Tales of the Left Hand, Book Three

By John Meagher

Book Three of Tales of the Left Hand opens with the Cutlass limping into the harbor of Mypor in desperate need of repair as Kayrla, who has taken up the title of Left Hand, struggles to cope with her grief and complete the mission now entrusted to her.

Mourning the loss of her dear friend Tesca, Kayrla leads her group inland to the Abbey of St. Ravino, where Captain Grivus can continue his research. And unbeknownst to her companions, she has another mission to complete as well: Locate the Duke's son Jordan and bring him back to his father. But the Abbey is not as safe a refuge as Kayrla was led to believe; its archives hold many secrets, and some of them protect themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Meagher
• Release date: Dec 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310296635

Book preview

Chapter One

I cannot believe we are doing this, Grivus snapped.

Will you just hold still? Kayrla snapped right back. You’ve been avoiding this for three days. And stop flinching. This can’t possibly hurt. I do this for myself all the time.

I look ridiculous!

Kayrla sighed. It would be easier if you’d just wear the wig.

I will not, the Sabrian retorted. It is not even a proper wig; it looks as if you cut the end off of a mop.

I did no such thing! There was a pause. Clegg did it for me.

Grivus swore. Enough of this. I am going on deck. We should be in sight of Mypor by now.

You’re not going anywhere looking like that.

You put it on me. Now take it off.

It’s not finished; if I take it off I’ll have to start all over again.

Either you remove it now or I will go on deck looking like this, and you can explain the reason why.

Dammit, Caius! Grivus stopped before the cabin door, turning back to glare at her. Don’t give me that look, Kayrla went on. I think we know each other well enough to use first names. Why are you putting up such a fight over this? You know it’s a good idea.

Grivus drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. I am not comfortable wearing this false…skin. He raised his arms. My hands…white as a slug’s belly! Or a northerner’s corpse!

How evocative, Kayrla quipped. I didn’t realize you were also a poet back in the empire. As for the skin color, I haven’t added a tan yet. The illusion will look more natural once I get that done.

And my face! the Sabrian went on, reaching past her to pick up a small mirror sitting on the bunk next to her. He stared at his reflection. It is the face of a stranger!

That’s the whole point!

Grivus paused, studying the face in the mirror. He turned his head left and right. Have you given me…DuTromme’s nose?

Kayrla looked away, slightly embarrassed. Well, it certainly won’t be mistaken for yours.

Grivus made a disgusted sound. The worst is the hair! My eyes tell me it is there, but when I try to touch it– he brought his hand up and tried to brush the hair, –my fingers tell me it is not. He shuddered. I cannot abide this.

Like I said, Kayrla explained, it would be easier if you wear the wig we made. That way, your fingers will feel something if you touch it. Also, if there’s something actually there to wrap the illusion around, I think it will be much easier for me to make the fake hair look real. The mana’s a lot stronger here, but I’m still having to maintain two full disguises on my own. She ran a hand through her own hair, now colored a deep red. Anything to make this a little easier would be appreciated.

It feels…unnatural.

I cast this spell on the Duke himself, she retorted, losing patience. It’s just an illusion; it won’t do you any harm.

You believed that about your repair spell as well. Kayrla flinched as if he’d struck her. Grivus himself seemed taken aback at the comment. For a long moment, the two of them stared at each other. At length, Grivus cleared his throat. My apologies. What happened during the battle with Six Doigts was not your fault.

Kayrla looked away. Yes, it was. I should have known better than to try something like that. No new magic from here on in; I’m only using the spells I already know in the ways that I know will work. Grivus opened his mouth to reply but a moment later there came a knock at the door.

That you, Wick? Kayrla called.

Aye, Mistress. I’ve news from the captain. Grivus turned to the door to unlock it, then stepped back to give the guard room to enter. We’re in sight of Mypor, and– Wick began, but he broke off as he looked at the two people standing before him.

Do not dare laugh, Grivus warned him.

Kayrla smiled at Wick’s stunned expression, but she kept herself under control. Wick, close the door.

Wick obeyed, his stare sliding from Grivus to herself. Castellan Kelvo told me you could make yourself look fully human, Mistress. I’ve seen you as a ginger before, but your ears…your eyes! He smiled, shaking his head. I’d not peg you as a elf in a hundred years now. He looked back at Grivus, frowning. Pardon my saying so, but the captain’s hair doesn’t look right. Sort of like someone’s put a costume helmet on his head.

You see?! Grivus said. This disguise is pointless. Behind him, Wick raised a hand and batted at Grivus’s hair, fascinated at the way his hand passed through it without resistance.

Wick, stop that, Kayrla said in exasperation. Fine. Fine! No hair. She closed her eyes and made an adjustment to her spell, removing that element and making sure that the color change to Grivus’s skin now covered his scalp. You can wear a hat or something.

Grivus examined his new appearance with a critical frown, seeming to accept the alteration as a form of compromise. If I must, he sighed.

You must, she told him. Look, the Feynes have agents in every port in the Frees. Like as not the very day you became the Duke’s guest, Draxen Feyne put the word out to report on any Sabrians they see, especially an older male like yourself, traveling without even a single servant. By now they’ve surely realized that we’ve left Kohayne, but that doesn’t mean they know where we’re going. If you’re spotted in Mypor–

Very well, Grivus interrupted. While we are in the city, I will submit to… he gestured vaguely at himself, …this. But no more than that. He looked back at Kayrla. Have you completed your…adjustments?

Yes. She could see that trying to keep him in here was going to be more trouble than it was worth. She understood some part of his agitation: Wick’s news that their destination was in sight had filled her with a restless energy as well. I’ll want one more session with you before we leave the ship to make sure I have the spell prepared exactly right. Wick, I’ll want you here as well; an extra pair of eyes always helps with this sort of thing. She snapped her fingers as she released the spells disguising Grivus and herself. It was an unnecessary gesture, just showing off, but the expression of disquiet on Grivus’s face as the illusion swirled away gave her a small thrill of satisfaction.

Grivus examined himself in the mirror carefully to ensure the spell was gone, then gave a relaxed sigh, nodded to Kayrla, and left the room.

