Captain Harp held out his elbow to the woman, a thin smile darkening his visage. “Temptation to leave the vapid behind and snatch adventure excites them. Most lean into a life of few rules and freer expectations.”
Mimeriqette slid her hand through the crook. “Most?”
“Some find that the escapade is more burdensome than they anticipated. They expected more of a pleasure boat than a re-enactment.”
Mica’s essence wavered, the vibrations speeding up until he looked like undulating glass.
Vantra slipped her arm around him and squeezed, but he did not notice. Heat erupted from him, and tiny wisps wafted away, disappearing with minute sizzles. She latched her legs around his waist; breaking cover, especially now, would not only endanger them, but sever an opportunity to find out information about Gedall.
He gathered his essence, ready to pounce. “Mica,” she hissed in his ear as she sent a burst of Sun into him.
He flinched, and his burning blue gaze seared into her. She refused to whimper, instead smashing her lips together before shoving her bravado into her mouth. “Attacking her isn’t going to help us or Gedall.”
His heat slowly dwindled, and he nodded once, though the fire in his eyes did not dim. He glanced at the dock; empty. Slipping through her grasp, he curved around the edge of the stern, paused, then skimmed the water to the shore. He floated above the lapping waves, then motioned to her; she sped to him, a rush of anxiety pushing her faster.
A sailor remained on the boat, lounged back in her seat at the wheel, head tipped back, snoring softly. A thin scarf kept her oily hair from her eyes and her deer-like nose and large ears twitched randomly. Her grey-brown fur looked wind-ruffled, as if she had sailed for longer than this brief excursion. Vantra noticed no one else in the cavern; neither did Mica, as he motioned to her and zipped to the darker tunnel leading from the landing.
They floated past the third mage-lit torch before echoes resounded down the passage. Mica flattened himself against the ceiling, and she did the same; while nearly transparent, they did not completely disappear, and an observant being would notice them. Anxiety bordered on panic, and she clenched her fingers, hoping to bat down her fear. If they had trouble, an easy pass through the rock above them to the surface and a quick escape would save them; the night’s shadows would hide them from persistent, ghostly trackers.
Another sailor trudged down the way, his appearance that of a very tired, long-eared scent hound. Scattered behind him listed several beings, both spirits and living, dragging less pristine suitcases and carrying near-empty backpacks. They hunched under the weight, and more than one careened into the wall with a shallow grunt. Two more sailors with patches on their left shoulders brought up the rear, watching the group with wry smiles.
Forever paled in comparison to the amount of time the procession took to filter into the cavern beyond. No talk, no enthusiasm, just heavy weariness. Had the previous batch witnessed their exhaustion?
No one looked up, either. Mica did not wait for an unexpected detection; he snagged her arm and pulled her further into the tunnel.
Another gunky shield spanned the exit; Vantra winced, not wanting to pass through, but Mica solved the problem by sending them both into the ceiling, where they arched over the spell.
The nastiness seeped into the rock, creating a filmy mold in the cracks and crevices. They traveled much higher than she anticipated to overshoot the stuff, and despite not scraping against it, she still felt the tingle of corruption. They cautiously phased down until they emerged into the clearer air of the cavern.
A damp tapestry halted their spying on whoever moved below. The fabric, a heavy, rough burlap, hung from leather strings that looped over a thick nail. Mica raised his hand, floated to the edge of the fabric, then waved to her after peeking. She joined him in staring across the drippy expanse.
Crates, boxes and tied bundles sitting on pallets lined the walls, covered in muddy beige tarp. Several tunnels intersected the space, each one flanked by thin-poled, upright metal lanterns holding a magelight within a glass cage. Flags plastered with various symbols dangled above them. Equipment sat on the crescent-shaped stone that surrounded a dock with three small boats and a larger one Vantra thought resembled the nymph travel ships used around two thousand to fifteen hundred years previous. Pirates loved the large, luxurious vessels that easily moved through water, which impacted their popularity with travel companies. They switched to less-attractive ships, and the pirates never found another vessel to replace them, which ultimately ended their vicious reign of the seas.
Spaces circled by lean-tos had beings clustered around a central magic-fueled fire, doing various jobs like repairing tack and cleaning items taken from round metal tubs. The sounds of saws, drills, and other handheld machines originated near rows of tables and sawhorses, drowning ambient talk. An odd, fuzzy static underpinned all of it, but she could not find the source.
