Gypsy's Quest Read online

  The three of us sailed away from the little harbor at first light, Gunnar on deck helping with the sails. Once we were in open water Gunnar told me what I already knew—that Glantsgo was filled with mercenaries and evil people who would murder their own grandmother for a tiny nugget of gold. He approved of my robe, saying it would be best to wear the hood over my head so that I might be mistaken for a man. “Women are chattel there, served up to the men with the most ingots. You can never be on the street by yourself.” He had several friends outside of town and planned to contact them as soon as we arrived.

  I had a headache every day, my moods erratic and volatile. Gunnar told me he suspected that I’d been drinking some kind of concoction, including chasteberry, to control my emotions. The druid told me to drink lots of water to flush it from my tissues. When we sailed into Glanstgo harbor a few days later I was feeling more like my old self, but along with this came overwhelming urgency to find my child, my suppressed anxiety rising to the surface all at once.

  ***

  The creak and groan of three masted schooners, Sampans, and enormous flat-decked cargo ships mingled with the sing of wind through the rigging of small sailing vessels. The dock was alive with men of every color and size unloading barrels and crates and yelling to one another in unfamiliar languages. Ripped and filthy bandanas held their hair back, muscles straining as they rolled barrels down the ramps to be loaded onto carts pulled by skinny horses, donkeys and dark sweating men who appeared to be slaves. Next to the dock men dressed in fine linen and frock coats shouted orders, whips held at the ready. There were no women in sight.

  “Are there ruins here like the ones in Amalthea?”

  “No. This is a frontier town that sprang up a little over a hundred years ago, populated by descendants of the ones who survived.”

  Kafir handed me a pair of trousers and an over shirt and then tied a dirty bandana across my head, pulling it down over the tattoo. “What about the robe?”

  “This will look more authentic around the docks. You can save the robe for later.”

  The pants were enormous but I used the belt from my white dress to pull them tight. The shirt came down below my hips, and hung loosely across my chest, belying my womanhood.

  “Put on your boots and tuck in the pants,” Kafir ordered, looking me over critically. “And do not swing your hips when you walk.”

  We threw the anchor over the side and took the pram in, tying up at an area that wasn’t as busy. The miasma of rotting fish and swampy water assaulted my nostrils, making me feel a bit sick as we left the dock. Gulls swooped by me, their screeching calls strident as they grabbed dead fish from the mud. Gunnar and Kafir led the way and I followed, keeping my eyes downcast as we moved past carts fitted with the cargo from the boats. When the drivers called out greetings to Gunnar and Kafir I worried that someone might ask who I was, but no one did. A group of enormous fearsome-looking armored men trotted by in formation, their boots sinking in the deep ooze.

  “Berserkers, Odin’s warriors.” Kafir said, meeting my questioning glance. “They’re here to make sure the greed of former times doesn’t reappear.”

  “Good luck to them,” Gunnar muttered, the first sign of humor I’d seen from the taciturn druid.

  The place appeared lawless, the wealthy orchestrating the distribution of cargo and treating the workers badly. Why weren’t Odin’s warriors doing something about this?

  Once we were away from the busyness of the harbor Gunnar stopped, removing the mud from his boots with a sweep of his hand. “I’ll ask at the Black Barrel. I know the barman there.” He headed toward a pub across the street, wending his way by chickens and skinny dogs hunting for food in the garbage left along the roadside. I put shaking fingers on Kafir’s arm to get his attention. “I don’t like it here.”

  Without looking at me Kafir said, “Remember to act like a man.” He removed my fingers from his arm, stepping away from me a second before two men walked by.

  “I thought I recognized ye,” one of them said, coming to a stop next to us. His wide grin revealed several broken and blackened teeth.

  “Ah, Crandall. ‘Tis nice to lay eyes on ye!” Kafir clasped the man’s arm, his new accent a surprise.

  “Is this one of your fine sons?” he asked, looking down at me.

  Kafir stepped in front of me. “Aye, tis the younger one and he’s ailin’. We’re on our way to the apothecary.”

