| By: Gabriel and Miriam Cole |
After sprawling on his arse in the dust for the third time in less than a candlepiece, Asher
Tabanar decided that he’d had enough.
“You can bloody well find another whippin’ boy, Ginemad Danimar, and tha’s a fact!” he
snarled, bristling and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of a grimy hand. “I be done with this
happy shenanigan.”
“Staying in top form and being ready will serve you far better than whining,” Ginemad advised,
offering a hand to his friend. Grumpily, Asher gripped it and allowed himself to be hauled to his
feet. Ginemad hooked the tip of his broadsword into the finger-guard of Asher’s fallen cutlass and
using the blade flicked it into the air. Asher caught it neatly, scowled at the dust marring the fine
blade, and began wiping it clean with a stained kerchief.
“Bein’ ready fer what, exactly?” Asher growled finally, shaking the twinge from his reddening
wrist. He put up his cutlass with rather more force than was necessary and turned fierce brown
eyes on his companion.
“When the Anchoress returns—,” Ginemad began firmly, but Asher angrily cut him off.
“The Anchoress?” Asher scoffed, “What about Belea? You spend as much time worryin’ if
she thinks yer ready?”
“You know that’s over, Asher,” Ginemad returned coolly, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, it’s over cause yer obsession with the Anchoress has no limits,” the shorter man
grumped. “She got good an’ tired of yer frettin’ over our missing Miriam, I’ll wager. Women don’t
like to be second to one another; leastwise not Docker women.”
“It’s over and that is all you need be concerned about. The Anchoress will return—,”
“And when’s tha’ gonna be, eh, Gin?” Asher interrupted explosively. “She been gone for—
what?—more’n a month now?” He had noticed the way Ginemad’s eyes changed; noted the
glimmer of darkness, the twitch of the taller man’s jaw as he ground his teeth. Asher was no fool;
he stayed well out of reach and offered a placating gesture.
“Look, I’m only sayin’ what already been said. Word’s out that the Lily did for her; and dat she
wound up in the River.”
“That did not happen,” Ginemad gritted with icy quiet. “She will be back, and you had best be
ready when she arrives.”
“Aw, Hells, Gin,” Asher groaned in frustration. “Ret knows I’m ready. But where in the bloody
mess is she, eh? On bloody holiday?”
With that he stalked off, leaving his friend alone in the Guidhouse garden, stripped to the waist
and lacking a sparring partner. For a long moment he simply stared after Asher, lost in a whirl of
thoughts and emotions that he had kept carefully checked for weeks now. Helpless rage, glowing
like an old ember for so long, suddenly burst into flame and Ginemad hurled his broadsword away.
It clattered against the garden wall before falling into the weeds; immediately, he felt sheepish and
went to retrieve it. Miriam would not have approved of the mistreatment of the weapon; he could
even hear her scolding him harshly.
The truth, as little as he liked to admit it, was that the Guild was already trying to move on. The
truth was he had no idea what had befallen Miriam, or her beau Orion Murke. He had always held
that her relationship with the massive leader of the Thieves Guild was a mistake. The man was a
notorious flirt; the son of the most well-known Madam in the city; and an all around scoundrel.
There was no way that the great oaf had any interest in Miriam beyond her unusual attractiveness.
He had been the one who had mixed her up in all the nonsense that had the city thrumming with
tension; and he had been the one who had gone off with Miriam the afternoon she disappeared.
And now they were both gone; rumored victims of the Assassins of the Lily Brotherhood.
Scowling ferociously, Ginemad swung hard at large, overripe gourd which Asher had brought
with him when he arrived. The squash parted messily, showering ropy innards and slimy seeds
across half the cobbled garden. Ginemad left it for the birds and the rats; taking up his shirt, he
stalked into the sweltering heat of the Guildhall’s kitchen, cleaning his blade on the soiled garment
as he went.
Almost as soon as the ratty, windowless door clacked shut behind him, he was hailed from the
furthest end of the busy galley.
“Ginemad!”
Rosa Korryn was making her way toward him—she was hurrying, but that only seemed to
increase the customary sensuality of her movements. She stopped close, having to tip her head
back to look up at him. There was firmness and pain in equal measure in her deep blue gaze, and
she quirked one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in silent question. With black hair that fell straight and
fine nearly to her waist, Rosa—like his own mother—was considered a ‘true Durskan beauty.’
This was largely lost on Ginemad; not because he found her unattractive, but more because Rosa
had been so omnipresent in his upbringing—more so even than his mother. At just past her thirty
and sixth year, the woman was as devastatingly alluring as she had ever been, but worry lines were
showing at her eyes and the corners of her lips more and more since the Anchoress had vanished.
In the face of her questioning gaze, Ginemad felt very much the boy again; his mouth went dry and
he struggled to think of something to say. Still, Rosa said nothing—though after a moment her
hands went to her well-turned hips, her lips quirked into the slightest frown, and her eyes became
remarkably sterner.
He knew that look.
With a sigh, Ginemad gently took her arm and led her out of the kitchen and into the foyer
beyond. The moment they were outside the fine mahogany door and it had shut softly behind
them Rosa stopped and threw up her hands angrily.
“Anything, Ginemad?” she asked. The note of pleading in her voice didn’t match the forceful
projection of her gaze.
“Nothing, Rosa,” he admitted glumly. “Not so much as the hint of a rumor.”
Rosa’s countenance deflated visibly and she uttered a somewhat shaky, “Ohh.” Ginemad
pretended not to notice the tears leaking from the corners of her blue eyes; after all, she was
fighting so hard to pretend that she was not devastated.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Rosa cleared her throat quietly and said, “Your father has
returned.”
Ginemad’s mouth dropped open in spite of himself. He shut it audibly, felt his expression of
surprise become one of ire, and asked, “I see. When did he get in?”
“His ship docked this morning,” Rosa answered tartly. “And before you ask, I don’t know
where he went.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Ginemad returned stiffly. “I could not care less.”
The woman regarded him closely for a long moment. “I know that you do not approve of your
father, Ginemad,” she acknowledged finally, crossing her arms over her breasts. “But you are his
favorite. Your mother is his favorite.”
“She may be his favorite,” he muttered tersely, “But she’s never been his only.”
Rosa made a rude noise. “His only? Rubbish boy. That sort of happy sappy silliness might
suit a village girl or some fluttery pated princess in a fairy story but it is hardly realistic for the likes
of we Dockers, Ginemad Danimar.”
“I don’t think a monogamous romance is silly,” he snapped curtly, giving a glare to a trio of his
father’s already half drunken sailors as they wobbled past entangled with one another.
“Well, that’s because you are young and stupid,” Rosa growled, giving Ginemad’s arm a
healthy swat. “Your father is just the starboard side of an honest sailor; you can’t expect him to
pine after your mother for months on end, can you?”
“Yes.”
“And what about her?” Rosa asked, ignoring him. “You expect her to just sit here and twiddle
her pretty thumbs until he comes home?”
“Yes.”
“Ha!” Rosa rebuked, distractedly now. “Waste of a life that, on both ends. Hear me out
Ginemad—life is short and there are no promises. Live while you are alive. You never know when
you might be alone. You never know when—,” but she choked on the last sentence and with a sob
of grief, Rosa Korryn fled through the wide wooden door and back into the kitchen.
Ginemad blew out a hard breath and ran a hand over his face. For several heartbeats, he
contemplated going after her and apologizing. But there was really nothing for him to say, and he
found himself trudging wearily in the opposite direction, toward the baths.
A candlepiece later, twilight had fallen over the city, and Ginemad sat rigidly at a table in the
Guildhall’s expansive dining room. His dinner companions were Asher Tabanar, Gavin du’Phirric,
Kal Phalcon, and Rohl Burris. Nearby, others loyal to Anchoress were silently taking their meal as
well. The brothers al’Durrik; Laime and Burr; nodded to him in unison when he looked their way,
and rash Tymus Doruson offered a wink. That did little to settle Ginemad; the room was almost
rippling with the tension of divisiveness.
The Dockers Guild had not experienced such power struggles in Ginemad’s memory.
Previous to the Anchoress coming to power, the Guild had been ruled by the du’Renfrews for
generations. And in spite of the turmoil in the city, the last four years for the Docker’s Guild had
been stable and insanely prosperous. Now though; the dining hall was visibly separated into
camps, and Ginemad was not at all pleased to find that his was the smallest. The opposition was
gathered around Phillibar du’Quillix, a half-cousin of the du’Renfrew clan. He was a sniveling little
man, perhaps three years senior to Ginemad, and he was possessed of an unctuous, self-serving
personality that fit well with the power and money hungry lickspittles of the Guild. Until the
Anchoress had gone missing he had been perfectly happy accepting the scraps of his betters;
now, though, his opportunistic side was shining through.
“Your Pops is over there,” Asher said, leaning toward Ginemad and pitching his voice low so
only his friend could hear him. With a grunt, he turned away from Phillibar’s group and followed
Asher’s outstretched finger with his gaze. Sure enough, his father, Sebastian Danimar was
entertaining a group of the Guild’s ladies with some tale or other. Conspicuous by their absence
were both Rosa Korryn and his own mother.
A burst of laughter came from those surrounding Sebastian, and Ginemad felt his teeth grind
together. Knowing the man, he could have bet that the story was either a hyperbole of one of his
father’s many confrontations on land, or an equally inflated ejaculation of one of Sebatian’s many
confrontations at sea.
“Predictable,” he spat ruefully. His attitude was not shared by his current companions and
Asher ribbed him gamely.
“Aw, come about there, Ginemad!” he saluted with his mug. “Save the twenty-odd years
difference, you and yer da could be twins!”
“Scarce seems to be a point Ginemad wants reminded of,” Kal chuckled. “Eh, Sea Dog?”
“Eh,” he acquiesced sourly. Physically, they had a point; Sebastian Danimar was as dark-
haired, dark-eyed, lean and handsome as his son. They even wore their beards in the neatly-
trimmed goatee style popular in the city; though Sebastian took care to darken his whiskers and
wax his moustache.
“Whether or nay you like the man, Gin,” Kal continued, noting his friend’s scowl, “He’d back
you like as not. And he’s a man with a great deal of influence.”
“Back me for what?” Ginemad rudely asked around a mouthful of food.
“Why, control of the Docker’s Guild, that’s what,” Kal returned, pitching his voice low, casting
his eyes about the table and joining in the nods of the others. “We cain’t have it ruined by the likes
of Phillibar the Sniveling or Borood the Boar, can we?”
At the mention of the Boar, Ginemad glanced over his shoulder to where Borood Nilistin sat,
swollen faced and sulking along with a cadre of his own backers. His group was Phillibar’s main
rival for control of the Guild, but Ginemad could not help but smirk in satisfaction at the man’s
battered face. They called him the Boar because of his size and his violent demeanor, but he had
crossed onto the wrong side of Terrance du’Jax by making some sort of rude comment about
Miriam. Terrance, or Terror as he was more commonly known, was even bigger still and more
violent when moved to anger. He had beaten Borood into unconsciousness, and followed up by
pummeling two of the Boar’s friends so badly that they were still recovering in the infirmary three
days later.
“’Ere now, as I see things we’ve a bit o’ a problem,” Rohl Burris put in, thumbing his nose
agitatedly. “I don’ think Miriam Bloodmoon herself could hold this Guild together, now—not with
the friction them idiots is causin’.” He made a faint gesture toward each of the two parties vying
for control. “And as much as I like, ye, Ginemad, you ain’t the Anchoress.”
“No, I’m not,” Ginemad agreed wholeheartedly. “And I have no wish to control the Docker’s
Guild, either.”
“She had that knack fer makin’ people do as she said, Miriam did,” Asher put in quietly. “Ain’t
none of us can claim such talent, so we need to think on a different path.”
They all turned to look at him. He shrugged uncomfortably, but went on, “Look, no one here
doubts that we are all of us loyal to the Anchoress, but where she be, eh? And whether or nay we’
d like to admit it, a day of reckoning is comin’.”
“Reckonin’?” Rohl leaned close to Asher and glared at him over his untouched dinner plate.
“And just what’s yer meanin’? Asher held up his hands in a be-easy gesture. “What I’m sayin’ is
that these goons is gonna start a war within the Guild, and we’re damn well likely to be the first
targets!”
They were quiet for a long moment. Rohl sat back again and tossed his bread back on his
plate with a disgusted sort of gesture. Kal raised an auburn eyebrow and glanced at Ginemad.
“He has a point, Sea Dog.”
“Huh,” Ginemad grunted noncommittally, tearing his dinner roll into pieces only to ignore it.
Realistically, though, he could follow Asher’s reasoning well enough. As Miriam Bloodmooon’s
closest friends and companions, they were likely to be the first victims of a coup aimed at erasing
Miriam’s support base. Either one side or the other would try to recruit them to their cause, or
both would seek to eliminate them for the threat they offered. Ginemad was more inclined to
believe the latter; Docker’s by and large were not famous for generosity. Quite the opposite.
“I take your point,” he allowed finally, turning his dark gaze on his friend. “This is why I always
tell you to be ready.”
Asher rolled his eyes, but Kal and Gavin and Rohl chuckled. “Keep your eyes and ears open,”
Ginemad told them, shoving back from the table. “If there is so much as a whisper of anything, let
me know. If it comes to it, we’ll take whatever measures are necessary to secure the safety of the
Guild.”
“That’s a lot of pretty talk, Ginemad,” Kal chided, waving a drumstick in front of him
dismissively. “What am I to take from that? What are any of us to take?”
Ginemad placed his hands on the table and leaned over the back of his chair, so that only the
four at the table could hear him. “The Anchoress made sure that the twelve of us who are closest
to her and the most dependable had the best weapons she could buy. She trained us that had no
training, and honed us that did.” He looked pointedly around the table then turned his eyes to the
considerable throne at the far end of the hall. “If anyone in this Guild wants to make a bid on the
big chair, we’re going to make sure they pay for it in blood.”
It was well past dark when he returned to his room. With an unhappy sigh, Ginemad did up that
latch and reached for the lamp he kept on the doorside table. The space was fairly large but
simple; a small bath and privy and a bedchamber, fitted with a comfortable bed, a desk and trio of
large stuffed armchairs that had seen their best days some years ago. He didn’t need the
lamplight—he could navigate the chamber easily enough without it—but these days he did not trust
his room to be empty, and always checked it thoroughly before turning in. Even so, the voice
coming out of the darkness nearly made him drop the lamp in astonishment.
“Is that you, Ginemad?”
With a clatter the flint fell from his fingers and he fumbled on the table for it before answering,
“M-Miriam?!”
He struck a spark awkwardly, but the lamp was very well made and light blossomed into the
furthest corners of his room. He noted that the drapes had been drawn tightly about the window,
but then his eyes were drawn inexorably to the young woman sitting in the largest of the chairs.
Miriam Bloodmoon looked haggard and gaunt—far, far thinner than she had been just a month and
a half gone. Her hair was clean, though, and slightly wind-mussed; she must have been brushing it
regularly. She was wrapped in a heavy quilt of the type usually given as a marriage gift, but the
strange old broadsword was in her hand and she was looking across the room at Ginemad with a
mixture of relief and confusion.
“Where in the twelve Hells have you been?!”
He was asking the question against her curls without any real knowledge of crossing the room.
Her embrace was somewhat weak and the angle was awkward, but Ginemad didn’t care one bit
and held her for a very long time.
“I have been at a Healer’s shop,” Miriam rasped out, her face pressed against his neck. “Or so it
would seem.”
Ginemad bounded to his feet as the questions came rushing out of him. “Where did you go?
You’ve been gone for almost eight weeks, rumors say that you’re dead!” The sight of her alive
and mostly unchanged was overwhelming. He could not contain his smile as he poured her a glass
of water from the pitcher on his bedside table which she gratefully accepted. When she had
drained the tumbler, she held it out for him to refill and it was not until the second glass was empty
that she spoke.
“Orion and I had an argument,” she began slowly, squinting her eyes as though she were
finding it difficult to call up the memory. “We shouted at one another; then he left. I was at that
safe house on Diamond Street.” She stopped, her eyes drifting toward the floor. Ginemad knelt
down in front of her and took her hands in his.
“Miriam what happened?”
“I fought them, but they—one of them stabbed me,” The Anchoress bushed aside the blanket
and unabashedly lifted the blue satin nightgown she was wearing to show him the fresh, slightly
raised scar on her lower ribs. Ginemad blanched then made a sound of alarm when she turned in
the chair to show him the matching mark on her back.
