Unfolding hands from his sleeves, Bardolph asked mildly, "Have they confessed?"
"They have," boomed a man. "They wanted to unchain their souls before they died. Darswin was recruited by Johan's huntsman and instructed by the high lord himself. They was to stir up strife and get these newcomers killed. They squealed like rats in the bilges."
Bardolph nodded. "It's a shameful life you've led, Darswin, and doubly a crime for roping your friends into assassination. We are all born free under the skies, masters of our fate. You three chose the twisted path to the end of this dock."
The ominous words hushed the crowd. Adira's pirates wished they were elsewhere, but they burned with curiosity. The crowd parted. Sailors bore rolls of canvas like rugs. Darswin began to curse and another thug to sob. The criminals' bonds were cut, but a dozen strong hands mashed each flat on an unfurled canvas: an ancient linen sail. Still pinned, the felons were rolled over and over, swaddled so tight only their heads and feet stuck out. A sailmaker ripped a scrap from the edge and tied a stout knot around the wrapped men. All in silence.
"By the light of the Holy Nimbus," intoned Bardolph, "the ever-shining star that guides us home, I charge you three to change your ways and return better beings. Now go, washed free of all sorrows."
"Return from where?" whispered Virgil, but was shushed.
Solemnly three men hefted each swaddled offender, swung them thrice without counting aloud, and pitched them off the docks. Darswin shrieked as he hit the water with a great splash that scared cormorants and gulls off the water. The trio sank in a light froth of bubbles.
One big-bearded man dusted his hands. Gruff, to cover emotion, he said, "That's that. No use dallying here. Let's get those burnt timbers cleared away." Quietly the crowd trickled into the night.
Adira Strongheart and her crew stood gawking at the bay and the grisly execution.
Gently Bardolph explained, "Thus is always our way. Offenders are cast into the sea to begin life anew. Thus we speak of their future return."
"In the meantime," said Simone in a hushed voice, "they feed crabs and lobsters."
Bardolph nodded sadly. "The current is swift. Things on the bottom are swept out to sea. But you're right. No one in Buzzard's Bay eats shellfish. We chuck those to hogs."
"We sail on the tide. Our ship's the Conch of Corns, wherever that is. The master seems to know his stuff."
On the third floor of the Adventurers' Guildhall, Adira Strongheart and her crew packed bags and tied blanket rolls. Sister Wilemina, lacking her butchered braids, sat on a stool while Jasmine used borrowed scissors to trim her hair by her ears. Whistledove Kithkin stitched armholes in a newly bought sheepskin vest. Other preparations bustled.
Adira aired new knowledge and future plans to her lieutenant, Simone. "Just as well we hoist anchor. Our honeymoon as heroes will end soon. Some loudmouths will tar us with the same brush as Johan, claiming half the docks were burnt because of us. My, how fish blow bubbles! Never mind. I spent the night with Bardolph — "
"We know," interjected Simone with a grin.
"— trading tales over mugs. The man's closed as a clam, but I oiled his hinges with brandy. We seek Fulmar's Fort, which is a jumble of rocks above a swift river sixteen leagues south. Follow that inland to find the castle. Some folk visit the place, it might be. According to Bardolph, four times in the last three years a ship from the far west debarked men with a yellow cast to their faces. They don't say much and always march south at first light. Dock workers think they're foreign mercenaries. Where they go is a guess, but most reckon it's the castle."
"Can we beach at this pile of rocks?" As Adira's lieutenant, Simone often had to carry out impossible orders. "What of these pine people? Will they let us pass? Will they demand a tariff? How much?"
Adira flicked a callused hand. "None knows for sure. The pine people were gone for decades, then suddenly were back, lurking in the forest and taking trade goods for timber rights. Elders remembered their claim to the forest and respected it- mostly. One rough-cut logger said he'd be damned if he'd pay for trees and went in cutting where he willed. His whole crew was lost."
"Bonny." Simone the Siren lashed her oilskin jacket over her leather rucksack. "If we get past these murderous tree-toads, what then? Waltz up to this hag-mage's door and demand she hand Johan over for punishment?"
"Cheer up." Adira slung her saddlebags over her shoulder. "We might drown in a storm."
"Better than being ensorcelled into swine." Simone hefted her bag to go. "Did you pry out the name of our new enemy-to-be?"
"Oh, aye, but not till very late." Adira lowered her voice, for some of Bardolph's trepidation had carried with the name. "It's-Shauku."
"Hire a horse and ride 'round. Gather a crew. Have 'em fetch enough gear for a fortnight and bring all their cutting tools."
Captain Rimon, with a forked blond beard, was a big man who looked bigger in a quilted coat that stretched to his knees and a vest of mink with the fur turned inward. His vest was smattered with mackerel scales, but now he picked up a chip of cordwood to scrape them off. His audience was a fisherman with a crooked nose, sometimes his sailing master. This tiny cottage perched on rocks at the north of Buzzard's Bay, where many fisherman made their homes. A fishwife stood by her hearth not speaking, nor did she offer Rimon refreshment.
"Thank the Sea King that bald outlander washed up at our shore," Rimon went on. "No more fishin' for us. Once we sink Adira Strongheart, we'll split a goodly treasure, for she won't travel without one. With her breathing on the bottom, we'll be famous up and down the Storm Coast as folks to fear and can stick to corsairin' year round." He used the local polite term for pirating.
"If," said the sailing master.
"We'll sink her," insisted Rimon. "It's folks spreading stories that make her out a bold sea captain. She don't know nothin' about broaching the Storm Coast. We'll snare her like a duckhawk takes a duck. 'Sides, I got this."
The captain displayed a small nautilus shell hardly bigger than a walnut painted with black lacquer. The opening was sealed with wax.
"What's it do?" asked Crooked-Nose.
Rimon didn't know, so hedged. "It's powerful magic, be sure o' that. Now get gone. I'll see Drumfish outfitted. Tell the crew to be aboard by dawn."
Rimon tromped out in sea boots, letting in a gust of wind. The corsair with the crooked nose opened a chest to pack his spare shirts and stockings.
He asked his wife, "Where's Matty? It's time that boy learned real sailing. Sharin' treasure will see us through the winter."
"You'll not take Matty on this voyage." The fishwife's tight lips suggested no compromise. "Coin' to corsair is bad enough, but goin' after the woman Strongheart is plain foolish."
Crooked-Nose frowned. "It's just made-up stories they tell 'bout her. I never believe a tenth what I hear 'bout anyone."
"Neither do I," retorted the wife, "but if even a tenth of what's touted about Strongheart is true, she'll break Drumfish in half and hang Rimon's head from her spritchains-and yours too."
Chapter 12
"Is that a smile?" called Simone above a keening wind. High aloft, she and Adira toed a thin rope and leaned over a thick yard to furl a balky sail.
"I'm just glad to be at sea!" called Adira. "Even in this bathtub of a bay!"
"We have to make landfall some time!"
"Don't spoil my fun!" Yet Adira glanced at the distant coast called the Goat's Walk. Jagged rocks and cliffs were topped by dark pines. Surf exploded on hidden rocks, a deathtrap for any careless ship that careened too close. Yet despite an angry ocean and gloomy skies, Adira Strongheart laughed to feel a sturdy ship reel under her feet and wind blow in her hair, even if she weren't the ship's master.