Dragon's Bluff

12

“You slimy sack of rotten squid squeezings!”

“Squid squeezings? Squid squeezings!”

Lucy heard the words repeated in rising tones of rage. She hurried faster along the sidewalk. This was the second time in one day she had been forced to go to this particular gambling house to quell a disturbance. It was getting tiresome. She pushed open the swinging doors and marched inside, her face a mask of displeasure. To her silent gratification, the shouting in the crowded room suddenly stopped. Only the two quarrelers did not seem to notice her presence. They fought with fists and feet in a scrabbling pile on the floor. Lucy strode forward and wrenched the two fishermen apart. She had learned in her brief tenure as sheriff that common sense, fairness, firmness, and an unbreachable façade of self-confidence were the best measures to deal with the denizens of Flotsam. If she slipped with the slightest hint of self-abasement, they would chew her up and spit her out for fish bait. Once again her attitude paid off, for the two men looked up at her wide-eyed and made no more attempts to smash each other’s heads on the floor.

She stood, her feet apart, hands on her hips, and glared at the owner of the house. She wore what she considered to be her uniform, a dark blue pair of baggy pants, a loose, dark tunic belted at the waist, and her Vizier’s Turban, which took delight in matching its color with her mood. At that moment it was a somber shade of steel blue like a thundercloud. Its diamond eyes flickered with distant lightning.

“Andur,” she spoke sharply to the owner. “I will not tell you again. If you cannot keep the peace in your house, I will close it down.”

Andur, a thin short little man, bowed to her, although his sharp, narrow eyes watched her constantly. “I do apologize, Sheriff. My bouncer quit two days ago, and I have not been able to find another.”

“No more excuses. This is your business. You should be able to handle your own problems. If you need a bouncer, hire one of these louts.” She pointed to the fishermen on the floor. “They seem to have plenty of free time and muscle.”

“I’ll take it!” one of the men said eagerly. “I need another job.”

“No! I’ll take it!” his belligerent opponent insisted. This man had obviously had too much to drink. He pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying in front of Lucy, his expression bellicose.

Lucy curled her lip. If she had a match, she thought, she could set fire to his breath. “Step back,” she said calmly.

Instead he stepped closer and loomed over her like a large wall. She suddenly realized how big and solid this young man was, and how drunk. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary. Spittle dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, and he could barely stand upright. It seemed only his animosity kept him on his feet. “I don’ like you,” he slurred in a loud voice. “You come ’ere and start ord’rin’ people around. You’re a nuisance, a squeakin’ little female with a fancy hat. I could crush you like a bug.” So saying he drew back his fist.

The other fisherman lunged at him, but he was too far away to reach the man in time.

Lucy had only a second or two to react. She raised her hand and murmured her spell, praying to herself that it would work this time. She had practiced it time and again in the privacy of her room until the words and the manipulation of the power were instantaneous, yet in spite of all her practice, she could only make the spell work in about half the attempts. She would not know if it had worked this time until the man’s fist stopped or struck her. Using all of her self-control, she stood still and watched his huge knuckles coming toward her face.

She felt the Vizier’s Turban suddenly quiver, and the glorious flood of magic flowed through her, enhanced by the creature’s innate ability. Half a moment later the man slammed his fist into an invisible wall, mere inches away from her nose. A slow creamy smile spread across Lucy’s face. One never knew when a mage’s shield would come in handy.

The man’s features screwed up into a grimace of surprise and agony. Dumbfounded, he dropped to his knees in front of her, cradling his hand and blubbering. The crowd looked at her in awe.

Lucy felt the Vizier’s Turban snuggle closer around her head. If it had had vocal chords, it would have been purring. Instead, it thought to her, Nice spell. Good magic. May we do it again?

She reached up to tuck a strand of hair back under the turban and gave it an affectionate pat. Thank you, Vizier. We will try again soon. Although these silent conversations with her hat seemed odd, she was beginning to enjoy it.

The first fisherman reached his companion and hauled him to his feet. “I’m really sorry, Sheriff. He gets this way when he’s drunk.”

“If you want the job, get him out of here,” snapped Andur. “Then come back. We’ll talk.”

