Wrath of the Blue Lady (16 page)

Droust said nothing, watching as a leg floated up from the ship. A shark glided down and took the limb in the blink of an eye.

“She lures another here.”

Droust looked at the ship. “How do you know that?”

“I have seen him when she brings him here through his dreams. She taunts him and lures him.”

“You have seen into his dreams?” The wonder of that filled Droust for just a moment and chased all the fear and guilt from him.

“I have.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps because I am tied so closely

to her land and to the power she wields. Perhaps that links us.”

“What do you know of him?” Red Orchid fixed Droust with her beautiful eyes.

“He is clever and resourceful. He’s been very successful recovering other lost antiquities.”

“How do you know this?”

“I am in contact with men that work for the Blue Lady on land. They have learned these things and told me.”

“And you have told the Blue Lady.”

Droust dropped his gaze. “It is what I must do if I am to survive.”

The ship growled to show her disrespect. “You only exist, Droust. You don’t live.”

Droust could say nothing in his defense that she hadn’t already heard and discounted.

“Perhaps this one will escape the Blue Lady’s clutches.” Red Orchid shifted slightly on the front of the ship. Veins of blue lightning underscored the figurehead, showing the remnants of the Spellplague’s effects.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

“He isn’t afraid the way you were. I saw her efforts to claim you in your dreams. You were always frightened. This man isn’t.”

Embarrassed, face burning despite the chill of the sea around him, Droust drew himself up straight. “This man will bend to the Blue Lady or he will die.”

“Can you be so sure?”

“Yes. Already Nine Golden Swords warriors are tracking him in Westgate. They will catch him there and bring him to the Blue Lady to use as she will.”

Red Orchid shook her head. “Go root among the dead like the ghoul that you are, Droust. I pity you.”

“I have no need of your pity.”

“But you do. It must be hard to live so hopelessly.”

Droust turned from her and walked toward the ship

while the monsters feasted on the bounty that their mistress had delivered to them. He tried not to think about Red Orchid’s words, but it was hard because he knew they were true.

ŚŠŚ ŚŠŚŚŠŚ o- ŚŠŚ

“Are you sure you need the sword?”

Shang-Li sighed as he walked down the gangplank from Swallow to the docks. Truthfully, he felt a little overdressed with the long sword resting in a sheath over his right shoulder. He also felt tired and irritable from the lack of sleep.

“Yes, I need the sword.”

His father walked beside him and drank in the sights. He was dressed as a proper monk but without the temple insignia. Shang-Li knew most people in Tidetown and old Westgate would assume his father was a beggar. That fact, especially since they weren’t there in disguise, was a little embarrassing. He hadn’t expected that.

He wished more fervently that his father had stayed aboard the ship. But that would have been too easy.

Several sailors and dockworkers watched as he passed. Most of the glances were unfriendly. A few were speculative and he knew the owners of those wondered how much gold he carried with him. And the Nine Golden Swords walked almost with impunity through Westgate’s streets and almost owned the alleys and shadows. The city wasn’t a safe place.

“A sword often represents a challenge,’” his father told him.

“Quoting Barsillus?” Shang-Li lifted an eyebrow when he regarded his father.

“Were I a betting man, I would have wagered you wouldn’t have known that quote.”

“Barsillus was an interesting man, and he wrote interesting books. Actually, I’m surprised you know of him.”

His father harrumphed in displeasure. “Barsillus was an important tactician.”

“True, and he practiced his tactics on every kingdom around him. Some historians, rightfully in my opinion, have labeled him a bully.”

“Barsillus single-handedly united most of northern Chessenta.”

“His book puts it that way. Others felt that he enslaved the surrounding lands.”

His father made a rude noise. “History puts it that way.”

“Only because Barsillus would have lined his walls with the heads of every scribe that refused to write history the way he wanted it written.”

“I’ve never read that anywhere.”

“Father,” Shang-Li said, “the man lined his walls with the heads of everyone that displeased him. Though Barsillus didn’t make that particular comment, the math is certainly simple enough to follow.”

“An historian records what is factual and leaves guessing to bards.”

