Shadows Return - Lynn Flewelling [131]
“That’s a Skalan you’re with,” Notis growled.
“Him?” Micum jerked a thumb at Thero. “Don’t mind him. I met him on the ship coming over and he’s been buying the drinks. What do you say, Thorwin? You too proud to earn your living?”
It took Thero only a second to realize that he was Thorwin, and that a great deal rode on the proper response. “Since my father cast me out, I’ve made my own way just fine,” he shot back, trying to match the coarse, off-hand way Micum had been speaking. “One country’s silver spends the same as another’s, in my experience.”
The others stared at him a moment, then they all burst out laughing, and Micum with them.
Notis slapped Micum on the shoulder, rocking on the bench. “You got you a fine companion, friend. He talks like a priest, all stiff like a dead fish.” He stood and locked his arms at his sides, shuffling drunkenly from foot to foot, much to the amusement of his friends.
Why am I always compared to fish? Thero wondered, nonetheless relieved by this reaction.
“What sorts of things do you bring back over the water?” Micum asked, giving Thero a wink.
“Iron, copper, spirits mostly. This time we also bring back some ’faie.”
“Aurënfaie?”
“Freed slaves. Bunch of rubbish, you ask me, all beaten down and branded. Better off throwing ’em into the sea. But we get paid by the head, so we took good care of them. Only lost one.”
“You got paid to bring slaves out of Plenimar?” Micum shook his head. “I never heard of such a thing!”
“Ransom,” the Zengat said, licking his lips. “Pays better than slaving sometimes. Trouble is, so many of the freed ones kill themselves before we can get them back.”
“So that’s the agreement?” Thero asked.
“Keep your voice down, fish priest!” the man hissed, looking around nervously. “You want to get us lynched? It’s all—how do you say it?”
“Under the table,” Notis explained with a wink. “No one in this port takes slaves from Virésse, and there’s a good bounty for any brought home again. Been going on for years.”
“Ulan í Sathil ransoms his people back?” Thero whispered. “But if he knows they are being taken, why does he trade with you at all?”
“He only does business with those who bring him word of his people in Plenimar. And with the Zengati clans he’s got treaties with.”
“So you carried a load of that cargo recently?” asked Micum, filling Notis’s mug again.
“Good raiding. Full load! And good ones, too.”
“Except for those we had to leave behind…” the other Zengat muttered, and was elbowed into silence by one of the others.
“Lots of gold to go around this time,” the scar-faced one said, grinning.
“Then you must have had a good time in Benshâl, I’d guess!” laughed Micum.
“Not Benshâl! Riga, I told you.” Notis gave Micum a bleary grin. “I think you are drunk, friend. How ’bout you, fish priest?”
Thero did his best to smile, but in reality he wanted to throttle the bastard until he told them what had happened to their friends. But the pressure of Micum’s knee against his own under the table made him hold his tongue.
“What was so special about this load?” Micum asked casually.
“Lots ’faie. Special ones, too,” Notis whispered.
“But I thought those always went to Benshâl?” said Thero, casually as he could manage.
Notis was deep in his cups now. Leaning heavily across Micum, he whispered loudly, “Special raid, fish man, just for two. Killed a damn lot of others we could have sold, but orders are orders. You see? Just the two, and no witnesses. Sent a voron to catch ’em, too.”
A necromancer. That explained the damage to the swords.
“Who sent the voron?” Thero asked, gripping his wine cup tightly with both hands.
Notis shrugged. “Who cares? Our captain orders. We go. And then?” He patted his purse again.
“What was so special about them?” Micum demanded drunkenly. “Pretty ones? Big trai?” He raised his hands like he was cupping a pair of breasts.
Notis and the others laughed. “When you ever see big trai on a ’faie? Can’t hardly tell the boys from the girls half the time!”
“Not that it much matters,” one of the others