Lucy quickly dispelled her shield and gestured to the door. “Take him to the jail. Someone can look at his hand, then he can dry out in one of our cells.”

Laughter lightened the tension in the room. She nodded to the owner and strode outside into the early evening. It wasn’t until she had walked several blocks away that she ducked into a shadowy alley, leaned against a wall, and took a deep, cleansing breath. Oh, gods, what if that spell hadn’t worked?

She heard someone walk into the alley behind her and clear his throat. Startled, she pushed away from the wall and turned to face the interloper, her hand reaching for her dagger.

Lysandros touched his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute. His tanned face split in a wide grin, and he said, “Sorry to surprise you. Having a rough day?”

Lucy leaned back against the wall with a little laugh. “You wouldn’t believe. And I thought this job would be easy.”

“There’s nothing easy about this town.” He jerked a thumb toward the street. “Do you have time to take a break? There’s a little place around the corner that sells the best cider and fried pies.”

She nodded, grateful for his invitation. “I’d love some kefre. Surely this place won’t fall down in the next twenty minutes or so.” In the dim light of the alley she thought she saw a strange expression cross his face that looked to her like regret and pain, then it was gone and she wondered if she had seen it at all.

They walked side by side along the sidewalk to the next street over and, as the half-elf had promised, found a small bakery that sold fried pies, kefre, and cups of cooled cider. Taking their treats outside, they sat on a bench beside the shop where they could see the people passing back and forth and enjoying the cooler breeze from the sea.

“So tell me about your day,” Lysandros suggested.

Between bites of her pie, Lucy described her very long and stressful day. “We started this morning making visits to those people I had received complaints about—the widow and her grape-eating goats, the tenants with no rent, the merchants with the overweight scales … the list seemed endless. Then I had to sit on Mayor Efrim’s court and listen to more complaints. Then I had to stop several fist fights, arrest four drunks, and stop a horde of Khurs who thought it would be funny to gallop their horses down a busy street and scare everyone.” She shook her head. “I will never again take the town guards in Solace for granted.”

A faraway look came into his pale eyes. “Solace,” he murmured. “I’ve only been as far as Khuri-Khan. Tell me about Solace, and every place in between.”

So she did. While the night crept over the town and the lights and torches began to glow like stars, she told him about the vallenwoods and the town of Solace that grew up in the branches of the great trees. She described the Academy of Sorcery and its fall—without mentioning her connection to the Majere family—and she talked about Schallsea and Sanction and the long trek across the eastern wastelands. He sat enthralled, asking questions once in a while and gazing at her mobile face.

When she finally wound to a stop and sat quietly beside him, she felt much better. Her body had relaxed, and her mind had had a chance to look elsewhere for a while. She turned to thank him and saw again that strange look of regret.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, as if to himself.

“Talking and eating pies?” she exclaimed, astonished at his reaction. “It was your idea.”

Her words snapped him out of his reverie, and his charming smile came flashing back. “Not this at all, my Lady Sheriff. This has been a treat and a pleasure. Thank you. Nevertheless”—he bounced to his feet—“duty calls. I received word earlier today that another caravan is headed our way. We must leave to keep watch for it. I came to tell you that patrols have been sent out to seek word of your father, and if I hear anything, I will send word.” He bowed over her hand and strode away, his dark robes billowing in the night wind.

She watched him until his form disappeared in the darkness. What was that all about? Why did he seem upset about something? She climbed slowly to her feet and filed her concern away for later when she had the leisure to ponder it. Lysandros was an enigmatic, complicated character, and a busy one at that. Perhaps he would tell her in time what was bothering him.

“Lucy! Lucy!” A high-pitched, kender voice interrupted her thoughts. It was Pease, on duty with her that day. “Lucy, there you are!” he cried, sliding to a stop in front of her. “One of the shopkeepers caught two kender pocketing some of his wares. He wants you to arrest them this instant. I know them. They wouldn’t steal.” He grabbed her hand and tried to drag her along the street.

Lucy sighed, envisioning a long and vociferous argument between the aggrieved shop owner and the kender. There went her hopes for a quiet evening.