“Sweet Ret!” he choked in disbelief, taking her by the sides and pulling her scar closer to his
eyes. “How in the Hells—,”
“Orion came back,” Miriam halted and took a deep breath. She rubbed hard at her forehead,
pulled firmly on her forelock, and muttered, “Come on, think!” before slowly adding, “Orion came
back—killed the last few men. I do not remember much after that. I was hurt bad, Ginemad. I
remember he carried me; he told me he would come back for me.” She turned her head, her deep,
chocolate colored eyes settled on his face and he almost winced at the anguish in her gaze. “He
did not come.”
While Ginemad had never really thought much of Orion Murke, he considered that this moment
might not be the best to voice his dislike aloud. Instead, he put his arms around her, resting his
head against her shoulder, and whispered. “I am sorry, Miriam. I know nothing of Orion’s
whereabouts—the rumors have been all over the city that you were both murdered by the Lily
Guild.”
For a long moment she clung to him, obviously content with the comfort. He was about to ask
her more, but a sudden sharp rap made him jump and turn toward the door. He reached for his
sword, but the muffled voice from the other side stayed his hand.
“Ginemad, you ‘ome?”
“Asher,” Ginemad said to Miriam, before going to the door and opening it.
“In,” he bade tersely before his friend could say anything.
“Ginemad, about what I said at dinner,” Asher started once the door was closed. “I weren’t
meanin’ nothin’—,” his eyes fell on Miriam, sitting in the chair and his words chopped to an abrupt
halt. “By Ret’s red eyes!” he breathed. “M-Miriam!”
“Hello, Asher,” she answered, somewhat raspily. “Good to see you.”
“Good--? Ha!” Asher laughed exuberantly. “This is amazing! I gotta tell the boys!”
“No!” Ginemad and Miriam barked together. They exchanged a glance, both missing Asher’s
crestfallen look of embarrassment.
“I think I would like to see my Auntie,” Miriam remarked quietly, her tone pitched in gentle
appeasement. “Ash, would you fetch her?”
“’Course, ma’am,” Asher knuckled his forehead respectfully, but added, “Ah, don’ ya think I
could tell Kal and Terror and Laime and Burr? I mean, they’re your boys, true and through and
wot.”
Ginemad opened his mouth to say something but Miriam merely forestalled him with a raised
hand and nodded her acquiescence. “Actually, you probably should bring them here. But be quiet
about it, Asher. I am not certain what is coming about in the city, but I am doubtful that any of us
are going to be able to remain here much longer.”
Asher nodded vigorously. “I’ll be quiet as a temple mouse, ma’am, you’ll see. And I’ll off to
fetch Rosa quick-like; she’ll be back here afore ya know it.”
With another tap of his knuckles to his brow, Asher slipped back out into the corridor and was
gone. Sure enough, Ginemad had only just dragged the other chair over next to Miriam when there
was a light knock at the door followed by a somewhat irritated female voice. “Usually, it’s your
papa bothering me in the middle of the night, Ginemad. What under the stars do you want at this
hour?”
He hurried to open the portal and admit her to the room. Rosa blinked up at him as she
entered, her ordinarily sleek hair in a mussed halo about her head and shoulders. But as he let her
past him and her eyes fell on Miriam, her features melted into a soup of emotions too jumbled to
comprehend.
“Miriam?!” she breathed.
“Mama!” Miriam replied, coming stiffly out of the chair to meet Rosa’s fierce embrace.
Ginemad shook his head and dug in an ear uncomfortably as the pair of women wept in quiet
relief.
“Don’t call me that,” Rosa sobbed at last. “You had a mama, and a damn fine woman she
was, I’ll bet.” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands a moment before producing a
kerchief and drying Miriam’s tears with it.
“You raised me up, Rosa Korryn,” the younger woman told her defiantly. “You may not be my
blood, but you are the only mama I remember. I am tired of calling you Auntie.”
“Bless you, child, but you’re a stubborn one.” It was an attempt at characteristic grumpiness
that failed miserably; the obvious relief and concern writ on her features gave her away.
“Something terrible has happened, Auntie,” Miriam stated matter-of-factly, unconsciously
falling right back into her old habit. “I was attacked by Assassins; I do not know what has become
of Orion.”
“Neither does anyone else,” Rosa told her simply, helping her back down into the chair. “But I
can tell you this; some crazy bastard has been lopping off Assassin heads and leaving them all
over the city with the word Wrath carved into their brows. It has the Lily all bent, I can tell you.”
She looked around Ginemad’s chamber and wrung her hands in a very un-Rosa like way. “It really
isn’t safe for you to be here, child,” she hissed, leaning close to Miriam. “The rumors have it that
the Lily is offering huge rewards for you and Orion both. The rumors say that our own Phillibar du’
Quillix has made a deal with Ben Avi to hand you over to them in exchange for Guild Amnesty!”
There was a quiet, very drawn-out moment as Miriam considered this.
“Phil?” she asked finally. “What notions has that idiot gotten into his head? I never placed him
in any capacity to make decisions on behalf of this Guild.”
“That’s just it, child,” Rosa moaned, waving her hands in front of her in a very Durskan
fashion. “He and Borood are virtually at war for the control of the Docker’s Guild. Cut the whole
thing down the middle, they did, and it is only the Danimars and your dozen-odd boys who are not
allied with one or the other group. I’ve heard plenty of rumors about Phillibar, but I have no idea
what devils the Boar might be dancing for.”
Again Miriam was quiet for several ‘marks.
“I see,” she said at last, the timbre her reply not alluding to any of her current thoughts. “I had
been afraid that it would be so. I am going to have to leave Ranporkin, at least for a time.”
“Leave and leave for good!” Rosa pleaded, gripping one of Miriam’s hands tightly in both of
her own. “There is nothing for you here but death, lass. Put as much distance between you and
Ranporkin as you can manage. Ginemad,” here Rosa looked up at him with beseeching eyes and
studied his face for several heartbeats before turning back to her adopted daughter. “Ginemad will
look after you.”
“And what about you, Mama,” Miriam asked very pointedly. “I cannot leave you here,
abandoned to the mercies of the madmen who have taken control of the Guild.”
“You go and I’ll follow,” Rosa licked her lips in agitation. Tears had risen in her eyes as loss
and impatience warred about her features. “If I go with you, Miriam, the suspicious will know
immediately what is afoot; they know I would never have cause to leave here, save for you. No,
no, if I go with you at the start, I’ll doom you for certain. I—I must part from you again, I am
afraid. But know—know that it is only to keep you safe.”
Miriam felt the heavy weight of what lay beneath the woman’s words settle into the pit of her
stomach and knew that there was nothing less than the raging infernos of the twelve hells that
would change her Auntie’s mind. She would not be coming, and there would be no telling for sure if
she would reunite with her again. She had learned long ago as a child that Rosa was a woman of
hard truths and stubborn complacency. If she stayed behind she may be able to protect her for a
short time, but the city had become rotten all the way to the leech infested rivers the Dockers—her
Dockers—had tried so desperately to hold onto. If she did not leave, she risked the lives of the
ones who had fought for her, who believed in her and had risked their lives to follow her. Men who
she could not let die to save one soul who refused to stand up and save her own life. This
understanding passed between them like mist through a grassy field and they held each other until
a loud rap at the door and a burst of raucous talking from outside startled Rosa upright.
“Hoy, now, Sea Dog, y’aint sleepin yit, are ye!” came Asher’s voice from the hallway. “Got
some o’ the boys ‘ere; open up, an’ we’ll have a spot o’ dice!”
“That idiot,” Ginemad snarled at the very same time Miriam remarked, “Genius, Asher, good
thinking.”
He gave her a disbelieving look, but it was Rosa who clucked at him and said, “Everyone in the
Guildhouse would want to know what the lot of you were up to if they all paraded up here in the
middle of the night like a group of hairy carolers,” she told him. She sniffed again, wetly, and
added, “They’d guess—and rightly—that something was afoot. But no one will suspect a bunch of
you boys drinking and playing at dice.”
Ginemad nodded and opened the door. Asher gave him a broad wink—there was a bottle of
good brandy in one of his hands and a whole tray of fresh pastries in the other.
“Make way, lad,” he winked at Ginemad as he passed him. “Laime’s got the dice and Terror
brung some bread and sausages. Clear off that table, there’s a friend!”
Terror du’Jax, Kal Phalcon, and Laime and Burr al’Durrick followed Asher into Ginemad’s
chambers.
“Figured you might be hungry, ma’am,” Asher explained to Miriam in lower tones, knuckling his
forehead characteristically as he stepped back to allow Laime and Burr to move Ginemad’s small
table to the front of her chair. “It be a brandy bottle, right ‘nuff, but I filled it with clean, cold water
from the ‘stern,” the young man went on. Miriam turned the heavy glass bottle in her hand and,
seeing the intricately drawn crest of a fine Durskan distillery, remarked with a mischievous smile on
how she would have preferred the spirit. Asher looked fit to leak at the eyes and with a delighted
laugh she assured him of her gratitude. Within moments he had laid the small meal—bread,
sausages, and pastries—before her. Kal produced an apple and a pear from his pockets; at
Ginemad’s quizzical look, he shrugged and said, “Didn’t know which she’d prefer.”
“Thank you, boys,” Miriam proclaimed sincerely. The five of them were grinning like moon-
sick lunatics but she hardly noticed. As it turned out, she was famished and ate like it, which
seemed to please the five men to no end. Rosa tsked loudly when she had finished, muttering, “If
only you had eaten that well as a girl.”
“Thank you, boys,” Miriam repeated after a long swallow of water and a reproachful look at her
adoptive parent. “I really needed that.”
“Think nothin’ of it,” Terror said with a dismissive wave and a huge spotty-toothed grin. “I’m—
we’re—so glad you’re back, Anchoress ma’am.”
“Ginemad always said you’d come back,” Kal put in with a respectful nod in his friend’s
direction. “He never gave up on you, not Ginemad.”
“I know,” Miriam replied. Her dark eyes fell on her lifelong friend with a deep and quiet
appreciation that Ginemad was forced to look away from. “But I am afraid I cannot stay; things
have changed in this city, and none for the better. I need to leave Ranporkin, and likely for quits.”
“We anticipated that,” Kal returned to her surprise. “Asher and I are gonna round up the
others; we’ll be ready to leave in a candlepiece or less.”
“Others?” Miriam asked, somewhat non-plussed. “Which others?”
“Yer loyal dozen, o’course, ma’am,” Asher said brightly. “We been talkin’ a lot; and the ol’
Sea Dog’s been thumpin’ the piss—beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am—out o’ the lot o’ us an’ tellin’ us t’
be ready when you came back. Well, we be ready, so let’s not sit on our hands, eh?”
“Nay,” Miriam returned his smile. “But I need some clothes and there is some coin hidden
beneath my bed. We might need that so I—,”
“You stay here with Rosa,” Ginemad told her firmly with a finger to her shoulder. “I’d rather
you be here, than going about the Guildhouse where you might be seen. Rosa’s right; this Guild
has fallen straight into the River and for as good as you were for us, you’d think you never existed,
so quickly have these half-witted maggots turned on each other.”
Miriam nodded and Ginemad turned to the brothers al’Durrik. “You pair stay here and keep after
our Anchoress. No one but our crew crosses that door, aye?”
“Aye, Ginemad,” Laime and Burr said with identical nods of their black-haired heads. “No one
but our crew.”
“Good. Asher, you and Kal be about it. Terror and I will fetch Miriam’s things.”
“Righto Sea Dog,” Asher replied in a fervent growl. “Ma’am,” he said to Miriam, and then he
and Kal slipped back into the corridor and were gone.
“I will return soon,” Ginemad told her as the door closed behind them. “I’ll bring your clothes
and that coin.”
“My Book and pillow too?” Miriam asked with uncharacteristic girlishness that astonished even
her. Rosa made a snort of derision and muttered something under her breath, but Ginemad
merely snorted through his nostrils and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. The tattered, embroidered
pillow and an equally damaged Book of Ret had been Miriam’s constant comfort since she was a
child. Ginemad, alone of everyone save her, knew where she kept both.
“You can hardly even call that mess of cloth a pillow anymore,” Rosa griped at her when he
was gone. “It looks more like something one of your scruffy cats might have killed.”
“Shhh,” Miriam scolded above her own chuckle. She leaned her head back against the chair
and waited.
It was a very short wait.
Ginemad and Terror returned first, a collection of her clothes in a tidy leather satchel. “Your
pillow and book are in there, too,” Ginemad told her into her ear. “Here’s the coin.”
He handed her a heavy purse, which she weighed thoughtfully in her hand.
“Give me a moment to get dressed,” Miriam whispered, “And we will be away.”
The pair nodded and stepped back outside. With a stiff groan, the Shewolf rose from the chair
and hastily started dressing. Almost immediately, Rosa exclaimed in alarm, “Sweet Ret girl, you
are as thin as a post, and there weren’t that much to you to begin with!”
“Aye,” Miriam agreed, sitting back down halfway through pulling on her tunic. “Not quite up to
my old standards, either, it seems.”
“Here,” Rosa offered in half grunt as she bent over, “Let me help you with your boots.”
As she pushed Miriam’s left boot onto its respective foot she remarked, “I suppose you shall
have to decide now which direction your heading. North leads to Galadarn, and east will eventually
find you in Caer Paentis. Those are the two closest safe places of city size.”
“Mama,” Miriam began again, but Rosa had at last steeled herself and she rose sharply.
“Don’t give me any more lip, child,” she said sternly, her hands gripping the swishy fabric of
her scarlet dress. “There isn’t time for it. Come.”
Miriam did not argue. She rose from the chair again and followed her irascible warden to the
door. “Ginemad, let’s have your traveling cloak, eh?”
“In the wardrobe,” his low voice came back muffled through the thick wooden door. Rosa had
it retrieved and whipped about Miriam’s shoulders almost before the younger woman could blink.
“Keep the hood pulled up and your head down to shadow your face,” Rosa instructed sternly.
“It’s dark, but the moons are bright and you don’t want anyone seeing that milky telltale skin of
yours.”
“Is this goodbye?” Miriam asked lightly, her neutral countenance disappearing into the shadow
of the cloak’s hood.
“That will be quite enough of that,” Rosa told her firmly. “Goodbye is what you say when
someone dies. This is merely fare-thee-well until we see each other again.” She took the younger
woman’s hands for a moment and squeezed them with shaking fingers before allowing them to
drop and stepping to the door. “Go now, Miriam Bloodmoon. You have no time for dalliance.
But, like Old Emma the cook used to tell me, ‘For every door that closes another opens, so go
swift, trust what you know, and step through.’”
Without another glance Rosa opened the door and making certain that Ginemad and the others
were the only ones in the corridor.
“I love you too, Auntie,” Miriam told her. “Mama.”
“Enough of that,” Rosa scolded with a swipe of her hand and two steps backward into the
room once again. “Ret be with you, for what it’s worth.” With that, the heavy, brass-knobbed door
to Ginemad’s room clicked shut.
The Guildhouse’s main staircase was deserted; no one challenged them. The entryway as well
was eerily silent; almost as though the very world held its breath. Miriam shook her head to clear
her mind of such nonsense. Focus on the task at hand, she gritted, keeping her eyes on the
undulating shape of Ginemad’s back. The was a shuffle; she spared a glance from under the
hood, saw Ginemad collaring one of the others. It was Asher; apparently he had started for the
front door. One of the others hissed, “We go out through the galley,” and as one the group
redirected their steps.
“Roight,” Asher returned in a harsh whisper of his own.
“Hoy, now,” a deep voice said as they pushed through the mahogany doors and into the
swelter of the Guildhouse kitchen. “Here they be.”
“Izzat Miriam unner the cloak?” another, milder voice queried.
“Course it is,” Laime snapped, “Now shut yer gobs, and let’s get the hells outta this
Guildhouse.”
Miriam pulled back her hood. The rest of her “dozen” as Rosa had called them were crowded
into narrow end of the kitchen, closest to the door.
“I’ll be damned,” Halibus Erannon breathed, leaning forward to peer at her with wide, coal-
colored eyes. “It is you, ma’am!”
“It is,” Miriam admitted with a short nod. She made a point to look at each man in turn, so that
they could all see that this was no deception. “We must be off with all haste,” she told them. “And
we will likely have to leave the city by way of the docks; so be ready. I have no doubt at all that we
are in for some late night exercise.”
