The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition (12 page)

Gerard bowed his head. There was the trouble.
Thessalyn could sing her way to almost any place in the islands.
Shelts would not charge her a cowry, and they’d thank her for
coming. Normally, her blindness would not put her in much
danger—not in the company that would patronize her talents. The
title of minstrel gave her a great deal of protection as well,
especially to the devout or those who simply feared the gods.

“Yes,” he said carefully, “but I am making
enemies.”

Someone cleared his throat, and Gerard turned
to see Silveo standing at his elbow. “What he’s try to say in his
inarticulate fashion is that the world is not a safe place because
there are shelts like me in it.”

Gerard glared down at him.

Silveo kept looking at Thessalyn. “He’s right
about that. However, when it comes to me, he worries needlessly. I
would not harm someone so lovely—or, at least, I’d need a better
reason than Holovar.”

Thessalyn smiled. “Silveo Lamire?”

“For better or for worse.”

She crouched down so that she was on eyelevel
with him. Gerard’s fingers curled around the hilt of his sword, but
Silveo ignored him. Thessalyn put a hand out and went over Silveo’s
face lightly with her fingertips—her way of seeing someone. Silveo
didn’t flinch, even when her fingers danced around his eyes.

Thessalyn giggled. “As Gerard says—too much
kohl.”

Silveo grinned. “Is that all he says?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Her fingers whisked over his hat and
earrings. “You love pretty things, don’t you?”

“To a fault, as I’m sure your husband has
commented upon.”

Thessalyn smiled in the way she did when she
was about to say something funny—so that her whole face crinkled
up. “I think Gerard is pretty.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. Silveo seemed
momentarily startled, then barked a laugh. He kept laughing
helplessly for several seconds, then wiped a tear from his eye.
“Lady, you have rendered me completely without comment, and that’s
not an easy thing to do.”

“Please be nice to my husband, Admiral.”

“I have already told your husband what he
needs to do to procure my goodwill, although I see now why he
doesn’t want to do it.” Silveo reached into his pocket, and Gerard
reached for his sword again.

Silveo glanced at him and very deliberately
brought out a little tin. It turned out to contain some kind of
candy. He took out a piece and bit it in half. “Now, your husband
will note that I have eaten part of this to demonstrate its lack of
poison.” He handed the other half to Thessalyn. “It comes from the
Lawless Lands, and they sell it sometimes on Sern. I believe it’s
called chocolate.”

Thessalyn put the candy in her mouth and
chewed for a moment. She shut her eyes in expression of bliss.
“Hmm…”

Silveo handed her the tin. “If Holovar
wishes, I will bite them all in half, or he can. Otherwise, they’re
yours. Have a lovely time on Sern, Lady.”

Gerard watched him go, frowning. Flirtation
was the last thing he’d expected when Silveo crossed paths with
Thessalyn.
But I really don’t think he would hurt her.
The
idea filled him with immense relief.

Thessalyn interrupted his thoughts. “Is he
gone?”

“Yes. Well, he’s across the courtyard.”

“Is he always like that?”

Gerard snorted. “That was as gentle as I’ve
ever seen him.”

“He’s not all bad.”

“No. Only mostly.”

She hugged him again. “Are you less afraid
for me now?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s dance. I want to dance.”

She could dance very well, provided her
partner made certain they didn’t run into anyone. Several other
musicians had begun to play in the pavilion and they went round and
round in the twilight with the torches burning and fireflies
glowing over the grass.

Chapter 15. More
Talking

Cartographers disagree over whether the
Lawless Lands are an island or whether they are a large land mass
like the Pendalon mountains, which lie half a year’s journey to the
East. If the Lawless Lands are an island, then they are larger than
any in Wefrivain. They are sometimes called the Godless Lands by
the cult of the Priestess, because wyverns have not been able to
penetrate the interior.

—Gwain,
The Truth about Wyverns

Later, when Thessalyn had sat down to sing
and Gerard had been introduced to the magister, after he’d eaten,
after he’d been sitting alone, sipping a local wine, Silveo came
and sat down at his table. The admiral did not speak, but proceeded
to help himself to most of the small sweets. A moment later, Farell
and several of his captains walked by, talking loudly like shelts
who’d had too much to drink. Gerard thought they were all going to
sit down and make cunning, inappropriate remarks about his wife,
but Silveo waved them off. “Go play somewhere else; go on.
Grown-ups are talking.”

But we’re not talking,
thought Gerard.
We’re listening to Thess.
And as the thought occurred to
him, he realized it was true.

Silveo listened with absolute attention until
she finished the song. He shook his head. “I would
hate
to
make a creature like that cry, Holovar.”

“Then don’t,” said Gerard. He decided he’d
better eat the last of the sweets if he wanted any at all.

“Why in the name of all that’s holy couldn’t
you have waited?” asked Silveo.

Gerard was lost.

“On Holovarus—make her your mistress and then
when you were king, make her your wife? Or just poison your father
and be done with it!”

Gerard scowled.

Silveo waived a hand. “Oh, wait, don’t tell
me; that wasn’t honorable. It was more honorable to drag her into
exile and adopt a dangerous profession that will likely leave her a
widow. Then she’ll be totally without protection in this dangerous
world of ours. That was more honorable than keeping your intentions
a secret or poisoning your father.”

“I would have poisoned the
island deity,” spat Gerard, “if I had known how.”
Did I say that out loud? Perhaps I’m the one
who’s
had too much to drink.

Silveo’s eyebrows rose. “So, the rumors are
true. You did lose a child.”

Gerard said nothing, only
glared into his glass.
If you make a joke,
I will break your jaw, superior officer or not.

