The Lords of Valdeon (17 page)

Riley whistled low. "Did you know him, Tom?"

"Regular army like me doesn’t mix with rangers, Little Whiskers. If you’d ever been up close to one, you’d know why. Now, come on. I’m likely to die of thirst!"

"Why would a raider from Amity Island confuse you with a Valdeonian ranger?" Riley put a hand on Seth's arm, slowing their pace until they fell behind the group. "I know you could pass for Valdeonian. Now, don't be angry. I’m just saying your hair and eyes are darker than the average islander. Maybe your mother’s people had a little Valdeonian in them? You certainly don’t look anything like old Fussbottom."

Seth looked away. Maybe his dark features hadn’t come from his mother. What if he looked more like her Edmund? Perhaps he truly was the bastard son of this Valdeonian.

"Let's go to Paddy’s. I could do with a little peace."

Riley bumped his arm and started back toward the west. His brothers, intent upon their thirst for a pint, continued on toward the Haven Bay Pub. Seth joined his best friend without an argument. He was in no mood for laughing crowds either. His mind was unsettled with bits and pieces of clues to his parents' past. He needed perspective from the one person he could trust in this new world of lies and secrets. Pulling the golden coin out of his pocket, he handed it to Riley.

His friend held it up against the light and examined both sides before handing it back to Seth. "What is it besides a sum greater than our farm makes in a year?"

"I found it this morning when I was searching the fields where the raiders ambushed me. According to one of the books in the school library, that beast is a gargoyle. It represents a Tslavian family by the name of Von Wolkhurst."

"They must be pretty well off to have a gold coin made for them." Riley rubbed at the back of his neck and shook his head. "Why would these Von whoever they are want to have you killed?"

The time had come to put their friendship to the test. Many would turn away from him if he disclosed what he was going to share with Riley. Bastards were either claimed by their fathers or shunned and forced to leave the island. What would the elder do if he found Seth's father was alive and Anne McCloud had given birth to his child without the vows? Swallowing hard, ready for the hurt, he mustered his courage. He needed Riley's common-sense point of view. Heaven help him, but a part of Seth very much wanted to believe his mother's old lies.

"My father isn't dead," he began. "On the day she died, my mother told me his name was Edmund. I believe he is one of the rangers from Valdeon Tom mentioned."

Riley looked down at his boots and rubbed at the back of his neck again. His best friend had a gift for speaking plainly and honestly. The trait made him someone most people readily trusted. It also made him a horrible liar.

"You knew? And you didn't tell me?"

"It wasn't my fault! I overheard my parents and Emma talking to the doctor. Dad said your mother told him their families didn't approve of their relationship. Well, and then Paddy caught me listening and Dad threatened to give me a good wallop if I told you."

Seth kicked angrily at a rock upon the row. "I wonder what else they're not telling me, like why he left?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Emma wrote to a friend of your mother's to ask her to help find your dad."

Perhaps his father had already visited Haven Bay and knew of his son? The ranger who saved him the night of the attack was a mystery. Memories of his voice were just beyond Seth's recollection, but his words had held little sentiment.

"What about the Tslavian family on the coin? Who do you think they are?"

"It's possible they are enemies of my father. Or perhaps they are my mother's people?"

Two large airships floated in the sunset above their heads. Another was moored upon the docks stretching over the cliffside. Three ships, foreign from the look of their build, visiting their tiny island upon the same day had drawn a crowd. Seth and Riley joined the curious spectators against the railings of the empty corral. In springtime, the pen was used to keep livestock awaiting transportation to and from Marianna.

"Can you tell where they're from?" Riley blocked the sunlight with his hand, straining with the rest to see.

"Those are trade vessels from the UR. They don't belong to any one country." Teb hobbled over to join them.

Seth waved a greeting, careful to keep his gaze off Teb's empty left trouser leg. He'd lost it in a war when serving in the UR Army. Many said Teb didn't seem to notice its absence. He was as full of life as the day he’d left Haven Bay for the mainland.

"Dock master says there's a storm between Larkspur Isle and the mainland. Supposed to be a sail ripper. A few ships had to be routed to Marianna until it passes." Teb pointed at the hovering ship preparing to dock. "Don't know what the Portsmouth vessel is doing this far from home though."