The group they accompanied to the hideout stood by the dock, listening to someone who enjoyed flinging their hands around as they spoke. She did not see Mimeriqette or Harp, but considering the numbers of individuals rushing around as wagons and cranes moved back and forth, it did not surprise her.
“Pretty busy for this late,” Mica murmured, heat sharpening his tone. “I wonder if they’re smuggling stuff from this cave.” He pointed to the smaller boats laden with cargo.
“They could have the enactors man them under the guise of training, with no clue concerning the intent,” she said. “I don’t see Mimeriqette or Captain Harp.”
“There’s a tunnel under guard. I’m betting they went in that one.”
Vantra peered around, finally seeing the one he referenced. Two uniformed ghosts stood on either side, both looking as cheerful and enthused as a caught fish. She doubted they would have difficulty sneaking past; their attention remained on a heavy load lifted by a crane onto a wagon whose draft horse stamped and shook their head while the driver held the halter and patted its neck.
The being speaking to the new recruits motioned for them to follow and headed towards a tunnel with a bed on the flag. Mica smacked her upper arm and nodded at them.
“Follow them, see what you can find out,” he whispered. “I’m going in the guarded tunnel.”
“But—”
He whisked away before the protest left her lips. Tamping down her annoyance—what kind of spy work did he think she had previously done?—she thinned her essence to a bare wisp and skimmed the ceiling, eyes remaining on the group as they trudged after the speaker, their suitcases bouncing along after them.
No one noticed her as she floated from the darkness at the apex to the brighter atmosphere below. Engrossed with their tasks, few looked around, which she thought odd, and most kept chitchat to a minimum, something she found odder; repairing rope or cleaning pots did not strike her as attention-grabbing enough to keep them from gossiping with their companions. Unease coursed through her, and she tightened her grip on her essence as she hovered above the flag and waited for the two sailors at the rear to pass beneath her.
A flash on the large ship caught her eye; she focused, but the light did not return. The strength of Light behind it hinted at a powerful ghost, but she did not see anyone on deck that could have produced it. Was that where Mimeriqette and Harp went?
If so, Mica went the wrong way.
Tempted to check out the ship, but knowing the group likely had more information concerning the Wind Revenants, she reluctantly phased into the rock above the tainted shield, dropped into the tunnel, and slipped after them, hoping she did the right thing.
The exit had yet another defense spell spanning it, and she avoided it with a burst of annoyance; she disliked coursing through stone to evade the corrupted touch. She peeked into the room; the silence surprised her. While several living beings chose edibles from a buffet then sat at a table to eat, few spoke, and no sound from the larger cavern interrupted them. Perhaps that was the reason for the shields? Quiet?
The group she followed skirted the tables and entered one of seven curtained doorways. She kept to the ceiling and crept along, hoping no one looked up and noticed a wavy movement sliding over the stone. She reached the drapes without incident and phased through. A short tunnel led to a round room with bunk beds and a fountain on the far side. Rugged brown carpets covered the floor, and the central, magic-fueled fire surrounded by clothes-drying racks combated the chill from the rock.
She hugged the ceiling just above the heads of the rear sailors, trying to observe what she could without getting caught.
“This is your designated room for the yilsemma you’ll spend here,” the guide said with forced cheerfulness. Her voice had a coarse quality to it, one Vantra associated with trainers who shouted at their charges all day. “The buffet and fountains are up day and night, so whenever you get hungered, have a bite. You paid for it, after all.” She smiled, her black nose twitching with the act, and flung her arms out. “The blankets and pillows are standard issue, and you’ll find the same aboard ship, though you’ll be sleeping in hammocks rather than on mattresses. That’s it for tonight. Tomorrow as the sun rises, you’ll hear a bell. Eat, then I’ll take you on a tour of the caverns, after which you’ll learn more about the jobs from different eras.” She pointed to a row of lockers that broke the monotony of bunk beds. “Chose a locker for your luggage. Don’t lose the key! Put your backpack on the bed you’ll be using. Your group is the only one slated for this room during the next yilsemma, so you won’t have to worry about sharing a sleeping space. Any questions?”
