The House Of Gaian

Inquisitor puppets. Puppets or not, it wasn’t going to be easy to get Sweet Selkie out of the harbor, and he couldn’t afford to let her be boarded. Not with the living cargo he was carrying.
    “You shouldn’t have stayed,” Craig said again. “She’s the last ship, Mihail. The last one .”
    “I know it.” He just couldn’t think about it. His brothers gone. His father gone. Had his wife and daughter gotten to Willowsbrook safely, or were they gone, too? How long would it be before he knew? Would he ever know?
    Couldn’t think of it. Couldn’t think that way. He needed to think of the sea, of the strong tide drawing Sweet Selkie away from the dock, giving her room to run, to flee fast enough to get past the Inquisitors’
    ships and out to the open sea. He could outrun them in the open. Had to outrun them.
    First, he and Craig had to get to the ship.
    “You—”
    “You stayed,” Mihail snapped.

    Craig said nothing. What could he say? He’d stayed in Durham, pretending he didn’t see the danger coming closer and closer as he sold off what he could, drained the assets to get as much gold and silver to family members as he could, quietly burned the business records that would have told the enemy where to look for other branches of the family. In the end, he’d escaped by setting the warehouse on fire just ahead of the guards breaking down the door to bring him in for questioning.
    That commotion at the other end of the docks sounded like it was heating up. Mihail straightened up enough to peer over the top of the crates. Warriors forming a circle around someone. A buzz of angry voices—a low sound slowing gaining in volume as more sailors and dock workers moved closer to whatever was happening.
    Mihail crouched again, shifting the heavy leather satchel slung over one shoulder—a twin to the one on Craig’s shoulder. How had the man managed to walk to Seahaven carrying both satchels? “I never realized ledgers were so heavy,” he muttered.
    For a moment, a smile eased Craig’s grim expression. “There’s only one ledger in that bag. One that’s any use to the family anyway. The other three are hollowed out and filled with the last of the gold and silver I had in the family coffers at the warehouse. That’s why it’s so heavy.”
    Mihail rested his forehead against the crates. “Mother’s tits. Did you think to bring a clean shirt and another pair of socks?”
    “They’re in this bag. Isn’t my fault you grabbed the heavier one.”
    Mihail just shook his head, then turned a little to study the dock where Sweet Selkie was moored. The docking ropes were untied. Two of his men stood at the bow, playing out rope that had been slipped through a dock ring, letting the ship ease back with the tide. His orders to his first mate had been clear.
    They sailed with the tide, with or without him. The gangplank had been withdrawn. Now only a board wide enough for a nimble man’s feet was being balanced by another member of his crew so that it wouldn’t scrape on the dock and draw someone’s attention.
    He noticed the way the men kept glancing around, searching for some sign of him while trying not to look like they were searching for someone. And he noticed the sea hawk perched on the end of the dock, watching his ship.
    Another one glided low over the water and looked at the stern, as if trying to read the ship’s name under the mud he’d smeared over it to hide it.
    But hawks couldn’t read.
    Unless they weren’t hawks.
    A shiver went through him. Hope. Fear. He wasn’t sure.
    “The tide’s going out,” he said. “We have to go now while we can.”
    “The guards will spot us.”
    “No choice. Come on.”
    They stood up in time to see a merchant captain break free of the circle of warriors and run for his ship.
    “I’m an honest merchant!”

    Ubel stared at the sweating, shaking man. “If that is true, you’ll have no objection to my warriors searching your ship to confirm that.”
    “I-I carry nothing that would interest the Inquisitors.”
    “That is for me to decide. Search the ship.” Ubel nodded to two archers as several warriors turned toward the ship’s gangplank. From a special pouch, the archers carefully withdrew a thick shaft of wood with the glass ball secured to the end. They fitted the shafts into their bowstrings and looked at him, waiting for the signal.
    “No!” The merchant captain broke through the warriors and ran for his ship, his crew shouting now,