The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers Read online

  Chapter 10. Silveo Gives Advice

  The islands of Wefrivain were once home to a rich variety of shelts and creatures, and there is evidence that they once lived and worked (and sometimes fought) on equal terms. However, grishnards eventually subjugated all the other races. They believe that panauns (shelts with paws) are the natural rulers of fauns (shelts with hooves) and nauns (shelts with neither hooves nor paws). Grishnards believe that fauns are fit food for panauns. However, grishnards were not the only panauns in old Wefrivain. Wolflings once inhabited the islands, too, and the grishnards slowly eradicated them as competitors. Foxlings were more circumspect, more willing to serve and work with the grishnards, so they were allowed to survive, though viewed as a lesser species. Their animal counterparts did not fare so well and have been largely exterminated from all but the deepest jungle. A few pockets of other rare panauns still exist on some islands, such as the ocelons of Sern.

  —Gwain, The Non-grishnards of Wefrivain

  The traditional residence of the Captain of Police was, indeed, a humble place compared to the homes of most government officials in Dragon’s Eye, but there was a small griffin nest house and a garden. Thessalyn began at once to memorize the layout of the rooms, and Gerard knew that by the time he returned, she would be navigating the house as though she could see. He asked Marlo Snale to look in on her daily and buy anything she required. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

  Gerard debated over whether he should take any Police with him to Sern and if so, how many. He was appalled to learn from Marlo that the Police currently consisted of only fifty-five individuals. In the past, their numbers had ranged from five hundred to more than four thousand, with offices on several islands. Gerard’s fears of inheriting a bloodthirsty army of thugs were replaced by fears of inheriting a tiny band of ineffectual cowards. It seemed to him that the only Police to survive their service in recent years were the lazy, the young, and the incompetent. Those the Resistance didn’t think worth killing.

  His officers consisted of three wardens, who currently commanded less than twenty shelts each. I had better get to know them, he decided. Now is as good a time as any. So, very early that morning, he sent a messenger to each of their homes with orders to report to the dock prepared for a journey to Sern by the first watch of the day.

  He left Marlo Snale in charge of the Police on Lecklock, in spite of his ardent protests. (“I have never wanted to be an officer, sir.” “With all respect, I am too inexperienced for this, sir.” “Sir will please note that I take this position under protest.”)

  “I’ll be gone for a red month at most,” said Gerard. “As far as I can tell, you’ve been in the Police longer than anyone and, you know how they work. Besides, there are no prisoners in the dungeon and virtually nothing to do. You’ll spend more time running errands for Thessalyn than managing the Police.” As an afterthought, he add, “Should you become bored, you have my permission to do some recruiting.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Marlo miserably.

  Gerard kissed Thessalyn good-bye and left his new house about mid-morning. He did not think Silveo could possibly sail before noon on such short notice, and if he had somehow gotten away earlier, Gerard would catch up on Alsair.

  “I wonder what our dear admiral thinks about going to Sern,” said the griffin as they flew low over the rooftops of Dragon’s Eye. “Home sweet home, eh? Shall we ask him the way to the best restaurants?”

  “Only if we want our throats cut,” said Gerard. In the time he’d been sailing with Silveo, they’d visited every one of the great island kingdoms except Sern. A small, mean part of his mind hoped Silveo was uncomfortable. If he’d left my prisoner alone, we wouldn’t have to go there now.

  When he reached the dock with his three bleary-eyed wardens, he found that only the Fang was intended to sail to Sern. This meant that he would have no choice but to sail with Silveo and Farell.

  Farell was the lieutenant who commanded that ship, and one of Silveo’s sycophants. Gerard suspected they were sleeping together, though he had never cared enough to puzzle it out. Silveo was sexually omnivorous and as restless as the sea, the only common denominator in his relationships being that they always involved shelts over whom he had complete control. This disgusted Gerard.

  “Ah, and here are the Police,” said Silveo brightly as they came onboard, “come to bring order to the vessel! I see you’re already whipping them into shape, Holovar.”

  Gerard glanced at his wardens. One of them—the one he’d met in the prison foyer yesterday—looked as though he might already be drunk. Of the other two, one was hardly older than Marlo Snale, and the other was a white-haired shelt of perhaps seventy who looked mildly confused and was wearing boots that didn’t match.

  “What makes you think we have enough extra victuals for these mouths,” asked Silveo, “useful as they appear.”

  “I sent a messenger early this morning,” said Gerard stiffly. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t have enough food. Silveo and his crew ate like kings aboard ship. It was one of the things the sailors liked about him. “The Priestess ordered us to come,” he added, in case that helped.

  Silveo looked doubtful. “She may have ordered you to come. These fine specimens, on the other hand—”

  “They will do their part aboard ship,” snapped Gerard. “I know you can always use more deckhands.”

  His wardens looked alarmed. Gerard guessed they had not served on a ship in a very long time, if ever.

  “Deckhands,” repeated Silveo. “Why not? They’re breathing and everything. Farell, give them assignments.” He turned back to Gerard, his pale blue eyes bright with scorn against his black kohl. “And yourself, Captain? What do you intend to do aboard ship?”

