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“We’re waiting on one more guest,” Kaspin said, filling a glass with whiskey and passing it to his brutish companion, who drank half in a shallow, savory sip, then downed the rest.
There were more glasses set out for Demery and me at empty chairs, but neither of us took them. I eyed the pirate askance, trying to suss out what it was about him and this meeting that had so unsettled me, beyond his reputation.
Demery caught my eye again. “Not long now,” the pirate murmured. “I do hope your armsmen are nearby.”
My tongue felt suddenly dry. Armsmen? Why would I have brought armsmen? Unless Demery was expectingconflict—butconflict connected to him, the results of this meeting, or the last guest?
The whisper at the back of my mind turned to a hiss, and with it came a dreamer’s rootless certainty. The feeling was a familiar one, as common to me as anger or sadness, and it took all my strength to resist reaching into my pocket for the worn old coin.
Stuffing my wits into a façade of self-possessed impatience, I gave Demery a thin smile and asked Kaspin, “I trust we will not be waiting long?”
Kaspin shook his head and glanced at a ticking clock on the mantle. “I doubt so.”
Accepting this with a nod, I stepped forward and tapped Fisher’s shoulder. She shot me a censorious glance, but paused when she saw my expression.
She rose and we moved to the door.
“Something is not right. We need to warn Slader,” I murmured. There was no use pretending that our conversation was notconspiratorial—everyonein the room watched us, even the Stormsinger over her gag. “That man is James Elijah Demery.”
“Is he a mage?” Fisher pointedly did not look at the man. “Is he conspiring?”
I shook my head. “Not amage—notthat I have sensed. But he did imply we ought to be better armed and there is something disquieting about this last guest.”
“Then go.” Fisher nodded to the door. “Right away.”
“You ought to,” I returned. “Let me stay here.”
“I am the senior officer,” Fisher reminded me coolly.
“Of course,” I acknowledged with a nod. “But I am the Sooth.”
Fisher’s expression stilled, and for a heartbeat I thought she would overrule me. Then she nodded and said, loud enough for our eavesdroppers to ‘accidentally’ hear, “Fine, how much more?”
Relief trickled down my spine. She had been convinced, and had the wit to cover our tracks. Fisher did have her moments.
“As much as the captain will give us,” I answered with equal faux subtlety.
Fisher looked at Kaspin and produced a polite smile. “Pardon me for a few moments,” she said, bowed and left the room.
Kaspin looked pleased. He exchanged a highbrowed look with his muscled companion and raised his glass to us. “To a lively auction,” he said.
Five minutes crawled past. Demery sat in a chair and lit a pipe, tilting his head back to watch the smoke rise as he made conversation with Kaspin and the wiry man, called Randalf, about mundane port business.
I sat next to Demery and half listened, alert for any hints of who the last guest might be. The rest of my focus oscillated between the stairs and the Stormsinger, who stared out the window with a dull gaze.
That was, until Kaspin’s bodyguard patted her cheek on his way to the window, and her leg lashed out in a sharp, straight kick to his knee.
The big man went down like a sack of grain, if a sack of grain could be bearded and issueobscenities—firstin a croak, then a shout, then a roar. The captive snarled something defiantly after him, her words completely distorted by the gagging device.
A laugh lodged in my throat, chased by dread. The man unfurled back to his full height, glaring at the Stormsinger in a way that made me reach for my cutlass.
Demery looked blithely at Kaspin and raised his brows.
“Mr. Speck,” Kaspin warned.
Mr. Speck’s jaw worked, his head twisted to one side and his fists clenched in fury. He grabbed the nearest chair with a scrape and clatter and situated it next to the window, making himself the closest to the Stormsinger.
“The moment she makes a move,” he growled, rubbing his knee with a huge hand.
