When Deyilan had mentioned an information source, Chrys envisaged a meeting in some dark and secluded corner, conducted in whispers. Or possibly some robed impostor, hunched over a crystal ball, offering elusive hints of what the future held. Madame Zelenka’s Advice and Facilitation Bureau was a light and airy room on the upper floor of an ordinary building. It contained no skulls or stuffed animals and no strange devices, and Madame Zelenka conducted business in an ordinary voice. Her questions were simply-phrased and to the point, and she offered a brisk summation of their requirements.

“You wish to know of treasures obtainable with moderate to severe risk, preferably within no more than one month’s travel but not in Saka or Brahnak lands. My initial fee is eight silver leaves. For this I will provide a list of any opportunities that meet your requirements, with a brief outline of each. Further information on any particular site or persons is an additional fifty leaves. If you agree I will compile the list while you wait. My assistant will bring refreshments.”

The terms seemed reasonable. They relaxed into chairs set around a large window looking out into the gulf, sipped tea and ate the snacks of seaweed, pickles and spiced nuts brought by Madame Zelenka’s personable assistant. Madame herself returned as they were poured a second cup, holding a single sheet.

“I have here five opportunities that meet your requirements. In decreasing order of difficulty, they are the Brahnak Loot, the wreck of the Trade’s Increase, the hoard of the dragon Zell-Zashche, the Castle of Unreturn and the tower of the Magician Praghol the Fearful.”

Chrys had noticed Cardnial stiffen at the mention of the Trade’s Increase. “Can you tell us a little more?” she asked.

“My information suggests that the Brahnak Loot has passed through to the next link of the Necklace. Word-magic would fail you and body-magic would be unreliable. Also, you would know none of the languages or customs, so locating the Loot would be problematic.”

“We’ll pass on that one,” said Grymwer.

“The Trade’s Increase carried the wealth of a number of people of very significant means. It lies twenty-five fathoms deep in waters infested with sea-monsters.”

“And on that one too,” went on Grymwer. Cardnial’s face expressed both regret and relief.

“Zell-Zashche recently attacked a dwarf-hold and so is open to retaliation. She is a mature dragon, and her hoard is quite large.”

“Maybe,” was Grymwer’s comment.

“The Castle of Unreturn is said to contain a treasure of great value. It is guarded by ferocious creatures and magical wards but, as the name indicates, none have come back to report on its inner secrets.”

“And the last?”

“Praghol the Fearful set demons to guard his tower. He is long dead but the demons remain. The general view is that he must have had something worth so great a protection.”

“Or he may just have been fearful,” Chrys said. Madame Zelenka nodded. “I’m not fighting demons on the off-chance that a mad magician had something more than a few trinkets.”

“So, the dragon or the castle?” asked Grymwer. It did not take long to settle on the castle once Aitonala pointed out dwarves would probably lodge a claim to a share of the dragon’s hoard in the event they dealt with Zell-Zashche.

The dossier on the Castle of Unreturn ran to three close-written pages. The first thing they noted was the location, across the gulf on the Dravish shore. Madame Zelenka produced a chart of current sailings and smoothly offered to book passage for them.

“There are no sailings from Lagash for some weeks, but for a small fee I can send a bat to reserve berths on the Dicey Lady. She leaves Umma on the evening tide four days hence.”

There was some risk in taking Hassani back into Saka land, but they thought it small. Deyilan offered to arrange for a boat to Umma and they departed to complete their errands in Lagash.

* * * *

The last stop next day was an alchemist’s shop near the Gate of Shame. Deyilan explained that the name derived from the practice of expelling those convicted of fraud through the gate, naked and with a rope halter about their necks. The custom had not been used since the conviction of a member of the Cabal. Chrys picked up the run of Healing potion they had ordered, while Aitonala browsed in the curtained area at the back of the shop.

Deyilan and Aitonala strolled back through Lagash’s twisty streets, pausing from time to time to admire an entertainer, savour the smell from a food stall or inspect the varied merchandise on display. A little ahead, Chrys and Cardnial did the same.

“This could be useful on a sea-trip,” Aitonala said, fingering a green hooded cloak. The shop-owner bustled forward.

