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A stirring out there. Veronica. Holding on to that thread, he layered it with silver moonlight, moving automatically to shutter the window and trip the magical lock that would seal the door. Stripping off his clothes, he hung them on the heating rack that already held his drying cloak, then climbed naked under the covers. Closing his eyes and dropping into much-needed sleep, he commanded his wizard senses to travel the thread to Veronica.
And hold on to her.
~9~
By the timethe barge docked, Nic was certain she’d never be dry again—nor could she recall what it felt like not to rock constantly. She had no idea if she’d been in that hole for hours, days, or weeks. Well, not weeks, or she’d be dead since she’d emptied the little water flask Dary had given her a long time ago. And she’d felt the buzz when they’d crossed the Elal border early on. All she knew now was the barge had been stopped for a while—on water that didn’t move much, thankfully—while the shouts of workers and the scrape of cargo filtered faintly down to her.
When it had been silent for a while, she’d begun to seriously contemplate trying to get out on her own. As for powerful motivation, being out of water counted. She’d gotten desperate enough to taste the bilge that seeped into her cubby—quickly spitting out the brine. At least that had been an easy decision to make, as she’d been dubious about diseases she might contract from the stuff. She had to be especially careful, she supposed, with the pregnancy. Though she felt nothing yet—the Refoel wizard at House Elal had told her she might not for a couple of months—Nic was also cognizant that she knew next to nothing about caring for her unborn child.
If she sickened, she’d have to appeal to a House Refoel wizard for healing. While House Elal had a barter agreement with House Refoel—to the point of exchanging in-house wizards between them—Nic doubted House Refoel would be inclined to honor it with a runaway familiar. She’d have to identify herself to them, and that would get her captured. That left paying them outright like any commoner, and the coin Maman had promised had yet to appear.
Not that it would matter if she died in this dank hole.
“Not dying in this dank hole,” she muttered to herself, climbing to stand on the bench. As soon as her eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, she’d dragged the bench to be directly beneath the opening she’d come through. Or as near to that as she could figure. Crouching on the bench—which at least gave her good leverage—she pushed on the overhead plank, hoping to feel some give.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
She pushed harder, putting some effort into it while still being quiet. It might take pounding to budge the thing, but that would be loud. If anyone unfriendly was nearby, they’d hear. Maybe those hunters Dary mentioned. After resting a moment to master the wave of dizziness from lack of adequate food—she’d eaten all of the dried fruit and meat Dary had given her long ago—she pushed with all the might she could summon.
And it gave! The trap flew open, leaving her blinking in astonishment like a cornered mole rat at the swarthy face staring down at her—a young man with a knitted hat tugged down well over his ears. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, great.Anotherone. I don’t suppose you have coin?”
“No, I—”
“Figures.” He held down an arm. “Well, come up anyway.”
Nic grasped his arm with both hands. He smelled rather unpleasantly of fish and sweat, and his rough wool jacket was damp, but she clung to her rescuer regardless as he hauled her onto the now empty deck of the barge. Staggering to her feet, she took in her new surroundings—the night-dark shipyard, the flat coastal plain disappearing into fog in one direction, the still harbor in the other. Chilly, but not as bitter cold as Elal, and no snow in sight. “Where am I?”
The man snorted in disgust. “They just stow away in barges like trusting lambs, not knowing where they’re going,” he said to no one, gesturing in exasperation. “Say, you don’t have a tattoo, do you?”
Nic pulled off her soggy mittens, extended her arms through the slits in the cloak, and let her sleeves fall back in demonstration. He grunted. “That’s at least something.”
“And I am where?”
He gave her a sour look. “Port Anatol. Wartson.”
“Wartson,” she repeated, less in question than trying to kick her sluggish brain into recalling the place.
“Not in the Convocation,” he explained, “so you wouldn’t have heard of it. Your houses like to sell to us just fine, though, so”—he threw his arms wide, striding away—“welcome to beautiful, historic Wartson. We hope you’ll enjoy your stay, however long that might be.”
“Do you have some water I could drink?” she asked, trotting to keep up.
“Let me guess, you forgot to bring food and water with you. There’s some up at the inn ahead. They might have work for you, too. That’s what we usually do with you sorts. Do you have any skills?”
Nic had plenty of skills, yes—but none that sounded immediately useful for working at an inn. “I’m a fast learner,” she said. “I can do whatever is most needed.”
He snorted at that but didn’t comment. Probably everyone said the same thing, whoever all these other stowaways were. Did they all get put on the barge by Dary and the warehouse guy—or were there others? And who was supposed to have met her? Maman had gotten her this far, and she’d never deliberately strand Nic without funds. Maman had been confident that money would be the least of her issues, but…
“How many people like me have you freed from the barge hidey-holes?” she asked.
He made that snorting sound that seemed to be his favored mode of communication. “Seems to be once every few days lately. It’s gotten so I check the new arrivals every night, just in case. The dead ones make a mighty stink, and the houses get pissed at us if their inbound cargo smells of rot, so…” He shrugged and slid her a wry grin. “Your lucky night, huh?”
Maybe later she’d feel lucky. As it was, Nic was hard-pressed to banish the image of herself dead, rotting, and stinking up House Elal imports from Wartson. “If you do it so often, I’d think you’d bring water with you,” she muttered.
“You’ve got fire, then. That’ll help. You’ll need it, if you want to stay free.”
“Do many of the people you rescue make it?” she asked. “Stay free,” she clarified when he slid her a dubious look.
“I don’t make it my business to know. Better for all that way.” They’d cleared the shipyard and entered a town with tall buildings—mostly dark—bordering a narrow winding street. “Most don’t stick around anyway, not if they’re smart. We get some pursuers asking after them, now and again. Sometimes I recognize a few coming back the other way, all chained up and collared. You know how the houses do.”