Everything all right? Wick asked.

I think so, she said wearily. He just wants to get moving. I understand.

Wick nodded. Can’t say as I blame him, Mistress, especially now that the city’s in sight. What’s the plan once we leave the ship?

Get out of the city as quickly and quietly as possible, before the Feynes learn we’re here, and head inland to the Abbey of St. Ravino, Kayrla said.

Where the captain resumes his search for the secret island of Praeditorus Rex, Wick finished. You really think the monks can find it for him?

Well, I don't think they're helping him find it so much as making their map archives available. Hopefully one of their maps will show the same features as the half of Old Rex’s map that Grivus has.

And from there?

From there… She sighed. The temptation to tell Wick the full story was strong. There was more to their mission than escorting Grivus to the Abbey so he could track down the secret haven of a legendary pirate. Her dear friend Tesca Secarius, Duke Stephen's Left Hand, had been given a second mission by His Grace when they had left Kohayne. He had shared the basics of that mission with her in case something happened to him. There was a boy living at the Abbey named Jordan, who was secretly Duke Stephen's son and heir, and the Duke had decided the time had come to bring the lad home. The mission to escort Grivus was a smokescreen, a diversion for the Duke's enemies to focus on. Now that Tesca was gone and Kayrla had claimed his rank, the responsibility for that mission fell to her.

I should tell Wick, she thought. What if something happens to me the way it did to Tesca? The boy still needs to be brought home, and he'll be the only one of the Duke's people left who can do it. But she held back. Wick’s a soldier, not a spy. Grivus will read him like an open book, and if the captain thinks he’s been tricked, I don’t know what he’ll do. Hold off for now, she decided. When we’re off the ship and out of the city, when things are a little less chaotic, then find a time to pull Wick aside and tell him.

From there, she repeated, I don’t think there’s any point in looking further ahead than that. Let’s find out where the island is first.

Aye, Mistress. Want to go up on deck?

She grinned. Oh, yes. I'm as eager to see land as anyone aboard. Let me put on a quick disguise first, though, she added, closing her eyes and making a few precise gestures, tugging the mana into place around her with familiar ease. This was her most basic illusion, changing the color of her skin and hair without changing her elven features. She chose the disguise she called Mouse, tanned skin and dark brown hair, because it was the way the Cutlass’s crew had seen her most of the time. By now they all knew what she really looked like, of course, but she’d found it was best to keep providing them with what they were most accustomed to. There were enough angry or scared sailors on this ship as it was.

Was that ginger disguise you had on before the one you’ll be using off the ship? Wick asked.

You mean 'Jenny Red'? Wick nodded. I’d like to. I haven’t had a chance to bring her out for some time. I like the freckles best, they were the hardest part to get right.

Doing all this magic at once isn't tiring you out?

When I’m holding two full disguises, for myself and Grivus, it’s a little draining, but this, she gestured at herself, this doesn’t cost me anything at all.

Is the… Wick paused to recall the word, …the mana stronger here? Or is it that you’ve been using the disguises so often they’re easier to do?

A bit of both, she mused. The mana is a lot stronger here than I expected. It feels like the last time I was on the mainland, and that was at least five or six years ago. But I’ve also been using my disguises a great deal in places where the mana’s weaker, so I’ve gotten better at using what little was there. She motioned Wick toward the door.

She’d avoided coming up on deck as much as she could since the battle, feeling it was best for everyone if she remained out of sight. The furtive glances in her direction from the crew as they became aware of her presence were not the hateful glares that Tovas had given her. Instead they looked at her with thinly veiled fear and moved out of her way, even changing the direction they were walking to avoid crossing her path. She couldn’t blame them; the evidence of her failure was everywhere to see.

The magical deformities wreaked upon the Cutlass three days earlier by Kayrla’s rogue spell had been repaired as best they could while at sea. Gaps in the hull where the timbers had shifted position and shape had been plugged with whatever was at hand. These stopgap measures were holding for the time being, but Kayrla knew Captain DuTromme was looking forward to fresh supplies and a chance to make more comprehensive repairs. Some of those will take a while, she thought, looking up at the masts, which now resembled barren trees growing out of the deck. Sails hung from the warped yardarms in a confused patchwork, the crew stretching canvas wherever they could find a place to make the best speed they could.

The sun was behind the Cutlass as it limped past the breakwater. Bathed in the early morning light, the city of Mypor was spread along the shore of a sheltered bay on the southeastern coast of the island that shared its name. The ground rose in a steady slope away from the water, though not nearly so steeply as it did in Kohayne.

"Good morning, mademoiselle," Captain DuTromme said to her as she and Wick came up into the foc’sle. She smiled at him in greeting. Next to DuTromme, Lieutenant Bristow gave her a long look before making a quick nod, more of an acknowledgement than a greeting. Grivus was at the rail, watching the city through his telescope.

Kayrla stepped next to Grivus and looked out at the city. She had been here several times, and her eyes quickly picked out some of the landmarks. The Palazzo Trederi, seat of power for the Count of Mypor, rose higher than the buildings surrounding it. Made of or, she suspected, finished in white stone, it gleamed in the sunlight. Not far from it was the Cathedral of the Daughter’s Mercy, smaller, more delicate than the Palazzo, if a massive building made of stone could truly be called delicate. She liked the look of the Cathedral better than the Count’s palace; for one thing there was more open space around it, allowing one to see the architecture more clearly.

She’s bigger than Kohayne, Wick remarked.

Not really, she replied. It’s more spread out than Kohayne, but the buildings are generally only one or two floors here. Back home, folk build up rather than out.

Is there a holiday in progress? Grivus asked, still looking through his telescope. He gestured to the large orange banners flying from several points around the harbor and the tallest buildings near the water. I have observed that Kohayne is festively decorated for the Duke’s Ascension festivities; perhaps this is the same?

"No, monsieur, DuTromme replied. Those banners are a warning. To us."

Grivus turned back to look at the captain. Us?

To all ships approaching the harbor.

We've much the same in Kohayne, Wick replied. Red flags atop the towers of the Eisenteeth warns of plague. But I don’t know what orange signifies.

