Chapter 29 Mistel
Mistel
In Mistel’s opinion, Tom Raven’s house looked like it had given up on standing yet didn’t know how to fall. The squat, weathered structure of salt-stained wood and crumbling plaster reeked of the fish-scented air of the harbor.
Cole knocked on the door, and a thin, middle-aged woman with brown hair tucked beneath a faded scarf answered.
“Good afternoon,” Cole said. “We’re looking for Tom Raven.”
“Certainly.” She opened the door wide. “I’m his wife. Do come in.”
They stepped through a low doorway, and Mistel wrinkled her nose at the way the briny smell of the Fisherman’s Quarter clung to the place.
The house was little more than one open room, divided into living spaces by the careful placement of furniture.
A scarred wooden table stood at the center, surrounded by mismatched chairs—one missing a leg and propped up with a brick.
Against the far wall sat a narrow bed with a lumpy straw mattress, its threadbare quilt tucked neat and tight.
In a narrow hearth, a low fire struggled against the draft creeping through the shuttered windows.
What must be Tom Raven’s three daughters sat on the floor, darning socks, while their younger brother carved driftwood with a dull knife.
Four children in all, the youngest Mistel guessed to be four years old.
At their entrance, the eldest—a girl of maybe thirteen?
—straightened and smoothed her faded skirts, while the boy popped to his feet and gawked.
Tom Raven stood from the head of the table and clasped his hands in front of his round belly. “What’s this?” he asked.
“Travelers on a cold day,” Madam Raven said, already moving to ladle liquid from the pot over the fire. “You must be chilled through. Please, have something warm to eat.”
Mistel opened her mouth to refuse, but Cole shook his head at her. So Mistel bit her tongue and watched as bowls of thin fish stew were placed before them at the table. It smelled strong. Too strong to be edible.
“We appreciate your kindness,” Cole said to Tom. “I’m Cole Tanniyn, and this is Mistel Wepp. We came to ask about your relationship with Verdot Amal. How long have you known him?”
Raven’s brow barely flickered. “Oh, many years,” he said.
“I suppose that’s why he speaks so freely around you,” Cole said. “I couldn’t help overhearing your disagreement the other day.”
The children stilled. Mrs. Raven dropped the ladle, and it glubbed beneath the liquid in the pot. She turned suddenly and crossed the room to a shelf in the corner.
“I think he’s hiding something at the prison,” Cole added.
Mistel kept her head down. Cole certainly could be blunt when he had something to investigate.
Tom Raven shook his head. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”
Cole took a bite of fishy soup, hummed, and nodded to Madam Raven, who seemed to be writing something on a table beside the bed. “Delicious.” He glanced back at Tom. “My father is a prisoner there, but I believe he’s innocent. Have you ever known an innocent man on Ice Island?”
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
Cole tilted his head. “Not even Kurtz Chazir or Sir Eagan Elk?”
Raven opened his mouth, and his fingers curled into the neckline of his tunic. “They were exceptions.”
Mistel fought the urge to roll her eyes. What a strange thing to lie about.
“The other day in Verdot’s office, you suggested that Verdot fix something, but he said to leave it alone.” Cole leaned forward. “What needs fixing?”
The eldest Raven girl sucked in a sharp breath and glanced at her father.
“The roof leaks,” Raven said.
Cole rubbed his jaw. “And who’s above Verdot? Isn’t he the warden?”
“The Tsaftown Ruling Council oversees the prison,” Tom said stiffly. “And Lord Livna, of course.”
“Of course,” Cole said.
Mercy. Tom Raven wasn’t giving away anything.
Cole rose from the table and bowed. “You’ve been very helpful, sir. I thank you.”
Tom stood as well. He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead.
Madam Raven scurried toward them and gestured to the door. “Thank you for stopping by.”
“My pleasure,” Cole said. “Thank you again for the soup.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mistel echoed.
Just as she stepped over the threshold, she felt something slip into her palm. She looked down and saw a small piece of parchment held there by Madam Raven’s thin fingers.
“It was lovely to meet you both.” The woman’s gaze briefly met Mistel’s just before she shut the door between them.
Mistel stumbled down the icy walk to the hitching post where they’d tied their horses. She didn’t look at the parchment until she had reached Bart’s side. There she unfolded it, and the words sent a chill down her spine.
Master Fawst has threatened my daughter.
Mistel looked up. “Cole.”
He turned back, and she handed him the parchment. “Madam Raven gave that to me on the way out.” She watched as he read and his jaw tightened.
“Drustan always did like picking on those who couldn’t fight back,” he said. “They’re either trying to keep Raven quiet or force him to act.”
“Maybe both,” Mistel said. “What should we do now?”
Cole sighed at the house, then down the road. “No sign of Kurtz. I suppose I should take you to Fat Vandy’s.”
Had he lost his sense of adventure already? They’d just found a clue! “Shouldn’t we go find Drustan Fawst? Ask him about threatening Tom Raven’s daughter?”
“We are not looking for Drustan without Kurtz. And maybe Quimby and Zanna too.”
Mistel supposed that was fair, considering Cole’s past with the brute. So, what else could they do? “You know,” she said casually, “we’re already near the harbor. We should ride past on our way to Fat Vandy’s and take a quick look at the docks.”
