Korax 17 – Inselaciune 1, 1308

  The sea had always filled me with dread. Which, in hindsight, made perfect sense, seeing as I’d drowned more times than I can count.

  That feeling crawled back when I returned to the docks. You’d have laughed, with that annoying smirk of yours, if you could see me. I was tiptoeing as if I’d dropped Mum’s needles, hugging the inner edge of the walkway, and trying to picture myself anywhere but here. Didn’t work, though. It never did. One glance at the cracks – those gods-awful gaps between the planks – and I’d be reminded of what lay beneath. Then the memories would return. The water closing in, the desperate struggle for air, the darkness embracing me as I fell—

  ‘Move out of the way, lad!’

  The foreman’s shouting shocked me back into reality. I stumbled back from the edge and mumbled an apology. It took me a moment to get my bearings and realise that, regrettably, I was still in Eldryn’s Quay.

  Why had I even come? I promised the girl I’d find her missing father. Was that all?

  I’d met her at the Coral Festival a few nights back. She’d described her old man as troubled, unlike himself. I almost walked away right then and there, ready to dismiss him as a mere drunk. But then there was the other word she used: ‘haunted’. That word had brought me to the Quay. It was a long shot, but if a spirit was involved, I had to help.

  I took another look at Kefnfor’s oldest harbour, my gaze sweeping across the quiet scene, looking for clues.

  A crew of men – mostly dwarves – unloaded crates and nets from a newly arrived trawler just off to my right. The foreman, the same charming fella from before, was barking orders like he owned the place. They were hauling the day’s catch to the warehouses by the old whaling station, on the north side of the harbour. Busy as they were with their tasks, they didn’t strike me as the kind who’d humour my questions. I could compel them to talk – a whisper of magic could do the trick – but the effort seemed excessive.

  That left only the foreman. Terrific.

  As I stepped forward to question him, a voice stopped me in my tracks. An achingly familiar voice murmured through the mist, ‘Something’s coming. Something strange.’

  My spirit companion urged me not to worry, that the voice was merely observing, not making a threat. But I was worried. What was watching me?

  Even if the tiny thing inside – my mate, as I liked calling it – insisted the voice wasn’t hostile, I remained unconvinced. I needed another approach, at least until I knew what kind of spirit was interested in me.

  I turned around towards the street paralleling the docks.

  Eldryn’s Quay was the city-state’s beating heart, at least in matters of trade, and the shops lining the main street reflected that. You could find anything here, from fishing supplies to two-bit eateries and even ‘Morgan and Sons Clothing Emporium’ – a tawdry shop pretending otherwise. One could even buy information about a missing man… provided one had the coin, of course.

  Along the way, I passed a small grocer’s, more run-down than the other shops, with peeling paint and a faded sign. Inside, a woman paced restlessly, restocking and wiping down shelves with an old rag. A small child trailed behind, clutching a doll in one hand and a bucket of murky water in the other. And there, tucked between pots of honey and tins of salmon, a small spirit – Affection, by the looks of it – watched the scene with quiet delight.

  It was funny. Part of me wanted to corner the spirit and ask what fascinated it so much. As it looked older than the others around here, I was sure it’d have many tales to tell.

  Pity that I couldn’t stop to chat. I was headed to a place of laughter and off-key singing, where the workers unwound after a long day under the sun: Dafydd’s. Perhaps someone inside could tell me where to find the missing father or at least point me in the right direction.

  The pub was tucked along the alleyways separating the harbour from the rest of the city. Palladian windows and old brickwork suggested a building older than most others in the Quay, yet it didn't seem out of place. It was as if the surrounding structures had been built to match its style.

  What I loved the most, though, was the oil lamps hanging from the facade, casting a warm, dim glow over the pavement. Maybe I was a tad old-fashioned, but I couldn’t stand the gas lamps people used in the rest of the city, let alone those electric monstrosities popping up in the wealthier districts.

