The tension slowly eased, and the noise and bustle of the market resumed. People crowded around Lucy, talking to each other and congratulating her for avoiding trouble with the Dark Knights.
“You’d better hoist that flag,” a hoarse voice murmured in her ear.
Her brows lowered, she turned to the speaker and saw a bearded man in fisherman’s clothes standing close behind her. Fish scales clung like iridescent raindrops to his arms and stained leather apron, and his clothes stank of fish and bait. It wasn’t until she lifted her gaze to his pale blue eyes and saw the laughter in their depths that she realized who he was: Lysandros.
“She said, ‘If Lysandros shows his face in this town …’ ” Lucy replied tartly. “Well, I don’t see Lysandros’s face, only the ugly mug of a fisherman who presumes to give advice to the Sheriff of Flotsam.”
“Well spoken, Sheriff,” drawled the fisherman. “Cripes, but you’re a cool one around that Knight.”
Lucy sniffed her disdain. “She’s just lucky I didn’t have a potato handy.”
Lysandros grinned at her for a moment, then he sobered and remarked, “I heard what she said.”
“The fact that someone close enough to you to know your feelings is reporting to the Dark Knights bothers me.”
“Not the fact that I hold deep feelings for you?” he asked.
The even tone of his voice made her uncomfortable, for she could not tell if he was joking or totally serious. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and said, “I hope those feelings are like mine, the affection for a good friend.”
He stared into the green depths of her gaze and saw the unshakable truth of her words. She offered nothing more. He nodded once and turned away before she could recognize the disappointment in his heart. Perhaps, considering the future, that was for the best. He took a step back from her. “A very good friend,” he agreed. “So stay out of the path of those Knights, if you can.”
“You, too,” she replied. “And watch your back.”
He moved to go, changed his mind, and turned back. “What would you say to having pies and cider with a friend tonight? Same place?”
She lifted the turban to her head and set it in place. Lysandros noted with satisfaction that the symbiotic creature turned a pale shade of blue, a contented color. It wasn’t a hot, passionate red, but it was better than, say, a fiery orange or an angry black. Lucy tucked her thumbs into her belt and assumed a slouching pose. “I’d have to say yes. See you at dusk.” She swaggered off into the crowd to meet the next crisis.
Captain Fox watched her until her blue-clad figure was lost in the throng.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ulin and Notwen began their search for Lucy’s father shortly after midday. They had slept late despite the heat and the noise in the village, and when they woke, they were ravenous. After a breakfast of bland chowder and watery ale, they made a careful inquiry about Kethril Torkay.
The innkeeper looked at them askance. “Sure, most people around these parts know Kethril. Most people live to regret it.”
“As have I,” Ulin replied heavily. “I must repay a debt of gambling. However, I cannot pay him, if I do not know where he is.”
A laugh burst from the old innkeeper. “If you say so, boy. I would tell you if I knew. He has stiffed me on a debt, but truth is, no one’s seen Kethril around here for some months. Rumor is he’s dead.” He nodded toward the door. “You can try some of the other places. Maybe you’ll be lucky.”
Notwen and Ulin trudged outside. They paused in the warm sunlight while Ulin drew the Truth-see glasses out of his pocket. He hesitated a moment, staring at the fine wire and pink lenses. He knew they should work. They had been crafted in the Fourth Age with magic granted by the gods, magic that was still reliable even after the departure of the gods. But he hesitated, torn by an illogical reluctance and a sense of foolishness. One reason he had come to this region was to look for artifacts-so why did he have a powerful desire to crumple these spectacles and hurl them into the bay? It wasn’t the spectacles’ fault his magic no longer functioned. Ulin sighed and forced his feelings aside. If this Kethril was as clever as everyone thought, he and Notwen would need all the advantages they could garner. He put the glasses on.
If the spectacles worked, it was not immediately apparent. The rose lenses did nothing to improve the squalor and decrepit condition of the town, nor did they reveal anything out of the ordinary. What he saw, Ulin decided, was what he got.
He and Notwen decided to start their inquiries in the taverns and gaming houses along the ramshackle waterfront then work their way through the brothels and shops of the back streets. The first tavern they visited was built into the hold of one the old ships. A ramp led up to a door cut in the hull, and inside tables and a bar had been set up on the lower deck. The place was nearly empty, and the few customers at the bar were a mean-looking, surly lot. If they knew anything about Kethril, they were in no mood to tell.
Notwen and Ulin moved on. At the next establishment, the name of Kethril Torkay brought an instant reaction from one of the patrons.
“That conniving son of a jackal!” a powerful-looking Khur barbarian shouted. “He cheated me! I will have his tongue! His hands! His eyes will decorate my dagger!”
“Yes,” Ulin said patiently, “but do you know where he is? We were told he was dead.”
“Dead!” The barbarian slammed his mug on the table. “Not that we have heard. Hey, Kalim, have you seen that whoreson Kethril?”
The person he addressed raised his head from the bar and gazed blearily at nothing in particular before shaking his head and dropping it back on the bar.
The Khur stamped to Ulin, his expression bellicose and very inebriated. “If you find him, tell me. I have vowed to slit his throat.”
“Stand in line,” Ulin muttered. He led the drunken Khur back to his table with promises of instant notification should Kethril Torkay be found. After depositing the man in a chair, Ulin hurried out with Notwen.
They tried several more taverns with equal success until they reached the end of the small waterfront. From there they followed a different path past several run-down houses and a dilapidated shop to the next establishment: a gaming house made of mud bricks and stucco.
The owner, a tall red-haired woman of middle age, met them at the door and welcomed them inside. The shaded interior was cool after the humid heat outdoors, and fans, turned by several children, helped keep the air moving. Customers obviously appreciated the house’s amenities, for the tables were nearly full of patrons playing everything from dice and khas to Bounty Hunter and Dragon’s Bluff. Serving maids bustled around the tables serving beverages and snacks.
“What interests you today, gentlemen?” the red-haired owner inquired. “We offer dice, cards, khas, games of chance, games of skill …”
Something about the woman prompted Ulin to drop his story of an unpaid gambling debt and try something closer to the truth. “A game of Hide and Seek,” Ulin answered. “We are looking for someone who was reported dead. His family is very concerned.”
She considered them for a long moment then held up a hand, its fingers encrusted with rings. “Perhaps you would like a water reading? Through the oracle glass certain things can be foretold. Loved ones can be located.”
Ulin and Notwen glanced at each other, interest on both their faces. Ulin had never seen an oracle glass, although he’d heard of them. He was intrigued to see how one worked.
The fortune-teller led them to a separate room enclosed with carved screens and hung with purple cloth. She sat them both in chairs beside a round table and took a seat herself. A clap of her beringed hands brought a young girl to her side. “Bring water, and be sure you filter it three times. It must be pure.” She leaned back in her high back chair and studied the man and the gnome as the girl hurried away. “A curious partnership,” she said softly. Her fingers drummed on the armrest. “No. Do not talk. Let me read you for myself.” Her voice was husky and curiously soothing. Red-gold lashes framed her deep-brown eyes and matched the color of her hair piled on top of her head.