“Of course, of course,” Halibus replied with a meaty grin. “We’s ready, ma’am. Terror, yer
crossbow’s on the table there.”
The Anchoress replaced the hood as Terror scooped up the fearsome looking weapon and
nodded to Ginemad. Ginemad nodded back and opened the door to the garden.
“Well, what have we here?” greeted them as they stepped out into the hot, heavy Ranporkin
night. “Either its Devil’s Night and you’re all out for candy and apple bobbing or someone’s trying
to steal away by cover of darkness.”
Miriam gripped her sword hilt tighter beneath the dark cloak and tilted her head back just
enough to see what was transpiring. Cursing, the men with her warily formed a loose circle with
her at the center.
Sebastian Danimar, his clothing and hair mussed, was sitting against the now dry old fountain
in the center of the garden, smoking one of the narrow cigars he had popularized among the
Guildmembers. There was a bottle of wine in his other hand, and one of the younger Guildhouse
women—definitely not Ginemad’s mother—was lounging next to him, sipping dark liquid from a
stemmed glass. Her clothing was even more disheveled than his; the laces from her bodice were
gone and there was a fair amount of grass tangled in her silky tresses. Neither of them seemed to
notice the icy stares they were receiving from their hooded counterparts.
“Ginemad, my fine lad!” Sebastian exclaimed brightly in a voice well suited to lulling and
winning the hearts of women. He blew a perfect ring of smoke into the air between them and lifted
the near empty bottle in salute. “What are you and your merry band about at this hour?”
“I’d ask you the same, father,” Ginemad snarled in frosty tones, “If it weren’t completely
obvious.” He batted the bluish smoke away from his face with an angry swipe of his hand.
“Pity,” Sebastian frowned down at the glimmering cigar between his fingers, “That little trick
always amused you when you were a boy.” Sebastian’s son ground his teeth audibly as his father
looked back up at him and winked rakishly. “Ah, well, time’s change, eh, son?” With a flourish, he
handed the bottle to the young woman beside him.
“Run along now, Belthia dear,” he ordered amicably. “We’ll, ah, chat some more later, I’m
sure!”
Wordlessly, she took the bottle and swayed, somewhat unsteadily, back into the Guildhouse.
When the door had thunked shut behind her, Sebastian raised the tobacco to his lips and drew
deep. The ember at the end glowed brighter for a moment, casting his face into unreadable
shadows.
“If I am not much mistaken,” he exhaled after a moment, “Then I would guess that you have
found our little lost Anchoress.”
Ginemad said nothing, but motioned the others toward the garden gate. They moved
cautiously, and Rohl Burris actually gave a start when Sebastian made his next comment even
louder.
“And further, having found her, you are needing to smuggle her out of the city, am I right?”
“Would you shut your gob, old man!” Ginemad spat whirling on his father. “Are you trying to
bring the whole city down on us, you good-for-nothing drunk?”
“Me?” Sebastian looked hurt as he sprung to his feet with cat-like grace. “Of course not. You
are doing a fine job of that yourselves.”
Ginemad’s eyes narrowed; Miriam knew him well enough to know that he was likely to take a
swing at his father, so she reached out a hand from beneath her cloak and squeezed his arm.
“Hear him out, Ginemad,” she requested quietly. “But be quick, Sebastian. The night wanes.”
“And so it does, my little Shewolf,” Sebastian allowed with a dark smile. “Really, you do need
to part from the city, but all the outs are watched.”
“We suspected as much,” Ginemad allowed grudgingly. “That’s why we’re headed for the
docks.”
“And that is why you need no help from me in getting your heads broke,” Sebastian returned
cheerfully, raising his hands up. “Honestly, boy; use that knob of yours. If there was a certain
Docker wench you wanted to catch, where would you look? The Docks, of course! Place is gone
to the dogs, and by dogs I mean Lily bastards.” He blew another ring of smoke toward them.
“Something of a shame, really.”
Ginemad’s rude retort had almost made it into the balmy night before Miriam stopped him
once more. “Granted our plan was only to get out of the city; it was obviously not well enough
thought through.” She looked over the shadowed faces of the men with her before turning back to
Sebastian. “What would you suggest, old Pirate?”
“Ah, well,” he grinned, flicking the last bit of tobacco ember to the ground and grinding it
thoughtfully beneath the tow of an immaculate and very shiny black boot. “It just so happens that I
am going to help you. I have a plan for just such an occasion and the means with which to pull it
off.”
“Capital,” Ginemad half snarled in what was an amusingly good imitation of his father’s
dandyish way of speaking. “What exactly are we going to do?”
Sebastian draped his arms around his son and Miriam. “You and the little Shewolf and, um,” he
looked around at the others, “Him, Terrence there, the big lad with the crossbow. We’re going to
go out by wagon. The rest of your zealots are just going to walk out the city gates, pretty as you
please and Meg’s yer Mother!”
“My mother’s name is Lissanne,” Ginemad grumbled, but Miriam looked up at him from
beneath the heavy hood. “I thought all the gates were watched? How are they going to get out of
the city safely?”
“Ah, but there’s the pickle, lassie!” Sebastian answered her with aplomb. “The gates are
watched, sure as you’re a pale beauty; but it be you whom they’re seeking. Your friends have
nothing to fear, so long as you aren’t with them. Well, perhaps a small dose of a something, but
they looks to be the type what can handle themselves. So divide them up, have em go out through
the Calhimin Gate, or the Noble Gate, or there’s even a smugglers gate just north of Colla Plaza,
fourth stone from the bottom center behind the black rose bush that grows between number twenty
and number twenty-three Estion Lane.”
“And us?” Ginemad demanded tersely. “Which gate shall we use?”
“The closest one,” Sebastian replied brightly as he tapped his son with his fist. “The main
North Gate.”
“Through the Market? Are you a lunatic!?”
“Son, son,” Sebastian soothed, clamping a hand firmly on Ginemad’s shoulder. “Trust me.”
“What concerns me,” Miriam voiced with soft command, “Is that you want the rest of my boys
to go out the south gates, but it is the Fool’s Road I want, and that is to the north.”
"Right, but we don’t want to arouse any suspicions,” Sebastian looked up, reacted as though
surprised to find all of Miriam’s men crowded around, but grinned and produced a folded
parchment from the pocket of his still-disheveled vest.
“You boys can get horses, can’t ye?” Sebastian asked, looking directly at Asher.
“Aye, sir, we can get ponies, if we need ‘em.”
"You need ‘em,” the older man affirmed. “You’re gonna leave to the south, ride around the
city walls to the point I have marked there on the map. Aye, boyo,” he rolled his eyes at Asher’s
dumfounded look, “That there’s a map I gave ye. Ye can read a map, eh?”
“I can,” Rohl answered, and snatched it away from his friend. “I see the mark. What be there?”
“A ferry,” Sebastian announced with a broad wink. “And four strapping lads to pull the oars.
You tell them the Old Sea Dog sent ye; they’ll do the rest. When you’re back on the North Shore,
ride on back toward the city, and I’ll have your pretty little Anchoress waiting for ye.”
There was a pregnant pause as they looked at Miriam. Her face was obscured from sight, and
for a long time she said nothing. Asher was considering picking her up and making an honest run
for it when she finally spoke.
“You have not told me how you intend to get Ginemad and Terror and myself out of here,” she
stated calmly. “Surely we are not just going to ride out the main gate, singing like a lark a’
morning?”
“Terrance and I are,” Sebastian exclaimed with gusto, making a playful attempt at straightening
his clothes. “You and Ginemad get to ride, comfortably ensconced in my wagon.”
“You don’t own a wagon,” Ginemad returned flatly.
“Sure I do,” Sebastian hooted. “Boy, you have such little faith. Why, I just procured a wagon
this very eve.”
“What the hells for?” Ginemad asked in an impatient hiss as his eyes scanned the grounds for
what he was sure were gangs of opposition that any minute now would make them sorry they were
wasting time with his obnoxious scallywag of a father.
“To haul things, son; that bein’ the purpose most sensible folk put wagons to. Well, lassie? Are
we going to go about this daring bit of moonlit smuggling; this deed of summer night grandeur
beneath star clad heavens?”
“Aye,” Miriam agreed quietly. Sebastian was a scoundrel, but she trusted him. Her instinct of
people had never yet led her wrong; she did not expect this to be the first time. “I really see no
other option.”
“Capital!” Sebastian favored her with a roguish smile and swept a flourishing bow. “Ginemad,
be a good lad and toss me the rest of me garment, there.”
Within the span of a heartbeat, Sebastian had repaired his appearance and was beckoning
Terrance to follow him. They left the garden and Miriam turned to the others.
“Asher, Rohl,” she addressed them, “Do as Captain Danimar suggested; split yourselves up
and head for two of the south gates. Make haste, though; it is likely to take you the better part of
the night to leave the city and ride around it’s perimeter back to the river. I want to be as far away
from here as I can manage by dawn. And take care of yoursleves”
“Righto, miss,” Asher replied immediately. “We be leavin’ this very ‘mark. C’mon lads.”
The others shouldered small packs of clothes and belongings that Miriam had not noticed before,
and with murmurs of good fortune filed silently out of the garden and into the lane beyond.
Ginemad watched them go. Frowning, he turned to Miriam. “Are you sure about this?” he
asked harshly. “I mean—,”
“Ginemad,” she broke in soothingly, forestalling his angry outburst. “Whether or nay you like
the man, you are your father’s pride and joy. He would never put you in the path of harm.”
Ginemad’s onyx-hued eyes narrowed, but kept any further objections to himself. He was still
scowling off into the darkness when the clattering noise of a wagon leaving the Guildhouse stable
reached their ears. A moment later Sebastian hailed from just beyond the gate.
“All clear and what not,” he called softly, hands cupped around his mouth. “Come on then.”
The wagon was packed so full of goods that Miriam felt Ginemad stiffen in the dark with
outrage.
“How is this going to help, Pops?” he queried irately, thrusting an upturned hand toward the
well stuffed wagon bed. Sebastian didn’t rise to his son’s anger, however; instead, he pulled a
heavy, folded tarpaulin out of the center of the wain, leaving a depression barely larger than a
single grown man.
“This is a wagon full of trade goods from the docks,” Miriam murmured quietly. “Who sold you
this? It belongs to the Guild.”
“Firstly,” Sebastian declared, his eyes twinkling in the soft moon glow. “I don’t believe I said
anything about buying it. Second, as the Anchoress, you are the Guild, Miriam Bloodmoon, and
here is your chariot out of the city. And Third,” he waved a hand airily, “It’s all part of my plan.
Come aboard now, there’s a good girl.” With deft hands he helped Miriam into the wagon and
waited for her to settle herself in the bottom amongst the wares. When she was as comfortable as
she could manage, he motioned to his son. “You too, boy; it’d look suspicious if you were to
leave the city openly by wagon. Don’t want to give away the game”
“There isn’t room,” Ginemad told him.
“There is if you get close,” Sebastian said with a wink. “And that was never a problem for the
pair of ye before.”
For a moment, Ginemad’s mouth worked soundlessly. Finally, he grumbled a fluent Durskan
oath and climbed over the side. It was very cramped; he had to take Miriam into his arms and they
both had to turn on their sides in order to fit.
“All settled?” Sebastian asked quietly. “Good.”
He did not wait for their answer. With his customary flourish, he half-unrolled two bolts of silk
and spread that over them, blocking out their view.
“We’re going to stifle!” Ginemad growled into Miriam’s scalp, but she whispered back, “No.
He has bored holes in the floor of the wain. Look.”
It was true; there was a pattern of holes in the wood just beneath their heads. Ginemad
continued to mutter though as his father and Terror spread the heavy canvas tarpaulin over the
entire wagon and hastily secured it. It did warm up, and quickly; within a few moments of the
wagon jerking into motion Miriam’s tunic was stuck to her with sweat and she could practically feel
her curls growing tighter. Ginemad’s bulk against her and his hot breath on her neck was
uncomfortable as well, but hemmed, as they were, into the hot, sticky darkness within the wagon,
the pair of them rode in silence, their ears straining for any sound of threat from the silent yet
deadly streets of Ranporkin.
“The Goresh Market!” Sebastian suddenly belted, loudly, into the stillness. “Look, Terrence
me boy, some of these poor bastards are a-sleepin’ in their stalls, so the thieves won’t come and
steal their wares!”
“Aye,” Terror answered after but a moment, his voice pitched much lower. “I see them.”
“And look there, me lad! The road to the North Gate. And several gentlemen to greet us and
see us on our way!”
Miriam grunted as every muscle in Ginemad’s body went rigid and his arms tightened vice-like
around her. The wagon rolled on perhaps another fifty feet before a jovial, “Whoa!” from
Sebastian brought the conveyance grinding to a halt.
“Why, why, Meela Hide-Eye! You’re looking uglier than ever, sir! And you have your friends
Topside Tuck and The Foamer by your sides, I see!”
“How the Bloody hells did he—,” a shrill male voice exclaimed. It was at once overridden by a
much deeper, but equally male, “I really hate being called that, Hide-Eye. Can we kill him now?”
“Easy, lads,” a susurrous third voice put in. “This man looks familiarish.”
“I should hope that I do, Meela!” Sebastian erupted theatrically. “It was I who secured that
shipment of oils that you so desperately needed a hand of years ago. Practically gift-wrapped and
pouring themselves, I might add.”
“Danimar,” the one called Hide-Eye answered with a note of recognition. “How could I forget
a man so very pretty?”
“I don’t recommend it,” Sebastian told him, and Miriam knew at once he was wagging a finger
at them momishly. “I never forget a man, or the face he belongs to! If I did, why, I fear that I
would spend the entirety of my life mired in introductions.”
“And so you would,” Hide-Eye answered with impatient dislike. “Lads, this here’s Danimar; the
Docker Pirate who insists on giving everyone he meets an ache in the pate.”
“No need to be rude, there, ol’ furry eyeball! And I much prefer Liberator of Overcollected
Goods to Pirate. Makes me sound like more the true man of the people that I am.”
“Er wotever,” the squeaky voice trilled. “What’s in yer wagon, Dannymar?”
“It’s Dannimar, Tuck, and Gertrude’s yer aunt,” Sebastian replied with the flair of a seasoned
Royal Arinonan Actor. “And my wagon would be filled with the treasures of this long year spent
away at sea, wouldn’t it?”
“Let’s have a look, shall we,” the third voice put in with an oily slur that made the hairs on
Miriam’s sweat slicked neck rise. There was a scuffle of footsteps followed by the sound of hard-
soled boots landing lightly on the cobbles. Sebastian’s voice came from a different angle now;
instead of above and behind their heads, he was directly in front of Miriam and Ginemad, at the left
side of the wagon.
“One shouldn’t go poking about where one doesn’t belong,” the Pirate admonished them.
“But, as I have nothing to hide, allow me.”
Ginemad pressed over her protectively as the sound of the canvas being drawn back reached
their ears, but there was no break in the stifling confines to indicate that he had come anywhere
near exposing his two hidden charges.
“Smokes!” Sebastian crowed gleefully. “The finest pipe-leaf from the islands beyond
Mendaria, rolled into these, the very best slim cigars.”
The one called Hide-Eye laughed, a sound akin to a dog hacking. “You ‘spect us to believe
that?” There was another shuffling footstep and then the same voice, lower and more menacing, “I
know your type, Danimar. You want us to think your some kind of bumbler. You probably think
that you’re going to dance right out of this city, under our noses, hiding—,”
“Care for a bit of the puffy?” Sebastian interrupted, with the same cheerful tone, for all the
world as if he were at a party among old friends.
“No, I don’t want none of yer damn, tobacco!” Hide-Eye snarled and from what Miriam could
discern had slapped away Sebastian’s hand. “I want to know what’s in that wagon!”
“Really, my boy, you keep on like that and you’re likely to suffer a fit. Burst a blood vessel and
wot wot. Didn’t anyone teach you any manners? Grand Malik ju’Vorna would never have stood
for such sloppiness.”
“Too bad ee’s been dead this past eight weeks!” cackled the strident Tuck voice.
“Explains a lot,” Sebastian returned, his own voice suddenly very flat. But the joviality was
back in place the very next instance with the dull clinking and sloshing of full liquor bottles.
“Durskan brandy from the Moulinnay Barony vineyards! Finest booze in the world; fetches a Bigat
a bottle—sometimes double!—and is set only at Lord’s tables. But, since it’s you three and you
have been so very pleasant, have a bottle, on me!”
