It took Aran a while to find the Herradine, but he finally succeeded, finding the ship docked at the south-eastern Pier Ward, close to the large merchant warehouses along the harbour and the shipyard at Ninian Toll.
She was a large, well-kept cargo vessel suitable for about a crew of twenty-five, if Aran’s limited nautical knowledge was worth anything. She had two sturdy masts and purple and red sails being repaired by the few sailors who were on duty.
Aran spent a while observing the vessel from a narrow alley between two warehouses where cheap beer was sold from a small stall. He sipped his drink calmly, keeping an eye on the ship. Some twenty minutes later, Nataniel came into view from below deck. He talked to one of the sailors on deck for a little while and then left, not looking over his shoulder.
Aran glanced after Nataniel as he walked up a street that led north to Kaala Wharf. He would be incredibly surprised if the sailor were to blame for anything related to the murders, and in his mind, he had written him off as a suspect of anything. The man didn’t have a sneaky bone in his body. Sour, unapproachable, absolutely. But not murderously so.
It might pay off to just talk to some of his colleagues, however. If nothing else, then to pry about what happened to the patient named Eli, so he could close that avenue of inquiry and go back to the others with a full report. Shrugging, he approached the docked vessel and was stopped on the pier by one of the sailors, a large fellow with a scar down his cheek that made him seem like he was grinning.
“What d’ya want?” he asked, not as hostilely as his fearsome visage would suggest.
“I was wondering if I could talk to the captain or whoever is in charge,” Aran said. “I have been asked to look in on a man named Eli at the hospital and I need information.”
“Oi, he wants the captain,” the sailor said, punching one of the others on duty.
The man hurried below deck and came back a moment later accompanied by a woman of the small tribes. She was tall for her kind, roughly the height of a ten-year-old human, though considerably more muscled. She had bright green eyes and short red hair. There were quite a few scars on her weathered face and on her hands. She was dressed in practical, good quality trousers and a tunic with a finely tailored leather vest. Aran noticed two jewelled daggers in her belt and one in her boot.
“I’m Ara Golden, captain of the Herradine,” she said with a stern no-nonsense authority that made her seem much taller than she was. “You wanted to know about my quartermaster. Why?”
Aran weighed his chances. He could easily lie his way in and out of this, but he had a feeling Ara Golden would be asking him a lot of direct questions. “I would appreciate speaking with you in private, if you don’t mind?”
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She looked up at him for a moment, clearly evaluating him. Then she nodded. “Come with me,” she just said and turned to go. Aran dutifully followed her.
“I know your type. You stink of freelancer,” she said, turning to face him and crossing her arms when they were out of earshot in a small but well-appointed office. “So what is going on?”
“Some murders have happened, and Eli, possibly Nataniel Bargess as well, have come up in the investigation. I’m not trying to cast any blame; I just want more information.”
“Who’s gone and died, and how are Callantes and Bargess involved?” she asked.
“Beggars and prostitutes, and they aren’t directly involved, except…” Except Naia had weird feelings about Nataniel. Aran almost shook his head. “I just want to make certain I can cross them both off my list.”
“You lied your way onto my ship, so I ask you again: how are they involved?” the small woman stared pointedly at him.
“One of my colleagues is …sensitive. She believed Bargess, who lives in the house where one of the murders was committed, is central to the investigation. I disagree.” Aran shrugged. “But I still followed him and learned of …Callantes? Eli. I met him at the hospital, and I thought I’d round off my snooping here.”
“At least you are honest now. So, are either of them in trouble? I will fight for my people, as they would for me.” The small but imposing woman looked sternly at him, brows furrowed.
“I don’t believe Nataniel had anything to do with the murder. I had a feeling that Eli was hiding something, though. I think he might be more aware than he lets on. Why that is, though, I have no idea. But maybe you do?”
“What exactly are you accusing a very, very ill man of doing?” Captain Golden asked sharply.
“Ill, how? How did he end up at the hospital?”
“Answer my question! And not with another question this time. What are you accusing my quartermaster of?” Captain Golden demanded calmly.
“Right now, nothing. I doubt if he has anything to do with the murders. But if he does, then I’m accusing him of murder. As I said, I’m here to know enough so I can rule him out. Just tell me how ill he is, and I can ignore him going forward.” Aran held up his hands in a calming gesture and refused to buckle under the harsh stare of the captain of the Herradine. Her hands were resting on her hips, arms out to the sides to make her seem bigger, and close enough to her weapons to make him want to calm her down.
“Fine, I will tell you about Eli Callantes if you tell me who your employer is!”
“The Freelancers’ Guild is,” Aran answered promptly. “Those who have died have been affiliated with them.”
“Why in Tigla’s name would a sailor who is only here for a few months a year have an interest in guild politics? How do you suppose my quartermaster has any kind of stake in a local phenomenon he cannot possibly be involved in?”
“I am here to have it confirmed that he doesn’t have a reason to have killed anyone.”
She snorted and began pacing back and forth. “He fell ill on our voyage back from the Far Isles. We were caught in a storm that never ceased and supplies dwindled. We managed to find fresh water and some edibles on a tiny island as the storm let up and we laid a course back to Sonderport. On our way back, Callantes fell ill. He was really, seriously ill. Screaming in pain, babbling like a madman, and there was nothing anyone could do save knock him out to spare him the agony!” Captain Golden marched up and poked Aran hard in the chest, staring up at him with angry eyes. “He was as sick as it is possible to be, and nobody could find the cause. Not then, not at the hospital. He can’t even speak to me, as if I’m not even there. One of my most trusted officers who’s saved my life in battle. He would return to his station if he could. And that’s the end of it!” she barked. Then she made a dismissive gesture toward the pier. “Now get yourself off my ship!”