chapter NINETEEN
THE HOURGLASS SPUN over. As its sands flowed through to the empty glass, Gerek heard the bells from the nearby tower counting the hour. Three, four, five. Late afternoon.
He stretched his arms and shoulders, then addressed himself to the papers on his desk once more. Water casks. Those were like barrels, he guessed. He had not expected barrels to cost so much. Three had sprung leaks during the last voyage, and the captain spoke in strong language about the necessity for replacing them before the new owner undertook any extended voyage.
But how long a voyage? And where?
Not that Gerek knew. He cursed softly. How pleasant to solve an equation with so many unknown factors, especially if you did not have to solve it yourself. Oh yes, he appreciated the elegance of mathematical theory—he had known a number of mathematicians at the Little University during his previous stay in Tiralien—but his appreciation was like an appreciation for cashews, or modern sculpture, or weapons drill at sunrise. Others might adore such things. He did not.
He wrote a note, authorizing the purchase of three new water casks, then moved on to the next item in the captain’s list. Provisions. Specifically, barrels of salt pork. A dull pain settled below his ribs. He had not eaten properly in several days, and the thought of salt pork gave him indigestion.
Many times in the past three weeks, he had wondered why he remained in Lord Kosenmark’s service. It wasn’t the money. He might be the younger son of an unimportant lord, but he had an independent sum, enough to live on simply without his father, or his brother, or this irritating son of a duke, who gave him orders with such airy assurance.
No, he knew the answer. He remained here for Dedrick’s sake. Because Kosenmark had offered him trust, as no one else had.
Then why do I want to bash him with an ax?
A question others undoubtedly had asked before.
Hiring a ship should not have proved so difficult in Tiralien. Hundreds of merchants shipped their goods through this port. The royal fleet had their own dock for refitting and repairs. Then there were the privateers, the pirates and smugglers (operating under the guise of ordinary business), the smaller packets that plied the coastal trade, the courier ships taking messages to Osterling, Klee, Pommersien, and beyond. With all this wealth of seagoing traffic, Gerek expected to find at least one ship fit for deep-water sailing.
No, finding a ship to hire was not difficult. What made the matter complicated was Kosenmark’s need for secrecy. Do not link my name to this ship, the man had said, more than once, in the hours before he rode off to find Ilse Zhalina. Markus Khandarr will have set a watch on this city and this house.
So Gerek worked through a chain of several agents. Within a week, he had located a vessel that matched Kosenmark’s needs—a ship built for deep-water sailing, with only minor repairs needed. His heart thumped, remembering the terrifying moment when he signed the paperwork, authorizing payment of six thousand denier to the old owner, also the captain. At least the ship came with its own crew.
Back to provisions. The captain recommended salted fish, which he could obtain for a good price from certain suppliers. Gerek signed the request, glanced at a second stack of papers. He had spent the past three days buried in paperwork for licenses, bills for provisions, more bills to finish the ship’s repairs, the hire of new men to replace those who had left when the ship changed owners, and a mountain of other minutiae.
A rapping at his door interrupted him. “Maester Hessler? You have visitors.”
It was one of the house runners, with news that two of Kosenmark’s guards had arrived from distant parts. Immediately all Gerek’s weariness dropped away. “Send them to me at once.”
He gathered his papers into an untidy stack and brushed away the crumbs from his last hasty snack. Just in time, because the runner returned within moments with a woman and man. Katje and Theo, he recalled. Both of them trusted guards of several years’ service. He waved for them to be seated, but Katje laid two envelopes on his desk with some ceremony before she took a chair.
Gerek regarded the envelopes with caution. Two messages. Both sealed with magic. He took up the one addressed to The Captain and hissed with surprise. Layers upon layers of complicated spells protected it. He recalled his earlier studies of the man, how Dedrick spoke of Kosenmark’s skill with locks and other spells used by couriers to ensure that spies could not intercept their messages.
The second one was wrapped in the usual, ordinary spell set to Gerek Hessler’s touch. He brushed his fingers over the edge of the paper, and the letter folded. His personal instructions, then.
“Wait,” he told the two guards. “Let me know what our lord wishes.”
The first part contained a summary of what they had discussed before. Ship. Six-month voyage. Possibly longer. But then Kosenmark went on to say that its first destination was … Here came a particular longitude and latitude that meant nothing to Gerek, followed by two names that were distinctly Károvín.
