The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers, Deluxe Illustrated Edition (2 page)

Chapter 1. The Captain of
Police

Beauty is goodness.

—Morchella, sacred text

The Priestess entered her temple through the
inner sanctum and paused for a moment at the edge of her sacred
pool. A smear of blood from last night’s sacrifice had discolored
the white marble at the pool’s edge, and she polished it clean
before turning away. Layers of crystal and colored glass in the
roof admitted diffuse sunlight that dappled and swam on the walls.
The Priestess drew a deep breath and opened a silver inlaid door,
the only visible exit from the room. She passed through a curtain
of colored beads and bells, down a short passage, unlit and filled
with incense smoke, through two more curtains, one opaque and
gauzy, the last light and sheer.

She stepped into the outer sanctum—an
octagon, with pools all around the edges. Pillars with clear
crystal overlay and pavonine cores supported a vaulted roof, capped
with a dome of tinted glass. Colors reflected from the pillars and
roof onto the milk white walls, broken by rippling cords of light
reflected from the water. Silver incense stands, twice the height
of a shelt and wrought like coiled dragons, stood in pairs around
the throne. The seat of black coral rose above them, inlaid with
mother of pearl in intricate scenes of conflict and triumph.
White-clad harpers sat at either side of the throne. Their
instruments were fashioned of turquoise gemstone, the strings
flashing silver.

The Priestess had ordered sweet incense in
her outer sanctum a quarter watch earlier, and at the sound of the
curtain bells, the harpers began a soft melody. She entered to this
music and ascended to her seat. The Priestess gathered her
sleeveless ivory robes, shimmering with faint color, and sat down.
She put her bare elbows on the arms of the throne, folded her
hands, and fixed her eyes on the shelt whom she’d called to
audience.

“Gerard Holovar.”

“Your Highness.” He bowed deeply, eyes
respectfully downcast.

Gerard was taller than she had expected. Like
the Priestess, he was a grishnard. He had a human upper body with
fur below his waist and the two legs and tail of a griffin. Gerard
looked to be in his twenties, powerfully built and tastefully
dressed, with hair as black as her coral throne and large, dark
eyes. He was one of her watch masters, the lowest ranking of her
officers.

The Priestess changed what she’d planned to
say. “Have you ever been in my temple, Gerard?”

“Highness, you know I have not.” His soft,
low voice resonated in the chamber.

“How do you find it?”

“I have never seen a temple that was not
beautiful. Yours is surpassing so.”

The Priestess inclined her head. “A good
answer. Do you know why you are here now?”

“Because I exercised successfully the command
that fell to me in an unexpected situation.”

The Priestess laughed. “A clumsy way of
saying you killed over fifty pirates with only a half dozen
subordinates for aid.”

Gerard nodded.

“And you brought back prisoners.”

“Admiral Lamire did that, Your Highness.”

“Only because you threw them into his
lap.”

“Watch masters cannot technically transport
prisoners, Your Highness.”

“An excellent point, but I do not often have
princes as watch masters.”

Gerard’s black tufted tail flicked behind
him. “Nor do you now, Your Highness.”

She waited a moment, but he did not continue.
“Holovarus is a small but respected kingdom,” said the Priestess.
“As the heir to your father’s holdings, you could have started as a
lieutenant, if you really wanted a career in the Temple Sea Watch.”
She spoke gently. “Why start at the bottom, Gerard?”

His tail flicked again. “Surely you know,
Lady.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“I have been disinherited, because my choice
of mates was not to my father’s liking. My younger brother will
inherit.”

She could detect no emotion in his voice, no
hint of what he thought about it. “Look at me, Gerard.”

He raised his head. To look directly at the
Priestess was irreverent and impious unless she expressly gave
leave. Their eyes met. She saw him swallow. The High Priestess of
Wefrivain rose and came down from her dais. Her robes, like pale
dragon scales, fell around her, tracing her long curves. Her
mahogany hair shone glossy where it tumbled from its silver clasp
onto her shoulders.

Gerard fell back a pace as she approached, a
little below his height now that she stood on the floor. “Have I
offended, Mistress?”

“Not at all. My name is Morchella. You have
permission to use it. My captain of Police has been missing for a
red month. It is time to consider him dead, and I have decided that
you will replace him. In that role, you answer only to me. Not to
anyone else, including Silveo Lamire. Is that understood?”

Gerard nodded, his expression suddenly
wooden.

“I’m putting you in charge of interrogating
those prisoners,” she continued. “Find me Sky Town, Gerard.”