There was a mixture of soft sounds and then Hide-Eye’s voice, snarling, “Don’t drink it, you
bloody idiot! He’ll have fixed it, that one.”
“Nonsense,” Sebastian answered, his tone sufficiently hurt. “I would never ruin a bottle of this
fine vintage—aged, as it is, in rare black oak barrels—with something so clichéd as common
poison.” There was the sound of a healthy gulp, followed by a satisfied smacking of lips. “There,
you see! Finest booze in the world! Salee!”
“Aw come off it, Hide-Eye,” Tuck bawled. “’Ee ain’t half bad, this one. Let’s ‘ave a light, then,
Dannymar!”
"I see that the pair of you,” Sebastian remarked happily—and rather pointedly, “Are men of
taste.”
“Look, Danimar,” Hide-Eye hissed, “The new contract says that no one leaves this city without
being searched—thoroughly—so you better come clean quick-like—,”
“Or what?” Sebastian asked. His voice was light still, but an edge that Miriam had not noted
before had crept into it.
“What do you think, pretty man?”
There was a pause, filled only with the very soft crinkling sound of a cigar being in haled. “Oh,
I rather think you have nefarious schemes for my sudden and very messy demise.” Sebastian
replied mildly. There was the sound of an exhalation, followed by a curse and a cough. “Only,
killing me would be a very, very stupid thing to do.”
“Yer well on yer way you ever puff smoke in my face like that again,” Hide-Eye spat. “I should
use yer guts for saddle-tack.”
“Except that you have been expressly forbidden to do so,” Sebastian supplied jauntily.
“Hoy, ‘ow’s ‘ee know tha—,”
“Shut it, Tuck!” the other two voices growled as one.
“Yer an awful mouthy pretty man,” Hide-Eye shushed.
“I’m an awful friendly pretty man,” Sebastian said quietly. “Until moved to ire, that is.”
Now the timbre of his voice was entirely different. There was an edge to it that sent a chill
down Miriam’s spine, in spite of the sticky heat in their little hide.
“Oh, ‘ee’s terrifyin,’ this un is,” Tuck’s voice giggled piercingly. “Roight nasty little chicken!”
“If you must know,” Sebastian murmured seductively, “My wagon also contains fine silk, of the
type naughty little undergarment’s are made of. There are some spices fit for a Lord’s kitchens,
two tins of fish eggs—a rare delicacy from the other side of the world, that. Medicines from the
traders at Kingsport and cheap, tasty rum from the port of Mendar are on the other side, as well as
a chest of gems of unknown origin. Trade goods, gentlemen. Nothing more.”
“Then you’ll have no problem lettin’ us peek,” Hide-Eye growled thumping what sounded like a
large fist against the wagon’s backboard.
“Ah, but there’s where you are much mistaken,” Sebastian returned immediately. There was
another sputtering cough and Hide-Eye roared, “I told you to leave off the Ghat-blasted smoke
rings!”
“And I think I just politely told you to piss off.”
“Just who the bloody Hells do you think you are, Pirate Pretty?”
Sebastian laughed. It was such an airy and false sound that Ginemad shifted, ever so slightly.
Miriam could tell that he had turned his head a bit and was listening with silent intensity.
“I think that I’m the man who owns this city,” Sebastian’s voice warned.
Now the other three voices laughed. “That’s a good one, Danimar,” the third voice said.
“Owner of the city, eh? Wonder what ol’ Ben Avi would think of that?”
“He’d likely wet himself if I looked at him crosswise,” Sebastian replied coolly. “And speaking
of the old tyrant, how’s his health? By now, I’m guessing he’s been asking for me—likely one or
more of his limbs is a twisted, crippled wreck?”
There was a very uncomfortable silence into which Sebastian continued, “Ah, I can see by your
countenances that this is true. Shame, really. I rather thought that Ben Avi would be a better ruler
than he has turned out to be. Greed seems to have poisoned his mind.”
“Just what are you babbling about, Danimar?” Hide-Eye whispered harshly. “You’re an old
charlatan, that’s what you be. You talk pretty, but that all it is; words. Hows about I cut out yer
tongue; we’ll see how sweet you sing, then, eh?”
“You like to eat, don’t you?” Sebastian returned, and again there was a silence broken by the
soft sound of shifting clothing and a single, harsh cough.
“You really are just babbling now, Danimar,” the third voice chuckled. “Course we likes to eat.
Who doesn’t? You sayin’ you gots some cakes, or some such in that wagon of yers?”
“A piece of pie, perhaps,” Sebastian answered musingly, but went on almost immediately with,
“Without me, no bit of food would ever enter this city. Everyone here would starve within a month
if I were ever to stop, ah, being.”
“Yer a bloody nutter, that’s what,” whined the Tuck voice. There was another cough, and Hide-
Eye added, “He really is a bloody lunatic.”
Sebastian laughed and it was Miriam’s turn to shudder. Gone was the jovial, dandyish chortle
which she had known since childhood. It had been replaced by a cold, hard sound—entirely devoid
of mirth.
“You think the rest of the southern kingdoms are so very thrilled with our little den of
debauchery smack in the middle of the plains here?” Sebastian’s rather flowing tone was also
gone, his words were clipped and cool. “The Durskans would love to get their paws on the wealth
of Ranporkin, and the Norlanders would follow whatever lead they set. The King of Paenen and
his bloody Horse-lords would raze this place to the ground and salt the earth it sits on, if just to
make sure it never re-arose. No, my good fools; we Ranporkiners are not a well-liked lot. My
Dockers bring in food and medicine, and the Durskans and Norlanders trade with us only because I
honor long held trusts that worms like you could never begin to understand. You eat because I
profit and go about my business unmolested. Without me,” Sebastian paused and Miriam could
clearly hear the crinkle of his cigar being drawn again, “There would be no you.”
Three slow claps rang out into the stillness of the night. “Oh, encore!” Hide-Eye hissed. “Tell
us another stirring tale.”
“Where’s my Anchoress?”
Sebastian’s question faded into the noise of a rough cough, a wheeze, and the dull crumpled
sound of a body striking the cobblestones.
“Bloody Hells—!” Hide-Eye roared, and the wagon rocked slightly as someone staggered
against it. “Oh piss,” mewled the Tuck voice. “You pirate bas—,” but that too faded into a wet
choking sound, the smash of a bottle on stones and a second dull clunk.
“Terrence, lad, hand me that crossbow of yours,” Sebastian said. A pair of clicks, and then
Sebastian’s voice again, right against the side of the wagon. “Do you know, Hide-Eye, the rumor
is you killed my girl. They say you killed the Anchoress and dumped her body in the river.” He
paused a moment, and Miriam caught a flash through one of the holes beneath her head.
Sebastian had obviously flicked the last ember of his cigar to the ground. “You Lily Bastards think
you’re something, don’t you? Well, ju’Vorna knew better. He had a young’n he called the
Phantom; il’Fantasma, the Durskan word. What became of him?”
“D-dead,” Hide-Eye stuttered. “You p-pig! H-how—?”
“So you killed ju’Vorna and his protégé?” Sebastian’s lacquered nails drummed the wooden
stock of the crossbow in the silence. “Were you there?” This question was from a bit further
away.
“N-no. It was Victor. Ben Avi ordered it. And the killing of yer precious Anchoress.”
“Hmm,” Sebastian mused with cold indifference. “Quite a shame she’s not dead, then, isn’t
it? And that Phantom of yours, did you burn the body?”
“Never—saw—body,” Hide-Eye choked.
Sebastian laughed again. “You sloppy fools. That one will be the death of you, mark my
words. One thing a man never forgets is back-stabbers who leave him for dead. Stupidest thing
you miserable shits ever did, killing ju’Vorna. Good luck in the future—ah, well, not to you of
course, Meela Hide-Eye. You won’t be leaving Goresh Market, I’m afraid.”
“Go—f--,”
“Shh,” Sebastian hissed admonishingly, his voice once again right against the side of the
wagon. “No foul language! There’s a lady present.”
“Lying—sack—bastard!” Hide-Eyed wheezed horribly
“Oh, that’s right, Hide-Eye, now your cottoning on,” Sebastian purred cruelly. “The girl’s in
the wagon with my son. See, that’s the other rumor that really gets my rigging all fouled up—I
understand someone put a price on my boy’s head.”
“Don’t—,”
“In fact, I think it would be safe to say that I’m rather—crossed.”
The loud thwack! of the crossbow cut across the silence of the Goresh Market with a
penultimate note of finality. It was followed by a sound like a loud, dramatic scuffle and Terror’s
voice proclaiming, “Well, shot, Cap’n Danimar, sir; but the Anchoress told me to always aim fer
the body. Less likely t’ miss, as she said.”
“And she is quite right,” Sebastian agreed, his voice back to its ordinary jollity. “You mark me,
Terrence; you listen well to that girl and she’ll never steer you wrong.” The wagon rocked as he
climbed aboard. “And don’t mind our friend, there. They always flop a bit when you shoot ‘em in
the face like that.”
“Ah, duly noted, sir.”
With a lurch, the wagon began to move again. It had rattled for several marks, when Terror’s
voice again reached their ears. “Did you poison the brandy, sir?”
“Never!” Sebastian cried out, aghast. “It was the cigars, actually. Meela was a poor sport and
wouldn’t play along; that’s why I blew smoke in his face. Only, it just sort of crippled him up a bit.”
The noise of the wheels on cobbles became the warm rumble of wheels on wood as the wagon
crossed from the city onto the North Bridge. A few marks later and the rumble was replaced but
the crunch of hard-packed earth and gravel. They rolled on for about half a candlepiece.
“This’ll do, then,” Sebastian suddenly announced. Miriam had been dozing on Ginemad’s arm;
the sound of his voice startled her awake. The wagon once more pitched to a halt, but this time,
the tarpaulin was being thrown back almost immediately. Ginemad groaned as he unfolded and
unstuck himself from her and shoved the two bolts of silk off of them. Even the warm night air felt
like cool relief after the stuffy hiding place, but Miriam made no complaint as Sebastian lifted her
by the waist and set her lightly on the ground.
There were on the road, some short distance northeast of the city. A thick copse of trees was
just to their left, and Miriam was amazed to see Asher and all the others lounging in the tall grass
leading up to it.
“How did you get here so fast?” she asked him; but he merely winked and thumbed his nose
jovially in Sebastian’s direction.
“Cap’n Danimar actually spoke wit’ me a bit as I was roundin’ up the others.” Asher admitted
sheepishly. “We all pretended to go towards different gates, but there be a river-door, see, on the
north side of the Chancel. The good father seems to be a friend of Cap’n Danimar’s; and he let
us through the Temple and out the door, and inta a waitin’ oarboat.” Took us mebbe a candle all
told t’ get ‘ere.” He shrugged. “Figured you’d be along soon ‘nuff.”
Miriam chuckled and shook her sweat soaked head. Ginemad muttered something sour, but it
lacked his usual conviction, so she paid him no mind. Sebastian and some of the others were
tossing the goods from the wagon into the trees.
“What are you doing?”
“Ah, now, lass,” Sebastian said with a grin, “It wouldn’t do for me to be seen leavin’ the city
with a wagon full of goods, and then returnin’ with that same set of goods, would it?”
“Would it really matter?”
“Who knows?” Sebastian hurled one of the bolts of silk spear like into the darkness beneath
the trees. “But we must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?”
He took out the case of brandy, made to throw it—then spun in a full circle and placed it
gingerly back into the wagon.
“Got a bit ahead of meself, there,” he admitted with a rather amorous look at the bottles of
spirits. “Bad luck to waste good booze.”
“Is it true what you said?” Miriam asked him.
“Every bloody word of it!” Sebastian assured her. “Why, I once saw a chap smash a bottle of
fine rum in a brawl, so he could use the glass as a weapon. Poor buggered idiot got his throat cut
for his troubles, an—,”
“Not the drink!” Miriam corrected in exasperation as she repetitively pulled her tunic from her
chest to dry it out a bit. “What you said to those men back there.”
Sebastian winked broadly at her. “My dear Anchoress; it would hardly be manful of me to lie to
men I have taken the trouble to kill.”
She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he silenced her with a finger placed to her
lips. “Now, now, darling. No more need be said on the subject, since you aren’t going to be
returning.”
At the look on her face, he gently took her shoulders in his hands. “This city is dead to you,
girl; you know that. Your place lies out there,” he jerked his head toward the road leading
northeast, “In the wide of the world. You’ll make your mark on this old mudball; or Danimar’s not
my name. All set there, lads?”
“Everythin’ pitched,” Kal called back.
“Well, then, there’s nothing left to discuss, except for my payment,” Sebastian told the band
cheerfully.
The men looked at each other uncomfortably, while Ginemad’s mouth dropped open. “Now
see here, you bloody Pirate—,”
“I have very little coin,” Miriam told him with unruffled honesty. “None to spare, if I am going to
feed these men.”
Sebastian, made a roguish half smile and pulled the front of her sweaty tunic open so he could
look down at her breasts. “These’ll do!”
Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I would like to re-create the first night you spent on my ship as a cabin girl a
few years back,” Sebastian stated elegantly. Miriam’s blush was spectacular and she was forced
to look away. He made a smart little half bow and offered her one arm, while scooping up the
second bolt of silk with the other. To the amusement of nearly everyone watching the Anchoress
stepped in and pressed her lips onto Sebastian’s. With only a moments hesitation he made a
warm sound of pleasure and dropping the silk in order to wrap his arms around her the two
produced the most fantastic lingering kiss any of the men standing around them had ever seen. A
colorful growling oath directed their attention to Ginemad who had in his anger scooped a handful
of road gravel and in a very Durskan form of insult, spattered his father’s wagon with rocky dust
before stalking off down the moon splashed road.
Chuckles floated around the circle as Miriam finally unglued her lips from a rather hot looking
Sebastian, yet when he nudged her toward the treeline she stayed him with a hand on his
chest.
“Thanks for everything Captain Danimar, we are forever indebted to you. I won’t forget what
you did, and please if you could, look after my auntie.”
With that, she turned to her men.
“Where’s Ginemad?” she asked.
Rohl gestured up the road, and she jogged after him; his form was just visible some distance
ahead, silhouetted against the light of Beredell, the blue moon. They watched as she caught up to
him, took one of his hands in both of hers. No one could hear their conversation, but it was
obvious that Ginemad wanted to be angry with her.
It was just as obvious that he was failing somewhat spectacularly.
“Hoo, damn, but that’s a hard woman!” Sebastian groused good-naturedly. He had produced
a colorful silk lady’s fan from somewhere and was fanning himself with a look of beautific misery
on his narrow face. “I can’t say honestly if I’ve ever been so mightily disappointed!” He drew
another of his slim cigars from his pocket and ignited it in Kal’s lantern. He drew deeply and shook
his head again. “I’m sure to sorely miss that girl.” He blew a perfect smoke ring, and considered
it as it faded wispily into the darkness. “Ginemad too,” he added, sadly. “Ginemad especially.”
“Thank’ee kindly, Cap’n Danimar, fer all yer help, then,” Asher said as Sebastian climbed up
into the wagon seat. “We’ll be off, then.”
“Ret Bless, lads,” Sebastian said. “Keep on goin’ till this hole ain’t nothing but a memory.
That’s my advice. Tell the pair o’ them that I’ll be thinking about them.” He blew another smoke
ring, then a second, smaller concentric one. “Tell Ginemad that his Pops is proud of him; but I’ll
come a-huntin’ him if he ever lets that girl down.”
“Will do, sir,” Laime replied. “We’ll tell him.”
Sebastian nodded and clucked his tongue so that the horse walked around and faced back the
way they had come.
“Hoy, now, Cap’n Danimar,” Terror called, his voice somewhat alarmed as Sebastian started
off, “Ain’t that tobacco poisoned?”
“Poisoned!” Sebastian looked over his shoulder, aghast. “Of course not, lad! Why would I
ever ruin fine tobacco with something so terribly pedestrian?”
With that, and a final wave, he clattered back toward the river and his city beyond.
Tabanar decided that he’d had enough.
“You can bloody well find another whippin’ boy, Ginemad Danimar, and tha’s a fact!” he
snarled, bristling and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of a grimy hand. “I be done with this
happy shenanigan.”
“Staying in top form and being ready will serve you far better than whining,” Ginemad advised,
offering a hand to his friend. Grumpily, Asher gripped it and allowed himself to be hauled to his
feet. Ginemad hooked the tip of his broadsword into the finger-guard of Asher’s fallen cutlass and
using the blade flicked it into the air. Asher caught it neatly, scowled at the dust marring the fine
blade, and began wiping it clean with a stained kerchief.
