Kalten became very alert. ‘He’s come back?’
‘That he has, my friend. Here, give us a drink.’ Senga took the wineskin and tipped it up, squirting a long stream of wine into his mouth. Then he wiped his chin on the back of his hand. ‘He and those Elene friends of his came riding into Natayos not four days ago. They had a couple of women with them, I hear.’
Kalten sank down on the ground and made some show of adjusting his sword-belt to cover his sudden excitement. ‘I thought Scarpa hated women,’ he said, trying to keep his voice casual.
‘Oh, that he does, my friend, but from what I hear, these two women weren’t just some playthings he picked up along the way. They had their hands tied, for one thing, and the fellow I talked with said that they were a little bedraggled, but they didn’t really look like tavern wenches. He didn’t get a very good look at them, because Scarpa hustled them into a house that seems to have been fixed up for somebody a little special—fancy furniture and rugs on the floor and all that.’
‘Was there anything unusual about them?’ Kalten almost held his breath.
Senga shrugged and took another drink. ‘Just the fact that they weren’t treated like ordinary camp followers, I suppose.’ He scratched his head. ‘There was something else the fellow told me,’ he said. ‘What was it now?’
Kalten did hold his breath this time.
‘Oh, yes,’ Senga said, ‘now I remember. The fellow said that these two women Scarpa took all the trouble to invite to Natayos were Elenes. Isn’t that odd?’
9
The town of Beresa on the southeastern Arjuni coast was a low, unlovely place squatting toadlike on the beach lying between the South Tamul Sea and the swampy green jungle behind it. The major industry of the region was the production of charcoal, and acrid smoke hung in the humid air over Beresa like a curse. Captain Sorgi dropped his anchor some distance out from the wharves and went ashore to consult with the harbor master.
Sparhawk, Stragen, and Talen, wearing their canvas smocks, leaned on the port rail staring across the smelly water toward their destination. ‘I have an absolutely splendid idea, From,’ Stragen said to Sparhawk.
‘Oh?’ Sparhawk replied.
‘Why don’t we jump ship?’
‘Nice try, Vymer,’ Talen laughed. They were all more or less at ease with the assumed names by now.
Sparhawk looked around carefully to make sure that none of the rest of the crew was near. ‘An ordinary sailor wouldn’t leave without collecting his pay. Let’s not do anything to attract attention. All that’s really left to do is the unloading of the cargo.’
‘Under the threat of the bo’sun’s whip,’ Stragen added glumly. ‘That man really tests my self-control. Just the sight of him makes me want to kill him.’
‘We can endure him this one last time,’ Sparhawk told him. ‘This town’s going to be full of unfriendly eyes. Krager’s note told me to come here, and he’ll have people here to make sure I’m not trying to sneak in reinforcements behind his back.’
‘That might just be the flaw in this whole plan, From,’ Stragen said. ‘Sorgi knows that we’re not ordinary sailors. Is he the kind to let things slip?’
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Sorgi knows how to keep his mouth shut. He was paid to get us to Beresa unnoticed, and Sorgi always does what he’s paid to do.’
The captain returned late that afternoon, and they raised anchor and eased up to one of the long wharves protruding out into the harbor. They unloaded the cargo the next morning. The bo’sun cracked his whip only sparingly, and the unloading proceeded rapidly.
Then, when the cargo holds were all emptied, the sailors lined up and filed along the quarterdeck where Sorgi sat at a small table with his account book and his stacks of coins. The captain gave each sailor a little speech as he paid him. The speeches varied slightly, but the general message was the same: ‘Stay out of trouble, and get back to the ship on time. I won’t wait for you when the time comes to sail.’ He did not alter the speech when he paid Sparhawk and his friends, and his face did not in any way betray the fact they were anything other than ordinary crew members.
Sparhawk and his two friends went down the gangway with their sea-bags on their shoulders and with a certain amount of anticipation. ‘Now I see why sailors are so rowdy when they reach port,’ Sparhawk said. ‘That wasn’t really much of a woyage, and I still feel a powerful urge to kick over the traces.’
‘Where to?’ Talen asked when they reached the street.
‘There’s an inn called the Seaman’s Rest,’ Stragen replied. ‘It’s supposed to be a clean, quiet place out beyond the main battle zone here along the waterfront. It should give us a base of operations to work from.’
The sun was just going down as they passed through the noisy, reeking streets of Beresa. The buildings were constructed for the most part of squared-off logs, since stone was rare here on the vast, soggy delta of the Arjun River, and the logs appeared to have been attacked by damp rot almost before they were in place. Moss and fungus grew everywhere, and the air was thick with the chill damp and the acrid wood smoke from the charcoal yards outside of town. The Arjunis in the streets were noticeably more swarthy than their Tamul cousins of the north, their eyes were shifty, and even their most casual gait through the muddy streets of their unlovely town seemed somehow furtive.
Sparhawk muttered the spell under his breath as they passed along the shabby street, and he released it carefully to avoid alerting the watchers he was sure were there.
‘Well?’ Talen asked. Talen had been around Sparhawk long enough to know the signs that the big Pandion was using magic.
‘They’re out there,’ Sparhawk replied. ‘Three of them that I can pick up.’
‘Are they concentrating on us?’ Stragen asked tensely.
Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Their attention’s sort of generalized. They aren’t Styrics, so they won’t know I’ve gone looking for them. Let’s just move along. If they start to follow us, I’ll let you know.’
The Seaman’s Rest was a square, tidy inn festooned with fish nets and other nautical decorations. It was run by a burly retired sea captain and his equally burly wife. They brooked no nonsense under their roof and they recited a long list of house rules to each prospective tenant before they would accept his money. Sparhawk had not even heard of some of the things that were prohibited.
‘Where to now?’ Talen asked after they had stowed their seabags in their room and come back out into the muddy street.
‘Back to the waterfront,’ Stragen replied. ‘The chief of the local thieves is a man named Estokin. He deals extensively with smugglers and with sailors who pilfer things from cargo holds. I’ve got a letter from Caalador. Ostensibly, we’re here to make sure that he got his money’s worth during the Harvest Festival. Arjunis aren’t generally trusted, so Estokin won’t be too surprised to see us.’
Estokin the Arjuni was a man who had clearly been destined for a life of crime from the day he was born. He had what was perhaps the most evil face Sparhawk had ever seen. His left eye peered perpetually off in a northeasterly direction, and he had a pronounced squint. His beard was sparse and straggly, and his skin was blotched with a scaly disease. He scratched at his face almost continually, showering white flakes like a winter sky. His high-pitched, nasal voice was very much like the whine of a hungry mosquito, and he reeked of garlic, cheap wine and pickled herring. ‘Is Caalndor accusing me of cheating him, Vymer?’ he demanded with some show of indignation.
‘Of course not.’ Stragen leaned back in the rickety chair in the back room of the smelly waterfront dive. ‘If he thought you’d done that, you’d already be dead. He wants to know if we missed anybody, that’s all. Were any local people particularly upset when the bodies started to turn up?’