The Dragonstone (42 page)

*   *   *

Squinting against the sun and cursing, Alos emerged from the cabin. Delon sat at the helm; Aiko was adeck to handle the sails.

“You!” shouted Alos, the old man pointing an accusing finger at Aiko. “You did this to me again!”

Aiko looked at the oldster impassively, saying nothing.

“I told you I was done with you, done with you all, but oh no, you spirited me away instead.”

“Sorry, Alos,” said Delon, “but they would have killed you. Aiko saved you from certain death.”

“Who?” demanded Alos. “Who would have killed me?”

“The Jutes, old man,” replied the bard. “Don’t you remember? We talked a bit about this last night.”

“Ha! A likely story,” barked Alos.

“Truly, Alos, the Jutes sailed into Pendwyr the day after we arrived. They discovered our lodgings at the Blue Moon and were down at the wharves as well. It’s a good thing they hadn’t gotten around to searching the dockside
taverns, else you’d be dead. You can’t very well go unnoticed, what with your white eye. Aiko saved you.”

Alos glanced over at Aiko. “Is this true?”

She looked long at him, as if considering whether to deign to answer, but at last she nodded
Yes.

“They set an ambush for us,” added Delon, “eight of them. They’re all dead. But there’s thirty, forty more yet in Pendwyr I think, given the size of their ship.”

“Huah,” grunted Alos, then sat down heavily. “Well I, um, I suppose I should thank you both for saving me from the Jutes. But Adon’s balls, don’t you see, I’m back in the madness of this venture, and I don’t like that one bit.” He looked across at Aiko. “You should have left me in Mørkfjord. I was happy there.”

Aiko shrugged, but Delon said, “Were you really? It seems to me that the only times I saw joy in your face were when you were here at the helm.”

Alos canted his head and shrugged.

“And when you played the tambour,” added Aiko.

He looked at her, startled surprise in his eye. “Huh, I didn’t think you cared.”

Aiko turned her face away from him and looked out at the sea.

Delon leaned forward and sotto voce whispered to the oldster, “She saved your life, Alos.”

Alos looked long at Aiko, her face away from him, then he swallowed and glanced at the set of the sails and the angle of the wind pennon and said in a gruff voice, “Here. You’ve got it all wrong. Give me the helm, and trim up the tops and stays. And tell me, what be our course?”

C
ourse?” Arin glanced at Ferret then faced Alos again. “South-southeast, until we can decide upon a destination…or until Ferai gives us one.”

Ferret pointed a finger at her own chest. “Me? I should choose? Ah, wait, I see: we’re looking for the cursed keeper, right?”

Arin nodded.

Ferret turned up her hands. “Well I don’t care what Delon says about me being the one to lead us there, I simply don’t know of
any
cursed keeper.” She swept wide gestures leftward and rightward. “
Peste et mort!
he could be anywhere, including up in the clouds above or down in the depths below…or even on another Plane.”

Aiko looked up from oiling one of her swords. “I yet say the cursed keeper could be in Gudrun’s hedge maze.”

Delon vehemently shook his head. “No, no, Aiko. Although she was indeed cursed, she is no keeper of faith.”

“Well we can’t just keep on sailing sou’sou’easterly,” declared Alos. “I mean, we’ll eventually run out of sea—unless you expect me to sail ‘cross the barrens of Chabba as well.”

Delon looked out across the slow-rolling ocean waves. “Where are we?”

Arin glanced at the sun. “Some thirty-five leagues south of Pendwyr.”

None questioned her word, for all understood Elves simply
knew
at all times where should stand the sun, moon, stars, and the five wanderers. And given that power, Elves need only glance at the angle of any of those to gauge where on Mithgar they stood. Hence, if the Dara
said that they were some thirty-five leagues south of Pendwyr, then without a doubt, that’s precisely where they were.

“Look,” said Delon, “there’s got to be a way to cipher out where we should go.” He looked at Arin. “I mean, Dara, you would not have spoken a rede if there weren’t a means to fulfill it…hence there must be a way to know our next destination.”

Arin shrugged, and said, “Mayhap Egil is right after all: mayhap no matter where we fare, we will discover something we deem meets the words of the rede.”

