He considered the cliffs in MD-1. Would fresh water run under the cliffs and not be marked on the map? Possible. And no one would notice a settlement that was inaccessible by land. However, during the fishing season, they’d be visible to the fleet. Unless they used camouflage. And that would explain the fifty gallons of gray and green paint stolen from Krillow. The hidden cove moved to the top of Valek’s suspected location list.
As for food, the Storm Thieves had stolen basics like grain, rice, corn, flour, sugar, but they also took seeds and gardening supplies, which meant they planned to plant crops. No way a cove could sustain plants, unless it was huge. A sandy-rocky soil covered most of the coast, and farmable land started about ten miles inland. So much for the cove idea.
Valek tapped the map with a finger. He chased a memory of a conversation with one of the Stormdancers. Something about islands out in the Jade Sea... They were too small for a settlement because of the unpredictable storms. What if the Storm Thieves built their base on an island in the Sunset Ocean? With their magician keeping the storms at bay, they’d be safe. And no one would suspect they lived there.
Excited, Valek scanned the coastal map. Dozens of small islands were marked on the chart. It’d take seasons to check them all, and news would undoubtedly spread about the search, alerting the Storm Thieves, who could use a storm to keep the searchers from reaching their island. Plus they could have discovered an uncharted island. Deflated, Valek leaned back in the chair. Finding the island would be impossible.
He returned to the list of stolen items. What was missing? What did they need to sustain a settlement? Medical supplies had been taken from an infirmary in Coral Caye, casks of ale missing from a tavern in Lattice Beach, pots and glassware from a inn in Draggan and—
Valek shot to his feet. He flipped through the information Endre and Annika had collected, looking for the report on damages sustained during the storm thefts. Once he found it, he scanned the pages. A henhouse had collapsed during one storm and all the chickens had escaped. During another, a gate blew open and a dozen sheep had run away and had presumably drowned. Four milking cows had disappeared when a storm had knocked down a wall of a barn. What if these animals had been stolen instead? That meant the Storm Thieves still needed beef.
Once again Valek consulted the map. Where was the closest steer farm to the coast? He located one about three miles south of Gandrel and approximately a half mile inland. Gotcha!
When Annika returned and Endre woke up for his night shift, Valek ran his theory by them, seeking flaws in his logic.
“Those cliff coves aren’t big enough for livestock and crops,” Endre said.
“Are you sure there aren’t any missing steers listed in the reports?” Annika asked.
“I checked all the information twice,” Valek said. “But I’ll read through the ones in the security office again tonight, and tomorrow I’ll see what the locals have to say about the islands.”
“You think they’ll strike tomorrow night?” Endre asked him.
“If not tomorrow, then during the next storm. The Stormers need to have all their supplies before the fishing season starts in twelve days. We need to be in position regardless.”
Valek spent another late night in the security office’s conference room. With his theory in mind, he scanned the incident reports looking for anything that would dispute his logic. Finding nothing, he returned to the inn for a few hours’ sleep before reporting to the dock to join the repair crew.
The waves no longer lined up like rolling pins. Instead, they titled to the right.
“The worst part of the storm’s gonna miss us,” Joey said.
“Heading north, right?” Valek asked, tying a knot. Disappointment slowed his movements. More time spent away from Yelena.
“Yup. But the one right behind it might blow over us.”
Valek paused. “Two close together? Is that usual?”
Joey cracked his knuckles. “Yup. They’re called twins. We get them from time to time. They either follow the same path, hitting the same place one right after the other—those we call identical—or they diverge and go separate ways.”
“Let me guess, those are called fraternal.”
“You catch on quick.”
Pug snorted. “Nothing quick about that, old man. Let’s see if he can guess what we call them when they hit the coast at the same time?”
“Conjoined?” Valek guessed.
“Nope. We call them double trouble, and you hope that your boat don’t sink and your house don’t blow away during one of those nasty buggers.” Pug shuddered. “Good thing they’re rare.”
“I’ve seen two in my lifetime,” Joey said. “That’s more than enough.”
“Can you tell where the second twin will strike?” Valek asked Joey.
“Not yet.”
Valek contained his impatience. He listened to their banter, their mild teasing and fish tales.
“...kid sunk like a stone, I had to fish him out with a net.”
“...caught them hiding under the sails, lazy buggers.”
“I spotted the wreckage in the water and I thought Smelly drowned, but we found ’im on Hook Island, sunnin’ hisself on the beach. He was pissed we got to ’im so fast. Old Smelly thought he’d get a vacation.” Joey coughed a chuckle.