That is because it is a hazard that the Quad does not experience, the captain replied with a sigh. Armorbacks. A common enough problem in the shallower waters of the northern Frees. When a colony of the creatures takes up residence close to a coastal city, the orange banners are flown.

How dangerous are they? Wick asked.

That depends on the size of the colony, and how hungry they are. DuTromme raised his own spyglass to his eye. I see at least some open berths at the docks; that is fortunate. If every berth was full, I would not wish to remain in the harbor after sunset. We do not carry equipment to repel armorbacks.

We don't? Kayrla asked.

DuTromme set his mouth in a grim line, his gaze still on the city before them. "As a matter of routine, mademoiselle, ships of His Grace’s Navy never do. There is no need for it patrolling the Quad’s abyssal waters. And as you may recall, before we were given new orders to meet your party, we were in the middle of a training cruise."

Kayrla shrugged, conceding the point. Well, it’s not long after the Damp, she ventured. Armorbacks usually don’t become aggressive until the summer months, right?

"In my experience, mademoiselle, the time of year has less to do with armorbacks’ behavior than their hunger."

A gleam of light from the city caught her eye. Spyglass, she said, pointing toward the city, as much to change the subject as anything else. Someone’s taking a look at us.

DuTromme smiled. The first of many. We are fortunate in one thing; to arrive at this hour means we will see why Mypor is sometimes called the City of Shining Eyes.

Shining Eyes? Wick asked, looking concerned.

Kayrla laughed. Any ship coming into any port attracts attention. It’s just that in Mypor, with the way the city is spread out and the sun behind us, we’ll see the glint of light reflecting off any spyglasses turned our way.

I see, Wick replied. Oh, there’s another! And another!

Kayrla could see more glints appearing here and there in the city, and it wasn’t long before each of those glints doubled, then tripled.

Word is spreading of our approach, DuTromme sighed. With the light behind us, our silhouette reveals our unique, ah, condition. We must look quite astonishing.

Kayrla could imagine what was happening all over the city, numerous variations on a simple scene: a stunned sailor holding a spyglass calling to a passerby. Oi, mate, do me a favor and take a look at that ship coming in and tell me what you see? I just need to know I’m not going mad.

The entire city will be talking about us before noon, Kayrla muttered, thinking hard about what that was going to mean. Even if the Feynes’ agents here don’t spot Grivus, they can’t fail to mention our arrival. Word will get back to the Quad, and it won’t take long for Draxen Feyne to put the pieces together. She estimated the time for a round-trip journey between Mypor and the Quad. Week-and-a-half at the very least, more likely two. It’s a lead, but not as long a one as I’d like.

DuTromme turned to Lieutenant Bristow. Trim the sails to one-quarter. Bring us in slow.

Begging your pardon, sir, Wick asked as the lieutenant stepped away to pass the order to the crew, but haven’t we been warned about armorbacks out here with us?

Armorbacks sleep during the day, Corporal, the captain explained patiently. Standard procedure here is for the harbor authorities to send a launch out to inspect the ship and ensure that we are not bringing plague or similar contagion with us. Given our current state, I expect their caution will be tenfold. He gestured toward one end of the harbor. You will note the harbor battery is manned. They will not hesitate to sink us if we ignore the protocols and race for shore.

Grivus turned his telescope in that direction. Several cannon, and…other devices.

Ballista? Wick asked.

No, Kayrla said, looking that way herself. Three trebuchets. They’re phasing out the cannons here as well, I see.

Prudence requires it, DuTromme replied. When we return home, I will inform His Grace that the same thing should be considered in Kohayne. Cannon are nearly obsolete here; it is only a matter of time before the same occurs in the Quad.

Grivus frowned at that as he turned his attention to the center of the city. There is a launch leaving dock, he reported. I see two flags; one is blue and white. Those are Mypor’s colors, yes? The second flag shows the colors of Duke Stephen, but with a blue band along the outer edge.

A good sign, DuTromme replied with satisfaction. They have seen that we fly the Duke’s flag and have gotten the Kohayan commissioner out of bed to greet us.

Commissioner? Grivus asked. I am unfamiliar with the term.

Galen explained it to me, Kayrla said. None of the Frees have formal embassies with their neighbors. Mostly, it’s too expensive to keep official representatives on even the major islands all the time, to say nothing of the two dozen or more smaller ones. So, at some point, the rulers started appointing merchants who were already living on those islands as ‘commissioners.’ Essentially, they’re on retainer to maintain a working relationship with the local ruler, to make it easier to deliver messages between the two sovereigns.

Grivus looked scandalized. The Duke allows…merchants to negotiate on his behalf?

No, nothing like that, Kayrla said. The commissioners don’t have any formal powers, as an ambassador might, but if Count Valyon wanted to get a message to the Duke, the commissioner is there to make sure the message arrives, and vice versa.

Merchants never do something for nothing, Grivus commented. How do they profit from this?

They get a commission, hence the name. But that’s really a token fee. The real benefit for them is what Galen calls ‘the perks.’ Commissioners generally get something like a reduced tariff fee on goods they bring into port, or prices for them are slightly lower than they are for others.

These ‘perks,’ as you call them, vary between islands, DuTromme added, though usually the greater the responsibilities, the more substantial these perks are. These people are running their own businesses, you see. Time spent in diplomatic matters takes them away from that business. He chuckled. And in Mypor the commissioners are kept rather busy, almost as much as if they were true ambassadors. Depending on how Valyon is feeling about their respective islands, they are required to actually attend Valyon’s court.

I didn’t know Mypor took the custom to that level, Kayrla said.

Wick gestured at the launch that was heading toward them. If this fellow’s got to attend court, I imagine the perks must be rather nice.

It seems a system prone to corruption, Grivus objected. These men are not performing this task out of loyalty or duty, but for profit. Surely that means they are swayed by others offering greater profit.

