The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [147]
After checking every berth she stood in the driving rain, looking towards the town. Where would the captains be? She smiled as she spotted a shingle swinging madly. On it was displayed a mug of frothy beer, rainwater making it glisten in the pale light. She pulled her hood down and waded through the storm, hunched against the gale.
The pub was full, lively and warm with the smell of clean straw, beer and spiced wine. She thought it a massive improvement on similar establishments in Corsanon. Light glowed from colourful lanterns overhead and conversation buzzed. No-one seemed to notice her entrance until she pushed her hood back and took off her long black coat, shaking it by the door.
Heads turned as she stepped towards the bar. She smiled inwardly, keeping her face a mask. She didn’t have to put on a glamour. Everything about Nellion Paree said High Priestess, if she allowed it. Her hair fell in damp tangles to her waist and her hazel eyes—matching the colour of the ocean jasper at her neck—opened wide as she leaned against the bar. She lifted her hand to catch the barmaid’s attention and her sleeve fell back to her elbow revealing the tree-and-entwining-snake tattoo of Treeon Temple. She wanted it to be seen. No-one in their free mind would lie to a Treeon witch.
‘Spiced wine, please,’ she smiled, her face seductive in the soft light.
‘Yes, Mistress.’ The barmaid nodded with confidence, though her hands shook when she filled the mug.
Nell placed a silver coin on the counter and headed for a table clearly seated with ships’ captains. Their low conversation came to an abrupt halt as she approached.
‘May I join you?’ she asked, her question bringing the men’s eyes up.
They stared at her, their gazes carefully couched to give no offence. The man nearest her rose from his seat and pulled a chair from the table behind him, dragging it across the floor to her.
‘Aye, milady. It’d be our pleasure.’ His face was tense, as if it was anything but his pleasure for her to join them. ‘How can we serve the Temple of Treeon?’ he added.
‘What’s your name?’ Nell asked, giving him the faintest nod.
‘Redrick, Mistress. Captain Jack Redrick.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Captain Redrick. You can serve Treeon by telling me if a young woman—a witch—her companion, her familiar and their horses have been here seeking passage across the strait, possibly to the Isles of Landercan?’ She took a sip of her mulled wine. ‘Or Rahana Iti?’
After a lengthy silence, she encouraged him with a smile. ‘Did you see them, Captain Redrick?’
The men averted their eyes, some shaking their heads. The ones that looked down at their mugs had clearly seen Rosette. Most likely they’d been instructed, or paid, to say nothing. They were trapped. On the one side was Rosette, a witch who had requested their silence—not someone they’d care to cross. On the other was this High Priestess from Treeon Temple, a woman who would know if they lied, possibly turning them into cockroaches if they did.
Finally, the nearest man removed his cap and scratched his bald head. ‘Aye, milady, I’ve seen ’em. I was paid by the lad to keep my mouth shut, but I figure it’s one of them moot points by now. They left the harbour three nights ago. The sea was calm then, not a ripple or a foul breeze. They’d be smack in the middle of this uncanny storm…and that’s not all.’
‘Please go on.’ Nell watched him draw in a deep breath.
‘You be the second mistress of Treeon who’s asked after them.’
Nell gave a light, quizzical look. ‘Someone from Treeon came before me? When?’
‘Just before the storm struck.’
‘Who was she?’
‘Well now, she didn’t offer her name, as is natural with your kind, meaning no disrespect.’
‘None taken.’
There was no point asking what she looked like—it could only be La Makee, and she could take on any glamour she chose, appearing to be any age, any form.
I should have known she’d suspect. ‘Just the priestess?’ she asked aloud.
‘No—she had a couple o’ warriors with