  “Sorry to hear it. And where is Ella?”

  “I would never bring her here, ye ken that!”

  Crandall nodded. “Aye, t’would be foolhardy to bring such a fine woman around these pirates.” He chuckled. “Give her my best,” he said, turning to go. “And good luck to ye, young man.”

  I nodded, keeping my head down. Obviously Crandall hadn’t been here for some time, otherwise he would know that Ella was no longer with Kafir. When Gunnar appeared a few moments later I relaxed, letting out my held breath.

  “Tagat’s heard rumors about an older man with a child who sailed in a month ago—says he’s been here before but always with the sorceress, who is well known in these parts. This time he’s alone.”

  “So what now?” I whispered.

  “We find a place to hole up and wait,” Kafir answered.

  “The boat?”

  “No. We have to look like we belong and that means a room and frequenting the bars.”

  Gunnar reached into his pocket, pulling out a small sack. “Local currency,” he said, handing it to Kafir. Kafir slipped it into a hidden pouch in the front of his pants.

  “What about me?”

  “You will be with us,” Gunnar said, turning away. “We should find a room.”

  A small ramshackle hotel down the street had one room, the swarthy man behind the desk told us, holding out a filthy hand for money. Our room was at the back of the hotel with access from the alleyway that was filled with rubbish and men dressed in rags. On the way through the door I saw a rat run by and slip behind the wall. I shuddered, wondering about disease and bathroom facilities and sharing a tiny room with two men, but I could put up with nearly anything if it meant finding my Rifak. The men ushered me inside and up a rickety staircase to the second story. Several gaslights hung on the wall lighting up the narrow hallway, a surprise in this primitive place. But my second thought was about fire and getting out of this tinderbox in one piece.

  The room had one bed with a lumpy mattress covered with a quilt that smelled of cat pee, sweat and beer. It was stuffy and I longed for the boat as I pulled off the tunic, sitting down on the corner of the bed.

  Gunnar sat on the one chair and Kafir lowered down beside me, pulling his pipe out of his pocket. “It isn’t ideal but we won’t be here long,” he said, his eyes traveling from my cropped hair down to the cleavage that peeked out from the scanty chemise I had tightened. I shook my head, glancing toward the druid and making Kafir smile. “Your hair has some grey strands now,” he remarked, his fingers moving through my short hair before he bent to light his pipe.

  “Not very feminine, is it?”

  “I like it,” Kafir responded, “but then I’m not a traditionalist when it comes to women’s styles. And it helps with the disguise.” He puffed, the odor of his special tobacco overlaying the stale air. When he handed me the pipe I took it, drawing in the smoke and letting it work its magic. When our eyes met there was no denying I had let this man back into my heart.

  The Otherworld-2011

  “I overheard their conversation,” Harold said. He and Maeve were sitting in the grass while baby Airmid toddled around picking tiny daisies.

  “So you think he’s changed?”

  “From what he said it sounded like he had no memory of who he was before. Remember Morrighan’s curse Gertrude told us about?” Harold pressed a blade of grass between his thumbs and blew on it, producing a low sound that aroused Airmid’s curiosity.

  Maeve nodded, recalling the images produced by that conversation—the huge raven shapeshiftin
g into the goddess of war. From what Gertrude said, the goddess was furious with Brandubh. “According to Gertrude, Morrighan took away his powers. That doesn’t explain his memory loss.”

  “All I know is that he’s angry with Adair and trying to spend time with his child. Apparently there’s some problem with him being here.”

  Maeve frowned. “Do you mean physically or mentally, or what?”

  “From what I heard Adair say, Brandubh can’t stay long in this timeline. I saw him disappear and he didn’t look happy leaving his son behind.”

  “I’m confused. Where is he going, exactly?”

  “We need to talk to someone who could answer that question.”

