Pirate's Promise Page 6

  "What ...is it?" Vreva was glad she hadn't brought Saffron.

  "A trollhound." Nekhtal's tone evinced his pride in the beast. "Best watchdog I've ever had. And as for running down escaped slaves, well, sometimes there's not a lot left, but he always gets his man."

  After that nasty surprise, Vreva felt eager to retreat to the bleak confines of the lower decks. The stench of human confinement thickened as they descended three steep stairways to the brig. Captain Nekhtal unlocked an iron-bound door, and ordered the two guards, "See to the lady's safety."

  "Aye, Captain."

  Nekhtal strode off, and the guards stood by. Vreva knew she wouldn't be allowed to see Fieson alone, but the guards presented a problem. If Fieson blurted out something stupid, she would be in trouble. She stood for a moment, girding herself for what was to come. A deep breath only intensified the stench of the nearby slave quarters. She suppressed a surge of nausea, and walked into the brig.

  In a pool of sickly yellow light from a lone lantern, Fieson Templeton hung in chains. People in chains were no oddity in Okeno, but seeing them on someone with whom she was so closely acquainted unearthed too many painful memories. Her gorge rose, but she forced it down, hardening her face until it felt carved from stone.

  "Hello, Vreva." He stirred just enough to make the manacles clatter. They hung from a peg over his head. Likely his shoulders were dislocated from days thus, but he looked otherwise unhurt. He had not yet been tortured. "Come to gloat?"

  Vreva stepped up and slapped him as hard as she could. Her palm stung with it, and the astonishment on his face and the chuckle from the guards told her that everyone was convinced of the sincerity of the blow.

  "How dare you speak to me!" She forced her voice to tremble with rage. "You used me! You bought my friendship with false gallantry and presents, just so you could spy on my friends!"

  "Vreva, I—"

  She slapped him again to abort any incautious words. "Quiet, you ...filth! I just wanted to see you before the inquisitor has her due."

  Fieson's eyes widened, and fear flashed in his eyes. He knew he was going to be interrogated, but apparently he had not known that an inquisitor would be doing the honors. When he returned his gaze to Vreva's, it only showed stoic defiance—the same sentiment that had gotten him captured.

  You poor, stupid man. Vreva plucked a pearl button from the front of her gown and held it up between them, blocking the guards' view with her body. Flicking her eyes toward the false pearl, she spoke harshly to Fieson.

  "Before the flames ease your pain, she'll crush you and learn what kind of spy you really are! And you will talk, Fieson!" She slapped him again, then jerked his face back to hers, covertly tucking the pearl between his lips with her thumb. "She'll learn all of your secrets, all of your accomplices, and all of your sins."

  "I'll tell them nothing, harlot!" Vreva heard the quiet crunch of the false button between his teeth, and watched the muscles of his throat flex.

  Fieson looked steadily into her eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what Vreva interpreted as thanks. The gesture nearly overcame her. For the first time, she regretted their adversarial relationship. He may be a fool, but he's a good man. She tried to say something else, to spit out a new invective, but the words wouldn't come. Vreva turned away, forcing her mien to remain stoic and vengeful. She couldn't allow the guards to see one whit of sorrow.

  Striding out of the brig, Vreva nearly collided with a tall woman in the narrow passage. She wore chainmail beneath a white tabard emblazoned with the golden key of Abadar, and carried a heavy case in one hand. An ornate repeating crossbow hung from one hip, and a glittering mace from the other. It seemed only logical that the Pactmasters, oligarchs of Katapesh, would hire an inquisitor of the god of merchants, wealth, and law. Her shrewd, golden eyes met Vreva's, and one dark eyebrow arched.

  "You're the courtesan, Vreva Jhafae, aren't you?" Her voice was low and resonant, her accent rolling and melodic, unmistakably Varisian.

  "I am." Vreva curtsied. "You're the inquisitor?"

  "Zarina Capoli, Abadar's servant, at your service." The woman nodded, her eyes lingering on Vreva far longer than necessary for a casual glance.

