course you’d say that.” She rolled her eyes and swept into the aftcastle.
The chamber was empty of bodies just like the main deck, but it showed evidence of occupancy. The shelves had held dozens of books and curios-mementos from a long shipping campaign. Now, they lay smashed, ruined, and heaped in a corner. The central desk was overturned and shattered, and scraps of mostly burned paper littered the chamber. The captain’s bed was also ruined-blankets torn into strips and covered in black stains.
Myrin noted a heap of gray dust, about two paces in length and one in width. “Hmm.”
Kalen scraped his dagger through the ash, sending particles into the air. “I’ve seen something like this before,” he said.
“What is it?” Myrin asked. Then, turning her head to avoid Kalen’s eye: “Not that I’m curious.”
Kalen hadn’t noted the gesture. “Can you clear the ash?” he asked.
Myrin waved her hand, igniting magic in the air. Wind gusted, blowing aside the ash to reveal a humanoid outline burned into the floor.
“Firesoul genasi,” Kalen said. “I’ve seen this before; burned from the inside.” Toytere’s face darkened. “Aye, that isn’t unnecessarily horrible.”
“It wouldn’t be such a bad fate, to return to your element,” Myrin said. “Dust to dust, fire to fire.” She saw that the two men were staring at her. “Or something like.”
“Genasi don’t usually die like this,” Kalen said. “It could be magic. Or plague.”
“Best be careful what we touch then, no?” Toytere asked.
They left the aftcastle, back onto the main deck. Toytere crossed immediately to a locked trapdoor leading down to the hold. He retrieved a set of well-used picks from his belt and set to work. He began to hum and his eyes glazed over. Myrin recognized signs of the Sight, so she knew he wouldn’t be listening for a moment at least.
It gave her a chance to be alone with Kalen for the first time in a year.
Kalen stood two paces away, craning his neck to see Rhett and Sithe. Here they were, alone while Toytere worked on the lock, and he was more interested in the others.
Not that Myrin herself knew quite what to say. Ultimately, she stepped closer to him and spoke softly. “There’s no need to worry,” she said. “I’m sure he’s quite well.”
“Vindicator should protect him.” He fixed her with his light gray eyes, which seemed almost white in the moonlight.
Words fought in Myrin’s throat. “You … you’re well?” she asked. “I mean, you aren’t hurt or anything?”
“I’ll manage,” he said, looking away.
The silence drew out between them, punctuated by the lap of the tainted waves of Luskan’s bay and the click of Toytere’s picks in the lock.
There was so much Myrin wanted to say to Kalen. She wanted to know what he’d done for the last year, to know about his new scars, to know why he looked at Rhett with such ambivalence. She wanted him to ask after her-godsdammit, she wanted him to look at her. But an impenetrable barrier lay between them: that awful moment a year ago in a rain-drenched alley in Waterdeep, where a helpless man lay under Kalen’s sword and, as now, he wouldn’t even look at Myrin, much less listen to her pleas for mercy.
“Rhett said you had a plan-about the Dead Rats.” Kalen’s sudden whisper surprised her. “Will you tell me what it is?”
“Other than trying to teach them to do the right thing?”
Kalen shook his head. “You prefer me to think you a naive fool.”
“Of course I don’t,” Myrin said. “You’ll just have to trust that I’m not.”
Kalen did look at her now. “Myrin, I-”
She drew a tentative step closer to him. “Yes?”
At that moment, a click sounded and Toytere put away his picks. Kalen looked away-the moment passed.
“Captain must have locked this hatch before shutting himself in that cabin,” he said. “Good news it still be locked-means the scum-dogs that hit this boat couldn’t pick it.”
“So there might be survivors below?” Myrin suggested.
Toytere looked profoundly doubtful.
The men opened the hatch, expelling a cloud of dust and the smell of age. “Hmm,” Toytere said. “I be expecting something a bit … fresher.” He stared blankly down for a moment, then shook his head. “Tread soft, no? I See danger awaiting.”
“Does this danger involve your blade in our backs?” Kalen accused.
In the darkness, Toytere’s eyes glittered, and his features, as the shadow fell across them, seemed very sharp.
“Oh, stop it, both of you,” Myrin said. “Toy, lead the way. Kalen, take up the rear.”
They climbed down a set of creaking, dust-covered steps. The hold was no more populated than the deck or the captain’s chambers and was just as much in ruin. Boxes were little more than wood shards and ropes lay scattered like dead snakes. Every step set something to crackling.
“Where are all the bodies?” Kalen asked.
“Bodies?” Myrin said.
Kalen nodded. “It looks like a warzone down here-shouldn’t there be victims?”
“Little Dren be right.” Toytere dug through the detritus, not unlike a rat scavenging for scraps. “And I think I may have the answer.” He held aloft something small, curved, and gleaming white.
“Is that what I think it is?” Myrin asked.
Kalen nodded. “More over here.” He pushed aside pieces of a broken barrel to reveal an entire rib cage, attached to a skeleton with a battered skull. The bones were perfectly white and clean. “The skeleton looks perfect.”
“And fresh,” Toytere said, lifting the skull. “Hapless fool be breathing not a month gone.” He patted the bleached skull sympathetically. “Nary a hint of rot, neither.”
“The Fury,” Kalen said. “It was here.”
“Dancing gods on high!” Toytere spat. “What burns flesh but leaves bones?”
“Magic,” Myrin said without hesitation.
“You sound quite sure,” Kalen said.
“There are spells,” Myrin said.
“Spells you be knowing?” Toytere asked.
She shrugged, a gesture neither of the men apparently found encouraging.
The halfling crept into the shadowy interior of the lower deck, prodding at the piles of rubbish with his cane. Myrin watched as he uncovered skeleton after skeleton much like the first. All lay contorted as though in terrible fear. Myrin sniffed but could smell only dust and the sharp tang of animal dung. No sign of rot or putrescence.
Across the way, the halfling bent to inspect each skeleton in turn, and each time he came up with jewelry gleaming in his hands: rings, earrings, necklaces, and the like.
“Pardon,” Myrin said, “but how do pilfered riches help us investigate the plague?”
“Me lady, they do not,” Toytere said. “But more coin means more the Rats can do … for Luskan, no?”
“Oh.” That made sense. “Kalen, are you-?”
Kalen was staring at a space roughly in the middle of the destruction. There, Myrin saw a small furry creature about the length of her forearm: a rat. It peeked up from a mess of matted, oily fur, its eyes gleaming red.
“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Back away.”
“Aw,” Myrin said. “It’s adorable! Look at its little eyes!”
A second rat had joined the first. Together, they looked up at Myrin and Kalen with something like curiosity in their eyes. Myrin couldn’t help but wonder if they might be useful for certain magical experiments. She chose not to share this observation.
Then, as they watched, greenish spittle leaked from the rats’ mouths. Sickness.
“I’ve seen one like that before,” Kalen said. “Trapped in a closet with a skeleton.”
“Oh,” Myrin said. “No sudden movements, right?”
Kalen nodded slowly and they began to back away.
More rats were appearing out of holes in the floorboards and from among the skeletons. They gathered in a mass in the center of the room-a teeming swarm, all of them looking at the two humans. Hungrily.