Fuming, Magiere dropped onto the bed’s edge.
Wayfarer arranged Magiere’s long, loose hair around her shoulders and picked up a delicate silver tiara. The girl set it atop Magiere’s head and began pinning it into place.
At night, her red tints wouldn’t show much except in some lantern’s light. Leesil had already noted a number of lovely, overdressed, pale-skinned women floating in and out of the hotel. Up close, Magiere wouldn’t likely be mistaken for one of them, but someone watching from afar wouldn’t notice any difference.
Brot’an had advised that if they tried a full hood, she might stand out as someone attempting to hide. Dressed like this, she fit in as a patron—or someone who worked here—leaving for the night.
“Perfect,” was all Leesil said, appraising her disguise.
Without answering, Magiere rose, so Leesil grabbed his prepared pack and the walking stick. He almost thanked Brot’an for the arrangements but then thought better of it. The notion that Brot’an was up to something still nagged him. Instead, Leesil turned and found Wayfarer watching him with worried green eyes.
“If we’re successful,” he said, “this shouldn’t take long. We’ll be back before the mid of night.” He looked to Chap. “We’ve managed worse than this, and you know it.”
Chap didn’t respond, and Leesil headed out. Nothing was going to stop him from freeing those slaves. Magiere pulled the door closed, and they made their way to the stairs.
Once they reached the front desk and retrieved their weapons, Leesil strapped on both of his blades beneath his cape. They were still visible to anyone looking closely enough, but most “gentlemen” here carried weapons.
Magiere put her battle dagger at her back inside the velvet cape, but there was no way she could completely hide the sword as well. Leesil held on to her falchion under his cloak, and they were ready.
“You’re up first,” she said.
“You know the tavern Brot’an mentioned?”
She nodded. “I’ll see you there.”
Mechaela looked over the front desk and assessed her attire.
“Very nice,” he offered.
Leesil swallowed hard, hoping the man didn’t get punched. Leaving Magiere behind, he walked out the front door and headed off into the night. Events were under way.
He carried the walking stick in one hand and clutched Magiere’s sword beneath his cape in the other; he carried his pack over one shoulder. Half a block down the street, he spotted three well-dressed young men coming toward him. They were a bit loud and wandering in their course.
He instantly affected the dandified movements of an overbred nobleman who’d had too many drinks.
“Gentleman,” he slurred. “One of you ... help?”
Taking in the sight of him, they stopped, swaying a little.
“Can you point ... Three-Leg Horse ... tavern?” he asked.
The second one, the most steady on his feet, raised an eyebrow.
“Are you certain, sir? That is too uncouth a place ... by the look of you. And you are obviously not from around here.”
Perhaps that one wasn’t as drunk as he’d seemed. Leesil blinked twice, feigning a bit of trouble in understanding. In truth he did have trouble understanding some of those words, but he nodded.
“A ... lady ... wait for me,” he whispered. “We do not”—and he faltered—“want be see by others.”
At an added wink by Leesil, the third young man choked back a snicker, slapped the second on the back of the shoulder, and nearly missed.
“Oh, for the sake of saints, just help him out, Ogas.”
The first merely chuckled, nodding, and almost lost his footing.
“Ah, grief!” said the second. “Get Hines off to Delilah’s ... before he falls on his face! I’ll show this foreigner the way and meet you there.”
As the other two wandered—and weaved—off the way Leesil had come, the one who remained bowed slightly to Leesil.
“I am Viscount Ogastino.”
“Please to make ac ... ac-guain ...” Leesil fumbled, intentionally this time.
“Yes, yes, come along now.”
Leesil strode off with the reluctantly helpful young viscount, and together they looked like nothing more than two gentlemen out for an evening’s entertainment. The Three-Legged Horse was almost on top of the harbor, and as they stepped inside, Leesil agreed with his companion’s earlier assessment.
Viscount Ogastino then surprised him. “Shall we order an ale? I’d rather like to see this lady who agreed to meet here.”
Leesil had only wanted male company for the walk, to help him blend in.
“Um ...” he began, not certain what to say.
Then the door opened, and Magiere stepped in.
“That her,” he whispered.
As she stood in the doorway in her crimson cape and a small silver tiara holding back her dark hair, the viscount’s eyes fastened on her pale face.
“Oh, blessed deities of woods,” he murmured. “There’s a forest bride I’d have met up with anywhere!”
Leesil didn’t like that insinuation about his wife—not at all.
“Yes ... forest ... bride.” He tried agreeing with that lewd remark. “She want not be seen. You go?”
With that, the viscount composed himself and nodded. “By all means. Have a pleasant night.”
Magiere was already on her way through the smoky tavern. As Ogastino passed her on his way out, he looked her up and down with a smile that made Leesil tense.
“What was that?” she asked as she joined him.
“Forget it,” Leesil grumbled. “Just something to throw off anyone watching.”
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. “I want a dark alley to get out of this damned dress ... and get my sword back!”
Leesil loved her fierce side as much as he did the rest of her. For the first time since launching this undertaking, he looked into her eyes and was unable to forget what happened in Chathburh.
“There are lives at stake,” she whispered, as if knowing his thoughts. “I’m in control.”
Leesil tried to smile. “I know,” he agreed, hoping they were both right.
Once Dänvârfij gauged that enough of the night had passed, she led her team down to the floating walkways below the waterfront. All were once again garbed in their traditional forest gray of light wool. With matching scarves over their faces and only their eyes visible, they slipped among the deeper darkness below.
Rhysís untied a skiff beneath the first pier, and they boarded. Tavithê and Eywodan oared the small vessel, making barely more sound than a seagull swimming upon the briny water. They worked the small craft out beyond the first pier’s end into open water and kept well clear of all docked vessels. Earlier Dänvârfij had noted that the men on watch up in the masts kept their eyes on the waterfront and other ships, and almost never looked out to the open sea.
The skiff slipped by unnoticed all the way to the starboard side of the Cloud Queen at the end of the second pier.
Dänvârfij’s confidence in their plan grew a little with each passing moment. Of all that Brot’ân’duivé might suspect, he would least fear allowing Magiere and hers to reboard their own ship. They would be taken in complete surprise.
A number of the Cloud Queen’s crew had been seen going ashore earlier that day; they had not been seen to return as yet. Dänvârfij estimated that less than two-thirds of the crew remained aboard. Before embarking this night, Rhysís had climbed the Bashair’s central mast for a look. He had reported only six men, counting one up the main mast, on deck and watching over the Cloud Queen.
Rhysís and Tavithê had their short bows assembled and quivers of short arrows fastened to their hips under their cloaks. Both shouldered their strung bows, and, once the skiff floated up beside the vessel’s hull, Rhysís took the end of a rope and hook in his teeth. He pulled his bone knife, took the one Dänvârfij handed him, and began the painful process of scaling the hull as quietly as possible.