Not obviously Not, then. Pen passed his hand over the victim. No signs of demonic disruption—he didn’t think Madboy understood the theological hazards of magical violence, but perhaps the plank or chunk of spar or whatever had seemed weapon enough.
But if it had been Madboy, that meant he’d still been here in the area not two hours ago. Though also that he had amended his purseless and unclothed state, and gained more ability to move about or escape.
Not over the causeway till it opens again at dawn, though, Des put in. He’s trapped in Lodi tonight unless he goes by boat.
The stolen money would aid that, although not many boats were still moving at this hour, Bastard’s Eve or not. Not that he couldn’t just seize a small boat, if he was strong enough drag it to the water by himself. Or simply untie it from a dock, though their owners usually took in their oars for the night to thwart such thefts.
“How much was in your purse?” Pen asked.
It took bashed-man a dizzied moment to follow the question. “Less’n I’d started out with tonight. Never thought I’d be glad to lose at play.”
“What color was your doublet?”
The man squinted at him in further confusion. “What? …Wine-red, I sup’ose. Good cloth. Only second time I’d worn it.” He sighed regret.
In a few minutes, Pen was able to urge the man to his feet, one arm hoisted over Pen’s shoulder, though the movement made him shudder with renewed nausea. They staggered along bumping hips up to the paved harbor street, where Pen prepared to retrace his steps, fretting. He’d traded too much time for these ambiguous clues. Though he supposed he qualified as the Bastard’s luck tonight to the robbery victim. He’d have to suggest a donation to his Order.
They’d not limped very far when they encountered another pair of night watchmen. Relieved, Pen traded off his foundling to them with instructions to take him to the Gift of the Sea.
“Tell them Learned Penric sent him, and that he may have something to do with a problem I’m working on for them,” he instructed the watchmen. “They’ll understand. My Order will cover his fees, if it’s required.”
This last barely reconciled them to their unexpected and out-of-their-way chore; getting the hint, Pen tipped a couple of coins into their palms to assure the concussed fellow’s safe arrival. His slurred voice drifted back still mourning his doublet as Pen turned and strode toward the state shipyard.
Despite the cooling night air, he was sweating from his magical exertion. Magical friction, Learned Ruchia had dubbed it in her book on fundamentals of sorcery. Which he’d planned to spend the past afternoon continuing to translate into Adriac. He gritted his teeth. “Des, a rat. Or something.”
A brief survey. Over there. In the black shadow of a drain, a blacker movement. At least it was one of the big, ugly, corpse-chewing harbor rats, and thus not distressingly cute. The creature squeaked and died as Pen divested the healing’s dregs of disorder into it. Passing on, Pen tapped his lips with the back of his thumb in dutiful thanks to his god for the sacrifice of one of His creatures.
Pen’s stride lengthened. Blessed Chio had been out of his sight for far too long. And while he wouldn’t have minded losing Merin, could the fool have abandoned her somewhere? Not good, not good.
He came to his next check along the harbor street. Another canal bisected it, a stubby channel leading only to a small basin ringed by goods sheds and warehouses. The buildings shouldered tightly together, each with its own water gate closed and locked for the night. The water glimmered against their black bulks. He was just trying to see a way past when Des said tightly, Found ’em.
Bastard be thanked! Finally! He whipped his attention around and followed her Sight.
Three souls: Merin, Chio, and the fractured, pained, demon-ridden being he’d glimpsed so vividly at the hospice. This—no, yesterday afternoon, now. All were together. Distress, anger, and fear were as thick as a fog around them. Where…? They appeared to be within a warehouse on the opposite side of the pool. And something bad was going on. The cornered Madboy attacking the saint? Even Pen could not run across the water to get to it directly. He’d have to go around.
He could still run. Expecting the road to ring it for access on the dry side, he snarled in frustration to find it led on into the city instead. He spotted a narrow passage between two houses and turned sideways, scuttling through it to the street opposite. This one led back to the harbor and the goods sheds on the farther arc of the basin.
The warehouse’s double door was locked, barred from the inside. The only other visible access was a door on the second floor leading onto air, a crane affixed above it for lifting goods up and down. Des could undo locks. Bars were heavier and trickier. Winded, Pen bent to examine the mechanism.
Chio’s screech—Pen wasn’t sure if it was in fear or rage—moved him instantly to a more brutal approach, magic and a mighty kick combined. Lock, bar, and door burst inward, followed by Pen. He looked wildly around.
Bundles, bales, and lumber blocked his view. An orange glow rose beyond them. Pen caromed through the narrow aisles to an open space for marshaling cargo by the water door. Merin’s walking-lantern, sitting on a nearby crate, illuminated a confusing scene.
Merin and Madboy were locked together in a furious scuffle. Not a wonder in itself; with the saint present, the demon was fighting for its life. The disheveled Chio orbited the pair just out of range. Her mask was hanging, her hair was half-down, and a fresh red bruise marred her cheek.
Merin had his belt-knife in hand, gripping a pewter pitcher in the other by way of a makeshift shield. Madboy was armed with a longer poniard, no doubt lifted from the same source as the red doublet, breeches, and boots he now wore.
“You murderer. You cowardly thief,” snarled Madboy. As accusations went, this seemed to Pen oddly turned-around. Steel clanged off pewter.
“Chio!” Merin bellowed desperately. “Do it, do it, you idiot bitch! Hurry!”
She yelled back, “I don’t call the god like a dog! He comes when He chooses! I’ve explained that!”
To, or through, tranquil, emptied souls, Pen had thought. Which Chio’s wasn’t, in this frenzied moment.
Exhaustion and despair can work as well as tranquility, Des put in.
Aye, not those either.
As the wrestling pair turned, Merin’s eye fell on Pen. “Oh, gods, he’s here!”
Not the joy at rescue Pen would have expected; more a voice of loathing. Mad demon first, mysteries later.
At least nothing was on fire, yet. This demon seemed slow to deploy even the most basic magics, but maybe dolphins didn’t think in terms of arson.
The two fighters sprang apart, gasping for air. Circled for another opening as if revolving on a rope.
As the demon fought his friend Merin, Ree ought to be impeding it as best he could, beyond just the bodily fatigue of his sea ordeal sapping demonic speed and strength. Jerks and feints and stumbles, other hindrances. Instead, the two seemed of one mind, equally intent upon their attacker. When both surrender to one desire…
This demon likewise should have been attending to its greater threat from the Temple sorcerer, not following its mount’s impassioned focus on Merin. It was leaving itself wide open, and Pen did not delay.