Thirteen Smugglers and Thieves

THIRTEEN

Smugglers and Thieves

SAMUEL

T he only sounds in the night were the rush of waves up the beach and distant church bells from the small Mereish settlement of Orres. One bell came from inland, echoing between deep-carved hills, raw and ridged as if a giant had raked his fingers across the island. The other drifted down the coast from the pirate-infested town where Olsa and Illya had ventured two hours ago.

The waiting crew were quiet, perched on our longboat in the frost-laden sand, passing a pipe back and forth. Chunks of ice scattered the beach, hulks cast high by the ever-rising spring tides.

Still, the wind smelled like spring. Mary turned her face into it and inhaled reverently. I in turn drank in her expression, her dark lashes against windburned cheeks.

"Someone's coming," Grant, lingering on my other side, warned.

Mary's eyes flicked open, and all three of us looked up the beach.

Lanterns bobbed as a small party topped the rise of the bay, scattering reflections across hard-crusted snow and a treacherous, icy path. But Olsa and Illya walked with confidence, as did the stranger with them—a well-dressed man with clean-shaven cheeks and intelligent eyes.

"Captain," Olsa called in Mereish, once they were well within earshot. "We have a guest."

I went to meet them, leaving Mary and Grant where they were.

"Captain Novos," the stranger said, citing my new identity as Usti smuggler and small-time pirate. "I am Alarik Sa Vis. Welcome, and thank you for bringing such old friends back to me." At that, he cast a smile at the Uknaras.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance," I said.

"The pleasure is mine," Sa Vis beamed. "It has been some time since I had such a unique business opportunity. Provided all is kept between us, of course."

"Of course." I nodded towards the waiting boat. "I am sure my friends passed on an invitation to come aboard?"

"They did." Sa Vis nodded and rubbed his hands together against the cold. "Lead the way, Captain."

Back aboard the ship, we settled into my cabin.

"So, what would you have from me, old friends, and new?" Sa Vis's eyes swept from Olsa to me as he pulled out a chair and sat, seeming to take up a whole side of the table with his braced arms and prominent presence.

I looked at Olsa, prompting. We had agreed it best she reveal the details of our visit, given the history she and Illya shared with Sa Vis—stories of smuggling and daring deeds she had touched on during our tense journey to the coast.

"One of our crew is imprisoned in Fort Gat," Olsa said. "We need a way into the cells. We need schedules and diagrams—anything you can give us."

Sa Vis's eyebrows halted halfway up his forehead. "You think I can help you with this? I have been trying to stay out of that prison for thirty-five years. Everyone in this town has."

"Then it sounds as though you'd appreciate us destroying the warden's reputation," Mary commented.

Sa Vis swiveled his head to regard her, eyebrows still high. "Now who are you?"

"The Stormsinger," she replied and tipped her wine towards him. "But do not even consider stealing me. I make a terrible captive."

I could not resist adding, "Unfortunately, she is correct."

Mary cast me a look, the smile I had hoped for nowhere to be seen.

Sa Vis's eyes narrowed, but there was amusement in them. "I would not consider it, my lady."

I said, "We are prepared to pay well for any information on the fortress you have, as well as aid getting in and out."

"I will not go near Gat, so I must decline the latter request," Sa Vis said. "It is too dangerous, and my brother died there."

"My deepest regrets."

Sa Vis puffed his chest out and patted his breast. "My heart is hard now. I can bear the pain. He died there along with two hundred other prisoners, five years ago. They blamed it on disease, a common enough cause given the conditions of that prison. But since then, they stopped filling the cells. They take only mages, and prisoners of war and politics. Nowadays, it seems the Provost's business is caging only the most powerful men and women. So…" St this, he stared at me directly, demanding an answer. "Why would your missing crewman qualify for his attentions?"

I exchanged a look with Olsa and wished, not for the first time, that I could communicate in silence as the ghiseau did.

"My own brother," I admitted. "A powerful Magni mage."

"Ah." Sa Vis sat back and rested one ankle on his opposite knee.

"If there are so many mages at the prison," Mary asked, leaning on her elbows on the tabletop, "do they have some way of concealing them, in the Other? Our Sooth struggled to see them."

Sa Vis started to shake his head, but paused. "Yes, I believe so. Sooths struggle to access the Other near the fort. And I have never heard of anyone breaking out, so they must have ways of controlling the mages inside."

"How?" Grant asked.

Sa Vis let out a short breath, his mouth twisted. "I do not know the details. There are rumors, of course—talismans and wards, doorways marked with symbols and carved of ghisten wood. The ghistings are guards who never sleep."

