WARP world (24 page)

A moment later he found himself staring at his fingers, tracing the grain of the wood table, and slapped his face to sharpen his focus.

The safe parameters of a recon are more intuition than logic. Nevertheless, when extrans, should any of you feel that I would be peering disapprovingly at your actions, then you have most likely exceeded those parameters.

Jarin’s voice. He felt his mentor peering disapprovingly.

“Get moving, you fool,” he ordered himself, and staggered back to his quarters.

T
he grass was cool, Ama’s legs dangled over the edge of the bank as the low rush of the river filled the silence between her and Brin. She had always loved this spot, an oasis in the middle of the stark coldness of T’ueve, though she wondered that Brin, with his thriving business and wealthy clients had chosen such a meager house, away from the city.

She had given him the story as quickly as she could, leaving out certain details, such as her plan for the Sky Temple, and fending off the inevitable questions in order to reach the end. Now that it was done, Brin simply stared out into the dark.

“He said he would direct these attacks toward the Shasir and spare the Kenda if you help him?” he asked, without looking at her.

“That’s what he promised,” Ama answered.

“Do you trust him?”

She paused, “I don’t know. He could be the opportunity our people have waited for. A chance for the Kenda to know real freedom.”

“Or he could enslave us all.” Brin faced Ama, the lantern on the ground sent dancing shadows between them. “With the magic you’ve described, we would be helpless against his kind.”

“Seg says it’s not magic. He says it’s science and…” she dropped into a whisper, “that the Shasir’kia aren’t gods, they’ve just used their science to trick us.”

“I believe that much from him.” Brin shook his head, “A strange story you’ve brought me, Tadpole. Now I wish you’d just come looking for a way to get out of marrying one of those poor fools who dote on you.” The two shared a smile at that.

“I wouldn’t have brought this to you, but you’re the only person here I trust.”

“And I won’t betray your confidence,” he said, placing his hand on her head. “So, if I’m not to harm this man, how am I to help you?”

Ama picked up a stone and turned it over in her hand. “I’m honor bound to Seg but not to his team. I don’t know who they are, or how many, but I think I know where they are and where they’re headed next. The map he showed me had two sets of lines on it–one matched Seg’s path, the other diverged and turned inland, toward the Galich settlement and temple. If we could send a group of Kenda to find and capture them, maybe we could learn more about this invasion, about these people. At the very least, if Seg is lying and reneges on our agreement, we would have some of theirs as prisoners.”

Brin scratched his chin through his beard. “Possible. Difficult but possible. I have some men I trust.”

“Warn them to be cautious. These people…their weapons are nothing we’re used to. They have some as small as this,” she opened her hand, to display the smooth stone, “that make sound and light as loud and bright as the Shasir’s shimmer-fire. Others can knock a man down with only a touch.”

Brin’s eyebrows drew together sharply, “You’re in dangerous waters, Ama. I don’t like this.”

Ama tossed the stone into the river, “I have to get back before he comes to.”

“I’ll hitch up my cartul, you can tell me more about this team as we travel.” Brin stood, brushed the grass and dirt from his clothes then offered his hand to Ama. “And you’d better go collect your basket of food before Perla locks you away in the pantry to force feed you.”

Viren Hult chewed on the end of a benga stick, the bitter pulp mixed with his saliva. The stick, harvested from the dried, inner core of benga tree branches, was a mild stimulant and perfect for times when wits needed to be sharp. He let the juice sit on his tongue and enjoyed the slight tingle as he listened to the muffled shouts and laughter from the nearby Port House.

Night always smothered T’ueve like a heavy blanket. Along the main streets and avenues, constables patrolled; their footfalls and the distant surf break the only sounds. What life remained awake and energetic after the eleventh hour, naturally gravitated to the Wharfinger Block. Centered around the Port House, the Block was a stain on the otherwise pearly city. The stain was tolerated because, though auspiciously a Kenda haven, those Damiar who sought the ills of drink, opiates, gambling, fighting or flesh for hire, would often find themselves ‘lost’ in the dirty corner of the city.

Among other titles, Viren considered himself a shepherd for these lost souls.

A lean man with a shaven head swaggered around the corner; Viren spat out the benga juice.

“Prow, you’ve come armed I hope?”

His companion tilted his formidable chin downward, and smiled as he patted the breast pocket of his shirt. “My lucky deck.”

“By design, I’ll wager,” Viren said, his eyes roaming the narrow, dimly lit streets. “Gods beneath the waves, it’s been ghostly around here lately. How’s a man supposed to make a dishonest living?”

“Sky Ceremony’s comin’ up,” Prow offered. “Lots of bored cloud sniffers’ll be looking for amusement.”

“I like your optimism. We should…” Viren paused and cocked his head, “I spoke too soon. What do you see there?” He pointed down the street with his benga stick. A lone figure staggered a few paces, stopped, looked left, then right, then left again.

“I see a friend we need to make,” Prow answered, interlocked his long fingers and cracked all his knuckles at once.

The men exchanged a smile then strolled down the street.

Viren held his delight in check as he approached the newcomer. Perfect. Young and, judging from the colors and design of his coat, foreign to these parts. Probably some wealthy Dammie visiting members of his Line for the upcoming ceremony and festivities.

Viren smiled broadly as he neared. “Evening, fine Sir. Pardon my bluntness, but you seem lost. I know these parts well, is there something, someone or somewhere you’re looking for?”

The Damiar opened his mouth, his eyes shifted from Viren to Prow, drifted away from both, then returned and narrowed. “I am armed,” the Damiar answered, his voice thick.

“A wise precaution in this part of the city,” Viren said.

The Damiar sized them up for another moment then seemed to come to some important decision. “I’m looking for my boat captain.”

