The Return of Nightfall (48 page)

“Indeed.”

Once again, shared desperation brought them together. Nightfall waited for the captain to leave; but he remained in place, still running his fingers across his stubbly chin. “Now that I’ve gotten you to a sitting position, perhaps you’ll stand?”

Nightfall knew he ought to stretch his legs, even if only to pace the floor of the quarters one more time. As a sailor, he had never had excess energy to expend; he had spent his every waking moment hauling, climbing, or clewing something. His exile, though voluntary and deliberate, left him feeling twitchy as a bilge rat. “I’ll do you better.” Nightfall sprang to his feet. “I’ll see that weather you raved about when you first came down here.”

“Great.” The captain held open the cabin door. As Nightfall walked through he added, “When I said beautiful, I actually meant cloudy.”

Nightfall laughed but continued toward the hatch. “How very clever of you, Captain. Lure me on deck with a lie.”

“Not a lie,” Celdurant amended. “Portents aside, I’d venture to guess anyone would find even the darkest of squall clouds more pleasant than the ceiling of my cabin.”

Nightfall had to admit that was true. Nevertheless, he stopped before they reached the ladder. “Captain, I think you should keep this.” He proffered the purse of silver from his Alyndarian sales, leaving himself only a scant handful of dirty coppers and Edward’s hidden ring.

The captain halted in mid step, staring at the offering but making no move to take it. “Your money?” He looked down at Nightfall, frowning. “Why?” He had a right to suspicion, especially after Nightfall had vigorously bartered free passage to Hartrin.

Nightfall had given the matter long thought earlier that day. “The places I’m going to need to go for information, it will hamper more than help me.” He grinned, still dangling the purse. “If I’m going to lose it to thieves, I might as well pick which thieves.”

The captain’s brows shot upward. “I’m not sure we’ve ever been quite so nicely damned.”

“And,” Nightfall added, “I think your men will hate me less if they don’t feel their last two ocean voyages were wholly in vain.” Seven silvers did not compare to the vast fortunes they could rob from a well-stocked ship, but it would buy them all plenty of drinks in any Hartrinian tavern. Nightfall shook the pouch, tired of holding it.

Finally, the captain accepted. The purse disappeared beneath his silks. With a single, agile movement, he turned to face Nightfall with his weight solidly on both feet. “And I have something for you.” Seizing Nightfall’s hand, he dropped something into it, then closed his fingers around Nightfall’s so the objects were not visible.

Nightfall assessed them by touch, discerning a brooch and a freestanding, faceted stone. The instant the captain’s hand left his, Nightfall opened his fist to reveal both the embedded and the free gems as sapphires. He jerked his attention back to the other man. “I . . . I can’t accept these.” He held them out, but the captain did not even glance at the fortune balanced on Nightfall’s palm.

“You can,” the captain said, his tone brooking no defiance. “And you will. Because the information you need will not come cheaply.”

Nightfall laughed at the silliness of the exchange. “But you just completely undid me. I gave you all my silver because it will look suspicious for me to take refuge in dives when I’m carrying that much wealth. Also, what good is it for me to try to buy the goodwill of your men if you give me more treasure than I gave you?”

The captain addressed the last question first. “I’ll divide the money you gave me among my men in fair shares. Those gems were mine, and mine alone, to do with as I please.” He lowered his voice so anyone coming toward them could not hear. “Balshaz . . .”

Grateful the captain had not used the name Sudian as he had in the cabin, Nightfall nodded.

“ . . . those blue rocks can barter for information silver just won’t buy. Believe me; you’ll need them.” The captain’s eyes held undeniable concern. He clearly worried that Nightfall was entering a world he could not handle.

Gripped by an irony and humor he dared not reveal, Nightfall only nodded. Plans formed in his mind, ones centering on the fortune he held; yet he still attempted to refuse it. “Captain, I’m truly grateful; but remember what I said about thieves? How long do you think I can hold onto things this valuable in slimy dens overflowing with thugs and roaches?”

“I don’t know,” the captain admitted, “but I’ll let you in on a weird secret.”

Nightfall listened raptly.

