“Freemen and Burgundians patrol the straight,” Deacon, whose fat cheeks sprouted red stubble, said. “If the Freemen catch us, we’ll be shackled and sold into slavery.” Seagulls culled overhead. Black chop battered the ships anchored at bay and those moored at the docks. “And if the Burgundians catch us, we’ll be hanged as pirates, spies, or both.”
The sea exhaled a constant breath of icy wind. Alessandro pulled his cloak closer. “I need a job.”
“Hah!” Deacon placed a hand on his fat stomach. “It’s that simple, isn’t it? A man has to eat.” The smuggler’s smile faded. “Do you know your way around a ship? Spent any time at sea?”
“I have,” Alessandro said. “I spent two years under Captain Marcelo Gracci of the Seamare.” In truth, it had been eight months. “We hauled goods between Dacia, Bihar, Scythia, and Petropoli.” ‘Goods’ meaning intelligence and agents. “Mostly sulfur and foodstuffs.”
Deacon’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Marcelo is an excellent sailor. He runs a clean crew. Very professional.” He cleared his throat. “I’m no Marcelo Gracci, but I have a good crew who understands the job. Smuggling is a dangerous business, my friend. Do you have experience fighting? Have you ever killed a man?”
“Yes,” Alessandro said. The smuggler stood with his arms folded across his barrel chest, waiting for Alessandro to continue. “I was in the relief force that lifted the siege from this city and chased the Burgundians to Berani. After Count Constantine drove us from the field, my regiment ended up in Colonia, where we carried out light duties for six months. After Colonia, we marched north to meet Constantine again; this time, we beat the bastard. I think Duke Ambrose was with us that day, and that made the difference.”
“It was raining, so mortars and dwarven fire were useless,” Deacon added. “You can sail, and you can fight. How did you end up here looking to become a smuggler?”
“I felt vindicated after our victory against the Burgundians, but it was hollow.” Alessandro drew in a lungful of salty air. “The more battles I fought, the more hollow I felt. There’s always another battle to fight—in victory and defeat—and always another enemy. Before this war, a thousand others were fought by men who had little to gain and everything to lose. I want to be free again, and there’s no honest work left for a Milanese man. So, how about it, Captain? Do I qualify for your crew?”
Deacon looked out over the black waters, churning beneath a purple sky darkened by clouds. “We’re leaving on the first day of the month. Meet me on my ship and have your affairs in order.”
“The Crooked Crane?” Alessandro asked.
Deacon nodded. “That’s the one. We’re looking at six months at sea and eight hundred silvers for every man. But it is dangerous, my friend. I will not lie to you.” Alessandro stepped across the deck and extended his right hand. The men shook, sealing the agreement and terms of employment. “Good man.” Deacon laughed. “See you soon!”
The brawny smuggler stepped with a wide gait, retreating down the dock. Good sailors are hard to find these days.
Now, I just need to lie low for the next few weeks. Alessandro followed in Deacon’s wake, stepping across the docking as he steadied himself with a hand on a wooden rail, careful not to slip on the sea-soaked boards. At the end of the dock, he climbed a large stair toward high stone walls affixed with parapets and towers. The gate to Caliacra stood open. The raging storm besieging their shores did not stop the traffic from flowing to and fro. Dockhands carried sacks or carted barrels and crates. Peddlers sold fish on every street corner: seared and skewered, chopped into chunks, or whole filets. Smithy’s hammered hoops and bolts for fresh vessels. Citizens painted every brick in every building white and regularly scrubbed them clean–a Castellian custom carried on by the original colonists and every generation after. Red-tiled roofs loomed many stories overhead. Alessandro made for a residential district near the docks, searching for an affordable inn or apartment, doubting his chances the longer he wandered the streets in vain.
Night swallowed what little light the storm clouds did not. After hours of walking through the city, negotiating with renters, and speaking to clerks, Alessandro settled on a tavern called ‘the Seawitch’s Cauldron.’
The Cauldron stood on the corner of a three-way intersection, an oblong building with a shingled roof that looked like a group of children threw it together, forming a fort of chairs and blankets. It was wide and two stories. Alessandro walked up a wooden step and opened the door. He entered a square room with yellow-painted plaster and flower pots on the windowsills. Alessandro’s heart swelled with hope when he spotted the clerk.
Alessandro stepped up to her desk. “My ship leaves port in a few weeks. Does this establishment offer room and board?”
