“It depends on the person. Some of the officers are more observant than others, sir. The reports on the searches might mention something like that.”
Guess he’d have to wait until later. In the meantime, what else needed repairs? Fishing boats. Just like the buildings, each boat needed extensive upkeep, and they’d been searched. Unless the boat was out to sea at that time. Suicide, unless magic was involved. Assuming a magician was on board, Valek mulled it over and found a flaw in his logic. The fishermen would notice if a boat sailed away during the storm season. They’d think the captain was insane and talk about that “damn fool” at all the local taverns.
No. The Storm Thieves couldn’t risk such odd behavior. Unless... Valek straightened. Unless they left before the storm season and never returned! They’d be considered lost at sea. No one would suspect them because they were all dead. A perfect alibi.
Valek asked Endre if any boats had disappeared during the fishing season.
“There are always a few that don’t come back. The Port Master in each town would have those records. Also Annika might know. When a ship is lost at sea, everyone gathers at the inn.” Endre paused. “Why is that important?”
He explained his theory.
“That would be a right smart trick. But why go to all the trouble? Living on a ship ain’t fun.”
“Are there places along the coast only accessible by boat?” Valek asked.
“Yeah. There’s a few. Up north there’s a couple coves hidden in those cliffs. Do you think they could be there?”
“It’s possible. Or they could be stocking up for a journey to Sitia.” Which would be a safer place for the magician to live.
“That’s too dangerous. Out of dozens of ships, only one has crossed the Rattles intact.”
But would a boat with a Stormdancer aboard be able to? Valek considered. The Rattles extended over a hundred miles into the Sunset Ocean from the knob of land jutting from the southern coast of MD-1, which was also the western edge of the Snake Forest. It twisted over underwater rocks, contained pockets of shallow water and created unpredictable riptides and strong currents. The sound of the turbulent water reminded sailors of rattlesnakes when they shook their tails in warning. And it fit perfectly with its location at the end of the Snake Forest.
A Stormdancer influenced the weather and not water, so Valek doubted having one on board would make a difference in an attempt to cross the Rattles. One thing Valek did know—the Storm Thieves must have a grander scheme than stealing in mind. Once he figured that out, they’d be easy to find.
Annika arrived with two steaming containers of seafood chowder for them. Valek’s stomach lurched in sudden hunger as the tangy, fishy aroma reached him. She served Valek first, but she gave Endre a sweet dimpled smile with his bowl. Ah. They’d been working together too long. In the past, he’d break them up and assign one to the other side of Ixia. But as Hedda had said, he’d changed. Valek no longer believed love or romance negatively affected an agent’s ability to do his or her duty. In fact, he thought it made them a stronger team.
Pah, you’ve gone soft, old man, Janco’s voice sounded in his head. He ignored it. Instead he asked Annika about the boats that had disappeared this year.
“There’s always a bunch that wreck or sink or catch fire,” she said. “Mostly those have a few survivors, but there were two that sailed from Gandrel and never came back. The Starfish and the Sea Serpent.”
“Do you know who captained the boats and worked on them?”
“No, sir, but the Port Master will have all that information.”
“Can you get the names for me without anyone knowing?”
She hesitated, then glanced at Endre. “Do you have any sleeping juice left?”
“Yep.”
“Then that would be a yes, sir,” she said to Valek. “The Port Master is a frequent customer.”
“What about the other towns?” Endre asked him. “There have to be other boats that disappeared.”
“The Stormers are from Gandrel.”
“How do you know?” Annika asked.
“You tell me,” he said. “What’s changed?”
She stared at the map in concentration. A section of her long brown hair fell in front of her face, and she tucked it behind her ear with an impatient tug. Her darker skin tone reminded him of Yelena.
Annika tapped on the map with her finger. “Stealing weapons from a security office is a dangerous hit.” She met Valek’s gaze. Long eyelashes framed lovely brown eyes. “There are a number of offices along the coast, but they picked Gandrel’s because they’re very familiar with the town. There’s no need to worry about getting lost while a storm rages when you know every street, and the chances of encountering an officer are smaller when you know their patrol patterns.”
