Pirate's Promise Page 5

  "Watch him, Saffron. I'll be back within the hour."

  *If he wakes, can I eat him?* Saffron licked his nose, then yawned to show his teeth.

  "No." Vreva steeled her nerves and prepared to step out. "Cockroaches are bad enough, my love. I draw the line at slavers."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  A single lit window along the dark street drew Vreva like a moth to a flame.

  Thank Calistria! He's still up.

  This particular wizard had a pesh habit that left him sleeping late, so he kept his shop open well into the evening. She checked the street and hurried across. A pall of smoke enveloped her as she pulled open the door. Vreva blinked to clear her eyes, tried not to breathe too deeply, and walked deferentially toward the counter. The wizard sat there inhaling narcotic smoke from a hookah. His rheumy eyes rose slowly from the tome he was reading.

  "What is it?"

  "My master wishes me to purchase a scroll for him, great wizard." She bent in a deep bow more suited to addressing royalty than a worn-out, magic-using pesh addict, but it had the desired effect. "He wishes to send a short message a long distance to a person he knows well."

  "Hmph." The wizard took another puff from his pipe and rose from his chair. "Such magic is expensive. This must be an important message."

  "My master doesn't tell me such things, great wizard." She bowed again.

  "It'd be cheaper if he came to my shop. I could cast the spell for him, and he could send the message through me. I'm very discreet." He rifled through a shelf of scrolls as he spoke, and pulled down a dusty old roll of vellum.

  "As you say, great wizard. I don't know such things. I do as my master bids me." This was not a message she wanted to be overheard.

  "Very well. It's no business of mine how your master wishes to spend his money."

  He put the scroll on the table and named an exorbitant price. After some expected haggling, Vreva handed over the money and took the scroll. She bowed again as she left the shop, but the old wizard was already back in his chair puffing on his hookah. If she was lucky, he wouldn't even remember the exchange.

  She found a deserted alley, cast a quick light spell, and broke the seal on the scroll. Composing the message posed more of a challenge than casting the scribed spell. She knew Fieson couldn't sail to Westcrown and sell his cargo of slaves. Aside from his moral impulses against slavery, he had undoubtedly already told them they were free and could not renege on that promise. But if he sailed for Almas, the slave galleys would surely take him at sea. There was only one place he could reach in time and disappear completely.

  Vreva cast the spell and whispered Fieson's name, recalling his face in her mind's eye. When she was sure the magic was working properly, she said, "Werreg's gift is a trap. Your true motives are known. Sail to Absalom, not Almas. Sell the gift and disappear. Do not get captured."

  His reply came instantly.

  "I can't dump three hundred freed slaves in Absalom! My cover would be completely blown! I'll dump his gift and take them to a little—"

  The magic faded, his reply unfinished.

  "Oh, for the love of Calistria!" Vreva threw the spent scroll against the wall in frustration. Fieson was no caster, and didn't know that the length of the message was limited. Now all she knew was that he wasn't going to do as she suggested. His cover was already in danger, and dumping Werreg's gift at sea would tell the slavers that he knew they were after him. That in turn would imply that someone had contacted him to warn him of the trap. They would know he had an accomplice here in Okeno.

  This was typical of Fieson. She had discovered the trap, and she was the one with the best information, yet, as usual, he thought he knew better. "The consuls may think I'm headstrong, but at least I'm not stupid!"

  Vreva breathed deeply to calm herself. She had no way to know what Fieson would do, and couldn't afford the time for another spell. She had to get back to Werreg before he woke. The slaver would undoubtedly insist on her undivided attention for the rest of the night. She quelled a surge of nausea and hurried home.

  Chapter Four

  Loyalty's Reward

  Werreg! What a pleasant—"

  "They've captured Devil's Dawn!" Werreg stood in Vreva's doorway, a triumphant expression distorting his fat face.

  "Oh?" The unwelcome pronouncement struck like a knife in her gut.

  "Three galleys surprised him just west of Kortos! He was on his way to Almas, not Westcrown." Striding past her to the sideboard, he poured a glass of wine and emptied it in a single draught.

