The Blue Flames, page 18
Caradoc stood, still holding one of her hands. “Come on. Let’s go and have a look from the balcony.”
The East Country was not only the wettest region in Eriaris, but also the greenest. Here the trees grew wilder and taller than anywhere else, and there was a multitude of strange and wonderful creatures that couldn’t be spotted in any other part of the world. As they gazed out from the balcony, a trio of lemurs could be seen lounging in a nearby tree. Hoots and calls of various birds sounded throughout the forest below. To the right, a clearing in the trees revealed a river, deep green in the overcast light. A pair of fishing boats had just launched from a dock built into the embankment. The river was swollen with last night’s rainwater and tumbled southward in a rolling, boisterous current.
The air was damp and balmy, the scent of rain still fresh. As Harriet took a deep breath of it, her eyes fell on a curious tree standing on the lawn of the inn’s back garden. Its bark was cherry red, with a sheen that made it look like wrapping paper. Greenish-brown knots and swatches of moss streaked across the bark like stripes on a tiger. It stood taller than any other tree in the garden, and its canopy of swaying leaves seemed a brighter shade of green than all the rest. She declared it one of the most wonderful sights she had ever seen.
“It’s called a blushing birch,” Caradoc said. “Only grows in this part of the world. When you strip away the bark, the wood beneath is a deep scarlet color, all the way to the core.”
“I never knew the East Country was so beautiful. What a pity it has to be so dangerous as well.”
“Well, let’s just see about getting clear of all this danger.” Caradoc pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it atop the balcony railing. It was the map of Eriaris he’d been studying just before the slaver attack. He smoothed out the creases and squinted down at it. “Curse my eyes. I can’t read a word of it.”
“You don’t have your spectacles?”
“I found them in pieces in my coat pocket when I woke in that cage. Where is Varapalia? Here?”
“Here,” she corrected, moving his finger to the spot.
“Right. So the Boathouse is straight north of it on the Lower Ashing River. And we traveled almost a full day west, which puts us . . . somewhere here, I think.”
“And Gadham sits at the foot of the Ashing Mountains, here,” she continued. “Which means there’s still a six-day journey to make.”
“Yes. Which also means . . .” A knowing grin tugged at his mouth. “We need horses.”
She met the news with a smile of her own, a thrill of joy easing the heaviness in her heart. Apart from family and friends, there was nothing she loved so well as horses. In the past few years, she’d begun to despair of ever having the chance to ride one again.
“I heard Daniel mention it before. But I didn’t dare hope.”
“Dare away, dear sister. You can choose a pair of them tomorrow morning. The best Daniel’s money can buy.”
She glanced at the map again. “Perhaps we’ll even find Wendolen and Josephina along the way. And Chester as well.”
“Perhaps. Would that we were closer to Ciras to help Riva.”
Harriet nodded sadly. “I fear there’s nothing we can do for her until we return home. But there may be others there to help her.”
Caradoc folded the map as he looked out over the balcony again. Dark storm clouds hung in the far distance, sweeping gray curtains of rain away to the west. Below, another fishing boat sailed down the river. The lemurs in the nearby tree watched it with interest, their large yellow eyes following until it was out of sight. Caradoc tucked the map into his pocket while barely stifling a restless sigh.
“What is it?”
He smirked at Harriet’s question before answering. “I’ve been thinking about something . . . difficult. Something you won’t like.” He stood back from the railing. “Once we get to Mastmarner—however long it may take—I think it best we part ways. You return to Riverfall if we manage to signal them. Stay with Mavie if not. And I’ll remain with Daniel’s crew to continue searching for the others.”
“Part ways?” she said with a frown. “But wouldn’t it make more sense for me to stay and help in that search? We need as many friendly eyes looking for them as we can get.”
“Having to travel through the East Country is bad enough. But once we set foot in Entrian Territory it will be ten times as dangerous, even more so than the last time we were there.”
“And that is supposed to convince me to leave you behind?”
“You wouldn’t be leaving me behind.”
“That’s exactly what I would be doing!” she said, panicked by the very thought. “And it’s the worst arrangement imaginable! You—knowing I am safe on Riverfall, and me—not knowing whether you are living or dead from one moment to the next. Would you really ask me to bear that?”
“For my sake? Yes. I couldn’t protect you as well as I’d like if—”
“I do not ask you to protect me!”
“You don’t have to ask!”
He turned away and rubbed a hand over his face, instantly regretting the tone of his voice. Harriet felt the fire of her anger dissipate, replaced by steely resolve.
“Now it is you who must listen to me,” she said. “When you stood before an army of Spektors in that town square and bade me walk away, I did. When you declared your intent to seek the Middling House and the vile woman who cursed you, I did not oppose it. I have always tried my best to be a good and loyal friend, never wishing to be a hindrance or a liability. But everything changed after Harroway. It made me realize that being a good friend to you doesn’t always mean keeping out of the way, even if it’s what you want. You would single-handedly do battle with all the evils in this world if it meant no one ever getting hurt again. But that’s not how things work. So we will travel wherever we must together, look for the others together—however long it may take. And when we return to Riverfall, we will do so together.”
