As his rough, phlegmy voice faded, so did the writing. With a few blinks of the eye it was gone as if it had never been there, because it really had never been there.
“Will you be able to eat?” Devorast asked.
Fharaud closed his eyes and though he didn’t feel as though he’d fallen asleep, he started to dream. He saw the girl-the beautiful girl-and the things that lived inside her.
“The serpent girl,” he tried to shout, but instead whispered.
“It’s all right, old man,” Devorast said, and Fharaud felt a hand on his shoulder.
He opened his eyes, but couldn’t see.
“I’m blind again,” he said.
“I know,” said Devorast, but how could he?
How could he know?
“There are things I have to tell you,” Fharaud said, “but I don’t know why, and I don’t know how.”
He felt a spoon touch his bottom lip and despite wanting to talk he sipped the warm soup. It was salty and good and as he swallowed it made red and purple flashes of light dance in the black void of his lost sight. He read aloud the message contained in that light.
“The girl who hears the whispers of the dead …” Fharaud said.
“What about her?” Devorast asked.
He was humoring him. Fharaud could hear it in his voice.
“You think I’m mad,” he said. “Black firedrakes.”
“No,” Devorast lied. “Eat a little more, then rest.”
Devorast fed him some more soup while Fharaud cried then sat with him in silence until he fell asleep.
34
17 Flamerule, the Year of the Helm (1362 DR)
SECOND QUARTER, INNARLITH
She was a handsome woman by anyone’s standards.
No, Marek thought, not “handsome,” but beautiful. Her smooth skin was a color that he’d seen only rarely, though trade with Shou Lung and the exotic east was becoming increasingly commonplace in Innarlith and throughout the southern Realms. Her thin eyes sparkled with wit and intelligence that Marek knew enough to be wary of.
“I must thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” he said, tipping his head in a slight bow.
She smiled and Marek was sure that most men would have melted at the sight of it-fallen in love with her instantly and completely.
“Of course I have heard your name,” she said, charming him with her accent. “You are a man who must be known should one trade in Innarlith.”
Marek offered her a shrug and said, “I have been fortunate to make the acquaintance of the right people and to offer my services from time to time. I will admit, however, that I am a bit at a loss with you, if I may say so.”
Marek took note of the fact that that seemed to please her. She tipped her head, beckoning him to elaborate.
“Your name, though most pleasing to the ear,” he said, “confounds my sense of protocol.”
“I do not understand,” she said.
“How do I address you?” he asked. “To show the proper respect.”
“My name is Ran Ai Yu,” she said with a cheerful smile. “It would be customary to say ‘Miss Ran,’ if that pleases you, Master Rymut.”
Calling him “Master” and not “Mister” told him she had done some investigating of her own. She looked like some kind of exotic courtesan, some kind of porcelain doll, but she was a merchant through and through.
“Well, then, Miss Ran,” Marek said, “please, sit.”
He motioned her to a chair and stayed on his feet until she lowered herself to the fine silk cushion. Afraid she would be reluctant to come to his home he’d asked her to meet him at a particularly exclusive tea house that specialized in teas from Kozakura and Shou Lung. He chose the place not sure if he wanted her to feel at home, if he wanted her to see that he knew something of her culture and customs, or if he simply liked the tea himself. In any case, the surroundings were quiet and cultured enough that they could speak without the venue overwhelming the conversation.
“Your message made me …” she said, hesitating, searching the air above her head for something. “Apologies for not knowing the word … hao qui?”
Marek didn’t recognize the language but guessed, “Curious?”
“Not certain, but wanting to know more?” she said, floundering a bit.
“Curious, yes,” he said.
She nodded and said, “Your message made me curious.”
“Well,” he said, “it’s actually quite simple. It’s come to my attention through various sources here in the city that your ship met with some misfortune and you currently find yourself unable to return home by that means.”
“The rescue of myself and my crew from the waters of your Lake of Steam was no secret, I am sure,” said Ran Ai Yu.
“Oh, no,” said Marek, beginning to sense an impatience in the beautiful Shou merchant. “It was quite the sensation, actually.”
“And you have some service to offer,” she prodded.
A serving woman came and set a small porcelain tea pot and two dainty little cups and equally dainty little saucers on the table. She took the handle of the tea pot, but Marek waved her off. She scurried away and he poured the tea, first into Ran Ai Yu’s cup, then into his. She never took her eyes off his face and he wasn’t even sure she breathed while he poured.
“I can return you, your crew, and your cargo to Shou Lung,” he said, “without the necessity of a ship or the considerable time it would take to sail.”
“You would accomplish this by the use of magic,” she said.
He nodded and sipped the tea. He found it bitter but tried not to let his face pucker.
“That will not be necessary,” she said.
Marek hoped she would think it was the hot tea that made his face flush, not the sudden anger that welled up inside him.
“You have made other arrangements?” he asked, even though he knew in some detail the arrangements she’d made.
“A ship is being built,” she said.
She made no move to drink the tea.
“Ah,” Marek said. “Time.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Time to build a ship,” he said, “and time to sail the ship.”
Ran Ai Yu shrugged.
“I could have you home on the morrow.”
“I thank you for your offer, Master Rymut,” she said, “but with respect, decline. I am not of a mind to travel in the Weave.”
“I can assure your safety,” Marek promised.
“On a ship,” Ran Ai Yu said, “I can assure my own safety.”
“On a ship built by whom, may I ask?” Marek said, baiting her.
“Ivar Devorast,” she answered.
“Ivar Devorast,” Marek repeated. “I’ve heard of him. Though it may well sound as if I’m trying to sway your opinion in favor of my own service, I feel I have a duty to inform you that this Devorast character has a rather less than admirable record when it comes to the seaworthiness of his vessels. The locals here won’t have anything to do with him. He and his former employer were, in fact, responsible for the deaths of dozens of sailors in a particularly disastrous catastrophe at sea.”
As he spoke he tried to interpret the subtle shifts in her expression: the narrowing of already narrow eyes, the twitch of a lip, the flush of a cheek. She didn’t seem to understand every word of what he said, but Marek felt reasonably sure she knew what he was trying to say. She either didn’t believe him or didn’t care.
“The people of Innarlith,” Marek went on, not giving her an opportunity to rebut or remark, “are quite enamored of all things Shou. I should think that you will do well here, regardless of what you trade.” He lifted the delicate cup to his lips and sipped the bitter Shou tea. “This, for instance, can make you rich alone. Like me, you are a visitor from a far-off land, and would do well to make friends here. You would do well to understand not only their customs but their perception of yours.”
“Good advice,” she said, though nothing in the look on her face made it seem she really thought so.