  "I'd nearly forgotten your little plot." Vreva's mind leapt ahead to the potential consequences. If the slavers had taken Fieson alive and interrogated him, her neck could already be in the noose.

  *We should run!* Saffron yowled.

  She snapped her familiar a covert glare. They couldn't run away just yet. She had to discover how much the slavers knew about the abolitionists, not to mention her own involvement. If Werreg even hinted that she might be suspected, she would kill him and disappear. She closed the door and locked it.

  "Is that the reason you needed to see me so urgently?" Vreva struck a seductive pose and pouted. "The only reason?"

  "I thought you'd like to know." He looked crestfallen at her lack of reaction. He refilled his glass and poured one for her, bringing it to her with an ingratiating smile. "Templeton was your particular friend, after all."

  "He brought me wine." She took her glass. "This very vintage. He was no more my particular friend than any other hot-headed merchant captain." Vreva traced a line along the nerves below his ear with a finger. "Not like you, my dear Werreg."

  "But you did know him. And now you know that he was no true friend ...not like me." Werreg planted a wet kiss on her cheek, his hand caressing her hip.

  "Not like you at all." She touched her glass to his and sipped. Werreg gulped down the vintage and turned back to the sideboard for more. In his moment of inattention, Vreva cast a silent spell to delve his mind. She had no time for subtle seductions. She had to know what he knew.

  "The merchant council plans to make an example of him."

  "An example? How so?" Vreva focused on Werreg, willing her perceptions beyond his spoken words into his unspoken thoughts.

  "I can't tell you much, of course. This is still all hush-hush, but I can say that they're bringing Templeton and his ship back to Okeno." Empty, godsdammit! How the hell was the bastard able to offload his slaves before he was intercepted? I'd like to watch when the inquisitor takes him apart. That was supposed to be my profit!

  "A public execution?" An inquisitor was trouble. Fieson might be able to withstand questioning by the merchant council, but an inquisitor ...Despair for both Fieson and herself welled up in her.

  "After he's questioned, yes. He and his abolitionist crew will burn for all of Okeno to see." A sweet flame indeed!

  Vreva managed not to cringe at the vile image she pulled from Werreg's thoughts. "Questioned? I thought you already knew what he was doing."

  "We know he was freeing slaves, but we think he had help." A godsdamned spy in our midst! But we'll find the bastard and burn him, too.

  Two things gave Vreva a bit of hope: they hadn't interrogated Fieson yet, and Werreg thought of the assumed accomplice as "him," so they didn't suspect her yet. She had to make sure they never did. She might be able to salvage her anonymity if she acted quickly.

  "And they're bringing him here for questioning?" She forced a malicious smile. "I'd like to see that."

  "So would I! Unfortunately, the questioning will take place aboard Bloody Scourge, since Captain Nekhtal was in charge of the operation." Stupid jurisdictional foolishness. If only the Masks simply gave us the money to fund the operation and kept their noses out.

  The Masks, Vreva thought. So the Pactmasters are behind this. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of being taken by those mysterious creatures. Wrapped in secretive robes, and wearing hideous concealing masks, they ruled Katapesh as a plutocratic merchant
council. No spy dared try to infiltrate their inner sanctum, for it was madness simply to look upon their unmasked faces. Fortunately, they never left the capital city that gave Katapesh its name. Their agents, however, did.

  "When will they arrive? I'll have to make time in my schedule for the event."

  "They should be here in two days. Your schedule must be tight." Werreg sidled up to Vreva, his free hand caressing her hip again, and his thoughts taking a predictable turn. "Think you can fit me in?"

  Vreva could detect nothing further about Fieson through the depraved images filling the slaver's mind. She ended the spell before it turned her stomach. "I can always fit you in, dear Werreg." Gently, she pulled the wineglass from his grasp and manipulated him toward the door. "Don't forget to make an appointment ...on your way out."

  "Very well, my dear." He nodded and bowed in acquiescence.

  Even before the door closed, Vreva began to formulate a plan to ensure Fieson's silence.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "Well, if we do run into raiders in the desert, we probably won't have to fight 'em." Grogul mounted his camel and tapped it with his quirt. The ungainly animal lurched to its feet with a long grunt.

