Chapter 11
Cole
Better a clumsy step forward than a coward’s retreat, right?
As if to prove Cole’s very thoughts, he tripped again over a tangle of soggy rushes in the dark, narrow passageway of Lytton Hall.
“Watch your feet,” Quimby said. “The kitchen is the best way to sneak in guests. As long as you’re one of the Fifteen.”
Cole’s stomach twisted at the task ahead: stealing Thusk’s keys. He didn’t think he could do it yet somehow had to succeed.
They entered an open passage where yeasty bread and roasting venison briefly replaced the dread in Cole’s stomach with anticipation.
To the right, a vast kitchen bustled with men and women preparing food.
Ahead, beside a set of double doors, stood a pair of Livna’s men: the Berlander, Thakkar Oruk; and the golden-haired lion, Lysander Thane.
“Quimby.” Thakkar jerked his head in a quick nod, the jagged scar on his face catching the light. “What are you lot doing down here?”
“Giving a tour,” Quimby said.
“The kitchen looks different, it does, than it did last time I was here,” Kurtz said.
Thakkar narrowed his eyes. “When was that?”
“Before his time on the island,” Lysander said, his long hair swaying like a curtain. “Back when he was chasing Faylyn’s skirts.”
“Your sister chased me,” Kurtz said. “I couldn’t have lost that girl if I tried. She made excellent pies.”
Lysander pinned Kurtz with a sharp gaze. “She’s married now with three boys, so just you keep your distance.”
“I’ll think about it,” Kurtz said with a wink. “Does she still bake?”
“Her pies are even better now.” Thakkar’s fierce gaze smoldered beneath his matted warrior locks. “I should know, since she’s my wife.”
“Blazes, Kurtz,” Cole said. “Is there a woman in Tsaftown you didn’t try to charm?”
“Heh hay!” Kurtz lifted his hands, all innocence. “Can I help it if the Chazir is irresistible?” As they passed through the door, he patted Thakkar’s arm. “But, well done, man. And congratulations on the sons.”
They entered the great hall at the front right corner, just below the dais.
The long, narrow room rose to a two-story hammer-beam roof.
Rough-hewn log walls bore black-and-gold banners, every other one depicting a leaping dagfish—the sigil of Tsaftown.
Opposite the dais, double doors stood atop a narrow platform, with a half flight of stairs leading down to a gold carpet running the length of the center aisle.
Over a hundred, maybe two hundred, guests filled long tables draped in black-and-gold checkered cloths. Servants wove through the aisles, filling goblets.
“They got rid of the trophies,” Kurtz said, looking around at the walls. “Lord Livna used to have as many animal heads as Merrygog. Maybe more.”
“Lady Viola’s doing, or so I heard,” Quimby said. “Don’t know that Eric’s seen it yet.”
“Remind me never to marry,” Kurtz mumbled.
Quimby led them to aisle seats near the stairs. He sat with his back to the dais, across from Kurtz and Cole, who had a clear view of the hall.
Quimby leaned across the table. “See that round fellow three tables behind me?”
Cole marked a bald man with a thin, reddish-brown mustache and no beard. He wore an orange fur cape so thick it made his head look small. “Wearing the fox fur?”
“Relative of yours?” Kurtz asked.
“Ah, no,” Quimby said. “That’s Renshaw Thusk, co-owner of the Thusk Shipping Exchange.”
“Co-owns it with who?” Cole asked.
“His brother Magnus, who lives in Meribah Corner,” Quimby said.
Kurtz frowned at Thusk. “A shipping business offers plenty of opportunities for corruption. Smuggling, overcharging merchants, skimming profits, piracy…”
“Not to mention a conflict of interest in local leadership,” Quimby said. “And he uses it too. Prioritizes his profits, suppresses rivals, chooses all the trade routes himself. The hope is with Eric back, all that will end.”
“Not without a fight,” Kurtz said. “No one with power and wealth likes to give it up.”
“Does the brother have the same influence in Meribah Corner?” Cole asked.
“Probably more,” Quimby said. “Old man Gershom barely knows his own name these days, and I doubt anyone has brought the corruption to Lady Tara’s attention.”
“Perhaps we should,” Cole said.
Kurtz patted Cole’s arm. “Let’s stick with Tsaftown to start, shall we, poet?”
A bang drew every eye to the entrance. The doors swung open, revealing a couple followed by a gray-haired guard with the thickest sideburns Cole had ever seen.
“Lord Eric Livna and Lady Viola!” the guard yelled.
All around them, people stood and applauded. Cole, Kurtz, and Quimby joined in. Roars and hoots pulled Cole’s gaze to many familiar faces of the Fighting Five Hundred.
Lord Livna led his wife down the aisle. They made a striking pair, both in their thirties, finely dressed, with dark hair and eyes—his skin pale, hers deep olive. They nodded and smiled at guests on their way to the front.
