The Return of Nightfall (43 page)

Nightfall suppressed a shiver. He might have made a grievous mistake if they had chosen the most dutiful and experienced guardsmen to examine everyone coming and leaving. Aside from Kelryn on one occasion, no one had ever seen through his disguises; but someone trained specifically to do so just might. Suddenly, he appreciated the pummeling the ship’s captain had given him. It should rearrange his features even more than his disguise already did.

The captain’s hand on his arm tightened in warning. He, too, was worried about this unanticipated inspection.

“Very well,” Nightfall said, trying to sound irritated and put out by the details, rather than concerned. “But I would appreciate it if you left my gear in good order and didn’t hassle my sailors. The ship is rented, and so are the men.” He met the guard’s stare directly, not wanting to arouse suspicion by appearing to have something to hide. “And we’ve had a difficult trip.” He indicated the bruise on his cheek, leaving the details to the guards’ imaginations. Most likely, they would assume the landlubber merchant had lost his footing in the normal pitch and toss of a sea voyage.

Nightfall turned to the sailors. “We set sail the day after tomorrow. Once the sails are furled, you’re all off duty until then; but I expect you back first thing that morning in proper shape for sailing, if you want your pay.”

The pirates all began talking at once.

“I’m light on coins, so I’ll pay docking at castoff, after I’ve sold my wares.” Nightfall nodded at the captain. “Zenia.” He assisted Celdurant from the ship to the planks, and one of the guards steadied his arm as well.

The captain gave the man a shy smile.

The guard loosed the arm and bowed. “Madam.” He turned his attention to Nightfall. “The bracelet you sold me last time, Balshaz . . .”

Nightfall tensed. He had made a lot of sales in Alyndar and did not recall each individual one.

“My wife loves it. Worth every copper for that alone.”

Nightfall smiled. “Every satisfied customer is a reminder of why I do this.” He appreciated having a guard who remembered him. They would see him as Balshaz, a familiar merchant rather than some stranger who might be masquerading. It would take some of the scrutiny off of the captain as well.

“Is this your wife?” the guard continued as his companions boarded the
Seaworthy
.

The captain giggled girlishly.

Nightfall shook his head. “Just courting for now.”

Apparently realizing he was the only guard remaining, the speaker followed his companions onto the ship. “Hope things work out for you.”

“Thanks.” Nightfall headed along the docks.

The captain took his arm once more. “You had to name me Zenia?”

“What’s wrong with Zenia?” Nightfall whispered back from the corner of his mouth as they walked past the few dockhands. Normally, the port would be bustling with activity, men scurrying to place and move boxes and crates. Now, the docks stood mostly empty, stained and weathered, and the few men not hovering around the
Seaworthy
appeared bored.

One jumped up from the shards of a broken crate. “Good day, Captain. Got some crates what needs unloading?”

“Not today, donner.” Nightfall shook his head. “I’ve got all my wares on me.” He realized how ridiculous that sounded, a merchant traveling across rough seas for the profit on a sack of trinkets. He had expected the real captain, and his crew, to handle their own reasons for coming to Alyndar, while he served as an incidental passenger. No matter how lame their story, he could fall back on the convenience of a ship that just happened to be headed to a country with which he wished to trade.

As they walked from the docks to the roadways, the captain picked up the thread of their previous conversation, as if no time had passed. “I would have thought a man called Balshaz could come up with something more exotic and interesting than Zenia.”

Nightfall considered his next course of action, leading the captain down a twist of busy streets. “You don’t look the exotic and interesting type.” Caught up in thought, he tried to dodge the inane conversation. “Now shut up, and act like a woman.”

The captain stopped, hands on hips in a gesture of female exasperation. “Those two statements are entirely incongruous.”

Drawn up short, Nightfall could not help smiling. “You’re mean.”

“I’m a pirate,” the captain reminded softly.

Grabbing the captain’s hand, gloved to hide its size and roughness, Nightfall led him onward. “Not today, you’re not.”

The captain tweaked strands of his sleek black hair. “Where are we going? The market’s the other way.”