  As expected, the pub was packed to the brim. Someone had even dragged barrels outside to use as makeshift tables for the overflowing patrons. Even then, plenty of blokes were left standing, drinks in hand, laughing and singing like they didn’t care. A group of dwarves was particularly loud, sharing tales of their ‘troubles with the lady-folk’. Lovely.

  When I stepped inside, the warmth, scents, and sounds of the pub washed over me, stirring a raging sense of nostalgia in me.

  Every table was packed with people from all walks of life crammed together like life-long mates and drowning the place with a cacophony of music and drunken ramblings. Some blokes were singing an odd combination of old Clei?ian shanties and Kefnforian melodies. And the smells! The scent of beans, pork, a hint of paprika, and dill filled the air. Smoky Clei?ian Bean Stew. I’d have known that smell anywhere.

  Of course, I couldn’t forget the spirits tucked in every crack, observing quietly from their invisible realm.

  Most drifted aimlessly at the edges of my sight, floating from table to table, slipping under counters and through the walls. Some didn’t bother with pretences and merely vanished mid-air with a faint pop that most folk wouldn’t register; a sensation they’d remember in dreams, only to forget it again upon waking up.

  But then there were the others. The curious ones. The ones I had to keep an eye on.

  Luckily, a mirror hung behind the counter, perfect for watching spirits. Unluckily, the one tending the bar was the pub owner himself.

  The old dwarf hated my guts. No other way to say. One of his regulars could buy a pint and chips for a single bani, yet I’d have to fork over three or four for a cup of stale juice and leftovers. Sometimes I liked exploiting the old miser’s love for coin just to watch him fume and mumble about us evil holders. Was it petty? Probably. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

  With very few options left, I braced myself and sat at the counter, prepared to do the unthinkable: be nice to the dwarf. I needed his help and the publican knew everyone in the Quay. That made him my best shot at finding that girl’s father.

  ‘Evening, mate!’ I said. ‘Busy night, eh. Business booming, I hope?’

  The dwarf approached the moment I sat down. He always did. Probably figured the sooner I got my order, the sooner I’d be out of his fur. A familiar, annoyed frown was etched on his narrow snout and his hands, covered with the cobalt blue fur that was on the island, tapped incessantly on the counter.

  After a few seconds of awkward silence, the man sighed theatrically. Didn’t say a word, but didn’t kick me out, either. That was a win in my book.

  ‘Can I get some apple cider and a serving of chips?’ I asked, taking his silence as permission to speak.

  ‘Two bani.’

  ‘Here you go. So I was wondering if—’

  The dwarf snatched the copper coins from the counter and walked off without a word. Same old routine. Had I done the right thing by coming here?

  The publican loathed every holder who walked through his door, including me. I couldn’t blame him, not really, considering this city’s complicated relationship with magic. But it still stung. Some of us just wanted a decent meal, a bit of friendly banter, and information about a crazed man two words away from turning into a Rotten. Was it too much to ask?

  Maybe I should have asked the foreman instead.

  While the dwarf was off getting my order – hopefully without spit this time – I glanced at the mirror hoping I could fix my hair. A few strands had come loose since the bloody pomade I’d bought at the Octant’s market was totally worthless. Worst investment ever. And I guess it was also a good time to check on my pub’s invisible guests.

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  Something I never understood about spirits was their perception. Whenever they took on their animal forms, they’d mimic the beasts almost perfectly, but there was always something that didn’t quite fit; something that gave them away.

  Take mirrors, for instance. Spirits didn’t seem to see them. Or rather, didn't seem to see through them. Except for buggers like Truth, Insight, and Pride, spirits couldn’t grasp what a mirror was or how it worked. I once spent hours watching a little one through a reflection, and the thing never reacted, not even once.

  That’s how I learned that mirrors were the perfect tool to keep an eye on the ethereal bastards without them noticing. And what better place to use that trick than a cosy pub like this? I could watch the dwarf and make sure the spirits weren’t getting up to anything strange. Too strange.

  As luck would have it, only a handful of spirits demanded my attention.