“Bein’ ready fer what, exactly?” Asher growled finally, shaking the twinge from his reddening
wrist. He put up his cutlass with rather more force than was necessary and turned fierce brown
eyes on his companion.
“When the Anchoress returns—,” Ginemad began firmly, but Asher angrily cut him off.
“The Anchoress?” Asher scoffed, “What about Belea? You spend as much time worryin’ if
she thinks yer ready?”
“You know that’s over, Asher,” Ginemad returned coolly, eyes narrowing.
“Yeah, it’s over cause yer obsession with the Anchoress has no limits,” the shorter man
grumped. “She got good an’ tired of yer frettin’ over our missing Miriam, I’ll wager. Women don’t
like to be second to one another; leastwise not Docker women.”
“It’s over and that is all you need be concerned about. The Anchoress will return—,”
“And when’s tha’ gonna be, eh, Gin?” Asher interrupted explosively. “She been gone for—
what?—more’n a month now?” He had noticed the way Ginemad’s eyes changed; noted the
glimmer of darkness, the twitch of the taller man’s jaw as he ground his teeth. Asher was no fool;
he stayed well out of reach and offered a placating gesture.
“Look, I’m only sayin’ what already been said. Word’s out that the Lily did for her; and dat she
wound up in the River.”
“That did not happen,” Ginemad gritted with icy quiet. “She will be back, and you had best be
ready when she arrives.”
“Aw, Hells, Gin,” Asher groaned in frustration. “Ret knows I’m ready. But where in the bloody
mess is she, eh? On bloody holiday?”
With that he stalked off, leaving his friend alone in the Guidhouse garden, stripped to the waist
and lacking a sparring partner. For a long moment he simply stared after Asher, lost in a whirl of
thoughts and emotions that he had kept carefully checked for weeks now. Helpless rage, glowing
like an old ember for so long, suddenly burst into flame and Ginemad hurled his broadsword away.
It clattered against the garden wall before falling into the weeds; immediately, he felt sheepish and
went to retrieve it. Miriam would not have approved of the mistreatment of the weapon; he could
even hear her scolding him harshly.
The truth, as little as he liked to admit it, was that the Guild was already trying to move on. The
truth was he had no idea what had befallen Miriam, or her beau Orion Murke. He had always held
that her relationship with the massive leader of the Thieves Guild was a mistake. The man was a
notorious flirt; the son of the most well-known Madam in the city; and an all around scoundrel.
There was no way that the great oaf had any interest in Miriam beyond her unusual attractiveness.
He had been the one who had mixed her up in all the nonsense that had the city thrumming with
tension; and he had been the one who had gone off with Miriam the afternoon she disappeared.
And now they were both gone; rumored victims of the Assassins of the Lily Brotherhood.
Scowling ferociously, Ginemad swung hard at large, overripe gourd which Asher had brought
with him when he arrived. The squash parted messily, showering ropy innards and slimy seeds
across half the cobbled garden. Ginemad left it for the birds and the rats; taking up his shirt, he
stalked into the sweltering heat of the Guildhall’s kitchen, cleaning his blade on the soiled garment
as he went.
Almost as soon as the ratty, windowless door clacked shut behind him, he was hailed from the
furthest end of the busy galley.
“Ginemad!”
Rosa Korryn was making her way toward him—she was hurrying, but that only seemed to
increase the customary sensuality of her movements. She stopped close, having to tip her head
back to look up at him. There was firmness and pain in equal measure in her deep blue gaze, and
she quirked one perfectly sculpted eyebrow in silent question. With black hair that fell straight and
fine nearly to her waist, Rosa—like his own mother—was considered a ‘true Durskan beauty.’
This was largely lost on Ginemad; not because he found her unattractive, but more because Rosa
had been so omnipresent in his upbringing—more so even than his mother. At just past her thirty
and sixth year, the woman was as devastatingly alluring as she had ever been, but worry lines were
showing at her eyes and the corners of her lips more and more since the Anchoress had vanished.
In the face of her questioning gaze, Ginemad felt very much the boy again; his mouth went dry and
he struggled to think of something to say. Still, Rosa said nothing—though after a moment her
hands went to her well-turned hips, her lips quirked into the slightest frown, and her eyes became
remarkably sterner.
He knew that look.
With a sigh, Ginemad gently took her arm and led her out of the kitchen and into the foyer
beyond. The moment they were outside the fine mahogany door and it had shut softly behind
them Rosa stopped and threw up her hands angrily.
“Anything, Ginemad?” she asked. The note of pleading in her voice didn’t match the forceful
projection of her gaze.
“Nothing, Rosa,” he admitted glumly. “Not so much as the hint of a rumor.”
Rosa’s countenance deflated visibly and she uttered a somewhat shaky, “Ohh.” Ginemad
pretended not to notice the tears leaking from the corners of her blue eyes; after all, she was
fighting so hard to pretend that she was not devastated.
After a long, uncomfortable moment, Rosa cleared her throat quietly and said, “Your father has
returned.”
Ginemad’s mouth dropped open in spite of himself. He shut it audibly, felt his expression of
surprise become one of ire, and asked, “I see. When did he get in?”
“His ship docked this morning,” Rosa answered tartly. “And before you ask, I don’t know
where he went.”
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Ginemad returned stiffly. “I could not care less.”
The woman regarded him closely for a long moment. “I know that you do not approve of your
father, Ginemad,” she acknowledged finally, crossing her arms over her breasts. “But you are his
favorite. Your mother is his favorite.”
“She may be his favorite,” he muttered tersely, “But she’s never been his only.”
Rosa made a rude noise. “His only? Rubbish boy. That sort of happy sappy silliness might
suit a village girl or some fluttery pated princess in a fairy story but it is hardly realistic for the likes
of we Dockers, Ginemad Danimar.”
“I don’t think a monogamous romance is silly,” he snapped curtly, giving a glare to a trio of his
father’s already half drunken sailors as they wobbled past entangled with one another.
“Well, that’s because you are young and stupid,” Rosa growled, giving Ginemad’s arm a
healthy swat. “Your father is just the starboard side of an honest sailor; you can’t expect him to
pine after your mother for months on end, can you?”
“Yes.”
“And what about her?” Rosa asked, ignoring him. “You expect her to just sit here and twiddle
her pretty thumbs until he comes home?”
“Yes.”
“Ha!” Rosa rebuked, distractedly now. “Waste of a life that, on both ends. Hear me out
Ginemad—life is short and there are no promises. Live while you are alive. You never know when
you might be alone. You never know when—,” but she choked on the last sentence and with a sob
of grief, Rosa Korryn fled through the wide wooden door and back into the kitchen.
Ginemad blew out a hard breath and ran a hand over his face. For several heartbeats, he
contemplated going after her and apologizing. But there was really nothing for him to say, and he
found himself trudging wearily in the opposite direction, toward the baths.
A candlepiece later, twilight had fallen over the city, and Ginemad sat rigidly at a table in the
Guildhall’s expansive dining room. His dinner companions were Asher Tabanar, Gavin du’Phirric,
Kal Phalcon, and Rohl Burris. Nearby, others loyal to Anchoress were silently taking their meal as
well. The brothers al’Durrik; Laime and Burr; nodded to him in unison when he looked their way,
and rash Tymus Doruson offered a wink. That did little to settle Ginemad; the room was almost
rippling with the tension of divisiveness.
The Dockers Guild had not experienced such power struggles in Ginemad’s memory.
Previous to the Anchoress coming to power, the Guild had been ruled by the du’Renfrews for
generations. And in spite of the turmoil in the city, the last four years for the Docker’s Guild had
been stable and insanely prosperous. Now though; the dining hall was visibly separated into
camps, and Ginemad was not at all pleased to find that his was the smallest. The opposition was
gathered around Phillibar du’Quillix, a half-cousin of the du’Renfrew clan. He was a sniveling little
man, perhaps three years senior to Ginemad, and he was possessed of an unctuous, self-serving
personality that fit well with the power and money hungry lickspittles of the Guild. Until the
Anchoress had gone missing he had been perfectly happy accepting the scraps of his betters;
now, though, his opportunistic side was shining through.
“Your Pops is over there,” Asher said, leaning toward Ginemad and pitching his voice low so
only his friend could hear him. With a grunt, he turned away from Phillibar’s group and followed
Asher’s outstretched finger with his gaze. Sure enough, his father, Sebastian Danimar was
entertaining a group of the Guild’s ladies with some tale or other. Conspicuous by their absence
were both Rosa Korryn and his own mother.
A burst of laughter came from those surrounding Sebastian, and Ginemad felt his teeth grind
together. Knowing the man, he could have bet that the story was either a hyperbole of one of his
father’s many confrontations on land, or an equally inflated ejaculation of one of Sebatian’s many
confrontations at sea.
“Predictable,” he spat ruefully. His attitude was not shared by his current companions and
Asher ribbed him gamely.
“Aw, come about there, Ginemad!” he saluted with his mug. “Save the twenty-odd years
difference, you and yer da could be twins!”
“Scarce seems to be a point Ginemad wants reminded of,” Kal chuckled. “Eh, Sea Dog?”
“Eh,” he acquiesced sourly. Physically, they had a point; Sebastian Danimar was as dark-
haired, dark-eyed, lean and handsome as his son. They even wore their beards in the neatly-
trimmed goatee style popular in the city; though Sebastian took care to darken his whiskers and
wax his moustache.
“Whether or nay you like the man, Gin,” Kal continued, noting his friend’s scowl, “He’d back
you like as not. And he’s a man with a great deal of influence.”
“Back me for what?” Ginemad rudely asked around a mouthful of food.
“Why, control of the Docker’s Guild, that’s what,” Kal returned, pitching his voice low, casting
his eyes about the table and joining in the nods of the others. “We cain’t have it ruined by the likes
of Phillibar the Sniveling or Borood the Boar, can we?”
At the mention of the Boar, Ginemad glanced over his shoulder to where Borood Nilistin sat,
swollen faced and sulking along with a cadre of his own backers. His group was Phillibar’s main
rival for control of the Guild, but Ginemad could not help but smirk in satisfaction at the man’s
battered face. They called him the Boar because of his size and his violent demeanor, but he had
crossed onto the wrong side of Terrance du’Jax by making some sort of rude comment about
Miriam. Terrance, or Terror as he was more commonly known, was even bigger still and more
violent when moved to anger. He had beaten Borood into unconsciousness, and followed up by
pummeling two of the Boar’s friends so badly that they were still recovering in the infirmary three
days later.
“’Ere now, as I see things we’ve a bit o’ a problem,” Rohl Burris put in, thumbing his nose
agitatedly. “I don’ think Miriam Bloodmoon herself could hold this Guild together, now—not with
the friction them idiots is causin’.” He made a faint gesture toward each of the two parties vying
for control. “And as much as I like, ye, Ginemad, you ain’t the Anchoress.”
“No, I’m not,” Ginemad agreed wholeheartedly. “And I have no wish to control the Docker’s
Guild, either.”
“She had that knack fer makin’ people do as she said, Miriam did,” Asher put in quietly. “Ain’t
none of us can claim such talent, so we need to think on a different path.”
They all turned to look at him. He shrugged uncomfortably, but went on, “Look, no one here
doubts that we are all of us loyal to the Anchoress, but where she be, eh? And whether or nay we’
d like to admit it, a day of reckoning is comin’.”
“Reckonin’?” Rohl leaned close to Asher and glared at him over his untouched dinner plate.
“And just what’s yer meanin’? Asher held up his hands in a be-easy gesture. “What I’m sayin’ is
that these goons is gonna start a war within the Guild, and we’re damn well likely to be the first
targets!”
They were quiet for a long moment. Rohl sat back again and tossed his bread back on his
plate with a disgusted sort of gesture. Kal raised an auburn eyebrow and glanced at Ginemad.
“He has a point, Sea Dog.”
“Huh,” Ginemad grunted noncommittally, tearing his dinner roll into pieces only to ignore it.
Realistically, though, he could follow Asher’s reasoning well enough. As Miriam Bloodmooon’s
closest friends and companions, they were likely to be the first victims of a coup aimed at erasing
Miriam’s support base. Either one side or the other would try to recruit them to their cause, or
both would seek to eliminate them for the threat they offered. Ginemad was more inclined to
believe the latter; Docker’s by and large were not famous for generosity. Quite the opposite.
“I take your point,” he allowed finally, turning his dark gaze on his friend. “This is why I always
tell you to be ready.”
Asher rolled his eyes, but Kal and Gavin and Rohl chuckled. “Keep your eyes and ears open,”
Ginemad told them, shoving back from the table. “If there is so much as a whisper of anything, let
me know. If it comes to it, we’ll take whatever measures are necessary to secure the safety of the
Guild.”
“That’s a lot of pretty talk, Ginemad,” Kal chided, waving a drumstick in front of him
dismissively. “What am I to take from that? What are any of us to take?”
Ginemad placed his hands on the table and leaned over the back of his chair, so that only the
four at the table could hear him. “The Anchoress made sure that the twelve of us who are closest
to her and the most dependable had the best weapons she could buy. She trained us that had no
training, and honed us that did.” He looked pointedly around the table then turned his eyes to the
considerable throne at the far end of the hall. “If anyone in this Guild wants to make a bid on the
big chair, we’re going to make sure they pay for it in blood.”
It was well past dark when he returned to his room. With an unhappy sigh, Ginemad did up that
latch and reached for the lamp he kept on the doorside table. The space was fairly large but
simple; a small bath and privy and a bedchamber, fitted with a comfortable bed, a desk and trio of
large stuffed armchairs that had seen their best days some years ago. He didn’t need the
lamplight—he could navigate the chamber easily enough without it—but these days he did not trust
his room to be empty, and always checked it thoroughly before turning in. Even so, the voice
coming out of the darkness nearly made him drop the lamp in astonishment.
“Is that you, Ginemad?”
With a clatter the flint fell from his fingers and he fumbled on the table for it before answering,
“M-Miriam?!”
He struck a spark awkwardly, but the lamp was very well made and light blossomed into the
furthest corners of his room. He noted that the drapes had been drawn tightly about the window,
but then his eyes were drawn inexorably to the young woman sitting in the largest of the chairs.
Miriam Bloodmoon looked haggard and gaunt—far, far thinner than she had been just a month and
a half gone. Her hair was clean, though, and slightly wind-mussed; she must have been brushing it
regularly. She was wrapped in a heavy quilt of the type usually given as a marriage gift, but the
strange old broadsword was in her hand and she was looking across the room at Ginemad with a
mixture of relief and confusion.
“Where in the twelve Hells have you been?!”
He was asking the question against her curls without any real knowledge of crossing the room.
Her embrace was somewhat weak and the angle was awkward, but Ginemad didn’t care one bit
and held her for a very long time.
“I have been at a Healer’s shop,” Miriam rasped out, her face pressed against his neck. “Or so it
would seem.”
Ginemad bounded to his feet as the questions came rushing out of him. “Where did you go?
You’ve been gone for almost eight weeks, rumors say that you’re dead!” The sight of her alive
and mostly unchanged was overwhelming. He could not contain his smile as he poured her a glass
of water from the pitcher on his bedside table which she gratefully accepted. When she had
drained the tumbler, she held it out for him to refill and it was not until the second glass was empty
that she spoke.
“Orion and I had an argument,” she began slowly, squinting her eyes as though she were
finding it difficult to call up the memory. “We shouted at one another; then he left. I was at that
safe house on Diamond Street.” She stopped, her eyes drifting toward the floor. Ginemad knelt
down in front of her and took her hands in his.
“Miriam what happened?”
“I fought them, but they—one of them stabbed me,” The Anchoress bushed aside the blanket
and unabashedly lifted the blue satin nightgown she was wearing to show him the fresh, slightly
raised scar on her lower ribs. Ginemad blanched then made a sound of alarm when she turned in
the chair to show him the matching mark on her back.
“Sweet Ret!” he choked in disbelief, taking her by the sides and pulling her scar closer to his
eyes. “How in the Hells—,”
“Orion came back,” Miriam halted and took a deep breath. She rubbed hard at her forehead,
pulled firmly on her forelock, and muttered, “Come on, think!” before slowly adding, “Orion came
back—killed the last few men. I do not remember much after that. I was hurt bad, Ginemad. I
remember he carried me; he told me he would come back for me.” She turned her head, her deep,
chocolate colored eyes settled on his face and he almost winced at the anguish in her gaze. “He
did not come.”
