Ulin and Notwen began their search for Lucy’s father shortly after midday. They had slept late despite the heat and the noise in the village, and when they woke, they were ravenous. After a breakfast of bland chowder and watery ale, they made a careful inquiry about Kethril Torkay.
The innkeeper looked at them askance. “Sure, most people around these parts know Kethril. Most people live to regret it.”
“As have I,” Ulin replied heavily. “I must repay a debt of gambling. However, I cannot pay him, if I do not know where he is.”
A laugh burst from the old innkeeper. “If you say so, boy. I would tell you if I knew. He has stiffed me on a debt, but truth is, no one’s seen Kethril around here for some months. Rumor is he’s dead.” He nodded toward the door. “You can try some of the other places. Maybe you’ll be lucky.”
Notwen and Ulin trudged outside. They paused in the warm sunlight while Ulin drew the Truth-see glasses out of his pocket. He hesitated a moment, staring at the fine wire and pink lenses. He knew they should work. They had been crafted in the Fourth Age with magic granted by the gods, magic that was still reliable even after the departure of the gods. But he hesitated, torn by an illogical reluctance and a sense of foolishness. One reason he had come to this region was to look for artifacts—so why did he have a powerful desire to crumple these spectacles and hurl them into the bay? It wasn’t the spectacles’ fault his magic no longer functioned. Ulin sighed and forced his feelings aside. If this Kethril was as clever as everyone thought, he and Notwen would need all the advantages they could garner. He put the glasses on.
If the spectacles worked, it was not immediately apparent. The rose lenses did nothing to improve the squalor and decrepit condition of the town, nor did they reveal anything out of the ordinary. What he saw, Ulin decided, was what he got.
He and Notwen decided to start their inquiries in the taverns and gaming houses along the ramshackle waterfront then work their way through the brothels and shops of the back streets. The first tavern they visited was built into the hold of one the old ships. A ramp led up to a door cut in the hull, and inside tables and a bar had been set up on the lower deck. The place was nearly empty, and the few customers at the bar were a mean-looking, surly lot. If they knew anything about Kethril, they were in no mood to tell.
Notwen and Ulin moved on. At the next establishment, the name of Kethril Torkay brought an instant reaction from one of the patrons.
“That conniving son of a jackal!” a powerful-looking Khur barbarian shouted. “He cheated me! I will have his tongue! His hands! His eyes will decorate my dagger!”
“Yes,” Ulin said patiently, “but do you know where he is? We were told he was dead.”
“Dead!” The barbarian slammed his mug on the table. “Not that we have heard. Hey, Kalim, have you seen that whoreson Kethril?”
The person he addressed raised his head from the bar and gazed blearily at nothing in particular before shaking his head and dropping it back on the bar.
The Khur stamped to Ulin, his expression bellicose and very inebriated. “If you find him, tell me. I have vowed to slit his throat.”
“Stand in line,” Ulin muttered. He led the drunken Khur back to his table with promises of instant notification should Kethril Torkay be found. After depositing the man in a chair, Ulin hurried out with Notwen.
They tried several more taverns with equal success until they reached the end of the small waterfront. From there they followed a different path past several run-down houses and a dilapidated shop to the next establishment: a gaming house made of mud bricks and stucco.
The owner, a tall red-haired woman of middle age, met them at the door and welcomed them inside. The shaded interior was cool after the humid heat outdoors, and fans, turned by several children, helped keep the air moving. Customers obviously appreciated the house’s amenities, for the tables were nearly full of patrons playing everything from dice and khas to Bounty Hunter and Dragon’s Bluff. Serving maids bustled around the tables serving beverages and snacks.
“What interests you today, gentlemen?” the red-haired owner inquired. “We offer dice, cards, khas, games of chance, games of skill …”
Something about the woman prompted Ulin to drop his story of an unpaid gambling debt and try something closer to the truth. “A game of Hide and Seek,” Ulin answered. “We are looking for someone who was reported dead. His family is very concerned.”