A brown-haired woman wearing a red vest and a red ribbon in her hair stared at Alessandro for a moment with a blank look on her face. She blinked. Then she sighed. “I think there was a bed that recently became available. I’m not sure. Let me ask the master of the establishment.”
The woman disappeared into a doorway behind the desk. Alessandro tapped his toes. Am I the wrong clientele? He took a seat on a green sofa. A flowerpot containing a green plant with thin little leaves sat atop an end table beside him. He did not recognize the plant. Something foreign? The door behind the desk opened, and the woman stepped through it. Alessandro stood up and walked to her desk. “Is there a bed available?”
“Yes,” the clerk said. “Our rent is fifty coppers per night.” Alessandro dug into his coin purse, counted out his money, and then handed it to the clerk. “The room is on the second floor, right after you leave the stairwell. Just look for the number three nailed to the door.”
“Thank you.” Alessandro secured his coin purse and walked towards the stairwell to his right. The clerk didn’t respond.
Alessandro’s roommates must have been in the tavern or out of town, for room number three was empty. He unshouldered his knapsack, sat it down next to a bed with neatly folded blankets and fresh pillows, removed his cloak, wrapped it around his swords, and then hid the bundle beneath his mattress. He tucked his dagger under his pillow. Then, Alessandro took off his boots and laid down, warm and comfortable. Soon, I’ll be sailing to Chios.
But I need money to survive and to pay my rent.
The first wave of refugees to arrive at the start of the war was given empty warehouses near the docking district as accommodations. As war raged across the countryside, more and more came. Now, shanties and shacks clogged the alleyways. Homeless loitered in their clusters. Dull eyes and vacant expressions accepted their unfortunate lots in life. Not all of them, though. Alessandro saw wild eyes and desperation, too. Four youths stood in the mouth of an alley. Their clothes were clean, but tattoos decorated their arms and necks. Predatory eyes tracked Alessandro as he pushed through the claustrophobic shanty town, ignoring the troubled youths and heading toward the northernmost waterside edge of Caliacra.
He twisted and turned through the alleys and winding streets, periodically glancing over his shoulder.
The city wall soared just ahead. He turned in time to watch a shadow dart across the street and into an alleyway. They’re following me. Alessandro ran. He, too, jumped into an alley, then spun around, activating his cloak’s magic and becoming invisible. Alessandro leaped to the top of a four-story apartment to his left. He backtracked, jumping from roof to roof.
Alessandro spotted the four youths in separate alleyways. They communicated with hand signs and gestures. Their point man, the largest of the four, wearing sailing boots and sporting a large anchor on his left cheek, moved first, then the others followed his lead. One by one, they zigged and zagged their way up the street. Alessandro sat down and watched the boys chase after his ghost. They’re well organized to be so young. How long will it take them to realize I gave them the slip? He enjoyed a moment of silent humor before the winter’s cold encouraged him to seek warmth. Near a stable yard, he found a little lane between bushes and trees and, at its end, an apothecary’s shop hiding behind tangled vines. Its visitor bell rang as the front door opened. Alessandro stepped inside. Shelves stood against every wall, lined with jars and boxes full of herbs or pots with sproutings and plants.
A dwarven man with thick black braids bound by silver beads sat in a cushioned chair behind a clerk’s desk. A thin twirl of smoke escaped the burning pipe in his left hand. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for the master of this establishment,” Alessandro said.
“That’s me,” the dwarf said. He raised his pipe and drew in a lungful. A slow exhale from two flaring nostrils released a stirring torrent of smoke. The dwarf squinted his eyes and peered down a mountainous nose. “What can I do for you?”
Alessandro approached the desk. “I have a few pickings to unload, and I’d like to gain a few for my collection.”
“My shelves grow more and more barren as the war drags on.” The dwarf sat his pipe on a table beside his chair. He marched over to his tall desk and stepped onto an apparatus he raised by cranking a lever, allowing him to look Alessandro in the eye. “What do you have?” Alessandro opened his knapsack and laid down a selection of mushrooms, flowers, herbs, and other forged items. The Apothecary ran his fingers along stems and lifted their leaves, grumbling as puffs of smoke escaped his lips and nostrils. “Fine selection.”
“I have a good eye,” Alessandro said. “And a green thumb, at least Mother always said.”
