“Old one!” he called, drawing a hand across his forehead. It remained dry. If only this fever would break! “I need you to bind this to the pigeon’s leg for me.”
A rapid shuffle of feet was his answer. The old woman appeared in the doorway. “I saw, I saw,” she bleated. “You have the shaking sickness, don’t you, Baisha? I saw.” Gnarled fingers reached for the message and a protective strip of oiled paper, plucked one of the silk threads from the table. “Come, Baisha. I know just the pigeon to use; one of the imperial breed. She’s never failed.”
Taren nodded his assent and wrapped his arms around his body in an effort to ward himself against the shaking. He followed her from the room and down the narrow hall to a ladder leading to a trapdoor in the roof. For all her years the old woman climbed nimbly, thrusting the trapdoor aside with surprising strength. Taren followed more slowly. Rain spattered into his eyes as the old woman gained the roof.
“Close the trapdoor,” she called to him as he heaved himself up. She didn’t wait for him but went straight to the pigeonloft, cooing all the while like some giant, elderly pigeon.
Taren did as she bade and followed, wishing he’d kept the grass cape and hat; If any of the others asked, he’d have trouble explaining how his clothes came to be soaked. Besides, the cold and wet just made him feel worse.
When he reached the pigeonloft, the old woman held one of the sleepy birds in her hands. It was as she said, a dove grey beauty with black across its silvery breast feathers, one of the imperial breed known for speed and strength.
“Hold her,” she ordered, “while I bind the message to her leg; it’s easier with two.”
He wrapped his cold fingers around the bird, feeling its warmth, aware of the heart beating quickly under the soft feathers. The old woman bound the strips of paper around the pigeon’s leg with a speed and deftness he would not have thought possible of the misshapen fingers. She took the bird back from him once more.
She caressed its head a moment, and sang to it, then raised her hands, and with a gentle toss sent the feathered messenger winging into the rainy night.
“So it’s done,” Taren said with a sigh of relief.
“It is,” the old woman echoed. “That one will not fail of her charge.”
“Then I’m off,” said Taren. “I must be back at the hostel before the others become suspicious.”
He hurried back to the trapdoor and heaved it aside, leaving the old woman to lock up her birds once more. Shaking as he was with cold and fever, it was harder to go down the ladder than it had been to go up, but he made it without falling.
But the effort made his legs tremble so much he couldn’t stand. Taren sank to the floor, his back against the wall, his teeth chattering as the shivering took him with a vengeance. “Ha-ha-have you—” he gasped as the old woman descended the ladder.
“Ague bark? Yes. Sit you there, Baisha, while I brew some for you.” She scuttled off.
Taren cursed as well as his chattering teeth allowed him. Damn it all, this was taking too much time! The others might begin wondering, worrying.
And that could be dangerous.
Linden, Jekkanadar, and Raven stood at the door to the hostel, looking out into the rain. Still no sign of Taren.
What’s taking him so long?
Linden wondered.
Trampling on the very heels of the thought, Raven said, “Where could the man be? He should have been back long ago.”
“Indeed,” Jekkanadar said. He rubbed the scar on his cheek, a sure sign that he was worried. “What do you think?” he said to Linden.
The landlord squalled something in a mixture of vile Assantikkan and Jehangli. It was a moment before Linden could translate it as, “Shut the damned door!”
“I think,” said Linden, obeying, “that we’d best get our cloaks and go look for the man. I know that he said he knew his way around, but a footpad needs only a moment to rob and kill if he finds a victim off guard, and Taren is not a robust man. Let’s go.”
On their way to fetch their cloaks, they came upon Brinn, one of the other entertainers, in the upstairs hall. “No sign of your friend yet?” he asked. The monkey riding on his shoulder pulled a wry face at them.
Linden couldn’t help smiling at the droll creature and held out a finger to her. She wrapped one clever little hand around it and chattered at him before she let go.
“No,” Linden said. “We’re just going out to look for him.”
Brinn shook his head. “Not the wisest thing to go out alone here. This place is like a maze and who can you ask for directions? I sure don’t speak their bird’s jabber.” He paused, then looked over his shoulder before continuing in
a lower voice, “Hate to say it, seeing as you’re looking so worried about Taren and all, but I heard a story or two on the voyage that would curl your hair, about what these Jehangli barbarians do to foreigners who go outside this quarter without leave. Why—”
A door opened and Dorilissa, the other troupe’s leader, came out of the chamber.
“Seeing as how they’re looking so worried about Taren and all, Brinn,” she snapped, “why don’t you stop wasting their time and help them look for the poor man? Rouse the other men—it’s not safe for the girls out there, get snatched for brothels, they might, the innkeeper said—rouse the other men still here, I say, and go look for him!” She held out her arm and chirped to the monkey. The monkey jumped from Brinn’s shoulder to her new perch. “Toli stays here; I don’t want her catching a chill,” Dorilissa said as she went back into her chamber, alternately muttering imprecations at Brinn and cooing endearments to the monkey. Her door slammed shut once more.
“Yes, ma’am,” Brinn said meekly to the door. He slunk off to do her bidding.
“Meet us in the tap room,” Linden called after him, glad of both the reprieve and the help.
“I like that,” Jekkanadar said with a chuckle. “The menfolk can go out and get soaked unto death on a night like this—but not the monkey!”
They reached the door to the room Otter and Raven shared. Linden laid a hand on the latch. “Now comes the worst part.”
Jekkanadar looked startled, but only for a moment. “Oh,” he said. “Indeed.”
“Indeed,” Linden echoed, and opened the door.
Taren tried to crawl down the hall to the stairway. But after only a few feet he had to give up; his shaking limbs threatened to spill him onto his face, and bruises would be too awkward to explain.