Mary watched Sa Vis, her expression sober.

Our guest went on, "I have some knowledge that will help you. How much are you willing to pay for my good council?"

Deciding on a price was not difficult. The majority of the riches we had brought back from beyond the Stormwall were safely banked in Hesten and Tithe, but Hart 's coffers were not light. A few Mereish treasures from bygone eras made Sa Vis's eyes ignite with want, and the rest of the evening was spent discussing the finer details of the prison's location, layout and possible avenues of entry.

Two hours later, Illya escorted Sa Vis back to shore, leaving Mary, Olsa, Grant and I in the cabin. We sat in quiet for a moment, each to our own thoughts. I added details to a sketch I had made under Sa Vis's supervision, depicting the fort from various angles, my head full of possible routes and avenues we might explore.

"Monks," Grant said, slapping his palm down on the table. "We go in as monks, offering council to the prisoners."

Olsa shook her head. "Remember there is a shrine inside the fort. They will have their own servants or monks, the order does not matter."

Grant was unfazed. "We hijack a shipment of supplies and come in as the drivers."

Olsa looked tired now. "They likely work with one company of trusted merchants. But… it is worth looking into. Put that on the list."

Pleased, Grant snatched a piece of paper and stylus from the center of the table and leaned over to steal my ink.

"I assume simply throwing a rope over the wall is out of the question," Grant observed as he wrote.

"As Sa Vis said, the walls are very well guarded."

"A good distraction can go a long way," he pointed out. "Or perhaps we can blackmail the warden? Or a guard."

"Not enough time," Mary said.

"We hold their families for ransom."

"Mr. Grant…" I rubbed at my forehead, which was beginning to ache.

"Pardon me," Grant said without a hint of remorse. "We disguise ourselves as guards."

"Still, no. None of us look Mereish enough," Olsa said.

"Sam might."

"Sam looks like Ben, one of their prisoners ," Mary countered.

"Thus he shall be in disguise!"

I raised my voice to cut them off and lowered it as they quietened. "Whatever our plan may be, it must be quick—we can risk no more than a few days anchored near any settlement. It should involve as little contact with anyone as possible. And we must mitigate the risk to ourselves, the guards and the locals. We cannot cause a stir."

Quiet closed over us again.

"I have an idea." Mary's voice finally broke the quill-scratching stillness. She held up her hands, a faint glow coming into sight just above her skin.

"Going over the walls is too risky. But I could walk through them." Mary laced her fingers together and surveyed us. "You remember how I went into the Other to escape Lirr's fire? In body, not just in spirit like Sam and Olsa do? Otherwalking."

Grant looked aghast. "But surely… that was just one time. Is that not dangerous? Unnatural?"

Mary lifted one of her ghisting-sheathed hands. "Very little about me is natural, Charles. So, I suppose it is rather natural…"

I sat back, as if those few inches could distance me from the notion of Mary going into a prison, alone, risking her life for my twin. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"Tane and I walk through the prison walls, find Ben, and release him." Grant made a strangled sound, but Mary went on, raising her voice slightly. "I have four breaths in the Other before I must come back to the human world. That is more than enough to pass through the walls. I can explore unseen."

I stared at her across the table, wishing for a pot of coffee. "You want to go alone?"

"I would have to," Mary replied. "Though I always have Tane."

I rubbed at my temples. "You know what I mean."

"I can do it," Mary asserted.

"We can find another way," Grant put forward. "Cart drivers, I insist. Or those fellows who come to take away bodies, what are they called? The step before gravedigger. They must have dead going out here and there. We claim we are there for a body—hardly matters if there is one, we will already be inside."

"Charles, be serious," Mary said with a sigh.

"I am perfectly serious," the highwayman shot back, and began to write. "‘Charles… poses… as a handsome psychopomp.'"

My headache worsened. "Poverly!" I called towards the door.

Footsteps sounded in the passage and Poverly popped her head inside. "Yessir?"

"Coffee, if you please. And tell Willoughby to prepare a light supper."

The girl bobbed her head and vanished.

"How many times have you crossed into the Dark Water since that night?" I struggled to say ‘the fire'—the horror of that moment still felt far too close, the stench and the knowledge that Mary was burning alive before my eyes. It made the thought of her putting herself at risk for Benedict all the more intolerable.

"Half a dozen," she admitted. "It is very unpleasant, and a dittama tried to eat me last time. But I can do it."