The dwarf chuckled. “It’s rare to meet another collector these days. I haven’t been in the field in a long while—the world’s gotten too dangerous.” He tugged at his beard. “Some of these items are nearly impossible to get these days.” The Apothecary picked up a purple-capped mushroom by its delicate stem. “Did you pick this?”
“I traded for it,” Alessandro lied.
“Oh.” The dwarf sat the mushroom down. “Still, I imagine your journey was a long one. From your selection, it looks like you came from the east?” Clever eyes matched Alessandro’s steady stare. “No matter, no matter.”
After a few rounds of trading and bartering, Alessandro left the Apothecary with a heavier coin purse and valuable ingredients for the next part of his journey. He journeyed to the center of Caliacra and its Trade Square. There’s not much a sailor needs, Alessandro pondered as he passed a bakery and its roaring ovens. The Captain and his cook provide food. He stopped at the corner of an intersection. He peered through a window to his right and glimpsed a cobbler cutting leather.
I could use some new boots.
Alessandro sat next to the window of his room. He placed his last copper circling on a neatly piled stack of coins, then shoveled another spoonful of stew into his mouth. It tasted the same as the first night and every night after. I don’t have enough to cover my rent. He’d counted one silver and forty-seven copper circlings. And I have five days until my ship leaves.
He leaned against the wooden backrest of his chair. Asking Deacon for an advance on my pay would be futile and possibly cost me my position on his crew. I could borrow some money. Or steal it. Alessandro had made himself familiar with the criminal elements of the city. The tattooed youths he encountered in Shanty Town were members of the Bianchi Syndicate. There are plenty of money lenders. And they’re used to dealing with sailors around here. He scooped up his coins and dumped them into his purse.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Most importantly, they’ll only use their money to harm others. Someone should relieve them of it. Alessandro finished his stew, fixed his coin purse on his belt, and threw his magical cloak over his shoulders.
He left his apartment.
Noon traffic packed the streets. Nearing the Trade Square, with its bazaars and businesses, a drummer’s thunderous thuds echoed from the plaster and brick that rose all around, accompanied by the shrill melody of a flute. Their singer’s voice carried over the commotion of the city:
“Bless me thrice and love me true,
“I’m going out to sea!
“I don’t know when, but I’ll be back,
“And I’m coming to see you!”
I know that voice, Alessandro realized. The Mysterium are in Caliacra? He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and joined a press of people surging across the thoroughfare. Perhaps the masses will conceal my life essence from Rose? The Mysterium drew a small crowd to their roadside show, standing in a semicircle. Alessandro pulled his hood tight and glanced out the side of his eye. Rose danced upon a makeshift stage of wooden crates and decking planks. She wore brown trousers, matching tall boots, and an oversized white blouse with frilled sleeves, singing:
“Bless me, love, my only love,
“I will return to thee!
“So hold me tight this last night,
“Before I go to sea!”
She’s dressed differently these days.
Skiggi sat on the edge of the stage, bouncing on a plank and beating his drum like it owed him money. Dorri stood before the stage, playing her flute and dancing with the music.
Alessandro quickened his pace. He broke away from the pack as the Mysterium’s music died away. What are the odds?
Has the Order gotten to them? Are they looking for me? He headed back to his apartment and went straight to his room. Two of his roommates sat on opposite beds, talking about gambling and their misfortune. Alessandro, ignoring them, walked through the room and sat by a window overlooking the sea. The men didn’t pay him any attention.
Alessandro peered out the window. Gray clouds stretched forever into the west. Did she sense my presence?
He didn’t come down for many hours. Venturing for food, Alessandro passed through the lobby and straight into a large dining room containing six long tables with silverware and candelabras. He gathered a plate of food and then returned to his room to sit by his high window, prying at the shell of a crab and plucking away its meat. His roommates had left. Alessandro enjoyed the solitude, the sea crashing against the shore and then dissolving into silence. He finished his meal, sealed the window with its wooden shutter, and lay in his bed. Alessandro pulled the covers tight and resolved to lie until he fell asleep.
Someone knocked on the door. Alessandro sat up. No one’s bothered to knock before. A series of thumps echoed their way into his room.
Alessandro crawled out of bed, gathered his weapons and cloak, and moved toward the window. The knocks continued. I don’t know who you are, and I don’t want to know who you are. He pulled the shutter open. It scraped against tightly packed bricks. Its wood creaked.
