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LOST AND FOUND

“You can open that dispatch,” said Harbormaster Mayfil, “and add a dozen more deaths by quiss between here and the Southern Turn.” The tall, red-headed o’rant, with more weight on him than most men of his race, stood next to a row of windows in his office. Behind him, ships of all sizes could be seen moored at the piers, docking, and sailing in or out of the busy harbor.

Bardon felt N’Rae shift beside him and understood her impatience to get to the matter of Granny Kye. But the port official had his mind on the threat to his harbor. Of course, the captain of the Morning Lady reported the incident upriver and Squire Bardon’s part in slaying the beast. The crewmen spread the tale along the wharf. Bardon had not had to use Sir Dar’s name to get past the clerk outside the office of the most influential man in Ianna.

Harbormaster Mayfil listened to the three things Squire Bardon requested of him. He waved his hand in the air and said, “The Tobit Grander sails tomorrow. That’s the boat you need.”

About Granny Kye’s predicament he said, “Hmm? We’ll contact Magistrate Inkleen.”

But Mayfil sunk his teeth into the subject of quiss and would not let go.

After they stood for several minutes while the harbormaster fired questions at the squire, Bardon unobtrusively offered N’Rae a seat.

Either the man has no manners or he’s forgotten them in his fervor to discover all he can about the quiss.

With his hands behind his back and a glower on his face, Mayfil rocked back and forth, heel to toe. “My brother fought several quiss invasions in Trese. He was a military man, rose to full major lee. I heard many wild stories about the swarms of sea creatures walking on land in bands of a hundred to a thousand. He said they weren’t particularly hard to slay, but the sheer number caused problems. And when the battle went against the quiss, the beasts never turned and ran. They just kept coming.” The harbormaster shuddered.

Though truly interested in the man’s story, Bardon took the opportunity to steer the conversation back to where it would be useful to their immediate plans. “I would be glad to include your observations of quiss activity in this area in my report. Do you have the name of someone who will carry the document to Vendela?”

Mayfil stroked his chin. “There aren’t many pledged to Paladin in these regions. Not that they are disrespectful of the calling. We’re more interested in practical matters. But my brother was one to follow, and he has a grown son I can send with your papers.”

N’Rae surprised Bardon by speaking up. “You refer to your brother in the past tense, sir.”

“Yes, he died in a battle at Bartal Springs Lake. Risto’s bisonbeck army was defeated, but at a terrible cost.”

“Should the battle not have been fought, then?” asked N’Rae.

“There are many here who think not. But I had the advantage of hearing my brother’s firsthand accounts of the evil he encountered. He’d say that unless a wound is cleaned of the festering, rotted flesh, the whole body will sicken and die. My wife once objected and said the body was their body—she was talking about the Creemoor Province at the time—so it was their problem and not ours.”

He shook his head. “The look of sadness on my brother’s face when my wife said that stunned me. I did not know him as a man of much emotion. He had plenty of military bluster. He’d get heated up about his views of politics. Otherwise, his demeanor was cold, rigid, what you would expect from a military man. But that night he looked as though the sorrows of every man lost under his command weighed heavily on his heart. I thought he would agree with her out of his pain. But he said, ‘You are wrong, my dear. And you do not know Wulder’s heart.’”

Harbormaster Mayfil sighed deeply. His hands, hanging by his side, lifted briefly and fell again. “And now the infection comes to us to knock us out of our complacency.”

“We must send a message to Paladin,” Bardon said.

“We have ignored Paladin for centuries.” The powerful official sounded lost in his despair. “Why should he respond to our need?”

“Maybe you have forsaken Paladin,” said the squire, “but Wulder has not forgotten you.”

Mayfil sighed again and moved to his desk. He picked up a quill pen, pulled a piece of paper close, and bent to write. “We shall send the dispatch to Paladin and see what happens.” He straightened, folded his note in half, and went to the door. Mayfil spoke to his clerk for several moments and then returned to his desk.

“My nephew will come to pick up your papers, Squire Bardon. You may use my desk to add to your account while you wait. I’ll send in Gregger, the man I’ve had investigating the various reports. He can fill in the pertinent details.

“The purser from the Tobit Grander will come here to make arrangements for your passage. And if you will allow me to accompany your young friend, we will go visit the magistrate to see about freeing her grandmother.”

Three hours later, Harbormaster Mayfil returned alone. Bardon had just sent a sealed document off to Paladin, confident that it would be delivered within a week. He’d booked passage for four on the Tobit Grander over an hour before. The sense of satisfaction that resided in his thoughts slipped away when he saw Mayfil’s scowl.

“Something wrong?” Bardon asked.

“She wasn’t there.”

“Who wasn’t where?”

“Granny Kye was not in the jail. If Inkleen weren’t such a good friend, I would have been embarrassed beyond all measure. I call an important man away from his duties. We go to rescue a poor old woman and orphans from the jailhouse, only to discover when we arrive that there has been a jailbreak. Our old lady and street urchins have escaped.”

“How did she do it?”

“No witnesses.”

“No witnesses?” Bardon paused, and with an effort, he restored calm to his tone of voice. “Both cells on either side of her held numerous women.”

“They are not talking. Seemed to enjoy us looking like fools.” He waved a finger in the air. “I fired that lummox of a day jailer and left a message for the night man that he was fired too.”

“For allowing prisoners to escape? How do you know which one is at fault?”

