The Return of Nightfall (36 page)

The pirates sprawled in small groups around several tables near the center of the room. Several still wore the grimy, salt-rimed rags they had had on deck, preferring to spend Alyndar’s gold on entertainment and trinkets than on their own appearances. Others sported new silks or linens, fresh haircuts, and shaved faces that fully revealed their sun-baked skin and multiple scars. Nearly all wore a clashing plethora of jewelry, and spots of color shot around the room as facets caught the candlelight with every movement. Several kept swords belted to their waists, and gem-studded daggers lay bare on some tables. At least one used a blade in lieu of a fork.

As before, the captain was the piece that jarred. Hair as black as charcoal fell in thick, oiled curls to his shoulders. He wore a tasteful amount of jewelry, all sapphires set in gold, and the sword shoved rakishly through his brilliant blue sash looked more utilitarian than pretty. Customized silks without a hint of frill or trim hugged a sinewy, muscular frame, and he still wore the knee-high boots with their shining copper buckles.

The air smelled cloying, thick with ale, sweat, and an incompatible variety of perfumes, spices and grease. Though several men were eating, Nightfall could not detect the more pleasant aromas of food through the mix. He did note the common room itself had changed little since his last visit in early spring. The walls still looked freshly painted, ale-colored with a zigzagging pattern of red trim. The fireplace was bare, swept clean of ash, awaiting the winter season. The hanging lanterns held candles burned nearly to nubs. The dartboard hung in its usual place on the wall between them, though the dart cup lay empty, the darts scattered across the floor below it. Unlike the lower-class establishments, the board held only small nicks and scars; men in the Gold Lantern did not tend to launch knives and tableware in gross displays designed to prove one’s manhood.

Nightfall hesitated in the Lantern’s doorway only a moment. Spotting an empty space near the captain, he took a step in that direction. Then, Softra’s subtle summoning gesture caught his attention. Pretending to ignore the many patrons, Nightfall crossed the room with his head held high and his walk just shy of a swagger. He chose a seat directly across from Softra, his back not quite to the pirates. He trusted his peripheral vision to catch any sudden movement before it became a threat.

Once Nightfall sat, the pirates ignored him, and their noisy chatter resumed.

Softra kept his voice pitched well below the hubbub. “Balshaz, it’s good to see you.”

“And it’s good to see the Gold Lantern.” Nightfall glanced over his shoulder at the rowdy band in the common room. “Usually.”

Graying and paunchy, just shy of average height, Softra cringed. “I’d throw them out, but I’m . . .” He seemed loath to finish the sentence.

“Afraid?” Nightfall supplied.

Softra rocked his head in a gesture of reluctant agreement. “They’ve paid their tab, so far. I really don’t have cause.”

“Other than that they’re destroying Schiz’ only decent establishment.”

“And keeping my regulars away.” Softra sighed. “Yes, there’s that. But they are paying customers, and I don’t imagine they’ll stay too long.”

The last statement seemed more like a question, one Nightfall did not have the means to answer. For all he knew, the pirates might choose to live here for months before greed and a lust for adventure dragged them back to the sea. “I notice the girls aren’t working. Are they all right?”

Softra snorted, gaze fixed on his wife while she removed empty mugs and replaced them with filled ones. “They’re fine, and I plan to keep them that way. I wouldn’t trust this lot around them.” He looked at Nightfall hopefully. “Were you planning to stay, Balshaz?”

“I was.” Nightfall swiveled to study the pirates. They shouted and laughed with the abandon of drunkards. “Are they always up this late?”

Softra hesitated. For a moment, Nightfall thought he might lie, though doing so could only hurt his business in the long run. It did not take a wise man to realize this band of barracudas preferred the night. “I’ve given them every hint I can think of. Even outright suggested they might want to get some sleep.” He shrugged. “They’re determined to party.” His dark eyes widened hopefully. “You’ve traveled a lot, right, Balshaz?” He did not pause for the obvious answer. “Do you have any experience ending such . . . um . . . festivities?”