Gerek stopped and reread the location. Tuř on Osek. Osek was an island settled by Károví and much disputed during the civil wars, if he recalled his history. Tuř must be a village on the coast. Very odd, he thought, but then, trust was not an absolute. Kosenmark trusted Gerek enough to handle the ship and the money. If he wanted to keep certain details a secret, it was his privilege.
The rest of the instructions were clear enough. Send two senior guards from the household to join the crew. They would need some experience with ships. Equally important, they must have at least two years in Kosenmark’s service. Besides observing any suspicious activities, their most important task was to deliver the second letter to the captain with a message.
Tell him to read the instructions only after he has left port. And he must read them alone, in his cabin, from beginning to end, without omitting anything.
There were more instructions about their guest from Fortezzien and for providing money and horses to the two guards. The letter ended abruptly, without a signature or even an initial. Gerek stared at the page, though his mind was on the writer and not the contents. For all the painstaking detail, there were deliberate gaps in the information. He does not trust me, Gerek thought. And then, No, that is not true. He trusts me, but not the situation.
“So,” he said softly. “Do you require mounts this afternoon?”
He had expected them to say no, but Katje immediately smiled. “That would be best.”
Which means the matter is urgent. And he told them, but not me.
Gerek suppressed his frustration and smiled. Not very convincingly, because Theo flinched. “Let me arrange everything,” Gerek said. “Go to the common room and tell the maids to serve you an early supper. I should have money and horses for you within a few hours.”
Alone once more, in the quiet of his office, Gerek rested his head in his hands. He had accomplished much in the past three weeks. He had danced the great dance of secrets. And yet … he wanted nothing more than to hide in a quiet room, well away from this pleasure house and Lord Kosenmark’s intrigues. To forget all about ships and provisions and which men and women he could trust.
I want— I need a day of peace.
If he were to admit the truth, he wanted to sit with Kathe on that bench overlooking the harbor and listen to her so-called babbling. She was clever and kind and true. In her presence, he had a sense of competence, of completeness.
Kathe had not spoken to him in the ten days since Kosenmark departed. He knew she received the book—Hanne had told him about the episode in the kitchen. How the kitchen girls watched, whispering, as the runner handed over the gift. Kathe had thanked the runner, of course, and she smiled at Janna’s teasing, but she had said nothing. Not to Hanne or the other girls. Nor to Gerek himself.
He scribbled out the orders for money for Katje, Theo, and the Fortezzien man. Then he sent a runner to the stables for two fresh mounts, with tack, gear, and fresh provisions. Another runner went off to the agent, alerting him that two new crew members would join the ship’s company, and here was a letter written and sealed to confirm the order. It was a risk, this direct contact between Gerek and the captain, but he could not risk the delay with the usual channels.
Mistress Denk sent back three notes of hand to the bearer, each for the requested amount, each drawn from a different anonymous account. Gerek recorded the transactions and forwarded the notes to their proper recipients. Thereafter he deposited the true records in his magically sealed letter box and, as part of the usual fiction, wrote a new set of receipts for rare books in the official ledger. If anyone examined the records for this household, he thought, they would spend a hundred years untangling the truth.
He trudged down to the guards’ quarters and the office Ivvanus Bek held during Detlef Stadler’s absence. Bek was buried in his own paperwork, but he at once cleared off his desk and made himself available to Maester Hessler. Two guards with ship experience? He would suggest Ralf and Udo. Both had served Lord Kosenmark seven years, both had the requisite skills. Gerek gave directions to reach the ship and handed over the letter for the captain.
One more transaction, and then he would be free for the night. He took a roundabout path from the guards’ quarters, to the far side of the house, and up the stairs to the second floor. His own sense of time said it had to be late at night, but the golden sunlight of late afternoon pouring through the windows gave him the lie. He rounded the first landing and paused to catch his breath. From far off, he heard voices raised in cheerful conversation. Closer by, in one of the private rooms, he heard the sudden cry of pleasure, followed by the whispered words “slower, softer, yes.”
Gerek drew a painful breath and continued up the stairs. Usually he was spared such scenes until much later, but sometimes clients requested early visits. Sex and more sex until we are sated, he thought miserably. Until we hardly notice its delights.
