“I’ve always wondered what a private investigator’s life was like,” said Mad Eyed Brendon after he and Ellison dropped Matilda off in the center of Krim to go bar-hopping. “I didn’t expect it to be mostly driving around.”
The pirates sailed around the island and it was well into night by the time they anchored in the middle of a small lagoon. Here, the volcano loomed closer, the smoke rising ominously above the peak.
Earlier that same day, while Torralei was fighting her way through the Lamacoln jungle, Wynefrede Aumberden waited in Fishlips’ cabin for whatever horrible thing was going to happen to her next.
“For the glory of Avourel?” Torralei repeated. “If Avourel wanted me to sing he should have given me perfect pitch. Maybe he doesn’t want me to sing. Have you thought of that?”
“It’s feast day,” said Elyon, the angel who threw out Alosrin’s toothbrush. Torralei didn’t know why, but she still held a grudge against him for doing that. The new toothbrush she got looked identical but she liked the old one better. Which was odd, because she’d never used it before.
“No!” Pleasance Pratt rushed through the door, knocking a surprised pirate out of the way. “Get your hands off my customer!” She beat the pirate holding George with her tiny fists.
“People die on Krim all the time,” said Benedicta. “It’s no big deal.” She sat on one of the two lower bunks in a four-bunk stateroom on the pirate ship Queen’s Revenge. With Wynefrede, Margarett, George and Pleasance in the same room, it was crowded. And, with one more person than bunks, there was going to be an awkward moment when it came time to decide sleeping arrangements.
Clinio Lind, accompanied by five of his fighters, Ellison, and Matilda, crossed Banking Street and headed down Delves of the Golden Dragon, which was just a narrow alley connecting Banking and Knots Hollow Way. It was lined with three- and four-story apartment buildings, a few with shops on the ground floor offering take-out or laundry services.
The pirates moved everyone down to the mess, located down below the officers’ quarters. It was towards the back end of the ship — the stern — and was right in front of the galley, where the meals were cooked. A couple of captured sailors had been ordered to make lunch for everyone and Wynefrede watched closely each time someone went through the galley door. Maybe there was a knife in there that one of the sailors could steal while the pirates weren’t looking, and free them all.
“We’re royally screwed,” said one of the Royal Season guards. There were about a dozen in the room. Ellison had interviewed all of them before, when looking into the kidnapping of one of the Singletons earlier that season. Now many more of them had been taken, and he still had no clue about who was behind it, or why.
Clinio Lind, the Royal Season security chief, was holding an emergency war meeting at the temporary office on Banking Street. Ellison Davo was supposed to be there, but he was running late. He had a good reason.
George Bedgbery was forced to give his sword. Pleasance Pratt, her lamp and her handbag with its collection of writing supplies. “She could stab someone with a pen,” said the sailor who searched them. And Wynefrede? She had to give up her shoes. Did they think she was going to whack someone over the head with a flat heel? Maybe. She had been thinking about it.
Wynefrede peered down the companionway to the deck below. “They can’t all be dead.”
Wynefrede Aumberden rose from her bunk trying not to wake up either of her friends. She couldn’t sleep and still felt queasy. Her cotton nightgown wouldn’t be much protection against the chill of the night, so she pulled the wool blanket from her bed and wrapped it around herself before she unlatched the cabin door, eased it open, and stepped out into the hallway.
“I don’t like the funny looks that the sailors are giving us,” Margarett Pennebrygg whispered to Wynefrede Aumberden as they were getting a tour of the Santa Marina.
Ellison Davo sat at a small bistro-style table at an outdoor balcony overlooking the docks. The Crow’s Nest Cafe was his favorite dining establishment in this part of town.
“I didn’t do anything, I swear!” Heifiel struggled against the two Powers who held her arms. Snot ran from her nose, mixing with tears. It was ugly and terrifying. Torralei looked away.
A thin bell clanged and Ninlein dropped dropped the wet sheet she was holding back into the large wicker basket full of wet laundry. “We have to go back to Avourelpolis,” she told Torralei. The two of them carried the basket away from the clothes lines back to the laundry room, then continued up the hill.
In the morning when she woke up, Torralei’s bed was comfortable and familiar. Why wouldn’t it be? She was created to exist on Lamacoln. She stretched under her thin wool blanket and the bed felt larger than it should have been. She was up early and headed straight for the bathroom. She was still unsteady on her feet. Her center of balance seemed off. But that was understandable. She was only born yesterday, after all.
Benedicta Bernewelt twirled around, holding up the skirts. “The dressmakers are getting really good,” she said. “I can barely feel the corset.”
Matilda stabbed Ellison’s steak with her knife and pulled the entire plate over to her side of the table. Ellison grimaced but instead of saying anything to her personally he just looked towards the entrance to the dining room. From where Ellison was sitting, he could see inn owner Quimby Plummer at the front desk. Quimby nodded at him. A second steak should be on its way soon.