While Ginemad had never really thought much of Orion Murke, he considered that this moment
might not be the best to voice his dislike aloud. Instead, he put his arms around her, resting his
head against her shoulder, and whispered. “I am sorry, Miriam. I know nothing of Orion’s
whereabouts—the rumors have been all over the city that you were both murdered by the Lily
Guild.”
For a long moment she clung to him, obviously content with the comfort. He was about to ask
her more, but a sudden sharp rap made him jump and turn toward the door. He reached for his
sword, but the muffled voice from the other side stayed his hand.
“Ginemad, you ‘ome?”
“Asher,” Ginemad said to Miriam, before going to the door and opening it.
“In,” he bade tersely before his friend could say anything.
“Ginemad, about what I said at dinner,” Asher started once the door was closed. “I weren’t
meanin’ nothin’—,” his eyes fell on Miriam, sitting in the chair and his words chopped to an abrupt
halt. “By Ret’s red eyes!” he breathed. “M-Miriam!”
“Hello, Asher,” she answered, somewhat raspily. “Good to see you.”
“Good--? Ha!” Asher laughed exuberantly. “This is amazing! I gotta tell the boys!”
“No!” Ginemad and Miriam barked together. They exchanged a glance, both missing Asher’s
crestfallen look of embarrassment.
“I think I would like to see my Auntie,” Miriam remarked quietly, her tone pitched in gentle
appeasement. “Ash, would you fetch her?”
“’Course, ma’am,” Asher knuckled his forehead respectfully, but added, “Ah, don’ ya think I
could tell Kal and Terror and Laime and Burr? I mean, they’re your boys, true and through and
wot.”
Ginemad opened his mouth to say something but Miriam merely forestalled him with a raised
hand and nodded her acquiescence. “Actually, you probably should bring them here. But be quiet
about it, Asher. I am not certain what is coming about in the city, but I am doubtful that any of us
are going to be able to remain here much longer.”
Asher nodded vigorously. “I’ll be quiet as a temple mouse, ma’am, you’ll see. And I’ll off to
fetch Rosa quick-like; she’ll be back here afore ya know it.”
With another tap of his knuckles to his brow, Asher slipped back out into the corridor and was
gone. Sure enough, Ginemad had only just dragged the other chair over next to Miriam when there
was a light knock at the door followed by a somewhat irritated female voice. “Usually, it’s your
papa bothering me in the middle of the night, Ginemad. What under the stars do you want at this
hour?”
He hurried to open the portal and admit her to the room. Rosa blinked up at him as she
entered, her ordinarily sleek hair in a mussed halo about her head and shoulders. But as he let her
past him and her eyes fell on Miriam, her features melted into a soup of emotions too jumbled to
comprehend.
“Miriam?!” she breathed.
“Mama!” Miriam replied, coming stiffly out of the chair to meet Rosa’s fierce embrace.
Ginemad shook his head and dug in an ear uncomfortably as the pair of women wept in quiet
relief.
“Don’t call me that,” Rosa sobbed at last. “You had a mama, and a damn fine woman she
was, I’ll bet.” She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands a moment before producing a
kerchief and drying Miriam’s tears with it.
“You raised me up, Rosa Korryn,” the younger woman told her defiantly. “You may not be my
blood, but you are the only mama I remember. I am tired of calling you Auntie.”
“Bless you, child, but you’re a stubborn one.” It was an attempt at characteristic grumpiness
that failed miserably; the obvious relief and concern writ on her features gave her away.
“Something terrible has happened, Auntie,” Miriam stated matter-of-factly, unconsciously
falling right back into her old habit. “I was attacked by Assassins; I do not know what has become
of Orion.”
“Neither does anyone else,” Rosa told her simply, helping her back down into the chair. “But I
can tell you this; some crazy bastard has been lopping off Assassin heads and leaving them all
over the city with the word Wrath carved into their brows. It has the Lily all bent, I can tell you.”
She looked around Ginemad’s chamber and wrung her hands in a very un-Rosa like way. “It really
isn’t safe for you to be here, child,” she hissed, leaning close to Miriam. “The rumors have it that
the Lily is offering huge rewards for you and Orion both. The rumors say that our own Phillibar du’
Quillix has made a deal with Ben Avi to hand you over to them in exchange for Guild Amnesty!”
There was a quiet, very drawn-out moment as Miriam considered this.
“Phil?” she asked finally. “What notions has that idiot gotten into his head? I never placed him
in any capacity to make decisions on behalf of this Guild.”
“That’s just it, child,” Rosa moaned, waving her hands in front of her in a very Durskan
fashion. “He and Borood are virtually at war for the control of the Docker’s Guild. Cut the whole
thing down the middle, they did, and it is only the Danimars and your dozen-odd boys who are not
allied with one or the other group. I’ve heard plenty of rumors about Phillibar, but I have no idea
what devils the Boar might be dancing for.”
Again Miriam was quiet for several ‘marks.
“I see,” she said at last, the timbre her reply not alluding to any of her current thoughts. “I had
been afraid that it would be so. I am going to have to leave Ranporkin, at least for a time.”
“Leave and leave for good!” Rosa pleaded, gripping one of Miriam’s hands tightly in both of
her own. “There is nothing for you here but death, lass. Put as much distance between you and
Ranporkin as you can manage. Ginemad,” here Rosa looked up at him with beseeching eyes and
studied his face for several heartbeats before turning back to her adopted daughter. “Ginemad will
look after you.”
“And what about you, Mama,” Miriam asked very pointedly. “I cannot leave you here,
abandoned to the mercies of the madmen who have taken control of the Guild.”
“You go and I’ll follow,” Rosa licked her lips in agitation. Tears had risen in her eyes as loss
and impatience warred about her features. “If I go with you, Miriam, the suspicious will know
immediately what is afoot; they know I would never have cause to leave here, save for you. No,
no, if I go with you at the start, I’ll doom you for certain. I—I must part from you again, I am
afraid. But know—know that it is only to keep you safe.”
Miriam felt the heavy weight of what lay beneath the woman’s words settle into the pit of her
stomach and knew that there was nothing less than the raging infernos of the twelve hells that
would change her Auntie’s mind. She would not be coming, and there would be no telling for sure if
she would reunite with her again. She had learned long ago as a child that Rosa was a woman of
hard truths and stubborn complacency. If she stayed behind she may be able to protect her for a
short time, but the city had become rotten all the way to the leech infested rivers the Dockers—her
Dockers—had tried so desperately to hold onto. If she did not leave, she risked the lives of the
ones who had fought for her, who believed in her and had risked their lives to follow her. Men who
she could not let die to save one soul who refused to stand up and save her own life. This
understanding passed between them like mist through a grassy field and they held each other until
a loud rap at the door and a burst of raucous talking from outside startled Rosa upright.
“Hoy, now, Sea Dog, y’aint sleepin yit, are ye!” came Asher’s voice from the hallway. “Got
some o’ the boys ‘ere; open up, an’ we’ll have a spot o’ dice!”
“That idiot,” Ginemad snarled at the very same time Miriam remarked, “Genius, Asher, good
thinking.”
He gave her a disbelieving look, but it was Rosa who clucked at him and said, “Everyone in the
Guildhouse would want to know what the lot of you were up to if they all paraded up here in the
middle of the night like a group of hairy carolers,” she told him. She sniffed again, wetly, and
added, “They’d guess—and rightly—that something was afoot. But no one will suspect a bunch of
you boys drinking and playing at dice.”
Ginemad nodded and opened the door. Asher gave him a broad wink—there was a bottle of
good brandy in one of his hands and a whole tray of fresh pastries in the other.
“Make way, lad,” he winked at Ginemad as he passed him. “Laime’s got the dice and Terror
brung some bread and sausages. Clear off that table, there’s a friend!”
Terror du’Jax, Kal Phalcon, and Laime and Burr al’Durrick followed Asher into Ginemad’s
chambers.
“Figured you might be hungry, ma’am,” Asher explained to Miriam in lower tones, knuckling his
forehead characteristically as he stepped back to allow Laime and Burr to move Ginemad’s small
table to the front of her chair. “It be a brandy bottle, right ‘nuff, but I filled it with clean, cold water
from the ‘stern,” the young man went on. Miriam turned the heavy glass bottle in her hand and,
seeing the intricately drawn crest of a fine Durskan distillery, remarked with a mischievous smile on
how she would have preferred the spirit. Asher looked fit to leak at the eyes and with a delighted
laugh she assured him of her gratitude. Within moments he had laid the small meal—bread,
sausages, and pastries—before her. Kal produced an apple and a pear from his pockets; at
Ginemad’s quizzical look, he shrugged and said, “Didn’t know which she’d prefer.”
“Thank you, boys,” Miriam proclaimed sincerely. The five of them were grinning like moon-
sick lunatics but she hardly noticed. As it turned out, she was famished and ate like it, which
seemed to please the five men to no end. Rosa tsked loudly when she had finished, muttering, “If
only you had eaten that well as a girl.”
“Thank you, boys,” Miriam repeated after a long swallow of water and a reproachful look at her
adoptive parent. “I really needed that.”
“Think nothin’ of it,” Terror said with a dismissive wave and a huge spotty-toothed grin. “I’m—
we’re—so glad you’re back, Anchoress ma’am.”
“Ginemad always said you’d come back,” Kal put in with a respectful nod in his friend’s
direction. “He never gave up on you, not Ginemad.”
“I know,” Miriam replied. Her dark eyes fell on her lifelong friend with a deep and quiet
appreciation that Ginemad was forced to look away from. “But I am afraid I cannot stay; things
have changed in this city, and none for the better. I need to leave Ranporkin, and likely for quits.”
“We anticipated that,” Kal returned to her surprise. “Asher and I are gonna round up the
others; we’ll be ready to leave in a candlepiece or less.”
“Others?” Miriam asked, somewhat non-plussed. “Which others?”
“Yer loyal dozen, o’course, ma’am,” Asher said brightly. “We been talkin’ a lot; and the ol’
Sea Dog’s been thumpin’ the piss—beggin’ yer pardon, ma’am—out o’ the lot o’ us an’ tellin’ us t’
be ready when you came back. Well, we be ready, so let’s not sit on our hands, eh?”
“Nay,” Miriam returned his smile. “But I need some clothes and there is some coin hidden
beneath my bed. We might need that so I—,”
“You stay here with Rosa,” Ginemad told her firmly with a finger to her shoulder. “I’d rather
you be here, than going about the Guildhouse where you might be seen. Rosa’s right; this Guild
has fallen straight into the River and for as good as you were for us, you’d think you never existed,
so quickly have these half-witted maggots turned on each other.”
Miriam nodded and Ginemad turned to the brothers al’Durrik. “You pair stay here and keep after
our Anchoress. No one but our crew crosses that door, aye?”
“Aye, Ginemad,” Laime and Burr said with identical nods of their black-haired heads. “No one
but our crew.”
“Good. Asher, you and Kal be about it. Terror and I will fetch Miriam’s things.”
“Righto Sea Dog,” Asher replied in a fervent growl. “Ma’am,” he said to Miriam, and then he
and Kal slipped back into the corridor and were gone.
“I will return soon,” Ginemad told her as the door closed behind them. “I’ll bring your clothes
and that coin.”
“My Book and pillow too?” Miriam asked with uncharacteristic girlishness that astonished even
her. Rosa made a snort of derision and muttered something under her breath, but Ginemad
merely snorted through his nostrils and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. The tattered, embroidered
pillow and an equally damaged Book of Ret had been Miriam’s constant comfort since she was a
child. Ginemad, alone of everyone save her, knew where she kept both.
“You can hardly even call that mess of cloth a pillow anymore,” Rosa griped at her when he
was gone. “It looks more like something one of your scruffy cats might have killed.”
“Shhh,” Miriam scolded above her own chuckle. She leaned her head back against the chair
and waited.
It was a very short wait.
Ginemad and Terror returned first, a collection of her clothes in a tidy leather satchel. “Your
pillow and book are in there, too,” Ginemad told her into her ear. “Here’s the coin.”
He handed her a heavy purse, which she weighed thoughtfully in her hand.
“Give me a moment to get dressed,” Miriam whispered, “And we will be away.”
The pair nodded and stepped back outside. With a stiff groan, the Shewolf rose from the chair
and hastily started dressing. Almost immediately, Rosa exclaimed in alarm, “Sweet Ret girl, you
are as thin as a post, and there weren’t that much to you to begin with!”
“Aye,” Miriam agreed, sitting back down halfway through pulling on her tunic. “Not quite up to
my old standards, either, it seems.”
“Here,” Rosa offered in half grunt as she bent over, “Let me help you with your boots.”
As she pushed Miriam’s left boot onto its respective foot she remarked, “I suppose you shall
have to decide now which direction your heading. North leads to Galadarn, and east will eventually
find you in Caer Paentis. Those are the two closest safe places of city size.”
“Mama,” Miriam began again, but Rosa had at last steeled herself and she rose sharply.
“Don’t give me any more lip, child,” she said sternly, her hands gripping the swishy fabric of
her scarlet dress. “There isn’t time for it. Come.”
Miriam did not argue. She rose from the chair again and followed her irascible warden to the
door. “Ginemad, let’s have your traveling cloak, eh?”
“In the wardrobe,” his low voice came back muffled through the thick wooden door. Rosa had
it retrieved and whipped about Miriam’s shoulders almost before the younger woman could blink.
“Keep the hood pulled up and your head down to shadow your face,” Rosa instructed sternly.
“It’s dark, but the moons are bright and you don’t want anyone seeing that milky telltale skin of
yours.”
“Is this goodbye?” Miriam asked lightly, her neutral countenance disappearing into the shadow
of the cloak’s hood.
“That will be quite enough of that,” Rosa told her firmly. “Goodbye is what you say when
someone dies. This is merely fare-thee-well until we see each other again.” She took the younger
woman’s hands for a moment and squeezed them with shaking fingers before allowing them to
drop and stepping to the door. “Go now, Miriam Bloodmoon. You have no time for dalliance.
But, like Old Emma the cook used to tell me, ‘For every door that closes another opens, so go
swift, trust what you know, and step through.’”
Without another glance Rosa opened the door and making certain that Ginemad and the others
were the only ones in the corridor.
“I love you too, Auntie,” Miriam told her. “Mama.”
“Enough of that,” Rosa scolded with a swipe of her hand and two steps backward into the
room once again. “Ret be with you, for what it’s worth.” With that, the heavy, brass-knobbed door
to Ginemad’s room clicked shut.
The Guildhouse’s main staircase was deserted; no one challenged them. The entryway as well
was eerily silent; almost as though the very world held its breath. Miriam shook her head to clear
her mind of such nonsense. Focus on the task at hand, she gritted, keeping her eyes on the
undulating shape of Ginemad’s back. The was a shuffle; she spared a glance from under the
hood, saw Ginemad collaring one of the others. It was Asher; apparently he had started for the
front door. One of the others hissed, “We go out through the galley,” and as one the group
redirected their steps.
“Roight,” Asher returned in a harsh whisper of his own.
“Hoy, now,” a deep voice said as they pushed through the mahogany doors and into the
swelter of the Guildhouse kitchen. “Here they be.”
“Izzat Miriam unner the cloak?” another, milder voice queried.
“Course it is,” Laime snapped, “Now shut yer gobs, and let’s get the hells outta this
Guildhouse.”
Miriam pulled back her hood. The rest of her “dozen” as Rosa had called them were crowded
into narrow end of the kitchen, closest to the door.
“I’ll be damned,” Halibus Erannon breathed, leaning forward to peer at her with wide, coal-
colored eyes. “It is you, ma’am!”
“It is,” Miriam admitted with a short nod. She made a point to look at each man in turn, so that
they could all see that this was no deception. “We must be off with all haste,” she told them. “And
we will likely have to leave the city by way of the docks; so be ready. I have no doubt at all that we
are in for some late night exercise.”
“Of course, of course,” Halibus replied with a meaty grin. “We’s ready, ma’am. Terror, yer
crossbow’s on the table there.”
The Anchoress replaced the hood as Terror scooped up the fearsome looking weapon and
nodded to Ginemad. Ginemad nodded back and opened the door to the garden.
“Well, what have we here?” greeted them as they stepped out into the hot, heavy Ranporkin
night. “Either its Devil’s Night and you’re all out for candy and apple bobbing or someone’s trying
to steal away by cover of darkness.”