  “If this is Gertrude and Brandubh’s baby, and Adair has him, I can’t imagine what Getrude’s going through. We have to help her, Harold!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Far Isle-2451

  The three of us crowded into the double bed, me on the outside next to Kafir, his leg against mine. Deep in the night after waking up for the third or fourth time I noticed that he was awake too, his fingers warm on my arm.

  “Holding you would give us more room.”

  When I nodded he moved closer, his head close to mine. I tried not to let his proximity affect me; I couldn’t let myself be distracted now when we were so close. But as night deepened with Kafir’s steady breath warm on my neck, I relaxed, falling into a deep sleep.

  I woke abruptly, alone in the bed. Fear snaked through my stomach as I sat up, my feet swinging to the floor before I had fully registered where I was. Gunnar was in the chair, his eyes closed.

  “Kafir is out finding us something to eat,” the druid told me without opening his eyes. “If you need to use the privy it’s at the end of the hall, but be sure to cover yourself.”

  I pulled the robe out of my pack, slipping it over the chemise and pulling up the hood before opening the door. I had no trouble finding it, the smell wafting toward me in a sickening wave. Inside the airless room I was greeted with a floor covered in urine, a pot in a corner filled with stinking feces. Gnats, flies and other bugs buzzed around my head as I lifted up the robe trying not to touch anything. There was no toilet paper, no way to flush, and no water. I did the best I could, jumping when someone banged on the door, rattling the lock.

  “Hurry up in there, you laggard!” a man yelled. “I’m about to piss my pants!”

  I finished as quickly as I could, pulling the hood low before I opened the door.

  “What is with ye?” the stout man asked as I crept out. “Are ye dumb?” His face was florid and sweaty, his skin mottled and pockmarked.

  I nodded, keeping my head down while he worked his way by me, the smell of him making me gag. Without closing the door he unbuttoned his pants letting loose a stream of oaths. “The pain is gettin’ worse,” he muttered. “It’s hard to start now, curse every god there is!”

  I hurried down the hall away from him, listening to his low moans until I reached the room.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Kafir demanded as I walked through the door.

  “I had to use the bathroom.” I pushed the hood back, letting out my held breath. “There was a man down there…he…”

  “Did he see you?”

  “He thought I was dumb and I went along with it.”

  “Good girl,” Kafir said. “Now come and eat.”

  An hour later the three of us were dodging carts, men and women carrying sacks and heavy barrels, dogs, chickens and goats foraging along the road. The women were nearly as rough looking as the men, some dressed in pants and some in filthy dresses, their hair in dreadlocks. Obviously no one here had heard of taking a bath. The squeak of the wheels, the curses and groaning and general bedlam had me as nervous as a cat. Drizzle had turned the roadway into slippery clay and it took every bit of my resolve to keep from grabbing Kafir’s arm. My robe dragged through the mud and because I was supposed to be male I couldn’t risk holding it up. By the time we reached the bar I felt like a drowned and muddy rat.

  Gunnar went ahead, his gaze focused on a table in the dark recesses. “Can I take the hood off now?” I whispered.

  “No. This place is filled with men. If they see that tattoo I won’t be able to save you.”

  “What would they do?”

  “Let’s just say you would be a valuable commodity,” he whispered. “Anyone who has spent time in the temple is considered to be a virgin—they fetch the highest prices.”

  Around us the tables were filling up, the noise level rising as the men downed their mugs of ale. Behind me a red-haired barmaid appeared, an ample amount of cream-colored bosom exposed above her tightly laced blouse. “Get out of my way!” she shouted at us, her arms held above her head where mugs of ale were balanced on a tray. “If yur goin’ to gawk get away with ye. This is a place of business!”

  Kafir slapped her on the rump as she went by, mouthing something into her ear that made her laugh. “I did not recognize ye, Kafir. Yur turnin’ into an old man!” With that statement she moved past us toward a table of grimy-looking men.

  I stayed close behind Kafir, nervously fiddling with my hood. When we reached the table, Gunnar was deep in conversation with a heavyset man of indeterminate years, whose eyes were sinking into the flesh around them. “You know Sargo,” Gunnar said to Kafir, ignoring me. The ancient druid scanned the room before continuing. “Tell them what you relayed to me.”

