“Show yourself,” a dark figure spat at them.
Rogger turned, lifted the edge of his pilfered cloak, and bared his naked arse to the doorman.
Delia covered her mouth at such a rude introduction.
Rogger, still bent over, noted her response. “Have to prove I’m a thief.”
Tylar recalled the sigil branded on the man’s buttock. A sliding bolt scraped, and the door swung open on oiled hinges.
“What is this place?” Tylar asked.
“Guildhouse of the Black Flag,” Rogger answered, straightening and covering himself.
“Black Flaggers?” Delia lowered her hand. “Scuttlers and pirates? These are your friends?”
Rogger shrugged. “Now’s not the time to be choosy, my dear. We need a way off this island.”
Tylar couldn’t argue with that.
“Besides, I’m owed a favor here.”
“A favor?” Tylar asked.
Rogger waved a hand. “From another life, ser knight… one life among many.” He glanced significantly at Tylar. “Truly, who lives only one life?”
Tylar motioned with his sword. “Let’s get this done.”
Rogger climbed down a narrow passage, surprisingly clean. Tiny braziers blazed merrily at corners, scented with thyme and honeythistle to drive away the worst of Punt’s odors.
After crossing several side passages, the main chamber opened at the end of the corridor. A pair of men, faces blackened by ash, flanked the entry. They dwarfed Bargo and Yorga, clearly loam-giants, young men blessed in the Grace of loam. They leaned on heavy axes, looking bored, but Tylar knew how swiftly such giants could move.
Rogger nodded to them, good-naturedly. They followed his passage as if he were a scrabbling ant.
The same could not be said for the room’s lone occupant. A voice boomed from beyond a desk. “Rogger! I can’t believe it!”
A tall figure rose, dressed in a fine cut of black leather, from boots to cap. The man’s face was ash blackened, a custom among the Flaggers, making them harder to identify, even among their own guild.
But no one could mistake this pirate. His hair was snowy white from years of salt and sun. The length was knotted and hung over one shoulder, striking against his black leathers.
Rogger pulled on his beard and crossed to shake the man’s hand. “Krevan! It is good to see that no shear has come within a lick of you! Before long you’ll be tripping over that rat’s nest.”
“The same could be said of that beard of yours.”
They clasped hands.
The sun-crinkled eyes of the pirate traveled past Rogger to Tylar and Delia. “I see you brought the godslayer with you.”
Tylar started, his fingers tightening on his sword.
Rogger merely shrugged.
Krevan released the thief’s hand with a short laugh. “Then again, you always kept the strangest companions. I remember that blood witch from Nevering who-”
“Please!” Rogger interrupted. “There is a lady present.”
“Of course.” Krevan broke into a soft smile, gentle and respectful. “My lady, be welcome.”
Delia offered the smallest curtsy.
Rogger opened his mouth, but Krevan cut him off with a lifted hand.
“Yes, a boat. I know. Arrangements are already under way.
The Flaggers know how to repay a debt, even one owed as long as yours. But…?” His smile faded into harder lines.
Rogger nodded. “To cross ships downline, many palms will need pressing.”
Krevan sank back to lean on his desk.
“We have this sword to trade,” Tylar said, stepping up.
Rogger shook his head at the offer.
Krevan leaned back. “He is amusing. Wherever did you find him?”
Rogger shrugged. “Dungeons.”
“Ah, same as the blood witch.”
The thief scratched his beard thoughtfully. “You’d be surprised what can be found abandoned with the rats and chains.”
Tylar flipped the sword hilt up. “What about this diamond on the pommel? It must be worth a handful of gold marches.”
Krevan sighed. “Aye, but you’ll need ten times that to press the proper palms.”
Tylar’s eyes widened.
Rogger explained,“To silence the passage of someone of… well, of your reputation, does not come cheaply. We’ll need to hide your trail in gold.” He turned to Delia. “But luckily we brought with us something of considerable worth.”
Delia paled and backed up a step.
Tylar put up a protective arm. “I will not trade in flesh.”
Rogger raised an eyebrow. “Do I look a slave trader? Remember I’m a thief… specializing in certain sacred objects.”
Tylar suddenly understood, remembering what Rogger had been caught stealing in Foulsham Dell. “Repostilaries.”
Delia gasped, growing even more pale.
Tylar remembered the crystal vial she had used to douse her hand and send the daemon back inside Tylar. A repostilary bearing the blood of Meeryn.
“I cannot give it up,” Delia said, clutching the vial hidden in a pocket over her heart. “It holds the last drops of her blood.”
“Can you just imagine its worth?” Rogger said to Krevan. “The blood of a dead god?”
The pirate’s eyes had grown large, plainly yearning for such a prize. “The price it would fetch among the Gray Traders…”
“Enough to book passage safely away?” Rogger asked.
Krevan slowly nodded, unblinking.
Delia still clasped tightly to the pocketed vial.
Sighing, Tylar knew the trade was the only way. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to her. “But if we’re to ever solve the mystery of what’s inside me… ever to learn the truth about Meeryn, we’ll all have to pay a stiff price.” He parted his cloak to reveal the black palm print. “If you would serve your god still, then it must be done.”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her fingers reached into her pocket and removed the single repostilary. She held it out to Rogger.
He gently took it and passed it to Krevan, who handled it as if it were the most precious jewel.
“I will arrange everything,” the pirate said. He held the vial up to the flame of a wall torch. Fingers gently touched the crystal. Oddly, tears rose in his eyes. His next words were softly spoken but as hard as iron. “If I thought you had really slain Meeryn, Tylar de Noche, you would not be walking out of here.”
Krevan rose and crossed to a glass cabinet shelved with books, a few scrolls, and several boxes.
As he hid away the repostilary, Tylar whispered to Rogger, “Can this fellow be trusted?”
The pirate heard him. “I am not the one who broke my vow. I know how to swear an oath.” Krevan turned back to the torchlight and used his wrist to rub at the corner of an eye, smearing away the ash.
Three dark stripes were tatooed on his skin, the same as on Tylar’s face.
Tylar choked on his words. “You… you’re a knight.”
Krevan turned away. “Rogger, take your guests to the east wing. They can rest until the morning tide, when your boat will be leaving.”
Rogger waved them back toward the two loam-giants.
Tylar whispered to Rogger. “A fallen knight heads the Black Flaggers?”
Rogger glanced back to the tall figure. “Who said he had fallen?”