I asked Galen about that myself, Kayrla replied. He said that the system actually polices itself rather well. Being a commissioner is a bit of a balancing act. The ruler who’s employed you can give the job to someone else, or the hosting ruler can decide that you’re no longer welcome at his court. Generally, those who abuse the position make it obvious, and there's always other merchants who’d like the job themselves; they're watching for signs of corruption or incompetence too. Also, most of the rulers, His Grace included, employ natives of their own islands as their commissioners. That means they have family and property back home, so they risk losing more than just their job.

And there is one further incentive to discourage corruption, DuTromme added, at least in Mypor. The Count is generous with his discounts for the commissioners, but his people keep careful records. He has made it very clear that a commissioner who loses his job may be required to pay back what was originally discounted or risk imprisonment.

Kayrla looked up at DuTromme. Really?

The captain nodded. He’s done it at least twice, to my knowledge. It’s a tool of policy he doesn’t need to take out of the box very often; just knowing that he could serves as a rather effective deterrent.

Grivus nodded, looking both amused and impressed at the tactic. So, who is this fellow sailing toward us?

Brendan Montrose, I believe, Kayrla said, trying to recall more of Galen’s lesson.

Correct, DuTromme said. He’s had the job for some two or three years now. His father was the Kohayan commissioner before that.

Is it common for these posts to pass from parent to child? Grivus asked.

Only if the child has shown similar qualities of business savvy and as firm a grasp on the goings-on in the city as his parent, DuTromme replied. Brendan worked closely with his father and it was clear that he desired to become the next commissioner, but he had to earn it. His Grace has no use for dilettantes with a sense of entitlement acting as his commissioners. He looked at Kayrla. How much will you be telling him?

Me?

DuTromme gestured to the silver hand pin on her lapel. Montrose will want to know what brings a ship of His Grace’s navy here to Mypor, especially with the Left Hand aboard.

And you said that Count Valyon meets regularly with the foreign commissioners. She chewed on her lower lip, thinking. Like as not Montrose will be receiving a summons to the Palazzo regarding our arrival, once he’s had a chance to come here and find out what’s going on.

That is Valyon’s usual method, DuTromme agreed. He lets the commissioners inspect the ships that come in from their own islands, and he expects them to arrange matters with his Harbor Authority.

Sounds lazy, if you don’t mind my say-so, Wick commented.

Kayrla shook her head. It might look that way, but I suspect that Valyon has his own people watching the commissioners closely. He gives them a lot of rein, but that means if he catches them at something, they’re in a lot of trouble. She looked at DuTromme. Greater responsibility means greater punishment if you fail, is that how it works here?

DuTromme smiled at her. "There is steel beneath Valyon’s velvet touch, mademoiselle."

Kayrla knew she would have to tread carefully. Galen had told her that relations between Mypor and the Quad were cordial, almost friendly at times, but they were not allies. The island realms of the Frees, by an unspoken consensus, did not establish formal alliances. If you form an alliance with someone, my dear, that implies there is someone else to form an alliance against, Galen had told her. All the Frees who are not part of that alliance assume they are that alliance’s target, and they act accordingly. Things quickly get…messy.

And when things get messy, she thought, that’s more work for Tesca. She caught herself. No…that's more work for me. She touched the silver hand and pushed aside the wave of grief that was rising. You’ve had your time for that. Move on. She looked at DuTromme. When Montrose comes aboard, he’ll do an inspection?

A cursory one, at least. He’ll see that we have no cargo to sell in port, so his next question will be to ask why we’re here.

Repairs, Kayrla replied, gesturing up at the rigging. Not hard to see why.

"That is certainly true. And Brendan can help us there. The Cutlass flies His Grace’s flag; as the Kohayan commissioner, Montrose can purchase the supplies we need at his reduced rates. He turned away from the city and gestured for Lieutenant Bristow to approach. Show the commissioner to my cabin when he comes aboard, DuTromme instructed him. Brendan will have many questions; I will be the one to answer them."

Very good, sir, Bristow replied.

"Will you join me, mademoiselle? DuTromme asked as he started down the stairs. We should make sure that we each have the same story to tell him."

Gladly, sir. Kayrla looked at Grivus before following. It might be best if you stayed below decks while the commissioner is here. I like to think that Galen would make sure that His Grace’s commissioners aren’t in the pay of the Feynes, but we shouldn’t take any chances. Grivus did not look pleased at the idea, but he gave a grudging nod, seeing the logic. Wick nodded as well, indicating that he would accompany Grivus, as much for providing the Sabrian with some company as keeping an eye on him.

Kayrla hopped down from the foc’sle, and headed after DuTromme. The debris in the captain’s cabin had been cleared away, and those pieces of furniture that were salvageable had been restored as best as possible. DuTromme was left with one chair and his folding desk. The books that had once been stored on his shelves were now set in short piles along the far wall of the cabin, save one sturdy book that was propping up a broken leg on DuTromme’s desk. The ornate folding screen DuTromme had used to separate his bunk from the rest of the cabin was now arranged on the starboard side, partially obscuring the whorled knot of wood that bulged out of the hull. Some of the repairs are going to take longer than others, Kayrla said, looking up at the ceiling, where the remains of the Lis Rouge’s bowsprit lay against it like a massive root, tendrils embedded deep into the planks. DuTromme had to dip his head when he walked under it.

Indeed, the captain replied. But repairs to this cabin are purely cosmetic and not a priority.

Very true, Kayrla said. There was an awkward moment when both she and DuTromme offered the other the single chair. A compromise was reached when Kayrla leaned against the corner of DuTromme’s desk, whereupon the captain sank into the chair with thinly concealed relief. "We’re in agreement that the most important thing is to make sure the Cutlass is seaworthy for the return to Kohayne?"

"Most assuredly, mademoiselle, DuTromme said, massaging the knee of his bad leg with a sigh. Before I willingly take her into the open sea once more, the masts and yardarms must be replaced, along with many planks in the hull."

How long will that take?

There are numerous variables within that question. Montrose can only purchase materials that are in supply, for example. That concern does not worry me so much, however, as manpower.

Kayrla nodded. She could sense the mood on a ship as well as anyone. The crew was near breaking point. If Tovas were still alive, she thought, he’d have worked them up to a mutiny by now. The more men we have doing repairs, the faster it will go.