“I hear someone in there,” Rose’s voice resounded behind the door. The knocks grew louder. “Hello? Gus? I know you’re in there. I can hear you! Open the door! Hello? We need your help, Gus!” The banging stopped. For a moment, the solitude of his silent room returned. “Skiggi’s in trouble, Gus,” she whispered now. “He owes the wrong people a lot of money, and they’re threatening to kill him–to kill all three of us–if he doesn’t pay it back by the end of the week.”
Alessandro looked out over Caliacran Bay through the open window. What if she’s lying? What if the Order hired them to hunt me? He used his magical cloak to turn invisible and squeezed through the window.
“We can’t run from this,” Rose pleaded. “We need you!”
Alessandro stopped. She sounded frightened.
“I know you’re in there!” Rose repeated.
Alessandro sighed. If the Order got to them, then it’s my fault. I can’t keep running from my problems, either. They don’t control me anymore. Rose is resourceful, too. Maybe she could be of use? He pulled his left leg back into the room, tugged at his cloak as he crossed with a wide gait, becoming visible once more, and jerked the door open. “What do you want?”
Rose stood with both arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “Is that how you greet a lady?”
Alessandro scoffed. He backed away, swept an arm across his body, and bowed in the deepest, courtly fashion he could muster. “Please, come in.” He stood tall. “Is that better?”
Rose smiled. “Nice mustache.” She pointed out the shaving he’d given himself before meeting with Captain Deacon. “You look like a true Milanese gentleman. Did I detect a hint of an accent as well?” She dropped her arms and marched into the room. “What happened in Ottoburg?”
“I thought you wanted to talk about Skiggi?” He thickened his accent to assume his old persona.
Rose twisted her head to shoot Augustus a hateful glare, then plopped herself on a neatly dressed bed. The curls in her hair bounced. “You should be home in your big comfortable mansion, sharing dinner with your family. What brought you all the way to Caliacra?” Gus tried to speak, but Rose cut him short: “Nearly a week after you left, the Imperial Exemplar was attacked, and several barrels of gunpowder exploded and killed some elves. People said it was Milanese espionage. Odd things.” She tapped her cheek with her right index finger. “Then we find you here—a long way from home.”
“I left before any of that took place,” Gus said. “My father wasn’t so happy to see me after all.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rose didn’t hide her insincerity. “Members of the Holy Order were shadowing us from the moment we arrived in Ottoburg, but you know how holy men are. They don’t like our kind. Then Dori found a priest searching through our wagon. Needless to say, I was furious, but we didn’t want to draw the ire of an inquisitor, so we just packed up and left. But they followed us. We abandoned our wagon on the side of the road and took to horseback, which helped us lose them—”
“Are you sure?” Augustus couldn’t hide his sincerity.
“You’re forgetting my elf senses, Gus,” Rose said. “I would know if they were still following us. They traveled on foot, slowly, methodically, keeping their distance. And that was the oddest thing. Why didn’t they show up in force and throw us in prison? Why were they just… following us?”
Gus kept his silence.
“You know why.” Rose lifted her nose ever so slightly. “They hoped we would lead them to you. Right?”
“Why would the Holy Order want me?” Augustus laughed as he shook his head.
“Maybe, if we put our heads together, we can figure that out,” Rose said. She winked at him. “Or.” Rose stood up and walked toward him. “You can stop playing games and tell me why the Holy Order is interested in me and my friends. I don’t want trouble with them, Gus. What have you gotten us into?”
If the Order is looking for Rose and the others, they’ll never be safe. I suppose she deserves to know. Augustus walked over to the open window and pushed its shutter back into place. “Okay.” He opened the door and checked the hall, ensuring no one was around to eavesdrop. “I feel bad about involving you, so I will tell you what I can. You’ll want to sit down.” He pointed at the chair by the window, but Rose chose the neatly folded bed behind her. “The Holy Order isn’t just a religious cult. Certain members use their station to leverage their political power—”
“Everyone knows the Temple is corrupt,” Rose interrupted. “What does this have to do with you and me?”
“It was corrupt at its inception,” Gus said. “The only aim was to strengthen Alexander’s grip around the throat of his subjects. Since its inception, the Order has been refined to operate with brutal efficiency. Sects are trained and dedicated to particular tasks. My sect specialized in espionage. I grew tired of that life and tried to leave to start a new life, but I knew too many secrets. They think I’m too dangerous to be set free into the world, and they’re probably right, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting more, for wanting a life of my own.”
Rose studied him. “So, what you’re saying is that the Holy Order is hunting me because I am associated with you?”