Valek grinned. “Exactly.”
After Endre finished his chowder, he left to report to work. Valek asked Annika about the local gossip. “Anyone mention my name?”
“A few noticed you arriving in town, but they all assumed you’re here to help with the nets.”
Good. “How about speculation over these Stormers?”
“Lots of that, from the ridiculous—ghosts living in the clouds—to the mundane—local kids taking advantage of the weather. A couple folks think the security officers are making a big deal for nothing. So far, I haven’t heard anything of value.”
Annika returned to her job at the inn. Valek waited thirty minutes before finding a spot at the bar of the inn’s common room. He ordered an ale and listened to the various conversations around him.
“...best net caught on the blasted rocks and shredded like wet paper.”
“I wanted to ring his bloody neck...”
“I’d bet Nichel’s boy is behind all this trouble. Damn kid never did listen.”
“...fat cats at the garrison. You’d think they’d help us with these bastards.”
When Valek finished his ale, he inquired about work, and one of the boat captains said he needed an extra pair of hands. Then he climbed the stairs to his room, changed into his sneak suit and slipped out the window. He spent the next three hours reading reports. A couple of comments from the searches snagged his attention, and he wrote a list of buildings and shipyards to recheck. Overall, there wasn’t any information that challenged his theory.
Good. The sooner he could solve this and reunite with Yelena, the better.
* * *
Over the next couple days, Valek helped repair nets. His nimble fingers and skill at tying knots earned him a favorable reputation. The fishermen soon relaxed and Valek listened to their gossip. Eventually he steered the conversation to the lost ships.
“Everyone knows the risks you take when you step on that boat.” Pug looped new twine around a tear. His fingernails were black and he smelled like brine. “You expect a few losses, but it’s a heartbreaker regardless.”
“Yeah,” Joey agreed. He was one of the oldest men on the crew. “And sometimes you can guess who’s not coming back. I told Nell not to take on such a young, inexperienced crew, but she wouldn’t listen. What you get in energy and stamina, you lose in experience and plain old good sense.”
“Poor Nell.” Pug tsked. “At least those tadpoles didn’t leave behind younguns, but I’m sure their parents are beside themselves.”
Valek remembered Nell’s name from the Starfish’s manifest. Annika had copied it along with the Sea Serpent’s last night while the Port Master had been slumped over a table at the inn, snoring. The list of names hadn’t meant anything to him, but learning the crews’ ages helped. A person with children and a spouse wouldn’t be as likely to pretend to disappear at sea so he or she could become a thief.
After a few more questions, Valek would have bet money that the Starfish was the Storm Thieves’ ship. Now the next step would be to find it. There hadn’t been a break-in in over three weeks, and most of the fishermen believed the weapon raid was the last one. Only thirteen days remained until the start
of the warm season and the first safe day that the fleet could set sail.
Valek figured the Storm Thieves would make one more raid before lying low for the fishing seasons. He needed to review the stolen items again. Once he determined what was next on their list, he could anticipate their destination.
“We better finish this net today,” Pug said. He gazed at the sea. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
“Could be a big blow.” Joey massaged his stiff fingers.
“Any idea where it will hit?” Valek asked.
“If it’s big enough, it don’t matter. The whole coast gets punched,” Joey said. “If it’s smaller, then you follow the waves.”
“The waves?”
“Yeah. If the storm’s coming right at you, the waves are parallel to the shore, lined up like rolling pins on my granny’s table. If the waves are angled to the right, the storm’s moving north. Angled left means south.”
Valek studied the waves lapping under the dock. Rolling pins.
“Too soon to tell,” Joey said. “Look in the morning.”
“When will the storm hit?”
Pug squinted. “Tomorrow...maybe tomorrow night.”