  By the front door, a spirit of Want slithered between a group of men playing cards, its translucent skin pulsing brightly each time someone drew. On the table beside them, Sorrow swung from the ceiling beams, weeping as it listened to a sailor’s sad tale. Further in, a hairless, dog-like spirit of Treachery slept at the feet of a dwarven woman who seemed a bit too friendly with her companion. Definitely not her husband.

  What surprised me most, though, was the sheer number of spirits of Concern floating through the pub. I’d counted at least twenty when I came in, and that number had easily doubled since. The weirder thing was that they just drifted aimlessly among the patrons as if waiting for something.

  Had they followed me? Their presence was unsettling.

  ‘Your food,’ the dwarf grunted, slamming the plate in front of me.

  ‘Hold on a second,’ I said, a little more desperate than I intended. ‘I’m looking for a mate of mine. Thought maybe you’d seen him.’

  ‘A mate?’

  ‘He’s missing, you see. He’s a tad short for a human, red hair, green eyes—’

  ‘A holder,’ the dwarf said flatly. It wasn’t a question. He’d seen right through me. The word dripped with enough venom to poison an entire village.

  ‘Aye,’ I admitted. I had to be careful here. ‘He might be. His daughter thinks…’

  ‘You have your food. Eat it.’

  Godsdammit. The bloody dwarf was impossible! What else could I do? Something about him told me he wouldn’t take a bribe, meaning I’d have to convince him the old-fashioned way.

  ‘My mate works at one of the warehouses here,’ I said, ignoring his dismissal. ‘Perhaps at the old whaling station. Elian’s his name.’

  ‘Elian.’

  ‘Aye. You know him? Might be one of your regulars. He was always fond of good spirits.’

  ‘Many people are. This is a pub.’

  ‘Right, of course. His daughter said he liked this place, and that’s why I thought that—’

  ‘Ask the Hospitallers for help. Or the guards. I haven’t seen him.’

  Gods, I wanted to smash that vulpine face of his. He knew something, I was sure of it. He'd hesitated when I said Elian’s name and the way his pointy ears swivelled back against his head told me he was agitated. Maybe even scared.

  I would have preferred not to use magic – there was always a downside – but he’d backed me into a corner.

  A spirit crawled on the counter, its amphibian tail leaving a trace of slime behind. It wasn’t large, maybe the size of the dwarf’s forearm, but it held an unsettling presence. Its head was wide and flat, like a snake that had been stepped on, and its vacant beady eyes offered an eerie sense of comfort. Dark, plate-like scales oozed with a blood-like ichor, and every joint of its tiny body – knees, elbows, tail, even its knuckles – had a gaping, ravenous maw lined with countless rows of needle-sharp teeth.

  Concern; a twisted fusion of Compassion and Fear. I could all but taste the wrongness of it.

  I spoke again, keeping my voice steady – or as steady as the stutter allowed. I pretended to address the dwarf, but instead, I focused my words on the spirit.

  ‘Please, I need your help. I’m worried about Elian. He might be in danger. He could be a danger to others. Wouldn’t you be worried if he was your mate?’

  The dwarf’s eyes narrowed to slits. He still wasn’t buying it. But that didn’t matter anymore. Concern’s black, beady eyes were fixed on mine. I had its attention.

  The spirit slithered through the air behind the counter. Its tail, a grotesque parody of an axolotl’s, twitched erratically, dripping spectral slime on the wooden floors. Once it reached the dwarf’s side, the spirit worked its magic, flooding the man’s heart with its insidious feeling and discarding everything else. One could see the gears turning behind the dwarf’s eyes as Concern took hold of his mind.

  The publican’s eyes widened as his mouth started to quiver. Then he leaned closer until I could almost smell the sweat rolling down his forehead.

  ‘I want to help. It’s just…’ the publican hesitated, his voice trembling with every word. ‘I don’t know where Elian went. We saw him three days ago… and then nothing.’

  ‘By the Navigator’s teats, Dafydd!’ a man roared from the other end of the counter, his voice booming over the pub’s din. ‘Tell the bloody holder the truth!’