“I’ve let these gemstones out of my hands four times: once in theft, thrice in payment.” The captain reached out and closed Nightfall’s hand around the sapphires again. “Each and every time, they found their way back to me.” He shook his head and rolled his gaze to the upper deck, clearly contemplating memories of thefts upon the open sea. “I’m starting to wonder whether to worship them or fear them.” He managed a lopsided grin, though. “No matter what happens, they’ll return. And, if they help you along the way, what harm is done?”

Nightfall finally secreted the gems beneath his merchant’s silks. “What harm indeed?” He smiled back for the first time in days. “Now, let’s go see that beautiful, cloudy day.”

 

Nightfall spent most of his on-deck time saying all of his good-byes so, when the ship finally pulled into Hartrin port, he left immediately with nothing undone. Carrying only the clothes on his back, half a dozen coppers, Edward’s ring, and the sapphires, he wound wordlessly across the docks, avoiding slaves and hired dockhands. They barely spared him a glance either, caught up in the extra work that came from having a major port across the ocean nearly out of commission. Many of the goods that would have gone to Alyndar now came here, and the extra effort left the workers gleaming with sweat, their tempers frayed, and their words harsher and more biting than usual. Collars and sagging, rather than feisty, demeanors differentiated the slaves from the paid workers. An occasional whip whistled through the air to warn them against slacking, and Nightfall dodged around these with wary caution. If one struck him accidentally, he knew he would not react well.

They had arrived in broad daylight, the sun high and bright, the clouds burned to rare white wisps. Still playing his merchant role, Nightfall placed a hand on his brow to shade his vision. He had to concentrate to keep his legs from naturally taking him to the west side of town where the guards kept the world in proper order around the pricey shops and upscale inns. Instead, he turned southward, hoping he looked as reluctant as he felt. Balshaz did not belong here; and, when night crept over the mud-slogged alleys and crumbling buildings, he would know it only too well.

Nightfall had always hated Hartrin. None of his personae lived there regularly, and only Balshaz and Nightfall ventured into it at all. Even Sudian had never visited. In fact, he had struggled to keep the prince of Alyndar completely out of slave country during their voyage across most of the continent. Every whipcrack would have resulted in an international incident as Edward assaulted slavers and owners with his high ideals of morality, and one of those confrontations would surely have seen them both killed. Nightfall cared little for slavery; had his life turned out just a bit differently, he could easily have become one of those owned. Yet, he knew the solution was not as simple as King Edward believed.

Putting thoughts of slavery from his mind, Nightfall fell into the mental cadence that kept him alive on the streets. Without a glance in their direction, he knew who shared the alleys with him. He did not need the specifics of their identities. He could draw a pure and complete picture by the way they moved, by the positions they chose, by the intensity of their gazes and stances. He had reentered his world in the guise of an innocent stranger to it, and he sought a delicate balance that allowed him to display his uneasiness without goading the predators to attack.

The cobbled roads became mired gravel, then ended in dark, mucky paths scarred by sloppy footprints. Anything tossed into a Hartrinian gutter wound up in the southeastern part of the city. Including the people. Drunkards flopped across every doorstep. Human shadows skulked through threadlike streets and alleyways, and rats scurried openly through the filth. Bony cats competed with the people for meals of scraps and vermin, and sometimes became dinner themselves. Nightfall had to concentrate on a cover that became evanescent to a mind focused on survival and need. Merchants did not lower themselves to marching boldly through the bleak, stinking corners of the world. Their lives did not usually depend on understanding the rhythms of city nights.

Nightfall passed several crumbling buildings abandoned by shopkeepers and men who had graduated to better parts of the city or found themselves branded as slaves. Each had a score of street people who slept there until someone bigger or more competent claimed their territory. Eyes watched his every movement, though no hunter left his cave to menace Nightfall. They measured him by his silks, by his walk, and by his size. Every one surely weighed the danger of robbing or assaulting him in broad daylight; and, to his relief, no one took the bait. The town guard still owned this place by day. By night, however, it became a decadent brawl.