The beings glanced at one another, but no one spoke. She nodded.
“If something occurs to you, Mates Nory and Tes man the information desk in the mess. Don’t hesitate to ask; we don’t want small problems growing large because you think a question is silly. And with that, I’ll leave you to your rest.” With another forced smile that did not reach her deep brown eyes, she flipped her hand at the other two sailors, and they retreated down the tunnel. Torn between following them and staying with the new recruits, Vantra gave the group a fleeting glance before zipping after the Revenants.
They whisked to the exit, broke into the main cavern, then took another route with a desk and chair on the flag. The longer tunnel had offshoots, but they kept straight until they reached a circular intersection with smooth walls and oil paintings hanging between five drape-shrouded doorways. The plush carpet had a bright red flower pattern that appeared handmade, and the perfect fit hinted at a commissioned piece. With a curt yank, the guide rang a bell next to the yellow curtain, and a heavy voice bid them enter.
Forcing herself to follow took every bit of bravery she could pull from her core, but she phased into the rock, arched over the doorway, and peeked into the warm, candle-lit room from the relative safety of the stone ceiling. She hated staying within an object for any length of time, but she did not think she could expose herself and remain undetected.
“They’re settled,” the guide told a round evaki hunching over a red-stained hardwood desk. He sported a golden scribe’s robe that blended with his golden skin, held in place by a gold-embroidered belt resplendent with blue gems no one of lesser means could afford. The man nodded his elongated head, the tassel dangling from his tall escoffion dancing with the motion as he sunk his quill into an inkwell and leaned back in his squeaky office chair.
“And?”
“If he’s with this one, he’s using a pseudonym.”
The evaki blew out a huge breath; all three of the sailors wrinkled their noses but said nothing. “He signed up,” he muttered. “He was supposed to join a group this yilsemma, and that was the last scheduled for training.”
“Maybe his father realized he planned to sail away and interfered,” the guide said.
“Possible,” he admitted, thrumming his thick fingers on the pristine papers lying on the desk. “We had to send correspondence about the meeting place through a courier, and Derond watches his boy like a hawk watches an insignificant mouse peeking from its hole. He might have intercepted it.”
“Do you want us to ask around?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. That would attract attention I’d rather not deal with. The IBA are getting . . . antsy.” The guide hmphed at that, and the evaki cast her a warning look. “And the Knight?”
“She arrived. Harp’s entertaining her.”
“I’m sure he is,” the man grumbled. “Addicted, shall we say?”
The two other sailors laughed, though the guide did not think it amusing. “Your lordship—”
He raised a hand decorated with wide gold rings. Evaki from patriarch families who would not inherit the title wore such rings, each etched with their family crest on the flat upper side. Vantra squinted, but could not make out the symbolism that would tell her his heritage. “Don’t bother interrupting them tonight. In the morning, ask after the Knight and tell her I’d like an audience concerning the Loose Ducky’s passengers before she heads to the Scar.”
What?
“As you wish, marjav,” the guide said with a curt bow. She pivoted on her heels, her expression blank, her eyes glinting with rage. The sailors smirked and followed her out the door. The marjav shook his head and neatened the papers before standing and shaking out his robe. He took out a key and locked the desk, then the metal cabinets behind his chair, waited a moment more, then waddled out the door.
His exit corresponded with the candles snuffing and a rush of shielding; Vantra yanked her head back as it enveloped the room. She could drift through it, but that would alert whoever cast it, and she did not want the Revenants to know a wayward ghost spied on them.
She returned to the intersection, but by the time she peeked through the ceiling, it stood empty. Had they headed for the cavern? Chastising her lateness, she wafted down the tunnels leading to it but did not see either the guide or the marjav.
Returning to the burlap flag, she pondered what to do. Find Mica? She had a lot of interesting things to tell him, including that a marjav worked with the Revenants. As far as she knew, the only evaki who used the title came from the Astri whose patriarch signed the Evenacht Pact with a long-ago Death, sealing the evening lands as the home for Talin ghosts. That link, if true, meant the Revenants might have the backing of a powerful, wealthy ruling family.
Or she could investigate the ship, discover what produced that flash of Light. Glancing around for the Light-blessed and not seeing him, she yanked on her faltering bravery and zipped to the vessel.
