Pirates & Privateers Page 21

  At the sound of bushes thrashing behind him he launched himself into a thicket, pulling reeds and grass together to hide him. He crouched low, his feet sinking into the soft earth as water seeped over the tops of his boots.

  “Any sign of him?” someone asked from just inside the trees.

  “Phew!” a woman stepped out of the brush. “This stinks.” She peered at the ground, lifting one bare foot up and staring at the sole of her foot. “I’m not going in there.”

  “You will if he did,” a man said as he joined her. “Don’t see any footprints, though.” He looked towards Calder’s hiding spot. “Skit, bugs!” He swatted at his face and bare arms.

  “He’s not here,” the woman said as she waved a hand in front of her face. “If he was he’d be screaming about the bugs. Let’s go. Even if he is here we’ll smell him a mile away if he comes near us.” She turned and headed back into the woods.

  “What’ll we tell the captain?” the man asked as he followed her. Any answer was lost as the two crashed through the brush, away from Calder.

  Calder waited an agonizing ten minutes before he rose from his hiding spot. Any exposed flesh was covered in insect bites, and he resisted the urge to run. Instead, he carefully returned the way he’d come, watching for the sailors. He reached the path that led towards the clearing and followed it. Once he recognized the terrain, he circled around and found a place to hide. The sailors were already at the storage cache, and from their voices, they were not happy.

  “I don’t care,” the woman said. “I’m not tellin’ the captain that we let him get away. I’d rather say the wind blew harder over here and tore the tarp off.”

  “Captain’ll know if we lie to her,” a man said. He had a thick Yedrissian accent but from where he hid, Calder couldn’t see if he had the dark skin of one. He couldn’t see the third sailor—the one who’d chased him with the woman—at all.

  “Then you talk,” the woman said. “Whatever you want to say, I’ll back you, but I don’t want to be the one who tells her the goods are ruined and the skit who did this escaped.”

  Suddenly, Calder was pushed to the ground. “He didn’t escape,” a man said from above him. “Got him right here.” A foot pressed hard on his back, and Calder struggled to suck in a breath. “Bring some rope over, wouldya?”

  DAG ROLLED OVER and opened her eyes. Startled, she sat up.

  “I didn’t know anyone was here,” she said.

  “Yeah, well,” Margit Ansdottir said. “Surprisingly, I’m overlooked a lot for someone my size.” She leaned back in the chair and put a bare foot on the bed.

  “I hear I owe you thanks for saving my life,” Dag said. She had to pry her eyes from the captain’s bare foot. It was heavily callused, but the sole was clean.

  “Yep,” Ansdottir agreed. “But it’s not your thanks that I want to collect.”

  “I expected as much,” Dag said, then she stopped talking. She’d let Margit Ansdottir tell her what she wanted. That way she could use the woman’s own words when she tried to convince Inger not to agree to whatever it was she—or Tarmo Holt—wanted her sister for.

  The two of them sat staring at each other for a few seconds, and then Ansdottir laughed. She pulled her foot off the bed and leaned toward Dag.

  “We have much in common, Dagrun Lund, Intelligencer.” She sat back, waiting for Dag’s response.

  “We do,” Dag agreed, keeping her face as passive as she could. “My sister’s well-being, for one.” Had Ansdottir learned that she was an Intelligencer from Tarmo Holt? Or had Inger told her?

  “Ah yes, your twin.” Ansdottir smiled. “I never wanted a sister, but now I find out it might have been good to have a twin. My knack—what you call a Trait—would have been so much stronger.”

  “Or you could have had the opposite Trait,” Dag said. “And you might not have made it out of childhood.” Like Calder’s brother, she thought. Even Inger didn’t realize that she’d always been protected by Dag.

  “Not that any of that matters,” Ansdottir said. “The only thing that matters is what are you going to do?”

  “About what?” Dag said. She spread her arms. “I’m recovering from my swim and am hardly in a position to do anything.” She smiled sweetly. “Except thank you for rescuing me.”

