‘Brexan?’
‘No sign of her, sir. She just disappeared. If she’d been running with Sallax, then I guess she knows all the places along the waterfront where he was hiding.’ He shifted the bedside candle, throwing a bit more light onto Jacrys’ face. ‘I found them in a tavern I had been searching with a squad of Seron warriors from the blockade; Sallax was posing as a simpleton, and Brexan had been pretending to whore for the scullery staff. We overlooked them a couple times; Sallax was surprisingly convincing as an addled idiot. I guess there really was something wrong with him. Brexan must have known what she was doing to get the two of them into the barracks and all the way up here to your bedside without alerting anyone. We’re blanketing the waterfront with surprise searches. We haven’t found anything yet, but we will.’
No you won’t, you fool, Jacrys thought.
‘Are you sure you don’t want any food, sir?’ He produced a bowl of broth and a chunk of fresh bread. ‘I might be able to find a pastry or two in the city, even at this aven. I know you like those, sir.’
Jacrys braced himself, inhaled through his discomfort and said, ‘I want to go home.’
‘Home, sir?’
‘Tell Pace; tell Oaklen, you’re taking me home.’
‘To… Malakasia, sir?’
Jacrys nodded.
Thadrake tried to hide his enthusiasm. He hadn’t been home in nearly twenty Twinmoons, and while being stationed here at Oaklen’s command post was good for his career, escorting the prince’s personal espionage agent back home to retire, to die – to dance with a malodorous fat man from Port Denis, who cares? – would be a way to remain in Oaklen’s good graces, to serve the prince’s personal staff and to get back home for a Twinmoon or two. He would be packed and ready within the aven. ‘Shall I charter a boat, sir, or would you rather take a naval cutter?’
‘Private-’ Jacrys was fading. One eye fluttered shut, while the other found Thadrake. ‘Carpello’s yacht.’
‘Very good, sir. I’ll take care of that tomorrow and report back when it’s arranged.’ Thadrake paused. ‘Of course, I’ll have to check with General Oaklen’s healer as to when you can be moved.’
Jacrys managed a half-shake of his head. ‘Bring him,’ he whispered.
‘Bring him, sir?’ Thadrake beamed. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘And send riders.’
Captain Thadrake leaned in close to make out what his patient was saying. ‘Riders to Colonel Pace and General Oaklen?’ He couldn’t just leave; he had to ask. Pace and Oaklen needed to know, and grant their permission. His mind raced. ‘Where should I tell them we’re headed, sir? They’ll want to know where we’ve gone.’
‘Pellia,’ Jacrys whispered. ‘I have a safe house over the wharf in Pellia. I’ll stay there.’
‘Pellia.’ Thadrake waited for Jacrys to drift off, then gulped the rest of the wine. ‘Very well, sir,’ he said to the gaunt, sickly form lying asleep in the middle of the chamber, ‘I’ll tell them you’ve ordered us back to your home in Pellia. I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow, sir.’
Jacrys didn’t hear him; he was already lost in the brilliant dreams that followed closely on the heels of querlis leaves and wine. Brexan Carderic and he were on the narrow strip of sand that passed for a beach outside Pellia during the summer Twinmoon. Across the inlet from the city, the beach could be accessed via private ferries, usually little more than floating flotsam manned by entrepreneurial vagrants. Jacrys had paddled across the river in his father’s rowboat, dodging genuine barges, Malakasian naval ships and fishing trawlers to reach the ribbon of sand. Even now, two hundred Twinmoons and an almost-mortal wound later, Jacrys still dreamed of the beach, where a hundred million tiny seashells lay upon the sand in a jumbled, glittering mosaic of beige, white and black. It was the most beautiful place that Jacrys Marseth had ever seen, and he was there now, back home with Brexan. She had won his respect, proving herself a talented spy, even if not quite a killer. He dreamed of breathing deeply again, of smelling the salt, the tide and the sea air. Breathing with the lungs of his childhood, he quietly inhaled the very essence of Brexan, touching her, feeling her body respond to his gentle caresses, and then cutting her open and watching as her lovely face twisted itself into a mask of terror.
A CARNIVAL TRICK
Garec was hungry. Dinner was still half an aven away, but though his stomach growled like distant thunder, he didn’t bother complaining: he knew Steven and Gilmour would ignore him. The two sorcerers had been guiding, pushing, pulling, heaving and periodically casting all manner of creative spells to move the Larion spell table north through the forest beside the river. They were three hundred paces off the path, far enough east to hunker down and hide while any Malakasian scouts passed along the riverbank, he hoped. Truth be told, Garec would have been more comfortable if they were another two hundred paces into the forest, but progress would be slower and they would risk having the cart tumble over and having to excavate the granite artefact from yet another shallow grave.
Tuning his ears to the forest, Garec ignored the magicians’ banter and listened for riders approaching. Kellin and Brand had been gone since dawn and he was growing anxious. He was especially hoping to hear Kellin galloping back to find them.
His stomach growled again.
‘Are you keeping something from us, Garec?’ Steven guided the carthorses around a crowded patch of saplings. His own horse was tethered to the rear slats.
‘Me?’ Garec’s face reddened. He was too hungry to be teased about his attraction to Kellin and decided not to take it gracefully. ‘Why?’
‘Your stomach,’ Steven said. ‘Has some woodland creature snack disagreed with you? Or are you just hungry?’
Garec smiled, relieved. ‘I could eat a woodland creature, if that’s what you’re wondering. I swear I’ll kill the first edible thing I see.’
‘We’ll take a break soon,’ Gilmour said. ‘This has been much more difficult than I’d guessed. I for one could use a cup of tecan.’
‘Beer for me,’ Garec said.
‘Oh, sure,’ Steven joked, ‘I’ll just pop into the nearest pub.’
Garec said, ‘I’ll get a fire going.’
‘In the lee of that boulder over there, please,’ Gilmour warned, ‘and a small one at that. Mark has had plenty of time to get to Wellham Ridge and begin making his way back here.’
Garec looped his reins around a low branch. ‘How do you know he’s gone to Wellham Ridge?’
‘I think we would have seen him by now if he hadn’t. He has the key; he’ll want the table. My guess is that he’s marshalling some local ruffians, mercenaries perhaps, interested in a few pieces of silver. He’ll bring them along either to kill us, to distract us while he kills everyone – them included – or to help him excavate and transport the table if we have failed to do so already.’
‘That’s a grim list of options,’ Garec said.
‘He’s not coming alone,’ Steven said. ‘He knows us too well. He knows what we can do. Together, Gilmour and I would be too formidable. While one of us locked horns with him, the other might blast the spell table into rubble; Mark’s too smart to risk that.’ He considered the wooden cart. ‘My bet is that he’s coming with a huge force, enough to overwhelm us all, even you and me, Gilmour.’
‘Because he knows you won’t engage in wholesale slaughter,’ Garec finished.
‘Right,’ Steven said.
Gilmour dismounted and rummaged through his pack for the tecan leaves. ‘Let’s hope we don’t have to face him then.’
Garec looked hopeful at that, an option he had forgotten existed. ‘I’ll get the fire going.’
‘A small one, Garec,’ Gilmour repeated, ‘just enough to heat the water, and no smoke.’
‘We don’t need a fire; I’ll heat the water,’ Steven said. ‘You two take a break.’
‘Wait,’ Garec warned.
‘If you want to warm up a bit, go-’
‘Quiet,’ he said harshly, then, ‘listen.’