Sailors from the docked trade ship filed out of the port. Their disappointed expressions were almost comical. They were entering Seth's mundane world, but at least these lucky few could escape soon. One of them, an older man with silver hair and a face pocked by weather, let out a curse.

"Fighting wind and sea would be better than wasting away from lack of drink on this rock."

The man was a Tslavian. Seth swept his intense gaze over every inch of the old man. Heart beating quickly, he waited for any betraying sign of a disguise. Old eyes caught him staring. Hatred filled them.

"What are you staring at, Valdeonian pig?" The Tslavic insult hurled brutally from his mouth.

"I am an islander, sir." Seth gripped the railing tightly, forcing the anger down. His mother's killer could be standing before him right now.

"Is there a problem?" Teb, unable to understand the Tslavic tongue, gave Seth a puzzled look as he waited for the translation.

"Our guests need a lift to Paddy's." Seth kept his voice steady and forced a smile.

Teb nodded agreeably and hurried to his wagon with the sailors following. Seth stood away from the railing, watching the wagon roll toward the west. The Tslavian sailor met his gaze with an ugly sneer; then he turned away toward the promise of food and drink.

Riley knew Seth too well to be easily fooled. "What is it? What did he say to you?"

"That old sea dog recognized me, Riley. Or at least recognized me as a Valdeonian. He could be Sandor in disguise."

"What do we do now?"

Seth began the long walk toward Paddy's. "We follow him. I want to know if he's been here before."

Chapter Twelve

Light from Paddy's Inn cast box shadows upon Main Row. Laughter escaped the busy common room to echo in the night air. Three ships had brought thrice the business for Paddy and Teb. They rushed about on the warm side of the window to serve food and drink to their eager guests. Seth stomped his feet to chase the chill of the night air out of his bones. He wished they'd decided to spy on their quarry from inside the pub.

"Look at him in there, the old boozer." Riley pulled his cloak tighter about his body. "He's picked that place beside the window to spite us."

His friend did have a point. The old sea dog had remained where he was for hours, not moving to join his fellow crewmen. Occasionally he'd look out the window, smile, and then return to his drink. The other sailors left the old man alone, not wasting so much as a wave upon him. The harsh lines of his face and the curve of his frown discouraged such pleasantries.

"He’s leaving, and about time too." Riley slapped at Seth's arm. "Great gulls. Frost has formed on the trees while we've watched him swill his drink. I should be home in a warm bed rather than following some filthy old drunk."

The sailor swung open the door to the common room and leisurely descended the stairs. Stretching his arms wide in a yawn, he stood upon the bottom step and took a deep breath. Then he began wandering in the direction of the docks. Hiding places were scarce on the stretch of road between Paddy's and town. They let the sailor move a good distance ahead before stepping out of their hiding spot to follow. It wasn't a challenge to keep up. The sailor kept to a slow pace, pausing now and again to kick at a stray rock.

Then a gust of breeze struck Seth's face. It carried the faint smell of citrus and spices. In that moment he remembered his mother. Each winter upon the Festival of the New Year's Birth, she'd somehow obtain a small jar of candied orange slices for the celebration. Their scent was distinctive, like the aroma he smelled now. Pausing on the road, he sniffed again. The scent had faded.

Torchlight danced against the midnight horizon. The airship port loomed ahead, rising in the night like a fleshless bird perched upon the cliffs. Seth froze on the row as the sailor’s silhouette paused in the gateway. Crouching down slightly, the Tslavian sailor seemed to be preparing for something. Then he spun around quickly to face the Main Row.

Seth pulled Riley down with him as he fell to his belly upon the row. The old sailor stood in his crouch, eyes sweeping across the empty fields. Holding his breath, Seth waited as the moments ran by. Then the sailor lifted his arms over his head and took a deep breath. He disappeared inside the docks, leaving them sprawled upon the ground.

"Great gulls!" Riley wiped at the mud splattered across his cloak.

"Hush." Seth covered Riley’s mouth with his muddy hand. "Sorry."

