Gherrit leaned on the rail of the coaster and watched the shore glide past. The channel led from the Great Harbour westwards and this part was fringed with forest. Mature saltwoods rose from the mud, their trunks emerging from a mesh of interlocking branches that kept the colony above the deep muck and alive in the face of tide and storm. Darter vines hung down close to the water. As he watched one struck at a fish, missed and coiled back. A gibbon hooted somewhere above and Gherrit smiled as it was answered by other hoots and cries. The coaster made a slow turn and the entrance came into view; before long they would be in the open sea, heading south for Keina in Freizean Canton. The mate had assured him that it only a long day’s run if the weather held. There was nothing to do but enjoy the breeze and the heave of the deck underfoot.
The mate was right; an hour before sunset the coaster turned to port and they tied up at the lone wharf just as the sun touched the western horizon. Gherrit had expected another of the small towns they had passed, modest clusters of housing with a few sheds devoted to the local industry and perhaps a boatyard or tide-mill and a mansion in a prominent place, the emblem of House Keinahuar proud on above the door. Keina was nothing more than a single dilapidated wharf, a litter of smallcraft drawn up on the shingle and a few shacks. He had made out a road climbing towards some buildings further up. Perhaps that was where the main town and House Keinahuar were? Inquiry with a local produced only a wave of the hand and a terse ‘Keinahuar? Up the hill.”
It did not look too far, the coaster would depart in the morning and Gherrit hoped to be on it. He picked up his belongings and started off, wondering if there would be a meal and a bed at the end or if he could just get the business done and return to the ship. The road was rough and steep, the night dark and his glowstone only illuminated the way a few steps to his front. Gherrit muttered curses as he felt his way, uneasily conscious of the thick brush to either hand. His duffle held only a few clothes and some travel necessities and lay easy on his back. The case with the documents was another matter – it was large enough to be awkward, had no shoulder-strap and bounced uncomfortably against his leg if he held it by the handle on top. After a hundred paces he took to carrying it under one arm, balanced on his hip like a small child. When one arm and hip grew sore he switched to the other.
The road twisted this way and that, the trees grew taller and when Gherrit paused and looked back the sea was no longer visible in the afterglow. It made the walk lonelier and the night blacker. He picked up the pace for a time then slackened as he apprehended a change in the atmosphere. The demon’s gift of ether-sight had been slowly fading, as a magician in Dtlag had guessed it would. It was still there, and now the night seemed thicker, the forest livelier, the stars dim in the haze more portentous. Gherrit slowed further as he realised that the mood of the land reminded him of the Hansippif. If it did not have the same pressure of hostile suspicion it had an untamed air. It could not be truly Wild, for the Wild did not tolerate settlement or law, but it was – restive? Skittish? Like an animal that hangs around for scraps and accepts the occasional kind word pet but will not come close was the image Gherrit formed.
Gherrit squared his shoulders, shuffled the case to the other hip and kept on, ears stretched eyes straining and nerves alert. When his heightened senses picked up a faint approaching glow he stepped to the side and shuttered his own light. One could not be sure what might come out of the dark. The glow grew to a wavering light, accompanied by a discontented muttering and a few louder curses following a stumble. An older man, jaw and nose sharply underlined by the light in his hand, came around a bend. He seemed harmless, as he wore the gear of a working fisherman and carried an empty but odorous basket on his back. When Gherrit stepped out and called he flailed wildly and snatched a long knife from his belt.
“Who’s there? Selm call you! Come out!”
Gherrit opened his light and came forward, apologetic, to ask if House Keinahuar were far. The fisher cursed him again before tersely informing him that no, it was not far, unless he stopped to play fool pranks, adding “and best keep a good pace. The carchits will be out when the moon rises.” With that he left, throwing out a last “worse every day, be down to the beach soon,” Gherrit did keep a good pace and before long came to cleared ground. A row of cottages on one side of the track faced a high stone fence on the other. The cottages were dark and even in the dim light Gherrit could see signs of neglect – a hole in a roof, a doorway vacant, a window shutter askew. A little further an ornate gate, still open, let him on to the grounds of a country manse where a lone lighted window shone on to an overgrown formal garden. Mindful of the carchits, Gherrit hastened up the drive and let the brass goblin beside the door know of his arrival, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. There was a hint of light over the forest; were those shadows or creatures on the lawn? He repeated his request, more urgently.
