“Now, I doubt that you came to my house to seek the Lady’s comfort. You want something of the Sisterhood.”
Mirya grimaced. Sennifyr had never been stupid, either. “Well, aye, though I hope that you’ll see it to be in your own interest too.”
“No justification is necessary, my child. I have not forgotten your devotion to the Lady, even if you have for a time. How may I be of service to you?”
Mirya smoothed her skirt. She had never been one to fence at words. The worst of it was that some long- buried part of her ached to answer Sennifyr’s words of forgiveness, to return to the Sisterhood she had left and make amends for the faithlessness of the intervening years. She fixed her mind firmly on the task ahead and ignored her old guilt. “I found out a servant of Cyric a few days ago-a pale man in a hood, masquerading as a common laborer. He knows that I know his secret. I need to learn his name and what purpose he has in Hulburg.”
“And you thought we might know something about him?” Sennifyr reached over to the table next to her and poured herself a cup of tea. “My dear, we have nothing to do with the Black Sun’s minions.”
“I know. But there’s not much that happens in Hulburg that the Sisterhood doesn’t see. If the servants of Cyric are preaching to the poor folk of the Tailings or stirring up trouble with the Cinderfists, the Sisterhood would know of it.”
“And if you did learn this man’s name, what would you do?”
“See to it that the harmach knew it too.”
“I see.” Sennifyr sipped at her tea. “It is no secret that Geran Hulmaster is close to you. I imagine that a word whispered in his ear would reach the harmach soon enough. For that matter, I would be surprised if Geran did not act on such information himself. He is not one to hesitate over such matters. But how do you see this as a concern for the Sisterhood?”
“It seems to me that the Cinderfists are exactly the sort of trouble a servant of Cyric would foment among the poor outlanders of the town.” Mirya paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I’d imagine that the hooded priest teaches the folk of the Tailings to rebel against their circumstances, to fight against their sorrows. Where would those folk turn if he were to leave? More than a few might seek comfort in the Lady’s embrace, mightn’t they?”
Sennifyr gazed thoughtfully at Mirya. “It pleases me to hear you speak so, Mirya.”
“I’m weary of the troubles plaguing my home, Mistress Sennifyr. Someone is stoking the fires, and I want an end to it.” Mirya didn’t doubt that there would be trouble of a different sort if the Lady of Sorrows came to hold the hearts of Hulburg’s poorest folk, but at least the Sisterhood wouldn’t incite riots and rebellion in the streets. Besides, she was sure that she was not saying anything that hadn’t occurred to Mistress Sennifyr already.
“The Sisterhood would approve,” Sennifyr said. She took another sip from her cup and set it down in its saucer. “Very well. We have heard something of this. As you guess, a few of our Sisters are newcomers to Hulburg. They hear things from the other outlanders that the native-born do not. I think that one of them might know the man you encountered. I do not know who he is, but she might. Go to the Three Crowns and ask for Ingra.”
“Thank you, Mistress Sennifyr.”
“It is nothing, dear Mirya. But you must go in secret. Ingra will help another Sister, but only if no one sees her to do so.”
“I understand.” Mirya stood and inclined her head to Sennifyr, who returned a gracious nod.
“I hope you will visit again soon, Mirya. I know in my heart that the Lady’s full purpose for you is still to be revealed.” Sennifyr stood and watched as the servant returned to show Mirya to the door.
After the gloom of Sennifyr’s house, the overcast day seemed clean and whole to Mirya. She drew a deep breath and climbed back up to the seat of her wagon. She thought now that it would have been better if she hadn’t come, but she’d done it, and there was nothing to be gained by second-guessing her decision now. The only question was whether she’d find an answer at the Three Crowns worth the price of reminding Sennifyr and the Sisterhood that she remembered them.
TEN
Narsk set his course eastward from the meeting at the Talons, swinging far out to sea around Hillsfar then closing on the Moonsea’s southern coastline once the well-defended port was a good thirty or forty miles astern.
It proved much harder to find an opportunity to slip into Narsk’s cabin than Geran would have imagined. The chief difficulty was that Narsk rarely left his cabin and did not linger for long on the deck when he did. The gnoll took all his meals in his room and issued most of his orders through Sorsil. Geran had several ideas in mind for actually slipping inside without being seen, if Narsk would simply vacate his cabin for a decent amount of time; if nothing else, he knew a spell of teleportation he could use from the usually empty storeroom under the captain’s cabin. He considered trying to surprise and overpower the gnoll by teleporting into the cabin without warning, but he couldn’t be certain that he could do it in absolute silence and slip away again unseen. That meant he and his friends might have to deal with the rest of
While waiting and watching for the chance to move, Geran and his friends settled into the ship’s routine. The weather turned cold and damp on their second night from the Talons, and the ship slipped through intermittent showers as she continued eastward. As the newest hands on board, they were assigned to the midwatch under the second mate, a portly Mulmasterite named Khefen. That meant they had to stand watch in the middle of the night and catch what little sleep they could before and after. At least Khefen was more or less indifferent to the three of them, so long as they didn’t bungle the few adjustments to the sails he saw fit to make during the night. The second mate drank steadily from a large leather flask he kept hidden under his cloak throughout the watch, without showing any sign of growing drunk, and ignored the deckhands otherwise.
During their second midwatch with Khefen, the rains were especially persistent. After several hours of standing lookout and scrambling aloft when the second mate ordered them to, all three companions were soaked, shivering, and generally miserable.
“I am not enjoying this,” Sarth muttered to Geran as they went back below. “Truly, is this necessary?”
“We’ll give it two or three more days,” Geran replied under his breath. “Something may turn up, and I’d still like to know what Kamoth is planning.”
The tiefling grimaced under his magical guise. “Very well, but I will think twice before I accompany you on your next ill-considered venture.”
Later that morning Geran was hard at work splicing an old, well-worn line-a particularly tedious and exacting job that the tattooed Northman Skamang had foisted off on him-when the cry of “Sail ho! Fine on the port beam!” came from the lookout aloft. He stood and shaded his eyes with his hand, looking for the other ship. This time it was indeed a fair distance off, easily seven or eight miles, and all that could be seen of it was the mast. Sorsil summoned Narsk to the quarterdeck, and the two conferred quickly before the gnoll ordered the helmsman to turn and sent the watch aloft to crowd on more sail. The wind favored
Geran glanced at the sky. It was overcast, but no storms or squalls seemed likely to appear. And they were at least thirty or forty miles from any sort of harbor. Unless the cog was faster than she looked, he guessed they’d catch her in a couple of hours. Most of the crew was gathered along the rail, gazing greedily at the other ship. Some were already picking out weapons for the anticipated boarding.
Hamil and Sarth climbed up from the galley, where they’d been sent to help Tao Zhe with his scullery work. The halfling looked around at the pirate crew then up at Geran. “What’s going on?”
“Narsk’s sighted prey,” Geran said in a low voice. He pointed. “We’re trying to chase down that cog there.”
