Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (34 page)

“Aha. This’ll do the trick.” Grimjaw held up another bomb, this one made of gunpowder rods that the charr used for deep mining. The captain rolled a length of fuse around his wrist and tucked the explosive into his vest.

“What’re we going to do with that?” Krokar tilted his head as Grimjaw stomped back through the hold.

An evil grin curled the charr captain’s muzzle. Grimjaw clapped his first mate on the shoulder as he headed back to the stairs. “We’re improvising, Krokar,” he said, gloating. “The first bomb failed. But I’m going to go one better. I’m going to set
this
one where it can do us even more good.”

“Where’s that?” Krokar asked.

“Inside the Captain’s Council. When all the captains are dead, he’ll be able to take over the city. Then we’ll get our ships. Good, huh?”

“Kill the other captains?” A slow dawn of comprehension rose over Krokar’s dull features. “Hey, that’s good! Then you’ll be in control of the council!”

“Right you are. We’ll make him king of Lion’s Arch, I’ll get the ships and crew we need to attack Orr, and I’ll have the
Pride.
” The snaggletoothed charr laughed, low and dangerous.

The first mate chuckled with him. “Then we attack Orr.”

“Then we attack Orr, right. Trust me, the boss’s going to love this plan.” Grimjaw’s boots shook the boards of the staircase as he marched toward the
Brutality
’s upper deck. “Come on. We’ve got to get to the pavilion and set this bomb before the others arrive.”

Krokar followed, and the two charr slammed the hatch behind them, locking it from the far side. Cobiah
wriggled out from under the workbench. “Those murderous sea sharks!” he seethed. “I’ve got to get back to the docks and . . .” As he made his way toward the porthole, the depth of the problem unfolded in his mind.

Once Grimjaw knew the jig was up, he’d stop talking. The charr had powerful friends, and whoever was behind this plan was willing to go to great lengths to make sure it worked. If he didn’t handle this just right, he’d lose his only lead toward finding the real traitor. Cobiah slowed, bowing his head in frustration. As much as he wanted to rush after Grimjaw and attack, that wouldn’t solve the problem.

Cobiah squared his shoulders and looked out the porthole, watching as the far dock cast its morning shadow over the turquoise waves.
King of Lion’s Arch.
Cobiah pondered the words. Whom had Grimjaw meant? Nodobe, probably, but it could have been anyone. By the Mists, it might not even be a captain. Grimjaw’s “boss” could be anyone with a vested interest in the council’s vote. Cobiah’s mind filled with scenarios, but with little time and few avenues of information, he kept coming back to the same thought.

I have to let Grimjaw set the bomb.
Cobiah pondered
. He’s not going to blow himself up. When Grimjaw finds an excuse to leave the council meeting, I’ll see who goes with him. That’s how I’ll be able to tell whom he’s working with
. Cobiah gripped one of the crates angrily, closing his eyes at the thought.

They’ll be leaving the rest of us to die.

I
t was nearly noon by the time Cobiah escaped the
Brutality
’s hold. He was forced to wait until harbor traffic slowed before he could slip back down the anchor chain into the sea. Wet and angry, he swam to shore a few piers down from the charr dock. There, Cobiah pulled off his boots with a grimace. He dumped two long streams of water onto the sand. There was no time to change his clothes or shower. The captains’ meeting would begin in less than an hour, and he had to get there quickly. Cobiah shook the sand from his clothing as best he could and headed into the city streets.

Lion’s Arch was filled with hustle and bustle: merchants selling their wares and eager crewmen on leave spending time in the city. Cobiah would usually have enjoyed a stroll through the alleys, but today he had no time for pleasantries or idle curiosity. He made his way toward the pavilion on the cliff with hurried steps.

Near the center of the city, he detoured to pass the primary Lionguard outpost, where Captain Duserm’s militia was releasing two battered charr into the street. “You’re lucky!” Duserm scolded them. “Next time I catch you fighting on the docks, I won’t let you out of the drunk tank for three days!” He chuckled at their discontent, his
portly belly bouncing over a tightly cinched belt. Noting Cobiah, the captain stiffened and managed a halfhearted salute. “Captain M-M-Marriner,” he stammered, “what brings you down here?”