Cole used the distraction to study Renshaw Thusk. The thick fur cape hid much, but when Thusk turned to speak to a man at his table, Cole spotted a leather belt with a brown suede pouch on his left hip.
He saw no key ring. No other bulges.
Could the keys be in the pouch? Maybe he didn’t carry them around but left them with a steward or trusted assistant.
What would Cole do then?
The Livnas reached the dais, and Lord Livna seated his wife. The rest of his family—all women, Cole noted, including a tiny girl who could barely see over the table—were already seated. Behind them, a massive, polished carving of a dagfish hung on the wall.
When Lord Livna finally sat down, so did everyone else. Servants streamed in with trays, attending the high table first. It would be a while before the food reached them in the back.
Kurtz leaned in and whispered, “What do you make of Thusk?”
“I didn’t see a key ring, but he has a good-sized belt pouch,” Cole said.
“That must be it,” Kurtz said.
“Or he doesn’t bring keys with him,” Cole said.
Kurtz raised an eyebrow. “We’ll know soon enough, won’t we?”
Sure. But the thought of opening that huge man’s belt pouch made Cole queasy. Yet he hadn’t had a good meal since Achan’s wedding and intended to enjoy this one. When the food finally reached their table, he ate venison, fish, potatoes, carrots, and fresh bread.
After golden pudding was served, people lined up to greet Lord Livna on the dais—including Thusk. Cole moved down the aisle for a better look. The pouch was studded with brass facets, its front secured by a large brass latch. If he could turn it, he could reach inside.
He returned to Kurtz and Quimby and shared what he’d learned.
“Sounds good to me, it does,” Kurtz said. “I know how I’m going to make my distraction.”
“How?” Cole asked.
“See that man?” Kurtz nodded to a broad-shouldered blond man, hair knotted at the back of his head, who had just left the dais after speaking to Lord Livna. “That’s Fenris Yarden—one of the vilest men I’ve known. He was in the Prodotez when the king freed us. He and I don’t get along.”
“He’s also Lord Livna’s cousin,” Quimby said.
Cole frowned at the man, then at Kurtz. “Don’t get yourself hurt.”
“Bah! Fenris can’t hurt me. Much. That bloke behind him though…”
Cole eyed the towering, muscular man trailing Fenris—shaved head, thick knotted beard, and tunic fringed with what looked like ponytails.
“Are those…scalps?” he asked, slightly horrified by the sheer number.
“Looks to be,” Quimby said.
Fenris and his towering shadow approached Thusk.
“Follow my lead.” Kurtz started down the aisle. “If you get the prize, hand it off fast, eh?”
Cole nodded, breathing deeply to keep his dinner down. He was part of the Marad now. He had to do his best.
Kurtz slowed, letting Fenris and the big man reach Thusk’s table. Cole’s stomach twisted. Fenris Yarden reminded him of his uncle Crispen, even the green eyes.
“Eben’s breath!” Kurtz exclaimed to a thin man across from Thusk. “Has anyone told Lord Livna he has a rat problem? Someone should—oh! Fenris”—he chuckled—“it’s only you.”
Fenris’s lip curled into a wicked grin. “Kurtz Chazir. I don’t know about rats, but isn’t a chazir a pig?”
Fenris’s lackey guffawed. “A big pig.”
“Right you are, Ikard,” Fenris said. “And big, fat pigs don’t belong in Lytton Hall. Unless they’re on a spit.”
“A chazir isn’t a pig, eh?” Kurtz said calmly. “It’s a wild boar. Surprised a learned man like you didn’t know that.”
Cole edged around to Thusk’s right. He could see the pouch but had no clue how to touch it, let alone open it. Then Thusk leaned forward, fixated on the tension between Kurtz and Fenris, and the pouch vanished from sight.
Fabulous. What was he to do now?
“I suppose it makes sense,” Kurtz said, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Fenris Yarden, traitor to his bloodline, dungeon dweller, bane of intelligence.”
Fenris sneered, cracking his knuckles. “Big words from a man I could snap like a twig.”
“At least they’re words and not grunts,” Kurtz shot back.
That did it. Fenris lunged, shoving Kurtz into Thusk’s table. A goblet tipped, spilling wine onto Thusk’s lap. The man yelped and jumped up. Quimby stuck out a leg, tripping him, and down Thusk went with a cry.
Cole crouched, pulse pounding. “Sir, are you all right?” He gripped Thusk’s arm while his other hand found the brass clasp. He flipped it open and reached inside. Cold metal met his fingers, and his heart leaped.
Thusk muttered, “Unacceptable rudeness…uncouth soldiers…no manners.” He shoved Cole away. “Get off me, boy.”
Cole straightened, keys fisted at his side. Spotting Quimby behind Thusk, he stepped closer and, without looking, slipped the keys into Quimby’s hand—smooth as golden pudding.
The weight left his chest. He’d done it!
“Careful now, Fenris.” Kurtz laughed. “Only us old Prodotez friends know the truth. Should I tell Lord Livna your secret fondness for eating lice?”