Lucy’s third and fourth day as the Sheriff of Flotsam went much like the first two. She was busy from sunrise to late in the night, when she could finally stagger to her bed in the Jetties and sleep for a few hours before starting again. The council and the mayor helped her as much as they could, and the Vigilance Force acted as invisible guards around the town, but there was only so much they could do. Most of the responsibility of keeping the peace fell on Lucy and her deputies. Challie had become her right hand, keeping notes, filing complaints, collecting fines, and running the organization of the Sheriff’s Office. Pease and his friend Cosmo were Lucy’s eyes and ears. They were familiar with almost all of the permanent residents of Flotsam. They recognized the strangers and knew almost everything that went on in the town. They also took care of the prisoners in the cells, brought food from the inn, and ran errands. Lucy didn’t know what she would have done without any of them.

In making her mental list of beings she was indebted to, she felt she should also include the bay horse and the Vizier’s Turban. The big bay from Sanction still favored his hip where the Dark Knight’s dagger wound was slowly healing, yet he carried Lucy without complaint and exhibited a resigned patience whenever she left him at a hitching post. She didn’t bother to tie him. She just flipped the reins over the bar and left him to wait, knowing he would still be there when she returned. He saved her hours of walking and served as a good listener when she needed someone to hear her complaints without interruption.

As for the turban, it served as a constant reminder to the townspeople of Lucy’s authority and power. More than one perpetrator backed down when faced with the turban’s glittering eyes and changing colors. To Lucy, its friendly, enthusiastic presence was a balm to her feelings whenever one too many irate persons yelled at her or called her some ugly name and she was tempted to let her fury explode. Not only could it sense her strong emotions, it seemed to have the ability to soothe them if it desired. Already, after only four days, she was ready to pledge her eternal gratitude to Notwen for his gift of the turban.

She tried not to think of Notwen and Ulin very often. They were always in the back of her mind, of course, but if she let them into the mainstream of her thoughts, they stayed there like large boulders, blocking everything else, and she found herself distracted, irritable, and intensely worried. She should have been used to Ulin’s absences by now, but she missed him this time more than ever before and yearned for his quiet, comforting presence. She could only hope he would return to her soon, with or without her father.

On the fifth day, the Silver Fox and his Force escorted another Khur caravan into Flotsam. The captain disappeared the moment the caravan hove into sight, but the populace turned out to greet the wagons and to visit the market where the Khurs unloaded their wares. This caravan originated in Khuri-Khan and carried predominantly Khurish goods: rugs, dried figs, olives, saddles, lengths of beautifully woven fabrics, pottery with the traditional blue motifs, and silver jewelry from the mountains. Lucy and her deputies had their hands full keeping the drunks in line, curbing the acquisitive tendencies of the kender, and ensuring that everyone followed the rules of the market.

To make matters more complicated, the Dark Knights returned.

Lucy saw them at the edge of the crowded market, riding their horses slowly along the perimeter. Knight Officer Venturin rode at the head of the Talon on a night-dark horse, her visage as grim and dark as her steed. None of the Knights wore armor in the heat of the day, but all were heavily armed and clad in leather cuirasses. The people in the crowded street made way before them.

The Knight officer seemed to be looking for someone, and Lucy did not need a crystal ball to figure out who. Quickly, she pulled off the turban and thrust it into Challie’s arms. “Take this and get out of sight,” she hissed.

The dwarf barely had time to dodge behind a laden wagon before the Dark Knight spotted Lucy, wrenched her horse around, and rode it into the busy market irrespective of the people and goods underfoot. Lucy hurried to meet them, hoping to cut them off before they caused too much damage. Taking her cue from her last meeting with the Talon leader, she bowed low before Knight Officer Venturin.

Venturin’s mouth twisted into its habitual sneer. “I see you are still playing your charade of sheriff.”

“Yes, Knight Officer.” Lucy kept her eyes on the ground. She felt such an intense desire to plaster this Knight with one of those flaming potatoes that she was relieved she did not have one. The temptation would have been too hard to resist.

