Cold Steel (Spiritwalker 3)

“I can handle James Drake. It’s our sire I’m worried about. What are his weaknesses? How can I defeat him?”

“You can’t defeat him. We’re bound to him because we are his children.”

A tap shifted the door. I grabbed the hilt of my sword.

“Cat?” It was Kofi.

I let him in. Kofi’s plain jacket and trousers in the practical Expedition style and his powerful build marked him as a hardworking laborer, but the crisp confidence in his tone revealed him as a successful radical, a member of the new provisional Assembly in Expedition.

“This is a rare commotion, Cat. Now that we Expeditioners have the chance to rule we own selves, we don’ like to feel the Taino can tell us what to do. But yee running have made the situation worse. Yee shall have to sail immediately for Europa.”

“I haven’t money to pay for our passage.”

“So Kayleigh told me. Expedition owe yee a favor for saving us from the Taino invasion. I shall escort yee to West Quay at dawn. There yee shall board a Phoenician ship called the White Horse, bound for Gadir. The tide turn mid-morning. Then yee shall be out of reach.”

“Thank you.” My legs gave way as an avalanche of relief crashed over me.

“Don’ thank me. Commissioner Sanogo arranged it.” He sighed. “I admit I had hoped yee and Vai might settle in Expedition. There is plenty for him to do here. And I reckon the wardens of Expedition should like to hire a gal with the peculiar talents yee possess.”

“I would like to try that sort of work.”

“Warden’s work ’twould suit yee, for I reckon yee’s not suited for a quiet life.”

“I can live a quiet life!”

Kofi laughed. “Yee should last a month, no more, before yee got restless and found some trouble to get into. I reckon Vai love yee for it, and for the knack yee have of getting out of it. If anyone can fetch him back from the spirit world, yee’s the one to do it.”

We talked a little longer about the logistics of our departure. After Kofi left, Rory and I settled on the cots. I pinched out the wick but could not sleep for fretting about Bee.

“Are you trying not to cry?” Rory whispered.

I sniffled. “I didn’t mean to get into trouble before Bee came back tomorrow. What if I never see her again?”

“If it will help calm you, I can comb your hair, or lick your hands and face.”

“Lick my hands and face?”

“It’s very comforting, I’ll have you know!”

I managed a choked laugh. He tucked his back up against mine and began to sing the oddest crooning lullaby in words I could not understand. The melody wound like a nest around my heart, shielding me from the ills of the world.

I slept heavily and woke before dawn, determined to succeed. Luce arrived with the chests. We walked in a trundle of carts through the predawn gloom toward the harbor. Rory pushed a cart among the other men. I walked in the center to be less conspicuous. Luce held my hand. The menfolk bantered in a half-awake, early-morning way. I could not rein in my thoughts, which galloped from the impossibility of rescuing Vai out of the jaws of the Master of the Wild Hunt to the pain of being sundered from my dearest Bee. It was easier not to think at all.

West Quay was the farthest west of the wharves in the main harbor, mostly used by Phoenician ships, and notably marked by a pair of tall wooden posts the locals called Heracles’s Pillars for the famous straits at the mouth of the Mediterranean Sea. On the opposite side of the jetty was an inn called Nance’s, with a sprawling wooden deck flanked by buildings. The edifice had a grand view of the harbor and of the monumental arch that led into the walled confines of the old city. Almost two months ago, Vai and I had been separated here by an unexpected meeting.

At tables along the railing, men ate with the concentration of sailors savoring their last good meal before shipping out. Barrels were lined up street-side next to the steps. A man leaned against a barrel with an open book in his hands. He met my questing gaze with a polite nod of greeting.

“Blessed Tanit!” I released Luce’s hand. “Rory, we’ve got to run.”

The leaning man closed the book with an audible snap. Kofi looked around with a curse. A piercing whistle cut through the hush of dawn. Rory dropped the handles of the cart he was pushing, and the entire line of carts came to a juddering halt. Taino soldiers trotted onto the jetty from where they had been hiding amid stacks of crates. The men who had been eating clattered down the stairs to fan out onto the jetty, brandishing the short swords known as falcatas that were famous as the preferred weapon of Iberian infantrymen. We were surrounded.

The man with the book approached with a measured tread that drew all eyes. He had height and breadth, the look of a man who fought in wars once and means to do so again. Silver streaked his mane of wavy black hair. His face bore the stamp of his father’s noble Malian ancestors in having brown skin and his mother’s patrician Roman lineage in having a bold nose.

My enemy, General Camjiata.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Cat,” he said with the friendly smile the victor can afford to give the vanquished. “I admire your plan for a bold escape, and your ability to gather allies. But you’re going to have to come to the Council Hall to address the charge of murder.”

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