“Captain Isaye,” Cobiah answered. “Is she in there?”

“No, sir.” Duserm gave him a lopsided grin. “Got bailed out a half hour ago by your asuran pilot, both the captain and her mate. They headed that way.” He gestured vaguely toward the pavilion.

“Right.” Ignoring the man’s attempts to make polite conversation, Cobiah renewed his haste toward the council building. He could hear Duserm’s voice fading behind him; he was muttering something about the discourtesy of those in charge.

Cobiah took the steps to the pavilion three at a time, bustling up toward the high cliff. He could see some of the captains already gathered at the front door of the building. A voice caught his attention, and he paused to look along the building’s side.

Henst stood there, bristling, hands on his weapons. In front of him stood Macha, a sword belt wrapped over her shoulder, the cutlass poking out like Bronn Svaard’s ever-present greatsword. “How dare you try to blackmail me!” Henst snarled. “You conniving little runt!”

“I got you out of that mess.”

“You got me into it!”

“What the hell are you doing, Henst?” Cobiah strode up to them angrily. “Leave her alone.”

“Marriner.” Eyes flashing, Henst rounded on Cobiah. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Impulsively, Macha seized Henst’s distraction to stomp on his foot with all her might, causing the dark-haired warrior to let out a screech of surprise and pain. “Show some gratitude, you fish-livered blackguard, or
next time”—she shoved him backward—“I’ll leave you in prison where you belong!” Henst hopped up and down, looking for a moment as if he might draw his swords, but Cobiah stepped close to meet the Ascalonian’s eyes.

“Do we need to have this little lesson again, Henst?” Cobiah’s voice was calm, but his eyes were fierce. “Leave my crew alone.”

“You heard him,” Macha added smugly from behind Cobiah’s legs.

Visibly losing his eagerness for the fight, Henst gathered himself and stepped back. His black eyes were heated and his face red from anger, but he managed to speak in an even tone. “Fine,” he said tensely. “But I don’t owe you anything, Macha. If I have to pay, then so will you.” He shot a nasty glance at the asura.

Cobiah glowered. “That’s
enough,
Henst.”

Henst turned on his heel and limped toward the pavilion, trying to salvage his pride. Cobiah mused smugly, pleased at his rival’s discomfort. Few things put him in a better mood than taking the wind out of the Ascalonian’s sails. “What was that all about?”

Macha smiled sweetly, hugging Cobiah’s legs. “I told him that he had to pay me back the money for his bail. He didn’t agree.” She stuck out her tongue at the man’s back as he retreated. “Oh, and I brought your sword.” Macha slipped the belt over her shoulder and held out the weapon in its scabbard. “I thought you might need it, given how today’s going.”

Cobiah laughed out loud. “Thanks, Macha.” Before she could dart away into the building, Cobiah reined her in by the braids. “Hang on. I need to tell you what I found on Grimjaw’s ship.” She paused and looked up at him inquisitively, and Cobiah pitched his voice low. “We were right. Grimjaw made that bomb. And it’s not the only
one. He had another, and he’s hidden it somewhere in the Captain’s Council.”

Macha’s eyes flew wide open. “Inside the building?”

“Yeah.” Cobiah nodded, buckling the sword belt around his waist. “It’s all right, though. I have a plan. Grimjaw’s not going to set off the bomb while he’s inside the building. All we have to do is wait until he tries to leave and then see who he takes with him. That’s how we’ll know who he’s working with.” Macha started to protest, but Cobiah cut her off. “Yes, I know it’s dangerous. But it’s our only hope to find out who’s really behind this.”

“Cobiah, this isn’t someone you can bluff or a ship you can outmaneuver. This is a
bomb
. What if Grimjaw set it wrong? What if the real villain isn’t even in there and sets it off before Grimjaw’s ready?” Macha grabbed Cobiah’s sleeve. “This is a crazy plan, Cobiah. We should tell the others what’s going on and get out of here. Why are we risking our lives?”

“If we do that, we’ve foiled one plan, but we haven’t caught the culprit. They’ll try again, and next time they’ll catch us by surprise.”

