“Could he have lived on the island?” Valek asked.
“For a couple days, sure, but he’d run through the food right quick. Nothing grows on them except berries, and you have to be real quick to catch one of them seabirds.”
“Do ships wreck on those islands often?”
“Sometimes in a storm, but the fleet avoids them in bad weather. We’ll check ’em when a ship’s been reported missing, but it’s rare we find anyone. Smelly’s an exception.”
“Yeah, he’s an exceptional stinker. The man eats nothing but raw fish,” Pug said.
Valek kept a comment about Pug’s briny odor to himself. “Do you check them all?”
“Nah. Just the ones in the fishing grounds,” Joey said.
“Does anyone use those islands?”
“Are you planning on building a vacation home?” Pug laughed. “If so, I’ve a deed I can sell you for ten golds.”
Valek shrugged, playing down his interest. “Just making conversation.”
“Ignore Pug,” Joey said. “Those islands are only good for a rest or when you have to make repairs. A few have fresh water, but no one stays for long. Even a mild hot-season storm can swamp ’em and you’re swimming.”
“Or clinging to the treetops. Remember we found Fawlon tied to a branch?” Pug asked.
“Oh, yeah. Smart fellow, Fawlon. Too bad he died of thirst.”
As they traded stories of other poor fellows, Valek mulled over the information. It seemed the Storm Thieves could live on an island as long as they had a magician to keep their settlement from being swamped. A Stormdancer would have to be back in Sitia by the heating season or the dancer would be missed. Was it another magician from Sitia or someone new? Joey said the crew of the Starfish was young.
What if one of those teens developed magic? Magic wasn’t tolerated in Ixia, so the person had one of two options: escape to Sitia, or hide his or her power from everyone. But then there was the chance the person would grab too much magic and flame out. According to Irys, only those with amazing self-control could prevent that without any training.
If nothing happened during the storms, Valek planned to investigate all the crew members. It was a tiresome, tedious chore, but it might uncover a clue to the Storm Thieves’ whereabouts.
After the fishermen rolled up the repaired nets, Joey pointed a crooked brown-spotted finger out to sea. “The first storm’s headin’ for the cliffs. But it looks like his twin is turnin’ toward us. It’ll hit tomorrow night, but I’ll know better in the mornin’.” He patted Valek on the shoulder and lowered his voice. “You catch those Stormers, boy. They’re a nuisance.” Then he limped across the street to the tavern.
So much for being subtle. Janco’s incredulous voice sounded in his head. An old man saw right through your cover? You’re slipping, boss. Good thing Janco was in Sitia with Yelena.
Valek stopped at his room to grab his pack before returning to the apartment. When Endre woke and Annika arrived, he reviewed his plan with them.
“I’m going north to keep an eye on the storm just in case. I want you both to watch the steer farm tonight. Get familiar with the layout of the barn, fields and the route to the coast. It’d be easier without a storm raging.”
“Yes, sir,” they said.
Endre rubbed his stomach. “If we want to keep our covers, we need an excuse for leaving work early.”
“Not...” Annika covered her mouth with her hand.
“I’m not happy about it, either,” he said.
“If it’s any consolation,” Valek said, “you only need three drops on your tongue, and it’ll wear off in half an hour.”
Endre rummaged in one of the kitchen’s cabinets and removed a small glass vial filled with a brownish-yellow liquid. He crinkled his nose. “It even looks like vomit. Where do you find this stuff, sir?”
Valek grinned. “I’ve a source in Sitia who makes it for me.” Leif always brewed potent concoctions, but he never bothered to improve the taste or smell. “Take the vomit tonic right before you leave. It will kick in once you’re at work.”
“Kick in?” Annika gave him a pained look.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
*
After the moon disappeared behind the thick bank of storm clouds, Valek headed north along the coast, following the waves. Since it was too dark to see the path, he carried a bull’s-eye lantern and kept a small beam of light trained on the ground in front of him. He peered into the inky blackness of the ocean, searching for a ship’s light. Nothing.
The edge of the storm reached land. Rain tapped against his black cloak. The castle’s seamstress, Dilana, had soaked the material in a liquid wax to help repel water, but Valek had learned from experience that, with enough time, it would become waterlogged.