When he had gone, Morchella went thoughtfully
back into her inner sanctum. She found a wyvern, a sea dragon,
gliding around her sacred pool. The animal had a serpentine body,
with webbed, clawed feet, and scales that glistened an iridescent
aquamarine. He kept his leathery wings folded as he swam, but
raised them a little when he spotted Morchella. The wyvern put his
clawed front feet on the edge of the pool and raised his slender
snout. “You sent for me, Mistress?” His words rasped around long
teeth.

“Yes.” Morchella raised her robes about her
and sat down on the edge of the pool to dangle her bare legs in the
water. She had pearl-white fur below her navel and pink pads on her
creamy paws. “Hoepali, isn’t it? You’re the deity at my temple on
Holovarus.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I’ve just spoken with Gerard, the heir.”

Hoepali gave a toothy sneer. “Not anymore.
He’s been disinherited.”

Morchella nodded. “Your loss; my gain. He’s
done me a great service in the Sea Watch—killed about fifty
Resistance pirates after being cut off from his ship in a rowboat.
With only the rowers, he boarded the enemy ship while it was busy
with the
Fang
and attacked the pirates. Those on deck died
to the last shelt, but he caught some in the hold and took them
prisoner. By the time Admiral Lamire managed to board, Gerard was
able to hand the prisoners over to him without a struggle.”

The wyvern laid his head on the pool’s edge
with a bored expression. “Sounds like something he would do.”

“Does it?” Morchella leaned back on her hands
and stared at the ceiling. “Such a thing from Thessalyn’s lover—I
would not have expected it.” She glanced at the wyvern sharply. “Do
you know why he married her?”

“He got her with child,” said the wyvern
lazily.

Morchella shrugged. “If Holovarus is like the
other island kingdoms, then it is swarming with court bastards. Two
or three would never stain a royal heir, and they’re certainly no
reason for a brilliant young grishnard to throw away his
kingship.”

Hoepali heaved a sigh. “You don’t know
Gerard, Highness. He’s in love with his honor. He didn’t have two
or three bastards. He had only one, and that was with Thessalyn. He
was determined to marry her.”

Morchella caught at one word. “‘Had’?”

Hoepali looked up meaningfully through his
long eyelashes. “
I
asked for the child.” He licked his lips,
delicate as a cat.

Morchella’s eyebrows rose. “I see.”

“It pleased the king, as you can
imagine—confirmed to him that Gerard had committed a grievous crime
to marry outside his wishes.”

Morchella looked at Hoepali narrowly. “It
pleased you, too, I can see.”

The wyvern curled his lip. “I gave direct
omens that Gerard should not marry Thessalyn. He asked at my
temple, and I gave my answer. He defied me.”

“How did Thessalyn and Gerard take the death
of the baby?”

“Oh, you know something of her, I expect. She
could think no ill of us. I really don’t know how he took it. Hard,
I hope.”

Morchella watched the wyvern for a moment.
“You may have to give up your grudge. I’ve made him my new captain
of Police.”

Hoepali raised his head out of the water and
looked her full in the face. Then he sank back down and lashed his
tail beneath the surface. “You’re a female.”

Morchella laughed. “You think I promote every
handsome sailor to my inner circle?”

“If you really want to keep him about you,
put him in your
private
guard. He’s simple, Mistress. He
won’t last outside.”

“I can tell from one interview that he’s not
stupid. He’s resourceful, and he’s a survivor. I need someone like
that over the Police.”

Hoepali shook his head. “I don’t mean he’s
stupid. He’s just…all of a piece. He doesn’t bend. He’ll never
survive among your officers.”

“He’ll bend to me,” said Morchella. “Nothing
else matters.”

Hoepali shrugged with his wings. “Do as you
wish. Collar him and keep him on a chain in your inner sanctum for
all I care.”

Morchella frowned. “You presume too much on
my good humor, Hoepali.”

He bowed his glistening head. “A fault of
mine, Mistress. I apologize for my impertinence.”

“Goodnight, Hoepali.”

When he was gone, she went to the other end
of the sanctum and rapped twice on the floor. A wyvern no longer
than her forearm shot from beneath into the pool and vaulted out of
the water with one beat of its leathery wings. It landed with a
soft, wet plop in front of Morchella. Its voice came in an exited
yap. “Yes, Mistress?”

“That order I gave earlier about Thessalyn—is
there still time to reverse it?”

The messenger glanced about nervously. “Yes.
If I go immediately, Mistress.”