  Ansdottir snorted. “That might work with Inger but not with me. We both know you didn’t jump in the sea to rejoin her. But you didn’t tell her the real reason, and that makes me wonder why.”

  “What have you promised Tarmo Holt?” Dag asked, suddenly tired of not talking about what was really important. Her Trait was stronger than Ansdottir’s, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t take hours to find out what she was planning.

  “What do you know about Holt?” Ansdottir asked, her voice full of suspicion. “That your Trait at work?”

  “Yes,” Dag lied. Or maybe it wasn’t a lie. “Does Holt know that you have a Trait?”

  “No,” Ansdottir replied. “I didn’t know I had a Trait, just a knack, until he started talking about Intelligencers. Wants some of his own.”

  “I know,” Dag said. “But he’s not allowed. No one’s allowed.”

  “Allowed?” Ansdottir guffawed. “Now you’re just being funny. No such thing as not allowed when you’re Tarmo Holt, Grand Freeholder for the Fair Seas Treaty Alliance.” Still laughing, Ansdottir got to her feet. “We’ll talk again, Intelligencer. For now, you let your sister nurse you to health. And think of ways that you can repay me for saving your life.” She opened the door and paused. “’Cause I gotta tell you, Ursa is not happy that you’re still breathing, and I need you to make having her mad at me worth my while.”

  Ansdottir left: Dag heard her heavy footsteps fade as she headed down the hall. A moment later Inger squeezed through the door.

  “Isn’t she great?” Inger asked. “I’m in awe of Captain Margit. She’s an extremely skilled sailor, and her crew adores her. I get a little tongue tied around her, but you thanked her, didn’t you? For saving your life, you thanked her?” Inger sat on the bed and grasped Dag’s hands.

  “I thanked her,” Dag agreed. “More than once.”

  Inger squeezed her hands. “I knew you would,” she said. “I told Ursa you were so grateful and that you’d tell Captain Margit that you were.”

  “I’m sorry, Inger. I’m a little tired.” Dag lay down. “It’s been a very . . . trying day for me. I think I just need to rest.”

  “Oh, of course,” Inger said. “Sure, thanking someone for saving your life isn’t something you do every day.” She stood up. “I’ll just see if Ursa has any more soup. Would you like that?”

  Dag nodded, and Inger quietly left the room. Dag rolled onto her side and stared at the wooden wall. How was she going to make Inger understand that these people were threatening her? How was she going to convince her that they needed to escape?

  Chapter 15

  CALDER’S HANDS AND feet were bound, so he rubbed his face against the wooden hull of the sailboat, trying to relieve the itching.

  “Bugs gotcha, huh?” the woman said. “Serves ya right.” She scratched her own arm. “I got bit chasin’ ya.” She gripped the gunwale as the boat dipped over a wave. “Captain’ll make you wish the bugs had finished you off.”

  Calder ignored her: she was a low-level sailor, not anyone who had real information. A wave hit the bow and seawater sprayed him: the salt burned his itchy skin. He winced. The sun was high in the sky now, and even out on the water, the air was thick and humid after the rain.

  The Yedrissian was manning the tiller: he seemed to be the one in charge of this small group.

  Calder took a deep, slow breath and blew it out even more slowly. He had to believe that this was due to his Trait; that his Luck was working to get him information that he needed, or get him somewhere he needed to be.

  At least his sailboat and two caches of weapons had not been discovered. Not one of his three captors had wondered what he was doing on the beach or how he’d gotten
there. All they had been concerned with was that he’d run when they’d spotted him, and then he’d shown up at the site of the destroyed and damaged weapons.

  He was certain that once he was delivered to Captain Margit Ansdottir those questions would be asked. Would she send someone out to find the answers? The weapons might remain hidden, but the sailboat would probably be found. He still needed it in order to get off the island.

  The wind picked up, and the crew fell silent.

  “So, what happened to that, what do you call it, storehouse?” Calder asked. “Was there a storm?”

  “There wasn’t a storm and you know it,” the man not steering said. “You did that.”