His path took him along a gallery that overlooked the common room. He paused and looked down below. Half a dozen chambermaids were at work, brushing and dusting and sweeping. Several courtesans occupied the couches, while Eduard played at the hammerstrings—his fingers running over the keys in a soft and melancholy tune.
They were all beautiful. All of them trained to pleasure. For a moment, he wondered what it might be like, to be a client of this house, to have a man or woman exert themselves to give him delight. His stomach pinched tight at the thought. No and no. He wanted love, not just passion of the body, he wanted it freely given.
A door below swung open and a woman entered, carrying a tray of wine cups. She bent over to set the tray before the women playing cards. Gerek didn’t need to see her face to recognize Kathe. He knew how she walked, how she swept a hand over a surface, as if to banish dirt and ugliness. As if, he thought, she could order the world into beauty with a gesture.
I love her.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY dawned early and dull, and imminent with rain. Gerek crouched over his desk, wished Lord Kosenmark and all his minions to the darkest corner of the void. He ought to be pleased, he told himself. Katje and Theo had departed with their horses, money, and provisions. Ralf and Udo had set off directly for the ship with the captain’s instructions. He had even remembered to arrange a special signal with the captain, apart from the agent, in case of any emergency.
I should dance with joy, and yet I cannot.
He knew why and did not like to think about it.
Scowling, he buried himself in paperwork. At some point, Hanne came with his noon meal tray. He nibbled at the bread and drank down his coffee. The grilled fish he set aside for one of the house cats, a recent innovation by Nadine. Report came back from Ralf at noon, saying they were signed on with the crew. Another report, from the captain this time, confirmed that the ship’s victualing was nearly complete. If all went well, the ship could sail in another day.
A loud knock at the door startled him. Gerek hastily covered the ship’s paperwork with some blank sheets of paper. “Come in.”
He had hoped it would be Kathe. He expected a runner, or one of the kitchen girls to fetch away his tray. Instead the door opened on Nadine.
She wore her finest courtesan’s costume—a silk gown of dark apricot that flowed like a waterfall over her slim body. Her dark hair swept back from her narrow face and made a second shadow waterfall, which hung over her bare shoulder.
Nadine remained at the door. Her expression was one of curiosity and faint impatience.
“Yes,” he said at last.
She arched one delicate eyebrow. “I came,” she said softly, “because I am a friend. Also, one day I would like to turn messenger for idiots and fools. I have so much practice in this household. Do not stare so blankly,” she went on, “or I shall be moved to violence. The message is not from another. It comes from you, Maester Gerek Hessler. Or rather, it should.”
Gerek swallowed to calm his throat muscles. “Who—”
“That would spoil the surprise,” Nadine said. “Go to the spider room this instant. Never mind about those papers on your desk. Go. Give your message. You will understand once you have.”
She gave a magnificent flourish with one hand—the gesture clearly meant as mockery—and dropped into deep bow. Before Gerek could react, Nadine withdrew from his office with a dancer’s grace.
Gerek stared at the closed door. It had to be a prank. What else? Nadine and Eduard were famous for them. But until today, they had ignored Gerek. He had supposed, at first, that his position safeguarded him, but conversations with Kathe soon corrected that belief. Nadine teased and tormented everyone, from Mistress Denk and Mistress Raendl to the newest stable boys, without regard for rank. She had teased Ilse Zhalina and Maester Hax in their days, too. So then he had assumed she found him too ordinary to bother with. Was this sudden change a part of the strange mood infesting the house?
Or was it something else?
Cursing himself for a fool, he put aside his papers. He checked all the locked boxes and set the bolts and spells on his office. If they wanted to make him into a fool, he was used to that, but he would not neglect Lord Kosenmark’s orders about discretion, even inside the pleasure house.
The spider room was on the second floor in the east wing. He had passed by its door several times, but had never ventured inside. It was a luxurious room—almost too luxurious. Kosenmark once called it his finest extravagance. Courtesans used the room for special clients. Gerek hurried down the stairs. He noted no one waiting about as if watching for him. He crossed over to the east wing, which was equally empty in the early afternoon.
Pulsing thrumming in his ears, he entered the spider room.
A web of lace fluttered at his entrance. He started, thinking at first someone else had disturbed those hangings. But the lace floated downward into stillness, and the scent of rose petals whirled around him in the empty room.
