A boom of thunder brought him back to the moment. He looked around and realized he’d started on his fifth trip through the dock ward.
How much time had he wasted? Enough. Just pick a boat, already.
Demascus stopped walking and reviewed what he’d seen. Most of the ships had been too small or too large and work-a-day for his needs. Only a few seemed somewhat promising …
There! A caravel, triple-masted, with two square sails and one triangular. An elaborate figurehead hung at the ship’s stem-a half-painted, half-sculpted woman with shimmering green scales in place of clothing. She glared into the rain, her eyes unnaturally brilliant. And she apparently gave the ship her name:
Dodging some hurrying dockworkers who were shepherding a cart overloaded with sodden grain sacks, he boarded the ship. He asked the first person he saw, a woman wearing a red scarf over her hair, to fetch the captain.
“Why should I?” she said.
“Because I’m looking to charter this ship, and I’ve got coin burning a hole in my purse,” Demascus said. Then he ducked under the forecastle awning to get out of the rain. The crew person gave him the once-over, and left. In search of the captain, he hoped.
Less than a song later, a man clambered up from the hold. Demascus guessed he was the ship’s owner because of his ridiculously prodigious hat and his confident swagger as he approached. A gold-trimmed coat that swept the ship’s deck and a slender sword in a silver sheath completed the picture of a man unafraid of flamboyancy. Or at least someone who didn’t mind cutting a figure reminiscent of the pirates that once hunted the waters north of Akanul nearly a century earlier.
“My crew tells me you’re looking to hire
“Depending on how well the captain can keep confidences, yes.”
“They say Captain Thoster is a better secret-keeper than most. And Thoster, by the way, would be me.” The man held out a hand.
Demascus shook it. Thoster’s grip was cool, but strong.
“Demascus. I need a fast ship, and one that can defend itself if necessary.”
“Danger is just a reason to charge more coin. But seriously, you ain’t never heard of
The scroll charm woven into Demascus’s hair, a token paid to his last incarnation by an avatar of the god Oghma, didn’t so much as twitch in response to the captain’s boast regarding the aboleth city. The man was telling something close to the truth, so he was more capable than he appeared.
“The cargo is me and a few associates. We’re headed for an island just off the coast, one not marked on any charts. And if I hire your craft, you’ll have to forget about it afterward. ”
“Ho, a place not on the charts? I like the sound of that. And to answer your question, lad, I can forget nearly anything, if coin is plentiful enough.” Thoster blew out a puff of smoke.
“My patron’s pockets are deep,” Demascus said. Arathane had told him to charter a ship, after all. It wasn’t like he had the coin to pull that off on his own.
“And as it turns out, I’ve got time on my hands,” said Thoster. “I’m waiting on a cargo of Chondalwood green-spice before I can ship back across the sea. So if we can do it in the next few days,
“How about later today?” said Demascus.
“Today? Umberlee’s creaking knees! Can’t you see what’s blowing in? This storm ain’t fit for any ship to sail in, not even mine. No one’s putting out for at least a day or two, until this blows over.”
Demascus peered up at the flashing clouds smothering Airspur like a damp blanket. The frothing waves rolling into the bay
“When’s the soonest we can put out?”
Thoster squinted into the storm, sucked contemplatively on his pipe, then said, “You never can tell with the sea. ’Course, I’m a better judge than most. Tell you what, Demascus. Show up here in two days, and if this ain’t blown over, I’ll buy you an ale. What’d’ya say?”
Demascus nodded. “It’ll have to do. Assuming we can negotiate a price my patron is comfortable with.”
“Of course. But if this mysterious patron of yours has coin to burn, as you-”
The captain broke off and cocked his head, listening.
“What-” began Demascus, then he heard it, too. A thin cry echoing down the street from the edge of the warehouse district, where it abutted the wharf. It was like a wolf’s howl, but somehow more raw and threatening.
“Never heard anything like
“Sounded like something chasing down prey,” Demascus replied.
“Well, nothing to do with us, I expect,” said Thoster.
“Maybe not. But then again, someone needs help.”
Thoster raised his eyebrows as if the idea was wholly novel to him.
“I’ll see you in two days,” said Demascus. He flung himself down the rain-slick gangplank and onto the pier. The captain was probably right. The disturbing howl had nothing to do with him. But if some kind of creature was loose in the city, then it needed to be dealt with in case it took a while for peacemakers to arrive on the scene. And if nothing else, Demascus was good at “dealing” with things.
Besides, Arathane had identified a warehouse as a location of interest related to the sudden silence at the arambarium mine. Which Riltana had gone to investigate. Odds were miniscule the noise and Riltana were connected, but … Demascus increased his pace. The gray pall allowed him no easy shortcuts through shadow. And the bulk of his too-large sword, which he’d strapped onto his back and then forgotten about, was a hindrance as he ran. The scabbard rapped the backs of his calves every few steps, as if trying to trip him. Demascus slowed. Probably smart, anyway, given how slippery the street was with rainwater and runoff. Luckily he didn’t have far to go.
A scattered crowd of bemused warehouse workers were pointing at one building. He dashed over, taking a few more scabbard slaps for his trouble. A broken window gaped high in the exterior wall, and shattered panes glinted on the street. Muffled bangs and cries issued from inside the gray and brown structure. The warehouse address and the place Riltana had made for earlier in the day were one and the same. Of course.
Demascus pulled the sheath off his back and drew the blade. The sword snuggled into his grip as if it’d missed him. He dropped the scabbard and ran inside.
Genasi workers fought a pitched battle against a horde of spiders. Spiders?
Lords of light, he thought, was the swarm demon they’d burned in the pit below the motherhouse still alive? How could it be? We roasted everything in that damnable hole. Although … he’d seen a few smoke-scorched moths escape, but they’d certainly expired. Right? Regardless, he’d been certain the spiders, roaches, and other crawlers had all been destroyed.
A woman’s voice screamed something unintelligible. It issued from behind the door at the top of a short flight of stairs.
The deva swept his blade through a fat brown spider that was menacing a fallen earthsoul. Then he charged up the stairs. Something growled and moved behind the door, throwing a finger of darkness under the frame that brushed his boot. Just like that, he was through.
Demascus found himself in the shadow of a hulking humanoid with tangled black hair, horns, and a sword easily as long as Demascus’s own. A name swam up from the blackness of some previous life … Oni. The thing was an oni mage, wielding a weapon ideal for its size and strength. A fearsome opponent. Great.
Just beyond the oni flitted Riltana. She parried and ducked the creature’s frighteningly skillful sword strokes even as she stomped on and danced around another damnable swarm of spiders! A few were larger than any spider had a right to be. One especially bloated creature lay on its back, its hairy legs yet convulsing as ichor leaked from a
