Myrmeen spoke for the group. The pasha and his men listened to her impassioned plea, nodded politely, and informed her that they were in the midst of a much needed upsurge in tourism. The panic that would be caused if they tried to act on her warning—words that she could not substantiate with anything more than the integrity for which she was known—would create more damage than even the shadow beings that Myrmeen insisted were real.
“Bring one of them to us,” she was told by the aging pasha. “Let us see it meld with the shadows.”
“Yes, we have a dinner party scheduled at the manse next week,” said one of his men. “Bring it to us by then. The entertainment in this town has been a bore lately.”
The veneer of respect for Myrmeen fell away as the half dozen men before her became consumed with creating jokes about her claims, ignoring her as she tried to get their attention once again. It was a tactic she had used many times on troublesome visitors who did not realize that their audience was at an end. Myrmeen removed the sword she had been given by the night people and buried it in the wooden table behind which the council members sat, the blade striking directly between the pasha’s hands.
Silence flooded the room as the old man’s son started forward and was stopped by Reisz, who drew his knife and assumed a defensive stance before the vizier.
“The great storm of fourteen years ago is about to come again,” Myrmeen said. “People will die, and you are doing nothing about it.”
The aged pasha cracked the knuckles of his right hand. “Do you need an armed escort from the city, or can you find your own way?”
Pulling the sword back, Myrmeen turned from the assemblage and gestured for Krystin and the Harpers to follow her. The guards at the heavy door parted for them. Vizier Djenispool, a handsome man in his thirties, watched them with flat, unreadable eyes.
Behind her, Myrmeen heard the old man attempting to recover the dignity she had taken from him. “You see, this is what I mean. By allowing our rulers to be deigned by the act of succession, we end up with barbarians on the throne, fools that wouldn’t understand civilization, pouting women with more muscles than brains who run around with weapons held high, acting like children before their betters. They come here expecting—”
Myrmeen turned and the old man leaned back in his seat. His eyes widened at the sight of the golden slivers in her eyes, which widened with murderous intent.
“I expect nothing from any of you except that you will bleat like the dying sheep that you are when the Night Parade comes out of hiding with a taste for blood,” she said, then left the room with her companions.
“Very adult handling of that situation,” Reisz chided as they walked the streets, trying to come up with a plan of action. The afternoon sun waned as storm clouds gathered.
“We have escorts,” Myrmeen said, ignoring his comment and indicating the guardsmen who followed in a less than subtle manner.
“That means that if we try to rouse the people’s attention, we will be slapped in chains before we have accomplished anything,” Reisz added.
They walked a few blocks, and Myrmeen fumed over the old ruler’s comparison of her to a child. Krystin stopped suddenly, clutching at the glass window of a nearby shop as realization struck her like a fist.
“The children,” Krystin said. “It’s the children they’re going to want, just like they did last time.”
Myrmeen blanched at the girl’s words. “Why?” she whispered softly as she touched Krystin’s shoulder.
“I don’t know why,” Krystin said, shrugging off the soothing touch as she hugged herself.
Myrmeen saw a sidewalk eatery with tables just ahead. She led her companions to a table and sat down hard, gesturing for the guardsmen to join them. The hard-looking men stood at a respectful distance, about a hundred feet away, and did not acknowledge the invitation. Myrmeen ordered a round of the strongest ale on the menu as she thought about the danger to Calimport’s children.
“I don’t know what to do,” Myrmeen said. “If we knock on doors and walk around with signs, we’ll be laughed at or thrown out of town. The council doesn’t believe us.”
“Perhaps this is why Lord Sixx let us live,” Reisz said, “to let us face the humiliation of failure, to watch the suffering and not be able to stop it.” The swarthy-skinned man shook his head. “We’re going to need help. If we can’t do anything to stop the festival, then we’re going to have to be prepared to fight—”
“Six thousand,” Myrmeen reminded him. “How can we fight that many?”
“Shandower did it,” Krystin said quietly. Everyone stared at her. “Erin took the apparatus. It’s something they need. You saw the way they reacted.”
“Are you saying we should steal it back?” Ord asked.
“Or destroy it,” the girl replied.
“Shandower must have tried,” Myrmeen said. “With his wealth, he would have tried everything, every form of magic available.”
“There are mages who aren’t for hire,” Reisz said. “Elminster, for one.”
“I thought you said he was an old nag,” Ord remarked.
“That aside,” Reisz said with a grin.
“We don’t have time to reach the Dales,” Myrmeen said. “The festival is long overdue. They’re not going to delay any longer. I wouldn’t be surprised if preparations were already underway by the ones who were left behind.”
“No,” Reisz said, “Lord Sixx wouldn’t have wanted the humiliation if he returned empty-handed. We have some time.”
“What do you suggest?” Myrmeen asked.
“I have a friend who owes me a favor in Teshburl,” Reisz said. “It’s not far from here.”
Ord rolled his eyes. “Vitendi? You would call upon that lout, after the way he treated you, after he threatened you in front of us all?”
“That’s just his way,” Reisz said, dismissing him.
“Really?” Ord said. “That’s like saying that a mass murderer who consumes his victims’ flesh is not a bad person—that’s just his way!”
“Why are you so against this?” Krystin asked.
Ord ran his hand over his face. “It’s going to be a waste of time. Vitendi will never—”
Reisz leaned over and cupped his hand over Ord’s ear as he whispered to the nineteen-year-old. Ord’s expression changed, and he nearly laughed.
“Admiral Mond Vitendi has his own fleet, a marvelous navy that rarely gets a chance to fight anyone,” Ord said in a complete turnabout. “Excellent choice.”
Myrmeen wondered what Reisz had on the man, then shook her head. “So how do you intend to get to him?”
With a smile Reisz said, “Do you have any more gold?”
Several hours later, at twilight, Myrmeen, Krystin, and Ord stood beside Reisz near the docks. He had chartered a small vessel and was preparing to depart. Two new guardsmen made their presence known without engaging the group. “They’re charging us a fortune,” he said. “They tell me there’s a storm on the approach, a bad one.”
A mass of clouds had gathered over the city. Myrmeen forced away memories of the night she had lost her child.
Reisz shrugged. “Of course, the interesting thing will be the Djenispools’ reaction when Vitendi’s ships arrive in their port.”
“They’ll probably welcome them as tourists,” Myrmeen said. “Keep the men on the ships, or their discipline will be corrupted by this city within an hour of landfall.”
“Provided they’ll come,” Reisz said with a wink to Ord.
“There are no guarantees.”
Ord looked away, grinning.
“I’ll see you soon,” Reisz said as he turned.
Myrmeen glanced at the child who might have been her daughter. “Reisz, I want you to take Krystin.”
“Absolutely not,” Krystin said.
A single eyebrow rose on Reisz’s worn face. “I’m not going to drag a prisoner behind me. Krystin, do you want to come with me or stay behind to face the night people?”