The question here was one of motivation. Rashed claimed that lasting safety could only be achieved by destroying the hunter. If this were true, then Ratboy would stay and fight. But tonight, Rashed appeared less rational than usual. In fact, he seemed to be functioning from a standpoint of pure revenge. Vengeance was a luxury. Ratboy had no interest in luxuries.
And what exactly was driving Teesha toward flight? Was it a sensible desire for survival or some perverse wish to keep Rashed from further combat with that hunter? He sometimes believed that he understood her a great deal more than Rashed did. Their leader viewed Teesha as a lovely creature to be protected, as the fragile heart of this little family. Ratboy knew she possessed the ability to care, even to love, but she had always been ruled by her own drives and desires, and she knew how to work Rashed like her own personal, life-size toy soldier.
But lately her actions were difficult to gauge. He suspected her feelings for Rashed were beginning to outweigh her own survival instincts.
And for all his resentment of Rashed, Ratboy did acknowledge his uses. And Ratboy certainly knew he didn't want to be alone. But problem solving wasn't one of his strengths. He wanted to follow the course of action that would stop this hunter's vendetta and allow them to continue existing. But which course was that? Flight or fight?
Cool air blew in from the sea, causing piles of dust from the blackened wreckage to rise and drift away.
"Oh, Rashed," Teesha said in genuine regret while examining the remnants of their home, "I'm so sorry."
She walked over and gently touched his shoulder in comfort. He did not move or acknowledge her.
"Well, we aren't going to find anything of value here," Ratboy said sensibly. "Do we feed, run, or start tracking the hunters? I say we should all agree on our next move before doing anything."
Teesha smiled at him gratefully. Her concern for Rashed's state of mind was becoming obvious. Actually, Ratboy was growing worried as well.
"You're both fools if you look to him for decisions," a hollow voice said.
Edwan appeared near Teesha in his usual horrific state. Although Ratboy wasn't exactly unnerved by the ghost's macabre appearance, he'd never learned to regard Edwan as anything but an erratically useful aberration.
This was a night of new expressions. Teesha almost frowned.
"My dear," she said to Edwan. "We are in a rather bad way tonight. I wish you would attempt to be helpful."
"That hunter is not a charlatan," he answered angrily, his long, yellow hair moving as his severed head jerked toward his wife. "She's a dhampir, born to hunt and kill your kind. You will not defeat her. If you stay here, you will all die a true death and join me."
Rashed finally turned away from the burned warehouse. "How do you know this?" he asked of the ghost. "Every time we talk, you have more tragic or critical news to share."
"There is a stranger living at The Velvet Rose. He knows many things. I heard him tell her." Edwan's words faltered slightly, and Ratboy knew communication on a physical level was becoming more difficult for the ghost with each passing season. "He's strong-not like the others. Something about him…"
"So how badly injured is the hunter?" Rashed asked bluntly.
"Not at all," Edwan answered. "The half-elf fed her his blood, and she healed like one of you."
Rashed shook his head almost sadly.
"Long years in this physical realm are affecting you. Dhampirs only exist in stories. Offspring of a mortal and vampire? Our kind cannot procreate. You know that."
Ratboy wasn't so certain. "Corische used to talk to me sometimes when he fell into black moods, and his favorite subject was always our strengths and weaknesses and abilities. He told me once that it takes our bodies a bit of time to completely alter. I don't know why. But he said that in the first days after being turned, it was still possible for an undead to conceive or create a child."
"This is pointless." Rashed waved him away like an annoying insect. "If she is something beyond human, then the need to kill her is increased not reduced."
"Well then, my lord," Ratboy drawled, "perhaps we ought to try a different tactic. The two of us would have killed her last night were it not for the half-elf, the blacksmith, and that damned dog. No one else in this town will help her. If we rob her of any present assistance, she will be alone."
Teesha nodded, her face intense. Ratboy could just glimpse her smooth, white stomach through the rip in her red gown.
"Yes, Rashed," she said. "If we kill her friends first and then destroy her, will you take us away from here? We can rebuild someplace else?"
His voice softened, and he stepped over to stand behind her petite form. "Of course. We can't stay in Miiska."
"One on one is the only way," Ratboy put in. "Less chance of being seen."
"All right then," Teesha said, almost happily. "I will take the blacksmith… no, Edwan, don't be concerned. He lives in solitude. I will sing him to sweet sleep before he even knows what's happening."
"I'll take the half-elf," Ratboy said in resignation. "I can use the dog to lure him off by himself. Although to deal with the dog, I may have to use something vile and mortal like a crossbow." He smiled. "Or maybe an ax."
"You're both certain?" Rashed asked. "I know they're just mortals, but don't try anything unless you can each draw the blacksmith and half-elf off by themselves."
"Don't be so protective," Teesha answered. "I know how to control a mortal."
That much was true, Ratboy mused. She knew how to control immortals as well.
Rashed wanted the hunter's blood tonight, but Ratboy could tell this new plan made sense.
"Decided then," the tall undead said, more to himself than anyone. "Her friends die now, and we'll track her down tomorrow. Then we'll be free to go."
Edwan watched this entire exchange in silence, but his form was exuding a cold that even bothered Ratboy-who never felt the cold.
"And what will you be doing while the two of them are out murdering this hunter's followers?" the ghost asked Rashed.
Rashed stepped back in calm determination. The sea wind blew against his torn tunic. "There's only one hole in the belly of that ship. Otherwise, it's intact. I'm going to try to repair it and push it off the ground."
At first, Magiere found the thought of serving customers at The Sea Lion that night to be absurd. She could not believe Leesil had made a public announcement that they would be open for business.
Caleb quickly put together a simple mutton soup, and Leesil bought bread from Karlin's bakeshop. They tried to lay the convalescing Chap on Leesil's bed and close the bedroom door, but he whined and pawed at the door so much that Magiere relented and brought him back downstairs. All his wounds were nearly healed, but he still moved slowly and carefully. As long as he lay quietly by the fire and pretended to keep watch, he could stay in the common room with everyone else.
Once people began arriving to drink ale and talk, her spirits lifted slightly. Leesil's instincts were correct yet again. The inn was transformed into a place of life, food, and chatter. She'd spent too much time with death lately.
Her clientele was slightly altered. Fewer dockworkers came, but more shopkeepers and market-dwellers walked through the door and shouted greetings. Of course, she could always count on a variety of sailors. Several fishermen's wives made a fuss over Leesil's face, and he in turn soaked up the attention like a dry sea sponge.
Magiere poured tankards of ale and goblets of wine, the new glass goblets purchased as a gift by some of the local folk. Leesil helped Caleb serve soup until the supper crowd was sated, and then he started up a loud faro game. Too loud for her tastes, perhaps, but half the room alternated in and out of players' positions, the other half shouting or cursing at the luck of the cards.