Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (32 page)

Cobiah looked down at Macha. “What did you see?”

The asura was covered in ash and soot, her once-bright braids a mélange of grays. “I was on the
Pride
. A messenger from the city stopped by—I didn’t get a good look at him, just some human dressed in normal clothes—and said he had a package for you. I told him to leave it, and he wouldn’t. After he left, I followed him here.”

“I’m glad you did.” Cobiah gently squeezed Macha’s shoulder, trying to ignore the way his hand shook. “You saved our lives.” Macha’s face reddened, and she nodded mutely.

Yet again,
Cobiah thought, smiling down at the asura,
a little angel saved my life. Biviane, Macha . . . Isaye. I’m fortunate to have them in my life.

The fire was out aboard the
Nomad
, and the ship’s crew moved across her deck numbly, assessing the damage. “It’s going to take weeks to repair,” Isaye said, shaking her head. “Hundreds of gold.”

“I’ll help pay for it. It’s my fault that this happened aboard your ship. They were targeting me, not you.
You’re still a captain, and the
Nomad
will sail again.” Cobiah struggled to focus his emotions. Anger, pain, frustration, and shock fought for his attention, but right now, Isaye needed him to be stoic. He managed a reassuring smile for her sake.

“Who did this?” Isaye met his eyes frankly. “Was it Yomm?”

“Possibly. Or Grimjaw. Both of them have good reason to be angry at me.”

“So does Nodobe. I could probably think of two or three others who’ve sworn vengeance against you over the years,” Macha chimed in helpfully. Cobiah made a face. “What?” she chided. “C’mon, Coby. There’s an old asuran saying: you can judge an inventor’s success by his enemy’s firepower. Yours happen to be pretty well armed.”

Cobiah stayed on topic. “If it was a bomb made of sparks and oil, I’d guess that a charr made it. If it was magic, it’d more likely be of asuran make. Did you get any kind of look inside the package before it blew up, Isaye?”

“Not really. It was shiny, I remember that,” she sighed. “I don’t think I’m going to be much help.”

Macha glared at Isaye. “Shiny? What, did you think it was a Wintersday present?” Isaye bristled, and fearing for his life, Cobiah stepped in.

“I’m going to have a talk with Yomm and Grimjaw. It’s likely one of them was behind this.” He clenched his fists and grinned. “If they were, they’re going to regret their part in it.”

“Just barge in and
ask
?” Isaye admonished him. “Do you really think they’ll tell you the truth?”

“Why not? I’ve never been afraid to go straight to the source. I think the word you used was ‘incorrigible.’ ”
Cobiah winked. “Are you coming with me?” Isaye had little choice. With a frown, she turned to follow. Glaring and ducking her head, Macha trotted along behind the pair.

The three walked through the village toward Yomm’s general store. Although dawn brightened the horizon, they could see that workers had been inside the store for some time, loading the shelves and readying the day’s inventory. Cobiah pounded on the closed door of the shop, his thudding fist shaking it so furiously that it creaked on its hinges. When those inside didn’t respond at once, Cobiah banged on it again, yelling, “Yomm!”

A young asura opened the door a sliver, staring at Cobiah with wide eyes. “What do you want?”

“Where’s Yomm?” Cobiah pushed the door open, shoving his way past the boy. “Go get him. Tell him Cobiah Marriner’s here, and I’m not leaving ’til we have a chat.”

Gulping, the nervous youth rushed into the store, weaving through piles of imported cotton, foodstuffs, and trade goods toward a light in an office behind the main counter. Cobiah followed. Other asura scattered before him, stumbling and dropping their wares in surprise as he strode angrily through the store.

Yomm sat in his office behind a wide desk, three pencils tucked behind his ears. On the shelves surrounding him were books, stacks of paperwork, small trinkets and tools, and a pile of rucksacks waiting to be repaired. When the young asura pushed open the door, he scowled and snarled, “Blipp! What is your
hypertrophic malfunction
? I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!”

Cobiah didn’t wait to be invited. Pushing past the asuran lad, he strode to Yomm’s desk and slammed his hands down on the tabletop. “Tell me about the bomb, you sniveling little skritt.”