I could keep the crew on board and have them do the work on their own, DuTromme offered, though by his tone he didn’t think much of it.

No, Kayrla replied. They need a break; a whole day or at least an evening on shore. She sighed. They won’t have to pay for a single drink, once folk realize which ship they’re from. And their stories will grow with each telling.

You wish to keep a low profile, DuTromme told her. Understandable, of course. But quite impossible. You cannot put out a bonfire by throwing cupfuls of water upon it. The best thing to do is to retreat to a safe distance and warm your hands.

She smiled, seeing what DuTromme was suggesting. You want me off the ship too?

DuTromme chuckled. "I am not being inhospitable, mademoiselle. I enjoy your company. But whatever mission has been given to Le Main Gauche surely cannot be completed while remaining aboard."

And it will be easier to get things back to normal if I’m not around.

"D’accord," DuTromme replied. The rumors will fly like terrified pigeons at first, but if you are not here to start new ones, I believe things will quiet down, and we can get to work.

Are you going to hire laborers from the city?

If it means getting the repairs done by the time you return, then I must.

All right, she said. How much time do you think it will take to get the Cutlass seaworthy again? Just the repairs you mentioned before; the masts and the planks in the hull.

I think a safe estimation would be two weeks, DuTromme replied. Assuming I can get the materials we need and I can hire additional laborers, I feel that is a reasonable estimation.

Kayrla grimaced, but nodded in agreement. DuTromme’s estimation sounded about right to her as well. Her plan had been to reach the Abbey, find the Duke’s son and head straight back to Mypor. Then once the boy was bundled aboard the Cutlass, set sail for the Quad before any of the Duke’s enemies realized what had happened. This unexpected delay worried her, but she knew it would be foolhardy to rush. Making haste now won’t do us any good if the Cutlass sinks halfway home. And the Abbey’s got to be a safer place to keep the boy than this city. She smiled. And that gives Grivus some time to examine the Abbey’s maps. Maybe I can complete both missions at once!

All right, two weeks. She turned her head toward the front of the ship, hearing the sounds of men calling to each other. I think the commissioner’s launch has arrived.

You may as well wait for him here, DuTromme said. He will want to meet you, of course. There is no point pretending you are not here; he will learn of it one way or another.

She nodded. Better this way than through rumor. She stood up. Still, no reason he needs to see more than he has to. She made a few simple gestures, modifying her disguise spell, shifting from Mouse to Jenny Red, then overlaid a new illusion atop the color change. In a moment, the contours of her face softened and her eyes and ears lost their elven shape.

DuTromme stared at her in wonder. Why have you not done this before?

The mana wasn’t strong enough back home for me to use my full disguise, she explained. This far north… she shrugged.

"Incroyable," DuTromme laughed, shaking his head. This should be a most interesting meeting, no?

Chapter Two

DuTromme and Kayrla only had to wait a few minutes before there was a knock on the cabin door. Oui? DuTromme called out.

The door opened and Lieutenant Bristow was standing in the doorway. Sir, Commissioner Montrose is here. His glance darted from DuTromme to Kayrla, but if he noticed the change in her features from elven to human, he gave no sign of it.

Very good, Lieutenant. Send him in.

Bristow stepped out of the doorway, allowing the man behind him to pass through. Henri! The moment I saw this ship coming in, I knew you’d be at the helm! Brendan Montrose was a slender man with short auburn hair. He was clean-shaven and had a wide, friendly smile, which made him seem younger than the frost at his temples and the laugh lines in his face suggested. Kayrla couldn’t decide on his exact age. His clothes were tailored and well-made, and he had a leather satchel hanging from one shoulder.

Good morning, my friend, DuTromme said as he rose from his chair, the two men shaking hands. Montrose glanced at Kayrla, but before he could turn toward her, his attention was drawn to the large root embedded in the ceiling. Montrose’s grin died on his face as his jaw dropped open.

Triad’s Mercy, the commissioner quietly swore. When…when I saw the state of your ship, I knew something was wrong, but this… He reached a hand gingerly toward the ceiling, his gaze flicking to DuTromme in a silent safety check. DuTromme nodded, and Montrose put his hand against the misshapen wood. After a few moments, he rapped the root with his knuckles, blew out his breath in a long whistle and gave a nervous chuckle. I, ah, had a suspicion you might need your stores replenished, he said, reaching into his satchel and bringing out a bottle of wine. Thought you might find a use for this later, but I don’t mind saying that right now, I wouldn’t say no to a glass myself.

DuTromme laughed and accepted the bottle, peering at the label and nodding in appreciation. This is most generous, my friend, though I fear that I have no glasses left. It shames me to say that we will have to use wooden cups from the galley.

Well, I can help there again, Montrose replied, drawing two metal goblets from his satchel. He now looked at Kayrla and smiled. I’m terribly sorry, my dear, I didn’t know to bring a third.

You cannot anticipate everything, my friend, DuTromme said. His mood appeared much improved with the appearance of the bottle of wine. May I present Mistress Kayrla… he paused, Kayrla é sa-Kyrloun.

Nodding to DuTromme to let him know he’d said her name right, Kayrla reached out to shake Montrose’s extended hand, but Montrose only took her fingers and instead kissed her hand in greeting. Charmed, Montrose murmured.

As he raised his face up from the kiss, Kayrla saw his eyes dart to the lapel of her jacket and she felt his hand twitch around her fingers. That badge you’re wearing, Mistress, he asked, a silver hand? What is that?

If I may continue, DuTromme said, Mistress Kayrla is the Duke’s Left Hand.

She could feel a tremor run through Montrose’s frame at those words as the commissioner released her fingers and stepped back. He gave DuTromme a puzzled look. The Left Hand? I thought that was some fellow…Terrence something…or Tessen?

It was Tesca, Kayrla commented. Tesca Secarius.

Yes, that’s it…Secarius, Montrose replied. Did something happen to him?

He was lost to us when…this happened, DuTromme said, gesturing at the ceiling and starboard wall of the cabin.

I see, Montrose said, still staring at Kayrla as if he was trying to recall something. Then that ‘something’ clicked into place for him. You’re the elf.

