Chapter 8

As much as it galled me to accept anything at all from Remy, I had to admit the stew and bread were very welcome. I hadn't saved much from my years in the circus because every copper went toward paying off my purchase price. They had garnished my meager wages for room, board, costumes, and training, leaving precious little afterward. When I had earned my freedom, I'd walked away with the clothes on my back and not much else.

To my discomfort, I quickly learned that former acrobats didn't have many skills that transferred to more mundane careers, and I'd been forced to use my letter of recommendation to the guild. The money I had so far earned paid for my bow, magic detecting cube, and rent on a tiny room. Food had been far down on my list of priorities.

I just wondered what he would want from me in return. People didn't do things because they liked me, and Remy didn't pretend to like me in any case. Even my parents hadn't liked me enough to keep me; they'd sold me at the first opportunity. But I'd worry about Remy's motives later.

With my belly nicely full for the first time in a while, I fell into step beside Remy as we worked our way through Sageport's various neighborhoods. The lengthening shadows crept across the cobblestones, gradually muting the golden hues of the late afternoon sun, but the air still held a lingering warmth. The chatter of vendors and shoppers ebbed as merchants packed up their carts and shopkeepers pulled down their shutters for the evening.

I found my gaze drifting between the worn buildings with their colorful signs and fluttering banners and the lean, athletic man walking next to me. He moved like a dancer, his confident stride and easy demeanor imbued with a palpable flowing grace. Growing up with acrobats and high-wire performers, I had seen more than my share of masculine agility and strength, so the fact that I even noticed his was surprising.

The narrow streets gave way to the docks and the expanse of the waterfront. Ships of all sizes nestled against the wharves like piglets on a sow, while gulls squabbled and cried overhead. No one was loading or unloading cargo this late in the day, but the notes of a penny whistle drifted from one ship, and a sailor swayed high in the rigging on another.

Remy led me to a two-story brick building with large windows overlooking the harbor and a weathered wooden sign that read "Dockmaster" in bold, painted letters. A noticeboard covered with announcements, schedules, and regulations hung on one side of the door and a wrought-iron lantern on the other. Disappointingly, a closed sign hung on the door itself.

"Damn," Remy said, frowning at the door.

"Do we wait until tomorrow?" I asked. I wanted to get this over with as much as I knew Remy did, but I wouldn't have minded an early evening at home.

"Drex will probably be in the Salty Anchor. We'll check there."

"Another tavern?"

"I spend more time in taverns than you might think."

I shrugged. As far as I could tell, most of the younger male guild members spent all their free time in taverns, so Remy was unlikely to exceed my expectations on that score.

"Is Drex the dockmaster?" I asked.

"Yeah. He's a good sort."

We continued along the waterfront to a weathered, timber-frame building painted marine blue and muted gray with a hand-carved wooden anchor hanging above the door. Raucous laughter and tobacco smoke rolled out in waves as we pushed our way inside. Ship models and nautical flags dangled from the tavern's low ceiling, and I grinned at the thought of the towering Ralph trying to navigate the room. True to the theme, faded maps, weathered fishing nets, and shells decorated the walls.

Remy halted to scan the rough crowd of sailors and stevedores. In one corner, a man was standing on a table singing a lewd shanty while his companions stamped their feet and clapped. In another, a serious card game was underway, the hard-eyed players squinting at each other, hands never straying far from knife hilts.

Tapping me on the arm, Remy leaned down and murmured, "Do you have a weapon?"

"No, I left my bow at the guildhall."

He rolled his eyes and scowled. "By all the gods, never go out unarmed. You watch our backs. This isn't like the Mug."

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks. Being treated like an unruly child was getting old. But as soon as I nodded, Remy started weaving through the tight-packed tables. I trailed after, trying to ignore the appraising looks I received from more than one patron. The only other women in the room were the servers, and they were spending as much time avoiding groping hands as delivering ale and food.

