The docks spread through Lydi like a maze. The creak of wood from the massive ships in the waters combined with the strain of mooring ropes and the squawk of birds. The air had the smell of dead fish, which Paedrin found revolting in the extreme. Many of the planks along the walkway were missing, creating treacherous footing. A few wandered the inner streets. No one had challenged them or even asked their names. A few glanced at them surreptitiously but no one engaged. If it was a trap, there was no bait to tempt them.
The races were a mix of Vaettir and Aeduan, a blending of the two races into something new. There were no Bhikhu, other than himself, and no signs of authority at all. There were carts packed with goods for sale on the docks, all small and very specific, most sold by small, gray-haired women. Debris and droppings littered the way.
Paedrin quickly picked a tavern and approached, but it was closed. Most of the ships were closed, the gangplanks missing.
A voice sounded from behind. “He’s waiting for you at the Wharf Rat. Water’s edge.”
Paedrin turned and saw a young fellow, probably twelve, lurking past them both, pointing to the end of the boardwalk. He had flint-like eyes and a sallow face. An urchin, by his looks.
“Who?” Hettie asked.
The boy backed away, shaking his head. “I did what I was paid to do.” He turned on his heels and ran.
Paedrin was about to go after him, but Hettie caught his arm. “Someone is watching us from that boat. He saw me look and ducked back. These people are frightened of us.”
“No patrols. No Preachán trying to sell. Do we leave now or listen to the boy?”
“Who do you think is waiting for us?”
“I have no idea. Obviously someone who was paid to look out for us.” Paedrin rubbed his mouth in frustration. It was the bait to the trap. But it intrigued him. “He said the water’s edge, that way.”
Hettie glanced that way. “Could it be a message from Annon?”
“Doubtful. This place is not very sensitive to nature. Let us go a little farther down this trail, Hettie. Be ready to fight.”
“I am.”
They continued down the pier until they reached the end. There were six boats moored there, each broadside and large. They had true sails and the tattered scraps of canvas. The farthest had a gangplank lowered. The sign was a cheap rendition of a blue-furred rodent. Some crew members were visible above, milling around on deck. The other boats were empty.
Paedrin was about to march up the gangplank, but stopped. “You stay here.”
She shook her head, catching his wrist. “We go in together, Paedrin. If there is trouble, I’ll jump overboard and you float away. We will meet in the woods where we studied the city. I think they will try to trap us trying to get out, not in. That’s how traps work, after all.”
“Agreed,” he answered, pleased with her thinking. He walked up the notched gangplank and boarded the vessel. The deck was worn but serviceable. The crew looked real enough, wearing short breeches and belted tunics. They were the same Vaettir-Aeduan mix he had noticed earlier. They all appraised Hettie with undisguised admiration. One of the crew members pointed to a ladder going down into the hold without saying a word.
“After you,” Paedrin said, smiling broadly. He saw the trapdoor lid and knew it would be too easy for them to bolt it after they had gone down.
The sailor shook his head. “He’s waiting down below for you. It’ll be a quick visit, I think.”
Paedrin approached the ladder, staring down into the shadows of the hold. There were four members of the crew on deck. He glanced at the nearest ship and saw no one at first, but then he glanced up at the crow’s nest and saw two figures hunching low and watching them.
“Who is he?” Paedrin asked.
“Men like him do not leave their names. But he said a Bhikhu and Romani girl would be coming and to let them board.”
This felt just like a trap ready to spring. Part of him wanted to jump straight down and surprise whoever was inside. He could do that, but it would leave Hettie with four men on deck to deal with. Not that she couldn’t handle herself, but it would make things more complicated.
“Describe the man who is down there,” Paedrin said to the crewman. Before letting him reply, Paedrin grabbed his arm, bent his wrist, and flung him down into the hold opening. He whipped around, kicking the second crewman in the gut hard enough to steal his wind and hopefully break a few of his ribs. He glanced and saw Hettie subduing the third in an arm lock he had taught her, leaving only the fourth.
Paedrin waited a moment and then flung himself down into the hold where the surprised crewman was trying to recover from the fall.
Shadows were everywhere. The interior of the hold was not very tall and the crewman was holding his wrist gingerly and kneeling, seeming surprised to find himself on the floor and also in pain.
The sound of heavy boots thudded. The sound and the weight were familiar to Paedrin and a pit of dread opened up in his stomach. A man emerged from the shadows of the hold. A Cruithne—specifically, the Cruithne from the Paracelsus Towers.