She considered them for a long moment then held up a hand, its fingers encrusted with rings. “Perhaps you would like a water reading? Through the oracle glass certain things can be foretold. Loved ones can be located.”
Ulin and Notwen glanced at each other, interest on both their faces. Ulin had never seen an oracle glass, although he’d heard of them. He was intrigued to see how one worked.
The fortune-teller led them to a separate room enclosed with carved screens and hung with purple cloth. She sat them both in chairs beside a round table and took a seat herself. A clap of her beringed hands brought a young girl to her side. “Bring water, and be sure you filter it three times. It must be pure.” She leaned back in her high back chair and studied the man and the gnome as the girl hurried away. “A curious partnership,” she said softly. Her fingers drummed on the armrest. “No. Do not talk. Let me read you for myself.” Her voice was husky and curiously soothing. Red-gold lashes framed her deep-brown eyes and matched the color of her hair piled on top of her head.
She reached under the table and brought out a perfectly round glass bowl, clear and nearly flawless, and set it on a three-legged stand in front of her. As soon as the girl returned with a pitcher of water, she took the pitcher and poured its contents into the bowl. The girl quickly withdrew, and the three were left in silence.
Ulin sat still, his fingers steepled, his face devoid of any feeling or reaction. Notwen fidgeted in his chair, hoping for a closer look at the oracle glass. So far, all either of them could see was clear water.
The woman hummed to herself, her eyes on the glass, her hands flat on the table. She appeared to be deep in concentration on the interior of the bowl. “Young man,” she intoned at last. “You are more than you seem. You have lost much, yet your heart is strong. You are seeking … how intriguing. I see a dragon, a gold dragon. It carries you, but it weeps.”
Ulin’s fingers closed around each other in a grip so tight his knuckles turned white. “Is there more?” he asked in a strangled voice. “Can you tell me where he is?”
“No,” she said. “The oracle glass cannot be perfectly controlled. I only interpret those images that form. Let me try another.” She stirred up the water with a glass rod and waited for a new image. “Who else are you looking for? Perhaps a name?”
“Kethril Torkay.”
The fortune-teller clapped a hand over the glass and stared at her two customers. “Why are you looking for him?” she demanded.
“For the reason I told you. His family received a letter informing them of his death. They just want to know the truth.”
She relaxed slightly, and her hand moved from the bowl. “I see truth in your eyes. Besides, that lying knave did mention a wife and children somewhere. I thought he was just lying to get out of marrying me.” She smiled then, revealing large white teeth and a dimple on her powdered cheek. “This reading is free.” She stared back into the water. “I do not see a grave. There is a hole of some sort, an excavation perhaps, but no grave. He is in it, very much alive, moving boxes I think.”
Ulin pursed his lips, thinking about what she said. “Are these images of the past or the future?”
“Could be either. The oracle glass does not interpret time as we do.”
“So Kethril may be alive?”
“Probably.”
“Where do we find him?”
The woman shook her head. “That I cannot say. He has not been here for months. If he had visited me, he probably would be dead.”
Ulin snorted a laugh. “He certainly knows how to make friends.”
“That’s the problem. He does. He is the most charming, delectable man who ever crossed my threshold.” She sighed eloquently. “Also the most self-centered, untruthful, conniving rogue who ever set foot in Dead Pirate’s Cove, and that’s saying a great deal.” She tapped a fingernail on the glass and gazed thoughtfully at the tiny rings that spread across the water. “There is one possibility. He is an inveterate gambler. If he is still in the area, he could be sneaking over to the Golden Carp. It’s a riverboat used as a gaming tavern upriver. They move it whenever they feel the itch, so it could be anywhere along the river between here and Four Horse, where the river gets too shallow for boats. Maybe ten miles upstream.”
Ulin dropped a steel coin on the table. “Take it anyway, and thank you.”
Notwen bounced on his seat. “But what about me?”
She smiled at him. “Ah, I almost forgot. The gnome with the inventive mind.” She peered into her glass again. “You have a good friend here. I think he will save your life.” She shot a look at Notwen over the glass. “But beware a red dragon.”
