Errol's sensor field alerted him to a new player on the scene. As soon as the city guards disappeared around the corner, a new figure dressed entirely in scarlet approached them from the now empty street, picking her way over the bodies of the fallen to stand in front of them. One hand held a perfumed handkerchief to her nose. “I abhor the smell of violence,” she said in a voice that seemed to almost purr.

Errol thought immediately of fine silks and the indulgence of flavored ice every afternoon. She struck him as the most captivating woman he’d ever seen.

“How may I help you, my lady?” Errol said.

She ignored him, addressing her question to Jarkoda. “You look like you know your way around a battlefield. As much as I dislike the aftermath of a fight, I’m always happy to make use of every tool at my disposal. I have a job for you.”

Errol shouldered his way in front of the halfdragon. He desperately wanted her to notice that he was the leader of the little group. “He already has a job. Please contact Captain Grimhilt if you’d like to inquire about our services and rates when we return.”

“Ah, but that will be too late, my little Mako. The job I offer comes with certain restrictions of time and place; namely, it must be completed while you’re on the Bridge.”

Errol drew back, resisting the urge to look to Maeda or Taras for support. She knew his rank, she knew about their destination on the Bridge—what else did she know about their mission? It seemed like too great a coincidence for the spear-wielding thugs and this finely-dressed lady to both know details Indara had kept under strict secrecy.

“I’m not sure that I’d like to work for someone who throws away her soldiers just to test our mettle,” Errol growled, guessing her connection to the attackers.

“That’s why I didn’t offer the job to you, boy.”

Gruvrik and Maeda joined Errol. The burly dwarf glowered up at the woman from under his bushy eyebrows. “Not the most inspiring recruitment speech I’ve ever heard. Might want to listen to our captain.”

She took a step back, waving the handkerchief in front of her as though she could ward off the dwarf with its perfume. “Whatever Donalon is offering for the return of Stefano, I’ll double—no, triple it—if you bring back his head.”

Like before, Errol’s vital ring chimed, again alerting him to a potential update. He could get used to this. Handy bit of magic. He twisted the ring to pull up the map.

Quest update: Kill the heir. Upon completion, receive 3,000 gold. Accept?

He hesitated a moment before he dismissed the notification. He wanted to find out more about Stefano before he committed himself one way or another.

Without waiting for a response, the lady in scarlet minced back across the row of corpses and slipped down a side street. A faint scent of jasmine hung in the air behind her.

Rhae pursed her lips. “I don’t like her very much, but that’s a lot of money.”

“No,” Jarkoda growled. “We are sworn to recover the Stormorb. Stopping to render aid to one in need, this I will accept; killing the selfsame, I will not.”

“Well said, my monkish friend,” the hooded girl added.

Errol gestured toward the harbor. “Move along. We’ve already dawdled long enough. I’d like to be on our ship by noon.”

=+=

Midday had come and gone a few hours past, and still they hadn’t found a berth. The ship that Captain Grimhilt commissioned had mysteriously sprung a leak that morning, although the way the sailors lounged on deck made Errol narrow his eyes at their story.

The next captain they’d asked seemed to have plenty of extra space, until they told him their destination. He’d blanched and kicked them off the ship, holding his thumb and ring finger together in a sign against evil. Three ships later, they discovered that his response was actually the most reasonable so far. One captain and first mate had drawn swords and rushed to attack them, but Gruvrik had kicked their legs out from under them and “yelled some sense into their thick skulls,” in his words.

Errol hoped they didn’t file a grievance with Grimhilt over the broken kneecaps.

Head in his hands, Errol slumped against a barrel by the loading docks. His shoulder still throbbed, despite the double healing from Rhae and Taras. His stomach gurgled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten a midday meal. He sighed and patted his belly. With only a thieves’ kit in his pack instead of victuals, he didn’t have many options other than self-discipline and patience, just like his early days on the streets.

“Let me try,” Maeda murmured nearby. “I could pull in a few favors.”

He turned to look at her, almost ready to accept the offer, when a stubborn streak reared its head. “Thank you, Hammerhead, but this is my responsibility.”

Maeda tilted her head, regarding him cooly. “Better get up and try again in that case. You won’t hire a ship by sitting there.”

Errol bowed a hair, just enough to show gratitude at the lesson, and ambled toward two of the remaining ships still in the harbor. At this time of day, most ships that weren’t in repairs or scheduled for resupply would be out on the open seas, not wasting their time dallying around dockside, so he wasn’t sure if they were ready to depart. Only one way to find out.

The first ship had a hawser across the gangplank with a sign that announced they were closed for business until further notice, quarantined by command of the city guards.

Errol waved them onward. One last shot for the day, then he’d relent and let Maeda take the credit for their passage. He hoped this last crew proved more willing than the others to entertain the possibility of sailing straight for the Bridge.