“I know several bards who know more about specific histories than I do.” Too late, Shang-Li saw that he had left himself open for a swift rebuttal. He blamed his lax attention to the conversation on the fact that he was also keeping watch over them, searching doorways and alleys for possible thieves and assassins. Goddess knew, there would be those in Westgate even without their current trouble.

“Personally, I find that no great feat,” his father said. “There are probably fish in these waters that know more about history than you do.”

Shang-Li focused on his stride and tried not to sigh. They wouldn’t get out of Westgate soon enough.

“Admit it,” his father said. “You wore the sword simply to vex me, and to get some petty revenge because I made you work as a server.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m not trying to vex you. This is a dangerous place.”

“All places are dangerous. Were I not looking, I could slip and fall and break my neck.”

Not his neck, Shang-Li thought. But goddess willing, perhaps he could fracture his jaw. Or bite his tongue. Even thinking that made the young monk feel guilty, though.

“Wearing the sword is an open invitation to anyone harboring aggressive tendencies,” his father said. “It’s just as likely there could be some that confront you just to find out if you are worthy of carrying that sword.”

“I am worthy of carrying the sword. Anyone seeking that knowledge will get a quick lesson.” Actually, the sword was the least of it. Shang-Li was a walking arsenal at the moment. At least his father didn’t know about—

“You’re carrying so many weapons that you jingle when you walk.”

Shang-Li barely held back a flurry of curses. “No, I’m not.”

“Petty, vengeful, insecure, obstinate—and deaf. These are not qualities I’d hoped to find iii you after your absence, but I can’t be responsible for what you fail to learn or what you forget while you’re away from the monastery.”

“This is my world, Father. I know what I’m doing here.”

Kwan Yung gestured at the people around them. “So do the fishermen and the merchant. They also know what they’re doing. You don’t see them walking around with weapons.”

“That’s because the fishermen has a filleting knife in his boot and the merchant has three guards who carry weapons.” Shang-Li scanned the docks. “Everyone here carries weapons.”

“And what would you do if everyone were to throw themselves from a cliff? Would you too throw yourself from a cliff? To be like the rest of these insecure people?”

Mentally, Shang-Li surrendered. “You know, Father, now that I think about it, this is about making me work as a server.”

“I already knew that,” his father said smugly. “But it is good to hear you admit your pettiness. Perhaps there is hope for you after all.”

“You should have been the server.”

“True, and if I were, I wouldn’t have spilled the sauce.”

Helplessly, Shang-Li ground his teeth and increased his pace. The day could not be over with soon enough.

“Who are these people we’re going to meet?” his father asked.

“Friends.”

“Do your friends have names?””

“You don’t know them.”

“I could have heard you talk about them.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why?” his father asked. “Do you not talk about these friends? Do you have some reason to be ashamed of them?”

“The only reason I don’t talk about them is because you wouldn’t listen. These are friends and a part of my life that you expressly disapprove of.”

“That is a large part of your life, you know. And it seems to be growing.”

Shang-Li didn’t comment.

The alley twisted back and forth between buildings like a broken-backed snake. Halfway down, a man stood in front of a recessed doorway painted a brilliant red.

The man was young and stout. Ginger colored hair fell to his shoulders. His smile was big but disingenuous. He stepped into the alley before them.

“If I could have your attention for but a moment, good sirs, I would very much appreciate it. I will promise not to take up much of your time and to use well what you can generously spare.”

Shang-Li feinted in one direction, then reversed and went the other way, neatly stepping past the man. His foot sloshed noisily through the mud, which sucked at his boot as he broke contact.

“A minute of your time.” The man pointed at the red door and kept pace with Shang-Li. “Through that door lies Yahlil, the best performer you’ll ever have the good fortune to see. She does the dance of the Thirty-Six Veils.” The man grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth. “And most of those are very small veils.”

“Sorry.” Shang-Li held up a hand in quick apology. “I’ve no time.”

