Volcrian's Hunt (The Cat's Eye Chronicles) (16 page)

Any of these symptoms could be connected to the plague. Especially the blackened nails, the flaking skin. She had treated the illness first in livestock, receiving numerous complaints that chickens' beaks were turning black, their feathers falling out. Then the chickens would start attacking each other, eating one another, turning cannibalistic. The plague moved from the flesh to the mind. The hosts became crazed, erratic, violent.

When the disease spread to the farmers, she knew something was amiss. An illness rarely afflicted more than one species, especially where livestock was concerned.

“You look troubled,” a voice reached her. It was unexpected. Lori gave a start, surprised out of her reverie.

She turned, her eyes landing on a redheaded man of medium height and build. Around her own age, handsome, with a square jaw and quizzical blue eyes. His hair was tied back at the base of his neck. He wore a silky blue shirt that shimmered in the light of the chandeliers, smooth as water. A wide belt cinched his pants at the waist, which were soft brown in color, snug, perhaps leather or deer hide. A single gold ring adorned his lower lip, pierced through the center.

Lori was only five feet tall, so even if the man was of medium build, he was still a hand or two taller than she. And, by the look of him, he was a Dracian.

She frowned, staring a bit too long. “Perhaps I need another drink,” she said, lifting the corners of her mouth.

The Dracian sat at the bar next to her and nodded to the waitress. “Maria, two shots of rum.”

“I don't drink rum,” Lori said. “I'll do with a glass of wine.”

The Dracian nodded to the barmaid, who winked at him in turn. “On the house, Lucas.” Then she turned to get their drinks.

Lori looked at the man.
On the house, huh?
Was he a pirate? Probably. He seemed like a regular. Perhaps he was a resident of the city—and maybe he knew something about their book. She wondered if Ferran was having any luck at the craps tables. Her old friend had taken up a few games, claiming that men's tongues loosened after a few drinks. He planned to snoop around, but he had been gone a long time. He was probably doing more playing than snooping. She had lost sight of him in the crowded room.

“So what brings you to Sonora?” the man said casually.

Lori had her guard up—as much as she could, after a half-tankard of ale. “Sightseeing,” she said bluntly.

“Ah...and have you seen much yet?” he grinned at her disarmingly.

“Just got in tonight.”

“Hmm. New then? First time to the city?”

Lori watched him carefully. It probably showed on her. Despite being a peasant, she was better dressed than most of the women in the bar. Her white shirt was buttoned up to her neck, her green skirts long and flowing, reaching just above the ankle. All of her clothes were newly stitched and clean. “Aye,” she said softly. “First time.”

Lucas nodded. “I pegged you for a newcomer,” he said. Then he leaned in close. “You look mighty uncomfortable, sitting at this bar by yourself. A pretty lady like you shouldn't be here unescorted.”

Lori was surprised at this. Admittedly, she hadn't been trying to blend in. She had figured that in a tavern this size, no one would notice. But apparently this man had. What else did he know?

“Actually,” she said, deciding to lay her cards on the table, “I'm a rare book collector. I hear there are a few books in this city that might be hard to find elsewhere.”

Lucas sat back. In one smooth motion, he turned to the bar and picked up his shot. Lori was surprised. She hadn't noticed the drinks arrive.
Maybe I'm further gone than I thought.
He took the shot of rum in one quick toss to the back of his throat, then slammed the glass down and signaled for another one.

“Rare books?” he said, glancing at her. “Can't say I've seen many around here. Mayhap you haven't noticed, but pirates aren't the type to read.”

Lori quirked the corners of her mouth up, a teasing smile. “Yes, but they are the type to steal. I figured I'd try my luck.”

“Sonora is certainly a city of luck,” the man muttered.

Lori turned and picked up her glass of wine. She wondered what this man was doing here. He didn't look like a lowly sea-scarred pirate. No, if he was a sailor, he was mighty well-off. Or knew how to loot. That shirt couldn't be cheap.

“Do you know this city well?” she asked casually.

Lucas searched her face curiously. “Aye,” he murmured. “A permanent resident, you could say.”

“Then would you know anyone who has an interest in old artifacts?” she asked. Lucas appeared to hesitate.
I have to make him talk somehow.
She pulled her hair back off her neck, fanning herself as though hot while allowing him to see the smooth curve of her neck and shoulder.

When she turned back to him, he was assessing her with his eyes, a pleased expression on his face. She saw his gaze flicker down, then up, making his intentions obviously clear.

“Old artifacts, you say?” He leaned in closer, a flirtatious smile perched on his lips. “The owner of this establishment is a collector, in fact. 'Tis an expensive hobby, you know.”

The owner? Lori suddenly wondered if Ferran knew this. Perhaps it wasn't such a coincidence that they had come to the
Aurora.
Not only was it the biggest tavern in the city, but it was owned by a collector of rare and ancient artifacts. She felt slightly irritated. Of course Ferran must have known. His luck wasn't that good.
He should have told me.

“And how does one go about meeting the owner?” she asked.

Lucas frowned. The question made him uncomfortable; she could tell by how his eyes shifted. “You don't,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Aye...Captain Silas is not a kind man. And he likes blond women, perhaps a bit too much. You wouldn't want to catch his eye. You've come to a dangerous place, Miss...?”

“Lori,” she said.

“Lori,” he echoed. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

“You are rather well-mannered for a pirate,” she smiled.

“Wasn't always a pirate.” He raised his shot to her. “A toast?” he asked.

“To what?”

“To good luck.” He tipped his shot back, and Lori took a sip of her red wine, allowing the bold flavor to linger on her tongue. It burned on the way down, leaving a warm knot in her belly.