Gerek released a long breath. I should be used to this. My sisters. My cousins.
Behind him sounded a flight of quick light footsteps on the tile floor. He spun around to see the door flung open and Kathe hurrying into the room. At the sight of him, she checked herself. “Nadine said a messenger came for me.”
Gerek opened his mouth, but his tongue refused to work. Kathe turned to go. With an effort, he pressed down the trembling in his throat. “Kathe. Please.”
She paused, her face turned away from his, only the outline of her cheek, and the clear tense line of her jaw visible in the lamplight. Nadine was right, he thought. He had only one chance to deliver this message. And quickly.
“I— It’s about the book,” he managed to say.
Her mouth curved into a pensive smile. “Yes, thank you. It was a thoughtful gift.”
It was more than a gift, he wanted to say. It was a curiosity, a moment of pleasure, a thank-you for the kindness she had shown him. It was all the words he could not, dared not utter out loud. Ah, but he had to speak—now. If he did not, she would vanish into the kitchen. And he would never have such a chance again.
“I-I lied to you,” he said.
Kathe spun around. “You lied?”
Those were not the words he meant to say, but having said them, he realized they were the truth. He gulped down a breath and prayed to Lir to keep his tongue under control. “Yes. My name. My n-name is Gerek Haszler. Dedrick Maszuryn was my cousin.”
The dark flush along her cheeks faded. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Lord Dedrick. He was your cousin?”
He could not tell if that were a good or a bad thing. He stumbled on, keeping to the truth. It was all he had to offer now. “Yes. He was. I-I came because. Because he … died.”
Murdered. Executed by the king’s order, or at least with his consent. From the twitch of Kathe’s lips, she knew the truth behind Dedrick’s death, too. “Does Lord Kosenmark know this?” she said. “He does,” she went on, before he could answer. “That is what happened that day. When he told us all he meant to stay at Lord Demeyer’s country estates. Then he came back for no reason at all. The day you and he talked until almost morning.” Then her gaze veered up to his. “You are Lord Gerek, aren’t you?”
He did not trust that anxious tone in her voice. “Yes. But it-it doesn’t matter. I—” Hurry. Before my tongue fails me. Before she turns away. “I wish you would consider me, Kathe. I-I am n-not rich. I am a plain man. Very plain. But I— I would be true.”
A long silence followed. Kathe stood motionless, her gaze carefully averted from his. Gerek could not breathe. He wished he could see her face, her eyes. He wanted to say more, but the wisest part of him knew he’d said everything that was important. His heart paused, it seemed, waiting for her answer.
“I must go,” she said softly.
She slipped through the door and was gone.
Gerek released his long-held breath. Nadine was wrong. I spoke too soon.
Or not. There might be a chance if he could only explain …
He rushed through the door, only to run into Kosenmark’s senior runner. “Maester Hessler. A message came for you just a moment ago.”
The man thrust a letter at him. Gerek muttered a curse in old Erythandran. He saw Kathe at the far end of the corridor, just rounding the corner into one of the servants’ passageways.
The runner jabbered at him, insistent. Gerek growled back, but it was no use. He would have to seek Kathe out later. With a curse, he fumbled open the letter, barely noticing the magic that prickled at his fingertips. Someone who knew him. Yes, yes. He was not surprised. It came from the first agent for the ship. The man had written in the house code even.
Then he read the words again. Someone had suborned one of the agents in their chain. The man could not tell which one. He wanted to consult with Maester Hessler himself, to determine what action they could take to repair the damage.
For a moment, he pretended he could ignore this information another hour. But no. Kosenmark trusted him too much. With a last curse for that trust, Gerek jogged to his office and slammed the door shut. He tried to scribble a letter to Kathe, asking her for just a few moments … No, that was no good. He crumpled the paper. He could not write what he felt. He needed to speak directly with her, to watch her face, to read the subtle alterations in her expression, some of which he had learned to decipher these past few weeks. He wanted to learn more of them.
In the end, he left word with Mistress Denk that he had errands to run and would return by evening.