“Girl or boy?” asked Silveo.

“A girl,” whispered Gerard.

Silveo shook his head. “A shame, if she took
after her mother at all.” Gerard tried to decide whether this had
actually been a joke and if so whether it was worth breaking all
codes of conduct over. “Wyverns can be killed,” continued Silveo.
“I wouldn’t advise it, though. The gods hold long grudges.”

Gerard glanced at him. “I thought they were
invincible and immortal. Thess thinks so, and she’s studied on
Mance.”

Silveo shrugged. “They may be immortal in the
sense that they don’t sicken or age, but I know they can be killed.
We’ve found the pelts in Resistance hideouts.”

Gerard was fascinated. “You
found wyvern pelts?”
That would be a
sight.
Wyverns came in as many shades as
jungle butterflies, but they were all lustrous.

“Yes,” said Silveo sorrowfully. “The
Priestess made us burn them. They were splendid, though.”

Gerard laughed. “Wouldn’t let you make a hat,
eh?”

“Not even one. Now, tell me about your
supposed meeting with the infamous Gwain. I’ve chased him on and
off for years and never laid eyes on him, but dumb luck seems to be
your strong point, so maybe you really did see him.”

Gerard told Silveo about the teahouse and his
conversation with the shelt who called himself Flag. Silveo
interrupted when he got to the book and Flag’s explanation of it.
“Impossible. The phonetic is not a recognized form of writing in
any court in Wefrivain. No merchant vessel would dare keep records
in it. If they found themselves in a legal dispute, those records
would be useless.”

“Do you read the phonetic?” asked Gerard,
before he realized that he might be asking something insulting.

Silveo glared at him. “Of course I read it.
They use it all over Slag for unofficial purposes.” He hesitated.
“And if you’d like to learn, I have a couple of books on the
subject. Although…” He smiled sweetly. “I doubt you’ll be around
long enough.”

Gerard decided to ignore
that.
He must have taught himself
grishnard characters as an adult, or at least a teenager.
It was no mean accomplishment. He almost said so,
but decided Silveo would probably throw the compliment back in his
teeth. Instead, he finished his story about the teahouse. When he
got to the part where he asked the shelt’s name, Silveo
laughed.

“Flag. Oh, that’s cute.”

“What does it mean?” asked Gerard.

“You should ask Thessalyn. She’ll know, if
she’s the professional I take her for.”

“What does it mean?” Gerard repeated.

“Flag is a mythological hero from the very
old ballads. His stories are somewhat controversial. The originals
call Flag a servant of the Firebird who fought wizards and shape
shifters, but they also mention him killing wyverns.”

Gerard sat back. “Ah.”

“And
Defiance,”
continued Silveo, “is
definitely not a merchant vessel. I’d bet a heap of speckled
cowries it’s a pirate ship.” He shook his head. “How did he get
away?”

“He walked out of the teahouse. I couldn’t
think of a good reason to detain him.”

Silveo stared at Gerard.
“He
walked
out?
You just let him
walk away?”

“I didn’t know who he was. I just had a
general suspicion, and—”

Silveo groaned. “What was
the Priestess thinking? She has put a
lamb
in charge of the Police!
Holovar, you do not need a ‘good reason’ to detain
anyone!
You serve an
organization renowned for arresting shelts without a ‘good reason’!
Next time you get pricklies in your tail or twinges from whatever
passes for thought inside your head, take the shelts responsible
into custody. If you don’t have the stomach to question him, I
will!”

That’s exactly what I’m
afraid of
. “What did you do with the guard
on the warehouse?”

Silveo shrugged. “Took him inside, broke a
few fingers; he didn’t know anything. I think he really was just
hired to patrol.”

“And afterward?”

“Killed him, of course.”
Silveo watched Gerard’s expression. “I know you think I’m just
bloody-minded, but I’ve been doing this a long time. Acts of mercy
have a way of coming back to haunt you. If you question a
shelt—frighten him and hurt him—and then let him go, he will not
thank you for your mercy. He will hold a grudge. His family and
friends will hold a grudge, and they’ll have a name and face to go
with it. If you kill the shelt and you do a good job of it, his
family and friends may never even find the body, and they can never
be certain what happened.” He sipped his drink morosely. “There
were a few shelts on Sern who should have never let
me
go. They regretted it
very much in the end.”

“Was the magister one of them?” Gerard knew
he was treading on dangerous ground, but he was curious. The
magister had seemed as nervous as a cat in a cage when Gerard met
him. His hands fluttered like frightened birds, and he kept bowing
and simpering.

Silveo laughed. “No. But I put him where he
is, and I could take him away. He knows he’s here not because I
like him, but because I hate him less than any of the others
qualified for the job.”

So that’s it.
Gerard wondered whether the fear in Ocelon Town
had been fear of the Sea Watch in general or of Silveo in
particular.

“I left Sern a mess,” said Silveo, “but,
then, Sern left me a mess.” He spoke lightly, but Gerard detected
an undercurrent of pure rage. “I would set fire to the entire
island if I thought I could get away with it. Gods, I hate this
place.”

Gerard decided he’d better change the
subject. Silveo was suddenly drinking much too fast, and the little
ocelon servants kept refilling their glasses. Silveo spoke again
before Gerard could think of anything to say, “Do not think that
just because I’m talking to you you’re safe, Holovar. You should
not trust me. You really shouldn’t.”

Gerard watched Thessalyn re-tune her harp for
a new song. “You keep saying that.”

Silveo shook his head. “Yes, I must like you.
I’ve given you more than fair warning.”

Gerard surprised himself by saying, “You
didn’t give me much warning the first two times you tried to kill
me.”