Chapter 16
I was curious to know about the job, as well, as Marc led us up the slight incline that accented the street. Henry followed along on Marc’s other side while I finished the flanking. A faint rustle underneath my coat told me Ramaro, too, was eager to hear what his captain had to say.
Marc’s good humor faded with every step, and he dropped his voice to a low whisper. “We had some trouble with the Managers about a week ago.”
Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “They were after you?”
“They were after Rose.”
Henry’s attention fell on me with newfound respect and curiosity. “I’m sorry to hear that, Rose. Did you want us to look into them?”
“It shouldn’t be too hard, but any dealings with the Managers are always dangerous.”
Henry lifted his chin and nodded. “We all understand the risks, sir, and we’ll be sure to watch out for each other.”
“And watch out for a cat.”
The young lad cocked his head to one side. “A cat, sir?”
“These Managers had a cat with them. It has short white fur, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it could understand humans.”
Henry nodded. “We’ll look into it, sir.”
“And one more thing,” Marc added as he stopped and turned to face his young protege. “I’d like to find out what happened to one of the older Managers, a man named Ostrovsky. The Managers who followed us weren’t too familiar with my powers, and I wonder why they didn’t hire Ostrovsky to get me.”
Henry’s lips creased together. “I don’t need to look up that information, sir. I already know where Ostrovsky is.”
Marc lifted an eyebrow. “Where?”
“The Highview Cemetery.”
Marc froze, and his mouth fell slightly open. The moment passed, and he gathered himself after clearing his throat. “You’re sure?”
“I saw the headstone myself. It wasn’t much. I suppose the Managers put it up just to show the others they won’t let them lie dead in some ditch.”
“How did he die?”
Henry folded his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure. I think a job went wrong, but that’s just the rumor that went around about two months ago. Then one of us was dared to go into the cemetery about six weeks ago and noticed the fresh grave with that name.”
Marc cast his eyes on the part of the street ahead of us. “Where’s the grave?”
“In the northwest corner by one of the oak trees,” Henry told him as his face fell. “I guess he was in with the Managers long enough to earn that spot.”
A bittersweet smile slipped onto Marc’s face. “Quite a long time for one of them. You find out what you can about the living.” He took my hand and led me up the road.
“What are you going to do?” Henry shouted at us.
Marc turned his head to one side so his bright blue eye fell on the lad as we left him behind. “I’ll deal with the dead.”
A heavy quiet fell on us, as did the night. The lamplight and the twinkling stars overhead acted as markers as we made our way up the slope. I caught up to Marc’s side and looked him over. He stared ahead with a tense expression on his face.
I squeezed his hand. “Marc? Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
I thought back to the last time the name of Ostrovsky had been brought up. “You knew this Manager really well, didn’t you?”
A faint, bittersweet smile slipped onto his lips. “You could say we were the best of enemies. We faced off more times than I can remember.”
“Did you win?”
“Not always, but it was always a treasure that he won.”
“What did you always win?”
Ramaro popped his head out of my coat. “The girl. If there was a choice between one or the other, we had a woman on board, at least for a while.”
“And then what would happen to her?”
Ramaro rolled his eyes. “We’d eventually find her home, or get her a job at some port. There was that one woman, though, who wouldn’t let go of the sea life. She became a pirate herself. Last I heard, she was making good money stealing from ships along the spice trading routes.”
“What routes do you guys haunt?”
The agama wiggled his butt to make himself more comfortable, seated as he was in the hammock. “Whatever the captain has a fancy for.”
I returned my attention to the quiet captain. He still has a contemplative expression on his face. “So did this Ostrovsky guy ever really try to kill you?”
“Once or twice.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I was getting the impression he was kind of a friend.”
“He took his work very seriously. If a client wanted something done, he tried his best to do it.”
“What happens to a Manager who can’t get a job done?”
“That depends on the client, but they won’t make any money that way.”
“So do you think he was killed because of a job, or because he couldn’t finish a job and a client wanted him to, um, pay for his failure in a really bad way?”
Marc sighed. “Both have a chance of being true. He took a lot of hard jobs. I never knew what he spent the money on because he always had me buy the drinks, even when he won.” His voice trailed off at the last, and I let the conversation drop.
We trudged up the incline and eventually reached a plateau.
The flat spot was occupied by a huge cemetery, better kept than the one at Rynek and with more impressive headstones.
Large statues of people and even horses stood proudly over their buried occupants.
Epitaphs sang the praise of the dead, while flowers, both living and dead, showed the affection from the living.
Green, cut grass covered the ground, and there were even a few tables at path intersections where one could sit and enjoy the view.
And what a view. There was no wonder it was called Highview Cemetery, from the magnificent, unobstructed scenery that stretched out before us.
Dark water surrounded the port piers and drifted lazily against the white beach that stood out like a pearl necklace.
The sands curled along the front of the city, and the shadows stretched backward to envelope the metropolis in a soft blanket, interrupted randomly by the dancing light of lamps and lanterns.
House roofs were like rolling waves themselves, blending with the dark sea, and the chimneys dotted the skyline just like the towers of stone off the coast dotted the ocean.
I squinted my eyes to see if I could spot the place where the Tempest was anchored.
“You shouldn’t be able to see her, or Fidel’s slacking on his duties,” Marc spoke up.
I sheepishly smiled at him. “I just thought I’d try.”
He jerked his head toward the cemetery. “Let’s go find an old friend.”
The melancholy in his voice was unmistakable. Marc guided me down the neat dirt paths that separated the burial sections, leading us ever toward the northwest corner. Trees stretched their branches over our heads, and more than one creaked as a faint breeze passed us.
We reached the far northwestern section, and Marc headed toward one tree in particular, ignoring many other candidates. He stopped at the foot in front of a grave with a simple headstone. There were only a few words.
Ostrovsky. Perished in duty. Forever faithful.
We stood there in silence for a long moment. Even Ramaro bowed his head in solemn prayer.
A few whispered words came from Marc. “You old goat. I never thought you’d sail the low seas this soon.”
I set a hand on his shoulder and felt how stiff he was. “I’m sorry.”
Marc reached into his pocket and drew out a flimsy and worn bronze coin.
He flicked the coin in the air, and it landed with a soft thud in the short grass that occupied the top of the grave.
“This beer’s on me, too.” He straightened and turned to me with a smile, but the expression didn’t reflect in his eye.
“I promised you a good meal, didn’t I? And we still have a pen to find for Pen’s message. ”
He was hurting. I could feel it. “You want to talk about it?”
“Not as much as I want you to be my date,” he countered as he offered me his arm.
I instead took his hand in both of mine and stared him straight in the eye. “I’ll go with you on one condition.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
I nodded at the headstone. “That you tell me more about him.”
His smile faltered, only to slip back on as a crooked grin. “That would be my pleasure.”
“Do I get any say in this?” Ramaro spoke up as he grasped both flaps of my open coat. “And when do I eat?”
“When we can sit you on a windowsill,” Marc told him as he guided me down the dirt path. “One far away from where we’re sitting.”