There was a sudden crash from the side of the room. Lori jumped, surprised. She turned to look over her shoulder and spotted a card table tipped on its side, with several men standing around it, arguing. She let out a long breath. One of the men was a head taller than the rest, long and lanky, athletic—Ferran.

“Goddess,” she muttered, staring at him. The crowd of women had somewhat dispersed, but several still hung around the table, their voices rising in Ferran's defense. The other sailors looked furious. She heard the words “cheating” and “check his sleeves.”

She sighed to herself. Couldn't he play fair at least once? She wondered if she would have to step in and rescue her friend from his own reckless stupidity, but she was on to something with Lucas, and she couldn't let him go, not yet.

Lucas watched her face. “So you know Ferran?” he asked quietly.

Lori turned back to him, taken off-guard. Of course Ferran would be recognized in a pirate city. She should have expected that.
Goddess! Does his depravity know no bounds?

She gave him a small smile. “An acquaintance,” she said. “We just met.”

“Ah,” he murmured. He nodded to the barmaid, who immediately put another drink in front of him—a tankard of ale, the high-end stuff.

Three drinks and no charge. He had to be someone important. Lori looked at him curiously. “I want to meet your captain,” she said bluntly. She might have slurred a bit. She hoped not.

Lucas turned back to her, his eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“Captain Silas, right?” she said. Her eyes glinted. He looked shocked. “Your drinks are on the house, you're wearing that ridiculous shirt—your captain owns this place, I'm guessing.”

Lucas blanched.

Her grin widened.

Then he shook his head, a strained smile alighting his face. “You're an observant woman, Miss Lori.”

“And I take it you're an observant man,” she said back.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I like to know who is visiting the
Aurora
. Particularly any new and attractive faces.” He held her eyes, and she was surprised to feel a blush creeping into her cheeks.

She shook her head, unwilling to flirt. “Take me to see your captain,” she repeated.

“Impossible,” Lucas replied, but his grin became magnetic, secretive.

There was another crash from the side of the room—an overturned chair. The argument was escalating. Lori saw one of the sailors take a threatening step forward, pointing at Ferran's face. Her friend had his hands up, showing his sleeves. By his sly grin, she assumed he was trying to talk them down.

Lori turned back to the Dracian. “What would it take to meet him?” she continued.

“Nothing. I won't do it.” Lucas shook his head solidly. “Captain Silas is a smarmy, disingenuous sea dog. Everyone in Sonora fears his name. He's captured over a hundred merchant vessels, sold all of his captives into slavery. Once, he beheaded a man just for mispronouncing his name. Trust me, you wouldn't like him, and...” Lucas gave her a playful look. “He might not let you leave this city after laying eyes on you.”

“I can pay you,” Lori said, reaching for her bag of coins.

The man pursed his lips. “No, no, that won't do.”

Lori frowned.
Captain Silas has our book, I know it.
She knew it as surely as the symptoms of smallpox. But how else could she meet this pirate captain? Asking was getting her nowhere.

A thought occurred. It was spontaneous, a little risky. But hell, she was on her third drink, and perhaps Ferran was right. Maybe she needed to trust her gut and live in the moment.

She met Lucas' eyes sweetly. She smiled.

Then she pulled back her fist and punched him in the face.

Lucas fell backward out of his chair. Lori leapt after him, pulling him up by his silky blue collar. She punched him again, squarely in the nose.

Then, automatically, thirty men stood from their seats. A strange hush fell over the front of the tavern. Lori looked up, surprised to see so many pirates standing, staring at her, drawing their weapons. They were a gruesome lot, weathered faces and bright gold piercings. They were all marked with identical tattoos on their necks—a small anchor with a star beneath it.

Lucas stumbled to his feet, one hand clutching his nose, blood staining his pretty blue shirt. He held up his other hand to the men, palm open. “Stop,” he said. “Dammit, everyone stop!” He paused a bit longer, his eyes closed. “You broke my nose!” he finally said, then glared at Lori.

She raised an eyebrow. “It's not broken,” she said knowingly. “But I will break it if you don't take me to Captain Silas right now.”

“You infuriating woman,” he breathed, still holding his nose. His face was turning red. “
I'm
Captain Silas and this is
my
establishment!”

Lori gawked, horrified. She looked around. Everyone was staring at her—all of the men at the bar, the barmaids, the serving girls. They were pale as ghosts.

Silas glared at her harder, then turned on his heel. “Bring her,” he said, flicking his wrist, then he stalked across the floor toward the roped-off staircase.

Immediately three brutes left the table closest to her. The patrons at the bar scuttled away, giving the men a large berth. Lori looked at the sailors disdainfully. She could have laid them flat out—considered it for a moment—but she needed to talk to the captain. Perhaps this situation could work in her favor.

“No need,” she said stiffly. “I'm coming.” She stood from her seat and followed the captain up the stairs.

Silas paused on the landing, turning to address his men. “And bring me Ferran Ebonaire!” he snarled.

Lori's eyes widened. She looked back at Ferran across the crowded room. He gave her a quick smile and then bowed out of his game, nodded farewell to his female entourage, and turned to greet the approaching sailors.

“Now, now,” he said amiably. “No need to use force.”

Lori turned back to the staircase and closed her eyes. Ferran Ebonaire. He had never mentioned his surname before. They had known each other for eighteen years, and never once had she heard him speak it.
Ebonaire.
Why hadn't he told her?

* * *

The third deck of the
Aurora
was something like a concert hall. A large stage stood at the far end, hidden by long red velvet curtains, perhaps forty feet high. Intricate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, far larger and grander than the chandeliers on the floors below. The majority of the light in the room, however, came from wall sconces lit by torches. Countless wooden tables covered the floor, each circular in shape with four or five red-velvet armchairs positioned around them. This was definitely a room for entertaining high-end guests, but for now it was empty.