Yomm yelped, aghast. One of the pencils fell from
behind his ear. Macha and Isaye stepped into the doorway behind him, the first scowling fiercely, the second eyeing the asura and his surroundings with a studious gaze. “What do you want?” Yomm protested with a squeak. Regaining his equilibrium, the shopkeep pulled the other pencils from his ears and tossed them down onto the paperwork. He fixed Cobiah with a withering gaze. “I could have you arrested for breaking in here.”

“And I could have you hanged for murder.” Cobiah’s voice was cold. Slowly, as if he were talking to a child, he leaned in and repeated, “Tell . . . me . . . about . . . the bomb.”

The asura’s ears twitched. He glanced at Cobiah and Isaye, and lastly, he scowled at Macha. Turning to his young apprentice, the shopkeep snarled, “Blipp, go adjust the golem pattern so they’ll stack ale kegs. We have a norn freighter coming in this afternoon. I want those kegs marked up by fifty percent and placed prominently in the front of the store.” Eager to leave the room, the youth rushed to obey, not daring to look back.

Yomm reclined smoothly in his chair. Picking up one of the pencils, he spun it through his fingers with nervous energy, much like a drummer boy on festival day. “I don’t know anything about a bomb, Marriner. You’ve gone completely off the deep end. Are you planning to blame me for some imagined perfidy simply because you disagree with my appointment to the council? Shame on you.”

Cobiah reached out and grabbed the asura by his ears, lifting Yomm bodily from his seat. Yomm squawked, reaching up to grab Cobiah’s wrists. He hung there, kicking and squirming, his feet flailing above the ground. “I’m telling you—I don’t know anything about a bomb!” Yomm shrieked.

“You’re lying.” Cobiah bounced the asura up and down. “Talk, you mangy, gold mongering—”

“Static sucker!” Macha encouraged. “Shake him again, Cobiah!”

“Cobiah.” Isaye laid her hand on his arm. “Take a look at this.” She spun Yomm’s logbook around on the desk, running her finger down the entries. “Every captain in town owes him something. Grimjaw’s not the only one. Nodobe and Hedda . . . even Moran.”

Macha stood on her tiptoes and studied the numbers. “Maybe everyone who voted yes on the council owed Yomm.”

“Well, that would explain part of it. But if they paid him with their votes, where’d he get the retainer money?” Isaye mused. “And why set the bomb?”

Yomm kicked free of Cobiah’s hands. He landed on the floor with a heavy “oof” and scrambled to his feet. “I don’t make bombs! If you’re referring to the fire down on the docks last night, I had nothing to do with it. I was here all evening.”

“You could have sent the messenger. That doesn’t prove anything.” Macha poked him, and Yomm squawked.

“I didn’t send any messages, you nitwit. You and your captain both have heads made of oak!” Seizing an opportunity, the shopkeep kicked her viciously in the shin. Macha yelped and grabbed her leg. While she was hopping about and cursing, Yomm rounded on Cobiah. “I don’t know anything about bombs, or explosions, or murder. I spent my youth in a
respectable
laboratory, building packing golems like the ones I use to stock my store. I’ve never built an incendiary device in my life.”

“Look at this.” Isaye was still reading the ledger. “Grimjaw’s last shipment was a load of construction materials to
a charr outpost. Charr use explosives to plant deep poles for building foundations. He could have kept some of those to make the bomb.”

“Aha! Aha! See?” Yomm rubbed his aching ears. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, bookah. I don’t care about your politics, but when you march in here accusing me of attempted murder, you’ve gone too far.” He smoothed his ears back, wincing. “I’m calling the city guard!”

Cobiah narrowed his eyes, ready to pick another fight, but Macha stepped between them. “Come on, Yomm. They’ve just been in an explosion. Isaye’s ship took a pounding, and somebody tried to murder Cobiah. Give them a break.” She took another step toward the older asura, helping him straighten his clothes. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Friends? Are you delirious? I should . . . What’s that you’re doing, woman? Is that some kind of . . . what is that?” While Yomm was talking, Macha had reached for the wand at her belt and murmured a few words of magic. Before he could blink, she passed her palm in front of Yomm’s eyes. Her hand moved away, his eyes unfocused, and the shopkeep began to wobble on his feet. “Oh . . . oh. Oh!” he said, staring blithely at the empty space between them. A slow, droopy grin plastered itself on Yomm’s features and his voice took on a woozy tone. “Councilor Flax! Why, yes, I
would
like an award . . . and here I didn’t think you’d noticed. How wonderful . . . It comes with a research grant, you say? Marvelous . . . just . . . uumph . . .” Yomm’s eyelids drooped. He muttered something indistinct, and his body sagged toward the floor.

