‘About what?’
The little fellow rested his elbows on the desk and set his chin on his fingertips. His eyes almost closed. ‘About gates. And how to open them.’
Dancer pointed a warning. ‘Just don’t make any more trouble for us right now, okay?’
But the mage’s wizened and wrinkled face was already dreamy. Dancer was tempted to give him a cuff and ask whether he’d heard, but shook his head instead.
Noise to his right spun him round, blades whipping free. The shells of nuts lay there on the floor, and more fell as he watched. He raised his gaze to the rafters and there sat the damned nacht, Wu’s pet. He’d wondered where the blasted thing had got to lately.
As he eyed it, the little beast bared its sharp pale fangs at him then set to work gnawing on another walnut. He waved it off – eliciting an answering hiss – and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
Downstairs, all the attackers were gone and the mess was being cleaned up. He spotted Surly and deliberately crossed straight to her, pulled up a chair and sat backwards on it, crossing his arms on the back.
She peered down at him for a short moment then nodded and waved off the other Napans, who’d suddenly appeared to crowd close. She sat opposite him and crossed her arms.
‘Want a drink?’ she offered.
He nodded.
Without taking her eyes from him she called out, ‘Our best wine, Hawl. Two glasses.’
A moment later Hawl – burly and heavy-set where Surly was greyhound lean – set down two fine-stemmed glasses and a decanter of wine.
Surly poured, tasted the vintage, then set the glass down. She eyed him, her mouth set straight, thin, and hard. ‘So,’ she began, ‘you’re hijacking.’
‘You questioned the toughs, hey?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where’re they now?’
‘Being thrown off a pier.’
‘What if they don’t swim?’
The woman raised a brow to say she didn’t give a damn. ‘You should’ve approached us,’ she said.
He snorted.
‘I don’t like you bringing trouble here.’
‘Shut up. I’m talking to you – not the reverse.’
The rage that flared in the woman’s eyes was informative. Not used to such a tone, this one.
It took her a while to unclench her teeth and control her breathing, and she remained quite flushed by the outrage that seethed within. She asked, terse, ‘Why then are we even talking?’
‘I have a proposal.’
Her gaze slid past his shoulder and he dared a glance over. Another of the Napan women, Amiss, young, wiry, and full of nervous energy, was peering out of the door. She nodded an all clear. He returned his gaze to Surly. ‘You have perimeter guards out already?’
She gave a brief nod of assent.
‘Good.’ His tone was casual, but again he was impressed. He sipped the wine and nodded to her – at least it was Untan, he could tell that much. ‘Where should I start? Captain, is it?’ She lifted her shoulders, neither assent nor denial. ‘So. A Napan raider crew. Wrecked on Malaz where no one would even cross the street to spit on you. Why not take passage to the mainland and return to Nap? Because you can’t. Wrong side of the recent transition in power, hey?’ Again the woman merely lifted her shoulders. She took a drink and he noted that this time she tossed back the entire glass. ‘The deal is a ship,’ he said.
The woman turned the glass in her hand. ‘We’ll get one,’ she said, her tone low and fierce.
This time he lifted his shoulders. ‘Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. We promise one.’
‘How can you possibly back up a promise like that?’
‘Because…’ and here he let out a long breath, as he was taking a huge gamble, ‘the owner of this establishment happens to be a damned scary warlock.’
The woman’s brows rose and she leaned forward, utterly incredulous. She raised a finger to point to the ceiling; mouthed silently, What? Him?
Dancer nodded.
She cocked her head, studying him, clearly trying to work out whether he was serious or insane. Finally, she broke out laughing aloud.
He allowed her to have her laugh, and after a time she cleared her throat and said, ‘Bullshit.’
He tilted his head as if to say, Have it your way. ‘What have you to lose? Give us a month and you’ll have a ship.’
The woman was clearly restraining herself from laughing again. ‘And in return? What do you want?’
‘You work for us.’
‘Only if the crew agrees.’
Dancer nodded again. ‘Fair enough. Well…’ He pushed himself from the table. ‘Until then, everything stays the same, yes?’
Surly gave a little snort and shook her head, as if at his audacity, or her own gullibility. Since it wasn’t outright refusal, he took it as agreement and returned upstairs. From where they sat about the room, the gaze of the remaining Napan crew followed him as he went.
Upstairs he found Wu still behind the desk, but leaning back with his feet up and his mouth open, sound asleep and snoring.
Dancer stifled a curse. Yet even as he watched from the door, the nacht creature, now squatting on the desk, pitched a shard of walnut shell towards Wu’s open mouth.
It struck his nose and the little fellow grunted, snorting.
Dancer stepped up and waved the creature from the desk. It leapt to the rafters, chattering and giving vent to what sounded eerily like curses, while Dancer swiped the mage’s feet from the desk.
Wu’s eyes snapped open and he glared about in a momentary panic. Spotting Dancer, he relaxed, then frowned and brushed away the heap of walnut shells from his chest. ‘Yes? What is it? I was thinking.’
‘Is that what you call it?’ He raised a hand, forestalling any answer. ‘New order of business. Get us a ship. Immediately. We need one.’
Wu raised a brow, rather surprised. ‘Really. A ship.’ He leaned back once more, touched his fingertips together over his stomach. ‘Hmm. An interesting challenge, that.’
‘Is that you thinking again?’
Wu cast him a glare. ‘I’ll look into it.’
‘Do so. We have to have one.’
Wu straightened his vest. ‘The things I have to buy just to keep you happy…’
Chapter 4
Despite housing close to a thousand acolytes and priests, the Great Hall of the Temple of D’rek on the island of Kartool was its characteristic silent self. And because Tayschrenn hated noise and its attendant commotion and disruption more than anything, he valued this calm and quiet devotion to duty very highly.
He was therefore quite annoyed when a murmuring buzz of whispers arose among the acolytes; it irked him so much that he opened his eyes and raised his head from where it rested upon the tips of his fingers to glance about for the source of the disturbance, frowning.
Silla, his neighbour at table, nudged him, whispering, ‘There he is. The Invigilator, Tallow. Arrived last night. They say he hails from the Seven Cities region.’