The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [16]
"Those are stories," Cerril insisted.
"All of them can't be."
Frowning, Cerril said, "Stealing from mages isn't smart business. I don't plan on living out the rest of my life as a toad. Or worse."
"It might be an improvement."
Cerril shot her a look. "If he is a mage and he questions me, I'll tell him that you pointed him out."
Imareen paled beneath her freckles. "I don't think he's a mage."
"I hope not."
The man settled his bill with Elkor, who looked after the man longingly. Evidently the tavern owner had gotten a good look at the heft of the man's coin as well.
"He's leaving," Imareen said.
"I can see that."
"Well, if you don't hurry you might lose him."
Cerril hesitated for just an instant.
"We don't have anything to show for the night," Imareen pointed out. "If we don't get something, we could be starting a trend of bad luck."
I know, Cerril thought.
Bad luck was a recognized force in a port city. Ships sailed with luck, and any ship branded with ill luck was quickly noticed and just as quickly abandoned by merchants as well as sailors. Cerril believed in luck, always striving for the good and avoiding the bad.
The man walked through the Brazen Trumpet's double doors and out onto the street.
Coming to a decision, Cerril started forward. "Remember about the lantern," he whispered to his sister.
"I will. And don't try to cheat me, Cerril."
Turning, Cerril rushed back through the storeroom and out into the alley. He stayed within the tavern's shadows, stepping out briefly at the corner so that Hekkel and Two-Fingers could see him. He pointed at the man walking up the sloped street leading away from the Brazen Trumpet.
Two-Fingers nodded.
Hekkel immediately stepped into the shadows on the other side of the street and took up the first leg of the pursuit.
Cerril remained on his side of the street. He and Hekkel were the two most skilled at following someone through the city in the shadows. He glanced back at the Brazen Trumpet but didn't see Imareen put in an appearance at one of the windows. Carefully, his breath tight at the back of his throat and in his lungs, Cerril continued following the man.
Their prey seemed content to stay within Alaghфn's dockyards. The man stopped occasionally to stare into the windows of a closed shop that caught his interest. His destination turned out to be Stonebottom's Inn, one of the first structures ever built along the Turmish coastline. Back in those days, the port city had only been an avaricious gleam in a founding father's eye.
Stonebottom's was meager and small, cobbled together from ballast rocks brought over in merchant ships. A lit candle in a glass tube dangled from the sign, revealing the chipped and peeling paint that advertised the name. No candles burned in the two front windows that would have signified a vacancy. Stonebottom's usually stayed full whenever ships were in port.
Knowing they had to take the man before he reached the inn, Cerril increased his pace. Hekkel's shadow flitted along the other side of the street.
Two blocks before Stonebottom's, Cerril signaled Hekkel.
Without hesitation, Hekkel ran out into the street. "Good sir! Good sir! Help me, please!"
The man stopped and turned, putting his back up against the budding beside him. His hand darted for his waist sash, and Cerril would have bet anything that he was carrying a blade there. At least the man hadn't turned Hekkel into a toad.
"What do you want, boy?" the man demanded in a thin, worn voice.
"It's my mother!" Hekkel cried, coming to a stop in front of the man. "She fell down! I can't wake her!" The man remained quiet, his hand out of sight. "You've got to help me!" Hekkel pleaded. "I'm no healer."
The man glanced warily around the dark street, but Stonebottom's was located in one of the several old parts of the city. Little foot traffic ever went through that area so early. A few hours before cock's crow, though, the seamen who rented rooms there would come stumbling through.
Cerril stayed within the shadow less than twenty feet away. He breathed