Just ahead, we saw Marts, crouched and peeking around a crate. He motioned for us to stay low as we approached. The only thing to be heard was the wash of the ocean against the seawall and the creaking of the wooden ships in dock.
Ducking down just behind Marts, I could see two figures near the ship's gangway. One was taller than the other. I recognized the black robe he was wearing from the fights. It was my father. His head was uncovered and he kept looking around as if he expected me to spring out on him at any moment.
The other figure was much smaller, possibly a female, wearing a dark gray robe and cloak with the hood pulled up over their head and a black scarf around their face.
My father was gesticulating wildly, pointing back in the direction of the fight warehouse.
Now, where we were positioned, I started to be able to pick out words here and there.
“Followed … more careful … out of time … order … backup plan … Tendil.” I'm not even sure if any of that was heard correctly. My name stood out though. Clearly. The other person reached into their robe and produced a rather large pouch, handing it over to my father who took it quickly, putting it under his own robe.
I hadn't seen them before because the crate was obstructing my view, but now the four Swalesian bodyguards came into view to escort my father to … where? Possibly the villa of which Marts spoke, but we needed to be certain. Marts quickly volunteered to follow the men to wherever they were going. After my father left, Marts and his two associates began moving from shadow to shadow tailing them.
I was still watching the other person standing there on the pier. Nervously looking around for any prying eyes, they pulled something out of a pouch slung over their arm, a scroll. Unrolling the thing and reciting the spell in a guarded whisper, they vanished.
I walked over to the spot where they and my father had been standing. I don't know what I expected to find, but there was nothing there. Nothing about the person had seemed familiar, yet it nagged at me. Some of the mannerisms I was familiar with, but from where?
I had to be careful about jumping to conclusions. With no real evidence, that could cause more problems than it would solve.
I turned to Margrin, “Well, what do you think?”
“I think it was a Gray Elf.”
“What? What brings you to that conclusion? And tread lightly, Margrin, there's much at stake and much this person must answer for.”
“You didn't smell it, did you?”
“Smell what, precisely? I smell dead fish and rat urine.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“The old story about Gray Elves giving off a scent that calms Humans. It's not made up. We give off a strong smell that isn't readily noticeable, not for Humans at least. It acts on you at the subconscious level. Anyway it's a bunch of natural philosophy theory. Well, for Humans it's theory. For us it's very real. And I could smell him from over here.”
“‘Him,’ you say?
“Yes, definitely a male, but that's as much as I can tell you. I didn't get enough of the voice to recognize him.”
“It may be a coincidence, but we stand here before this ship, part of the Southward League fleet. Direct competitors of the Hard Coast Company. Do you think my father is double dealing? Perhaps the Southward League is planning on making a play for the amber as well, and he's giving away any intelligence he has on what the Hard Coast Company is doing.”
“Well, I'd put nothing past your father. That's for certain. And add the involvement of Cralix …”
“I have to get word to my mother somehow. Now that my father knows or suspects that we're following him, he'll tell Cralix and she may go after her. Mother is easy to find in Wikehold.”
“What could we do to protect her? Cralix is far too powerful for us.”
“We need another ring and amulet like you have. Bring my mother to Nez Clar?, perhaps hide her there where Cralix won't look. My mother's presence would be shielded from any magical methods of tracking.”
“I don't have another ring and amulet set, but I know ?rdelon does. We need to get back to Nez Ambríl quickly if we want to do something about your mother; Cralix won't waste any time if she feels threatened by you, us. Here's a plan, no offense, but at this point you're really not needed here. I'm the one with the contacts and I know what needs to be done. Let's see what Marts finds out tonight, and if you're not needed further, you can go back, get the ring and amulet, and get them to your mother. What do we have left? Five or six days?”
“I'm not even sure, Margrin. Things are moving so quickly and my mind is in such turmoil. I want to see May. I hate to say something so selfish, but she occupies my thoughts so.”
“No need to apologize for your feelings. I understand them well. She's an incredible woman. I think I'd be terribly jealous if I didn't think you were deserving of her. If I didn't I would probably kill you.”
“Well, thank the gods I passed that test,” I laughed.
“Have you killed many people Margrin?”
He seemed to consider for a moment. “In all honesty, Bascombe, yes, quite a few. And I've ordered the killings of even more. It's the nature of the business. I'm neither proud nor ashamed of it. It simply is an occasional necessity. There has never been a case where the person didn't expect it or deserve it.”
“How can you decide to be the ultimate judge in those situations? That makes you like a god, doesn't it?”
“No, Bascombe. If you'd like an appropriate simile, I'm like the Angel of Death. The arbiter in each of the cases is a code, Krezmir, which all my Syndicate family has chosen to live by. I'm merely enforcing the code. I'm subject to the same fate in similar circumstances.”
“Come, Bascombe, let's see if Rathkin might have some accommodations for us this evening. It's late and I don't want to stay at an inn.”
“You have no sense of who that Elf was, Margrin?”
“I have suspicions and gut feelings, but we can't go on that. And you need to understand that Gray Elves aren't prisoners in Nez Ambríl; we are free to go where we will. There aren't many, but there certainly are some expatriate Gray Elves who have gone out into the wider world for one reason or another. Perhaps they prefer the hustle and bustle of the big city. Nez Ambríl isn't exactly a booming metropolis like Wikehold.
“There is also an illness of the mind called Shadow Melancholia. For whatever reason, living in the constant shade of the forest canopy with little direct sunlight just affects some in a way where they feel trapped, sad, tired. For Elves thus afflicted, a place like Sandlise is a sanctuary.”
“I have a personal question for you, Margrin. just before we left, Queen May had sent that envoy Plogue on a mission to talk to the Hobgoblins. Given your history with the creatures, how would you feel if they joined the cause against the Swalesians?”
“When you live as long as we do, Bascombe, you realize that the one constant in this world is change. It becomes something of a blur, all of it flying by so fast. Nothing stays the same. Civilizations rise and fall. Beliefs come and go. War and peace and war and peace in a never ending cycle. Each new generation forgets the lessons learned by the last. You'd think there was no such thing as books for people to look to for guidance. They think old thoughts don't apply to them and run headlong into the same mistakes their ancestors made. It defies sense.”
“I'm sorry to go on like that. The short answer to your question is that these Hobgoblins are not those Hobgoblins. Perhaps they're different. I'll reserve judgment. That old expression that a leopard can't change its spots is a lie promulgated by those who haven't lived long enough to see it happen.”
“I mean look at me, Bascombe, I used to be far too selfish to do the things I'm doing now. Suddenly I'm a patriot willing to die for a cause I used to not give a second thought.”
“The perspective you gain with age will sweep over you like a flood, taking many of your old beliefs with it. And yet, that doesn't guarantee you'll be right about your new beliefs,” he had a long laugh about that. “I've known elders who were frequently wrong and held positions of authority based primarily on their age.”
We both laughed as we walked back past the bars, prostitutes, press gangs, and cut purses. Surely they thought us crazy. Two wealthy looking gentlemen walking through this neighborhood at night with no escort. Let them think what they will. The fact was that my confidence was growing.