  “Why would I?” Calder asked. “I don’t even know what was there. Was there food? I’m pretty hungry, so I wish I’d known about it earlier.”

  “You know exactly what was there,” the woman said. “And you didn’t want us to have them weapons. That’s why you came back; to make sure we didn’t take them.”

  “If I knew there were weapons then why didn’t I have any with me?” Calder reasoned that any little doubt he could cast couldn’t hurt. He didn’t expect it to fool Captain Ansdottir, but it might be enough to delay his interrogation. And maybe he could find out if Dag was alive?

  “You have your reasons,” the male sailor near him said.

  “Shut up, Benil,” the Yedrissian said. “The captain will figure him out soon enough.”

  “All right,” Benil said. “But he’s why Satu and I are so itchy.”

  “Leave me out of it,” the woman, Satu, said. “I don’t want no trouble with the captain.” She toed Calder. “Especially if he wasn’t the one who removed the tarp,” she muttered softly, and Calder grinned.

  The crew was quiet for the next few minutes, and then the Yedrissian called out. “Strongrock ahead, mates. Look smart.”

  The other two sailors sat up, their backs straight. Calder, from where he lay on the bottom of the boat, could only see sky, but he felt the sailboat turn, and then Benil untied the sail and started pulling it in. He folded it loosely and placed it on the seat beside him. Satu stood in the prow, painter in hand. The small boat rocked when she jumped from it. There was a thud as she landed on a dock, and then the boat was tugged close.

  “Get up,” the command came in Yedrissian as the man pulled at Calder’s arm, forcing him to his knees. “I said, get up!” he repeated in Nordmerian.

  “I didn’t understand you,” Calder lied. “And my legs are tied together.” He could have responded in Yedrissian, but he was hoping that if he didn’t think his captive knew his language, he might give away a secret. The Yedrissian leaned over and cut the rope at his ankles. Calder lurched to his feet and stepped over the gunwale and onto the dock.

  There were half a dozen sailors watching as he was marched along the dock to the inn. He briefly wondered if he was going to be put into his old room, but they pushed him down a hallway and into a cold storeroom. About five feet high, the room had been dug down into the earth. The underside of wooden floorboards stretched above him, and a small lamp illuminated one corner. A bundle of cloth had been tossed into the middle of the floor.

  “Don’t light anything on fire,” a man said as he tossed a water skin at him. “No one will rescue you, and it’s a bad way to die.”

  “It is, that,” Calder said. His hands were still tied behind him, so the water skin dropped to the floor. When he knelt down to pick it up, he heard the door slam shut and what sounded like a lock clicking into place. He dropped the water skin on top of the cloth and hunched over, heading for the lamp. It took him a few minutes, and he scorched his wrists a little, but eventually he was able to burn through the rope and free his hands. Rubbing his wrists, he sipped water, trying to decide if he should simply wait for his Trait to work or try to escape and find out where Dag was.

  Just in case, he tried opening the door, but it was locked tight.

  JOOSEP FOLLOWED THE woman as she left the Hall. Kaja, a student who was part of Gustav’s training group, had warned him that someone had been seen loitering near their class, and an instructor for a different group reported catching a woman rummaging through his desk.

  She’d said that she was cleaning it, but the Hall only had two caretakers; a wife and husband who had been there for years. Someone was spying on the spies, and Joosep was going to find out who and why.

  Once out in the street, the woman removed the kerchief that she’d wrapped her hair in and tucked it into the waistband of her skirt.

  “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Joosep said as he caught up to her. He placed a hand on her arm and tightened his grip when she tried to get away.

  “I’ll scream,” the woman said.

  “No, you won’t. If you were going to, you would have already.” Joosep smiled into her furious face. “Do you know who I am?” He steered her around the corner and down a narrow alley.

  “Should I?”

  “You have been nosing around my territory for the past few days,” he said. “So, I thought you might know who you were spying on.” She flinched at the word spying. So she did know what was being taught. He turned her down another alley, this one even less busy than the last. Finally, she seemed to wonder where he was taking her and tried to pull away from him.

