Chapter Five

Okutari, Nasimani Province. (4, Caróg, 593 AP. Night.)
The house remained quiet. Whoever the woman was she was not the target, but she couldn’t hear the sounds of fighting either. It had been several minutes since she’d slipped through the window, and all remained silent. Askari shifted her weight imperceptibly in the branches of the great willow, her deep brown skin, and dark, fitted clothing rendering her almost invisible in the shadowy canopy. She would wait. She might even be better off following the woman at this rate. The man seemed to be leading her in a continental pub crawl. She was normally much better at this. She was beginning to suspect that her ‘employers” had left out a few vital details about this mark. Still, this was what she did, and she would do it well. She pushed back her long braids. She could wait. The quiet of the night was almost peaceful around her. You would never suspect such a night to hold two thieves, and a bounty hunter she thought in mild amusement. The sleeping villagers certainly didn’t. Through the window, she saw the lantern move again. If there had been a scuffle it was over now, and someone had gone back to searching the room. Askari relaxed somewhat. Content, for now, to watch.
After several minutes the light began moving erratically, and she thought she heard voices. She tipped her head thoughtfully. So they were working together in their search now? Interesting. A faint sound pulled her attention to the river for a moment. Was that a boat? At this hour? The shape in the water pulled closer to the dock, proving indeed to be a rowboat, which its owner tied up, before stealthily moving towards the house, a glimpse of red catching in the faint light. Oh, my. Three thieves? A busy night indeed. To her surprise, this new figure went straight to the front door. A key? She frowned, should she interfere? She needed at least one of the figures inside alive, to lead her to her mark. Yet she could not be seen either. She glanced back at the rear window and was relieved to see the lamp extinguish quickly. All was quiet once more. Askari shifted uneasily, right before a loud crash echoed through the house. There were several shouts, a series of thumps, and what sounded like a minor explosion. Two figures scrambled out one of the side windows in silent argument and ran into the trees. Askari glanced back at the house as she moved to follow them.
The house was on fire.
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Kaito rolled to his feet with a groan. What in all the rivers had they hit him with? He looked around and blinked. Well, whatever it was, it was clearly flammable, because everything was on fire now. He ran to his grandmother’s library. He had to save whatever was left, he had to-he stopped and stared in horror. His grandmother’s books, her careful notes collected over a lifetime, lay torn and scattered on the floor. His knees felt weak. He’d spent his childhood in this room, pouring over old maps, and textbooks, listening to his grandmother talk about her adventures, planning his own...and now all of it was destroyed. Fire forgotten, he bent to retrieve the fallen pages, recognizing one of them, its edges creased from use. It was handwritten, from one of his grandmother’s old journals. The sound of the village bell and people shouting brought him back to the present. Smoke. Fire. “Blast!” He scrambled to collect what papers he could before either the fire or the river brigade could reach them.
Askari watched from the treeline. Good. They’d heard the bell in time. She could see the man who was not a thief running out of the house, his arms full of papers. He lived then, also good. It was not that she was particularly opposed to death, it happened to everyone eventually, but she didn’t bear the village any ill will and preferred not to see the possibly innocent die prematurely. Especially when she wasn’t even getting paid for it. She turned silently and followed the tracks of her quarry. They’d stuck together after all. That was good too. It made it easier to decide whom to follow.