Cole frowned at the sky. “It’s starting to get dark.”
“But it’s not dark yet. And you’ve got your sword. No one’s going to bother us.”
He grimaced. “You don’t know that. The docks aren’t likely full of friendly faces.”
“Which makes this the perfect time to look around without anyone noticing us,” Mistel said. “The duel? Anyone who has to work will still be working, and villains won’t come out this early. We might find one of Thusk’s ships.”
Cole hesitated, twisting his lips. She could see the gears turning in his head, weighing the risk. She knew he wanted to go, wanted answers as much as she did.
“Fine,” he said at last, boosting her up onto Bart’s side saddle. “But we’re just looking. No sneaking onto ships, no drawing attention. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
Cole mounted Cherix, and Mistel steered Bart after him, grinning as they made their way toward the waterfront.
They neared a tangle of piers where the filthy slush of the road gave way to the wooden planks of a wharf. The entire place felt deserted. Where were the workers?
Ahead of Mistel and Bart, Cherix’s hooves skidded. He tossed his head and snorted, ears pinned back.
“I don’t like this,” Cole said. “If there’s a gap under all this snow, we won’t know until a hoof goes through. The Tipsy Taproom isn’t far. Let’s stable the horses there and walk a bit.”
Walk hand in hand alone with Cole at twilight? “I love that idea.”
Cole paid a few rutahs each at the Tipsy Taproom, and soon they had put up their horses and were walking back toward the wharf.
Cole slipped his gloved hand through hers.
He wasn’t one to make such a bold move, and it made her stomach tighten.
Spying all the time made it terribly difficult for her to have alone time with Cole, and this moment felt like a victory.
The sun faded quickly, and the moon hung strangely bright in the twilit sky, its light mingling with the breathtaking glow of red and orange skyfire rippling across the heavens. Their boots thudded softly against the wooden planks as they approached the darkening expanse of the harbor.
“I don’t see any ships,” Cole said.
Mistel was about to agree when she caught sight of the shadowy outline of a mast against the dusky sky. “There’s one.” She released Cole’s hand and hurried toward the boat. “Let’s get a closer look.”
Cole muttered under his breath, but his steps pounded after her.
As the ship came into view more clearly, Mistel’s steps slowed.
The vessel sat pitched at an odd angle, half submerged and rotting.
Completely frozen in the ice, its masts had splintered, its deck sagging.
On the other side of the berth, the skeletal remains of a ship jutted from the ice like the broken ribs of a tanniyn.
“Thusk can’t ship from here,” Cole said. “No one can.”
Because the harbor had been frozen for years, which was why they’d ridden to Ice Island on the dogsleds. Why would things be any different here in town?
Mistel turned back to Cole. She had grown up in Sitna, far from any ocean. She knew nothing about ships. “But I heard soldiers talking about the Brierstar sailing back to Tsaftown. So, how does a ship sail here?”
“Ships are too big to sail straight into a shallow berth like this,” Cole said.
“The Brierstar would have to anchor out in the bay where the water is too deep to freeze. They’d use longboats to haul cargo back and forth.
My guess is, they take dogsleds across the ice, or there might be a longer pier out here somewhere from which they can launch longboats.
Best head back. I’ll ask Kurtz about it. ”
Mistel supposed there was nothing else to be done. “Well, that was disappointing,” she said, allowing Cole to lead her back toward the city streets.
A block from the Tipsy Taproom, Mistel caught the rattle of an approaching horse and wagon just before Cole yanked her into the shadowed alcove of a thatcher’s shop. His body pressed against hers, warm and unyielding, and sent a tingle racing through her belly.
A moment later, a wagoner steered two horses around the corner of the next block, heading down the street toward them. As the wagon passed by, Mistel caught sight of a series of runes painted in white along its side.
She sucked in an icy breath and tugged Cole’s hand. “Did you see those runes? They were the same ones we saw at the prison.”
“Are you sure?” Cole asked.
The wagon slowed at the next intersection, then turned left. Mistel ran after it.
“Mistel!” Cole whisper-yelled.
“One minute,” she called back, eager to get a better look at those runes. When she reached the corner and peeked around, she saw that the wagon had stopped halfway down the next street. The driver was nowhere to be seen.
Perfect.
She crept forward, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it between her ears.
When she reached the wagon, she ran her finger along the runes.
The first was a line with three shorter ones coming out its top.
The second, two parallel wavy lines. And the third, a square balanced on one point with two concentric circles inside.
Yep. Same ones from the prison.
A snort made her jump, and she peered into the back of the wagon where three large cages sat in a row. Inside were boars—two regular brown ones and one white ice boar. She frowned, her excitement fading. Just more meat.
“Mistel!” Cole’s hissing whisper pulled her gaze to the corner. And here came her knightling, striding toward her, hand on the hilt of the sword at his belt.
My, he looked handsome and brave, all focused and determined to make sure she was all right.
She started toward him, but a figure stepped between them, his back to Cole.
A gruff man with a scar slashed across his face.
His eyes locked onto hers, and something about that angry scar rendered her immobile.
Mistel couldn’t breathe—forgot all about her skills in charming strange men. For a moment, neither of them moved.
“Hey!” Cole’s voice cut through the air, sharp and urgent.
The man turned his head toward Cole, and Mistel ran the other way.