Any faint lingering belief that Pranik had told the truth of his errand vanished when the door opened on a hard-faced man armed and armoured, heavy blade in hand. He gestured Gherrit inside, shut the door smartly, threw the bolts and pressed some small object to the wood. A flare of lines told Gherrit of protections activated. The man sheathed the sword and frowned at Gherrit.
“Explain yourself.”
Gherrit smiled uncertainly. The man did not smile. Gherrit nevertheless ploughed on with his prepared speech. “I am a messenger and delegate signatory, here on behalf of Pranik & Sguirres of Daruz Alman. I have documents requiring the seal and signature of House Keinahuar.”
“Give.”
“My instructions are to witness and seal the documents.” Gherrit had decided to behave as if the instructions given him by Pranik were genuine, for he could not know what these people had been told. After all, he had the papers and the seals and they might go through with the pretence and let him go.
At the mention of a seal the man smiled. It was not a welcoming smile but something with teeth. “Ah, you’re the guy with the seal. Sure. Follow me.” He led off down the hallway, Gherrit perforce following. The hallway was dimly lit, the tiles cracked, the walls grimy, bare of ornament. Something skittered along the skirting and a patch of mould up high had a half-eaten mouse in its grip.
“Ah, my ship leaves mid-morning and I hope to be aboard,” ventured Gherrit.
The man stopped, turned, looked down at him. “You can leave tonight if you want. The carchits will have your feet and then the moleys will come for the rest, but up to you. Otherwise, stay quiet and the business will be done when it’s done.”
Gherrit nodded meekly and they walked on past warped doors and peeling paint. A picture reached out as they passed and the man batted her arm back, leaving a naked green-haired woman with a bruise and an injured expression. The next portrait, one of a hybrid of human and squid wriggling triumphant atop a mound of corpses, retreated into a corner. The man thrust open a door, kicking at the panels, and led down a flight of stairs into a corridor where the walls were bare stone. When this opened into a kitchen Gherrit’s mood lifted a little, for he had not eaten since noon. Another man much like the door-opener sat at a battered wooden table reading a book propped up in front of him. Gherrit’s ether-sight had told him that the first man’s sheathed knife was an Item; this man had one too, as well as a heavy bracelet on his right wrist. Now he gestured with that hand and a spoon lifted from the bench to give the pot on the hearthstone a stir. The man turned a page, ignoring their arrival. Gherrit’s guide simply filled two bowls, set them on the table and told Gherrit to eat if he were of a mind. The soup was spicy, thick with lentils and laced with small dumplings; Gherrit enjoyed it despite his nerves.
The man scraped up the last spoonful, belched and tapped the table. “Now we’ve fed you, hand over the papers and such and I’ll find you a bed for the night.”
Gherrit apologetically reiterated his instructions: he was to attest to the sealing of the documents, then counter-seal them. He had assumed this would be done by the House-Mother’s chief councillor. Were they available? Inwardly he doubted his plan would succeed if this man rummaged through the case.
“Chief councillor eh? I’ll get her.” The man heaved himself to his feet and left. The other glanced up from his book, again gave the soup a stir remotely and went back to reading.
Gherrit sat there trying not to show worry, although he did point out the lizard lowering a bucket on a length of string into the soup pot. The reader glanced over, caused the the spoon to rise and whack the lizard. It retreated hissing, the bucket dragging across the bench.
When the man returned it was with a woman of similar type: hard-faced, armed and equipped with several Items. Gherrit had suppressed his ability to see auras, for it was confusing in crowds and added little without training. He risked a peek at this woman’s to find it veiled in grey.
“You want to witness? Come with me and bring your document case. Rugher, you come too.” The reader placed a bookmark and closed the volume (The Pirate’s Unwilling Husband), buckled on the sword leaning against the table and fell in behind Gherrit. Down the corridor, Gherrit uncomfortably aware of the thug at his back, through a door, down another bare corridor to a door that was, to Gherrit’s sight, nearly an Item itself. The lock, hinges, iron bracing, studs and wood each glowed with etheric force. Gherrit supposed that House financial affairs needed strong protections; certainly Messer Pranik’s strong-room was heavily warded. The woman placed a hand on the door, murmured a phrase and it opened with silent grace. Gherrit halted until urged on by the prick of a sharp point at his neck.