The Knight made no move to dismount. She sat on her horse, and her eyes swept the faces of the people around them. Most of the market-goers moved away to avoid the Knights, while those close by studiously ignored them and maintained masks of occupied innocence. Knight Officer Venturin snorted, a sound short and unpleasant, and turned back to the woman standing in front of her. “We are looking for a man, a half-elf to be exact.”

Lucy shrugged. “There are several of that blood around here.”

The Dark Knight spurred her horse forward until she forced Lucy back against a cart. Drawing her sword, she leaned past the horse’s neck and shoved the point at Lucy’s throat. “Don’t be stupid,” she suggested in cold tones. “I am looking for the leader of the resistance in this area. He is tall, fair-haired, and goes by the name of Lysandros. I have heard from my sources that he has a liking for you.”

Lucy could not hide a start of surprise. She guessed the half-elf harbored feelings for her of some kind, but to realize the Knights of Neraka knew about it alarmed her.

Venturin chuckled. “So it is true, to some extent at least. I will keep that in mind. Meanwhile, little sheriff, remember this: There is a price on his head. You can profit from that knowledge or suffer. The penalty for aiding a fugitive is death.”

Lucy could only nod. The black horse fidgeted under his tight rein, bringing his hooves very close to her feet. His hot breath fanned her face, and his heavy muzzle was only inches away from her nose. The edge of the cart pressed painfully into her back.

Venturin laughed and jabbed the tip of her sword just enough to pierce the skin on Lucy’s neck, then she backed the horse several steps. “If Lysandros shows his face in this town, just hoist a flag from your city hall. My spies will see it and send me word. It is worth your miserable little life to obey.”

Lucy bowed again without saying a word. Wheeling their horses, the Dark Knights rode out of the marketplace and back to the road. “Challie!” Lucy called. “Find Pease and have him tell the kender to keep an eye on those Knights. I want to know where they go and when they leave town.” Challie nodded, tossed the turban back to her, then hurried away to find Pease.

The tension slowly eased, and the noise and bustle of the market resumed. People crowded around Lucy, talking to each other and congratulating her for avoiding trouble with the Dark Knights.

“You’d better hoist that flag,” a hoarse voice murmured in her ear.

Her brows lowered, she turned to the speaker and saw a bearded man in fisherman’s clothes standing close behind her. Fish scales clung like iridescent raindrops to his arms and stained leather apron, and his clothes stank of fish and bait. It wasn’t until she lifted her gaze to his pale blue eyes and saw the laughter in their depths that she realized who he was: Lysandros.

“She said, ‘If Lysandros shows his face in this town …’ ” Lucy replied tartly. “Well, I don’t see Lysandros’s face, only the ugly mug of a fisherman who presumes to give advice to the Sheriff of Flotsam.”

“Well spoken, Sheriff,” drawled the fisherman. “Cripes, but you’re a cool one around that Knight.”

Lucy sniffed her disdain. “She’s just lucky I didn’t have a potato handy.”

Lysandros grinned at her for a moment, then he sobered and remarked, “I heard what she said.”

“The fact that someone close enough to you to know your feelings is reporting to the Dark Knights bothers me.”

“Not the fact that I hold deep feelings for you?” he asked.

The even tone of his voice made her uncomfortable, for she could not tell if he was joking or totally serious. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and said, “I hope those feelings are like mine, the affection for a good friend.”

He stared into the green depths of her gaze and saw the unshakable truth of her words. She offered nothing more. He nodded once and turned away before she could recognize the disappointment in his heart. Perhaps, considering the future, that was for the best. He took a step back from her. “A very good friend,” he agreed. “So stay out of the path of those Knights, if you can.”

“You, too,” she replied. “And watch your back.”

He moved to go, changed his mind, and turned back. “What would you say to having pies and cider with a friend tonight? Same place?”

She lifted the turban to her head and set it in place. Lysandros noted with satisfaction that the symbiotic creature turned a pale shade of blue, a contented color. It wasn’t a hot, passionate red, but it was better than, say, a fiery orange or an angry black. Lucy tucked her thumbs into her belt and assumed a slouching pose. “I’d have to say yes. See you at dusk.” She swaggered off into the crowd to meet the next crisis.

Captain Fox watched her until her blue-clad figure was lost in the throng.