Nightfall took the most direct path to the small, grubby inn at the farthest end of an unnamed street. He knew it well, a haven for poor travelers without the coinage for the safer places northward. There, he should be able to find a sleeping corner, shared with several other patrons, and a decent meal that would not leave him vomiting. The proprietor, Eldour, had connections to several underground groups, and he coordinated information and money well enough to keep his venture going while those around him failed or died. Beneath a trapdoor in the cellar lurked some of the nastiest criminals in the world engaged in everything from arranging murders, to hiding from the constabulary, to sales of illicit merchandise, including humans. Crossing Eldour sealed a man’s death; too many relied upon his secret room for their business to allow anyone to place the proprietor of the unnamed inn in danger.

Boarded and chinked against the coming winter, the inn looked boxy and unwelcoming, aside from the thin plume of smoke drifting from its fireplace. A battered sign swung from a post pocked by knife slashes; only the center letter of the word “Inn” remained, its paint peeled and weathered. Nightfall opened the door and entered.

The common room looked much the same as always. The wooden walls held splotches and nicks from drunken mishaps and brawls. Stains in lavender and red-brown dappled the floor, a mixture of dragged-in filth, old wine, and spilled blood. Nine rickety tables filled most of the space, and a sturdy bar divided the serving area from the rest of the room. Behind it, Eldour looked up from cleaning a misshapen mug with a dingy rag, his lean, balding figure and sparse white beard unmistakable. Beyond him, a tattered curtain hung from an opening that Nightfall knew led into the kitchen. A set of poorly maintained steps just inside the front door rose to the sleeping quarters. Seven patrons sat at tables, one as a group of three and two as pairs. Nightfall recognized most of them as petty thieves and thugs.

Not bothering to study any of them, Nightfall walked across the sticky, uneven boards and flopped into the seat nearest the bar.

Eldour set down his mug, dropped the rag on top of it, and approached. “Good day,
uvna
.” He used a word unique to the Xaxonese Peninsula, a neutral term low borns used to address highborns of uncertain status. “What can I do for you?”

Nightfall heaved a sigh not wholly feigned, then spoke in Balshaz’ voice. “How much for a week’s room and board?”

“A week,
uvna
?” Eldour studied Nightfall through squinty, yellowish eyes. “Two coppers.”

Though far less than the northside inns, it was twice the going rate here. Nightfall loosed a larger sigh and started to rise.

About to lose a customer, Eldour amended. “How’s this sound,
uvna
? You tell me what brings you to lodging on the shady side of town, and I’ll toss in an extra week, no charge.”

Nightfall lowered himself back into his seat. “Deal. But bring me something to drink before we talk.”

Eldour rushed behind the counter, filled the freshly cleaned mug with mulled cider, then sat in the chair across from Nightfall. He slapped the mug down in front of his guest, sloshing a swallow to the tabletop.

Nightfall took a thoughtful sip. It tasted bland and dirty, but tolerable. He gulped in a mouthful and swallowed. “I’m afraid it’s not much of a story, really.” Nightfall kept his tale within the constructs of the one the pirates had concocted to explain their new captain. “I hired a ship to do some trading with Alyndar.”

“Alyndar?” Eldour leaned closer with clear interest. “I’d heard no one’s going there.”

“That’s why I decided to do it.” Nightfall smiled conspiratorially. “I thought someone should make some money off their need. Why not me, right?”

“Right,
uvna
.” Eldour grinned along with his customer. “How’d it go?”

Nightfall took another drink. “Not so good. Pirates caught us barely out of harbor. Killed the captain and took just about everything.”

Eldour’s grin wilted, and he turned Nightfall a sympathetic look. He had a way with facial expressions and voice tones that made men believe he cared and tend to trust him. “That must have been awful.”

“Yes.” Nightfall shook his head, then lowered it.

“Awful. Then, a couple of ships flying yellow-and-red flags chased us. I don’t know what they wanted, but after our encounter with the pirates, we didn’t wait to find out. We outran them and made our way to Alyndar.”

The corners of Eldour’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Not much of a story, you said,
uvna
. But this sounds as exciting as anything from the mouth of a storyteller.”

Nightfall shrugged and put on a slight smile of his own. “I suppose one of the sailors might tell it that way. But I spent most of my time cowering in the hold.”