“Is this city really that important?” she pleaded. “Enough to get killed over? Look, we could just sail away and let this all sort itself out. The
Pride—
”

Cobiah put his hand on Macha’s shoulder. “Macha, you’re a good friend, and you’ve been with me through some very difficult times. I don’t know if I ever really told you how much you mean to me. I’ve been busy lately, and it’s taken me away from you and the others. I’m sorry. Maybe that makes me a bad friend. If it does, I hope you forgive me.”

Macha placed her hand over his. “You’ve never been anything but good to me, Cobiah. I’d do anything for
you. I’d die for you. Like Verahd did for Isaye. You’re my captain.”

“Then you understand how important this is. Lion’s Arch is the first city that’s really been a home to all the people of Tyria, no matter what race they are, or where they come from. It’s known real freedom.” He slid his hand away and headed up the stairs. “That’s worth fighting for.”

As Cobiah walked toward the building, Macha looked up at the sky, pursing her lips, and then down at the cobblestones that ran through the city streets. Then she followed him, dragging her feet reluctantly up the stairs toward the pavilion.

Hedda and Moran were already seated at the table, arguing over some point of seafaring lore. Grimjaw was sitting near the others, his long claws tapping the table in a slow, calculated rhythm. Isaye was there, too, sitting beside Nodobe, their seconds chatting pleasantly behind them.

Isaye appeared no worse for wear from her fight on the docks or her time in detention. She’d apparently been able to arrange a change of clothing, and she had placed a small bandage over her eye where a blow had split the skin. Nodobe took her arm as they laughed over some story, his broad smile shockingly white against ebony skin. The familiarity rankled, but Cobiah was so glad to see her alive and well that the feeling washed away like water over a drake’s back. She noticed Cobiah at the door and gave him a joyful smile.

As soon as Cobiah entered the council room, the asuran captain, Tarb, strode toward him, muttering in a dark tone. “Marriner, I want to talk to you,” Tarb said. “Right here and right now.”

Cobiah slowed. “What’s the problem, Tarb?” he said
cautiously, struggling to appear interested while keeping an eye on the five at the table.

“Why aren’t you willing to compromise on the Claw Island thing? It’s been years since they started building on the island, and it could be years more before they’re done. What I’m calling for will help the city
now
. A bank. More shops. Are you deliberately stifling the city’s growth?” Tarb puffed up like a little rooster. Behind him walked his second, Gamina, carrying a tablet on which she was taking notes.

Cobiah tried to follow the asura’s argument, but his mind was on other things. “Can we talk about this during the meeting?”

“I want an answer
now
. An honest answer, not one prettified for politics.” Tarb shoved his finger up toward Cobiah’s face. “Are you getting a cut from the contractors? A promise of military authority to back you on the council? What is it?”

“What?” Cobiah’s attention snapped fully to the asura. “No. Nothing like that. I just want the city to be safe.”

Tarb fixed him with a steely gaze. “Whatever you say, Marriner,” the warrior grumbled. “But I know payoff when I smell it. I just want you to know: I’m
watching
you.” Tarb pointed at his eyes, then at Cobiah, and then stalked off toward the table, unslinging the war hammer from his back with a resounding
whump!
Gamina paused, looked up at Cobiah awkwardly, then shrugged and followed her captain to his seat.

One by one, the seats at the table were filling. Cobiah deliberately took the chair across from Grimjaw, meeting the charr’s eyes without shrinking. Grimjaw grinned, showing all of his snaggled, uneven teeth. It turned Cobiah’s stomach to smile pleasantly back, but he managed. Yomm was last to arrive, shuffling along in a heavy new
robe ornamented with anchors, gold braid, and shiny buttons shaped like lions’ heads. He waved his arms as he walked, deliberately showing off the ornate trim on the sleeves.

Macha rolled her eyes. “I was hoping he’d sleep through the meeting,” she muttered, a little too loud. Yomm shot her a nasty look.

“Are we all here, then?” Nodobe made a show of counting chairs. “Eight. Good. Then let us all sit and discuss the future of our city.”