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Kaito watched in silence as the remnants of his grandparents home quietly smoldered. The village had rallied quickly and put out the flames before they could spread, but it was far too late for the library. His grandmother’s work was gone. Paper was a beautiful, but terribly fragile thing. Easily torn, easily burned, and unable to withstand large amounts of water. He choked back tears as he watched the smoke curl into the predawn sky. So many happy memories of his childhood had been in that tiny library. It was as though a part of him was suddenly gone, burned away like the papers, and drifting away with the smoke. What had happened here? What had his grandparents gotten themselves mixed up in? And more importantly where were they now? It took several minutes to pull himself together. Swallowing, he tried to focus on what he did have. A couple of torn books, a map of the storm coast, and some random pages. His eyes skimmed across the few pages he’d been able to save. Two of them caught his attention. The first was written in his grandmother’s neat handwriting, faded, from an older journal most likely “-finally found someone who could decipher the text on the map, a young bookbinder named Gaelbhan. Lives in Qeloura, with his wife and-” The surrounding text was smudged and torn. He looked over the second page, also his grandmother’s writing, but more recent, and not as clear, as though she’d been in a hurry “Cursed Arstiegians can’t leave well enough alone! At least this time their meddling may be bloodless and helpful-” smudges obscured part of the text here, “-airships! Kadan and I will join them whether they like it or not! A good cartographer is invaluable on an expedition like this. Finally, I can find out if those legends were true!” If the Arstiegians were building airships for an expedition, and could use a cartographer, they must be trying to map the northern mountains again. Which would be a violation of the Northern Accord. Which could mean war if the Chapawee found out. Not to mention that everyone who’d ventured there never came back. The cold winds were treacherous, and the mountains considered impassible. And his grandparents were out there, in the midst of it all? His throat felt tight as he clutched the papers. The nearest Arstiegian city that could house an airship yard was Hagsfjori. It might be a long shot, but he had a direction now. He would find them. He would find them, and bring them back, and then he would find the people who destroyed his grandmother’s work.
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“Are you insane?!” Gavin hissed as they paused their run to catch their breath. “What was that?”
“Of course not, and none of your business.” Suleta huffed, glaring at her companion in the pre-dawn light that filtered through the canopy above them. Hazel eyes glared back at her, from behind strands of wavy chocolate-brown hair that fell to his shoulders, several pink burn marks were forming on his beechwood skin. She felt slightly bad about that, but was too annoyed to say so.
His soft smoky brogue interrupted her study. “These burns suggest otherwise on both counts. At least we weren’t caught.” He pulled a cord out of one of his kilt pockets and tied up his hair as he spoke, looking around to get his bearings. “That stuff seriously stings by the way.”
“That’s the sulfuric acid. It mixed with the ethanol when you broke it.”
“What do you mean when I broke it?” He turned around to stare at her.
“When you fell on it. You were too heavy, and the rafter broke.”
“Too heavy-” he couldn't believe this, his mouth opened and closed as he searched for words, “you’re the one who pulled me up there, I was going to go out the back window!”
“If we’d gone out the window we couldn’t have observed him, to see what he did. We would learn nothing.” She explained practically.
“Observe him! You blew up that poor guy’s house!”
“That was an accident. And your fault. We don’t even know it was his house.”
“He had a key!”
“Which he could have stolen.”
“You-” He broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Never mind. This whole trip has been a disaster, and I couldn’t read anything back there even if it wasn’t burnt. You have fun wherever it is you’re going.”
She frowned as he started to walk away, she didn’t find anything back there either except one torn paper covered in Nasimani. She supposed she could try and find out more about the bookbinder, it was a long shot, but better than going home a failure. Besides, Otetiani would still be rebuilding her house. He hated it when she helped, said it took longer. It was settled then, she’d go to Qeloura. She glanced at the thick oaks around her and realized there was a slight flaw in this plan. “Wait!” She ran after him, “Do you know how to get to Qeloura from here?”
“Possibly...why?”
“Because that’s where I need to go next.”
“Again, why? And why should I help you?”
“Because you landed on my bag and cost me valuable chemical components?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Try again.”
She thought fast, and her eyes caught on the paper in her hand. “Because this paper indicates the cartographer went there, and it may lead us both to a clue?”
“What? Let me see that.” He reached for the paper, but she pulled it away.
“It’s in Nasimani, you said you can’t read that.”
He sized her up skeptically. “And you can?”
“Of course.” She could see him debating whether to believe her or not, and tried very hard not to look shifty. Whatever that looked like.
He sighed. “Fine, I’m going that way anyhow. It’s a long walk, so try to keep up.” He started walking again. “What’s your name anyway?”
“Suleta.”
“Charmed.”
Suleta followed, slipping the torn paper into her satchel while Gavin wasn’t watching. Not that he could read it anyway. Which was good because it didn’t mention Qeloura at all. At least she didn’t think it did, Suleta couldn’t actually read it either. But Gavin didn't need to know that.