I am, she replied, biting back a harsher reply. We need his help, she reminded herself, don’t start off on the wrong foot with him. But the way he’d flinched from her touch bothered her. Then she realized that he’d first pulled away from her before learning she was an elf. It was when he saw the pin. He’s not afraid of elves; he’s afraid of the Left Hand! Daughter’s Love, does he think I’ve come to kill him or something? She remembered that Tesca hadn’t liked to wear the pin himself. He’d hated how recognizable he had become as the Left Hand, and now she had some understanding of why. She resolved to take the pin off once this meeting was over. I have enough trouble with first impressions as it is.

Well, Montrose said at last, this is all most…unexpected. He seemed to sense the awkwardness of the moment, and gave her a courteous bow, regaining some of his earlier polish and charm. My apologies, Mistress. I am not used to so many impossible things before breakfast.

No need, sir, she answered. Most folk are unprepared to meet an elf first thing in the morning.

Indeed, Montrose said, making a close scrutiny of her hair. There was a brief letter from the Right Hand mentioning that you had entered His Grace’s service; but otherwise, nothing but rumors. I had heard you were capable of disguising yourself as human. I must say…I would never have known. Then he shook his head and grinned sheepishly as he realized that he had been staring once more. He handed his metal cups to both her and DuTromme. Please, I think both of you could use some of that wine more than me; the state of your ship indicates what sort of journey you’ve had. Consider it a prelude to a more proper Myporean welcome.

Thank you, said Kayrla, appreciating the gesture. DuTromme seemed pleased as well as he took a corkscrew out of his desk drawer and opened the bottle with practiced speed. He filled both goblets and took one in his hand, swirling the goblet against the table for a few moments. Then he brought the wine to his nose and drew in a deep breath. Kayrla waited for DuTromme to finish becoming acquainted with the wine before taking a sip herself.

Montrose waited as well, clearly familiar with DuTromme’s epicurean habits. So, he began after DuTromme had set the goblet back down on the table, what happened?

DuTromme looked at Kayrla to begin, which she had expected. It was her mission, after all; it was up to her to decide how much Montrose needed to know. "Some three or four days after leaving the Quad, we were set upon by the Lis Rouge."

Montrose looked shocked. Six Doigts himself?

She nodded. We sent that bastard down to the Abyss for his trouble, though not without paying a heavy price. Some of that price you can see here, she said, gesturing at the twisted and fused timbers. But we also lost…my predecessor. She caught her breath. "At the cost of his own life, he bought us the time we needed to separate ourselves from the Lis Rouge."

A noble sacrifice, DuTromme added. Then after the battle, we had to ride out a storm, putting a further strain on our ship and our supplies.

I see. Montrose looked at the gnarled root across the ceiling once more. And…this?

Magic, Kayrla answered, realizing there was no point putting off the inevitable conclusion everyone in the city would quickly come to. Six Doigts tried to use some new trick to destroy our sails, leaving us helpless. I used my magic to keep the sails intact so he couldn’t board us. She looked at the ceiling and shrugged. In the heat of battle, things can take unexpected turns.

Her magic saved all our lives, DuTromme put in. "That cochon would have had us if not for her. But, as she has said, the Cutlass survived the encounter and the Lis Rouge did not."

Montrose nodded. Well, well, well…a silver lining to this dark cloud! I’m sure His Grace will reward you for that service when you return.

As to that, Kayrla said, given all the changes to the ship, Captain DuTromme feels it would be best to make what repairs we can before returning to the open sea.

Yes, yes, of course, Montrose replied, looking up at the ceiling as he spoke. I'm sure we can come to some arrangement. I know just the people who will have the materials you need. We’ll get you settled in and I’ll send out runners immediately. He chuckled. I could see your need as I approached; like as not my friends on shore are equally aware and are already estimating what sort of materials you’ll require.

Like as not, Kayrla agreed.

Excellent. Well, we should get started on that straightaway. He paused, looking uncomfortable. Henri, you understand I’ll have to inspect the ship? Check her for anything…ah…communicable? He pointed up. This isn’t going to affect the docks or any buildings in the city?

No, Kayrla assured him. The effect’s completely expired.

Well, the city’s abuzz about your arrival, Montrose went on. At his age, Count Valyon likes to sleep in a bit these days, but I daresay this morning they woke him up and pressed a spyglass into his hand. He’ll have questions. As commissioner, I’ll answer them on your behalf, but if he doesn’t like what he hears, he may ask them again of you. He looked from DuTromme to Kayrla and back again. So, is there anything else you think I should know?

Are you going to tell Count Valyon that I’m here? Kayrla said.

Tell him that the Duke’s Left Hand, an elf by the way, is in his city? Montrose made a nervous laugh. Not unless he asks. But if he does ask, I’m not going to lie to him about it. One thing about Valyon: he usually asks questions he already knows the answers to. Kayrla nodded, appreciating the honesty. I would like to know why you’re here, though. It’s not just emergency repairs, is it?

No, Kayrla admitted. I’m escorting a guest of His Grace’s to the Abbey of St. Ravino.

Montrose looked surprised at that. He remained silent for a few moments, hoping that Kayrla would explain further, but she waited him out. The Abbey? Well…all right. He paused, thinking. Actually, that’s rather good. Gets you out of the city, where otherwise Valyon might be tempted to go looking for you.

He won’t try that if I’m in the Abbey?

Montrose shook his head. The Abbey’s sovereign territory; the church has made that very clear to some of Valyon’s predecessors who’ve tried to impose authority over it. One was even threatened with excommunication. He smiled at Kayrla’s surprise. Valyon won’t risk that; right now the County and the Abbey treat each other as neighbors; occasionally asking each other for small favors, but nothing more than that.

The diplomatic equivalent of going next door to borrow a cup of sugar?

Montrose laughed. Exactly! There’s a bit of trade between the two; the Abbey’s fairly self-sufficient, but the monks make a number of things that find their way into our markets. Their honey and beer are particularly fine; you should definitely try both of them while you’re there.

I will, said Kayrla. Now, about getting there…

You didn’t bring horses, did you? Kayrla shook her head. I can take care of that as well. Save you a bit of time.

