Dancer nodded, thinking, And I wonder how Surly will take that? Maybe she’ll actually see the sense in it. ‘Okay. Tomorrow, then.’ He nodded his goodbye and pulled the door shut behind him. He would have locked it if it had a lock on the outside. Shaking his head, he went to find Surly.
After making the arrangements, he thumped back down at his table. It was long into the night when he finished the last blade.
*
The next morning a knock at his door woke him. He wiped groggily at his face, called, ‘Yes?’
‘Noon,’ a woman answered. Shrift. ‘The owner says he’ll come at noon.’
‘Okay.’ He dressed and went down to break his fast.
The Napan crew were already up and about, seeing to their assigned duties for the day: guarding various properties, showing the flag on the streets, and generally letting everyone know who was in charge of the bars, warehouses and flop-houses they controlled.
After his meal of stewed barley, cheese, a wedge of bread, and an apple – a meal he selected very carefully, imagining that not even Urko could ruin it – he went upstairs and knocked on the office door. He waited, but no one answered. A flush of sudden rage took him by the throat and he threw open the door.
Wu was leaning back behind the desk, feet up, fingers twined over his chest, snoring. Dancer felt a twinge of guilt over his anger and gently closed the door behind him. He crossed to the side table and poured a glass of water, set it on the desk, and loudly cleared his throat.
Wu coughed, smacked his lips, and cracked open one eye.
Oddly, the wet snoring noise continued in the room. It seemed to be coming from overhead. Dancer slowly raised his gaze to the rafters above and there lay the hairy long-limbed nacht, pink mouth agape, fast asleep. He threw a wadded sheet of parchment at it and it coughed, smacked its lips, and cracked open one eye.
Dancer experienced an odd sensation of déjà vu.
Wu spotted the glass of water and drank it. He stretched, groaning – as did the nacht above – and drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘So, what’s the word?’
‘Noon. He’s coming at noon.’
‘Excellent.’
Dancer sat on the edge of the desk. ‘And … we do have the money, yes?’
‘Oh, yes. After a fashion.’
He didn’t like the sound of that, but refrained from questioning. He already knew the fellow didn’t like to explain himself. ‘Fine. You should eat.’
‘Have Surly send up a meal.’
To that Dancer could only crook a brow. ‘I don’t think that would go over so well.’
Wu raised a finger into the air. ‘Appearances, my friend. One must maintain appearances.’
Dancer straightened. ‘Well, if you put it that way…’ He headed to the door.
Behind, he heard Wu conspicuously clear his throat, and he turned back. ‘Yes?’
The little fellow was twining his fingers together, his belly up against the desk. ‘I’ve been thinking about what to call myself…’
Dancer nodded. ‘I noticed.’
Wu gave a curt bob of his head. ‘Indeed. Like you, I think I require a new working name. But in my case something grand, of course.’
Dancer clenched his lips tight and let out a hard breath. ‘Like?’
‘Well … something with the strong hard kay sound, like Keth, or Kell. Plus, the sinister and menacing vee sound, such as Val, or Veth, or Ved.’
Dancer looked to the ceiling. Oh, good gods …
Wu was oblivious, as usual. ‘Like Vethkedell the … something or other. Murderous, maybe. Or Menacing.’
‘No.’
Wu blinked, surprised. ‘No? No to what?’
‘To that. Something else with kell and ved.’
Wu’s head shot up. ‘What was that?’
‘What was what?’
‘There. What you just said. Kell … something.’
‘Kell and ved.’
Wu snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it! Very well done, my friend.’
Dancer felt his brows crimping in confusion, and annoyance. What in the Abyss just happened? He gestured to the door. ‘I’ll have a meal sent up, then.’
Wu waved his hands impatiently. ‘No, no. Not now. Have Surly deliver it during the negotiations.’
Dancer wanted to raise his fists to him, but refrained. He sighed instead in tired resignation. ‘Fine. During the negotiations.’ He opened the door. Wu leaned back, setting his dusty-heeled shoes on the desk, and knitted his hands over his stomach, a satisfied smile taking shape on his face. Dancer headed downstairs.
*
The owner arrived at noon. Dancer had Tocaras and Choss tail him from the vessel to make certain there would be no interference from Geffen and his boys. He was a veteran raider, grey-haired and grizzled. He entered the common room and stood peering round in the relative dark, uncertain whom to address. Dancer was waiting next to the door and he extended a hand to invite him upstairs. As he followed him up, it occurred to him that the owner looked just as worn down as his vessel. His eyes were bloodshot, red-rimmed and sunken, and his cheeks, which showed an unhealthy grey pallor, unshaven and drawn. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept well in a very long time.
Dancer reached round him to open the office door, and Wu came out from behind the desk to invite him in.
‘Kellanved,’ Wu introduced himself, and Dancer blinked, startled.
‘Durard,’ the old fellow growled.
Wu – Kellanved? – motioned to a chair. ‘Please, sit. Care for a drink?’
‘Wouldn’t say no to a glass,’ the fellow answered, and sat with a weary sigh.
Wu – Kellanved? Dancer repeated to himself – looked to him. ‘Would you be so kind?’
Dancer went to the side table to pour a glass of their best wine, which, if he was being honest, wasn’t really all that good. Setting it before Durard, he went to sit over by the window and stretched out his legs.
Kellanved returned to the desk. ‘Looking to put the sea behind you, yes?’ he said.
Durard blinked at him, confused for a moment, then nodded. ‘Ah, right. I suppose so.’
Dancer was repeating the strange new name to himself. Kellanved … what in the Abyss kind of name was that supposed to be? It didn’t sound Dal Hon at all. And it sure didn’t mean anything – he’d just made it up.
‘Strange for someone to simply up and buy a ship, you know,’ Durard was saying. ‘Usually it’s consortiums of merchants, or groups of owners. Like partners. Or cities, a’ course.’
‘Of course,’ the mage answered, all soothing and agreeable. He motioned to Dancer. ‘I do have a partner.’ Durard glanced over and tilted his head in acknowledgement, then cleared his throat.
‘So … how d’ya want to do this? Got letters of credit or such? Bullion?’
There came a knock at the door and Dancer rose to answer. It was Surly, carrying a tray with fruit, bread, and cheese. She gave Dancer a dark look and pushed past. At the desk she banged down the tray, gave Kellanved a look that could only be described as surly, and sauntered out.
‘Ah, yes … well. Thank you, Surly.’ Kellanved offered the food to Durard then tapped his fingers together, elbows on the desk. ‘So, payment. Yes. Well, I do have something that I believe would serve here on the island. They are quite valuable – or so I’m told.’
He rummaged down under the desk and came up with a bag that he set on the desk. Dancer recognized it as one of the canvas pouches from the hijacking.