Nightfall knew his own business with the pirates would not prove easy, but he might manage to help the proprietor simultaneously. At the least, Softra would allow him liberties that would ordinarily get him tossed from the establishment. “I might.” Nightfall rose. “Have Darlane bring me a mug of ale.” He added pointedly, “The fresh Keevainian stuff, not whatever horse piss you’re passing off on those monsters.” Snapping wrinkles from his silks, he turned his regard fully on the pirates. “Please don’t interfere, even if it gets a bit ugly.”

Nightfall could sense Softra fidgeting behind him. “Don’t do anything that gets us killed, Balshaz. And I’d rather the Lantern stayed in one piece. Please.”

Nightfall gave no reply. It was not in his best interests to die either; but he could not guarantee the safety of the establishment, whether or not he got involved. Hands free, for the moment, he headed toward the captain, pausing only to swipe a chair from the next table, give it a graceful spin, and settle into it. Placing his left hand casually on the table, he turned the captain an expectant look. “Hello, good sir. My name—”

The captain struck like a snake, but Nightfall followed every motion. He watched a knife zip free of its sheath and speed toward his hand on the table. He also knew in a heartbeat that the blade would miss, so he forced himself to remain still, his expression calmly schooled, and watch the point slam into the wooden tabletop.

The common room went utterly silent.

The captain’s pale eyes rolled upward to peer at Nightfall from under beaded brows. “A finger’s breadth leftward, and you’d be missing a thumb.”

Nightfall kept his gaze level and met the captain’s squarely. He played a dangerous game, and he expected some reward for his courage. “With all due respect, sir. If the blade had come at me a finger’s breadth leftward, I would have moved my hand.” Whether or not Nightfall had anticipated the attack, they all knew nearly any other man would have jerked his hand to safety, either before or after the blade landed depending on his ob servational skills, quickness, and competence.

A grimy-looking man with a beard full of froth broke the silence with evident sarcasm, “Oh, you
knew
’zactly where it would land, didja, sir psychic?”

Nightfall frowned. Had he pulled away, they would have branded him a coward. He did not mind playing games, but saw no point to them if every outcome translated into his loss. The man had essentially dismissed his bravado as slow reactions and dull wits.

“That good are you, soothsayer?” sneered Paskhon, the younger of the two men who had rowed him, as Sudian, to the pirates’ ship. “Where’s this one gonna hit?” He seized a jeweled knife from the table and hurled it at Nightfall.

With accuracy honed from years of “dagger catch” with Dyfrin, Nightfall neatly snatched the hilt from midair. His “razor rebound” was just as unconscious. Nightfall managed only to curb his natural instinct to fling the knife directly back at Paskhon, redirecting it toward the familiar location of the dartboard. He did not bother to watch it land, but the solid thump told him his aim was true.

The common room grew even more silent, if possible.

Casually, Nightfall reclaimed his seat as if nothing had happened, deliberately turning his full attention back to the captain. “As I was saying—”

Chair legs scraped the floor, and weapons rasped from sheaths. Darlane screamed. Her tray crashed to the floor, splashing beer over the nearest pirates and sending mugs slamming and ringing across the tables, rolling awkwardly to the floor. Fire seemed to burn through Nightfall’s veins, instantly followed by a painful wash of ice. His mind flashed back to his helpless moments on the pirate ship, filthy hands touching and tearing, eyes filled with gold lust and murder. It took a desperate strength of will to remain in place and allow the captain to control his men.

The captain raised both hands and shouted, “Enough!”

The pirates went still, some half risen, others with hands clamped to sword hilts.

“We’re in a respectable establishment! Take your seats and act like human beings.”

Grumbling, the pirates obeyed with clear reluctance. The captain nodded toward Softra, who cowered behind the bar, sheltering his wife with quivering hands. “Innkeeper, I sincerely apologize for the mess. Of course, we’ll pay for anything spilled or broken. Please assure your wife we mean her, and your guests, no harm.”

Without bothering to see the effect of his words, the captain returned his attention to Nightfall. “You were telling me your name,” he reminded.

