Dion reached into the pouch at his belt, wincing as even the slight motion reminded him there were places that still hurt, and took out the last of his money: a silver coin and a handful of coppers.
‘Cup your hands,’ he instructed Anoush. He spilled coins into the boy’s palms. ‘I need you to do something for me. I want you to go to the bazaar, quickly, and buy me some lamp oil. As much as you can carry. Get tinder also. If there’s money left over it’s yours. Go, lad. Now!’
Anoush nodded and left swiftly to do his bidding. Dion paced and made plans, feeling the time passing far too quickly for his comfort. He decided he would head for the harbor at the end of the day, when most of the crews would have left. He had to be clever as well as lucky if he was going to leave Lamara alive.
He ate some dried fruit and drank water, feeling his strength return. His brow furrowed as he tried to understand the plans of Solon and his naval overlord, Kargan. Roxana had told Anoush they were sailing for Xanthos . . .
But how was that possible?
Anoush finally returned an hour before sunset. He struggled to make his way up the stairs as he carried a heavy satchel over one shoulder.
‘What is this for, master?’
‘Anoush, I cannot tell you. The best thing you can do is to forget you ever met me. We might not see each other again.’
Dion took the satchel and put it over his shoulder. Peering inside, he saw a bulging skin and a bundle of dry tinder.
He left his bow and quiver in the room; if he could, afterwards, he would return to get them. He still hurt, but he could do this. Pushing aside the last remnants of pain, he summoned his determination as he crouched down and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Anoush.’
Without another word, Dion left the House of Algar. He walked with purpose, heading straight for the harbor.
The guards at the gate let him through unchallenged, and Dion soon found himself walking along the sandy shore. Passing the lined-up warships, he saw bireme after bireme, with barely enough space between them for a man to walk. They were all drawn up on the shore with just a section of stern in the water. Some showed activity, sailors scrubbing the decks and mending sails. But most of the vessels were still and silent; their crews were done for the day.
Dion headed in the direction of the rectangular hut that was the mess. A hood on the structure’s side funneled black smoke from the cooking hearth within. He saw a marine he knew and waved casually; Dion was just a man carrying supplies.
But inside, Dion’s nerves ran ragged. He couldn’t believe he was going to attempt this, but he could see no other option. He tried to keep calm, but his face was tight and drawn. He knew he still had a black eye and a swollen cheek. It didn’t matter; he wouldn’t be the only man in the sun king’s fleet to have a wound or two.
He entered the mess and scanned the room. The hearth fire was kept constantly lit, banked up twice a day. He saw a few dozen sailors sitting around tables as they ate and he nodded to them. There were hundreds of lidded stone jugs – any fleet needed vast quantities of drinking water – lined up one after another against the wall. Dion picked up an empty jug and strode directly to the open hearth. Taking the tongs, he covered his movements with his body as he placed coal after coal into the jug. He replaced the lid to prevent the giveaway of smoke rising from the container.
Dion then carried the jug and satchel out of the mess. Glancing to the left, he saw the familiar stocky figure of Roxana in the distance, but she hadn’t seen him and he ignored her.
Instead he walked along the row of sixty warships.
Selecting a pair of vessels roughly in the center, he passed along the narrow alleyway formed by the two hulls. He put the satchel and jug on the ground.
Dion returned to the mess, once again nodding to the men who glanced up at his entry. He stopped for a moment as he scanned the room, but then he saw what he was looking for: four buckets stacked one on top of the other. Dion grabbed the buckets and tried to stay calm as he returned to the hidden place between the ships.
He had to work quickly now.
Dion opened the satchel and took out the bulging skin. He divided half the lamp oil among the four buckets, so that each was nearly full. He then stoppered the skin and set it down on the hard sand near the jug.
One by one, he carried the buckets out into the open. He placed them at regular points along the line of ships, where they wouldn’t be missed.
Dion scanned the harbor, but his careful, purposeful movements still hadn’t attracted unwanted attention. He once more slipped between the two ships and took a deep breath to steady himself as he looked at the skin and jug.