  The scrutiny unnerved her. As a well-known courtesan and acknowledged beauty, she was accustomed to being stared at, sometimes with jealousy, other times with esteem, often with lust. This look was none of those. This, she thought as she considered those golden eyes, might be the last thing the rabbit sees before the hawk plunges talons into its flesh. She bowed her head politely and tried to edge past. "If you would please excuse me ..."

  "Mistress Jhafae, I'd like to speak with you when my work here's done."

  A tingle of dread trickled down her spine. "I'm at your disposal. Simply call on me at the Inn of—"

  "I know where you live." The inquisitor's smile intensified the tingle.

  "Very good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm quite spent." She turned to go.

  "He was your friend, wasn't he?"

  "I thought so." Vreva put every bit of sincerity she could into her voice. "I was mistaken."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "Quite a spectacle." Vreva touched a perfumed handkerchief to her lip and smiled through her misery.

  "Yes, it is!" Quopek's amusement and the festive air of the crowd nauseated Vreva on a level that made lying with slavers pale by comparison. Devil's Dawn lay at anchor in the middle of Yellow Harbor, her yards stripped of sails, adorned only with the twelve dangling forms of her captain and crew. Unfortunately, they had not been hung by their necks. That would have been too easy a death to entertain this bloodthirsty crowd. The entire city had turned out for the event. Children ran and played, ladies fanned themselves and bought iced drinks, and gentlemen placed wagers on which of the condemned would fall first.

  A cheer rose up as the first fire arrow arched onto the galleon's oil-soaked deck. Vreva forced a cry of delight.

  Flames rose, and the forms in the rigging twisted and writhed in the heat. The toxin she'd given Fieson would spare him the agony, at least. It destroyed the peripheral nervous system of the victim, providing an increasing numbness, while leaving the mind clear and cognizant. Any weakness or lack of coordination on Fieson's part could have been easily attributed to his days in chains. By now, a day after consuming the toxin, he would be utterly numb.

  *This is disgusting,* her familiar said from the crook of her arm.

  "Hush, my love. It will be over soon."

  The cheers continued as the flames rose to engulf the entire ship. Eventually, the forlorn shapes stopped struggling, and the ropes burned through, sending them crashing to the burning deck. The spectacle subsided, and the merriment with it. Vreva sipped chilled wine and refused to let tears flow. Finally, after the masts fell and the ship sagged in the water, she turned to board the carriage back to the inn.

  "Excuse me, Mistress Jhafae."

  The familiar voice clutched at Vreva's heart like a ghoul's chill hand. She turned to find Zarina Capoli standing behind her, two city guards by her sides. The afternoon sun glared off the inquisitor's chainmail, and weapons. Vreva had never seen such a hard, sharp woman. Even her eyes gleamed like the tips of golden lances.

  Fieson must have talked ...

  "Inquisitor Capoli. How may I help you?" Vreva forced a smile and a curtsy, covertly plucking another false button from her gown. This was different than the one she had given Fieson. The poison was painless, quick, and lethal. She prepared herself for death, projecting a deep sorrow to Saffron, her only love in the world.

  *Don't!* her familiar yowled. *Please!*

  "I'd like to make an appointment with you, Mistress Jhafae. We have some business to conduct."

  "Oh?" Vreva raised her hand to scratch Saffron under the chin, bringing the deadly button close enough to pop into her mouth before they could stop her.

  Saffron struggled. *Let me down! I'll bite her and you can escape!*

  "What kind of business?" She projected a
feeling of resigned calm to Saffron, but still he struggled.

  The inquisitor's lips parted in an unexpected smile, changing her entire aspect. "Abadar's business. As you may have heard, we suspect that Captain Templeton had an accomplice. I'm told that you know virtually everyone in Okeno, whereas I know few. I'd like to discuss your client list with you."

  "My client list?" Vreva lowered the hand that held the pearl, daring to hope. Saffron stopped struggling, though she could still feel his unsheathed claws. "I'm rather heavily booked for the next few days, so ...perhaps over dinner this evening? Shall we say, seven o'clock? The Inn of the Eighth Sin has a wonderful chef."

  "Very good. I look forward to speaking with you." She nodded politely.

  "As do I." Vreva curtsied in response.

  The woman's smile widened before she turned to vanish into the crowd, still trailed by the city guards.

