“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.”
4
“Shall I eat him, Cat?” murmured Rory.
“Rory, don’t move. They’ll shoot you.” I faced the general. “How did you find us?”
“You see, Cat, it isn’t that you need to have the dragon dreamer at your side at all times,” said General Camjiata as he strolled up to me. “She does not dream the day before of what will come to pass the next morning.”
“She doesn’t?” I asked, thinking of my dream.
He took no notice because he was too enthralled by the sound of his own voice. “Nor can she walk by purpose into a dream that will tell her what she wishes to know about a crossroads in her future. She may never even recognize what it is she has seen. What you need to make use of a dreamer’s gift is a record of her dreams, so you can study this record until you see patterns emerge and weave the pieces together.”