Mayfil stomped around his desk and threw himself down in his chair. “No, not for that. I fired them for filth. Most disgusting civil office I’ve ever seen.”

Bardon frowned. “Where’s N’Rae?”

“She was most distraught. I took her to the inn. We thought her grandmother might have gone there. But she had not. A young man of your acquaintance, a fellow named Hoddack—I know of the father, a kindia trader—took over with N’Rae. They were going to search the marketplace.”

“The market?”

“The girl thought her grandmother would want nicer clothes for the children.”

Bardon nodded in a numbed state. “Yes, yes, she would.”

“I sent out a runner to the constable stations. They’ll be on the lookout for her.”

“She’ll be arrested again?”

“Well, yes, but I still think old Inkleen will let her out. He thought the whole fiasco was quite amusing.”

Bardon sank into the chair N’Rae had sat in earlier.

What is the logical course I should pursue? I don’t think there is a logical course.

The harbormaster cleared his throat. “Ahem. Isn’t there something you should be doing, Squire Bardon?”

“I should be miles to the north of here, on the back of a faithful dragon, on my way to right a wrong, pleasantly ensconced in the execution of a quest of noble purpose.”

Mayfil looked a bit confused. “I thought you might want to join the search for the fugitive granny and her accomplices.”

“Yes.” Bardon stood. “Thank you, Harbormaster Mayfil, for your cooperation. I’m sure your nephew will return with an answer from Paladin. We have our arrangements for our departure, and I appreciate your efforts to extract Granny Kye from her legal entanglements.”

“Yes, very well said.” Mayfil stood, put a hand on Bardon’s elbow, and guided his visitor toward the door. “I can tell you’ve been spending your time in those fancy higher courts in the north. Why don’t you find that girl’s grandmother so I can finish the job of having her exonerated?”

The harbormaster left the squire outside his office. Bardon stayed where he had been deposited.

What is the logical first step? To look where she was last seen. Bardon started forward and stopped. I have to find N’Rae. He paused. Logical. I have to find Granny Kye first.

Rain still sprinkled the streets when he emerged from the three-story office building onto the wharf. His nose caught the unfamiliar odors of the sea, brine and fish, sodden hemp ropes and sun-bleached sails.

He bolted across the wet wood planks and into the stone street. Traffic posed no problem as he made his way across a third of the city. Most people had enough sense to stay out of the rain. Bardon did not doubt that he would eventually find the old emerlindian drenched and happy.

She is almost always content, and she doesn’t have the sense to get out of the rain.

At the jailhouse, he found no jailer but two women cleaning the office. Without speaking to them, he went to the desk cabinet. An easy blow to the latch with the side of his hand opened the door. He took out a key and went to the door where the tumanhofer had kept the next set of keys.

He heard one scrubwoman speak to the other. “Do you think he should be doing that?”

“Don’t worry about it, dearie. Even soaking wet, you can tell that one’s important.”

“He does look somewhat like a prince, doesn’t he?”

“It’s the fine clothes. Maybe he is a prince.”

Bardon crossed the room with the large, rusted key ring in his hand. “A knight, ladies. I’m to be a knight, not a prince. And I’m only a squire now.” He entered the opening to the stairway.

“That explains it,” said one of the women. “A knight would have the right to be messing about with the keys, don’t you think?”

Bardon raced down the steps and didn’t hear an answer. Walking much more quickly than they had the night before, he reached the end of the underground passageway. He unlocked the last door and swung it open.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, not bothering to keep the astonishment out of his voice.

“I was arrested, Bardon.” Granny Kye sat on the floor of her cell, combing a girl’s wet hair. “Surely you remember. You came last night and brought us food and these blankets.” She gestured at the folded piles. Three of the children sat on the small blanket towers. Two lay stretched out on the floor, playing a game with sticks and small stones. Bardon strode across the entryway and grasped the iron bars.

“You weren’t here. The harbormaster came to get you out, and”—he paused and spoke slowly, distinctly—“you were not here.”

“He came to get us out? How nice.”

Bardon sought to calm his voice, soften his voice, remove all vestige of emotion from his voice. Finally, he spoke. “Where were you?”

“Giving the children baths. Those nice women who were here yesterday were here again this morning. We all agreed the children needed washing. So we took them to the prison laundry room and bathed them all, including their clothing.” She went back to combing the urchin’s wet locks. “I think we should get them new garments, Bardon. Perhaps we can go to the market on the way back to the inn.”

Bardon dug his fingers into his hair and pulled. “N’Rae is at the market with Holt.”

“Those two really should be chaperoned, young Squire. Of that much, I agree with Jue Seeno. I don’t think Holt is a bad boy, but natural, healthy attraction does happen between young people. Perhaps you’d better go find them.”

“First I must go back to the harbor and disturb Mayfil once more on your behalf.”

Granny Kye merely nodded.

Bardon ground his teeth. “Do you think you could stay here long enough for me to get you out of here?”

She tilted her head. “Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense,” he answered. “I want to get you legitimately released so you won’t be arrested again for breaking out of jail.”

Granny Kye laughed. “What a ridiculous thing to say!”

“Will you stay here?”

“Yes, of course.”

Bardon turned to leave. Granny Kye’s voice stopped him. “Because I worry, dear…on your way to the harbor, would you go through the market to see if you can find N’Rae?”

Bardon faced the prisoner again and bowed, stiff as usual and without the grace of Sir Dar. “Yes, it would be my pleasure.”