Then all he could think of was the room at the inn.
As much as Wynn claimed that Shade was fully sentient, the truth of it had never quite settled upon him until now. She was telling him to go back.
Turning south, Chane scrambled toward the port.
Wynn heard the fifth bell of the second day—past noon—in following the duchess and her entourage. No one recognized her from afar.
She had two bedsheets tied about her waist, beneath her robe, and an oversize dwarven cloak borrowed from the innkeeper. Unless someone peered too closely, she looked stout enough to pass for a young, rather skinny dwarf. But she was beginning to regret giving in to Chane and staying behind.
In the first place, she had learned nothing. Reine spent most of her time hiding away in her inn, leaving Wynn to mill around the mainway and wait. A problematic pursuit, as no one else spent so much time loitering in plain sight. Secondly, and more important, she hated being cut off, blinded as to her companions' whereabouts and well-being.
Was Shade all right? How had Chane fared on his own among the dwarves? And had they found any tunnel entrance?
Wynn's disguise had proven adequate, but she began to think her task was a waste of time. How long could she pretend to wait for someone before anyone noticed? One set of dwarves in heavy furs had passed by more than once. The same pair of clan constables had already come and gone three times that morning. As she was about to give up and work out some other ploy, someone stepped out of the inn down the side tunnel.
Duchess Reine emerged in polished boots, breeches, and a front-split deep teal skirt. Her elven companion, as always, was nearly covered by his white robe and cowl. All three Weardas followed, and the small group marched straight toward the mainway.
Wynn ducked back and flattened against the wall, lowering her head until the cloak's hood hung over her eyes. She waited, not moving as she watched their feet tromp by. Once they were well down the way, she followed as closely as she dared.
When they turned into the passage to Off-Breach Market, she held back until they passed the first stalls. It wasn't until she caught up that she noticed the elf carrying a small piece of parchment and a sharpened stick of writing charcoal wrapped in scrap paper. Reine moved about the market, trading dwarven slugs for a blanket, a tin kettle, and a coil of stout rope.
Whatever the items were for, the elf stroked the parchment as if marking off acquisitions. Wynn slipped behind a candle maker's booth, close enough to hear them.
"Extra bread loaves would not be amiss," the elf said in his lilting, reedy voice. "Best not tax our hosts' resources, if we are to be down there several days."
Wynn stiffened, lifting her head a bit too much. They were heading below to the Stonewalkers—for days, it seemed—and she would lose them!
"I'm aware of the time," the duchess answered. "With every passing year, I can almost feel the highest tide coming."
A breath's pause followed.
"But yes," she said, "let's see about bread … and perhaps dried fruits."
They all headed back toward the market's entrance, where vendors of food and dry goods had set up their stalls. Wynn wove her way around the market, glancing twice toward its rear and the passages leading into the level's outer reaches.
She could think of no way to remain unnoticed in following, once they headed off for the hidden entrance to the underworld. But after acquiring several loaves, the captain turned and escorted the duchess toward the market's exit to Breach Mainway.
Wynn slipped along behind the booths one path over. As the entourage neared the exit, the duchess spoke again.
"We have everything reasonable we might need. Please make certain I'm not disturbed until tomorrow night. I need … time."
"Of course," the elf answered, and they all left.
Wynn didn't follow, knowing they now headed back to their inn. Apparently the duchess was holing up until tomorrow night. She would then go below for days. How many, how long—and why? There seemed no reason for it, and the only thing that came to mind were the ancient texts.
Wynn racked her brain for any way to spy on the duchess inside the inn. She needed to learn what Reine was doing here, and how she and the royal family were connected to the Stonewalkers. If they guarded the texts, and could somehow move them to and from the guild every day—over a distance of three days' shore-side journey—what purpose did the duchess serve here?
Wynn couldn't think of a way to find the answers—not without getting herself arrested. There was no point in lingering.
Grimacing, Wynn headed back to her own inn.
Chane awoke and lay quietly for an instant, uncertain where he was. The previous night filtered back into his thoughts. He rose quickly, swinging his legs over the bed's edge, and looked around, still dazed from dormancy.
"Shade?"
She was not present, but then how could she be? He had barely reached the inn on the edge of dawn, just in time to bolt into his room and fall dormant upon the bed. His clothes had dampened the blankets, as he had not bothered to undress. He picked up his cloak and left. The instant he stepped outside, he called out.
"Shade!"
Outside the inn, two husky-looking dwarves glanced his way, but Chane did not care. He looked for Shade, at a loss for how to find her, let alone whether she had yet returned.
The last of evening activities still filled the port. Another ship had docked far out on one pier. Its strange curled prow and central row of towering triangular sails caught his attention. Long ship's oars were raised upright along its rail.
Dwarven dockworkers were hauling huge bales and barrels down the pier from the vessel. Among them were short and dark-skinned Suman passengers or crew in long, flowing vestments and cloth head wraps. Though they stood a head taller than the dwarves, they were not as tall as Wynn's Suman confederate, Domin il'Sänke.
The night was even darker than the last, the moon still hidden behind the peninsula's high peak. Tomorrow, it would be invisible, even when it crested—a new moon. As the night was his world, he used to pay more attention to such things. Right now, he did not care.
"Shade?"
A low huff reached his ears.
Chane twisted left at the sound, and Shade came padding down the street. To his surprise, he felt a pang of guilt that she had been locked out all day. But she trotted right past him.
"Shade?"
The dog kept on, heading for the main road—the one that led to the lift.
"Get back here!" he called.
Shade paused at the corner, looking over her shoulder at him, and then slipped out of sight.
Chane bolted back into the inn and ran for his room. After retrieving his packs, he tossed coins on the counter for the innkeeper, waiting only long enough to see that they were sufficient. Then he rushed out.
When he rounded the corner, there was Shade, sitting at the bottom of the loading ramp.
A pack of dwarves with cargo and a pair of Sumans in garish colors approached. All of them stopped at the sight of a "wolf" in their way.
"Dhêb!" snarled a full-bearded Suman.
When the man reached for the hilt of an arced sword cradled in his waist wrap, Chane pushed through.
"She is mine!" he said, stepping in front of Shade. "She will not cause any trouble."
One dwarf with hair cropped to bristles grimaced at him. He whispered something to his closest companion, who in turn spoke directly to the pair of Sumans, presumably in their own tongue. Chane glanced back.
Shade wandered up to the lift under the suspicious eyes of what had to be the stationmaster. The dwarf stood silent, holding the gate open. Shade boarded with a disgruntled rumble and squatted in the platform's rear corner.