“I know.” As they came upon an intersection, Nightfall paused to insert them into the proper flow of pedestrians. “No time for the market. I’ve got a mission, and I have to accomplish it before we set sail day after tomorrow.”

“You’re the captain,” the captain said, though it clearly pained him to speak the words. “You decide when to cast off.”

Nightfall made a thoughtful noise. “You’re paying the ten coppers docking, you know.”

“That’s not very gracious, Captain Balshaz.” The falsetto was becoming more normal with every utterance.

For a moment, Nightfall could actually imagine his companion was a woman. “They’re probably out there counting so they can charge us by the barnacle.”

The captain huffed out a deep laugh, then muted it to a lighter, more feminine sound. “Merchants. Cheaper than misers, they are. Minds set on every copper.”

Nightfall’s concern with staying too long in Alyndar had nothing to do with money and everything to do with leaving alive and getting to Hartrin as swiftly as possible. “Frugality is a virtue, Zenia. At least merchants spend their own money.”

The captain feigned offense. “Are you calling me a thief?”

“I’m calling you . . . a pirate.” Nightfall glanced at his companion, accustomed to radical transformations, yet still impressed by his own handiwork. He only wished the captain knew the tricks that came with long practice, means to make one’s self look shorter or taller, fuller or thinner, older or younger.

“Oh. All right, then.” The captain made a long-fingered gesture. “Carry on. You were going to tell me where we’re going.”

Nightfall explained his plan. “I’m going to sell the entire lot to a shopkeeper on Arling Way. I won’t get as much for it, but Moskajh will give me a reasonable price. He trusts me when I tell him what my wares will go for in his shop.” He gave the captain a telling look. “He trusts me, because—”

“—you’re an honest merchant,” the captain filled in wearily.

“That’s right.” Nightfall amused himself with the thought that the world’s most notorious criminal was preaching morality to a noble-turned-pirate. “I’ve never steered him wrong.”

“Him, maybe,” the captain mumbled as they headed into the shopping sector. “But you got me wearing a gods-damned dress.”

 

After having used some of his products on the captain and the sailors, Nightfall felt lucky to get back the nine silvers he had spent. Shedding the pack of goods left him feeling oddly satisfied, though he still faced the most difficult part of his mission. He worked best with his hands and back free, and he felt shackled by anything that might hamper a sudden need for movement. He cursed the delay that had allowed the captain to bruise his face, though he now attributed it as much to the other man’s swiftness as his own lapse. The pain distracted from his concentration, and the swelling rendered a disguise too dangerous. The captain already knew Nightfall had some skill at changing appearances, but to seem too adept at it, or too quick to use the tactic again, might give him away.

Nightfall knew he could not afford to sneak into the castle in Balshaz guise either. Not only could it destroy one of his best and most established personae, it might force Alyndar to take a closer look he could not afford. He would need to give the entire matter long consideration, preferably over a mug of ale and a plate of warm food.

“Where are we going now?” the captain asked predictably.

Nightfall looked up to a sky growing dimmer as the sun snaked toward the west. “To the inn.”

The captain loosed a grateful sigh. “Even dressed like this, it’ll be good to get back with my men.”

“Oh, no, madam.” Nightfall turned the captain a reproachful look. “The sailors’ll be at the tavern near the docks, for sure. We need a more upscale establishment. One that caters to the traveling ladies.”

The captain clapped his gloved hands over his face and groaned.

Chapter 17

—Dyfrin of Keevain, the demon’s friend

 

A
FTER A BREAKFAST of leftovers from the previous evening, their disguises touched up to Nightfall’s exacting standards, Nightfall and the captain headed toward Alyndar Castle amidst dense fog and drizzle.

“Gods,” the captain whispered only for Nightfall’s ears. “I honestly don’t know how women wear this uncomfortable crap.” He adjusted his skirts. “I’m getting a rash in . . . an indelicate place.”

Nightfall preferred to concentrate on upcoming events, but he felt the need to give a warning. “Just don’t be scratching that indelicate place in public.”

The captain made an affronted noise. “I know how to act like a proper lady.”