Catching him, Macha called, “Help me get this idiot back into his chair.” Coby lifted the small asura and placed him in the seat behind the desk. Before he was
even completely situated, Yomm was snoring. Macha thumped his head with her finger for good measure. The tap put Yomm off balance, and he slumped face-first onto the top of his desk. “He’s completely down for the count, but it’ll only last a few hours. Sadly, he’ll probably be up and around for the council vote at noon.” Macha went over to the weathered rucksacks in the corner of the room, where Yomm kept his storage goods. Noting a sailor’s name stitched to one shoulder strap, Macha swept up a heavy bag and looked at the letters appraisingly. “Henst,” she read. “Heh heh heh.” She lifted Yomm’s head and shoved the heavy bag like a pillow between the asura’s face and the desk. Patting the sleeping asura’s cheek, she smirked. “Boy, I really hope Yomm drools.”

“Good work, Macha.” Cobiah crossed his arms grimly. “Darn. I was really hoping it was him.”

“Me too,” Isaye sighed. “Cobiah, I think we’re working against the clock. Whoever did this had to have worked fast, or the attack wouldn’t have been so sloppy. It would be far easier to spend a few days looking for the opportunity to get a bomb hidden in the berth of your ship than it was to track you down on the spur of the moment and hope for the best. They could even have planted charges on your keel and set it off after you took the
Pride
out of harbor. You’d be lost at sea. Nobody would have found out about the bomb.”

“Maybe they weren’t willing to wait that long,” Macha muttered as she draped a lace doily over Yomm’s head. “Could have been years.”

Cobiah shot the asura a stern look and then turned back to Isaye. “You’re right. There are easier ways to kill one person if that’s your target. It’s messy and designed to work even if you can’t get close. They could have hired a mercenary to attack me at night on the streets.”

“True.” Isaye added, “Or sneak aboard your ship and set a fire by hand. A bomb does seem like a pretty obvious way to go about things.” Isaye’s brows furrowed in thought.

“What does that mean?” Macha asked.

Isaye wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. “It doesn’t add up.”

Bombs were hard to make and harder to design effectively. It had to be a makeshift plan, based on something scavenged and used as an attack rather than planning out a better strategy, which meant that Isaye was right: the attacker had been in a rush. Cobiah frowned. Yomm had good reason to want Cobiah dead, but he didn’t have the materials or the skill to put this plan together so quickly. Moreover, now that he was on the council, it didn’t seem like he’d be in a very big rush. He’d gotten what he wanted: a voice. Yomm could afford to take weeks to slowly get control over trade.

Cobiah looked at the ledger, once more noting Grimjaw’s recent cargo. It had to be more than a coincidence. He set the book back on Yomm’s desk. “We need to have a chat with a certain ill-tempered charr.”

“So.” Macha trotted behind him as Cobiah left the office. “Tell me we’re not going to use the same tactic with Grimjaw. You don’t grab a
charr
by the ears. We’ll just talk to him, right?” When Cobiah didn’t answer, Macha asked more stridently, “You’ve got a plan, right?

“. . . Cobiah?”

Now the darkness comes, and the stars above

Circle ’round like sharks at sea, O

Instead of fighting for our lives

We should be sitting at our ease

But I chose the strife of a sailor’s life

And the ocean, she chose me, O.

—“Weather the Storm”

T
he
Brutality
was moored at the southernmost dock, sitting low in her berth like a shark prowling still waters. Her shape, long and lean, reminded Cobiah of the
Havoc
, but no engine chugged in this brig’s lower decks. She had two masts standing fore and aft rather than parallel, and her sails were square-rigged in the way of charr military vessels. Her hull was painted a dark charcoal gray, like raw primer left to dry. Xeres Grimjaw and his warband bragged that it made her harder to see against the ocean. Sykox claimed it was a tribute to their legion: Ash.