The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume I: Volume I

pounded hard behind him. The city watch gained on him. He needed a hiding place.
    Large stone factories and warehouses crowded the narrowing streets. Shadows reached out to encircle him. He smelled the damp of the river and the tar used to coat ship hulls. Memories of Coronnan City assaulted and confused him. He stumbled on unfamiliar cobblestones up a curb into a green-painted door.
    The latch was open and he fell into a narrow corridor. An unseen hand closed the door firmly behind him.
    “A rather unseemly entrance for my new night watchman.” An extremely tall and gaunt man dressed in fine black tunic and trews glared at Jack.
    “Sorry, sir, I tripped on the curbing. I . . . I thought I was late and ran too fast,” Jack stammered. His years as a drudge had taught him to dissemble rather than catch hell for imagined crimes and misdemeanors.
    “Well, you are late. And you are short. The Rover chieftain promised me a strong man who could frighten off intruders, thieves, and spies.”
    Spies and Rovers? Jack wondered what he had stumbled into. Was escape from the city watch worth the risk of an even more dangerous situation?
    “Oh, but I am strong, sir,” Jack found himself saying. He flexed his arms to show off his muscles. Three years of wielding a sledge hammer had added considerable bulk to his shoulders and chest. “And I know how to fight.” To emphasize that point he put on his most intimidating expression and stared into the eyes of his potential employer. Eyes that were as dark as his own and full of Rover deceit.
     
    That boy is here!
    I cannot blame the mundanes of the city watch for losing him. He outsmarted me before with his transport spell. Lanciar lost track of him a week ago. How does he find enough magic in this cursed land to support such a spell?
    I shall find out. Simeon must be forced to turn his attention to finding the boy. I have not the strength. The babe draws all of my energy and concentration. Perhaps I shall have to force an early birth so that I can devote my time and strength to something else. My father’s wife will welcome the opportunity to raise my child in secret exile.
    “Do you have a name, young man?” The dark-eyed factory owner asked.
    “Jack.” He’d learned at least that this was a factory, and rival factory owners had been trying to steal designs from the tall man who bore the heritage of the Rovers in his eyes. Just as Jack did.
    “Jack What?” One long sandy-blond eyebrow rose above the dark eyes so that it looked like a sideways question mark.
    “Just Jack.”
    “A bastard, eh.” The owner shrugged and led the way down the long corridor. “Here on the ground floor are my offices and the warehouse.” He flung open a white-painted, wooden door on the right to reveal crates piled high. The storage area took up most of the building surrounding the stark and utilitarian office. A much wider double door opened from the back of the building directly onto the docks. Six men milled around an open crate while stevedores from a waiting ship lounged upon more crates.
    “Why aren’t you men at work?” The factory owner’s voice dripped disdain for his employees.
    “Sorry, Owner Brunix.” One nondescript man of middle age separated himself from the others and approached Jack and the owner.
    Now Jack had a name to attach to his new employer. “Sir, this crate is short three reels of lace. That new design you wanted me to check special. It was in with the rest of the shipment yesterday when I packed it. But now it’s gone.”
    “Cursed thieves!” Rage darkened the owner’s skin to a dark sunburn. Too stupid to respect Rover wards!
    The thought leaked through without Jack opening his mind. No further explanation followed the one angry explosion.
    Owner Brunix’s mind closed up once more. Rover tribes tended to have natural armor around their thoughts. What was so important about the wards that his thoughts leaked out?
    So this was a lace factory. Luck or the Stargods had led him to a place to start looking for Mistress Kaantille. Or lacking her, he would have access to the delicate fabric he needed for Shayla.
    His eyes searched every corner of the warehouse for clues. When the sealed crates revealed nothing but shadows, he allowed his other senses to open. “Listening” was much harder here, but easier than true magic. He only allowed himself to eavesdrop when he had no other course of action.
    The stevedores were laughing among themselves at the