We reached a table occupied by a man with a neatly trimmed white beard and close-cropped hair, wearing sturdy trousers and a long-sleeve shirt. His face was sunburned and rugged, with a scar that bisected his left eyebrow, hinting at a hard life on the docks. A plate of unidentifiable meat in congealing gravy sat in front of him and I sent up a silent thanks to the gods for Ralph's culinary skills.

Remy slid into a chair across from the man and clasped his hand. I sat next to him but angled my chair so I could keep an eye on anyone behind us. Most of the customers lost interest in us and turned back to their drinks, but one or two stared longer than I liked.

"Drex, how are you?" Remy said.

"Can't complain," Drex replied, taking a swig of ale. "It's been busy at the docks, but that's not a bad thing."

When he glanced at me with raised brows, Remy said, "This is one of my colleagues. We're just poking around."

I noticed Remy didn't introduce us, but I kept quiet. As he'd said, this wasn't The Stony Mug and the less attention I attracted, the better. I simply smiled politely at Drex and continued to survey the room for any sign of threat.

They chatted for a time about Drex's grandchildren, the weather, and the sad decline in quality brandy imports. My rump was growing numb, and I started shifting restlessly in my chair. I wished Remy would get on with it. When the front door opened and three men entered, I glanced over with little interest. And then I caught my breath.

One of the arrivals was a well-built man with bronze skin, sleek silver hair, and large, dark eyes. He was considerably cleaner and less bruised, but I was certain it was the same man who had been in the cell next to Emil. I watched them cross to an empty table in a far corner, well away from the card players, singers, and boisterous drinkers. Two others joined them, and their conversation grew animated, with lots of angry faces and pointed fingers.

Silver Hair stood and, with a determined expression, strode in our direction. I jabbed Remy in the ribs and nodded toward the man. Remy didn't so much as twitch, but I could feel him stiffen and a blade dropped into his palm under the table. I lowered my head so that my hair screened my face but kept a close watch through the strands. With luck, Silver Hair wouldn't recognize me.

When Silver Hair was a few steps away, I glanced at Drex and relaxed somewhat. His brow furrowed and his mouth turned down, but he didn't appear fearful or tense. Anyone looking at Remy would have thought he didn't have a care greater than what was at the bottom of his mug.

"Drex," Silver Hair said. "May I have a word?"

"Keillan, have a seat." Drex indicated the fourth chair at the table.

Keillan sat and glared at Drex. He was so focused and intense, I wasn't sure Remy and my presence even registered with him. "It's happened again."

Drex dropped his chin to his chest and gave a long sigh. "I don't know what to say. We don't know who is responsible."

"The harbor is a busy place. Surely someone has seen something?" Keillan's gaze was drilling a hole through Drex.

"I've increased the night watchman rounds, but it's not helping."

"Well, station guards along all the piers!"

Drex threw up his hands. "How long do you think the Fae Council will pay for that?"

Keillan slapped his palm on the table and narrowed his eyes. "If you don't find a way to stop it, we will. And the Council won't much like our methods."

I forgot all about staying unnoticed and swiveled to gape at him. Who was this man that he could threaten the Fae Council like that? No wonder the Enforcers had arrested him. I was surprised they hadn't tossed him in Ironhold long ago.

Drex seemed to take him seriously. "Give me more time. We'll figure it out. I promise."

"It better not happen again. If it does, I won't be able to control my people." Keillan stood, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. For the first time, he seemed to notice that he wasn't alone at the table with Drex.

"Don't look at me, mate," Remy said with a lazy smile. "Whatever this is about, I'm not involved." His tone was friendly, but now he was openly using the knife to clean his fingernails.

Keillan turned his attention to me, and his head jerked back as his eyes widened momentarily. He glanced at Remy and Drex before inclining his head to me and walking back to his companions. Drex was busy looking for a server to order more ale, but I knew Remy's sharp gaze had noticed Keillan's reaction to me. He missed nothing.