  "Why not?" Torius boarded his own mount and did likewise, his motions slightly less steady. Two days, and he was starting to feel the first real pangs of withdrawal.

  "Because they'll take one look at that gnome's contraption and die laughing."

  "You're just jealous because you didn't think of it!" Snick stuck her tongue out at the bosun. "It may not be pretty, but it'll revolutionize desert travel! I'm thinkin' of naming it something snappy! The Desert Rover, maybe."

  "How about the Barrel-mobile, or the Keg Roller?" Grogul laughed at the gnome's rude gesture.

  The wagon itself was not greatly modified, but the narrow wheels had been replaced by wide rollers that looked like ale barrels with half their staves removed, then plated with circumferential iron strips. They clattered horrendously on cobbled streets, but Snick assured them that the wagon would glide through sand like a ship on a gently rolling sea.

  "I just hope it holds together," murmured the driver. Dukkol was the only dwarf on Stargazer's crew, and also the only crew member with any experience driving a team of four mules.

  "She'll hold together fine!" Snick patted one of the wheels. "Just don't go too fast."

  "How fast is too fast?" If they ran into trouble, they might have to move quickly.

  "On hard ground, you better keep it down to a fast walk. On sand, I think you could go faster."

  "You think?" Torius wondered if this contrivance had undergone the same amount of testing as her ballistic weaponry. We'll find out soon enough.

  "We're ready!" he called out, and Celeste emerged from the shadow of the companionway. She quickly descended the gangplank, climbed up onto the wagon, and settled onto the seat beside Dukkol, looking perfectly human.

  Illusion or transformation? Torius wondered. Sometimes the only way he could tell was to touch her. Celeste would spend most of her time inside the wagon out of the sight of curious eyes, but she was determined to ride outside as much as her magic allowed. Her eyes were bright, and she fairly trembled in her eagerness to get underway. Sometimes he forgot how much the constant need for anonymity, sequestered aboard Stargazer for days at a time, affected her. Sights that passed unseen before his eyes due to familiarity, she gazed on with unsuppressed wonder, and he loved her all the more for that simple innocence.

  As if she had read his thoughts, Celeste turned toward him and winked. "Ready, my captain!"

  Torius surveyed their small expedition one final time. They had a dozen camels, eight bearing riders, while the others carried supplies. Additional provisions were packed in the wagon, though space had been set aside for Celeste to ride inside. He snapped his quirt to his camel's flanks, and the animal lurched into motion. The rest of the caravan fell in behind.

  "Have fun, Captain!"

  Torius turned in his saddle to wave to Snick. Thillion stood on Stargazer's cluttered quarterdeck, one hand raised in farewell. Torius knew his ship was in good hands, but he still didn't like the thought of leaving her. With effort, he turned away. Celeste rode with a disconcerted expression as the wagon's wheels clattered across the cobbles.

  "You okay?" At least the vehicle was drawing more stares than she was.

  "I'm fine, Torius." Celeste swallowed, her eagerness somewhat subdued by the jarring ride, and drew the cloth of her kaftan up to cover her face. "I just hope we get to the Observatory in one piece."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Vreva strolled along the bustling Okeno waterfront, gazing out from the shade of a parasol as if amused by the hubbub. The ships of the small armada that had apprehended Devil's Dawn were docking, and half the city had turned out. Saffron, tucked into the crook of his mistress's arm, functioned as Vreva's second pair of eyes. Together they scanned the crowd, avoiding those who might delay them. The inquisition of the prisoners was scheduled to start tomorrow. Vreva needed to see Fieson before that happened.

  The crew of the huge two-decker galley, Bloody Scourge, was busy securing dock lines as Vreva approached. On the quarterdeck the ship's tall captain stood beside the wheel, watching over his crew. She observed him for several minutes, assessing the information she had gathered about him, and trying to gauge his vulnerabilities.

  *Are you sure about this? He looks ...um ...* Saffron's quiet mews trailed off. Vreva shared his concern.

  "I'm sure, love." She stroked his neck and assessed her quarry. "He's just a man ...sort of."