Valek needed to hurry. He didn’t have much time to prepare.
18
LEIF
As he traveled to the Citadel, Leif’s thoughts kept returning to Irys’s comment about the twelve missing and four dead magicians. And Irys’s lack of intel about the attacks gnawed holes of worry in his guts, ruining his appetite. Irys could only speculate why—to regulate all the magicians. As for who, she suspected a group of influential and wealthy people was behind it, but she had no evidence.
The timing of the incidents matched with Yelena’s loss of magic. Almost right after she’d been shot with that damn poisoned arrow, the Cartel—Irys’s name for them—started their aggressive campaign against magicians. The only suspected member of the Cartel was Bruns Jewelrose, who’d hired The Mosquito to assassinate Yelena and supposedly the other four magicians. And perhaps he’d also targeted Ben Moon and Loris and Cilly Cloud Mist.
Unable to solve the puzzle while traveling, Leif forced his brooding thoughts to a different topic. Too bad yet another worry popped to the surface. Yelena. Through the super glass messenger, Irys told him the good news—that she’d returned to the Citadel with Ari and Janco—and the bad—she’d been arrested and interrogated by the Council.
Irys urged Leif to hurry so he could verify her story. Leif also carried detailed drawings that his father, Esau, provided to show the Sitian Council what Owen had been growing. Esau had refused to leave the glass hothouse until he had finished his investigation and found someone to properly care for the plants while they were gone.
Meanwhile, Yelena waited for Leif’s arrival instead of escaping. She wished to regain her positive status with the Council. But every day she remained in the jail, the greater the danger.
Sensing his mood, Rusalka picked up her pace. They rode on the main east-west route in the Featherstone lands. In two more days, he’d be home, but if he pushed it, he might shave off half a day. Of course that meant arriving late at night, when all the Councilors would be asleep, so he’d have to wait until morning to talk to them.
He grinned. Leif knew exactly how he wanted to spend those hours. In bed with his wife, Mara, who made the plainest housedress appear to be the height of fashion. Just wrapping his arms around her would ease the ache pulsing deep in his chest. And he’d breathe in her scent—the light aroma of ylang-ylang flower, combined with the sweet fragrance of the living green—and be home.
Instead of overnighting in an inn, Leif decided to stop to rest for just a couple hours. He’d find a merchant camp to join. The caravans tended to avoid the expense of a real bed and bivouacked along the road. With the warm season a few weeks away, many had started their first deliveries of the year.
A couple hours after sunset, Leif caught a whiff of molasses followed by the bitter tang of fear. Rusalka broke into a gallop as the shrill sounds of a horse in distress pierced the air.
When they turned a corner, a cloud of emotions struck him. Panic and fear the strongest. In the faint moonlight, he identified the black shapes. Horse. Wagon. Person.
As they drew closer, the shapes sharpened. Overturned wagon. Man about to be trampled by a panicked horse.
High-pitched squeals and cries emanated from underneath the wagon. The man shouted at the kids to be quiet. “You’re scaring the horse.”
Too late. Leif stopped Rusalka fifty feet before the scene. Her presence might make it worse. At least the children quieted to whimpers.
The man lurched forward in an attempt to grab the reins, causing the horse to rear again. Idiot didn’t know anything about horses. Leif dismounted, then approached slowly.
“Back away or you’re going to get hurt,” Leif ordered the man in an even, nonthreatening tone—more for the horse than the idiot.
The man whipped around. “Oh, thank fate! Can you help us?”
“Yes. Stand over there.” Leif pointed to a safe spot.
“But my children—”
“Will be fine, if you do everything I say.”
The man backed away to the place Leif had indicated. Leif drew in a breath and studied the horse’s body language. A wildness shone in its eyes as its sides heaved. Foamy sweat dripped from its body and it blew air from its nostrils. One of the wooden supports of the wagon had snapped in half, but the horse remained tethered. Crates littered the ground behind the overturned wagon.