  The man stormed towards me, covering the distance in a heartbeat.

  That meant I was the ‘bloody holder’ in question. Great. Another reason to hate magic. All I got was free insults and angry seamen on my face.

  ‘You looking for Elian, are you?’ the man barked.

  ‘Yes. His daughter’s worried. Hasn’t seen him in days.’

  ‘Worthless drunk, that one. Lost his job at the Branwen’s after they caught him drinking. Sodding waste of space, can’t even hold a bloody job down to feed his daughter.’

  ‘Where does he work—’, I started, but the man cut me off again. I was starting to hate this bloke. Maybe the dwarf's hostility wasn’t so bad after all. At least he let me speak.

  ‘Some eatery next to the whaling station. The Branwens built it for their workers. Bloody imbeciles. We was trying to get away from the stench of blubber and blood, not eat next door.’

  ‘ know the place,’ I said. ‘Should be easy enough to get there from here. Thanks for—’

  ‘You’re going alone?’ another bloke asked. I’d noticed more people were eavesdropping on our little chat. I had hoped they were just nosy.

  ‘If Elian’s a holder,’ I began, trying to reason with them, ‘he could be dangerous. It’d be best if I went alone—’

  The punch came out of nowhere. It wasn’t the loud bloke or the nosy one from before. Not even the dwarf, though I bet he’d been itching to do that for quite some time. No. A middle-aged woman, a merchant of some sort judging by her clothes, had taken it upon herself to deliver a proper hook to the ‘bloody holder’. The force of the punch, or maybe just the shock at the absurdity of it all, sent me sprawling to the floor.

  But what really worried me was the mob of angry faces now looming over me.

  ‘Like hells you are,’ she bellowed. ‘Elian’s one of ours. We look after our own and we look after our harbour. We don’t need a promise-breaking dog telling us what to do. This is our livelihood we’re talking about.’

  Promise-breaking dog. So that was still a thing. Hadn’t heard that one in ages and I even thought it’d gone out of fashion. I sighed internally. Different faces, same tired prejudice.

  ‘You don’t understand, holder’, the dwarf said, his voice surprisingly strong from behind the counter. His hands were clenched into fists, shaking with a mix of anger and fear. ‘This might mean nothing to your kind, but this place is all we have. We’re going with you.’

  If it came to that, I could take them all on. The problem would come afterwards. How could I explain to the honourable City Guard that I’d knocked out the patrons of such a distinguished establishment?

  I sighed, defeated. There was always a price to pay…. At least I’d got my clue.

  ‘Alright then,’ I conceded. ‘But stay close. If things go south, I’d feel better knowing you’re safe.’

  ‘Is it that bad?’ the owner asked.

  ‘I hope not.’

  The music had stopped. The workers were clearing tables while the patrons settled their tabs. The mood had shifted – my fault or Concern’s, or perhaps both. Didn’t matter. Several men, humans and dwarves alike, were now forming bands to begin the search for the missing man.

  A knot tightened in my stomach as I heard how these men were forming plans and discussing places where Elian could be hidden. They were willing to put themselves in harm’s way for his sake.

  Was it Concern’s influence that made me worried? No… it was something else. Something about the way they’d spoken of Elian… I was missing something.

  I wished, not for the first time, that my own spirit could offer some guidance and at least speak to me. Instead, it remained stubbornly silent.

  The loud bloke helped me to my feet. He muttered an apology for the shouting and even apologised for the woman’s – apparently his wife – punch. I told him not to worry about it. Although my cheek still throbbed where the fist landed, I knew there wouldn't be a bruise.

  As I headed for the door, my hand went to my pocket, instinctively reaching for the few bani and caini I had left. Thankfully, not a single coin slipped when I fell.

  Before leaving the pub – this beacon of decency and refinement – I took a look at the spirits one last time. The Concerns were congratulating themselves for a job well done, practically trembling with delight. Their grotesque tails wagged back and forth, and their maws, all of them, stretched into what could only be described as a horrifyingly comforting grin. They were so pleased with themselves.

  Bloody parasites.