Crawling quickly to the side of the row, they tumbled into the darkness. More torches were mounted on each side of the gateway. Their circles of light overlapped in the center, ready to catch anyone sneaking onto the docks. While no high fences bordered the port, light and a vigilant militia were enough to discourage mischief. The threat kept most trespassers out, except for the youth of Haven Bay. It was a badge of honor to sneak through the back of the port and under its platforms. Tonight, however, they didn't have the option. The sailor was getting away. Sneaking around back would take too long. Seth didn't want to lose his best lead.

"If we’re quick enough, maybe he won’t see us. If we run I mean."

Riley pointed toward the far corner of the airship port. "We'll have no place to run if the law sees us."

Constable McTavish strolled along the road, absorbed in the pipe he was puffing upon. A bludgeon hung down the side of his uniform, bumping against his leg. The constable adjusted the barrel of his musket upon his shoulder. He was taking no chances this night. A full port was good for Haven Bay businesses, but too many strangers could mean trouble for the law. He pivoted upon his heals and headed back toward the cliffs.

"Coming, Riley?"

"Might as well. I've gone mad already staying out this late. Let’s go."

Racing silently across the empty row, they plunged into the torchlight. Completely exposed for a few moments, Seth held his breath. He pushed through the gateway and didn’t stop running until they were safely in the shadows of the pilings along the dock. Two levels of platforms hung above their heads. The docks, seemingly deserted except for lone sentries upon the nearest ship's deck, stretched out across the waters. The entire structure was still. Someone who knew these docks could hide in a thousand places. Seth had spent many a day here, hiding from his uncle among the cargo and rigging.

A strike, hard and excruciating, struck Seth's shoulder. It sent sparks of pain shooting across his eyes. Riley hit the ground beside him. The Tslavian sailor stood over them. A crooked sneer forced its way upon his chapped lips as he bounced the pipe in his palm.

"You’ve been shadowing me all night, Valdeonian pig. What do you want?" He poked the end of the pipe toward Seth. "Come, D’Antoiné, what have my comings and goings to do with you?"

Seth regarded the sailor before him, examining his movements and gestures. He must be Sandor. How many Tslavians visited Marianna and were so familiar with his father's people?

"I want your name. Are you Pavel Sandor?"

All expression fell from the sailor’s face in a wave of white. "How do you know that name?"

He gave no answer, staring blankly instead at the surprise and fear upon the old man's face. Disappointment conquered any fear in Seth's heart. He'd been ready for denials, certainly not genuine shock. This sailor's journey to Marianna had been by chance, not by design.

"You think I’m Sandor?" His cackle came back in fits as he lowered the pipe. "If Sandor wants you dead, boy, then I would finish your business and prepare for the everlasting. Maybe I’ll take care of you for him? We’ll call it an act of patriotism."

The old sailor cackled louder, spinning the metal pipe. His fast-moving strike belonged to a much younger man. The pipe came down hard, whistling inches above Seth’s head. He flattened his body upon the ground and kicked at the man’s legs.

"You little mule."

The sailor reached into his boot and pulled out a knife. Brandishing it before him, he made ready to throw it at Seth's heart. Then a sudden gust of wind brought a dark shadow between them. It lifted as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a faint aroma of citrus. The knife was no longer in the sailor's hand. Eyes wide, he seemed as stunned as Seth.

"What goes on here?"

Constable McTavish came toward them from the darkness, musket held firmly in his hands. Intense eyes stared at them from within a hard face. Another person outside of Seth's household remembered the recent kidnapping and violent murder it would seem. He eased slowly to his feet and put his hands in the air. Riley followed his careful movements. A friend could easily be mistaken for an enemy in the darkness.

"Thieves, Constable! They tried to jump me. I'm an old man, an easy mark to their eyes. What choice did I have, but to defend myself?" The sailor tossed the pipe aside.

"Why, it’s Seth McCloud and Riley Logan. What in the green, green fields are you boys doing here this time of night?"

The sailor let out a pitiful groan and began to gesture wildly. "I'll have no justice now. I’m a poor old man just trying to make a living. These two boys try to rob me, and it is I who will be arrested because they are friends of the constable! Who will give a poor old man justice?"