The shalarin smiled. “Well said. I will ponder the matter, and we will speak again.” She turned and walked back into the mansion. In a moment, the shadows swallowed her.
Tu’ala’keth had quarters in Vurgrom’s mansion, but preferred to rest in the sea. Anton knew the route she took from the sprawling coquina house down to the water and thus could intercept her along the way when they wanted to confer unobserved.
Even though it was summer, the night air carried a chill. He hunkered down in the usual shadowy notch between two buildings; wrapped himself in his scarlet cape; and reflecting sourly on just how much of his life had been spent in uncomfortable circumstances, and settled himself to wait.
For a long while, he had nothing but scurrying, chittering rats and the rhythmic boom and hiss of the surf to keep him company. Finally, though, when the stars were fading and the eastern sky was lightening to gray, the shalarin came striding down the street, head held high, trident canted over her shoulder.
Anton rose and stepped out into the open. “I expected you sooner,” he said.
“Have you learned something?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, no. I just wanted to find out if you’ve had any luck.”
“Not yet. That is why I am attempting a new ploy.”
Anton frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that. I know the pirates. You don’t. You need to check with me before you make a move.”
“You could not have dissuaded me, for the need to try something different is obvious. We won a place among the reavers and killed the foes who resented us for it. It was a good beginning, but since then we have accomplished nothing at all.
“Indeed,” she continued, “I do not know how you expected to. The affairs of Immurk’s Hold are too complicated. Ships constantly set sail for undisclosed destinations, and every captain keeps his particular secrets. To make it even worse, Dragon Isle is only one of several pirate strongholds. We must rely on hearsay to assess what’s happening on Alphar Isle and Mirg Isle, and most of the time, we can’t even ask directly for news of the Cult of the Dragon, lest our curiosity arouse suspicion. I do not understand how spies ever discover anything about anything.”
“You have to be patient,” Anton said. “We poke about and poke about, and it seems nothing’s happening. Then, if we’re lucky, we peek in the right window, and suddenly we have the answer. Trust me, that’s the way it works.”
“The wyrms ravage Seros,” she replied. “Umberlee’s altars stand neglected. I cannot afford patience beyond a certain point.”
He sighed. “You’d better tell me what you did.”
“I prompted Shandri Clayhill to refuse when Vurgrom calls her to his bed. Once she was out of the way, I began the process of fixing his interest on me.”
“I don’t understand. Our two peoples aren’t drawn to one another in that way.”
“Normally, no. But I know spells to enhance my personal magnetism to such an extent that it will not matter what is natural and what is not. At least, not to Vurgrom. Captain Clayhill says he often makes loves to females of other races, and if that is not enough, I mean to persuade him I am the key to realizing his aspirations. Desire and ambition will twine together in his mind, each deepening the other. Then, as I tease him and lead him on, I will cozen his secrets out of him.”
Anton shook his head. “It’s a bad idea, for all sorts of reasons. For one, you don’t know Vurgrom’s sitting on the information we need, so you can’t justify the added risk.”
“He is one of the two most important men on Dragon Isle, and the one to whom Umberlee led me.”
“ led you to Vurgrom simply because it was likely his faction was recruiting.”p›
“But you are Umberlee’s agent, and even were you not, she reveals herself through chance.”
“I can’t be sure about that, but I do know enough about divine magic to understand that when you cast a spell to increase your force of personality, everybody’s going to feel the pull. Some other priest or wizard is likely to realize you’re trying to enthrall Vurgrom and give him a warning.”
“I will approach Vurgrom at quiet moments, and fade into the shadows when our discourse is through. Other folk will have little opportunity to scrutinize me while the magic lends me grace.”
“What about Captain Clayhill? It doesn’t matter that she’s rejected him. I guarantee you, given what they’ve shared together, she’s still keeping an eye on him. She’ll notice what’s going on and realize you convinced her to end the affair, not for her benefit, but to open up opportunities for yourself.”
“That,” said Tu’ala’keth, “is where you come in.
Shandri Clayhill is worried about keeping you aboard Shark’s Bliss, and as her history attests, she is willing to use her charms to secure her ends. Encourage her to seduce you; then keep her out of my way.”
“What if I’m not the sort of man who lights her candle?”
“She gave herself to Vurgrom. How particular can she be?”
He laughed. “There is that. I’m going to be busy, playing jump-in-the-daisies with her and palavering with the other factions, too. But since I see I can’t talk you out of this, we’ll try it. Just be wary. Maybe you look at Vurgrom and see a fat, randy sot, but he’s dangerous. He’s murdered dozens in his time, and if he suspects you of tampering with his mind, a carnal itch won’t stop him from adding you to the tally.”
A caravel such as Shark’s Bliss could never go unattended, even in port. She always needed a hand or two to guard and maintain her. But while her crew had loot to squander in the stews and taverns of Immurk’s Hold, they had no interest in staying aboard a minute longer than necessary.
Such being the case, Anton wasn’t particularly surprised to see Captain Clayhill alone on deck. Someone else was surely aboard, but maybe he was working below.
The absence of her underlings gave the pirate a reasonable amount of room to practice with her new greatsword. Grunting, face intent, she stamped back and forth, circled, blocked, and cut. Her ridiculous skirts swirled about her legs, and her jewels sparkled in the hot afternoon sunshine. The enormous blade, however, didn’t gleam even when bathed in brightness. A murky dullness oozed inside the steel.
Anton rowed straight on toward the ship floating at anchor in the harbor. The breakrocks, a system of artificial reefs, lurked beneath the waves to rend the hull of any large vessel whose pilot hadn’t learned to thread the maze, but his little boat didn’t draw enough water for it to matter. He shipped the oars, tied his craft to Shark’s Bliss, and swarmed up a rope onto the larger vessel.
By that time, of course, Shandri Clayhill had long since seen him coming. Still, as he swung himself over the rail, she took a lurching step toward him. The greatsword twitched an inch or two upward, as if she were contemplating a head cut, and her jittery nerves had given away her intent.
Anton grinned. “Easy, Captain! It’s not the Sembian navy paying a call, only your ship’s mage.”
“I see that!” she snapped. She grabbed the greatsword’s scabbard, shoved the weapon in hard enough to clank the guard against the silver mouth of the sheath, and set it down on the deck. “I’m simply surprised. I haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“I know,” he said, putting on a rueful expression. “The truth is, after the way I acted when we divvied up the swag, I was ashamed to face you. I was greedy and arrogant, and I’m sorry.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. She plainly hadn’t expected an attempt at conciliation and wasn’t certain what to make of it. “If you’re so sorry,” she said, “tell me what became of Kassur and Chadrezzan. I know they didn’t simply run off. The mute wouldn’t leave his grimoires behind.”
Anton had already decided to give her a version of the truth. In his experience, such confidences opened the way for other forms of intimacy.
He made a show of hesitation then said, “I killed them. I killed them in self-defense. They came after me. But after offending you, I feared to tell you.”