The room was not devoted to finance. There were no ledgers or counting frames or filing cabinets. Gherrit saw a chamber with another door, a stone floor, a chair in the middle and a woman held in the chair by steel straps at waist and ankle. A hand-lock over one wrist prevented the use of craft and left the other hand was free to use the stylus and paper on a board before her. A bruise on one cheek attested to violence. Yet another hard-faced man leaned against a wall, a spanned crossbow beside him.
“What is this? I’m just a messenger,” protested Gherrit with as much conviction as he could muster.
“And a witness,” the chief reminded him. “You will witness as to whether your masters have done as they promised. I cannot say that you will be able to confirm this to them in person but rest assured they will know one way or the other. Rugher, be so good as to secure Gherrit where he has a view of proceedings. Gently – we may need him later.”
Gherrit was grasped, thrust against a wall and fastened there with a chain about his waist. The chief set the case on a bench, opened it, plonked the papers to one side and held up a small bag of yellow silk.
“Here we are. Are we clear on our roles? Rugher, Ksinio, stand ready. You” – to the woman in the chair – “will ask the questions set out on your sheet as written and record the answers. You can watch and learn,” she added aside to Gherrit.
The chief unpicked the seam of the bag with the utmost care, slid out a glass tablet and a slip of paper and held it to the light. Insofar as it was possible, Gherrit became more tense. Here was a weakness in his plans – how much detail had Pranik disclosed when offering the demon? Certainly not the Name, but had he included a description?
“Are there any hints on pronunciation you can give me?” she asked Gherrit.
“I don’t know what you are asking. Pronunciation of what?”
“Never mind.” Her mouth shaped sounds, testing, then “Pythoȉg, I call you. Pythoȉg, come! Pythoȉg!”
There was silence and the chief frowned, looked again at the paper, her mouth curved to call again. Her intention was forestalled by an irruption of lights. A figure composed of interlocking squares, rectangles and triangles hung in the centre of the room, each figure glowing bright, a glare of red and orange, blue and green and vivid yellow.
Rugher’s sword was out, the crossbow raised. The chief held up a hand and spoke to the woman in the chair. “Ask the first question.” Gherrit fractionally relaxed.
“Pythoȉg, what is the location of the largest part of that treasure known as the Brahnak Loot?’ Put in a voice with only a slight quaver.
The assemblage revolved to face her. “Below the point at the intersection of a line from your present position at 38.817062 degrees anti-sunwise of true north and a second line from my present position at 38.817061 degrees anti-sunwise of true north,” came the reply. The chair-woman scribbled the numbers down. The chief pursed her lips, frowned as she calculated the usefulness of the answer, took a moment to revise her instructions.
“Ask the second question but this time ask for bearings from your location and the Black Post in Brafa.”
“ Pythoȉg, where is the location of Asturgun se leise Kleizerach, as determined by bearings from this location and the Black Post in Brafa?”
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“Vertically above a point at the intersection of a line from your present position at 0.916742 degrees anti-sunwise of true north and a second line from the Black Post at Brafa 22.52364 degrees anti-sunwise of true east.”
The chief gave a satisfied grin, crossed to a bench and unrolled a map, then opened a drawer to take out a long ruler and a metal ring marked in degrees. At the sight of the ring Pythoȉg flashed a livid scarlet shot with black, then turned a vicious green and swept at her. Rugher reacted instantly, leaping into its path to execute a perfect thrust, sword parallel with the ground, leg extended behind. The blade vanished into an oncoming rectangle only to emerge behind the chief, bursting through her spine. The rectangle engulfed Rugher’s arm and turned sideways, severing it cleanly and sending a spray of blood across the room. As he fell screaming a triangle shot forward to cut the ring in half and then half again. The pieces made a thin tinkle as they hit the floor, in contrast to the clang of Rugher’s sword and the thud of the chief’s body. The panicking crossbowman raised his weapon and fired, only to have the bolt come back at him a hand-span from his forehead. The clatter of the crossbow joined the thud of his body.
Gherrit gaped at the mayhem and tugged at his chain. The woman in the chair was more decisive. She heaved herself sideways, overturning the chair to crash on to the floor. Her hand flashed out to grab the bracelet from Rugher’s severed wrist. A twist and flick of fingers lifted an iron rod from the chief’s belt, floated it over and touched it to her manacles. Rugher started to his feet, clutching the stump, she twisted again and his dagger left its sheath to slice across his throat, sending a second gout of blood to join the first. He slumped to the messy floor, twitching as his life drained away.