Only three miles separated the port from the Edgewater of the Bridge, but it may as well have been three thousand. The tides swirled against their favor, and the closer ships drew to the Bridge, the more treacherous the eddies and riptide became. Foul winds buffeted the last half mile at the end of the Bridge, carrying the stench of decay and death, like rotting earth and the unease of upturned graves. Black clouds swirled around the superstructure of the Bridge itself, obscuring any view of potential landings.

Errol shoved the pessimism from his mind. He had a job to do. He squared his shoulders and approached the final ship on this side of the bay. Last chance to hitch a ride.

The sleek boat seemed built for speed, rather than for heavy cargo. The rigging and sails looked practically new. The tar glistened with layers of fresh application. Painted on the side in big, bold, black letters: Djullanar. The crew's pride in the vessel was obvious.

The pensive looks of the sailors gathered around the gunwale didn’t bode well for Errol’s success, but he strode up the gangplank with a smile. “Taking passengers?”

“Depends where you’re bound,” one of the sailors called back.

“I’d like to discuss that with your captain,” Errol replied.

“Captain doesn’t put in at many ports of call. You’ll have to offer a pretty penny for Cap to take you on, and no mistake.”

“All the same, I’d like to speak with him.”

“Her,” a new voice corrected. “I’m Captain Shiori.”

Errol turned to see a woman several years his senior step out from behind a jumble of crates. Sea-green cloth covered her arms and legs. A black leather cuirass was her only armor, but she carried her confidence like a shield. Twin dagger hilts etched with scrimshaw jutted out from her left hip. Gold-tipped scabbards curved behind her back, extending just past her torso on the other side. A small karambit tucked into her right knee-high boot completed the ensemble of visible weapons.

“Where are you headed, child?”

Errol inclined his head, but refused to bow to someone so near his own age, particularly if she insisted on insulting him. Child, indeed. “We sail for the Bridge, straightway.”

“Perhaps. But not on my boat, unless you can give me a compelling reason.”

“I can give you two,” Gruvrik muttered, holding up both hands in an obscene gesture. “If you don’t want us, just say so.”

Shiori rested one hand on the hilt of a dagger, and with her free hand, she returned the dwarf’s insult. “Haven’t heard your reason yet.”

Taras stepped forward to speak with her, but Jarkoda put out an oak-tree-like arm to bar his way. “Your ship is the last in port. If we do not leave today, we burn your ship first, and then we work our way back across the horizon, sowing blood and fire.”

Shiori turned slowly to catalogue each of the hunters one by one, her gaze lingering on the hooded girl before turning back to Errol.

“And why does the child speak for you?”

“Captain Grimhilt put me in charge,” Errol said, doing his best to radiate authority.

Shiori addressed Taras. “Is this so, cleric?”

“It is. The Mako has hidden talents.”

Ah, bless you, Taras. Errol resisted the urge to nod or visibly acknowledge the honor in fear that it would diminish its impact. Instead, he sought out Shiori’s gaze. “I will not burn your ship if you will not take us. The halfdragon has a natural affinity for fire; please forgive him for the outburst. We’ve met with little success after our ship’s captain reneged on his contract.”

Shiori stormed up the gangplank. “Which ship?”

“The Orias,” Errol answered. “Why?”

“He’s part of the shipping guild. Do you have proof of contract?” Shiori swore. “Why am I asking—Grimhilt made arrangements. Of course you do.”

Looking like she’d agreed to let a viper bite her face, Shiori motioned for them to join her on deck. “I will take up the matter with the guild, provided I come back alive. For now, I’m bound to honor the contract, like it or not.”

“We will double the pay in recognition of your troubles,” Errol heard himself say. Once he calculated the cost in his head, he feared it would wipe out most of his share for the trip. Well. Better to reach the Bridge and at least have a shot at success than to fail before we’ve even left port. Fine leader he’d make, slinking back to Indara with a spear through his shoulder and not a ship left in the harbor.

He pulled up his quests again, staring at the reward for killing the Dell'Atti heir. He'd almost rejected the quest when the rest of the team had reacted so strongly against it, but the extra two thousand gold would more than make up for hiring a ship last minute like this. And if he didn't have to split it with the team . . .

“I’ll get you as close as I can,” Shiori said. “But I can’t promise we’ll even be able to approach the storm. The winds form a vortex so powerful that even if we try to get closer, we might find we are flung backward. There’s a reason no one sails for the Bridge.”

“Get us as close as you can, Captain. I’ll see to the rest.”

“Very well,” Shiori agreed. Errol held out his forearm toward her to seal the bargain. She smirked, but quickly suppressed it and clasped his arm.

He flashed a smile at the crew, trying to project confidence as they boarded the ship, but a rock settled in his stomach. What have I gotten myself into this time?