He had not lost all sense of discretion, however. He took a guard with him, one particularly recommended by Ivvanus Bek. He and the guard rode to a square within a half mile of the harbor district. From there, they made their way on foot to their destination. He had worked out several meeting places with the agent, in case of emergencies. The first was a wine shop in an alley bordering the wharf district. Gerek stepped into the shadows. His guard moved past him, knife held ready as the man scouted the perimeter of the room. It was impossible to see anything after the brilliant sunlight outside. He could smell the shop. Sour wine. The reek of fish and tar. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out a few rough tables and stools, scattered about. Ahead was a plank that served as the counter. No sign of the agent, but Gerek would wait a few moments before he tried the next meeting place.
He ventured forward to the nearest table.
Several things happened at once. The door swung shut. Several tables crashed end over end. Gerek turned in time to see his guard grappling with three men. He spun around and ran into another. Gerek swung a fist and downed the man. He had just reached the door and was clawing it open when he caught a glimpse of a club arcing toward his head.
* * *
GEREK WOKE TO darkness and a ferocious throbbing in his skull. He sprawled on his stomach, as if someone had tossed him there. The ground felt cold and damp. Dirt, not plank or stone. The air stank of mud and saltwater and his own vomit. Where am I? What happened?
Vaguely he remembered entering the wine shop. Oh, yes. Someone attacked him. His head throbbed too hard for him to think clearly, but he remembered a skirmish and a sickening smell he thought might be blood.
He drew one arm close. First clue: no ropes or chains. Either his abductors had forgotten to tie him up, or they didn’t think it was necessary. The second, he decided. Not a good sign.
Very slowly, cautiously, he levered himself to sitting. Breathed through his nose until the nausea subsided. When he was certain he would not vomit, he opened his eyes to slits. Dark, dark, dark, but as his eyes adjusted, he could make out gray shapes towering over him. Farther off, a thin bright line marked a rectangle. Door, he translated for the rectangle. And … and barrels?
Barrels. Laughter overtook him. Stupid, cursed barrels. He would never be free of them, even when taken prisoner by enemies unknown. He gulped down the laughter. Hiccuped. Then nearly wept. It was too absurd. Too terrifying.
Gerek bit down on his cheek. Pain revived him. Helped him to think more clearly. So. Taken prisoner near the wharves. His abductors had not removed him from that district, however. Belatedly, he remembered his guard. He called the man’s name softly.
Without warning, the door crashed open. A flood of sunlight attacked Gerek’s eyes. He flung up a hand to cover his eyes. Another crash, and the door closed. Gerek blinked, but sparks and specks danced across his vision. Dimly, he made out a monstrous figure approaching, blotting out the sunlight. Another blink, and the monstrous figure divided into three. Two smaller monsters. One leaner, taller figure that stumped toward him in a strange up-and-down gait.
The lean figure stopped. Mumbled a command. Light flared from a lamp, which one of the others hung from a hook on the low ceiling. Gerek blinked several times, took in more details. Directly in front of him stood a tall man who leaned heavily upon a thick walking stick. Thin white hair drawn back tight from a thin face, deeply scored with lines. Pale brown eyes, almost yellow.
With a jerky motion, the man pointed at Gerek. A second man, the largest of the three, strode forward and slapped Gerek across the face. “Tell me about the ship. Where is it bound?”
No need to ask which ship. A dozen different possibilities occurred to Gerek. The agent discovered. Ralf and Udo dead. The house runner taking a bribe to betray Kosenmark. His own mistakes. He shook his head. “I-I don’t kn-kn-know.”
The man slid a knife from his belt. “You should wish you did.”
He slashed Gerek across the chest. Gerek bit back a cry. The man flipped the knife around and sent the hilt crashing into Gerek’s cheek. Red washed over Gerek’s vision. He screamed, unable to stop himself.
“Now you understand,” the man said. “Tell me.”
Gerek spat blood from his mouth. The teeth on that side were loose. But there were no broken bones. He could still talk. The man had judged the blow well.
“I-I have n-n-nothing to say.”
The man slapped him hard—the same place where he’d struck him with the knife hilt. “Tell me, or you die in the most unpleasant way possible.”
It was not hard to feign terror. He was shivering. Blood trickled from the gash on his chest. He swallowed and tasted more blood. His stomach heaved against his ribs, but he willed himself not to vomit again. “I have nothing to say.”
The man shrugged and turned aside. Now the lean figure approached, limping heavily and leaning upon his stick.