  "Well, that was ...unexpected," she whispered to Saffron.

  *You have a gift for understatement!* Saffron nuzzled her chin, his relief flooding through her. *That was better than a plate of raw chicken livers!*

  "Yes." Vreva boarded the carriage and allowed herself to breathe. "Yes, Saffron, my love, but was it a bit too perfect? Am I not a suspect at all, or does she just want me to believe that I'm not?" She eyed the false pearl in her hand and tucked it into a pocket, just in case.

  Chapter Five

  Unwelcome Guests

  The knock at the door sounded at precisely seven o'clock.

  *Well, at least she's punctual,* Saffron meowed.

  Vreva smoothed her modest gown and glanced around the apartment. The table was set with her best porcelain, silver, and crystal. Diaphanous drapes rippled in the breeze wafting through the open doors to the balcony. All was ready to welcome her guest. That included a hand crossbow loaded with an envenomed bolt hidden beneath the table, and an array of poisons secreted in the sideboard.

  "Watch her closely, especially when my back's turned. If she casts a spell, I need to know."

  Saffron meowed his agreement, and hopped up to the back of the divan.

  Vreva had never dealt with an inquisitor before, but she knew they were adept at spotting lies. Talking with Capoli would be like dancing on the edge of a sword—a single slip could be lethal. She would have to choose her words carefully. With a quick prayer to Calistria, she opened the door. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for what waited beyond.

  "Inquisitor Capoli." Vreva curtsied, flashed her best smile to hide her startlement, and swept her arm in a graceful arc. "Welcome to my humble home."

  "Thank you, Mistress Jhafae."

  Zarina Capoli entered the room looking nothing like she had at their previous two encounters. Instead of chainmail, she wore an emerald-green gown that draped simply yet elegantly over her broad shoulders, accented only by a golden chain around her waist hung with a gleaming key of Abadar and a bejeweled dagger. A small handbag completed the outfit. Her long, dark hair was no longer tied back in a severe queue, but flowed loose to the middle of her back. Previously, Vreva had been so caught up in the severity of the inquisitor's garb, mien, and actions, she hadn't noticed what a beautiful woman she was. Her eyes, the only feature that hadn't softened, swept around the room as if memorizing every detail.

  "Your decorations are very bold."

  "Thank you." Vreva shrugged. "I must admit, I love the color, but the frippery's not to my taste. I'm afraid I fell victim to the wiles of a fashionable Taldan decorator who insisted that I buy out his entire stock of brocade."

  "In Varisia, we say that colors carry power. Red's the color of lust, long life, and inner strength. You're still young, but as a courtesan, you must embody the other two aspects." Her mouth twisted in a crooked little smile that added sincerity.

  "And green?" Vreva nodded toward the inquisitor's dress. "What does that signify?"

  "Wisdom and self-control, but truly, I just like the color."

  "It's lovely on you." Wisdom and self-control. Vreva added that to her mental profile of Zarina Capoli.

  "I hope you don't mind that I'm dressed ..." She fluttered a hand and lapsed into Varisian. "...crovishka. I'm sorry. Sometimes I like my own language to say certain things. It means ‘for comfort, but in beauty.'"

  "Casual elegance?"

  "Exactly." Inquisitor Capoli's teeth flashed white against her olive skin. "I didn't see armor and weapons as necessary for a discussion of your client list, and chainmail isn't very comfortable."

  The inquisitor's nonchalance made Vreva edgier than if the woman had marched in fully armed, with a squad of guards on her heels. It was an old ploy to put the subject in a relaxed atmosphere and feign friendship to lower her guard. Well, two could play that game, and Vreva was a master.

  Smiling at her guest, she said, "Please, call me Vreva."

  The inquisitor nodded graciously. "Thank you. Such formalities are tiresome. Please call me Zarina."

  "Oh, good!" Vreva laughed lightly and strolled to the sideboard. "I was hoping we could make this more of a friendly discussion than an interrogation. Would you care for a drink before dinner?"

  "No, thank you. I should keep my head clear for our discussion." Zarina joined her at the sideboard. "I know the reputation that inquisitors have, but I want to assure you that it's often ill-deserved. I hope this can be a friendly encounter." Her eyes drifted over the bottles on the sideboard. "Captain Templeton brought you wine, didn't he?"

