Magiere eyed Chap, and Brot’an frowned, likely wondering what he had said to her.
“Perhaps Magiere and I should go,” Brot’an offered. “We speak the local language best.”
Chap didn’t care for that. Brot’an was after two things: getting Magiere alone for more questions and getting her out of Chap’s sight for that. Magiere apparently came to a similar conclusion.
“Leesil likes to pick out his own food, as does Chap,” she said, and looked at him again. “So we’ll bring him with us. Yes?”
This was clearly not a request. Chap wrinkled his jowls at her and wondered when she had become subtle about anything. She was quietly telling Brot’an that she would not go anywhere without Chap. At the same time, she would get Chap off the old assassin’s back.
“Well enough,” Brot’an answered.
With a grumble, Chap steeled himself to go off into another foreign city and leave Brot’an unwatched.
While Magiere didn’t particularly like this cesspit called Drist, she was relieved to have her weapons back as she walked the dark streets with only Leesil and Chap. Much as she’d come to care for Wayfarer, perhaps more than was wise, the girl was too easily frightened.
“What’s it going to be?” Leesil asked. “We could probably get anything we fancied around here.”
True enough, for Magiere had never seen so many races and cultures mingled in one place. The choices for warm, prepared food would be broad. She tried to smile at him.
“Just follow your nose,” she quipped, and then added more seriously, “but don’t think you’re settling in for anything else.”
Leesil snorted and sauntered onward. “Never crossed my mind. I’m sure half the citizens in this port can cheat better than me.”
Only a block away from the hotel, Chap’s ears rose. He began drooling like a hog at the sight of a slop bucket, and Magiere shook her head. Leesil wasn’t the only one to get them in trouble; she hoped Chap hadn’t picked up the scent of some rolling sausage cart. Instead, he steered a quick course and trotted out ahead.
Magiere hurried after, and around one corner she spotted a little brick eatery enveloped in a delicious aroma. Chap was already there by the time she and Leesil caught up. Once inside Chap again caused a fuss by just being a “wolf” ... or just being Chap. It didn’t help when he panicked a couple of old men by sticking his nose over the edge of their table, where they were trying to finish off their meal ... of sausages, of course.
“Stop that!” Magiere warned, grabbing him by the scruff and hauling him off to where Leesil had found an empty table.
As a dusky-skinned proprietor passed by with a tray, Leesil stopped him to inspect what he carried. Leesil pointed to a plate of skewers, each loaded to the ends with roasted chunks of meat, red potatoes, bits of onion, and sweet peppers.
“Five,” Leesil said, holding up a hand with outstretched fingers and thumb. “Five ... those ... to take away.”
Magiere shrugged at Chap. Leesil might be a disaster when it came to any tongue but his own, yet in this he didn’t need her to translate. The proprietor came back so soon that it was startling, which made Magiere wonder how long ago that food had been cooked and left to sit. Leesil gave it no mind, paid the man, and scooped up the five skewers, wrapped loosely in some strange flimsy waxed paper.
Their errand was finished faster than Magiere expected, and they were all outside once again. Part of her wished they’d stayed out a little longer, but they had what they were after, so they might as well go back and eat.
“Those do smell good,” she said.
Chap huffed, and instead of stalking ahead, he trailed Leesil closely.
“Will you get off my heels?” Leesil grumbled.
Chap grumbled right back as they headed to the ... hotel where Wynn had sent them. Magiere wouldn’t forget to have a word with the sage about that. Suddenly Chap wasn’t on Leesil’s heels anymore. Magiere slowed and looked back.
There he was, stalled just short of a cutway between two shops they’d just passed; his ears were perked up. Leesil slowed ahead and turned at finding that no one was beside him anymore.
“What’s the matter?” Magiere called to Chap.
Leesil stepped back past Chap to look into the cutway’s mouth just as Magiere heard the sound of running feet. A small, dingy form burst out and slammed straight into Leesil. Skewers went flying and rolling across the cobbled street.
“What in the seven hells?” Leesil choked out.
Magiere looked down at a boy of about twelve, sitting on his butt and staring up at Leesil in terrified shock. He was pale and thin, his hair was filthy, and his short pants and stained shirt were severely tattered. He wore nothing else against the cold night except a pair of hide-and-twine sandals. Stranger than that, he was soaked from head to toe.
The boy scrambled into a crouch, and before Magiere could ask him anything, he looked wildly about, the whites of his eyes exposed in the dark. He glanced once into the cutway and then bolted down the street before anyone could stop him.
The boy skidded to a stop after only four lunging steps.
Magiere heard shouts and more running feet off in that direction.
The boy whirled around and stared at the two people in his way. He didn’t even flinch at the sight of Chap, but he was shaking either from cold or fright or both. He fixed on her.
“Help ... please,” he begged.
Another set of running feet echoed out of the cutway.
“What did you do?” Magiere asked.
He wasn’t carrying anything, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tossed aside something he’d stolen. Thievery was likely in a port like this.
“Nothing!” he nearly shouted, and then covered his mouth in panic.
Leesil stepped closer. “Answer her,” he managed to say clearly. “What you do?”
As he looked into the boy’s eyes, an uncomfortable feeling grew in Leesil’s gut. He’d seen that haunted—no, hunted—look too many times in his life before meeting Magiere. Where he’d grown up in the Warlands, it was so common that everyone there learned to glance away and hurry off before it was too late.
“Nothing!” the boy whimpered. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”
Shouts and pounding footfalls grew. Chap began rumbling, watching the cutway’s mouth and the open street, but he glanced once at Leesil.
—Whatever—you do—do not—let—Magiere—act—
Leesil lunged in and grabbed the boy’s shirt. He pulled the urchin around and shoved him off into Magiere’s hands.
“Up against the wall, and watch him!” he ordered in Belaskian. “You guard him and leave the rest to us.”
At least in that she might stay out of whatever was coming.
Magiere shook her head. “What are you going to—?”
“Do it ... please!”
With a frown, Magiere backed to the street’s side and pulled the boy out of sight into the shadows of a shop’s landing. She pushed him down behind a railing and remained there. Almost in the same instant, a taller form shot out of the cutway. Leesil was already crouched, playing at picking up the scattered skewers.
Chap snarled and snapped, and the man pulled up short, scrambling backward at the sight of a huge wolf.
“You ... slow!” Leesil snarled in Numanese. “Break my food!”
Three more stocky men rounded the corner from out of a side street down the way. They stalled at the sight of him and the other man held at bay by Chap. As they came up the street more slowly, Leesil whispered to Chap in Belaskian.
“Put that one down if he moves!”
All of them were dressed alike in leather and canvas attire. They didn’t strike Leesil as constabulary, if this port even had such. Two of the three carried wooden cudgels in hand, and all wore sabers or shortswords sheathed on their heavy studded belts.