“”Indeed madam. Pure tide-slug cloth, treated to be water-proof, light, yet warm when needed. For you, a special end-of-the-day price!”

As Aitonala dickered the price down to a reasonable figure, Deyilan idly scanned their surroundings. The shop-keeper was wrapping her purchase when he laid a hand on Aitonala’s arm.

“Jhoudzan and two thugs are coming this way. I would rather avoid them.” Aitonala took the parcel and turned to look. The trio in question were some distance away, Jhoudzan conspicuous in her bright red uniform, the two with her standing out only because of the stout sticks they swung.

Deyilan looked about, then stepped rapidly on. “We’ll go through the cloth-drying hall; there’s a back door on to Straight Street.” He turned to climb a set of shallow steps up to a large open door.

Aitonala leapt up level with Deyilan. “Wait! How do you know it’s not a...look out above!” A flicker of movement had caught her eye and she shoved Deyilan hard, pushing herself to the right. A crossbow bolt gouged into the floor just behind where he had stood. A voice cursed from a gallery above. They both righted themselves and ran forward under the gallery, where they would be out of the line of fire, then halted as another figure came from the other end of the hall.

Aitonala looked around. The drying hall was a large open room, its floor so splotched and swirled with dyes that it looked more like marble than timber. Walkways ran around the walls at two levels, joined by bridging galleries. Wooden rods hung from above, the ropes neatly tied off on belaying rails. No long cloths hung from these now, but she could imagine the place as a maze of shifting colours when in use. Even as she assessed the ground she dropped into a fighter’s stance and drew a dart from her jerkin. Beside her, Deyilan had drawn sword and dagger.

The man facing them was kitted out for a fight – sleeved mail shirt, gauntlets, helmet, shield on arm, sword in hand even if now pointing down. He took a slow step forward and spat a phrase in staccato Corillionese. Deyilan replied in liquid Saka.

“Arrest? What for? Me and my friends are just out for a walk, Zannerkhsh.”

“I don’t need a reason to pick up scum like you,” Zannerkhsh replied. His gaze shifted to Aitonala. “Put the sewing needle away and maybe you’ll get off lightly.”

She glanced at the dart. “This? It’s not for sewing. I’m so good with it I could nail your sword hand to the hilt before it could move.”

Zannerkhsh snorted as his eyes flicked to his armoured hand. Aitonala promptly threw the dart into his leg.

“I missed,” she said, and ran for the stairs. “Keep him busy,” she shouted over her shoulder.

There was a curse and the scrape of steel behind her. She swung around the banister pillar and started up, taking the steps three at a time. As she reached the first landing a look to her left showed another armoured figure running across the bridge, shield and sword up. Retreat would not serve, nor running up to the next walkway. She needed to keep him in play and away from the fight downstairs, but had no mind to try close quarters with only her dagger. She gave a scream, charged down the bridge and at the last minute leapt to the rail and launched herself at the hanging rods. Her hands closed on the wood, she swung forward to the next, then to the one after, flipped her body up on to the next rod and then over the rail to the walkway. As she had hoped, her enemy had lumbered after her on the walkway and was now ten steps away. She twisted fingers, twined her arms and opened her mouth to emit the Piercing Moan. The face below the helmet turned red as veins broke, blood burst from the eyes and he stumbled as ears and balance failed. Aitonala started forward, stamping on the boards. There was a wild flail of the sword, a lurch that sent a hip into the rail, a tilt and a plummet to the floor below. The crack of armour hitting unyielding wood over-rode the thump of boots, gasps and clangs.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Aitonala took a quick look. Deyilan had evidently taken her advice, for he circled at some distance from the more heavily-armed but slower Zannerkhsh, sword and dagger at guard, intent on defence. As Aitonala ran for the stairs the odds changed as Jhoudzan ran in. Deyilan shifted to keep Zannerkhsh between himself and the newcomer but she had taken no more than two steps when Zannerkhsh suddenly bent double, sword drooping, then threw up. At least it won’t stain the floor was Aitonala’s thought as she sprinted for the stairs.