Notwen barely heard her. He climbed up in his chair and peered over the glass. “What do you see? How do you summon these images? Is the power in you, the water, or the glass?”
The fortune-teller waggled a finger at him. “Oh, no. That’s giving away my secrets.” She lifted her glass away from his inquisitive hands. “Suffice to know that my images are reliable. It is up to you to find their worth.”
Ulin pulled Notwen away from the table and plopped him on the floor. They offered their thanks to the red-haired woman and made their way to the next establishment. For the rest of the day they talked to the citizens of Dead Pirate’s Cove, but no one could give them any more information on Kethril. The man had vanished from the settlement four months ago and not even the few people who called him friend knew where he was.
With only the sketchy information from the red-haired woman, Ulin and Notwen returned to the Loathly Dragon hungry, tired, and dispirited. They rested that night and early the next morning, they made their back to the Second Thoughts. Under the amused scrutiny of a dozen witnesses, they poled the boat backward until they could turn her toward the river, then they lit the boiler and got underway. Slowly, they steamed toward the mouth of the river.
The particular advantages of a shallow-drafted, broad-bottomed boat and a paddle wheel soon became apparent in the silt-filled waters of the river. The boat wove a tortuous route through the saltmarsh, past sandbars, mud flats, and banks of waving marsh grass. In many places the water was shallow even in high tide and barely passable with the paddle boat. A deep-keeled sailboat would never have made the passage.
Ulin steered the small boat while Notwen kept the boiler hot and the engine working. They made several wrong turns and had to work their way back to the main current, and twice Ulin had to jump out and pull armfuls of weed, dead grass, and muck from the blades of the paddle so it could turn without too much stress on the cogs and the engine. In spite of the extra miles, the Second Thoughts left the marsh behind shortly before nightfall and chugged slowly up the meandering river.
In this rugged, barren land, trees only grew along the river in a thin ribbon of green that barely screened the reds and browns of the eroded hills. The riverbanks lifted high above the water in some places and slid down into silt bars and beds of reeds in others. The water, what there was of it, was silty brown and sluggish. “Too thin to plow, too thick to drink,” was a common description in that region. About the only creatures who seemed to appreciate the river were the long-legged wading birds and the mosquitoes.
It was near full dark when Ulin and Notwen looked for a place to tie up for the night. The Second Thoughts chuffed around a bend, and Notwen was about to steer it toward a likely looking cove when Ulin’s head lifted and he gestured fiercely for Notwen to shut down the engine. Steam hissed from the relief valves, and gradually the little boat drifted into silence.
Ulin pointed ahead to a thick grove of willow and cottonwood shielding the next bend in the river. Barely seen through the new canopy of spring leaves, the yellow light of torches flickered.
Silently as possible, Ulin and Notwen poled the boat into the side cove, made her fast, and banked the fire. Together they slipped through the underbrush toward the lights until they could see through the trees to the riverbank beyond the curve. There sat a large, flat-bottomed boat anchored fore and aft in a broad, deep river hole. Lamps were already lit on the deck, and light shone through the portholes. Several men stood guard at the gangplank. It was the Golden Carp.
They swiftly worked their way back to the Second Thoughts and finalized their plans.
“He may not come. He may not even be around here,” Notwen pointed out while Ulin washed the mud off and changed his clothes.
“I know.”
“It may be several days before he appears.”
“I know.”
“He won’t want to be caught,” the gnome added worriedly. “He’s got to know the city council will hang him if they get their hands on him.”
“I know,” Ulin said. He finished wrapping a sash belt around his waist and put his hands on Notwen’s shoulders. “I’ll be careful, and I’ll have you to watch my back.” He slid the rose glasses over his nose and tucked several small packets into the folds of his belt. When he was ready, they doused the single candle, closed the door, and headed for the Golden Carp.
A black night had settled over the river when they approached the gangplank. A narrow ramp had been tied to the bank and extended to the upper deck of the boat. Ulin saw now that the boat was really a barge meant to be towed up or down the river, probably by mules or a horse. Five or six canoes and several flatboats were tied near the shore, and a picket line under the trees held five horses. Voices rang from the open widows of the barge, and somewhere within someone was playing a lute. Badly.
