Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ryker
The woman stared at us as we slipped out of the alley and headed toward the tavern. Callan pushed open the door, stepped inside, and held it open for me.
I followed him into the shadowy interior lit only by the candles placed in red and green lanterns. The stuffed fish hanging on the walls greeted us.
Netting, filled with entangled starfish and shells, hung from the ceiling beams. Inside, the scent of cooking seafood was thicker as it mingled with the aromas of alcohol and amsirah.
The clatter of pots and pans continued in the kitchen, but the patrons at the tables and bar talked in subdued whispers or didn’t speak at all. They didn’t look up as my boots thudded across the scarred plank floors toward the bar.
Considering it was still early afternoon, and the lack of conversation I heard while outside, there were a lot more amsirah inside than I’d expected. They huddled around the tables, filled the barstools, and crowded the bar.
I’d anticipated finding half a dozen amsirah inside. Instead, there were well over a hundred of them.
They all held drinks before them as they sat dejectedly with each other. Some of them had tears in their eyes, others had puffy faces, and they all looked like life had beaten them into oblivion.
At first, no one noticed us, but then one of the waitresses stopped in the middle of trudging through the tables. I was very aware that the amount of carisle I had in this chest was nothing compared to the bounty my father had placed on my head.
I was taking the risk of counting on them to hate my father more than they craved money. A fight with someone here would completely undermine our goals.
When the bell over the door rang behind us, I glanced back as the woman entered the tavern. The bell rang again as the door closed behind her; Luna, Callan, and Fletcher remained only a few feet away from her.
Walking over to one of the less crowded tables, I placed the chest on top, undid the locks, and opened it. The amsirah at the table were unmoving before leaning forward to gaze at the glittering carisle within.
“It’s nowhere near the amount taken from you, but it’s something,” I said. “It also has to be split with Seacrest; we can’t return there today… or anytime soon.”
Some of the men and women looked from the chest to me while others stayed riveted on the carisle within.
“You stole this from Seacrest?” a woman asked.
“We stole it from one of the carriages after the caravan left Seacrest; I’m sure the guards are still crawling all over that place.”
“You stole this from your father?” another asked.
“He may have helped create me, but he is not my father, and he’d kill me faster than he’d kill any of you.”
They all looked at each other before shifting their attention back to the chest.
“We didn’t get as much as we would have liked,” Luna said.
“It’s more than we have,” the woman from the street said; many others nodded in agreement.
“What happened in the street? Why is there so much blood?” I asked.