Gherrit could only watch as the woman rummaged through the chief’s clothing, pulled out a feather that released the hand-lock and pocketed a couple of small items, all the while keeping a wary eye on on Pythoȉg. The demon had reverted to calmer colours and was revolving slowly at knee height from the floor. Now free, the woman crossed to Gherrit and sprang the lock on his chain. He staggered away from the wall with a gasped thanks, trying to look anywhere but at the sprawl of bodies. That left the demon, the walls and the two doors.
“Do those keys open the doors?’ A test showed that they did not.
“They need the right words, possibly even her voice,” he was told.
“Well, we need to leave as soon as possible. These can’t be everyone here, in fact we left a man in the kitchen and he might have access.”
“I know that, I’m not an idiot. Now tell me how.”
Gherrit’s eye fell on the stylus where it had rolled away from her.
“I’ll show you. This is the one we came in and I think I know the way out from there. Stand away from the door.” He picked up the stylus and drew a large circle on the door, called out “ Pythoȉg!” and hurled himself aside. The demon flashed into rage and charged, the door shuddered, screeched, the etheric lines coiled, tangled, parted and the circle was obliterated along with a neat rectangle of door. Pythoȉg turned a smug shade of pink and spread itself across the ceiling. Gherrit hopped through, the erstwhile captive scooped up Rugher’s sword and followed and they ran down the corridor..
* * * *
Gherrit remembered the way to the front door with no trouble. A turn right, along, up the stairs, left at the top. Past the squid-man who gave them a wave, past the green-haired woman who blew a raspberry and skid to a halt before an obviously locked front door. Gherrit opened a side door streaked with rot to find a decayed parlour where tattered hangings competed in dilapidation with worm-eaten chairs and a hammer-phone missing a leg and most of its strings. Paned windows looked on to the lawn. Gherrit’s companion picked up a chair and smashed at the glass; the chair broke apart, leaving only more smudges on the dirty panes. Gherrit yelped as a piece bounced off his scalp. He shook his head and looked; the windows were bound by a net that drew together at a latch. He grabbed, lifted, the latch yielded with a creak and groan, the casement opened and they tumbled into the night.
“What about the carchids and moleys?” Gherrit managed as they ran through the gate and on to the road.
“The what?”
“Carchids and moleys. The locals said they come out after moonrise, which it is.” For the moon had risen, to throw sharp shadows across the track, confusing eye and foot.
“Likely won’t be anything I can’t handle. This place is not Wild yet, although it’s well on the way.” They jogged on, mindful of the ruts. Something with three wings, two beaks and purple eyes dived from the trees, circled close, hooted and vanished again.
“Was that a carchid?”
“How would I know? I’m Slevain by the way. Tertia of the Guardian Avengers.”
“Gherrit from Daruz Alman. I work in finance.”
Slevain snorted. She skipped a puddle and punted something like a rock with legs away into the bushes without breaking stride. “Finance and demon-wrangling.”
“I just knew it hates circles. I was delivering documents.” He shied away from a branch that tried to thrust scented berries into his face. Slevain caught a waft and told it she had no time for dalliance. On they ran, around the last bend and the shore lay before them, the coaster lying asleep at the jetty. When Slevain veered that way Gherrit called to her.
“They won’t leave until mid-morning and it’s the first place anyone will look. We’ll take a boat.” He ran over to the fishing craft and along until he found one with most of its gear aboard. “Here, help me push it out.”
“I can’t sail.”
“I can. Now heave.” The boat slid into the water, Gherrit held it in the shallows un-heeding of wet calves while Slevain boarded. On a last thought he fished a handful of silver from his pouch and laid it on the thwart of the next boat. Then a shove, a scramble to seat himself and fit oars and they were pulling away over the darkling water. The shore and its gaggle of shacks lay quiet in the moonlight.
“Where are we going?”
“First, well offshore, to foil spells of tracing.”
“Good thought. Selm likes privacy.”
Gherrit pulled steadily until the land was lost to view, then hauled up the single sail while Slevain held the tiller. A check for the pilot stars, a change of places and he was at the stern, tiller firm under one hand, sheet in the other. The boat came around and headed north and a little east, riding smoothly over the swells. The smell of old fish, wet rope and salt air was intensely nostalgic; he could again have been ten years old and out for a day with his grandfather instead of fleeing for his life from violent thugs. He had come home more than once on nights like this, when the moon laid a silver path on the sea and the stars were bright above. He gave himself time to settle before taking up the conversation with the dark lump that was Slevain in the shadow of the sail.