  "For many years, yes." Vreva sighed as if pained by the memory. She had known this line of questioning would come, just not so soon. If Zarina was trying to put her at ease, this was a strange way to do it. Perhaps the quick shifts were meant to rattle incautious answers out of her.

  "You seemed distraught when we met aboard Bloody Scourge." Zarina strolled to the other end of the sideboard and turned back to face her. "His betrayal must have struck you hard."

  "You're very astute, Zarina. I was distraught." Vreva poured wine into a glass, gazed into its crimson depths for a moment, then looked straight into the inquisitor's piercing golden eyes. "I'm a devotee of Calistria, as you no doubt deduced from the carvings on my apartment door. As such, I believe that carnal pleasure is a sacrament, a way of paying homage to my goddess. By seeking it out and sharing it with others, I sing her praises. When someone uses my devotion against me, I feel ...defiled."

  All of this was, of course, the truth. She just hoped that the inquisitor wasn't as familiar with Calistria's other two aspects, trickery and revenge, which she also embraced.

  "Fieson used me! He visited me whenever he was in port, lavished me with presents, even killed a man in defense of my honor. All of that was a lie." All true as well; there was no deceit in it for the inquisitor to detect.

  "I understand completely how you feel—as if you failed your goddess by allowing an infidel to take advantage of you." The sudden ferocity of Zarina's tone surprised Vreva. "I'm here to bring justice to those betrayed by Fieson Templeton!"

  Zarina took one long stride, her bearing suddenly aggressive. Vreva suppressed the urge to step back, not wanting to seem shaken by the inquisitor's proximity. Before she could form a reply, Zarina continued, her tone as hard as steel.

  "I worship Abadar with all my heart and soul. He's given us laws to keep us civilized, and His laws must be obeyed! I don't care for slavery personally, and neither does Abadar, for that matter, but it's legal commerce, and is therefore protected by the law. Fieson Templeton collaborated with those who would interfere with that trade. I'll do everything in my power to apprehend those who make a mockery of the law."

  Vreva could have purred. She had established a bond between them—each a devotee to her chosen deity—the first step toward trust. Assuming a mien of fervent agreement, she said, "I'll help you in any way I can, Zarina." Which, of course, is not at all. "Would you like to discuss my client list before dinner?"

  Zarina nodded, looking abashed at her outburst. "Yes, please. Business before pleasure. My work doesn't
always lend itself to pleasant dinner conversation."

  "Of course. If you would have a seat on the divan, I'll get my ledger." Vreva gazed longingly at the glass of wine she abandoned on the sideboard. This was going to be a challenging evening.

  Two hours later, Vreva was exhausted and famished. Her throat was parched from talking, and her nerves ragged from maintaining a semblance of casual cooperation. She'd plied Zarina with details—social, sexual, religious, and economic—that any courtesan might know about her clients, omitting the particulars obtained through the use of drugs or spells that no slaver in her right mind would have disclosed, making sure that every word was at least veiled in truth. Vreva was so accustomed to outright lying that telling so many half-truths was a struggle.

  Finally, Zarina rolled up the long scroll she'd used to take notes and sighed. "Red truly is your color, Vreva. Your profession requires great inner strength, dealing with such people as you do." The inquisitor's face grew pensive as she slid the scroll and box of writing implements into her tiny and evidently magically voluminous handbag.

  Vreva shrugged. "In the veneration of Calistria, much can be endured."

  "I understand. Some facets of my job are ...unpleasant. I don't like using ...physical discomfort to acquire information. It often yields erroneous results. People will tell you anything to make the pain stop. But some are just so stubborn! If they would only give me the information I need, I wouldn't have to resort to ...extremes."

  Vreva gazed at the woman, unsure what to think or how to continue a conversation that had strayed onto a very awkward subject.

  *Remind her she doesn't like torture if she finds out who you work for.*

  "Saffron, be nice and stop that awful howling." She caressed him, thankful for the distraction, but uncomfortable with the image his comment created in her mind. "I'm sorry, Zarina, but he's sometimes impatient when his dinner is late."