And get us away from the city even faster, Kayrla thought. That would be very much appreciated, Commissioner.

"Call me Brendan, please. Now, I’d best get on with this inspection. Perhaps, Mistress, you and your charge would like to join me on my launch when I head back? Getting the Cutlass docked will take a bit of time; no need for you to be hanging around for all that."

An excellent idea. I’ll gather my group.

Group? How many are you?

Four, she told him. Myself, my charge, one guard from the Duke’s household, and… she glanced at DuTromme, …Clegg.

My cook? DuTromme asked in surprise.

He saved my life during the battle, she explained. I owe him one; he called the favor in.

DuTromme sighed, but he did not object. He knew the circumstances; Kayrla’s presence had been a source of trouble from the first moment she had come on board, and the focal point of that trouble had been a Terendan crewmember named Tovas. During the battle with Six Doigts, he and his closest allies had tried to murder Kayrla in this very room, but Clegg had followed them, sensing their intentions, and had shot Tovas moments before he could finish the job. I suppose that being on shore, the captain said, I should take the opportunity to sample some of Mypor’s cuisine. He gave Montrose a sly smile. Are there any restaurants offering fresh armorback?

You eat them? Montrose said, aghast.

DuTromme laughed. Their resemblance to lobsters is more than shell-deep. He laughed once more as Montrose’s expression changed to thoughtful calculation. "You can corner the market on a new delicacy, my friend. A chance to turn a problem into a profit, oui?"

Kayrla smiled at that; it was clear DuTromme would have no trouble keeping busy while they were here. Well, I’ll gather up my group and meet you at the launch. She finished her wine and set the goblet on the desk. With a nod to both men, she left the cabin.

Half an hour later, she was descending the rope ladder that led down to the launch. Wick had gone first and was on the deck waiting for her. Once she was down, Clegg appeared at the Cutlass’s railing and followed, a sturdy canvas bag slung over one shoulder. The guard pursed his lips in annoyance at the sight of the old cook. Wick, Kayrla warned, don’t start.

I thought you said we weren’t taking him with us.

That was before, she snapped back. Before he saved my life; before…we were down to three. Wick winced at that. It’ll be all right, Kayrla promised. It’ll be good to have one more person around to watch our backs.

As you say, Mistress.

Clegg was wearing the jacket he always did when he went ashore: A long coat of faded blue with so many patches and crudely stitched repairs that it resembled a poorly-made quilt. He hopped down from the ladder and turned to look at the city across the water. Ah, Mypor! It’s no Kohayne, but it does have a few charms all its own. He grinned at Kayrla. What was the name of that one tavern? The Starry…Nest? The Strapping Guest? Oh, come now, you remember it! Where they served that cinnamon rum!

Vaguely, Kayrla replied with a shudder. That’s the last time I play any drinking games with you.

Clegg laughed. Ah, lass…that was a good night. Well, except for the part where I had to hold your hair out of your face as you got sick in the alley. Wick snorted as he tried to hold back a laugh. I’m looking forward to trying that rum once more myself.

There won’t be time for that, Kayrla said.

Clegg frowned. "Ah, lass…just a little pick-me-up? There’s been precious little good cheer to go about on the Cutlass since the battle."

Kayrla saw movement at the Cutlass’s rail as Grivus came over the side. He was wearing the large leather hat Warden Teague had given him when they’d first left Kohayne. This helped conceal the fact that he was now under the magical disguise she’d put on him. At least she hoped that was the case; she was sure that word would spread quickly that they had left the Cutlass. She didn’t want to force Grivus to sit through another magical fitting for a different disguise. If the crew wasn’t aware that Grivus looked different, it might slow the efforts of anyone who sought to find them.

But right now she had a bigger problem. Wick, she asked, can you give Grivus a hand with any remaining bags that might need to come down? Wick took the hint and turned toward the rope ladder while Kayrla crossed to the other side of the launch, gesturing for Clegg to follow her.

All right, Clegg. A few ground rules. The cook raised an eyebrow at her. First, this isn’t just a few days of shore leave. We’re here on the Duke’s orders, and there won’t be any side trips or time for any ‘pick-me-ups,’ clear? Second, she went on before Clegg could respond, "I’m in command. If I give you an order, it’s for a reason, and I expect it to be followed. If you can’t handle that, you can climb back up on board the Cutlass right now."

Clegg gave her a level look, as if he was seeing someone he’d never met before. I saved your life, girl.

And I’m grateful for that, Clegg. I really am. You’re coming along because I owe you one, I know you can handle yourself, and I like your company. But I swore an oath to His Grace, and I mean to keep it. You wanted in on ‘this thing with the Sabrian,’ as you put it. Stick with us, pull your own weight, and you’ll get the reward you’re hoping for. If you can’t do that, then stay here.

Clegg said nothing, but after several more seconds of staring at her, he nodded. Very well, lass. A fair bargain it is.

One more thing, Kayrla added, no more old stories about me in front of the others, especially Wick.

Clegg rolled his eyes. Ah, there’s no harm in a few old laughs, is there?

I need Wick to see me as someone in charge, not a silly girl who’s in over her head, Kayrla told him. Remember Clegg, if things go bad, if we get into a scrap, it’s likely Wick who’ll be cutting us out of it. The old pirate considered that with a grudging nod. Are we clear on this?

Aye, lass. That we are.

Grivus stepped up to them while Wick waited to catch the last of their bags tossed down from the Cutlass. A new city to visit, he said with a smile. The Sabrian’s disguise was not what Galen would have called perfect. She’d gotten the skin color pretty close, though he was still a little too pale for these climes. Well, he’s getting over an illness, she decided, putting together a cover story. That’s why he’s wearing the hat. But she was proud of her work on the face. Grivus now had ice-blue eyes very similar to Duke Stephen’s, and the large nose that owed everything to Captain DuTromme. He still sounds like a Sabrian, though. She smiled to herself as another thought crossed her mind. I wonder which he’ll find more frustrating: Learning to speak without his accent, or posing as a mute?

So…how is Mypor different from Kohayne? Grivus asked.

It’s…politer, Clegg said.