Deyilan did not hesitate. Before the retching Zannerkhsh could recover he had jumped in to stab down into the exposed neck, then back, guard up, to confront Jhoudzan. Aitonala took the last four steps in one bound. Joudzhan turned, saw Chrys and Cardnial at the door, hurled a curse and collapsed. Before they could react, her clothes were a jumble on the floor and a large fly was buzzing straight for the high windows.

“Just can’t leave you alone,” Chrys drawled. She spoke a Word and the angry cloud boiling above her head disappeared.

“That’s Dtlag, and Verdu and now this. Are we going to leave every town two steps ahead of trouble?” was Cardnial’s complaint.

“More like two steps behind,” Aitonala rejoined. “That was a neat trick with the fly. Can all the guard turn into vermin?”

“I take it your dart was the reason Zannerkhsh lost his lunch?” asked Deyilan. Aitonala picked up the dart and showed him the bright green tip.

“Patin. Produces severe cramps, nausea, blurred vision, sometimes loss of consciousness. It can be a bit slow to take effect if resisted. You owe me for one dose.”

“It did the job.” He looked around. “Two dead guards, both part of Jol’s con. One fled, and I presume she will report back to Jol once she returns to her usual shape. Unless we get lucky and a swallow or a bat finds her first. Where did the thugs go?”

“They decided this wasn’t their fight when they saw Chrys approaching with lightning overhead,” Cardnial told him.

Deyilan gave a puff of air. “I think I need to travel.”

Cardnial, ever practical, pointed out that leaving the bodies lying there was not the best idea. While a quick spell identified some Items, Deyilan found some stretchers and cloth in a storeroom. They exited on to Straight Street, four porters carrying decently-shrouded bundles. Deyilan led through alleys and narrow walks to a passageway at the back of a large house. Unlike most Lagash houses, this had many windows, all ablaze with light. Sounds of revelry came from within – music, laughter, the chatter of voices. Deyilan knocked on the back door and spoke briefly to one within. A very short time later the door was flung open and a woman of mature years, opulent figure and scanty dress emerged. She gave Deyilan a smacking kiss and an enveloping hug, adjusted her errant wardrobe and eyed his companions and their burdens with interest.

“What have you brought this time, Deyika?”

“Just trouble, auntie. Two dead guards from Jol’s lot. We just need to leave them some place they won’t be found for a few hours. They still have all their gear, so I thought a few of the lads might do us a favour. I’m for out of town, so I need to pick up a few things. Can you send a boy to Ekkia at the docks – she’s staying at The Missing Shells, to tell her we’ll be there before slack water and we’re leaving tonight instead of tomorrow. We’ll meet her at the Tingle’s berth.”

“Sorry to hear that, Deyika. Me and the young ones will miss you.” She sniffed. “Jol’s lot, eh? Rubbish dump is the best place for them. Yeah, I dare say a few of the lads will be interested in the pickings. Just leave them under the tree in the garden. Ekkia at the Missing Shells, leaving tonight before slack water - I will send one of the kids.”

Deyilan turned to the others. “I just have to grab a few things and we can be off. I can meet you at the Safe Repose or you can wait.”

Chrys thought of the tangled path they had followed. “We’ll wait.”

Deyilan was as good as his word. A very short time later he and auntie re-emerged, him with a small sack over one shoulder, a shield on his back and an array of martial gear about his person.

“We have to go, auntie. The tide will be turning soon, and we still have stuff to do. Light a candle for my voyaging, will you?”

She nodded understandingly and gave Deyilan another massive hug, then turned to Chrys.

“Look after our boy, do you hear? And make him write when he can.”

Chrys smiled. “I will do my best. Here’s my hand on it.” She was instead pulled into a billowing embrace and sent on her way with a light smack on the rear.

Auntie bustled within, they laid the bodies in the garden and left for the Safe Repose.

* * * *

They slipped out of Lagash harbour on the tail of the ebb. The Tingle was a flush-decked cutter, fast and weatherly but not roomy. Ekkia ordered all but Deyilan below as soon as they boarded as she said they would just be a nuisance on deck. They sat in the warm smelly dark hearing thumps and rattles from above, feeling the vessel peel away from its moorings, ghost across the still water and then begin to dip and roll as it passed the mole. The movement quickened as Ekkia put on more sail, provoking groans from Bajur and Aitonala. The hatch above slid back and the outline of Deyilan’s head showed against the stars.