Miriam gripped her sword hilt tighter beneath the dark cloak and tilted her head back just
enough to see what was transpiring. Cursing, the men with her warily formed a loose circle with
her at the center.
Sebastian Danimar, his clothing and hair mussed, was sitting against the now dry old fountain
in the center of the garden, smoking one of the narrow cigars he had popularized among the
Guildmembers. There was a bottle of wine in his other hand, and one of the younger Guildhouse
women—definitely not Ginemad’s mother—was lounging next to him, sipping dark liquid from a
stemmed glass. Her clothing was even more disheveled than his; the laces from her bodice were
gone and there was a fair amount of grass tangled in her silky tresses. Neither of them seemed to
notice the icy stares they were receiving from their hooded counterparts.
“Ginemad, my fine lad!” Sebastian exclaimed brightly in a voice well suited to lulling and
winning the hearts of women. He blew a perfect ring of smoke into the air between them and lifted
the near empty bottle in salute. “What are you and your merry band about at this hour?”
“I’d ask you the same, father,” Ginemad snarled in frosty tones, “If it weren’t completely
obvious.” He batted the bluish smoke away from his face with an angry swipe of his hand.
“Pity,” Sebastian frowned down at the glimmering cigar between his fingers, “That little trick
always amused you when you were a boy.” Sebastian’s son ground his teeth audibly as his father
looked back up at him and winked rakishly. “Ah, well, time’s change, eh, son?” With a flourish, he
handed the bottle to the young woman beside him.
“Run along now, Belthia dear,” he ordered amicably. “We’ll, ah, chat some more later, I’m
sure!”
Wordlessly, she took the bottle and swayed, somewhat unsteadily, back into the Guildhouse.
When the door had thunked shut behind her, Sebastian raised the tobacco to his lips and drew
deep. The ember at the end glowed brighter for a moment, casting his face into unreadable
shadows.
“If I am not much mistaken,” he exhaled after a moment, “Then I would guess that you have
found our little lost Anchoress.”
Ginemad said nothing, but motioned the others toward the garden gate. They moved
cautiously, and Rohl Burris actually gave a start when Sebastian made his next comment even
louder.
“And further, having found her, you are needing to smuggle her out of the city, am I right?”
“Would you shut your gob, old man!” Ginemad spat whirling on his father. “Are you trying to
bring the whole city down on us, you good-for-nothing drunk?”
“Me?” Sebastian looked hurt as he sprung to his feet with cat-like grace. “Of course not. You
are doing a fine job of that yourselves.”
Ginemad’s eyes narrowed; Miriam knew him well enough to know that he was likely to take a
swing at his father, so she reached out a hand from beneath her cloak and squeezed his arm.
“Hear him out, Ginemad,” she requested quietly. “But be quick, Sebastian. The night wanes.”
“And so it does, my little Shewolf,” Sebastian allowed with a dark smile. “Really, you do need
to part from the city, but all the outs are watched.”
“We suspected as much,” Ginemad allowed grudgingly. “That’s why we’re headed for the
docks.”
“And that is why you need no help from me in getting your heads broke,” Sebastian returned
cheerfully, raising his hands up. “Honestly, boy; use that knob of yours. If there was a certain
Docker wench you wanted to catch, where would you look? The Docks, of course! Place is gone
to the dogs, and by dogs I mean Lily bastards.” He blew another ring of smoke toward them.
“Something of a shame, really.”
Ginemad’s rude retort had almost made it into the balmy night before Miriam stopped him
once more. “Granted our plan was only to get out of the city; it was obviously not well enough
thought through.” She looked over the shadowed faces of the men with her before turning back to
Sebastian. “What would you suggest, old Pirate?”
“Ah, well,” he grinned, flicking the last bit of tobacco ember to the ground and grinding it
thoughtfully beneath the tow of an immaculate and very shiny black boot. “It just so happens that I
am going to help you. I have a plan for just such an occasion and the means with which to pull it
off.”
“Capital,” Ginemad half snarled in what was an amusingly good imitation of his father’s
dandyish way of speaking. “What exactly are we going to do?”
Sebastian draped his arms around his son and Miriam. “You and the little Shewolf and, um,” he
looked around at the others, “Him, Terrence there, the big lad with the crossbow. We’re going to
go out by wagon. The rest of your zealots are just going to walk out the city gates, pretty as you
please and Meg’s yer Mother!”
“My mother’s name is Lissanne,” Ginemad grumbled, but Miriam looked up at him from
beneath the heavy hood. “I thought all the gates were watched? How are they going to get out of
the city safely?”
“Ah, but there’s the pickle, lassie!” Sebastian answered her with aplomb. “The gates are
watched, sure as you’re a pale beauty; but it be you whom they’re seeking. Your friends have
nothing to fear, so long as you aren’t with them. Well, perhaps a small dose of a something, but
they looks to be the type what can handle themselves. So divide them up, have em go out through
the Calhimin Gate, or the Noble Gate, or there’s even a smugglers gate just north of Colla Plaza,
fourth stone from the bottom center behind the black rose bush that grows between number twenty
and number twenty-three Estion Lane.”
“And us?” Ginemad demanded tersely. “Which gate shall we use?”
“The closest one,” Sebastian replied brightly as he tapped his son with his fist. “The main
North Gate.”
“Through the Market? Are you a lunatic!?”
“Son, son,” Sebastian soothed, clamping a hand firmly on Ginemad’s shoulder. “Trust me.”
“What concerns me,” Miriam voiced with soft command, “Is that you want the rest of my boys
to go out the south gates, but it is the Fool’s Road I want, and that is to the north.”
"Right, but we don’t want to arouse any suspicions,” Sebastian looked up, reacted as though
surprised to find all of Miriam’s men crowded around, but grinned and produced a folded
parchment from the pocket of his still-disheveled vest.
“You boys can get horses, can’t ye?” Sebastian asked, looking directly at Asher.
“Aye, sir, we can get ponies, if we need ‘em.”
"You need ‘em,” the older man affirmed. “You’re gonna leave to the south, ride around the
city walls to the point I have marked there on the map. Aye, boyo,” he rolled his eyes at Asher’s
dumfounded look, “That there’s a map I gave ye. Ye can read a map, eh?”
“I can,” Rohl answered, and snatched it away from his friend. “I see the mark. What be there?”
“A ferry,” Sebastian announced with a broad wink. “And four strapping lads to pull the oars.
You tell them the Old Sea Dog sent ye; they’ll do the rest. When you’re back on the North Shore,
ride on back toward the city, and I’ll have your pretty little Anchoress waiting for ye.”
There was a pregnant pause as they looked at Miriam. Her face was obscured from sight, and
for a long time she said nothing. Asher was considering picking her up and making an honest run
for it when she finally spoke.
“You have not told me how you intend to get Ginemad and Terror and myself out of here,” she
stated calmly. “Surely we are not just going to ride out the main gate, singing like a lark a’
morning?”
“Terrance and I are,” Sebastian exclaimed with gusto, making a playful attempt at straightening
his clothes. “You and Ginemad get to ride, comfortably ensconced in my wagon.”
“You don’t own a wagon,” Ginemad returned flatly.
“Sure I do,” Sebastian hooted. “Boy, you have such little faith. Why, I just procured a wagon
this very eve.”
“What the hells for?” Ginemad asked in an impatient hiss as his eyes scanned the grounds for
what he was sure were gangs of opposition that any minute now would make them sorry they were
wasting time with his obnoxious scallywag of a father.
“To haul things, son; that bein’ the purpose most sensible folk put wagons to. Well, lassie? Are
we going to go about this daring bit of moonlit smuggling; this deed of summer night grandeur
beneath star clad heavens?”
“Aye,” Miriam agreed quietly. Sebastian was a scoundrel, but she trusted him. Her instinct of
people had never yet led her wrong; she did not expect this to be the first time. “I really see no
other option.”
“Capital!” Sebastian favored her with a roguish smile and swept a flourishing bow. “Ginemad,
be a good lad and toss me the rest of me garment, there.”
Within the span of a heartbeat, Sebastian had repaired his appearance and was beckoning
Terrance to follow him. They left the garden and Miriam turned to the others.
“Asher, Rohl,” she addressed them, “Do as Captain Danimar suggested; split yourselves up
and head for two of the south gates. Make haste, though; it is likely to take you the better part of
the night to leave the city and ride around it’s perimeter back to the river. I want to be as far away
from here as I can manage by dawn. And take care of yoursleves”
“Righto, miss,” Asher replied immediately. “We be leavin’ this very ‘mark. C’mon lads.”
The others shouldered small packs of clothes and belongings that Miriam had not noticed before,
and with murmurs of good fortune filed silently out of the garden and into the lane beyond.
Ginemad watched them go. Frowning, he turned to Miriam. “Are you sure about this?” he
asked harshly. “I mean—,”
“Ginemad,” she broke in soothingly, forestalling his angry outburst. “Whether or nay you like
the man, you are your father’s pride and joy. He would never put you in the path of harm.”
Ginemad’s onyx-hued eyes narrowed, but kept any further objections to himself. He was still
scowling off into the darkness when the clattering noise of a wagon leaving the Guildhouse stable
reached their ears. A moment later Sebastian hailed from just beyond the gate.
“All clear and what not,” he called softly, hands cupped around his mouth. “Come on then.”
The wagon was packed so full of goods that Miriam felt Ginemad stiffen in the dark with
outrage.
“How is this going to help, Pops?” he queried irately, thrusting an upturned hand toward the
well stuffed wagon bed. Sebastian didn’t rise to his son’s anger, however; instead, he pulled a
heavy, folded tarpaulin out of the center of the wain, leaving a depression barely larger than a
single grown man.
“This is a wagon full of trade goods from the docks,” Miriam murmured quietly. “Who sold you
this? It belongs to the Guild.”
“Firstly,” Sebastian declared, his eyes twinkling in the soft moon glow. “I don’t believe I said
anything about buying it. Second, as the Anchoress, you are the Guild, Miriam Bloodmoon, and
here is your chariot out of the city. And Third,” he waved a hand airily, “It’s all part of my plan.
Come aboard now, there’s a good girl.” With deft hands he helped Miriam into the wagon and
waited for her to settle herself in the bottom amongst the wares. When she was as comfortable as
she could manage, he motioned to his son. “You too, boy; it’d look suspicious if you were to
leave the city openly by wagon. Don’t want to give away the game”
“There isn’t room,” Ginemad told him.
“There is if you get close,” Sebastian said with a wink. “And that was never a problem for the
pair of ye before.”
For a moment, Ginemad’s mouth worked soundlessly. Finally, he grumbled a fluent Durskan
oath and climbed over the side. It was very cramped; he had to take Miriam into his arms and they
both had to turn on their sides in order to fit.
“All settled?” Sebastian asked quietly. “Good.”
He did not wait for their answer. With his customary flourish, he half-unrolled two bolts of silk
and spread that over them, blocking out their view.
“We’re going to stifle!” Ginemad growled into Miriam’s scalp, but she whispered back, “No.
He has bored holes in the floor of the wain. Look.”
It was true; there was a pattern of holes in the wood just beneath their heads. Ginemad
continued to mutter though as his father and Terror spread the heavy canvas tarpaulin over the
entire wagon and hastily secured it. It did warm up, and quickly; within a few moments of the
wagon jerking into motion Miriam’s tunic was stuck to her with sweat and she could practically feel
her curls growing tighter. Ginemad’s bulk against her and his hot breath on her neck was
uncomfortable as well, but hemmed, as they were, into the hot, sticky darkness within the wagon,
the pair of them rode in silence, their ears straining for any sound of threat from the silent yet
deadly streets of Ranporkin.
“The Goresh Market!” Sebastian suddenly belted, loudly, into the stillness. “Look, Terrence
me boy, some of these poor bastards are a-sleepin’ in their stalls, so the thieves won’t come and
steal their wares!”
“Aye,” Terror answered after but a moment, his voice pitched much lower. “I see them.”
“And look there, me lad! The road to the North Gate. And several gentlemen to greet us and
see us on our way!”
Miriam grunted as every muscle in Ginemad’s body went rigid and his arms tightened vice-like
around her. The wagon rolled on perhaps another fifty feet before a jovial, “Whoa!” from
Sebastian brought the conveyance grinding to a halt.
“Why, why, Meela Hide-Eye! You’re looking uglier than ever, sir! And you have your friends
Topside Tuck and The Foamer by your sides, I see!”
“How the Bloody hells did he—,” a shrill male voice exclaimed. It was at once overridden by a
much deeper, but equally male, “I really hate being called that, Hide-Eye. Can we kill him now?”
“Easy, lads,” a susurrous third voice put in. “This man looks familiarish.”
“I should hope that I do, Meela!” Sebastian erupted theatrically. “It was I who secured that
shipment of oils that you so desperately needed a hand of years ago. Practically gift-wrapped and
pouring themselves, I might add.”
“Danimar,” the one called Hide-Eye answered with a note of recognition. “How could I forget
a man so very pretty?”
“I don’t recommend it,” Sebastian told him, and Miriam knew at once he was wagging a finger
at them momishly. “I never forget a man, or the face he belongs to! If I did, why, I fear that I
would spend the entirety of my life mired in introductions.”
“And so you would,” Hide-Eye answered with impatient dislike. “Lads, this here’s Danimar; the
Docker Pirate who insists on giving everyone he meets an ache in the pate.”
“No need to be rude, there, ol’ furry eyeball! And I much prefer Liberator of Overcollected
Goods to Pirate. Makes me sound like more the true man of the people that I am.”
“Er wotever,” the squeaky voice trilled. “What’s in yer wagon, Dannymar?”
“It’s Dannimar, Tuck, and Gertrude’s yer aunt,” Sebastian replied with the flair of a seasoned
Royal Arinonan Actor. “And my wagon would be filled with the treasures of this long year spent
away at sea, wouldn’t it?”
“Let’s have a look, shall we,” the third voice put in with an oily slur that made the hairs on
Miriam’s sweat slicked neck rise. There was a scuffle of footsteps followed by the sound of hard-
soled boots landing lightly on the cobbles. Sebastian’s voice came from a different angle now;
instead of above and behind their heads, he was directly in front of Miriam and Ginemad, at the left
side of the wagon.
“One shouldn’t go poking about where one doesn’t belong,” the Pirate admonished them.
“But, as I have nothing to hide, allow me.”
Ginemad pressed over her protectively as the sound of the canvas being drawn back reached
their ears, but there was no break in the stifling confines to indicate that he had come anywhere
near exposing his two hidden charges.
“Smokes!” Sebastian crowed gleefully. “The finest pipe-leaf from the islands beyond
Mendaria, rolled into these, the very best slim cigars.”
The one called Hide-Eye laughed, a sound akin to a dog hacking. “You ‘spect us to believe
that?” There was another shuffling footstep and then the same voice, lower and more menacing, “I
know your type, Danimar. You want us to think your some kind of bumbler. You probably think
that you’re going to dance right out of this city, under our noses, hiding—,”
“Care for a bit of the puffy?” Sebastian interrupted, with the same cheerful tone, for all the
world as if he were at a party among old friends.
“No, I don’t want none of yer damn, tobacco!” Hide-Eye snarled and from what Miriam could
discern had slapped away Sebastian’s hand. “I want to know what’s in that wagon!”
“Really, my boy, you keep on like that and you’re likely to suffer a fit. Burst a blood vessel and
wot wot. Didn’t anyone teach you any manners? Grand Malik ju’Vorna would never have stood
for such sloppiness.”
“Too bad ee’s been dead this past eight weeks!” cackled the strident Tuck voice.
“Explains a lot,” Sebastian returned, his own voice suddenly very flat. But the joviality was
back in place the very next instance with the dull clinking and sloshing of full liquor bottles.
“Durskan brandy from the Moulinnay Barony vineyards! Finest booze in the world; fetches a Bigat
a bottle—sometimes double!—and is set only at Lord’s tables. But, since it’s you three and you
have been so very pleasant, have a bottle, on me!”
There was a mixture of soft sounds and then Hide-Eye’s voice, snarling, “Don’t drink it, you
bloody idiot! He’ll have fixed it, that one.”
“Nonsense,” Sebastian answered, his tone sufficiently hurt. “I would never ruin a bottle of this
fine vintage—aged, as it is, in rare black oak barrels—with something so clichéd as common
poison.” There was the sound of a healthy gulp, followed by a satisfied smacking of lips. “There,
you see! Finest booze in the world! Salee!”
