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Tyra
Jonah's head snapped up, his face overcome with delight. He ran from behind the counter and hugged Tyra
"It's so good to see you, my dear!" he bellowed, finally putting her down. "How long has it been? Three, four months?" Then his face darkened. "You should never have come back, you know. Ever since you left, Rolf's anger has been terrible. Have you lost your mind? Why are you here?"
Before she could answer, he looked at Tristan. "And who is this nasty-looking character?"
"He is a friend," Tyra
Jonah looked Tristan over again, then gave him a nod. Tristan nodded back.
"You need spars, you say?" Jonah asked. He looked concerned. "Screechlings?"
"Three maelstroms at once," she answered. "We barely survived."
His eyes wide, Jonah ran one hand through his hair in disbelief. As he did, bits of shaved wood rained down. "No one has ever survived three maelstroms," he whispered, half to himself. "They have been far more active of late, and no one seems to know why. Do you have any idea?"
Tyra
Taking a deep breath, Tristan held his tongue. He knew very well why, but he also knew that now was not the time to speak of it.
"Do you have your specifications?" Jonah asked her.
Taking a piece of parchment from the pocket of his trousers, Scars handed it over. With a quick, automatic movement, Jonah swiveled the single lens down over one side of his spectacles and looked over the list.
"Hmm," he mused. "Five new spars, all of unequal thickness and length," he murmured. "This will take some doing. But if I put everything on hold, I can have them for you tomorrow morning. Say, two hundred kisa? That's at no profit to me, child. Given Rolf's attitude, you need to be gone from here as soon as you can." He swiveled the single lens back up into place.
Tyra
"If you suffered three maelstroms, you must also require sails, then."
"Yes."
"That may be a problem."
Tyra
"Because a new arrival named Ichabod is now the only sailmaker on the island," Jonah told her. "He paid hired thugs to kill the other two, so as to have a little monopoly of his very own. Things have changed since you were last here, Tyra
Tyra
"He's always at the Wing and Claw. It seems he has become so prosperous that he can now hire others to do all of his work for him, including watching over his shop."
Jonah placed a caring hand on one of Tyra
Tristan had a thought. "I think the two of you should stay here," he said to Tyra
Jonah looked at Tyra
"Yes."
"Then I think you should do as he suggests. I know how much you like to handle your own affairs, but this time it seems the wisest course."
Tyra
"How much should I expect these to cost?" he asked.
Jonah swiveled the single lens back down into place and perused the list. "Four hundred kisa would be fair," he mused. "But Ichabod is not known for being a fair man. Make it five hundred for a rush job, which this will have to be. But under no circumstances should you pay more than six, even to him." He handed the list back to the prince.
"Is there enough money here?" Tristan asked Tyra
"Barely," Tyra
"Stay here," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He looked over at Jonah. "Where do I find this Wing and Claw?"
"Turn right on this street and keep on going," Jonah answered. Then his face puckered up with a look of distaste. "Trust me, you can't miss it."
Reaching behind him, Tristan grasped the hilt of his dreggan and gave it a quick tug, making sure its blade would not stick. Then he did the same with the first few of his throwing knives.
Saying nothing more, he turned and walked out of the shop. But the moment he set foot on the street he heard the door open again, and Tyra
"For luck," she said.
Tristan smiled back. "Don't worry," he said. "I want to get home too, remember?" Gently removing her hands from his shoulders, he gave them a final squeeze. Then he turned and headed up the street.
As he walked, he was increasingly hounded by whores, barkers, and thieves. Drunken men lay in the gutters, while others stopped to rifle through their pockets.
The Wing and Claw was a large, dilapidated building, constructed of the ubiquitous rose marble. The double doors in the front lay wide open. A black wing had been boldly painted on one of them, and a black claw on the other, as if daring passersby to enter. A rail stood just in front, with about a dozen horses tied to it. From inside came a combination of laughter, music, argument, and clinking glass.
After first looking around, he cautiously took the leather purse from his vest. Removing one hundred kisa, he placed them into his pocket so that if he was required to make a deposit on the sails, he could do so without revealing Tyra
Wasting no more time, he walked up the marble steps and went in.
The moment he passed through the doors, he knew he was in trouble.