“Well,” Viren’s elbow nudged Prow’s, “if it’s a captain you seek, I know just the place for it. My companion and I were just on our way home—morning worship comes early, praise to the Shasir—but we’d be happy to escort you there.”

The Damiar swayed slightly but his eyes narrowed. “You’re scoundrels,” he said, straightened up and stepped back.

“Scoundrels? Scoundrels!” Viren raised his hand to his heart in distress, then burst out into a round of deep belly laughs. “We are at that.” He slapped a large hand on the young man’s shoulder, “But we’re friendly scoundrels and you are in a most unfriendly part of this good city. My name is Viren Hult, my friend here is Renten Jask but we call him ‘Prow’, on account of the…” He stroked his chin and nodded to his companion’s most noticeable feature.

The Damiar stared uncomprehending, then blinked and lost focus once more.

“And whose acquaintance do we have the pleasure of making this fine evening?”

“I am Seg…” there was a pause, as the Damiar collected himself, “Segkel Eraranat. Lord Segkel Eraranat.”

Prow let out a low whistle, which Viren didn’t react to though he understood the code. The Dammie was already under the influence of something.

Or pretending to it.

“Always an honor to welcome a Lord to our corner of T’ueve. Come, we’ll take you as far as the Port House. If the captain you’re looking for isn’t there, I’m sure we can find someone who knows where he is.”

“
She
,” Seg corrected. Viren and Prow exchanged glances. “I will be watching you,” Seg informed them, “but I appreciate your assistance. You are Ken…kindly. Kindlier, than I would expect.”

“I was new here myself once,” Viren said, as he led Seg up the street, toward the Port House. “T’ueve’s a safe city, not like some of those northern ports, but every city has its dark corners. Isn’t that right Prow?”

“Dark and dangerous,” Prow said, with a nod.

“Do you hail from the south?” Viren continued. “I spent some time down south, lovely countryside, beautiful women.”

“Yes,” Seg agreed, “there are many beautiful women at home. And yourself? Where are you from?”

“Originally from Malvid,” Viren lied. “Have you been? Now, if you want to talk about beautiful women…” he made cupping motions over his chest that indicated the particular type of beauty he referred to, elbowed Seg in the ribs and let loose another booming laugh.

He pattered on with the friendly banter until they reached a large set of wooden doors. Viren stepped forward just as the doors flew open; two men tumbled out in a heap onto the road. Neither man made an attempt to stand but instead, the moment they untangled from one another, both launched into a flurry of punches. A small crowd had followed them out and were cheering, though it was impossible to tell if anyone had a favorite competitor or if it was merely the brawl itself that excited them.

“Here we are!” Viren said, with a flourish, and ushered Seg inside.

The Damiar hesitated, swept his eyes across the scene, then stepped through the door. With a practiced hand, Viren guided his charge through the mob of revelers. The fight had cleared a few tables and he set a course for one in a quieter corner. A cackling laugh caused him to glance over his shoulder in time to see one of the older whores tousle Seg’s hair, eliciting a frown. He chuckled at the young man’s attempt to pull away, as he steered him into an empty chair.

Prow righted an overturned chair for himself and Viren pulled his own close to Seg’s, the scrape of the wood legs against the floor drowned by music and voices.

No sooner had they sat than Viren felt a familiar set of fingernails crawling over his shoulder and down his chest. He grabbed the hands before they could venture further south.

“Mira, come say hello to my friend,” he said to the woman behind him, swinging her to one side. “Lord Eraranat is a visitor to our fair city.”

“Your Lordship,” the woman cooed, and swayed herself beside Seg. She bent forward, her breasts spilling from the dress she barely wore. “Looking for a friend?”

“Yes,” Seg said, staring at the abundance of cleavage. “I mean, no. Not you. Her. Ama.”

“You can call me Ama,” the woman purred.

“Mira, my lovely water nymph, be a dear and send us over some refreshments would you? Lord Eraranat’s been walking a fair distance, he could use a drink.” Viren said, gently redirecting the woman away from Seg. She could have the Dammie later, once he and Prow were done with him.

He kicked Prow under the table, and his friend reached for the deck of cards in his pocket.

“Ama you say? That’s your friend’s name? Can you remember which establishment she worked at?”

“Not an establishment,” Seg sighed. “She’s no whore. As I explained, she’s a captain.”

“My deepest apologies. I am, as you mentioned, a scoundrel.”

A tray of drinks arrived at that moment, convenient timing. Viren knew who the female captain was, though he had never met her. And he wasn’t about to share this knowledge with the Dammie. As he recalled, she docked in the Banks, solely a river rat. The poor fool had probably bedded her and now, a few drinks in, was pining for her company.

Viren raised his glass and nodded to Seg to do likewise, “To friends old and new.”

Seg lifted his glass high and drank, mimicking Viren. His host, however, noticed that the drink was only a token sip, a ploy to avoid the spikers sometimes used to knock a man out and rob him. Clever boy.

“Nevertheless,” Seg said, “she shouldn’t be hard to locate. Not many women captaining ships, no?”

Beneath the haze of the intoxicant, Viren recognized the calculation in Seg’s eyes.

“No. None that I know of. Thank the Sky Lords for that! The Big Water’s no place for such delicate creatures.” Viren took a long drink, then wiped his beard with the sleeve of his shirt. “Besides, if they knew how easy it was, our stories wouldn’t be as impressive, would they?” He slipped a sideways glance to Prow, then took another drink and scanned the room. “Tell you what, I’ll go make some enquiries.” He stood and placed a hand on Seg’s shoulder, “You stay here, this isn’t the kind of crowd you want to get lost in.”