Страница 128 из 158
"Once the anchor's down," continued Delmastro, "I'll want double watches aloft. Rig razor-nets on both sides for a quick raise, but leave them down. Lay polearms at the sides, up against the rails, and ready sabres at both the masts. If a customs boat or anything else carrying a uniform tries to pay us a visit, we'll invite them aboard and detain them for the night. If anything more than that troubles us, we repel boarders, lay on the canvas and run like hell." There was a general murmur of approval for that idea.
"That's it. Stand in to Tal Verrar. Mumchance, put us about a mile off the Emerald Galleries. And raise an Ashmiri grey ensign at the taffrail."
Ashmere, though lacking a merchant or military fleet of its own, did a brisk business in registrations of convenience for smugglers, bounty-privateers and tariff-dodging merchants. Nobody would look twice at them for the sake of that ensign. More importantly, nobody would approach merely for the sake of making small talk with fellow countrymen far from home. Locke approved. And anchoring in the waters south-east of the city would give them a good approach to the Cas-tellana, so they could drop in on Stragos without lurking too close to the crowded marinas or the main anchorage.
"Hey," said Utgar, slapping Locke and Jean on the backs, "you two, what the hell are you getting yourselves into? You want a bodyguard?" "Ravelle's the only bodyguard I need," said Jean with a smirk.
"Fair enough. I'll give you that. But what are you sticking your noses into, hmm? Something dangerous?"
"Probably not," said Locke. "Look, Drakasha will spin the full tale, probably sooner than you think. For tonight, let's just say we're on ordinary errands."
"Saying hello to grandmother," said Jean. "Paying off uncle's gambling debts. Picking up three loaves of bread and a bushel of onions at the Night Market."
"Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. Rest of us" U stay behind and be bored, right?" "Not likely," said Locke. "This ship's full of little surprises, isn't it?"
"True enough," said Utgar, chuckling. "True enough, hey. Well, be careful. Eyes of the gods upon you and all that."
"Thanks." Locke scratched his beard, and then snapped his fingers. "Hell. I nearly forgot something. Jerome, Utgar, see you in a bit."
He jogged aft, dodging Blue Watch work parties and bored Reds helping haul forth weapons from the arms lockers. He took the quarterdeck stairs in two quick leaps, slid down the companionway rails and knocked loudly on Drakasha's cabin door. "It's open," she shouted.
"Captain," said Locke, closing the door behind him, "I need to borrow the money that was in my sea-chest again."
Drakasha was lounging on her hammock with Paolo and Cosetta, reading to them from a heavy book that looked an awful lot like a Wise Mariner's Practical Lexicon. "Technically, that money got cut up into shares," she said, "but I can give you the equivalent out of the ship's purse. All of it?"
"Two hundred and fifty solari should do. Oh. It, urn, won't be coming back with me."
"Fascinating," she said. "That's a definition of "borrow" that doesn't exactly compel me to get up from this hammock. On your way out—"
"Captain, Stragos is just one half of tonight's business. I need to keep Requin purring, too. He has the power to crush this scheme like an insect if I don't. Besides — if I tickle his fancy, there's one more useful item I might be able to squeeze out of him, now that I think of it." "So you need a bribe."
"Between friends we call them considerations. Come on, Drakasha. Think of it as an investment in our desired outcome."
"For the sake of my peace and quiet, fine. I'll have it waiting for you when you leave the ship." "You're too—" "I am not even remotely too kind. Begone."
9
Thed'r been away for seven weeks that felt like a lifetime.
Standing at the larboard rail, staring once again at the islands and towers of Tal Verrar, Locke felt anxiety and melancholy mingling like liquors. The clouds were low and dark above the city, reflecting the orange light of the festival fire burning in the main anchorage. "Ready for this?" asked Jean. "Ready and sweating heavily," said Locke.
They were dressed in borrowed finery, linen caps and cloaks. The cloaks were too warm, but not so rare on the streets of many neighbourhoods; they meant that the wearer was probably carrying weapons and not to be trifled with. Hopefully, the added clothing would help protect them from a casual glimpse by anyone inconvenient who might recognize them.
"Heave out," cried Oscarl, in charge of the party putting their boat over the side. With the creak of rope and tackle, the little craft swung out into darkness and splashed down into the water. Utgar shimmied down the boarding net to unfasten everything and prepare the oars. As Locke stepped to the entry port and prepared to go down, Delmastro caught his arm. "Whatever else happens," she whispered, "just bring him back." "I won't fail," said Locke. "And neither will he."
"Zamira said to give you this." Delmastro passed over a heavy leather purse, packed tight with coins. Locke nodded his gratitude and slipped it into an i
As Locke crawled down to the boat, he passed Utgar, who gave a cheery salute and kept climbing. Locke hopped down into the boat, but continued clinging to the boarding net so he could stand upright. He glanced up, and by the light of the ship's lanterns he saw Jean and Ezri saying farewell with a kiss. She whispered something to him, and then they parted.
"This is infinitely preferable to the last time we shared this boat alone," said Jean as they settled onto the rowing bench and fitted the oars to their locks. "You told her your real name, didn't you?" "What?" Jean's eyes grew wide, and then he scowled. "Is that a guess?"
"I'm not much of a lip-reader, but the last thing she said to you had one syllable, not two." "Oh," sighed Jean. "Well, aren't you the clever little bastard." "Yes on all three counts, actually" "I did, and I'm not sorry—"
"Gods, I'm not angry, Jean. I'm just showing off." They began to row together, pulling hard, driving the boat across the dark, choppy water toward the cha
Minutes of rowing passed without conversation; the oars creaked, the water splashed and the Poison Orchid fell away to stern, the whiteness of her furled sails vanishing into the darkness until all that remained of her was a faint constellation of lantern-lights. "The alchemist," said Locke, without any warning. "Huh?" "Stragos" s alchemist. He's the key to this mess." "If by "key" you mean "cause"—"
"No, listen. How likely is it that Stragos is ever going to just accidentally leave us the glasses he uses to give us our antidote? Or let a dose slip out of his pocket?" "Easy question," said Jean. "It's bloody impossible."
"Right. So it's no use waiting for him to make a mistake — we've got to make contact with that alchemist."
"He's one of the Archon's personal retinue," said Jean. "Maybe the most important person in Stragos's service, if Stragos makes a habit of doing this frequently. I doubt he has a nice, convenient, out-of-the way house where we can pay him a visit. He probably lives at the Mon Magisterial
"But there's got to be something we can do," said Locke. "The man has to have a price. Think of what we've got at the Sinspire, or what we could get with Drakasha's help." "I'll admit it's the best idea yet," said Jean. "Which isn't saying much."
"Eyes wide, ears open and hope in the Crooked Warden," Locke muttered.
On this side of the city, Tal Verrar's i