A gust of winter wind sent a shiver through the treetops below. Caradoc continued staring down at them from over the balcony railing. “I didn’t mean to shout. I’m sorry.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “I shouted first.” She returned to the railing and stood beside him again. “I suppose that’s the kind of thing that happens on half a wink of sleep.”
He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her, but there was nothing cross in the expression. “I’m not conceding, you know.”
“Well, you did say it might take as much as two months to get to Mastmarner. That’s plenty of time to change your mind.”
He smiled. Below, a gardener moved towards the blushing birch with a wheelbarrow, inside of which was a broad hand-saw and a long pair of pruning shears. They watched as he set to work on the tree, clipping and sawing whatever he could to keep it looking its best. He spent a good deal of time on one particular branch which had grown up slantways at an odd angle. After cutting through its base near the trunk, he had to apply his full weight to pull it down as all its secondary limbs and branches were tangled in others. Caradoc watched for several moments, then stepped up and hoisted himself over the balcony railing.
“What are you doing?” Harriet asked.
“I’ll be right back,” he said as he climbed down the pillar beneath.
“Can’t you use the stairs?”
“That’ll take twice as long!”
Once on the ground, he hurried to the gardener and helped tug the large branch free. Harriet watched as they talked together. The gardener rubbed his chin, nodded, and went to retrieve the handsaw from the wheelbarrow, which he then gave to Caradoc. Together they made short work of chopping and stripping away the smaller boughs and offshoots from the main branch. When they were finished, Caradoc grasped the gardener’s hand in gratitude, then turned and jogged back to the balcony with the branch still in his hand.
“Here,” he said, holding it up to her.
She took it, then stood back as he climbed up the pillar and over the balcony railing.
“What’s this for?”
“I’m going to carve you a new cane out of that. Should only take a few weeks.”
She smiled. “That’s wonderful! I never knew you were a woodworker.”
“Certainly not an expert, but I learned a thing or two. Helped to pass the long months at sea. I tried giving the gardener a few coins for it, but he wouldn’t take them. Very nice man.”
She took a long moment to admire the branch. It was even more beautiful up close, and much heavier than she would’ve thought. The inner part of the hewn end was a deep burgundy color, with lighter rings of crimson around it. She handed it back to him, still smiling.
“It will be the envy of the East Country.”
The next morning, the attendants brought breakfast again, but this time with the news that the road leading north had cleared. After enjoying another meal on the second floor, they packed their things and headed for the stables. It was a small place only a short walk from the inn. An elderly man with an eyepatch met them at the door. As soon as he caught sight of their coin purse, he offered to showcase every detail of the horses in his keeping. He also assured them he had papers for each one which would verify their previous owners and extensive breeding history, to include sketches of their sires and dams.
Neither Harriet nor Caradoc believed for a moment that his information was genuine. There were only six horses in the place, and the town was so small and so remote that no trader could afford to be so particular about the kind of livestock they bought and sold. In a region so heavily dependent on black market merchandise, it was far likelier they’d been stolen.
Still, they were a healthy-looking bunch and didn’t seem to be skittish. Harriet all but glowed as she gazed at them and started straight off by quizzing the old trader on a number of technical questions regarding each one. When Caradoc sensed the conversation might well take up the better part of an hour, he inquired after directions to the nearest physician or apothecary, then asked Harriet to choose whichever two horses seemed the best.
“Keep that coin purse near your pistol,” he warned her in a low voice before stepping away. “Don’t be afraid to let him know you have it, either. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
She nodded.
As he walked away, the old man shook his head and whistled through a chip in his front tooth. “Lucky lass. Never seen a wife entrusted with so much coin by her husband.”
“Brother,” she said, and hooked her thumb over her belt so that her pistol was just in sight. “Now tell me about this Delving Bay on the end.”
The apothecary shop was right across the street. Inside, a woman busied herself with arranging a collection of bottles on a shelf. The smell of the place was a hodgepodge of various potions, dried herbs, and perfumes.
“Good morning,” the woman said. “Wait one moment while I finish this.”
Caradoc passed the time by browsing the shelves. There were all the usual things to be found in such a shop—incense, tinctures, oils, powders—but there were a number of unusual items as well. Seal pelts were draped over a stand in the corner. Books on the occult were locked behind a glass case. A metal jar held capsules of pure opium. Its shape reminded him of the silver ewer they had found in Harroway.
“What can I do for you?” the woman asked, now behind the counter.
“I need something for sleep. The strongest you have.”
She turned and rummaged through the cabinet behind her. Bottles were pushed aside, opened and closed. She talked quietly to herself, reading the labels as if measuring each for their suitability. Caradoc leaned against the counter.
“You have some . . . unusual merchandise here.”
She answered with a scoff. “Illegal, you mean. It’s all right to say aloud. This is the East Country, after all. And we must make our living one way or another.”
“Do you deal in enchanted items?”
