Anne dropped her darning needle. Then she frowned and picked it back up. “Don’t tease,” she said irritable.
“A fine one you are to talk,” he said.
“I’ve never—”
“I’m kidding,” Cazio said. Then, quickly—“Not about the ship. It’s all arranged. Passage for the four of us.”
“To where?”
“Paldh. That’s near Eslen, is it not?”
“Very near,” Anne said. “Near enough. Is this true? You’re not baiting me?”
“Casnara, I am not. I’ve just spoken to the captain.”
“And it’s safe?”
“As safe as we’ll find.”
Anne blinked at Cazio. After all this time, she’d begun to stop thinking about home, tried to live in the present, to get from one day to the next. But now—
Her room. Decent clothes. A crackling hearth. Warm baths. Real food.
Safety.
She got up and very deliberately planted a kiss right on Cazio’s lips.
“For this one instant,” she said, “I adore you.”
“Well,” Cazion said, his voice suddenly a little strained. “How about another, then?”
She considered. “No,” she said at last, “the moment’s gone. But I’m still grateful, Cazio.”
“Ah, you’re a fickle one,” Cazio said. “All I’ve done for love of you, and so little in return.”
Anne laughed and was startled that it felt genuine. “You love me, you love Austra, you love any young thing in a skirt.”
“There is love, and there is true love,” Cazio replied.
“Indeed. And i wonder if you will ever know the difference.” She plucked at his sleeve. “I do appreciate your help, though I suspect that the fact that my father will pay—” She stopped suddenly.
She had forgotten.
Cazio noticed the change in her features. “Never mind thoughts of pay,” he said. “I’m already the best swordsman in all of Vitellio. I’ve a mind to see if I have a match anywhere else, and your country is as good a place to start as any.”
Anne nodded, but she was unable to return to the banter.
“In any event, you should pack your things,” he continued. “This ship leaves in the morning, assuming you still want to take it.”
“You’re sure it’s safe?”
“I know the captain. I don’t like him very much, but he’s a man of his word, and utterly trustworthy in a dull sort of way.”
“Then we have to go,” she said. “We must.”
At the moment, a cry went up on the street. Anne looked past Cazio and found Ospero standing in the doorway. Outside, she saw men gathered.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“They’ve found you again,” Ospero replied. He had a dagger in his hand.
Neil breathed deeply of the sea air, and for the first time in a long while he felt at home. The language was unfamiliar, the clothing of those around him was strange, and even the scent of the sea was different from the cold, clean spray of Skern or Lier, but it was still the sea.
“Sit down,” Vaseto said. “You’ll attract attention.”
Neil looked down at the woman, who sat cross-legged on the stone steps of the sea-guild hall, eating a greasy handful of fried sardines she’d bought from a vendor.
“In all of this?” he asked, tilting his jaw to indicate the streams and eddies of merchants, sailors, vendors, and vagabonds that surrounded them. He was still wearing his disguise. “I scarcely think we stand out.”
“There are others here watching these boats. The reward for your friends is substantial.”
“I haven’t seen anyone else watching.”
“That’s because they know what they’re doing,” she replied. “If you appear to be watching the ships, someone will notice that.”
“I suppose,” he sighed. “I tire of this game of disguise, this tactic of hiding.”
“Your friends are hiding, with good reason, and they seem to have found a rather good place to hide. There is little more than unreliable rumor on the street as to where they might be.”
“Maybe they’ve already gone.”
“I don’t think so,” she replied. “There is some word that they have been seen, and not long ago. If they’re trying to book passage on a ship, here is our best chance. The other watchers are probably working by description. You know the girls and might spot them even if they are disguised. I know Cazio and z’Acatto. That is our advantage.”
“It still rankles. And we’ve been at it for four days already.”
“They’ve been here much longer than that.”
“Yes, but why?”
“Looking for a ship going the right direction, at a price they can afford. The girls have been seen working.”
“Working? Both of them?” The princess of Crotheny, working? Anne, working?
“Yes. As washerwomen, scullery maids, and the like.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Passage on a ship costs money. Coming from the coven, they wouldn’t have much, would they? Perhaps nothing. From what I know of Cazio, he would have none at all, and if he did, z’Acatto would drink it up in short order. It could take them another month or two to earn the fare.”
“There must be some other way to find them. I can’t wait so long.”
She licked her finger and gave him a disgusted look. “Take a walk. Pretend to look at the fish, or something. You’re starting to annoy me.”
“I don’t mean—”
“Go!” She waved the back of her hand.
“I’ll check the other ships,” he muttered.
He walked down the quay, trying to contain his frustration, trying to think of some strategy that Vaseto had not. But he knew little of cities, especially foreign ones and ones of this size. He had never imagined so many people would crowd into one place. Eslen had seemed unimaginably huge to him when he’d first seen it, but z’Espino was so vast, he had trouble comprehending it even when he was in the midst of it.
He pretended, as Vaseto suggested, to examine the wares of merchants and the cargo being unloaded from ships, but his attention drifted always to the ships themselves, and his desire to have one beneath his feet again. He hadn’t felt the sea road under him since arriving at Eslen with Sir Fail. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.
Far down on his right, he saw the sky-spearing masts of a Saltmark brimwulf, and decided to walk the other way—the brimwolves were the favorite man-o’-war of the Hansan navy.
Walking left, his eyes traced a three-masted galley from Ter-na-Fath, from whose bow stared the carved wooden face of Saint Fronvin, the sea-queen, her hair carved to resemble churning waves. Moored just beyond was a langzkef of Herilanz, so like the galleys of the weihand raiders Neil had grown up fighting, with single sail, fifty oars, and an iron head for ramming. A battered, gallean shrimper was just putting in, its crew casting lines onto the dock.
Past the shrimper was a neat little boat, sleek of line as a porpoise, not too big, but with five masts in all. She would be quick in the turn, a wave-dancer. The cut of her looked northern, but nothing identified her origin immediately to his eye. She flew no standard, and she had no name painted on her. He stopped, scrutinizing the craft, challenged by its anonymity. A few men were working on board, light of skin and hair, which said northern, also. He couldn’t hear if they were saying anything.
A little shock ran through him, as he realized someone was watching him from the porthole in the fo’c’sle. Someone with intense blue eyes, and a face so young, beautiful, and sad it made his heart tremor. For a long moment, their gazes were locked. Then she turned away, retreated into the darkness of the ship.
Embarrassed, he looked away. He’d done just the thing Vaseto told him to avoid—he’d been noticed.
He moved away from the dock, and his heart lifted a bit when he saw an achingly familiar sight—the mast-shaped spire of a chapel of Saint Lier. Without hesitation, he entered.
It had been too long since he had prayed. When he emerged a short time later, his step felt lighter. As he walked back to where he had left Vaseto, he studiously avoided looking at the strange ship.