Undeterred, the barker swung on Kwan Yung. “What about you, good sir? I promise you haven’t seen anything like Yahlil in years. She is a woman unlike anything you have ever seen before. Her performance has thrilled nobility near unto—”

From the corner of his eye, Shang-Li watched his father grab the man’s ear, tug it and twist it just so, and the man dropped into an unconscious heap in the alley.

“It will be better if we didn’t draw attention,” Shang-Li said.

His father snorted derisively. “This from the man insisting on wearing a big sword.”

“The sword fits in better than leaving a trail of unconscious men behind. You can’t just leave men lying in the street.”

Ahead, a tavern door opened and two men—one after the other—were tossed out into the alley. Both were obviously very drunk and neither moved after they stopped sliding through the mud. One’s chest moved and the other blew bubbles in the muck.

A large man stood in the door and cursed the unconscious drunks. He glared at Shang-Li, who said nothing. Satisfied, the man turned back inside the tavern and closed the door.

Shang-Li stepped around the abandoned drunks.

“Oh really?” his father said as he walked over one of the unconscious men. “I find that unconscious men serve well as the occasional dry spot in this pigsty where you’ve left

me. Maybe someone else will appreciate the providential island I have left.”

With effort, Shang-Li breathed out and remained silent as he kept walking.

ŚŠŚŚŠŚ

Lukkob’s the Edge Tavern occupied a cliff overlooking the harbor. The narrow street dead-ended at the tavern. It was flanked by shops and a couple of inns. Building the tavern there had been risky to begin with, but Lukkob had compounded the risk by choosing to enlarge the square footage inside the building as his business grew more prosperous.

Unable to claim part of the street because it would have restructured access to the shops on either side of him, Lukkob had built the addition over the cliffs edge. The room’s extension hung out over the harbor a good twenty feet and ran forty feet across. Large tree trunks had been fitted into the cliff below at an angle to provide support. Still, on stormy days, the tavern shook and shivered like a luffing sail.

Kwan Yung spotted the tavern and came to a full stop in the middle of the street. A man attempted to drive his wagon over the old man, but Kwan Yung held his hand out and the horse nuzzled it for a moment before turning aside. The wagon’s wheels rolled up onto the wooden sidewalk, drawing uncouth commentary from sailors who had to jump hurriedly out of the way.

“We’re going into that?” his father asked. “Is it safe?”

“It has been so far.”

The old man shook his head. “Folly. I suppose your friend owns this place?” “No.”

“Then why else would a man visit an accident waiting to happen like this one?”

“Lukkob’s has got great service. If you know the owner. I happen to know the owner.”

“So he is a friend,” his father said as if that explained everything.

“Yes, but not the friend we’re here to see.” Shang-Li walked toward the tavern again.

One of the front windows suddenly exploded. Glass shards spun and dropped to the shell-covered street, followed by thin latticework and a big sailor with a bloody nose. The big man rolled and grunted in pain, then pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. He cursed and felt at his hip, then realized his cutlass lay beside him on the ground.

“Obviously this is a well-mannered establishment,” his father commented.

“You can wait here, if you like.” Shang-Li walked to the swaying sailor and examined him.

The man was a few years older than Shang-Li and corded with muscle from a harsh life aboardship. Blood streamed from the sailor’s nose and split lips.

“What’s going on in Lukkob’s?” Shang-Li asked.

The sailor gestured with his cutlass up, pointing toward the tavern. “Got a pox-blasted dragonborn in there that decided to take exception to the fun we was having with the servin’ wenches.”

Only lately come from a serving background himself, Shang-Li had to pause and not take exception to the “fun” the sailors were having with the poor woman.

“She decided to take us all on,” the sailor continued, “and we would’ve been able to take her if that tiefling hadn’t stuck his horns in.”

“A tiefling and a dragonborn traveling together?” Shang-Li asked.

“Maybe. Don’t know. They was there when we got off ship.”

Shang-Li shook a fighting stick from his sleeve. “Thank you.” He rapped the sailor sharply across the temple and the big man spilled unconscious to the ground.

His father shook his head. “Not to question the honor in such a task, but if you decide to go around defending serving wenches everywhere you go, you’ll never get anything else done.”