“Who were those people?”
Slevain’s voice came out of the dark, flat and clipped “A gang of Grey Cloaks who had made the house their base. The area is going Wild quite rapidly, so they had cover for their activities while still close to Mer Ammery.”
Gherrit had supposed that whoever Pranik was dealing with would not be lawful. Who were the Grey Cloaks? Slevain told him they were a craft order that funded itself through blackmail, intimidation, kidnapping, recovery of illegal debts and similar crimes. Other groups sought them out when they needed someone found and taught a lesson - anything from repayment with interest to a beating or a gruesome death. This was discomforting news to Gherrit.
“How did you fall into their hands?’
Slevain gave him the bare bones in that same flat voice. He could not see her face, but his ether-sight picked out an aura seething with emotions. Her captivity could not have been pleasant but he did not know how to approach the subject. “We look after women or, where we cannot, we avenge them. Someone paid the Grey Cloaks here to kidnap three women and ship them north. I hoped to find out where they went. I made a mistake.”
Gherrit tried to put numbers to the picture in his mind. Pranik had sent him south what? One and a half months ago. It would have taken at least a week – probably more - to arrange the deal. The Grey Cloaks wanted to wring valuable information from the demon; what had they done for Pranik three or more months ago that he owed them this favour? He could not recall the sudden death of any of their rivals nor rumours of any more skulduggery than was usual. Perhaps something to do with one of their correspondents? While one part of his mind kept watch on the sail and the feel of the tiller under his hand another gnawed away at the problem. Perhaps he was looking at the wrong part. Why had Pranik had the demon in the first place? When he had a set of accounts the first thing to do was set them in date order.
“Slevain, when were the women taken and when were you captured?”
“Nearly four months ago now. We traced them to Pelsie in Reghen and then on the north road. At first we thought they were bound for the Menghen lands but they veered back to the coast. We did rescue one but she could not tell us much, as she had been drugged most of the time. We had searchers looking from the Pia-Pia Wild around to the Rai Harbours.”
“When were you taken by the Grey Cloaks?” asked Gherrit again.
“Fifteen days ago.”
Gherrit thought it through. Ninety days ago Pranik had a demon-tablet. If he knew of Sthirothh he would want its answers but not want to question it himself, and also want secrecy. There were those unusual transactions Heini had mentioned: options on Hirrese cloth and Dravish spices that paid off handsomely when news came in of three ships missing. Had Sthirothh given Pranik the shipping news early? Around sixty days ago Pranik had negotiated the sale of Sthirothh to the Grey Cloaks, or perhaps the tablet was in payment of a debt. Why would Pranik owe the Grey Cloaks? His own arrival had been anticipated and the Grey Cloaks prepared to use Slevain to ask the questions – and suffer the consequences of failure to answer Sthirothh’s return questions. Pranik was clearly the prime mover in this scheme. Would the Grey Cloaks blame Pranik for the debacle at Keina as he had hoped?
He asked Slevain if she could guess at what the Grey Cloaks would do. The answer surprised him; she said they were pragmatists, not inclined to throw good money after bad or pursue vengeance for its own sake. If they could not quickly find Gherrit and Slevain they would likely flee Keina before a squad of Guardian Avengers arrived. Speaking of which, where were they bound?
“We should reach Mer Ammery before sunset tomorrow. Or we can put in at one of the places on this side and cut across rather than round Pierrin Point. We could be there before noon if we did that, if we can hire a cart.”
“Grey Cloaks stole what money we had. And everything else.” There was a bitter edge to her voice and a roil in her aura.
“I have some money.”
“Right. Finance guy.”
Gherrit let the talk lapse. If Slevain was right that the Grey Cloaks would not pursue a vendetta his plans had to alter. Or did they? A blade made of fear could cut as deep as one of steel and Pranik might run to the Procuracy in the belief that the Grey Cloaks were remorseless assassins. He pictured that, eased the sheet a trifle as the sail shivered and found he was thirsty.
“Slevain, is there any drinking water on board?”
“If not I can gather some,” came the reply and Slevain’s outline shifted as she hunted through the gear forward. Another moment and then the trickle of water falling into a container. Gherrit could see the flare of craft in action. Slevain took a gulp and passed the jug to him. The cool water washed away worries and made decision easier. He would put in on this side of the peninsula and hire transport to Mer Ammery. There was no reason to delay his own affairs and the sooner Slevain was back among friends the better for her.