The guards met them at the gangway. “If you plan to play,” one demanded, “you must show us your money and check your weapons at the door.”
“And if we don’t plan to play?” Ulin inquired.
“You will leave,” the second replied in a tone that brooked no argument. “Now.”
Ulin had not brought his sword, guessing this would happen, but he turned over his dagger and drew out his coin bag to show the guards his coins. He did not mention the knife in his boot. They waved him through, searched Notwen, and let them pass.
Trying to look nonchalant, Ulin wandered toward the bar. Notwen stayed close behind him to attract as little attention as possible. The main room of the gambling boat was arranged with tables and chairs set about them. A large bar made from heavy planks and saw horses sat at the bow-end of the room. The room was smoky and disheveled. The few brass lamps that hung from the ceiling beams did little to dispel the gloom. Sawdust covered the floor. Perhaps fifteen to twenty people—mostly humans, a few dwarves, and two small baaz draconians—sat at the playing tables or stood by the bar. Kender were not allowed in the door.
A tired-looking woman in a stained dress served mugs of beer and spirits. She saw Ulin and said, “What’ll it be? Beer or torquil?”
Ulin winced. The beer was bound to be bad in a place like this, and torquil, a rot-gut fermentation of some cactus-juice preferred by the Khurs, gave him a fiery headache every time he tried it. “Beer,” he said. At least his head would not explode.
She slid a coarse stoneware mug across to him. “What’s with the funny glasses?”
“Pink eye,” he growled.
She shook her head and took his coin without another word. He was right. To a palate raised on Caramon’s brews, this beer was bad. He drank it anyway, leaning back against the bar, and he studied the customers one by one. First he looked at each person over the rim of the spectacles then through the rose glass. He saw no difference.
He sat for perhaps two hours nursing his beer and watching the activities. People came and left, new games were started. Notwen wandered over to a khas table by the door and soon became engrossed in a game with a trapper. There was still no sign of anyone in a disguise of any sort or anyone even close to Kethril Torkay’s description. Ulin knew he couldn’t sit at the bar much longer without buying another beer or joining a game. The bartender was giving him evil looks and the serving woman suggested several times that he order another drink or leave.
The leaving option sorely tempted him. The lute player had not improved with time and had given Ulin a pounding headache. The beer was foul. Then again, if he didn’t throw some money around, the guards might get suspicious and not allow him back on the boat another night. He glanced around at the game tables to find something he could play, and at that moment, his decision was made for him.
Three Khurs staggered in the door arm in arm, laughing uproariously. They were full of gaiety, comradeship, and raucous pleasure, and obviously full of beer or something harder. They spotted a table under one of the brass lamps and unceremoniously dumped its occupying drunk in a corner and claimed it for their own.
“Torquil!” bellowed the tallest man with an eye patch and a full beard. “Torquil for my desert friends.”
Ulin’s eyes narrowed at the odd phrasing. Carefully, he studied the man over the rim of his spectacles. When he tilted up his head and looked at the same man through the rose-colored lenses, the difference was striking. The black hair, swarthy skin, rugged features, and bearded countenance of the tall man blurred and faded to reveal a white-skinned, fair-haired man with paler eyes and smoother features—an exact match of Lucy’s description. As if to complete the identification, the “Khur” raised a gloved hand to bring out a deck of cards and slap them on the table.
After all the miles he had traveled to find this man and all the stories he heard, Ulin found it very strange to see the man himself sitting in a rickety chair, moving and breathing, very much alive. The disguise was excellent. Too good to be simple false hair and skin dye. Ulin wondered if Kethril was in the possession of certain magic artifacts. Lucy never said her father was a mage, but maybe he’d learned enough to wield the old magic in artifacts.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Notwen murmured at his elbow. “He won’t come easily.”
“No, not yet,” Ulin agreed. “He won’t come willingly, and he may have friends in this place. I have an idea, though.” He showed his teeth in a feral grin. “I owe myself this one.”