  “‘Myself’ would rather be employed than idle,” retorted Gerard. What are you going to do? Make me mend sails like a seamstress?

  Silveo must have taken Gerard’s words to heart, for he proceeded to make certain that Gerard was, indeed, idle. No one would let him help with anything. He was housed in one of the guest cabins, away from the regular sailors with whom he’d served the last year. His new position, combined with Silveo’s apparent orders, made his old comrades shy and awkward around him, and his placement on the ship isolated him.

  Gerard should have been taking his meals with Silveo and Farrell, but they did not invite him, and he did not ask. Instead, he dined alone in his cabin with Alsair. Without the griffin’s company, he would have been lonely indeed. They made long forays away from the ship, hunting on nearby islands and visiting small towns. Alsair seemed entirely pleased with the arrangement, but Gerard was not. He had spent half his life sailing, rowing, and fishing. None of his previous vessels had been as large as the Fang, but he’d certainly not come aboard her ignorant of ropes, sails, knots, or navigation. Gerard was a good sailor. He was willing to be useful, even to Silveo, and the waste of his time and talents chafed him.

  Late on the night of the tenth day, he came out of his cabin (lack of activity made it difficult for him to sleep), and found Silveo alone on the quarterdeck. The rail was about the right height for him to cross his arms and rest his chin there. In keeping with his new policy, Silveo completely ignored Gerard when he rested his elbows on the railing a few paces away.

  “Do you want a public apology?” demanded Gerard. He was tired of this. Besides, he had a direct order. Priestess, I am trying to get along with him.

  Silveo sniffed. “Would that make you feel better? Appeals to your honor, eh?”

  “In this case, it’s what appeals to yours that matters.”

  Silveo made a face. “My honor?” He looked down at the churning wake. “Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get here?”

  We’re having a conversation, thought Gerard in surprise. This had never happened before. “No,” he said truthfully. “But I know it can’t have been easy.”

  “It wasn’t,” said Silveo, almost in a whisper. “You, who’s had everything h
anded to you—shelts like you can afford honor. Shelts like me—” He shook his head, his turquoise earrings flashing in the moonlight. “Holovar, I’m going to give you some advice. You may not trust most of what I say to you—and you shouldn’t—but this, at least, is well-meant: take that apology you want to give me, and give it to your father. Get down on your hands and knees and beg him for forgiveness. Foreswear your minstrel girl; trust me, there will be others. Do whatever it takes, and go home. Your place, princeling, is back on your island.”

  Gerard could feel a knot of anger in his belly. “Never!”

  Silveo’s lip curled. “What I just told you to do is nothing to what I’ve had to do to get here. You have wealth and power at your fingertips, and for the sake of your absurd ideas of honor, you come into my place and try to usurp it. Well, I won’t let you! I will kill you if you persist.”

  Gerard stared at him. He thinks I’m a threat to his position.

  And why shouldn’t he? asked another voice in his head. The Priestess obviously likes you. You’ve been promoted with great speed. You’re the first son of a royal house, with all the training that entails. Temple service rarely sees a shelt like you, and when they do, they put him in charge.

  He remembered a conversation with Thessalyn. “And you are intimidating, especially to someone like that.” Always wiser than I credit her.

  “I don’t want your job, Silveo.”

  “Want has nothing to do with it. I don’t think you wanted the Police, but there you are. Now, I’ve given my advice and my warning. Don’t expect to hear it again. Goodnight, Holovar.”

  “Wait,” growled Gerard. “Personal differences aside, I need to talk to you about this trip. That smuggler was not the sort of person to willingly die for a cause.”

  Silveo turned back to him with his usual sneer. “No, thank the gods. He was bleating like a sheep before we finished.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” said Gerard. “He was the sort of person who would say anything he thought you wanted to hear. He would especially delight in leading you into a trap. It would not matter to him if some Resistance died as a result, so long as his tormenter suffered.”

  Silveo quirked an eyebrow. “I’m touched by your concern.”

  “I am concerned for the organization I serve,” said Gerard, willing himself to patience.

  Silveo examined his fingernails. “I find that in general, the first things a shelt throws out during an interrogation are the truest. After that—” He shrugged. “You take what you hear with a stiff dose of reservations.”

  “I’m glad to know it. Because that smuggler struck me as devious and cunning—”

  “So am I,” interrupted Silveo, “and I’m sure he thought there was something in a particular warehouse in Ocelon Town. He suspected weapons. Of course, our smuggler might have been mistaken, or the Resistance might have moved, or the materials might not turn out to be very impressive. I’m not actually stupid, Holovar; I know these things. But I think there’s an excellent chance we’ll find something in that warehouse if we move fast enough. Of course, your bellowing and parading the night before we left didn’t do much in the way of keeping things quiet. Rumors may already have reached the Resistance, and they may have moved their stash.”

  “Thank you for telling me that,” said Gerard.

  “Don’t thank me,” growled Silveo. “I am not doing you any favors. I’m not your friend, Holovar. I have given you my one and only piece of good advice: go home.”