  “It’s too late to scream now, I’m afraid.” Joosep stopped beside a small door and rapped on it once. Arnor poked his head out.

  “There you are,” Arnor said. He stepped back, and Joosep pushed the now visibly frightened woman inside.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Joosep said when the woman struggled to get away. “But you are going to give me answers.” He pulled her along the narrow corridor, around a corner, and through a small door. Arnor followed them into his office, shut the door, and pulled the wall hanging over it to hide it.

  “Sit down.” Joosep had to push her into the chair. “See that we’re not disturbed,” he said to Arnor, who nodded and left the room.

  He hovered over her, making sure she didn’t try to bolt from the room.

  “I don’t really care who you are,” he said. “I’m sure I can find out easily enough. Nor do I want to punish you, although I could do that as well. I need to know who you are working for and what you’re looking for.”

  “He’ll kill me,” the woman said, fear in her voice. “Or my family, if he decides he wants me to suffer.”

  Joosep sighed. At least she hadn’t wasted his time pretending she was innocent. But under threat of death? That was despicable even for Holt.

  “What does Tarmo Holt want in exchange for the safety of you and your family?”

  “You know?” she whispered. “How can you know and let him get away with it?”

  “I suspect,” Joosep replied. “I need much more than that in order to stop him. What are you supposed to do for him?”

  “Find twins,” she said. “I’m supposed to find twins. But none of the ones I’ve found have been right, so I thought I’d look at the ones who are right.”

  “The ones under my care,” Joosep said. “How do you know they are right?”

  “He said so. He said they had the talents he needed.”

  “He told you to try to take them from me? Even Holt knows that’s impossible.”

  “No, he didn’t tell me.” The woman was terrified now. “Don’t tell him what I did, please. It’s just . . . I know twins run in families so I thought.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I thought if I knew what families were right I could find more twins from the same families.”

  “I already do that,” Joosep said and sighed. “But you didn’t know that.” He stood up. “Arnor!” His assistant opened the door and peered in. “Show my guest out, please. And make sure she can’t get back in.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, visibly relieved. “I won’t come back, I promise.”

  “You will,” Joosep said. “When and if you find another set of right twins. You will come back and tell me before you tell T
armo Holt. Is that clear?” She said, “yes,” but Joosep doubted she would. He’d never hurt her family even if she didn’t do as he asked, and she was convinced Tarmo Holt would. Joosep thought he would too.

  But what was the rush? If he found twins they would need years of training—more than the six years until Tarmo Holt could become Grand Freeholder again. Although he himself had been putting Gustav to work, and he’d only been at the Hall for five years.

  But why now? Why the sudden interest in Traits and twins who might have them? Did Holt think it would allow him to stay on as Grand Freeholder? But that was impossible. Or was he trying to set himself up as his rival, with his own Intelligencer team? But that, too, would take years.

  Joosep frowned. Where in Nyorden were Calder and Dagrun? They were the ones with the skills—and good sense—to help him find out what Holt was after. All he was left with were the half-trained recruits and a few Intelligencers with not very useful Traits: Eevi was a Good Shot, and Jarri and Janni could Make and Unmake anything he asked them to. None of them had a Trait that would help uncover Holt’s plans.

  Except for him and his weak Unseen Trait. Was that enough to get past whatever defences Holt had surrounded himself with? He had to hope it was.

  “I’VE BROUGHT YOUR dinner,” Inger said, as she shouldered the door closed. She set a tray on the table beside the bed. “You look flushed. Are you all right?” Inger held the back of her hand against Dag’s forehead. “You’re warm.” She poured a glass of water and handed it to Dag.

  Dag sipped the water and placed it against her head. She’d been awake: she had actually just gotten back into bed a few minutes before Inger arrived. And she was warm because she’d been doing exercises: push-ups and squats to try to regain her strength. But having Inger think she was still very ill would work to her advantage. The longer everyone thought she continued to be weak and was still recovering, the more time she had to figure out what to do about Ansdottir and her threat against Inger.