“I am Lord Markus Khandarr,” he said. “I would know the truth from you.”
Khandarr. Gerek nearly fainted. This was the man who killed Dedrick. The king’s own mage councillor. But the man’s voice was strange—the speech garbled, as if he had an impediment like Gerek’s. Then he remembered Alesso Valturri’s report, and how the king’s mage had suffered injury from his confrontation with the Morennioùen queen.
Injured or not, Khandarr went on to question Gerek closely, though he often needed several attempts to speak. Which agents had Gerek used? Where and when did Kosenmark intend to meet the ship? What was his destination?
“I-I do not know,” Gerek said.
Khandarr gave an inarticulate cry. Choked. The guards stepped forward to intervene, but Khandarr rounded on them, furious, and gestured for them to keep their distance.
He turned back to Gerek. Mumbled a few words in Erythandran. The air turned cool and crisp, like the mountains above the Gallenz Valley. “Where is Lord Kosenmark? He has a ship. Which one? Where do they meet?
Gerek shook his head.
“Where?” Khandarr struck him with his staff. “Answer.”
Then he spoke—a stuttering string of Old Erythandran. The philosophers always said that spoken words were only one medium for magic. If you imprinted the discipline on your mind, you did not need the words. Khandarr proved the theories true, because the air drew tight around them, a thick green cloud that almost suffocated Gerek even as it loosened his tongue.
He had no choice. Even as he realized it, he hated how easily he confessed everything to this man. Yes, Kosenmark left Tiralien weeks ago. There was a ship. A meeting. Where? Tuř on Osek. No, he did not know the ship’s final destination, but yes, the matter did concern the recent events in Osterling Keep. The rest he did not know, did not—
He choked. Abruptly the magic released him. Gerek fell to the floor, gasping for breath. He heard, through the thundering in his ears, Khandarr giving orders but he could not make out the words.
Then, unexpectedly, a loud hammering at the door, and someone demanding entry in the name of the watch. One of Khandarr’s men doused the lamp, the other flung himself against the door. Gerek scrabbled away from his captors, shouting for help. One man grabbed him by the collar and cuffed him across the face. Gerek wrestled with the man and they both fell to the floor, taking Khandarr with them.
The door burst open. Khandarr gabbled more Erythandran, but he was too late and too slow. A dozen men poured inside, all of them wielding clubs. Gerek ducked under one man’s arm, rolled over in time to see another bring his weapon down hard on Khandarr’s head. Khandarr collapsed into a heap. There was a brief struggle before the intruders subdued his two men.
Gerek snatched up Khandarr’s staff and backed into a corner, breathing heavily. One of the strangers—the new set of strangers, that is—gazed around the cramped room. The others fell into that waiting quiet of soldiers expecting orders. Gerek shifted his grip on the staff.
The stranger’s gaze fell on him. To Gerek’s surprise, the man smiled. A brilliant, open smile, completely at odds to what had just transpired. He was so taken aback, it took Gerek a few moments before he recognized the man. Alesso Valturri. “You,” he breathed.
Valturri smiled, a lazy seductive smile that reminded Gerek of Dedrick. Or Kosenmark. “I am delighted you remember me. However, we do not have time for pleasantries.” He turned to the others and gave them a rapid string of orders. Then he held out a hand to Gerek. “Come.”
But Gerek refused to trust him so easily. “What happened? How did you find me?”
Alesso sighed. Motioned for the others to leave the room.
“I cannot blame you for mistrusting me,” he said. “So, let me begin again. You know Kosenmark and I had an agreement. No? I am disappointed but not surprised. Listen to me then. Your Lord Kosenmark offered certain assistance to me and my associates, in return for other favors. In the spirit of that assistance, I followed these three men to Tiralien’s wharves.”
Gerek gripped his aching head in both hands. “A very good story. Thank you for the distraction.”
Valturri grabbed Gerek by his shirt and shoved him against the wall. “Listen, you stammering idiot. Your Lord Kosenmark expects a ship. I learned that in his own household. What he, and you, do not understand is that Khandarr’s agents have taken your agent and all his records. Your man is dead, do you understand? He killed himself before they could question him. So they decided to arrest you.”
Gerek absorbed this news with dismay. So very plausible. Too plausible. “How do you kn-kn-know that?”