Politer? Grivus asked. Is that a word?

Not really, Kayrla put in. But Clegg’s right. Generally folk in this city are more polite.

A more peaceful folk, then.

Clegg laughed. Peaceful? No one loves a fight more than a Myporean, sirrah. They’ll use any occasion to start a row. They say the only reason funerals here are quieter than weddings is that there’s one less mouth working.

They fight all the time, but…they are more polite?

It sounds funny, Kayrla agreed, but generally, when two Myporeans are fighting, words fly more than fists.

But it’s never just two Myporeans, Clegg said with a grin. It might start that way, but in no time everyone in earshot’s come over, and they’re sure to bring their own grievances with them. He laughed. Before long, it’s louder and busier than a murder of crows around a carcass.

Grivus frowned at Clegg. I still do not see why they keep their arguments verbal.

It’s the wide sashes they wear, Kayrla put in. All the locals wear them instead of belts.

Exactly right, lass, Clegg agreed. They tuck most everything they own into those folds. Money, jewelry, keepsakes, prayer medallions…and knives. They all carry knives. He chuckled, clearly enjoying his story. They’re not too big, Myporean knives; the blade’s no longer than a man’s thumb in most cases, but that’s enough for the job if you know what you’re doing. When a Myporean tucks his thumbs into his sash, it don’t mean he’s taking his ease; it means you’d best step out of his reach. And if it’s a woman who does it, expect both of her hands to come up sharp. They usually carry more than one.

Sailors visiting Mypor learn that quickly, Kayrla added, otherwise they’re like to leave the city with a shiny new scar, if they leave at all.

Grivus nodded with a smile. Now I understand. If they had not learned to keep their arguments verbal, they would have cut themselves to ribbons long ago, yes?

That’s the way of it, Kayrla agreed. She turned toward Wick as he approached them.

All our gear’s aboard, Mistress, the guard told her. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the Cutlass. The commissioner’s coming down now.

Kayrla nodded, seeing Montrose set his feet on the launch’s deck. He waved up to DuTromme who was at the Cutlass’s railing. Henri, I’ll be back once you’re settled in at the docks. Dinner this evening?

"I look forward to it, monsieur." The captain turned to Kayrla. Bonne chance, mademoiselle.

And to you! She waved to him in farewell, and the old Malachan saluted in return. Then the launch was separating from the Cutlass, picking up speed as she unfurled her sails.

They headed directly for the center of the harbor, toward a dock adjacent to a large building Kayrla knew was the headquarters of Mypor’s harbor authority. A quick word with a few folk here, and we’ll be on our way, Montrose promised.

"Where will the Cutlass be berthed?" Kayrla asked.

Well, that’s not up to me, the commissioner answered. He pointed starboard. There’s a few open spots on the northern end of the harbor, far enough away from the center of town to minimize onlookers.

Kayrla nodded. The northern end of the harbor also put the Cutlass in easy range of the shore battery, but she didn’t comment on that. So…where are we going?

Montrose turned toward the city. You see the large white stone building, bigger than anything else around it?

The Palazzo? Montrose looked surprised. Brendan, it’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been to this city.

Oh, of course. Then to answer your next question, no, we’re not going there. I have an office not far from it, mostly so Valyon has a way to find me quickly if he wants to. We’re staying clear of that too; we want to get you on your way as soon as possible. But we’ll need to gather some provisions; so the best choice I think is to take you to my home. Folk won’t wonder at that; I often entertain Kohayan passengers. He pointed toward a different portion of the city. You’re familiar with the Cathedral of the Daughter’s Mercy, then? Kayrla nodded. There’s a building to the right of it, painted green with a spire. That’s an orphanage supported by the cathedral. Now, three doors further right…that townhouse. That’s mine.

Oh, yes…I see the flag flying in front of it, Kayrla remarked. It’s the same as the one on this launch.

You can see that from here? Montrose asked.

Kayrla shrugged. I’ve got good eyes.

Montrose laughed. That you do! Well, that’s where we’re going. I’ll get you fixed up with a hot meal, maybe a bath if you’re of a mind… he glanced at Clegg, …or a need. Clegg gave him a sour look as Kayrla suppressed a laugh. While that’s going on, I’ll secure horses for you.

Kayrla shivered in anticipation of a bath. She’d gotten used to them during her time in Kohayne. That would be very gracious, thank you.

In short order, the launch had docked alongside several other vessels of similar size, each flying a modified flag of one of the Frees. All the commissioners have launches that dock here?

Those of us that have our own launches, Montrose answered. The Harbormaster lets us dock here for free to expedite our duties. But we have to provide the boats ourselves. Those commissioners without their own launches have to charter boats and attach their flag to it while the charter’s in effect. More expensive in the long run. He glanced up. Ah, and speaking of further expenses… A group of uniformed men was marching down the dock toward them. Best let me do the talking. Then he smiled broadly, calling out to the lead officer. Alberto! A fair morning to you.

And to you as well, Commissioner, said the officer. The morning has begun rather oddly, but perhaps it shall turn fair before noon.

I certainly hope so, Montrose replied. What foul day cannot turn fair if we but set our minds to make it so?

Very wise, good sir, Alberto replied, signaling his entourage to stay where they were as he approached Montrose. Montrose did the same, stepping away from Kayrla and the others. Kayrla sensed a certain pattern to this exchange, as if the two men were practicing a long-rehearsed scene from a play.

How’s your family? Montrose asked Alberto in a more conversational tone.

Very well, thank you, Alberto replied. I want to extend my wife’s thanks for the box of Vendurel oranges you delivered. They were delicious.

I have heard that a shipment of plums and cherries are due in shortly from Hisvet, Montrose said. Perhaps your wife would appreciate another gift basket?

I am certain of it, Commissioner! Such delights are hard for a humble civil servant such as myself to afford.

Oh, it’s no bother, Montrose went on, there’s no price that can be set on keeping one’s wife happy, is there?

None at all. Alberto’s mood shifted from pleasure to unhappy guilt. I do apologize for having to bring this up, Commissioner, but that ship…

I understand, said Montrose. "I’d be concerned as well if I