“Fine,” Nightfall said as they headed up the path leading directly to the castle of Alyndar. “Just let me do all the talking, please.”

“All right.” The captain sounded grudging. “But I’d still like to know what this is about.” He gave Nightfall a warning glare, softened by feminine cosmetics. “I don’t need a weapon to choke the life out of you. If the word ‘pirate’ leaves your lips—”

“It won’t,” Nightfall reassured. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“So you say.”

“So I say. So I mean.”

“Nevertheless . . .”

Nightfall sighed. They had gone over this all before. “Nevertheless, you intend to dog my every step and interfere with my every action.”

“So, I’ve made myself clear.”

“Abundantly.” Though it hampered his every action, Nightfall understood the captain’s apprehension, and even his hostility. To protect his men, Celdurant had placed himself in a position of terrible vulnerability in a way that would make any independent man fretful and short-tempered, including Nightfall. He tried to dodge the conversation as they approached the front gates and the two sentries standing at rigid attention. “Now be ladylike, Zenia. And also quiet.”

The captain obeyed, trailing him in silence as Nightfall approached the men. “Good morn.”

The one to the right, a squat, balding blond with a scarred left cheek and a crooked nose studied them mildly. Nightfall recalled his name as Garet. “Morn.”

The other guard, a tall, well-muscled brunet, was a stranger to Nightfall. He did not speak.

Nightfall hid his own nervousness behind a mantle of false confidence. He needed to appear as if he belonged here. “I am the merchant Balshaz, and this is Lady Zenia. We’d like an audience with . . .” He cringed inwardly, refusing to display his mistake for the guards. “We’d like an audience.”

Garet set aside a wicked-looking polearm to pull a scroll from his pocket. He examined it dully for several moments, then looked at Nightfall. “We can fit you in on the morning of the third day of the second month of the Great Cold.”

Nightfall stared. He knew the drill from previous dealings with royalty in Balshaz guise. He held out a silver to the guard. “We need an audience today.”

“Today.” The guard accepted the coin, then examined his schedule again. “Perhaps after midday . . .”

Nightfall handed him another silver.

Garet brightened. He rolled up his scroll and returned it to his pocket. “Perhaps now would suit you better, sir?”

Nightfall smiled. “ ‘Now’ sounds perfect.” He had known from the start he could buy his way into court this morning. His own short stint as ruler had taught him the upper class visitors got the first slots of the day, and he doubted he had much competition. However, he had to play the game without risking offense to the man who determined the schedule. “Thank you.”

“Right this way, madam, sir.” Garet led them through the courtyard gardens, past two more guard posts, and into an unadorned room where two young guards hopped to immediate attention. “This is Balshaz, a merchant, and his lady friend to see . . . to see . . .” He paused in consternation, then surrendered with a shake of his head. “. . . whoever the hell’s presiding this morning.”

One of the younger guards smiled, but the other went even more rigid and made a stiff-fingered gesture of respect. “Sir, it’s Lord Admiral Nikolei Neerchus.”

Nightfall remembered the navy’s admiral from his meeting with the High Council, a massive, handsome bull of a man with enormous green eyes and short-cropped fair hair. He remembered the man’s quickness, despite his bulk, his cleverness at turning directly to the law book when Nightfall’s fate had been in question, and his utter condemnation of Sudian. Nightfall would need to tread carefully and not reveal his trepidations.

Garet turned on a heel, leaving Nightfall and the captain with the two guards. The one who had reminded Garet that it was the admiral stepped toward them. “You’ll need to leave any weapons here, sir.”

“Weapons?” Nightfall tried to look affronted. “I’m a merchant, young man. What need have I of weapons?”

It was a rhetorical question, but the other guard answered anyway. “Well, sir. I would think you’d need them to protect your profits from bandits.”

Nightfall whirled to face the man who had remained silent until that moment. “Are there bandits in Alyndar Castle?”

The first guard continued. “In the castle? No, sir!” He sounded as bothered by the question as Nightfall had acted. “But the roads . . . highwaymen . . .”