  Sargo leaned forward, his meaty elbows on the tabletop. “The man they call Raven has the boy. He’s in charge of a group of thugs and mercenaries who bring in contraband to sell to the rich here. A bit like you,” he added, staring at Kafir. “Any beasts on that boat of yours?”

  Kafir seemed embarrassed by that statement, his eyes flicking toward me.

  “Don’t tell me the lass doesn’t ken your business.” Sargo stared at me, puzzled.

  “Let’s talk about this later,” Gunnar offered.

  “If ye say so. In any case we will either need to procure something or sell him something to get close enough to get the child back. Unfortunately he knows me for what I am, so one of you will have to engage him or one of his men. I can point them out since two of ‘em are in this room right now.”

  Sargo motioned to the barmaid. “Can we get some ale over here?” he boomed. “Whispering brings suspicion,” he told us in a low voice. “So tell me what you’re here for,” he asked loudly. “Is it the auction that brought ye?”

  A moment later the barmaid appeared with the tray, clanking the mugs down in front of us, beer sloshing across the table. “Pay up,” she demanded, her fingers raking through Kafir’s tangled curls. “I seem to remember a certain forgetfulness the last time.”

  Kafir laughed. “I always pay my bills, Renee,” he said, cocking his head to look up at her. “If not with gold then something else.”

  She pursed her lips and held her hand out palm up, the other one on her hip. Kafir produced a few coins, pressing them into it with a chuckle. He fit in with this milieu with his three-day growth and long unkempt hair. His scuffed leather boots scraped along the floor as he tilted his chair back, taking a pull from his mug. “Drink up,” he ordered, his eyes on me.

  Sargo leaned toward me. “Use your whole hand when you pick it up and don’t be dainty when you sip.”

  I took a hefty swallow trying not to choke, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. Kafir gave me a nod of approval.

  Before we left the bar Sargo indicated the two men in Raven’s employ. They looked worse than the other ragtag people I’d seen, with scars, filthy clothing, and an aura of violence. I would not want to meet them in a dark alley, or anywhere else for that matter. One of them wore a patch over one eye, an evil glint coming from the other one as he perused the crowd. A seven-inch knife hung from his low-slung belt, and if I wasn’t mistaken a gun was stuck into the belt on the other side. The other man had a weasel face with a long nose and eyes too close together. He looked nervous and sweaty, waving his hand at
the bugs that had chosen him for their dinner.

  ***

  Back in the room I pulled the robe off, throwing it onto the unmade bed. No maid service here. “What did Sargo mean, Kafir? How often do you trade here?”

  Kafir stared at me, his eyes narrowed. “I told you I was a trader the first time we ran each other. What exactly do you want from me?”

  “Sargo made it sound like you traded illegally. Is that true?”

  “Illegal—what the hell does that mean in a place like this? I bring in what people want and I take out what’s wanted in other areas. Are you satisfied now?”

  “He mentioned beasts—what did that mean?”

  Kafir shrugged. “What difference does it make? I’ve been doing what I do for over twenty years. I’m good at it. You don’t understand the life here and your judgments are growing tiresome.”

  “So that’s what you do when you disappear--is Gypsy in on it too?”

  Kafir laughed. “The boat does my bidding. If I want something she knows where to find it.”

  I stared at him, willing him to look me in the eyes but his attention was on a map he’d pulled out of his pocket. I felt off balance and unsure again, wondering why I’d opened my heart. He was different here, someone I didn’t know and didn’t trust. I glanced over to see Gunnar’s expression but the druid’s eyes were closed as though he wanted nothing to do with this conversation. I pulled the covers up over the bed and sat down.

  “Your last name, what is it again?” Kafir asked.

  “Besnik.”

  “From now on you’re Besnik, at least until we get out of this hellhole.” Kafir paced from one side of the room to the other and back again, his footfalls heavy.