"It would be dangerous," Olsa agreed. "Any creature in the Dark Water could attack you. Though the dittama following us is very unlikely to go ashore—they fixate on ships, not individuals, despite the superstitions."

"What if your breath runs out, and you are somewhere where you cannot come back through?" I asked.

"Say, the middle of a stone wall, three paces thick?" Grant helpfully provided.

"Obviously there are dangers," Mary said, growing exasperated— and, I noticed, beginning to tap a nervous finger on her opposite arm. "But this is the simplest and safest way. All I would need is a timely distraction."

"Distractions, we can manage," Olsa said. "But Benedict cannot go through walls."

"Once I have Ben, I have a Magni. He can manage the guards." Rising, Mary came around to stand beside me and spun my diagram for Olsa to see. She tapped on an anchor symbol. "Benedict and I can make our way down here to the prison's private docks. Ben can overpower the guards, then we signal, and you land. Or you can land before, if you can manage it. Then we row out to Hart and sail away."

I opened my mouth to critique the plan, but instead found more pieces clicking into place. "I can lay a false trail. I do look like Ben, after all. Mr. Grant and I can ‘flee' in the opposite direction and ensure Mary and Benedict escape unnoticed. Then we reunite at a safe location down the coast."

Poverly reappeared with a tray and slid it onto the table before us. Perhaps it was my distraction, but I had not noticed how haggard the girl looked until she set out a tray of bread, cheeses and cured meats.

"Ms. Poverly, where is Willoughby?" I asked, glancing from the dark bags under her eyes to her thin frame, which was bordering on underfed.

"Sick in bed, sir," Poverly said, straightening and forcing her young face into a bracing smile. "Did what I could, sir."

Another weight settled on me. My own steward was sick abed, and Poverly looked well on her way to joining him. I was neglecting my crew.

"You did well, Ms. Poverly. Now go to sleep," I instructed.

She looked simultaneously relieved and distressed. "But I've duties—"

I shook my head and pointed to the door. "You are relieved. Go rest. Please."

Poverly looked from me to my finger to the door, then gave an awkward curtsy and scuttled out.

"Yes, Papa," Grant murmured, a smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth.

I ignored him. "This plan is worth considering," I stated, surveying them and trying not to let my eyes linger on Mary, imagining her creeping through the corridors of a dark prison, past rows of bars and reaching hands. "Olsa, you and Illya secure any more intelligence that you can, particularly any smugglers' coves within a manageable distance of the fort. Resupply the ship tomorrow, and keep me informed."

Olsa's nod was calm, and I might have caught a touch of pride around her eyes. Or perhaps irritation—I was growing rapidly beyond subtleties. My head still ached, and I wondered if I was coming down with whatever Willoughby and Poverly had.

I poured myself a full mug of coffee and filled my plate. We ate, and the conversation wandered away from me—Grant's alternative suggestions to Mary's plan becoming more obscure and complex. I drained my first cup of coffee and closed my eyes as the second cup steamed.

Finally, Olsa and Grant left me alone with Mary. As soon as the door closed, she rounded the table and crouched beside my chair.

"Sam?"

She looked at me with concern. I moved before I realized I had, putting a gentle palm to her cheek, fingers delving into the hair behind her ears, my thumb tracing her cheekbone. Her lips turned up in a startled smile

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I have a devil of a headache," I admitted, distracted by the intermingling of dark blue and smoke-grey in her eyes. Short, stray wisps of hair framed her face, curling a little against winter-pale temples. "I am worried for you and am unreasonably furious with Benedict for putting us in this situation. And it has come to my attention that key members of my crew are ill, and I was not told, or did not notice."

"You have too much on your mind. But we can carry more, if you let us. Can I do anything for you?"

There was an opportunity in that question, one I was not sure she meant to give. Still, several possible answers slipped through my mind. I hastily discarded them.

"No." I pulled my hand away, cleared my throat and forced my thoughts back into line.

Mary rose, looking down at me with a gaze far more perceptive than I could handle just then. "One of these days I may seduce you, Samuel Rosser. The crew and appearances be damned."

I felt my lips twitch, but it was not a smile. "Have mercy on me a while longer."

A frown creased between her brows. For a moment she seemed unable to formulate a reply, then she cleared her throat. "Samuel, we are in Mere. Are we going to look for a healer-mage? Sa Vis may know of one."

I nodded, wishing I had thought of that myself when the man was still present. I rubbed at my forehead, reflecting how little the coffee had done for the pain.

"That is… a very good idea. Can you ask him?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

She squeezed my shoulder and left me alone with my thoughts.