“Yes,” Gus said.
Rose’s eyes gleamed. “I knew I wasn’t crazy!”
“You shouldn’t look so amused,” Gus said. “They have an army of trained killers hunting me, and now they are hunting you. Tell the others. They should know. The Order’s influence stretches beyond any kingdom. Their resources are endless.”
“I’m glad you waited until it was too late to warn me.” Rose stood up and paced around the room. “The Holy Order. Alexander’s cult. They want you dead?”
Augustus shrugged. “I’m sure most of them do.”
Rose stomped her foot. “Brilliant! Damnit, Gus! And here I thought you saved me.” She wiped a stray curl from her forehead. “Of course, that would mean something too good to be true came my way.” She shook her head and turned away from Augustus, only to bury her face in her hands, trying to hide her tears, but an involuntary sniffle betrayed her.
“I’m sorry,” Gus said.
“I’m so stupid!” Rose wiped her palms on her breeches, then turned toward Gus. “How do we fix this?”
“This isn’t a debt that can be repaid.”
“There has to be something we can do!” Rose cried. Gus raised a finger to his lips. Rose scowled. “I’m not looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life,” she spoke in a measured cadence, hissing with frustration. “What about the Igni Iles? The Holy Order doesn’t have any monasteries on the islands. We could hide there.”
“The Order has agents stationed in every nation,” Gus said. “They’re in the courts, the banks, the ports, and the stable yards. We’d have to travel across the Solutan Sea, through the Deserts of Sia’mar and the jungles of Caynmo, to the furthest reaches of the Southern Continent. Even then, there are no guarantees.”
“What about Mirima Lande?” Rose asked. “Elves don’t worship Alexandria’s King.”
Gus crossed his arms over his chest. “The Sindari are not welcoming, and their domain is too close to Alexandria. You could hide there for a time—if the elves allowed it—but not likely. My brothers and I often contemplated this problem when we were young and willing to risk running away from the Temple. The best place to hide is on the Southern Continent, where locals are openly hostile toward devotees of the Holy Order.”
“So that’s where you’re going?” Rose asked. “Have you got a ship?”
“I have to do something first,” Gus said. “Something important.”
“What?” Rose cocked an eyebrow.
“I can’t tell you,” Gus said. “I’ve already told you too much. Take my advice and leave before it’s too late. Oscani traders have amnesty on the open seas. You can be on your way to a new life in a few days.”
“Gus, I am furious with you.” Rose clenched her fists and gritted her teeth as she spoke. “But you saved my life once, so I won’t let you go through all this alone.” She stepped toward him. “We’re going to figure this out together!” She emphasized the last word with a sharp slap across Gus’ face. “You bastard! You got me into this and will help me get out of it!” She parted a mess of tangled curls obstructing her eyes. “If we need to go south, we’re going down together.”
“I’m not going south.” Gus’ lip stung as he spoke. He wiped away a speck of blood from the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to rob a syndicate.”
Rose glared at him briefly, eyes red-ringed, her hair a red mess. She pulled a handkerchief from her breeches pocket, cleared her eyes of tears, and then handed it to Augustus. “Which Syndicate?”
Gus took the handkerchief. He cleaned the blood smear from his hand and dabbed his lip dry. “The Bianchi.”
Rose snickered.
“What?” Gus asked.
“Skiggi owes a man named Garau seventy-five silver circlings,” Rose said. “Garau is associated with the Bianchi Syndicate. We can kill two birds with one stone. If we hit the Bianchi, we’ll make enough money to save Skiggi and buy passage to the Southern Continent. It could work, Gus. What’s the plan?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to turn me over to the Holy Order?” Gus studied Rose.
Rose placed her hands on her hips. “Call me what you will, but I’m not a rat, Gus. I wouldn’t turn over a total stranger.” She began pacing again. “Now, if we rob the Bianchi, we’ll need to get out of town quickly, so we need to secure a ship. Skiggi and Dori will be happy to hear that.” She stopped. “They’ll be happy to see you, too, Gus.”
They can’t go with me to Chios. “I’ll take care of the Bianchi. Once I have the money, I’ll come and find you. Afterward, we’ll hop on a ship and sail for the Southern Continent. How does that sound for a plan?”
Rose narrowed her eyes. “Too good to be true. No. This time, I’m not letting you leave my sight.”
Will she sing the same tune once we have their money?