Leif inched closer, keeping in the horse’s line of sight. He projected calming emotions, not sure if it’d work on a horse, but figured it couldn’t hurt. Talking to the horse in a steady voice, he approached. The horse shook, but didn’t rear. Leif kept his soothing tone and reached for the reins. He grasped them in his left hand. Then he stroked the horse’s nose and kept talking.
When the horse’s sides slowed and it no longer arched its neck, Leif said to the man, “Move slowly and come take the reins.”
The man followed his directions. Keeping his hands on the horse, Leif slid them back to the hitch.
“Daddy, what’s going on?” asked a little girl.
“Just wait, sweet pea. We need to free Doggie.”
Doggie? Leif glanced at the man.
“We let the kids name him,” he explained.
Better than Beach Bunny. Leif unhitched the wagon while keeping contact with the horse so it wouldn’t spook again. Then he removed the harness. It was slow and tedious work, but eventually, he freed Doggie. Leif led the horse to a nearby tree, then covered Doggie with his cloak to keep him warm until they could walk him to cool off. He returned to help the man free his children.
They lifted the broken wooden bed and four figures scrambled out as they righted the wagon.
Leif turned. “Is everyone all right? I’ve bandages and...” The kids were much taller than he’d expected, and the father pointed a loaded crossbow at Leif’s chest. Unease swirled into alarm.
Stupid.
“And?” the armed man prompted.
“And I just aided in my own ambush. Didn’t I?” Idiotic.
“You’re quick. It took that Hale fellow ages to understand.”
They have Hale? Why didn’t Irys tell me? He swallowed his fear and concentrated on the five assembled before him. No emotions emanated except from the “father.” The others must be wearing null shields. “Why go to all this trouble? You outnumber me.”
“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, if you caught a whiff of an ambush, you’d have been long gone.”
If it’s fun you want...let’s see how fun it is when your clothes are on fire. Leif concentrated.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Frent.”
A puff sounded right before a prick of pain burned on Leif’s neck. He yanked the dart from his skin, but knew it was too late. “Rusalka, go home!”
She galloped by as the woods spun around him. Sinking to his knees, his last thought
before the darkness rushed in was of Mara. Their reunion would have to wait. He hoped.
19
YELENA
Five steps. Turn. Five more steps. Turn. I paced along the twenty-seven iron bars of my cell. Even though I had used all my skills as the Liaison and convinced the Sitian Council I hadn’t been involved in espionage, treason or conspiring with the enemy, they still required my brother’s testimony in order to release us.
Five days. We’d been locked in here for one, two, three, four, five and turn, days. Leif had better hurry.
“You’re going to wear a hole in the soles of your boots,” Ari said.
I glared at him. He’d taken a philosophical view of the entire endeavor, using the time to rest. He’d claimed we’d need our energy for our eventual escape, which we’d already planned in detail so we could bolt at a moment’s notice. Of course it helped his calm attitude that Irys had smuggled in a couple of swords for him and Janco, just in case The Mosquito tried to take advantage of my incarceration.
“Yeah, better to do something constructive with your time,” Janco said.
Janco exercised by grasping the highest crossbar with both hands and pulling his body up off the floor. He’d taken his shirt off, exposing long, lean muscles rippling with the effort. Scars crisscrossing his back, arms and chest resembled a street map of a dense city. And he’d named each scar in remembrance of where and when he’d sustained the injury. The healed gash on his stomach and the matching mark on his back, he’d named “Yelena,” for the time he’d been run through with a sword and almost died. Janco swore I’d healed him.
“Pacing is also a form of burning off excess energy,” I said to Janco.
“I’m not burning. I’m keeping in shape. While Ari’s muscles turn to fat, mine will remain strong and ready for action.”
Ari shot to his feet. “I’ll show you ready for action.” He reached through the bars and clamped his huge hands around Janco’s narrow waist. With one yank, Ari pulled Janco off the bars and held him suspended over the floor.