Beon was looking at the cairn again. “I thought, perhaps. I see a powder mage, a widower by my father’s orders, and one very large man with great strength. I predict that the story I heard has a sadder ending than my childhood imagination would have hoped.” He bowed his head toward them and turned his horse around. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It did,” Gavril called out.
Beon stopped and looked back. “Did what?”
“The story. It had a sad ending.”
“No,” Beon said. “The story is not over yet. But the ending will be very sad regardless.”
The Flaming Cuttlefish was a fisherman’s pub. Like The Salty Maiden, it was located out at the end of a pier, suspended about ten feet above the water. Unlike The Salty Maiden, it was packed with all kinds. There were factory workers, seamstresses, millers, and even a few gunsmiths. The pub was known throughout the city for cheap, delicious freshwater oysters. In one corner of the room a fiddler was sawing away a seaman’s tune, and the whole pier swayed with the stamp of a hundred feet.
The barmaid had assured Adamat that that was normal.
Adamat nursed his beer and let his eyes wander around the room again. He sat with his back to the wall, watching the exits. No signs of the slaver, Doles, or any of his men. No sign of Adamat’s son.
It was near midnight. Doles was supposed to meet him here yesterday, but had never come. Riding out his optimism, Adamat had come back and waited all day, a case filled with two hundred fifty thousand krana in cash sitting on his knee. He was tired and nervous, and every minute that passed he grew angrier.
SouSmith, sitting beside him, stifled a yawn. He was drumming his fingers to the tune of the fiddler, his eyes wandering. Adamat could tell he was losing focus.
“Pit!” Adamat swore, getting to his feet.
SouSmith started. “Huh?” He came alert, looking around for signs of danger.
“He’s not coming,” Adamat shouted above the music and stamping. “We’re done here.”
SouSmith followed him out into the night, and for the second time in a week Adamat found himself standing in the dark, on a pier, with nothing to show for himself. He kicked a pier piling and swore when it bruised his toe. He nearly threw his case into the water, but SouSmith grabbed his arm.
“You’ll be sorry ’bout that.”
Adamat looked down at the case. All of his money; his savings, the money Bo had given him, plus another fifty thousand from Ricard. Yes. He
“I’ll have to go to Norport now,” Adamat said. He was already doing the math in his head. He’d have to charter a boat — and not just any boat, but a smuggler to get him into the Kez-held town — then he’d need to locate Josep and free him from the Kez. There might be Privileged involved, though rumor had it Taniel Two-Shot had killed most of the Kez Cabal on South Pike. Then he’d…
SouSmith shook him by the arm.
“What is it?” Adamat asked, annoyed that his thoughts had been interrupted.
“Norport? You mad?”
“No. I have to get my son back.”
SouSmith sighed. He pulled a pipe from his pocket and set it between his teeth, then packed it with tobacco. “Have to let it go,” he grunted.
“He’s my boy,” Adamat said. “How can I let him go?” He slumped against the same pier piling that he’d just kicked.
“He’s outta reach,” SouSmith said gently.
“No. He can’t be.” Adamat tried to resume his previous train of thought. So much he’d have to do. “Will you come with me?”
SouSmith puffed on his pipe for a moment. “Yeah.”
“Thank you,” Adamat said, relief washing over him. Norport would be dangerous, but going alone into Kez territory might be suicide.
“One condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Sleep on it.”
Adamat hesitated for a moment. He should prepare tonight. Get his supplies together, find a smuggler… then again, finding a smuggler
SouSmith accompanied Adamat home before taking his own leave. Adamat watched SouSmith’s hackney cab clatter down the street, then headed inside.
The house was quiet but for the soft sound of one of the children crying. Adamat removed his boots and hat, and hung his jacket by the door. He passed the children’s rooms, pausing briefly beside Astrit’s. She was the one crying. Fanish sung softly to her, holding her tight and rocking her back and forth. Neither of them saw Adamat.
He crept into his own room. The lamp was burning low, like it always was when Adamat was still out late.
Faye sat up in bed. Her eyes were red, her long, bedraggled curls framing her haggard face. The faint light of hope in her eyes died when she saw him, and Adamat felt his shoulders slump in defeat. He sat down on the bed beside her and buried his face in his hands.