Alesso shrugged. “Does it matter how I know? What does matter is that you must get to the ship and tell them to sail at once. Never mind about the stores or all the rest. Leave before this one”—he gestured toward Khandarr, lying insensible at their feet—“recovers and closes the port.”
Gerek wanted to argue, but he was too sick to make the effort. And too much of Alesso’s explanation made sense. The man might be a questionable ally, but he was right in this matter. He rubbed his aching head. “Very well. I will go at once.”
Alesso’s grin was unnerving, almost gleeful. “And I will come with you.”
* * *
IT TOOK THEM longer than Alesso liked, but Gerek only had the name of the ship and the captain, not where they had anchored, and they were both too wary to use these names indiscriminately. Eventually they found the ship—it lay well off shore—and hired a boat to take them over.
The argument with the captain took longer. At first the man would not believe Gerek. But when Gerek repeated the sum of money paid, named the presence of Ralf and Udo, and recited the exact instructions he had written to the agent, and finally remembered the code words passed along by Ralf and Udo to ensure just such an emergency, the captain relented.
“Have you read those instructions?” Alesso asked.
The captain shook his head. “My orders were to read them once at sea.”
“Do it now,” Gerek said.
The man took Kosenmark’s letter from a locked chest. Ran his hands over the paper and tried the wax seal. He shook his head. “No good, sir. I don’t know magic, but I know enough that it won’t open without the right spell.”
“Let me see it,” Alesso said.
He, too, tried a few spells but to no effect. While the other two muttered about secret orders, Gerek examined the letter. He was an amateur, he reminded himself. And yet, so was the captain. Kosenmark surely did not expect Gerek or an unknown captain to decipher such a key.
He went through all the instructions. They were simple, short. Read everything. How many ways could a man interpret that? Read the instructions. Every word. Wasn’t that obvious?
Oh. Now I understand.
“To the captain,” he said softly. “Read everything. Private orders.”
The envelope unfolded. Inside was a single short paragraph:
Sail to Hallau, Jelyndak Islands. Send a boat with six men into the old city. We will keep a watch for you, but if we are detained, have the men wait ten days. Return once more in three weeks. If that meeting fails, depart the region at once. Send word through the agent for further instructions. Above all else, do not hail any other ships.
Alesso and the captain were both staring at him. He felt a bit shaken himself. He handed the letter to the captain, who read it through quickly. Gerek watched as a series of emotions passed over the man’s face—surprise, curiosity, and a measure of unease. “You have your orders, with one difference,” Gerek told him. “If our companions fail to show, you take your further instructions from me.”
And Lir help us if that happens.
But he would consider that difficulty later. For now, he only wanted to depart as swiftly as the winds allowed. “How soon can you set sail? At once?”
“The next tide,” the man answered. “Within the hour.”
“Then do it.” To Alesso’s unspoken question, he added, “We don’t have time to disembark. As you said, the ports will close any moment. Besides, you and I know too much.”
* * *
THE SHIP’S SURGEON saw to Gerek’s injuries at once. After that, though the hour was early, the captain fed them well at his table, while the crew ordered a cabin for their use. After they had dined, Alesso remained with the captain and Kosenmark’s two guards to discuss a course that would keep them away from any other ships. Gerek retired to their cabin. It was small—barely wide enough for two hanging cots, and a couple sea chests stacked in one corner. A covered lamp swung from its chain, sending a ripple of light and shadow over the walls.
Gerek climbed awkwardly into the cot nearest the porthole. Dinner and a quantity of good wine had done much, but his jaw still ached, and every movement reminded him of the slash across his chest. Tomorrow he would see the ship’s surgeon again for another application of herbs. Now … now he wanted nothing more than to lie quietly.
No, that was not the truth. The truth was that he wished himself back in Tiralien, in his own snug rooms. He wished for a quiet dinner, a book to read. He wished …
I wish I had one more chance to speak with Kathe.
That would come later. How much later, he did not know. It was the old conundrum of the magical journey, where you could not reach home before traveling through all the rest of the worlds first. Well, he did not have to travel through all the worlds, just to Hallau Island and Lord Raul Kosenmark. It was a long enough voyage, for all that, he thought and yawned.
He fell asleep to the creaking of the rigging and the rush of water against the ship.