He sat back against the wall once more, cursing in frustration.
“We’ll go, too,” said Lleld after Linden announced their intention of looking for Taren. She glanced over at Maurynna, who nodded. “I’m sure Dorilissa or one of the other women will stay with Otter. Would you mind?” she asked the bard.
Otter shook his head. “That would be fine,” he croaked.
“No,” Linden said. When both Maurynna and Lleld glared at him in astonished anger, he said, “Dorilissa just told us this quarter isn’t considered safe for women, especially at night.”
“I’ll remind you that I’m in charge, Linden,” Lleld said. “Not you.”
In the moment of frozen silence that followed, Maurynna asked, “Is it not safe for women because of thugs who capture women for brothels?”
“Just so. We can’t go in a group to look for Taren because we won’t be able to cover enough area fast enough; we’ll need to split up. You’d both be too tempting as targets.”
“Oh, Linden—I’ve heard that tale in every port I’ve been in, and never met anyone who actually knew someone it happened to! It’s always been ‘a friend of a friend’s cousin’s aunt’ or some such foolishness,” Maurynna said.
“Rynna and I are more than capable of handling filth like that, Linden—or are you forgetting that we’re also Dragonlords?” Lleld said, her voice icy.
“Or are you once more coddling me nigh to smothering?” Maurynna asked far too quietly and calmly.
“Blast it, Lleld, I haven’t forgotten anything. Nor am I trying to protect you, Maurynna. But think! Even if you each came with one of us, it still might invite an attack, and I know both of you well enough to know you won‘t—indeed,
can’t
—stand by and play the helpless female.
“So then what? What if word got back to the authorities that there are two women here who are far stronger than any woman should be—especially a woman as small as you, Lleld? Can we afford the questions that would be asked? Can we afford the attention?” Linden ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He looked at Maurynna, silently begging her to understand.
“Blast you,” she said at last. Her eyes burned with anger. “Why do you have to be right?”
Lleld cursed. “He is, isn’t he? Very well, Linden; this shall be a military operation. You’re in charge—for now.”
Would the damned old hag never get here with that tea? Taren’s teeth chattered with a sound like bamboo stems rattling against each other in a storm. He had to get back to the inn!
He heard slow footsteps coming back up the stairs.
“Revien, Willisen, and Vaden went out earlier, right after Taren left,” Brinn reported when all the searchers were gathered in the taproom. “They was looking for a dice game—least, Willisen and Vaden was. Revien’s likely found a whore to stay with; he usually does. So it’s just me and Laeris to help.”
“That’s still more searchers than we would have had,” Linden said as he slung on his cloak. “We’ll divide up the market and look.”
Maurynna stood silently at his side. She chewed her lower lip.
Linden bent his head so that their foreheads touched. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll find him,” he said quietly.
Just as quietly she replied, “I’m more worried for you. I wish we could go with you; Dorilissa could stay with Otter.” She sighed. “But I understand—barely—why we can’t.”
He stroked her hair and gave one lock a gentle tug. “We’ll be fine, though I do wish you could come along. We could use another Dra—” He broke off; Laeris was looking at them. “Take care of Otter for us, love.”
“I shall.”
The innkeeper eyed them all sourly as he wiped down a table. “You drink or look?” he demanded in his bastardized Assantikkan. “Take up space, you buy.”
“We’re off now,” Jekkanadar replied. “Do you have lanterns we could borrow?”
Linden nodded to himself. Good thinking, that; they couldn’t use their coldfire here.
“Cost you extra,” the innkeeper said. His eyes glinted.
Jekkanadar smiled, and said sweetly, “What do we care—since it will be whatever lord hires us who pays our board. We’ll be certain to tell him of this.” As a look of dismay passed over the innkeeper’s face, Jekkanadar added, “Ah! You weren’t thinking of overcharging our prospective patron, were you? I don’t think whoever he is would be at all pleased at that.”
The innkeeper paled. “Take them and go,” he spat. He yelled for a potboy to bring the lanterns and handed them out along with curses to see the “dirty foreign dogs” out the door.
“Good luck to you,” Maurynna said, and squeezed Linden’s hand. “Find him quickly.”
Taren drained the last of the tea. Whether it was the warmth or the medicine itself, already the shivering had eased. He closed his eyes, willing the fit to pass completely. The moment he knew his legs would carry him, he stood and took stock of his condition.
No, he was not as well as he might be. He still shivered, but it would have to do; he’d been gone far too long.
“We’ll split up,” Linden said, “and quarter the market.” He gave directions to the men. “Understood?”
The others nodded.
“Good, then; we’ll meet back here in about a candlemark. Let’s be off.”
The men hurried off into the rainy night.
Taren hurried as quickly as he could down the stairs to the front room and threw the grass rain cape over his shoulders. Next he jammed the hat onto his head, letting the strings dangle.
Moments later he was back in the street. He trotted along, staggering a little when a particularly bad spell took him, but keeping as steady a pace as he
could. Sometimes, though, he had to stop and rest, cursing every moment he wasted.
A little more than a candlemark later, Linden held up his lantern; the men straggled one by one out of the darkness. He counted as they came to the light. Just four men besides himself; Taren was still missing, then.
He swore under his breath. “No sign of him?”
“None,” came the tired answer.
“Then we try again.”
Someone groaned; the cloaked figures turned away from the light and disappeared like ghosts into the darkness once more.
Soon Taren was just outside of the outlanders’ quarter.
He came to one of the many small, arching stone bridges that spanned the canals. He slowed then, not wanting to lose his footing on the rain-slick pavement; hearing quick footsteps behind him, Taren moved to one side to allow the other to pass.