She watched him until his form disappeared in the darkness. What was that all about? Why did he seem upset about something? She climbed slowly to her feet and filed her concern away for later when she had the leisure to ponder it. Lysandros was an enigmatic, complicated character, and a busy one at that. Perhaps he would tell her in time what was bothering him.
“Lucy! Lucy!” A high-pitched, kender voice interrupted her thoughts. It was Pease, on duty with her that day. “Lucy, there you are!” he cried, sliding to a stop in front of her. “One of the shopkeepers caught two kender pocketing some of his wares. He wants you to arrest them this instant. I know them. They wouldn’t steal.” He grabbed her hand and tried to drag her along the street.
Lucy sighed, envisioning a long and vociferous argument between the aggrieved shop owner and the kender. There went her hopes for a quiet evening.
Lucy’s third and fourth day as the Sheriff of Flotsam went much like the first two. She was busy from sunrise to late in the night, when she could finally stagger to her bed in the Jetties and sleep for a few hours before starting again. The council and the mayor helped her as much as they could, and the Vigilance Force acted as invisible guards around the town, but there was only so much they could do. Most of the responsibility of keeping the peace fell on Lucy and her deputies. Challie had become her right hand, keeping notes, filing complaints, collecting fines, and running the organization of the Sheriff’s Office. Pease and his friend Cosmo were Lucy’s eyes and ears. They were familiar with almost all of the permanent residents of Flotsam. They recognized the strangers and knew almost everything that went on in the town. They also took care of the prisoners in the cells, brought food from the inn, and ran errands. Lucy didn’t know what she would have done without any of them.
In making her mental list of beings she was indebted to, she felt she should also include the bay horse and the Vizier’s Turban. The big bay from Sanction still favored his hip where the Dark Knight’s dagger wound was slowly healing, yet he carried Lucy without complaint and exhibited a resigned patience whenever she left him at a hitching post. She didn’t bother to tie him. She just flipped the reins over the bar and left him to wait, knowing he would still be there when she returned. He saved her hours of walking and served as a good listener when she needed someone to hear her complaints without interruption.
As for the turban, it served as a constant reminder to the townspeople of Lucy’s authority and power. More than one perpetrator backed down when faced with the turban’s glittering eyes and changing colors. To Lucy, its friendly, enthusiastic presence was a balm to her feelings whenever one too many irate persons yelled at her or called her some ugly name and she was tempted to let her fury explode. Not only could it sense her strong emotions, it seemed to have the ability to soothe them if it desired. Already, after only four days, she was ready to pledge her eternal gratitude to Notwen for his gift of the turban.
She tried not to think of Notwen and Ulin very often. They were always in the back of her mind, of course, but if she let them into the mainstream of her thoughts, they stayed there like large boulders, blocking everything else, and she found herself distracted, irritable, and intensely worried. She should have been used to Ulin’s absences by now, but she missed him this time more than ever before and yearned for his quiet, comforting presence. She could only hope he would return to her soon, with or without her father.
On the fifth day, the Silver Fox and his Force escorted another Khur caravan into Flotsam. The captain disappeared the moment the caravan hove into sight, but the populace turned out to greet the wagons and to visit the market where the Khurs unloaded their wares. This caravan originated in Khuri-Khan and carried predominantly Khurish goods: rugs, dried figs, olives, saddles, lengths of beautifully woven fabrics, pottery with the traditional blue motifs, and silver jewelry from the mountains. Lucy and her deputies had their hands full keeping the drunks in line, curbing the acquisitive tendencies of the kender, and ensuring that everyone followed the rules of the market.
To make matters more complicated, the Dark Knights returned.
Lucy saw them at the edge of the crowded market, riding their horses slowly along the perimeter. Knight Officer Venturin rode at the head of the Talon on a night-dark horse, her visage as grim and dark as her steed. None of the Knights wore armor in the heat of the day, but all were heavily armed and clad in leather cuirasses. The people in the crowded street made way before them.
The Knight officer seemed to be looking for someone, and Lucy did not need a crystal ball to figure out who. Quickly, she pulled off the turban and thrust it into Challie’s arms. “Take this and get out of sight,” she hissed.
The dwarf barely had time to dodge behind a laden wagon before the Dark Knight spotted Lucy, wrenched her horse around, and rode it into the busy market irrespective of the people and goods underfoot. Lucy hurried to meet them, hoping to cut them off before they caused too much damage. Taking her cue from her last meeting with the Talon leader, she bowed low before Knight Officer Venturin.
Venturin’s mouth twisted into its habitual sneer. “I see you are still playing your charade of sheriff.”
“Yes, Knight Officer.” Lucy kept her eyes on the ground. She felt such an intense desire to plaster this Knight with one of those flaming potatoes that she was relieved she did not have one. The temptation would have been too hard to resist.
The Knight made no move to dismount. She sat on her horse, and her eyes swept the faces of the people around them. Most of the market-goers moved away to avoid the Knights, while those close by studiously ignored them and maintained masks of occupied innocence. Knight Officer Venturin snorted, a sound short and unpleasant, and turned back to the woman standing in front of her. “We are looking for a man, a half-elf to be exact.”
Lucy shrugged. “There are several of that blood around here.”
The Dark Knight spurred her horse forward until she forced Lucy back against a cart. Drawing her sword, she leaned past the horse’s neck and shoved the point at Lucy’s throat. “Don’t be stupid,” she suggested in cold tones. “I am looking for the leader of the resistance in this area. He is tall, fair-haired, and goes by the name of Lysandros. I have heard from my sources that he has a liking for you.”
Lucy could not hide a start of surprise. She guessed the half-elf harbored feelings for her of some kind, but to realize the Knights of Neraka knew about it alarmed her.
Venturin chuckled. “So it is true, to some extent at least. I will keep that in mind. Meanwhile, little sheriff, remember this: There is a price on his head. You can profit from that knowledge or suffer. The penalty for aiding a fugitive is death.”
Lucy could only nod. The black horse fidgeted under his tight rein, bringing his hooves very close to her feet. His hot breath fanned her face, and his heavy muzzle was only inches away from her nose. The edge of the cart pressed painfully into her back.
Venturin laughed and jabbed the tip of her sword just enough to pierce the skin on Lucy’s neck, then she backed the horse several steps. “If Lysandros shows his face in this town, just hoist a flag from your city hall. My spies will see it and send me word. It is worth your miserable little life to obey.”
Lucy bowed again without saying a word. Wheeling their horses, the Dark Knights rode out of the marketplace and back to the road. “Challie!” Lucy called. “Find Pease and have him tell the kender to keep an eye on those Knights. I want to know where they go and when they leave town.” Challie nodded, tossed the turban back to her, then hurried away to find Pease.