Curious, thought Johan. He'd held pinefolk in his grasp yet had neglected to question them about the location of Shauku's fabled library-an unfortunate oversight. Yet he consoled himself while striding the mucky streets.
"No matter. Destiny led me here. It will lead me to win over Shauku."
Built to withstand wind and shed snow, the town's dwellings consisted mostly of first stories of rough stone and second stories of pine boards or slabs, all roofed with cedar shakes green with moss and white from salt spray. In places the town elders had strewn clam and oyster shells tamped into hardpack, but most streets were mires of black mud studded with ankle-twisting stones. Behind every shop and house ran rickety drying racks hung with fillets of split cod, herring, and hake that jittered and fluttered in the wind and gave the town a distinct odor. Johan's party had taken refuge from the wind in a tavern called the Dandysprat, and to this hostel the mage plodded, sinking in muck at every step.
As the day waned, the tavern grew rowdy with fishermen and loggers celebrating the day's end with ale. Johan had no use for frivolity but stuck to business. Luckily, as ordered, Johan's huntsman waited at an alley, then slunk into it. Johan joined him.
Funneled by nearby buildings, the wind whistled furiously behind the tavern but not enough to carry away the stink of privies and fish. Johan's huntsman pointed out two men lurking under a drying rack in sunset shadows.
No names were exchanged. The men might have been brothers but were not. Everyone in Buzzard's Bay was descended from the same stock: tall, blond, thick-limbed, slow of speech but keen of mind, for the sea didn't forgive fools. Careless clods sank beneath the brine, leaving the clever alive and cautious. These two wore thick quilted jackets and fur hats and vests. The only difference showed in their footwear-the one covered with silver mackerel scales wore sea boots, while the other wore knee-high riding boots. Both their mustaches blew in the breeze.
Muzzy from ale, the huntsman said, "These are the blokes you want, milord. One is feared on land and one on sea."
Johan studied the men as if buying cattle. The locals stared back.
Johan asked, "You shan't shrink from an odious task? I can reward smart agents who do a good job but make it look like another's work."
The two coasters nodded. The scale-speckled corsair said, "If you can pay, milord, we can deliver. We're not men to shirk or question. The Drumfish is ready to sail at your whim."
"And my gang's armed and awaiting orders," added the highwayman.
Nodding, the bony mage fished in his pockets and doled out a handful of gold and electrum that made eyes bulge. Immeasurably wealthy, Johan seldom dealt with money, so he never knew its value. He'd only asked his scribe for "enough coin to buy two crews." Hurriedly the assassins split the haul.
Johan also gave a puffy leather pouch to the highwayman. Light as thistledown, it was stoppered with a wooden peg sealed with beeswax.
The mage warned, "It's full, so don't peek until it's needed. Let the contents float downwind into a crowd to rile them."
To the pirate, Johan gave a small nautilus shell lacquered black. The mouth was also stoppered with wax. "If you engage in a sea battle, break the seal and pitch it overside. T'will help you win."
Johan lifted his eagle's beak eastward. "Your prey are a roving pack of mercenaries and a talking tiger. They will arrive within days. Adira Strongheart is their leader."
"I've heard tell o' her," said the corsair. "Sovereign of the Sea of Serenity, some fancy. I doubt she wrestles sharks for supper."
"So spake many a man whose bones are coral," chided Johan. "Don't underestimate her, nor the tiger. His brain is keener than yours, I'll warrant, and he can sow slaughter like no man. Just do as you're paid. Kill whom you can of Adira's crowd and loot their carcasses. I'll add a further reward for their scalps."
"Where'll we collect that?" asked the brigand, but Johan ignored him and turned away to enter the tavern.
Having gotten what he needed from Buzzard's Bay, Johan would roust his entourage and shake this town's muck from his feet. No need to linger and risk running into Strongheart and Ojanen. Lesser men could scotch those annoyances. Johan had a continent to conquer.
In four centuries, Buzzard's Bay had seen many strange sights wash from the sea and descend from the mountains, but none so strange as a tame tiger walking on two legs, calm as if going to market.
As the sun set three days later, Adira's troupe plodded into town on horses weary from crabbing down the switchback road from the mountains. Fishermen and loggers, foaming jacks in hand, stepped from taverns and shops to see the tiger-man. Many locals and children trailed the party just to watch what happened.
' Having sailed here before, Adira steered straight for Seafarer's Quay, famous all over Dominaria for its deep bottom and welcoming Adventurers' Guildhall. While the humans straggled on horses sinking hock-deep in mud, Jedit Ojanen padded alongside, watching everywhere, learning as he went. Murdoch and Simone and Virgil licked their lips to see brimming mugs in local hands. By the time the party reached the guildhall at the quayside, half a hundred coasters formed an impromptu audience.
The tavern was huge, built like a lord's mead hall, stout stone on the first floor able to withstand a battering ram, with beams and stucco for the second and third floors. Up there, separated by sexes, weary travelers could stretch out on thin pallets and sleep in safety.
Sliding off her mount on stiff legs, Adira signaled Heath to accompany her and the rest to stay with the horses. Ignoring her newfound audience, the irate chief pushed into the hall.
Fifty Buzzard's Baymen faced nine pirates, and all studied Jedit Ojanen to see what he'd do. The tiger stood stock-still, whiskers shivering in the wind, and studied the town, only the second big human enclave he'd seen since leaving Efrava.
Locals sipped beer while Adira's pirates drooled. The pirates were amused at how the locals all looked alike, like one big family. Indeed, they all resembled Lieutenant Peregrine, whose ancestors hailed from here. Adira's pirates, on the other hand, were of all sizes and colors and dress, though the bay folk were used to seeing every race descend a gangplank. But the upright tiger provoked curiosity too hot to hold in.
Clearing his throat, a red-faced man asked, "Where're ye from?"
He'd asked Murdoch, who still wore remnants of his green-gold uniform, now tattered. The sergeant scratched his jaw and replied, loud enough for the whole crowd to hear, "Yerkoy."
"Ye're all from Yerkoy?" asked the man in amazement. That seaport lay halfway across Jamuraa.
"No, just me," said Murdoch.
"Well, I didn't mean just you!" chided the man. "I meant all of ye!"
"Oh." Murdoch's face was wooden, and even his comrades wondered if he teased or not. "We're from all over."
"I can see that!" snapped the local. "Y'er every color from sun-baked to half-dead! What I meant was-"
"Where'd we catch the tiger?" Murdoch grinned, and people relaxed.
"Aye, that's it!" Glad to gain ground, the local asked, "Aye. Where'd you get this big cat?"
"Palmyra," said the sergeant. "We found him in an alley. The rats in Palmyra grow big, you see, big as dogs. So the cats that eat the rats grow big too. You wouldn't believe it, but when this one was bom, he was not but a ball of fluff you could cup in your palm."