Nightfall could not help feeling impressed by the pirates’ captain, who seemed a study in contradictions. By dress and demeanor, he could move easily through the upper classes, though Nightfall had seen him glibly lower himself to the level of his men as well. He knew how to command savages and pacify nobility. His voice and expression held the perfect range, and he thought swiftly enough to use the right approach in diverse situations. Through everything that had just transpired, the captain had not even lost the thread of their conversation. Nightfall steadied his voice so as not to betray his own, mostly feigned, composure. “My name is Balshaz. I’m a merchant seeking passage to Alyndar.”

“Alyndar?” The captain snorted. “Well, good luck there, donner. No one’s sailing to Alyndar.”

“So I’ve heard.” Nightfall tried to sit back in his chair but found himself incapable of relaxing his guard that much. He forced an easy, comfortable expression instead. “Hunting a fugitive and force-checking every ship.”

“That’s only part of it.” The captain leaned forward, his chiseled features boldly handsome even in the dim light. “There’s a war brewing, and no one wants to be part of that.”

Nightfall did not bother to hide the appropriate expression of alarm spreading across his features. Other than border disputes and battles over the shared ownership of Trillium, the countries of the world had remained at relative peace throughout his lifetime. “A war?” He dared not believe Volkmier had acted so swiftly and recklessly, though surely not alone. The chief of prison guards could hardly deal with a traitor in secret, and the High Council would have an overriding hand in deciding the subsequent course of action. Nightfall took only scant satisfaction from the possibility Volkmier might have cleared his name in the process. If Edward died, he had no future in Alyndar anyway. Few would accept him as king, even if he wanted the job; and assassination would be inevitable. Feigning ignorance, he plied the captain for information, “Who would declare war on Alyndar?”

The captain shook his head. “Not war between kingdoms. A civil war.”

The revelation rendered his previous thoughts moot, and a wave of relief flooded through Nightfall. He still had time to rescue Edward.

“They’ve gone so far down the ascension, I’m starting to think I have a chance at the throne.”

For an instant, Nightfall wondered if the captain might be serious. He demonstrated more than enough poise to have once lived among the nobility, perhaps as a displaced and disgruntled younger son.

The captain huffed out a laugh, dispelling the notion. “The king left no heirs, being a youngster himself. The chancellor’s a traitor. Age-old law doesn’t account for such details. I don’t know if anyone’s really sure who has next right, but a whole lot of people would like to believe it’s them.”

Jackals.
Nightfall wondered how many of the pompous Council members considered themselves fit for the position. At worst, the squabble seemed certain to flush out the traitor. He nudged the conversation back on topic. “So, can you get me there?”

“Me?” The captain sounded taken aback, and a few of his men dared to laugh, earning them a quick, silencing glare. “Why should I go to that kind of trouble for a stranger?”

Nightfall had a ready answer, and he spoke it scarcely above a whisper. “Because the man I’m going there for said you owed him a favor.”

The captain’s sea-blue eyes narrowed, and he stroked his shaved chin with a massive hand. “Which man is this?”

“He said you would know.”

“Did he now?”

Nightfall said nothing, waiting for a less rhetorical question.

“Would this man have a name?”

“He would,” Nightfall said, “but he told me not to speak it. Said it might get us both in trouble.”

The captain dropped into a thoughtful silence, which clearly unnerved his men. A few low-volume comments passed among them, but nothing Nightfall could decipher. He glanced at Softra, who remained behind the bar while his wife worked at collecting the dented mugs and mopping up the spill. The innkeeper returned the look with one of guarded hope. At least, Nightfall seemed to have temporarily quieted the pirates.

The captain cleared his throat. “So, what are you doing for this . . . mutual friend?”

Nightfall turned back to the captain. “He said you wouldn’t ask.”

“He lied.”

Nightfall smiled. “All right, then. I don’t suppose it can hurt to tell you. I’m delivering a message.”

“What message?”

Now, Nightfall’s brows rose.

Clearly realizing he had reached an impasse, the captain tried another tack. “Why are you doing this for him?”

Too much secrecy would make the pirate captain unnecessarily suspicious. He had reason to worry he might get arrested in the city he had robbed of so many valuables. Holding a noble hostage, even a fallen one, would surely have dire consequences. “He bested me in a dart game. Said it was too risky for him to travel there, so he wagered money against a boon.”