Барб Хенди - Dog in the Dark

“Those do smell good,” she said.

Chap huffed, and instead of stalking ahead, he trailed Leesil closely.

“Will you get off my heels?” Leesil grumbled.

Chap grumbled right back as they headed to the ... hotel where Wynn had sent them. Magiere wouldn’t forget to have a word with the sage about that. Suddenly Chap wasn’t on Leesil’s heels anymore. Magiere slowed and looked back.

There he was, stalled just short of a cutway between two shops they’d just passed; his ears were perked up. Leesil slowed ahead and turned at finding that no one was beside him anymore.

“What’s the matter?” Magiere called to Chap.

Leesil stepped back past Chap to look into the cutway’s mouth just as Magiere heard the sound of running feet. A small, dingy form burst out and slammed straight into Leesil. Skewers went flying and rolling across the cobbled street.

“What in the seven hells?” Leesil choked out.

Magiere looked down at a boy of about twelve, sitting on his butt and staring up at Leesil in terrified shock. He was pale and thin, his hair was filthy, and his short pants and stained shirt were severely tattered. He wore nothing else against the cold night except a pair of hide-and-twine sandals. Stranger than that, he was soaked from head to toe.

The boy scrambled into a crouch, and before Magiere could ask him anything, he looked wildly about, the whites of his eyes exposed in the dark. He glanced once into the cutway and then bolted down the street before anyone could stop him.

The boy skidded to a stop after only four lunging steps.

Magiere heard shouts and more running feet off in that direction.

The boy whirled around and stared at the two people in his way. He didn’t even flinch at the sight of Chap, but he was shaking either from cold or fright or both. He fixed on her.

“Help ... please,” he begged.

Another set of running feet echoed out of the cutway.

“What did you do?” Magiere asked.

He wasn’t carrying anything, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tossed aside something he’d stolen. Thievery was likely in a port like this.

“Nothing!” he nearly shouted, and then covered his mouth in panic.

Leesil stepped closer. “Answer her,” he managed to say clearly. “What you do?”

As he looked into the boy’s eyes, an uncomfortable feeling grew in Leesil’s gut. He’d seen that haunted—no, hunted—look too many times in his life before meeting Magiere. Where he’d grown up in the Warlands, it was so common that everyone there learned to glance away and hurry off before it was too late.

“Nothing!” the boy whimpered. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

Shouts and pounding footfalls grew. Chap began rumbling, watching the cutway’s mouth and the open street, but he glanced once at Leesil.

—Whatever—you do—do not—let—Magiere—act—

Leesil lunged in and grabbed the boy’s shirt. He pulled the urchin around and shoved him off into Magiere’s hands.

“Up against the wall, and watch him!” he ordered in Belaskian. “You guard him and leave the rest to us.”

At least in that she might stay out of whatever was coming.

Magiere shook her head. “What are you going to—?”

“Do it ... please!”

With a frown, Magiere backed to the street’s side and pulled the boy out of sight into the shadows of a shop’s landing. She pushed him down behind a railing and remained there. Almost in the same instant, a taller form shot out of the cutway. Leesil was already crouched, playing at picking up the scattered skewers.

Chap snarled and snapped, and the man pulled up short, scrambling backward at the sight of a huge wolf.

“You ... slow!” Leesil snarled in Numanese. “Break my food!”

Three more stocky men rounded the corner from out of a side street down the way. They stalled at the sight of him and the other man held at bay by Chap. As they came up the street more slowly, Leesil whispered to Chap in Belaskian.

“Put that one down if he moves!”

All of them were dressed alike in leather and canvas attire. They didn’t strike Leesil as constabulary, if this port even had such. Two of the three carried wooden cudgels in hand, and all wore sabers or shortswords sheathed on their heavy studded belts.

He’d seen their kind before—too many times—in childhood.

“Did a boy run past here?” the first man barked, his stubble-shadowed face twisted in suspicion.

Leesil scoffed, as if annoyed. “Boy? Yes, boy. Little beast knock ... food ... over.” He rose with only two skewers in hand and pointed off beyond the trio. “Went there.”

At a mumble from the one without a cudgel, the other two took off down the street. The one giving the orders lingered, looking Leesil over from his slightly slanted amber eyes and white-blond hair to the strange weapons strapped to his thighs.

“Come on,” he barked at the one Chap had cornered. “Stupid runt doubled back toward the docks without knowing it.”

The one at the cutway’s mouth inched away but kept his eyes locked on the large, growling wolf, and then he took off after the other two. The apparent leader looked Leesil over once more and followed the rest. Soon they were gone from sight.

Magiere came out into the street, pulling the boy along by the shoulder of his shirt.

“Why are they after you?” she asked him.

“I jumped ship and swam for shore,” he whispered. “I couldn’t sneak off and take the pier, so I jumped.”

“So you are ... deserter?” Leesil asked, but even then he didn’t believe it.

The boy’s mouth opened, but all he did was shake his head.

Leesil looked down the street. Four armed sailors were chasing a boy for jumping off a ship? The uncomfortable feeling in his gut began to burn with anger.

“Why you on ship if not want be?” he asked as best he could, not certain he wanted the answer. “Where family ... Where you live?”

At the mention of “family,” the boy winced. Leesil waited for Chap, whose eyes fixed on the boy’s face.

—I think—those men—were—slavers— ... —We—should not—get—involved—

Something inside Leesil snapped. “We’re taking him with us.”

Magiere’s brow wrinkled. She glanced once at Chap, likely when he was explaining to her, and she exhaled, shaking her head. But Leesil knew she wouldn’t argue.

—No—we have—enough—problems—

“Those men will find him,” Leesil countered in Belaskian. “The boy hasn’t got a wit in his head the way he’s running around instead of finding a hiding-hole!”

The boy appeared even more leery at Leesil’s talking to a wolf in some strange tongue. He clutched himself in his wet clothes.

“What your name?” Leesil asked.

“Paolo,” the boy whispered.

“Come. You safe.”

Dänvârfij hoped they might turn failure into success this night, but she held that hope at bay. There was much to do. She had been more than relieved when Rhysís had earlier arrived at the shabby inn to report that the Cloud Queen was in dock and Én’nish was watching for their quarry. Soon they would know how to proceed.

Even Fréthfâre was less free with her barbs and focused on their purpose. Hunched in the room’s one chair and obviously in pain, she listened silently to everything Rhysís reported. Perhaps the ex-Covârleasa might for once use her influence to genuinely help.

While waiting, the three of them talked of possible tactics, depending upon what Én’nish reported upon her return, to trap their quarry. Dänvârfij’s relief came when Én’nish finally swung in through the open window.