Her hand paused halfway to the next cabinet, but she recovered herself the next moment. “I see them from time to time.”
Caradoc glanced around the shop again. “Ever heard the name ‘Old Saul’?”
“No.”
“What about ‘Wickwire’?”
She returned to the counter and set a small bottle of brown liquid in front of him. “I have not. But if those names involve any sort of trouble, keep asking around. Someone east of the Ashing will have heard of them. Now here is an opium cordial for you. It should last you a few weeks. Put a dozen drops into a small glass of alcohol before bed. Any kind will do.”
Caradoc picked up the bottle, wrinkling his brow in uncertainty. He was likely to be gone from Riverfall far longer than a few weeks. “Is this the only bottle you have?”
“I’m afraid so. And nothing else I carry will be quite so effective, unless you want to be inhaling chloroform every night.”
“What about that?” He nodded towards the corner of the shelf behind her.
She glanced over her shoulder at a black jar half-covered by a bit of parchment. “No, no. That is Red Jarmarac.”
“I’ve heard of Jarmarac. A friend recommended it to me for sleep.”
“Ordinary Jarmarac, perhaps. The red variety is six times as strong.”
He raised an eyebrow, indicating his interest. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. He’d seen that look before. It was an assessment of his character, his worthiness to receive such an item, and a judgment of his sanity—or lack thereof. After a long moment, she turned and retrieved the jar. Following a quick swipe of cloth to remove the layer of dust covering the lid, she opened it and examined the contents. It was filled to the brim with a pale red liquid.
“If you are caught carrying this, you could be arrested. Its only legal use is for the administration of euthanasia. Five drops is enough to cause death. Since you want it only for sleep, I must insist you use no more than one drop for this purpose.”
She raised a finger to punctuate her point.
“One . . . drop. Understand?”
“Perfectly,” he replied.
Satisfied, she took the jar to the back counter and retrieved an empty glass vial from a cabinet below. She donned a pair of gloves, then with a practiced hand, carefully and slowly poured the contents of the jar into the vial.
“How long have you had trouble sleeping?”
Caradoc tucked his left hand into his coat pocket. “Years.”
“That’s unusual for a man your age. Have you consulted a doctor? Or a priest?”
He thought about how to phrase his answer in a way that wouldn’t make it a complete lie. “I’ve always had trouble trusting such people. I find apothecaries to be far more honest. They don’t think so highly of themselves.”
“Nor do they give discounts for compliments,” she replied. “But as you are taking both the cordial and the Red Jarmarac off my hands, you can have them for three silvers instead of four.”
“Three silvers? Mercy’s sake, perhaps you are a doctor after all.”
She placed the vial and bottle of cordial into a small pouch. “The Jarmarac is made with a rare mineral found only on the island of Fenmire. It is harvested with weighted nets from the deck of a ship rather than from the shore. Apparently, no sailor will set foot on the land.”
“Why is that?” he asked, dropping the coins into her hand.
“I have never heard a practical reason for it. But all the merchants say it is haunted.”
“I’ve never heard that said about Fenmire. It’s uninhabited, isn’t it?”
“As far as anyone knows. But the merchants claim they’ve heard strange noises coming from it. Probably after a hard night of drinking, if you ask me.”
He thanked her for the concoctions, then asked about buying a set of carving tools. She directed him to the general store but wouldn’t let him leave before issuing a final warning about the proper dose of Red Jarmarac.
Five minutes later, he emerged from the general store with the carving tools and a new hat. As he had been unsuccessful thus far in finding any face paint to cover his scars, he figured a wide-brimmed hat would be the most effective and least suspicious means by which to hide them. He stepped out onto the main street and paused to tug it lower over his brow.
A fair distance to his left, two men suddenly began to shout at one another. Caradoc glanced over in time to see them dismounting from horses in front of the inn. The argument lasted only another moment before the first man shoved the second towards the door. As he disappeared inside, the first hung back in the street and scanned the main road. Caradoc looked down at his leather pouch of tools, pretending to inspect them while hiding his face and glancing at the man from out of the corner of his eye. The stranger seemed to curse, then spat on the ground and pushed through the door of the inn, following his companion.
It was then Caradoc remembered where he’d seen the man’s face before. He was the chief slaver who had accepted Sidas Ramm’s offer of double payment for the women and children at the auction. The same man who must have ordered the attack on Daniel’s crew, and who was probably now fixed on hunting down any survivors. With a muttered curse of his own, Caradoc tucked the pouch into his belt and hurried back towards the stables.
Chapter 21
Shave and a Haircut
Simon sat at the small desk in his bedroom and stared out the window. He had never seen so much snow in all his life. The garden shed was half-buried by it. The wooden fence almost looked as if a new layer of paint had been applied. There wasn’t a single blade of grass or patch of earth visible in any part of the back garden, nor in the field beyond. Even the trees seemed cowed by it, every branch drooping under the weight. It was an unprecedented sight for inhabitants of the South Country, even in winter, and it made him feel as if he were looking on another world.