“Go ahead,” Fenris sneered. “And I’ll tell everyone how the dark made you weep.”
Kurtz swung, landing a punch to Fenris’s jaw that sent him stumbling.
Thusk flailed his arms. “Someone help me.”
Two men from his table jumped in and hauled him upright. Cole hoped Thusk didn’t notice his empty coin purse, but if he did, maybe now he’d have some more memorable faces to suspect.
Glass shattered, and a heavy grunt turned every head back to Kurtz and Fenris.
Fenris locked Kurtz in a headlock, growling something unintelligible and grinning all the while. Ikard slammed a fist into Kurtz’s gut.
Women screamed and scattered.
Red-faced, Kurtz clawed at Fenris’s arm, still managing to gasp, “That all…you’ve got?”
Soldiers swarmed in from all directions. Ikard stepped in front of them.
“Let go of him!” Thakkar yelled to Fenris.
“You feckless oaf!” Torin Oxbow yelled. “Get out of the way.”
“I think not,” Ikard said.
Lord Livna shoved through the crowd. “Enough! Enough!” He seized Fenris, yanking him back.
“Briny maggot!” Fenris swung an elbow, but Lord Livna caught his arm and wrenched it behind his waist.
Kurtz, now free, reared back to punch, but a burly soldier stepped in and grabbed his arm.
“Restrain him!” Lord Livna shouted.
As soldiers swarmed Kurtz, Cole drifted aside, unsure what to do. They had the keys, but as guards dragged Kurtz out of the hall, Cole couldn’t shake the feeling that their mission had failed.
Despair was a fool’s companion. Cole reminded himself of that as he paced outside Lord Livna’s office, unsure what Kurtz was facing inside. Should he knock? Enter? Break down the door? Acting in haste was folly, but doing nothing felt like surrender.
Three of the Fifteen approached—Thakkar the Berland warrior, golden-haired Lysander, and Wroxton the refined. They stopped beside Cole, each so fierce and deadly he felt dwarfed.
“They still in there?” Thakkar asked.
“Yes,” Cole said.
“Those detestable Howlers deserve their fate,” Wroxton said. “My sister, Rixie, harbors no trust in them, but many in town do. In our absence, they’ve fashioned themselves as heroes.”
Lysander’s golden hair shifted as he tilted his head. “I don’t much like their way of being heroes. Wearing scalps like trophies.”
“How in flames are we to assert authority when—” Thakkar straightened and lowered his voice. “My lady.”
Lysander and Wroxton darted aside, clearing the way as Lady Viola approached the door. Despite her petite stature, she carried herself with such grace and authority that the soldiers stood down as if commanded.
“Is the brawler inside?” she asked.
“Yes, my lady,” Thakkar said.
Her sharp gaze fell on Cole. “Who are you?”
“His friend, madam,” he said, grateful to be a few inches taller—though if looks could wound, he’d be in trouble.
One sculpted eyebrow rose. “Friend of the brawler? Did you fight in my great hall too?”
“No, madam.”
She pursed her lips, managing to look down her nose at Cole.
The door opened, and the burly man who’d dragged Kurtz into Lord Livna’s office escorted him out. Praise Arman! Now they could get back to the Ivory Spit.
Kurtz grinned at the crowd. “Quite the reception,” he said. “Good evening, my lady.”
“Master Dunn, what recourse has Lord Livna placed upon this man?” Lady Viola asked.
“Just that he stay out of trouble, m’lady,” said the burly bear—Dunn apparently.
Lady Viola’s expression remained unreadable, though Cole swore her eyes frosted over. “Detain them both,” she said.
“But we’re leaving,” Cole said. “We don’t want to make trouble.”
“You should have thought of that before starting a brawl at my banquet,” she said. “As lady of this house, I believe a night in the dungeon will help the lesson take root.”
Seriously? She was contradicting Lord Livna?
Cole glanced around. Thakkar scowled at the floor, Wroxton grimaced, and Lysander Thane frowned over Lady Viola’s head. Only Master Dunn bowed obediently.
“Yes, my lady. Master Thane, would you take the boy?”
Cole’s face burned as Lysander gripped his arm. “This way, boy.” He winked, leading Cole down the hall.
Behind them, Kurtz chuckled, as if a night in the dungeon were an old joke. “Lady Viola, allow me to explain. You see, Fenris Yarden—Get off, Dunn!”
Cole glanced back. Dunn had pulled Kurtz along, while Lady Viola’s withering stare followed them.
“I trust your hospitality includes clean straw?” Kurtz yelled.
At that, the lady of House Livna turned away.
Kurtz grumbled as they descended a narrow stairwell.
Cole’s mind raced. The weight of what he’d done—handing Thusk’s stolen keys to Quimby just before Lord Livna intervened—pressed against his chest like a loaded crossbow.
If anyone had seen and told Lady Viola, a night in the dungeon would be the least of his problems.