“I don’t believe that,” objected Delon. He turned to Ferret. “I believe instead that you hold the answer, luv.”

Ferret took in a deep breath and then noisily blew it back out and shrugged.

“She doesn’t know where we should go,” grumped Alos.

“Ah, but I believe she does,” replied Delon. “She just doesn’t know she knows it.”

“Well if I know this thing, but just don’t know that I know it,” said Ferret, “isn’t that the same as not knowing it in the first place?”

“Ha!” barked Alos. “She’s got you there.”

“Not at all, Alos,” said Delon. “We simply need a way to reveal it.”

“As my rede was revealed,” said Arin. “Yet in my case I had vague notions that my vision held more than I could recall, though what it was remained concealed until Lysanne unveiled it.”

Aiko shook her head. “She was Mage trained, Dara, and we have no Mage here.”

“Then how are we going to discover this knowledge you say I have?” said Ferret.

All eyes turned to Delon. He shrugged, then said, “Perhaps we can jog your memory.”

“How?”

“Well, for instance, luv, tell us something of yourself.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, say, tell us of your mother.”

“My mother is dead.”

“Then your father.”

“He’s dead, too.”

Delon reached out and took her head. “Then tell us of your life.”

“There’s not that much to tell. I spent a rather uneventful childhood, and then came to Pendwyr.”

Delon dropped her hand in exasperation. “Then tell us how you came to be in prison and about to be hanged.”

“I was innocent!” declared Ferret.

“Ha!” barked Delon. “They called you Queen of All Thieves.”

“Leave me alone,” Ferret cried out, and, turning away, she scrambled toward the bow of the ship.

Delon started to follow, but Arin plucked at his sleeve and shook her head. “Let be, Delon. I sense old wounds lying deep. She will talk to us at her need, not ours.”

Delon looked toward the place Ferret had gotten to. Then he glanced at Arin and nodded and settled back. And on the pitching bow of the
Brise,
Ferret watched the waves roll by….

*   *   *

When Ferai was six, her mother and father began training her for the act—Janine teaching her the trapeze and acrobatics and how to walk the rope, Ardure showing her the tricks of locks and knots and contortions and such—for Janine was an amazing acrobat and Ardure could escape from anything, or so the broadsheets and criers claimed. Oh, not that they had always been so, for when they first were married, he was a locksmith, and she his lissome young bride. A year passed and a babe was born; Ferai they named her, and she was well loved, and they sang to her every night and told her marvelous tales. Yet she was another mouth to feed and times were hard and business bad, and so they took to the road. By happenstance they came across a young man in need of a worthy locksmith; he was Lemond, new owner of a traveling circus. It seemed his father had died of a sudden and painful stomach ailment without revealing to his estranged son where he kept the keys to the weighty iron money box. And though Lemond had virtually dismantled the entire circus, no keys were to be found. Ardure solved his problem in a trice, and Lemond offered him a position
in
Le Cirque de Merveille
—that of an escape artist, could he master the tricks.

Ardure accepted, for this was steady work, and he and Janine and little Ferai traveled throughout Mithgar. When Ferai was but three, lithe Janine began taking lessons from the acrobat Arielle, then Janine, too, joined the show.

Lemond was a heavy drinker with an eye for the women, and often the circus would hastily pull up stakes and leave town ere the scheduled run was complete—all because of Lemond’s drinking and whoring, said some. And Lemond spent long candlemarks watching Janine practice—gauging her talent, he said, though others thought differently. But nothing came of Lemond’s interest, for Ardure was never far away, and neither was wee Ferai.

As to Ferai’s own lessons, they went swiftly enough, and soon she was astage with her sire or dam, where she became a darling of the patrons though she was not quite seven. Throughout the next few years not only did Ardure and Janine teach Ferai the tricks of the trade, but they taught her to read and write as well—skills uncommon among many of her professional colleagues. Even so, they, too, took her to their bosoms and showed her many things—including the riding of animals and the throwing of knives and even the art of buffoonery, consisting of garish makeup and baggy clothes and acting the fool in the main. And then there was the old fortune-teller, Nom, examining palms and gazing into crystals and casting her bones and reading her special deck of cards. For the most part she taught Ferai how to dupe customers, to beguile and mislead them altogether and send them away feeling as if someone had seen their life’s secrets and had given sound advice.

