She grinned. “We do now, chump. Thanks for confirming.”
Pashra scowled, then said, “Who exactly is ‘we?’ ”
Riltana carefully straightened. She’d managed to gain a little time with her spontaneous falsehood. Maybe she should try to extract a little more information before she fled. “Let’s just say,” she said, “we’ve had our eyes on you for quite a while now. Your efforts to panic Akanul into a premature strike aren’t going to work. We know you’re trying to stampede the Crown of Majesty into some kind of overt action against Tymanther.”
“Ah. You think that’s what I’m doing?”
“It’s obvious.”
The oni shrugged with lazy insolence and said, “You’ve figured me out. Oh, no.” The last dripped with so much sarcasm that Riltana knew she had missed something.
“I mean,” she said, “it’s obvious that’s your cover story.”
Pashra laughed, and it wasn’t a mirthful, happy sound. He glanced back at the lone spider nearest him and said, “She knows nothing, Chenraya.”
A voice-female, disdainful, and cold-seemed to issue from the tiny arachnid on the door frame. “Take her alive. She obviously knows something or she wouldn’t be here. Then bring her to me in person-this homunculus body is good for scrying and communication, but little else. We’ll drain her mind as easily as pouring out a cup. Then we’ll know.”
Shit! I might be out of my depth, Riltana thought. Despite the oni’s spell and obvious size advantage, she figured she was fairly evenly matched with the thing, assuming she could stay clear of the spiders. But the presence of a talking arachnid, or someone who was apparently using the arachnid to talk remotely, suggested Riltana didn’t really know the score.
Time to get gone. She glanced at the broken window-
And saw a spider the size of a street vendor’s cart bearing down on her.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE CITY OF AIRSPUR, AKANUL
17 LEAFFALL, THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
Rain stung the water in the Bay of Airspur. Ships huddled close to their moorings, gray silhouettes half-visible through the downpour. Demascus strode the boardwalk, collar up and hands jammed in his jacket pockets. He was tired of being soaked to the skin. Unfortunately, winter along the coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars meant regular deluges.
He was looking for a ship to charter. But he’d paced up and down the docks a few times already like a sleepwalker, not really seeing anything as the cold seeped into his bones. Instead, the scene where a former version of him killed a woman named Madri kept cycling past his mind’s eye. Another circumstance created by another him that was now being visited on Demascus. How fair was that?
Madri had been a beauty, no denying it. So like Queen Arathane in height and posture … He shook his head. He couldn’t afford to notice similarities. Madri is your past, he thought. No. Not even your past. She’s got nothing to do with Arathane, for shadow’s sake! For that matter, the queen, while uncommonly approachable in his experience with royalty, had done nothing more than smile and chat with him. She was a monarch! Nothing more. Even if she were interested-
A boom of thunder brought him back to the moment. He looked around and realized he’d started on his fifth trip through the dock ward.
How much time had he wasted? Enough. Just pick a boat, already.
Demascus stopped walking and reviewed what he’d seen. Most of the ships had been too small or too large and work-a-day for his needs. Only a few seemed somewhat promising …
There! A caravel, triple-masted, with two square sails and one triangular. An elaborate figurehead hung at the ship’s stem-a half-painted, half-sculpted woman with shimmering green scales in place of clothing. She glared into the rain, her eyes unnaturally brilliant. And she apparently gave the ship her name: Green Siren II. Now why did that seem familiar?
Dodging some hurrying dockworkers who were shepherding a cart overloaded with sodden grain sacks, he boarded the ship. He asked the first person he saw, a woman wearing a red scarf over her hair, to fetch the captain.
“Why should I?” she said.
“Because I’m looking to charter this ship, and I’ve got coin burning a hole in my purse,” Demascus said. Then he ducked under the forecastle awning to get out of the rain. The crew person gave him the once-over, and left. In search of the captain, he hoped.
Less than a song later, a man clambered up from the hold. Demascus guessed he was the ship’s owner because of his ridiculously prodigious hat and his confident swagger as he approached. A gold-trimmed coat that swept the ship’s deck and a slender sword in a silver sheath completed the picture of a man unafraid of flamboyancy. Or at least someone who didn’t mind cutting a figure reminiscent of the pirates that once hunted the waters north of Akanul nearly a century earlier.
“My crew tells me you’re looking to hire Green Siren?” The man produced a pipe and miniature coal urn from a pocket in his great coat. He set about lighting it with an ember pot.
“Depending on how well the captain can keep confidences, yes.”
“They say Captain Thoster is a better secret-keeper than most. And Thoster, by the way, would be me.” The man held out a hand.
Demascus shook it. Thoster’s grip was cool, but strong.
“Demascus. I need a fast ship, and one that can defend itself if necessary.”
“Danger is just a reason to charge more coin. But seriously, you ain’t never heard of Green Siren? Fish piss, we once made the Sovereignty give up the Sea of Fallen Stars. ’Course we had a larger crew back then, and damn it if the city hasn’t come back … Still, this ship’s able enough. What’s the cargo?”
The scroll charm woven into Demascus’s hair, a token paid to his last incarnation by an avatar of the god Oghma, didn’t so much as twitch in response to the captain’s boast regarding the aboleth city. The man was telling something close to the truth, so he was more capable than he appeared. Green Siren might well be the ship.
“The cargo is me and a few associates. We’re headed for an island just off the coast, one not marked on any charts. And if I hire your craft, you’ll have to forget about it afterward. ”
“Ho, a place not on the charts? I like the sound of that. And to answer your question, lad, I can forget nearly anything, if coin is plentiful enough.” Thoster blew out a puff of smoke.
“My patron’s pockets are deep,” Demascus said. Arathane had told him to charter a ship, after all. It wasn’t like he had the coin to pull that off on his own.
“And as it turns out, I’ve got time on my hands,” said Thoster. “I’m waiting on a cargo of Chondalwood green-spice before I can ship back across the sea. So if we can do it in the next few days, Green Siren’s your ship.”
“How about later today?” said Demascus.
“Today? Umberlee’s creaking knees! Can’t you see what’s blowing in? This storm ain’t fit for any ship to sail in, not even mine. No one’s putting out for at least a day or two, until this blows over.”
Demascus peered up at the flashing clouds smothering Airspur like a damp blanket. The frothing waves rolling into the bay were alarming. If anything, the captain was underestimating the fury of the storm. Burning dominions, he thought. Arathane’s not going to be happy about a delay.
“When’s the soonest we can put out?”
Thoster squinted into the storm, sucked contemplatively on his pipe, then said, “You never can tell with the sea. ’Course, I’m a better judge than most. Tell you what, Demascus. Show up here in two days, and if this ain’t blown over, I’ll buy you an ale. What’d’ya say?”