“Aw come off it, Hide-Eye,” Tuck bawled. “’Ee ain’t half bad, this one. Let’s ‘ave a light, then,
Dannymar!”
"I see that the pair of you,” Sebastian remarked happily—and rather pointedly, “Are men of
taste.”
“Look, Danimar,” Hide-Eye hissed, “The new contract says that no one leaves this city without
being searched—thoroughly—so you better come clean quick-like—,”
“Or what?” Sebastian asked. His voice was light still, but an edge that Miriam had not noted
before had crept into it.
“What do you think, pretty man?”
There was a pause, filled only with the very soft crinkling sound of a cigar being in haled. “Oh,
I rather think you have nefarious schemes for my sudden and very messy demise.” Sebastian
replied mildly. There was the sound of an exhalation, followed by a curse and a cough. “Only,
killing me would be a very, very stupid thing to do.”
“Yer well on yer way you ever puff smoke in my face like that again,” Hide-Eye spat. “I should
use yer guts for saddle-tack.”
“Except that you have been expressly forbidden to do so,” Sebastian supplied jauntily.
“Hoy, ‘ow’s ‘ee know tha—,”
“Shut it, Tuck!” the other two voices growled as one.
“Yer an awful mouthy pretty man,” Hide-Eye shushed.
“I’m an awful friendly pretty man,” Sebastian said quietly. “Until moved to ire, that is.”
Now the timbre of his voice was entirely different. There was an edge to it that sent a chill
down Miriam’s spine, in spite of the sticky heat in their little hide.
“Oh, ‘ee’s terrifyin,’ this un is,” Tuck’s voice giggled piercingly. “Roight nasty little chicken!”
“If you must know,” Sebastian murmured seductively, “My wagon also contains fine silk, of the
type naughty little undergarment’s are made of. There are some spices fit for a Lord’s kitchens,
two tins of fish eggs—a rare delicacy from the other side of the world, that. Medicines from the
traders at Kingsport and cheap, tasty rum from the port of Mendar are on the other side, as well as
a chest of gems of unknown origin. Trade goods, gentlemen. Nothing more.”
“Then you’ll have no problem lettin’ us peek,” Hide-Eye growled thumping what sounded like a
large fist against the wagon’s backboard.
“Ah, but there’s where you are much mistaken,” Sebastian returned immediately. There was
another sputtering cough and Hide-Eye roared, “I told you to leave off the Ghat-blasted smoke
rings!”
“And I think I just politely told you to piss off.”
“Just who the bloody Hells do you think you are, Pirate Pretty?”
Sebastian laughed. It was such an airy and false sound that Ginemad shifted, ever so slightly.
Miriam could tell that he had turned his head a bit and was listening with silent intensity.
“I think that I’m the man who owns this city,” Sebastian’s voice warned.
Now the other three voices laughed. “That’s a good one, Danimar,” the third voice said.
“Owner of the city, eh? Wonder what ol’ Ben Avi would think of that?”
“He’d likely wet himself if I looked at him crosswise,” Sebastian replied coolly. “And speaking
of the old tyrant, how’s his health? By now, I’m guessing he’s been asking for me—likely one or
more of his limbs is a twisted, crippled wreck?”
There was a very uncomfortable silence into which Sebastian continued, “Ah, I can see by your
countenances that this is true. Shame, really. I rather thought that Ben Avi would be a better ruler
than he has turned out to be. Greed seems to have poisoned his mind.”
“Just what are you babbling about, Danimar?” Hide-Eye whispered harshly. “You’re an old
charlatan, that’s what you be. You talk pretty, but that all it is; words. Hows about I cut out yer
tongue; we’ll see how sweet you sing, then, eh?”
“You like to eat, don’t you?” Sebastian returned, and again there was a silence broken by the
soft sound of shifting clothing and a single, harsh cough.
“You really are just babbling now, Danimar,” the third voice chuckled. “Course we likes to eat.
Who doesn’t? You sayin’ you gots some cakes, or some such in that wagon of yers?”
“A piece of pie, perhaps,” Sebastian answered musingly, but went on almost immediately with,
“Without me, no bit of food would ever enter this city. Everyone here would starve within a month
if I were ever to stop, ah, being.”
“Yer a bloody nutter, that’s what,” whined the Tuck voice. There was another cough, and Hide-
Eye added, “He really is a bloody lunatic.”
Sebastian laughed and it was Miriam’s turn to shudder. Gone was the jovial, dandyish chortle
which she had known since childhood. It had been replaced by a cold, hard sound—entirely devoid
of mirth.
“You think the rest of the southern kingdoms are so very thrilled with our little den of
debauchery smack in the middle of the plains here?” Sebastian’s rather flowing tone was also
gone, his words were clipped and cool. “The Durskans would love to get their paws on the wealth
of Ranporkin, and the Norlanders would follow whatever lead they set. The King of Paenen and
his bloody Horse-lords would raze this place to the ground and salt the earth it sits on, if just to
make sure it never re-arose. No, my good fools; we Ranporkiners are not a well-liked lot. My
Dockers bring in food and medicine, and the Durskans and Norlanders trade with us only because I
honor long held trusts that worms like you could never begin to understand. You eat because I
profit and go about my business unmolested. Without me,” Sebastian paused and Miriam could
clearly hear the crinkle of his cigar being drawn again, “There would be no you.”
Three slow claps rang out into the stillness of the night. “Oh, encore!” Hide-Eye hissed. “Tell
us another stirring tale.”
“Where’s my Anchoress?”
Sebastian’s question faded into the noise of a rough cough, a wheeze, and the dull crumpled
sound of a body striking the cobblestones.
“Bloody Hells—!” Hide-Eye roared, and the wagon rocked slightly as someone staggered
against it. “Oh piss,” mewled the Tuck voice. “You pirate bas—,” but that too faded into a wet
choking sound, the smash of a bottle on stones and a second dull clunk.
“Terrence, lad, hand me that crossbow of yours,” Sebastian said. A pair of clicks, and then
Sebastian’s voice again, right against the side of the wagon. “Do you know, Hide-Eye, the rumor
is you killed my girl. They say you killed the Anchoress and dumped her body in the river.” He
paused a moment, and Miriam caught a flash through one of the holes beneath her head.
Sebastian had obviously flicked the last ember of his cigar to the ground. “You Lily Bastards think
you’re something, don’t you? Well, ju’Vorna knew better. He had a young’n he called the
Phantom; il’Fantasma, the Durskan word. What became of him?”
“D-dead,” Hide-Eye stuttered. “You p-pig! H-how—?”
“So you killed ju’Vorna and his protégé?” Sebastian’s lacquered nails drummed the wooden
stock of the crossbow in the silence. “Were you there?” This question was from a bit further
away.
“N-no. It was Victor. Ben Avi ordered it. And the killing of yer precious Anchoress.”
“Hmm,” Sebastian mused with cold indifference. “Quite a shame she’s not dead, then, isn’t
it? And that Phantom of yours, did you burn the body?”
“Never—saw—body,” Hide-Eye choked.
Sebastian laughed again. “You sloppy fools. That one will be the death of you, mark my
words. One thing a man never forgets is back-stabbers who leave him for dead. Stupidest thing
you miserable shits ever did, killing ju’Vorna. Good luck in the future—ah, well, not to you of
course, Meela Hide-Eye. You won’t be leaving Goresh Market, I’m afraid.”
“Go—f--,”
“Shh,” Sebastian hissed admonishingly, his voice once again right against the side of the
wagon. “No foul language! There’s a lady present.”
“Lying—sack—bastard!” Hide-Eyed wheezed horribly
“Oh, that’s right, Hide-Eye, now your cottoning on,” Sebastian purred cruelly. “The girl’s in
the wagon with my son. See, that’s the other rumor that really gets my rigging all fouled up—I
understand someone put a price on my boy’s head.”
“Don’t—,”
“In fact, I think it would be safe to say that I’m rather—crossed.”
The loud thwack! of the crossbow cut across the silence of the Goresh Market with a
penultimate note of finality. It was followed by a sound like a loud, dramatic scuffle and Terror’s
voice proclaiming, “Well, shot, Cap’n Danimar, sir; but the Anchoress told me to always aim fer
the body. Less likely t’ miss, as she said.”
“And she is quite right,” Sebastian agreed, his voice back to its ordinary jollity. “You mark me,
Terrence; you listen well to that girl and she’ll never steer you wrong.” The wagon rocked as he
climbed aboard. “And don’t mind our friend, there. They always flop a bit when you shoot ‘em in
the face like that.”
“Ah, duly noted, sir.”
With a lurch, the wagon began to move again. It had rattled for several marks, when Terror’s
voice again reached their ears. “Did you poison the brandy, sir?”
“Never!” Sebastian cried out, aghast. “It was the cigars, actually. Meela was a poor sport and
wouldn’t play along; that’s why I blew smoke in his face. Only, it just sort of crippled him up a bit.”
The noise of the wheels on cobbles became the warm rumble of wheels on wood as the wagon
crossed from the city onto the North Bridge. A few marks later and the rumble was replaced but
the crunch of hard-packed earth and gravel. They rolled on for about half a candlepiece.
“This’ll do, then,” Sebastian suddenly announced. Miriam had been dozing on Ginemad’s arm;
the sound of his voice startled her awake. The wagon once more pitched to a halt, but this time,
the tarpaulin was being thrown back almost immediately. Ginemad groaned as he unfolded and
unstuck himself from her and shoved the two bolts of silk off of them. Even the warm night air felt
like cool relief after the stuffy hiding place, but Miriam made no complaint as Sebastian lifted her
by the waist and set her lightly on the ground.
There were on the road, some short distance northeast of the city. A thick copse of trees was
just to their left, and Miriam was amazed to see Asher and all the others lounging in the tall grass
leading up to it.
“How did you get here so fast?” she asked him; but he merely winked and thumbed his nose
jovially in Sebastian’s direction.
“Cap’n Danimar actually spoke wit’ me a bit as I was roundin’ up the others.” Asher admitted
sheepishly. “We all pretended to go towards different gates, but there be a river-door, see, on the
north side of the Chancel. The good father seems to be a friend of Cap’n Danimar’s; and he let
us through the Temple and out the door, and inta a waitin’ oarboat.” Took us mebbe a candle all
told t’ get ‘ere.” He shrugged. “Figured you’d be along soon ‘nuff.”
Miriam chuckled and shook her sweat soaked head. Ginemad muttered something sour, but it
lacked his usual conviction, so she paid him no mind. Sebastian and some of the others were
tossing the goods from the wagon into the trees.
“What are you doing?”
“Ah, now, lass,” Sebastian said with a grin, “It wouldn’t do for me to be seen leavin’ the city
with a wagon full of goods, and then returnin’ with that same set of goods, would it?”
“Would it really matter?”
“Who knows?” Sebastian hurled one of the bolts of silk spear like into the darkness beneath
the trees. “But we must keep up appearances, mustn’t we?”
He took out the case of brandy, made to throw it—then spun in a full circle and placed it
gingerly back into the wagon.
“Got a bit ahead of meself, there,” he admitted with a rather amorous look at the bottles of
spirits. “Bad luck to waste good booze.”
“Is it true what you said?” Miriam asked him.
“Every bloody word of it!” Sebastian assured her. “Why, I once saw a chap smash a bottle of
fine rum in a brawl, so he could use the glass as a weapon. Poor buggered idiot got his throat cut
for his troubles, an—,”
“Not the drink!” Miriam corrected in exasperation as she repetitively pulled her tunic from her
chest to dry it out a bit. “What you said to those men back there.”
Sebastian winked broadly at her. “My dear Anchoress; it would hardly be manful of me to lie to
men I have taken the trouble to kill.”
She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he silenced her with a finger placed to her
lips. “Now, now, darling. No more need be said on the subject, since you aren’t going to be
returning.”
At the look on her face, he gently took her shoulders in his hands. “This city is dead to you,
girl; you know that. Your place lies out there,” he jerked his head toward the road leading
northeast, “In the wide of the world. You’ll make your mark on this old mudball; or Danimar’s not
my name. All set there, lads?”
“Everythin’ pitched,” Kal called back.
“Well, then, there’s nothing left to discuss, except for my payment,” Sebastian told the band
cheerfully.
The men looked at each other uncomfortably, while Ginemad’s mouth dropped open. “Now
see here, you bloody Pirate—,”
“I have very little coin,” Miriam told him with unruffled honesty. “None to spare, if I am going to
feed these men.”
Sebastian, made a roguish half smile and pulled the front of her sweaty tunic open so he could
look down at her breasts. “These’ll do!”
Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I would like to re-create the first night you spent on my ship as a cabin girl a
few years back,” Sebastian stated elegantly. Miriam’s blush was spectacular and she was forced
to look away. He made a smart little half bow and offered her one arm, while scooping up the
second bolt of silk with the other. To the amusement of nearly everyone watching the Anchoress
stepped in and pressed her lips onto Sebastian’s. With only a moments hesitation he made a
warm sound of pleasure and dropping the silk in order to wrap his arms around her the two
produced the most fantastic lingering kiss any of the men standing around them had ever seen. A
colorful growling oath directed their attention to Ginemad who had in his anger scooped a handful
of road gravel and in a very Durskan form of insult, spattered his father’s wagon with rocky dust
before stalking off down the moon splashed road.
Chuckles floated around the circle as Miriam finally unglued her lips from a rather hot looking
Sebastian, yet when he nudged her toward the treeline she stayed him with a hand on his
chest.
“Thanks for everything Captain Danimar, we are forever indebted to you. I won’t forget what
you did, and please if you could, look after my auntie.”
With that, she turned to her men.
“Where’s Ginemad?” she asked.
Rohl gestured up the road, and she jogged after him; his form was just visible some distance
ahead, silhouetted against the light of Beredell, the blue moon. They watched as she caught up to
him, took one of his hands in both of hers. No one could hear their conversation, but it was
obvious that Ginemad wanted to be angry with her.
It was just as obvious that he was failing somewhat spectacularly.
“Hoo, damn, but that’s a hard woman!” Sebastian groused good-naturedly. He had produced
a colorful silk lady’s fan from somewhere and was fanning himself with a look of beautific misery
on his narrow face. “I can’t say honestly if I’ve ever been so mightily disappointed!” He drew
another of his slim cigars from his pocket and ignited it in Kal’s lantern. He drew deeply and shook
his head again. “I’m sure to sorely miss that girl.” He blew a perfect smoke ring, and considered
it as it faded wispily into the darkness. “Ginemad too,” he added, sadly. “Ginemad especially.”
“Thank’ee kindly, Cap’n Danimar, fer all yer help, then,” Asher said as Sebastian climbed up
into the wagon seat. “We’ll be off, then.”
“Ret Bless, lads,” Sebastian said. “Keep on goin’ till this hole ain’t nothing but a memory.
That’s my advice. Tell the pair o’ them that I’ll be thinking about them.” He blew another smoke
ring, then a second, smaller concentric one. “Tell Ginemad that his Pops is proud of him; but I’ll
come a-huntin’ him if he ever lets that girl down.”
“Will do, sir,” Laime replied. “We’ll tell him.”
Sebastian nodded and clucked his tongue so that the horse walked around and faced back the
way they had come.
“Hoy, now, Cap’n Danimar,” Terror called, his voice somewhat alarmed as Sebastian started
off, “Ain’t that tobacco poisoned?”
“Poisoned!” Sebastian looked over his shoulder, aghast. “Of course not, lad! Why would I
ever ruin fine tobacco with something so terribly pedestrian?”
With that, and a final wave, he clattered back toward the river and his city beyond.
| Leather and Blood |
| December 2009 |
| Serial Fiction |
| Copyright 2009, 2010 by Gabriel and Miriam Cole |
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| Episode II, Out of Ranporkin |
| The greatest events of an age seldom begin with thunder and might. The greatest events often begin with a long string of circumstances; choices and plans, preparations and machinations; all manner of things done quietly and in darkness. No less so the War of Reclamation—volumes could be (and have been) written on all of the many, many choices, alliances, betrayals, decisions, and circumstances that led the Daughter of Iberian into the lost lands of Khathia. But these events, these moments that shake time and change the world forever also have an element of destiny to them, the guidance of Almighty Ret, if you will. While such occurrences have their root in silent lightning, they always tend to end with a roar and a tremor that shakes the world to its very foundations. As with all storms, the thunder merely comes after. From the personal diary of Lady Dame Rimmi Bolgan |
| Second Eraon of Men, Year 2220 |