White Road

thick,” Seregil warned Rieser.
    “Who would I speak to here?” the man replied, wrinkling his nose at the stench from the gutters.
    The one small square had a shrine to Astellus, the patron deity of sailors, fishermen, and women in labor. The lintel was carved with the traditional wave pattern, and there were dozens of little wax votives shaped like boats and fish scattered in front of it.
    The Sea Horse Tavern was a respectable one-story establishment near the waterfront. It had a low thatched roof, and its whitewashed walls were painted with the same wave design in blue.
    “Remember, don’t start any conversations,” Seregil murmured as they dismounted in front of the stable. Leaving their horses in the care of the stable hand, they shouldered their packs and went inside.
    The front room was crowded, but Seregil quickly spotted Rhal’s cabin boy, Dani, standing by a window overlooking the harbor. As soon as the boy caught sight of them, he pushed through the crowd and began to bow to them. Seregil caught him by the shoulder in time, not wanting to draw attention.
    “It’s good to see you again, my l—”
    “No names here, Dani,” Seregil ordered, keeping his voice down.
    “Well, welcome anyway, sir. And you, sirs!” He nodded to Alec and Micum, then gave Rieser a curious look. The Hâzad turned away with a grunt and glared around at the crowd, clearly uncomfortable being in such close quarters with so many Tírfaie.
    “How’s your captain?” Seregil asked the boy.
    “He’s fine, sir. He sends his regards. I’ll row you out now, if you like.”
    “Is Tarmin still doing the cooking?” asked Micum.
    “Aye, sir.”
    “Then I say we take our chances here.”
    Seregil chuckled at that. “Not a bad idea.”
    The house’s jellied eel pie was not a disappointment, and a far cry from what Alec recalled of the bland fare favored by Rhal and his largely Mycenian crew. When they were done, they left the stable boy with enough silver to ensure that their horses would be well cared for until they returned. Giving the horses a few last apples and some affectionate scratching, they set out along the dark street with their packs and saddlebags slung over their shoulders.
    Beggar’s Bridge had no piers or jetties, just a line of dinghies upended on the beach. Dani and Alec dragged their boat down to the water’s edge.
    “What has the
Lady
been up to since we last saw you?”
    Dani gave him a gap-toothed grin. “We took thirteen carracks this winter, and one of them was loaded with north country gold baps. Another had Aurënfaie wine and silks and all sorts of lady’s things. There were even some slaves, and we carried them all the way home to Aurënen. We lost two, though. They threw themselves overboard. Damned if I know why.”
    “The Lightbearer will bless you all with luck for your kindness to those who made it home,” said Seregil.
    Dani manned the oars and they were soon skimming alongpast the fishing boats and out toward the broad mouth of what had been Ero Harbor.
    The
Green Lady’s
two masts cast writhing double lines of black across the water; Alec could just make out the shape of her figurehead. The “green lady” pressed one hand to her ample bosom, the other to her rounded belly. The flowing folds of her dark hair and gown shone silver and black in the moonlight.
    Lanterns glowed fore and aft, and the windows of the cabins at the stern were lit up. Dani put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle as they approached. With a crew of forty men one step up from being pirates, it was better not to surprise anyone.
    The boy’s whistle was answered with another and was followed by the rattle and splash of the rope ladder being let down for them.
    Rhal—together with his helmsman, Skywake, and Nettles, the first mate—was there to meet them as they climbed aboard. “Welcome, my lords. And Micum Cavish, too! Well met, sir. It’s been a while. How’s the leg?”
    “I manage,” Micum laughed, clasping hands with Rhal.
    The captain was dark and stocky, and going a bit bald, but still rakish enough to attract women in any port. He was northern-born, like Micum and Alec, and with his black beard he could pass for a Plenimaran. On occasion, he had. He greeted Seregil and Alec warmly, then turned to Rieser and extended his hand. “I haven’t had the pleasure, sir.”
    Rieser ignored the hand. “I am Rieser í Stellen.”
    “I can’t place your accent.”
    “No need to,”