  Captain Nekhtal stood head and shoulders above his helmsman, his shoulders straining at the seams of his jacket. His hard yellow eyes swept the pier, and Vreva felt them pass over her. His gray-green complexion and two prominent tusks protruding from his lower jaw marked his half-orc heritage, but Vreva knew a keen mind lurked beneath that jutting brow.

  Nekhtal's reputation for ruthlessness was legendary, which was probably why the Pactmasters chose him to pursue Devil's Dawn. As one of the most successful slaver captains in the fleet, Nekhtal was incredibly wealthy. She had also learned that he was a devout worshiper of the devil-god Asmodeus, married, and purportedly faithful, which was why Vreva had not previously made his acquaintance. If he had been one of her clients, this would have been easier.

  We'll see about that. A calm confidence settled over her.

  The jostling crowd parted to allow Vreva through. Gliding up to the gangway as the captain started to descend, she focused on him and cast a silent charm spell.

  "Captain Nekhtal." She curtsied as he stepped onto the quay. "I congratulate you on your victory."

  "You're Vreva Jhafae, aren't you?" His face remained impassive despite her spell.

  "How delightful that you recognize me." She beamed at him, pressing a hand to her décolletage to draw his eye. His eyes remained firmly fixed upon hers.

  "Few in Okeno wouldn't recognize you. Thank you for your good wishes, but I need to see to my ship."

  "Just a word, if I may, Captain." Vreva stepped forward and rested a hand on his thick forearm. She felt him tense. She didn't know if his discomfort was a good sign or bad, but she would find out soon. "I would very much like to congratulate you in a more ...intimate setting."

  He gave her a tight smile. "As much as I'd like to accept, madam, I'm—"

  "Happily married. Yes, I know." She trailed her hand away, caressing the nerves up to his elbow. "Please don't assume that I wish to interfere with that, Captain. I'd simply like to have you for dinner." She ran her tongue lightly over her upper lip and let her statement settle for a heartbeat before adding, "And your wife as well, if you would ask her to attend."

  "For ...dinner?" She watched his throat work as he swallowed. "Both of us?"

  "Of course, Captain. Many accept my hospitality in the company of their spouses, lovers, concubines, or any number of ...special friends. Please say you'll come; it would give me pleasure to honor one of your stature in
the fleet."

  "I'll ...have to ask my wife, but ..." Nekhtal swallowed again, and his green-tinged features flushed darker. "I think we would enjoy your company."

  "Oh, excellent!" She handed him a tiny sealed envelope. "Tonight then, at sunset. Just present that to Master Quopek at the Inn of the Eighth Sin. He has a most excellent chef, you know." She touched his arm again and leaned in. "Tell your lovely wife Jaliga that she's in for quite a treat."

  She smiled and turned away. The hook was set.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "Thank you, Captain." Vreva took Nekhtal's arm, grateful for the support as she ascended Bloody Scourge's gangplank. "I'm in your debt."

  "The debt has been paid." His deep voice carried notes of fatigue and mirth. "It's the least I could do after ...your hospitality."

  She gave him a smile and patted his hand. "It was my pleasure, Captain." That was a lie, of course. Vreva's evening with Nekhtal and Jaliga had recalled some of the more brutal elements of her training. It also taught her why the slaver had named his ship Bloody Scourge. Jaliga had a penchant for flagellation. Only a healing potion had allowed Vreva to avoid scars from the encounter. "I hope to entertain you both again. Now, however, I must see to this unpleasant task before the inquisitor arrives."

  "Of course. Betrayal by a friend can never be redressed, but I hope you achieve some satisfaction."

  As they stepped onto the deck, an incredible din of snarling and growling raised the hair on the back of Vreva's neck. She looked to the source, and her knees turned to water.

  "Oh!" She nearly fell before Nekhtal caught her.

  "Ha! Don't worry, it's just Rufus."

  Upon the quarterdeck paced the ugliest beast Vreva had ever seen, a caricature of a diseased bulldog bloated to monstrous proportions, its scaly hide covered with oozing pustules and thin patches of bristly hair. Teeth like daggers gnashed together as it snarled and barked, spattering thick strands of phlegm on the deck. A chain, secured by a sturdy eyebolt embedded in the mizzenmast, rattled back and forth as the creature paced.