Барб Хенди - Dog in the Dark

He paused, lost in thought.

“And what?” Magiere asked.

Paolo looked uncertain at first, as if whatever he thought of confused him. “Some were kept apart. Somebody said they were craftsmen: carpenters and smiths. One time they pulled someone out to help mend the bonds. I think they called him a ... a ropewalker?”

Chap did not know that term.

“A shipyard,” Brot’an interrupted. “A ropewalker works the lines and machines that make the heavy cables for ships. The indentured servants in the hold are to be used for labor in a shipyard.”

“We’re getting them out,” Leesil said, switching back to Belaskian. “I don’t care what else is going on. I’m not letting that slaver leave the harbor with anyone in its hold!”

Chap had had enough. —No— ... —I feel—for them—but we cannot—stray from—our purpose—

Leesil ignored him and turned to Magiere. “I’m going to check out that ship. Are you coming?”

Chap eyed Magiere, who stood watching Leesil. She didn’t need to answer. She would never refuse her husband, even if a part of her disagreed, here and now. Chap struggled for any way to stop them, for as much as he, too, wished to help, he could not risk either of them being lost.

“Wait!” Brot’an barked, and he looked at the boy. “When did your ship dock?”

“Two days ago.”

“While on deck, did you hear of how long it would remain here?”

Paolo nodded. “Some of the crew said this was a good place for their ... needs. Maybe a while.”

Brot’an turned to Leesil. “That ship is not going anywhere tonight. Let me look it over in the morning. I can accomplish this without being noticed and return with what I learn. I can gauge the size of the crew and their capabilities better during the day.”

Leesil didn’t say anything, and his expression was unreadable.

“That does sound best,” Magiere put in. “We’ll have a better chance, if any, if we know what we’re up against.”

“All right.” Leesil finally answered, “but we will have a chance ... one way or another.”

By midmorning the follow day, Dänvârfij made one change in the watch rotation. Rhysís remained atop a warehouse and watching the port, while Eywodan and Tavithê held the Bashair . But Fréthfâre’s pain had grown worse in the night, so Dänvârfij had sent Én’nish to the inn. She took Én’nish’s place watching the hotel from a nearby rooftop.

As yet nothing useful had been learned regarding the Cloud Queen ’s length of stay. This made Dänvârfij anxious. Her quarry could be packing to leave even now, and she could not let them escape to open waters. Worry had plagued her since dawn as she tried to formulate alternatives.

Én’nish had not exaggerated about the hotel; it was a fortress. While watching the guards and the barred windows, Dänvârfij toyed with the notion of direct infiltration.

No, it was still better to set a trap for their quarry in the ...

The hotel’s front door opened.

A tall, cloaked figure emerged. Male, judging by height—excessive height for a human—he stepped out past the guards. Even though he was heavily cloaked, his movements were unmistakable.

Dänvârfij tilted her head to one side as she watched Brot’ân’duivé walk up the street.

If she could kill him now, Magiere and Léshil would be more vulnerable. This thought faded as quickly as it formed.

She could not take Brot’ân’duivé alone. Such an act would likely end in her death and leave her purpose unfulfilled. It was better to learn where he went and why, which might lead to solutions for getting their quarry into the open. She rose slightly, preparing to follow.

Brot’ân’duivé was walking the wrong way.

Dänvârfij had expected him to head toward the port. She stared in puzzlement as he moved inland. What other purpose could he have in this lawless human city? After letting him get one cross street ahead, she leaped silently to the next rooftop. A greimasg’äh could sense pursuit more easily than most, and she could not allow him to become aware of her.

He turned right down the next side street.

Dänvârfij dropped off the roof into a cutway and hurried for the back alley to which it connected. She peered around the corner to the alley’s intersection with the side street, and she watched every passerby crossing the far view.

Brot’ân’duivé never appeared, and her throat went dry.

On instinct, waiting, she looked back up the cutway. There was no sign of his having doubled back. She almost bolted down the alley toward the side street, but that would put her in the open in trying to find him. Instead, she spidered up a rear wall onto the rooftops and scanned the city in all directions.

Even if he had scaled a building to a roof along his way, it might mean she had been noticed. She saw no one in the heights. Could he have entered a building?

Crawling low to the rooftop’s edge, she looked down upon the side street lined with small dwellings—no shops or eateries. The other possibility was the alley along the backs of the buildings on the street’s far side. An unwanted fear washed over her.

Following this greimasg’äh into a shadowed place was unwise. It occurred to her that no matter what, the traitor would assume he might be trailed—it was in him both by his nature and training. He might have gone inland simply to throw off any hidden pursuit. There was only one way to be certain, and it was a blind choice.

Dänvârfij continued along the rooftops until she was forced to take to the streets, and then she raced for the port. If she could not find him, the others needed to be warned.

A greimasg’äh, now their enemy, was on the move.

Crouched in the far alley’s shadows, Brot’ân’duivé pulled a hidden bundle from under his arm and took off his heavy dun-colored cloak.

Earlier that morning, Mechaela had allowed him to go through a surprisingly large array of clothing “abandoned” by patrons over the years. He had borrowed a few things, including a bright cerulean cloak of light wool, more garish than he normally would have desired. The owner had been quite tall for a human, and so the cloak’s hem reached Brot’ân’duivé’s shins—adequate enough. He had also borrowed a pair of cream-colored suede boots, useless for anything besides fashion.

In most ports the vivid blue would have called attention to him—but not here. This harbor was a cacophony of wild attire from many lands, and he would blend even more easily than he would in anmaglâhk garb.

Wrapping his own boots inside the dun cloak, he pulled the cerulean cloak’s hood low over his eyes and stepped into the street. He kept his knees bent, adopting an affected slouch to minimize his notable height. At best he would be half a head shorter. That was all he could manage in his hurry, as he took a roundabout way toward the harbor’s southern end.

Brot’ân’duivé already knew he had been followed out of Delilah’s.

A change of clothing, stature, and gait might throw off pursuit once he mingled among the locals. As he neared the waterfront, the number of people in the streets multiplied. He slipped among them and shadowed a pair of overdressed gentry accompanied by heavily armed escorts. Peering from under the hood, he watched the rooftops and knew exactly where he would have placed sentries—if he had been in charge of hunting himself.

The barest hint of a figure wearing dark blue rose slightly over the crest of a warehouse roof.

It was sensible to assume that his enemies had abandoned their attire for disguises as well. What mattered was that the team was here in Drist. Their presence was no longer a guess.