“You can come up on deck now, but remember to keep one hand for the ship at all times. We’re going south-about, and we’ll be hitting the tide-race off Big Crab Reef soon.”

They felt their way up the short ladder on to the sloping deck and were motioned to a place along the weather rail where they were out of the way. The Tingle had settled into a swooping glide, checked every so often by a short wave that threw spray back over the bow. Starlight glimmered on the water, Lagash Island was a dark mass speckled with points of light against the northern sky, the sails pale curves above. It was some time since Chrys had been at sea and she had not realised how much she missed it. She leaned back against the low rail and drank in the air greedily. Bajur and Aitonala were torn between delight at the novel experience and unease at the motion. As the cutter hit the choppy cross-currents off the reefs their unease deepened. The Tingle bounced from crest to crest, lurched sideways as waves smacked into the bow, dipped her head into the black water then lifted sharply to toss it back. Ekkia stood braced, meeting each shove with a firm hand on the tiller. Even Chrys felt a tinge of internal discomfort and the two novices gave up the struggle. Deyilan shrugged and passed a line around their waists.

When dawn came the Tingle was heading west and a little south into more open water. Forested shores showed on both quarters, fringed with lacy white where currents met the innumerable reefs that guarded Lagash. The hills of Liwy Island were barely-discernible bumps against the western horizon. Chrys had snatched a few hours sleep in a hanging cot and now came back on deck, lured by the wafting smell of breakfast from the tiny galley forward. Ekkia had stood down and a grizzled seaman now handled the tiller. Aitonala and Bajur were asleep below, exhausted.

The sun was not more than barely up when Chrys settled down on the fore-peak with a hot mug and a bowl of mixed egg and vegetables. She had finished the bowl and was sipping contentedly from the mug when Grymwer joined her. He nudged a mat over with his foot and sat down with his own mug and bowl.

“You look tired.” Chrys commented.

“I am. Hassani kept me up all night, yammering away about if she was found on Saka lands it was her arse on the line and how could we be so selfish and on and on. I finally told her if she did not shut up I would turn her in myself.” He rubbed his forehead. “I am really tempted to do it too, even if we would cop some punishment. She is such a bloody awkward bitch and I can’t get her out of my head. Most ghosts you can walk away from, but this one we carry around.”

Chrys patted his arm. “I’ll have a look into how to keep her quiet. Cardnial may know something.”

Grymwer accepted this with a tired grunt and dug into his bowl. After a while he re-opened the conversation.

“Cardnial described that black cloud spell you used in Lagash. Where did you get that?”

“It’s called the Menacing Cloud. I traded for it in Verdu but I didn’t get a chance to learn it until Lagash. It takes a lot of access and only delivers one major zap, but it says ‘powerful pissed-off magician here’ quite effectively. You are welcome to copy it.”

“Thanks. When we get to Umma.”

They sat and watched the light spread across the water and the hills of Liwy Island slowly rise from the sea. Mid-morning a revived Aitonala joined them, although she declined food, and at noon Bajur crept from his cot. He took Deyilan’s advice to stand holding to a shroud and keep his eyes on the horizon and by mid-afternoon was enjoying the trip. A final tack brought them into the crowded harbour at Umma as the day faded. The big mainsail came down and they edged up to a vacant berth under a single jib. As they tied up, Ekkia stumped forward, a big woman whose costume of red head-scarf, bright pantaloons, garish waistcoat and broad belt with three daggers fairly shouted ‘corsair’.

“Umma wharf, as promised, Master Deyilan. Even though I had to tear meself away from some fine doin’s to deliver you early.”

“My thanks, captain, to you and your crew. I have included a bonus for your trouble.” Deyilan passed her a heavy purse, which she handed to the mate. He vanished below, there came the chink of coins and “all correct, cap’n, and more than correct.” She grinned and told a crew member to assist with their baggage.