And her parents continued to sing to her every night as they tucked her in bed.

But then, when she was but twelve, a terrible thing occurred: in a tragic fire of unknown origin, Ferai’s parents died. Why they had not simply escaped will perhaps never be known; for some unknown reason it was as if they were unable to grab Ferai and flee. Miraculously, it
seems, Lemond was passing by and managed to rescue the child. And comforting her, he took her to his wagon.

It is not told what happened that night, but the next morning Lemond was found slain in his very own bed, a dagger through his heart. And in the other bed, where Ferai had slept, there was blood as well, in the center of the sheet. Some said ‘twas virgin’s blood and decided that she had been raped and borne off by the fiend that had slain Lemond, while others claimed that Ferai, too, had been murdered and it was her corpse that had been carried away. But raped or murdered, the twelve-year-old was nowhere to be found.

She made her way to Pellar and lived as a street urchin in the city of Pendwyr, cadging for food or coin. That she did not practice her trade is understandable, for she believed, unlikely as it might seem, that news of a child performing feats of escape and acrobatics might perk up the ears of the authorities and she would be arrested for a killing that occurred in a nearby land. After all, in Pendwyr, the capital of the realm, news often came from lands both near and far, as did notices of murders and rewards.

Through another street urchin, a lad she liked, she fell in among a band of thieves, and soon her skills proved invaluable, for locks did not stop her, nor did gates nor walls nor dogs nor the city watch nor private guards…she never failed to find a way to get ’round each and every one.

And they taught her the art of picking a pocket and of cutting loose a purse without the victim discovering it until it was too late, and she quickly acquired the skill. Too, they showed her how to swindle a gull by first winning his or her confidence and then duping them in the end. In this, too, Ferai was a fast learner, for it was little different from what Old Nom had taught her in days past, though here the risk was much, much greater, yet so were the rewards.

It was this band of thieves that took to calling her Ferret, for as one said, “We’re simply undoing what that awful Gothonian accent has done to your name.” And in spite of the fact that she protested, saying that the word
for ferret in Gothonian was
furet,
still she had to agree that in her native tongue it sounded quite a bit like Ferai, and so the name stuck.

She stayed with this band for four years, but in the end she tired of the incessant bickering and squabbling among them and so struck out on her own.

Some of her thefts were spectacular, for they involved silently crossing on a slender rope from one building to another above a patrolling watch, or slipping through a ring of alert guardians, or opening an unopenable lock, and other such sensational feats.

For nearly ten years she lived by her wits in Pendwyr, and the killing of that pig Lemond faded into the past. But her parents were in her thoughts each and every day, and she often wept for the remembrance of them, in particular when anyone sang.

Aye, she lived by her wits for nearly ten years—much of that in relative comfort—ere the city watch came for her, and that just three weeks past. They burst through her door and into her room and arrested her before she could escape, and they discovered under her mattress a single golden earring. How it had gotten there, Ferret did not know, but it proved to be one of many items taken in a theft. As to why the watchmen had come for her, it seems that someone had named her the miscreant in a case where Lady Brum had been wounded when she had come across a thief burgling her house in the night.

It was later rumored that an old compatriot of hers from her erstwhile days had collected the reward for her capture.

In spite of her protests of innocence, she was quickly convicted and sentenced to death for stealing a Lady’s jewels and attempting to murder her.

They threw her in a cell next to those housing the Rover captains, though some called for her to be thrown in with the pirates instead: they’d visit a right proper punishment on her before she went to the gallows, wouldn’t they now?

She languished in her cell awaiting death. And the warders were careful to keep anything from her which might be used as a pick, for whoever had turned her in
had reported that she was a wonder with locks. As proof, the city watch noted that the complex lock on Lady Brum’s jewel box had been opened without the thief leaving a single mark; either that or the jewel box had inadvertently been left open, which Lady Brum angrily denied.