The captain shared a look with the watcher, weighing the value of winning this argument against getting to bed at a decent hour. “All right, commodore. You can have your shooter, but I’m keeping the other.”
“I think not. The other is an accomplice. They are both guilty of violations against the very sky we of the Fleet patrol. I’ll have them both, or I’ll have you both.”
Detan stiffened as he and Tibs became the subject of the watch-captain’s scrutiny. He wanted to twist Laella’s ear for putting them on display. They were no fighting men, they couldn’t hold the old watch-captain and the watcher if they’d wanted to. He forced himself to stand straight, yet easy, forced his fingertips to play over the grip of his cutlass as if he knew what to do with it. He could only hope it looked good enough.
The watch-captain sighed. “Two lousy thieves are not worth all this bickering. I assume you two are capable of overseeing the transport?”
“Aye, sir,” Tibs said.
“Good, follow me.”
The captain waved the other watcher back to his business and led their motley party across the lobby. He paused at a large desk, a horseshoe of a thing taking up half the room, and rifled through a stack of folders until he found the one he wanted.
“Your name please, commodore?” He blotted a pen and poised it above a sheet of paper.
“Laella Eradin.”
Detan blanched. Her real name. Unless the family name was faked, but he had no reason to doubt that the impervious girl was a member of the Mercer Eradin family. His stomach churned in panic as the captain’s hoary brows rose. Throwing out a heavily Valathean name like that would work in any backwater town, like Cracked Thorn, but here? In the largest port on the southern coast? Detan held his breath.
“I see. And your ship?”
“The Mirror,” Laella said, not the slightest hitch of hesitation in her voice. At least she hadn’t said Larkspur.
“Never heard of it,” the captain said, eyeing her. He had yet to write any of this information down.
“I do not see how your ignorance is my problem. Hurry up, I do not wish to lose the wind.”
Detan cringed. Never sound impatient when you’ve roused a mark’s suspicions, he thought, but it was far too late to teach the girl that now.
To Detan’s immense relief, the captain shrugged, scribbled in his notes, and left the folder open on the counter to dry. Spinning a ring of keys around his finger, he bade them follow him down a wide corridor, growing narrower with every step. The labeled doors of watcher offices gave way to blank wooden planks and then, after a short jaunt up a flight of steps, row upon row of heavily iron-banded doors. There was far too much wood being used for construction in this city. He missed the old stone methods of the Scorched’s interior, where trees were rarer than a woman willing to smile at him.
Lanterns hung between each door, but still the hall felt dark, oppressive. Just like every other jail cell he’d ever had the misfortune of visiting. Even if he never planned on staying long, something about that gloom always clung to him, weighed him down. Detan fidgeted with the handle of the cutlass he didn’t know how to use, anxious to be back out under the sky.
Midway down the hall a guard sat astride a tall stool, his coat unbuttoned and crumpled at a sloppy angle. Detan smirked a little. Ripka would never allow one of her watchers to nap while on guard, let alone dress so poorly. Aransa had lost itself one blasted fine watch-captain when Thratia had made Ripka walk the Black Wash.
“Pedar!” The captain sped his stride. “Wake up, you oaf. We have Fleet visitors!”
He grabbed the man’s skewed lapels, and the guard’s head lolled to the side. A trickle of blood rolled down from the corner of his lips. “Pits below!” He pressed his fingers against the guard’s neck to check his pulse.
“Is he all right?” Detan blurted, taking a half step forward. Laella threw a sharp eye on him – a Fleetie would never take excess action without direct orders from their commodore.
“I don’t blasted know! Go call for a cursed apothik.”
They hesitated, not wanting to break up their group without a plan in place. “How should I know where to get an apothik?” Detan asked. “I’ve never been in your tower before.”
“Go,” Laella said to the captain. She stepped forward and slipped her hand beneath the injured guard’s neck to support his head. “I’ll look after the man – we’d take too long finding our way.”
The captain nodded and eased the guard’s weight into Laella’s hold. For a man easily twice Detan’s age, he certainly hustled as he ran down the hall the way they’d come, calling a name Detan couldn’t quite make out. When he disappeared down the steps, Detan rushed over to the guard and claimed his keyring.
“If Pelkaia started the party without me, I swear to the pits…” he muttered, keeping his voice low in case Pedar could overhear.
“What do you mean?” Laella asked, poking at the man’s sallow cheeks.
“Whose handiwork do you think that is?” Tibs waved a hand toward the guard.
Laella paled. “Oh…”
“Which one?” Detan asked Tibs.
“Third to your left for Pelkaia, then two down again for Coss.”
“How in the clear skies do you know that?” Laella demanded.
“Got a look at the release forms.” Tibs shrugged.
“We’ve been doing…” Detan waved a hand through the air as if to encompass the whole world as he strode off toward the first cell Tibs indicated “…this for a while. You get used to it. You learn where to look.”
He jammed the skeleton key in its slot and twisted, then flung the door open. Empty. Swearing himself blue, he hustled down to Coss’s supposed cell and flung it open, too.
Empty.
“Thrice-cursed woman.” He slapped the wall with an open palm and winced. His anger hadn’t all boiled off yet. He needed to calm down, and chasing Pelly through a damp city wasn’t helping matters much.
“Hurry on now,” Tibs urged. Detan glanced his way – Tibs was busy pulling Laella away from the injured man. “He’ll be fine, help’s on the way, and Pelkaia’ll be making her way back to the ship – we gotta beat her back before–”
“What in the pits are you doing?” the watch-captain yelled down the hall, his wizened face red with anger and exertion, and probably a touch of fear. Two apothiks trailed him, the women’s white aprons threatening to bring up some mighty uncomfortable memories.
Detan swallowed his past, abandoned his plans, and strode toward the captain, shaking the keys to distract the man from Laella’s stunned expression.
“You idiot watchers! The prisoners have escaped!”
“What?” The captain stopped mid-stride, aghast.
“Bloody empty!” Tibs jerked his thumb at the opened cells. One of the apothiks gasped.
The captain recovered his composure with admirable speed. Pointing at the apothik who had gasped, he said, “You, go ring the alarm.”
“Y-yes, sir!” She whirled and sprinted down the stairs while her compatriot advanced upon the injured guard.
Detan turned to make eye contact with Tibs, hoping the wiry old bastard would have something in mind. Tibs raised his brows at him in question.
The great brass bells of the watchtower began to ring, the boom of them thundering straight through to his heart.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Coss threw her a stink eye through the shadow of the alcove in which they hid, pressed up hard against the cold stone as they waited for footsteps to dwindle down the hall.