A good many ships would need repairs or replacing. No one had a very good idea of what had happened at sea. Everyone was certain that a good many ships and boats had vanished without a trace, overwhelmed in surprise attacks far from any living eyes. But at least a dozen large ships and forty or more smaller craft were certainly gone, with more than a thousand sailors and passengers.
Blade could tell that the people of Talgar were furiously angry at the Fishmen attack. But he could also be sure that they were badly frightened. There was a tight, barely controlled note of fear in their voices as they told of what they had seen and done. The eyes of the soldiers had a haunted look and were constantly shifting about-in search of what? The Fishmen? Or just some explanation for what had happened? Blade didn't like those eyes, those voices, or the reek of fear and suspicion in the air. He realized that he had landed squarely in the middle of a people reeling in defeat and on the edge of panic. Not that he blamed them. But he didn't like it. This was not a time when strangers were likely to be particularly welcome in the Sea Cities.
Captain Foyn said as much when he spoke to Blade, after Mistress had been hauled into her dock. The crew was already streaming ashore as fast as they could, sea bags over their shoulders. It was as if they could hardly wait to convince themselves that they were still alive, by swigging down beer and cordial and embracing the tavern wenches.
«The Silver Goddess only knows what more evil's going to come of all this,» said Foyn with a sigh. «But people are apt to be looking over their shoulders, and if they see a stranger there-well, you see. I'll appoint you arms-master of Mistress, so you'll have some rank and place in the Cities. But that won't explain where you came from.»
«You found me off the coast of Nurn, didn't you?»
«Yes, but that won't help. A man from Nurn's likely to find a damp welcome in Talgar now, even damper than usual. We respect none of Nurn but the Sisters of the Night; and-«He broke off. «Wait! What would you say to being an escaped slave? There are a good many captured warriors from the frontier lands among the slaves in Nurn, and some of them do escape to find homes in Talgar.»
Blade nodded.
«Good. That will save us both trouble. And the Goddess knows we've got more than enough of that already.»
On that note they shook hands, and Blade went ashore to see the Cities of Talgar for himself.
Captain Foyn let him take his sword and dagger and gave him a well-filled purse and directions to the Foyn house, which lay in the City of the Sailors. Blade wanted to quietly buy himself a little light on some of Talgar's problems. Not by anything as crude as bribery, of course. But if you buy a barful of nervous sailors and soldiers a round of drinks-well, when they start talking, they may forget you're a stranger.
Blade moved several streets away from the docks before he started hunting out taverns. He eventually found one that looked as if it catered to craftsmen and the petty officers off the merchant ships. It was less than half filled, and most of the men in it seemed interested simply in getting drunk as fast as possible. Blade decided to help them. He ordered an entire jug of the seaweed cordial and sat down at a corner table to drink slowly and wait impatiently.
He did not have long to wait. As he refilled his empty cup, he became aware that someone was looming over his table. Then a slurred deep voice spoke.
«You goin' to drink that-all 'lone?»
Blade looked up. The man standing over him was not nine feet tall and eight feet wide. He just looked that way in the dim light of the tavern.
«No, of course not. Sit down, by all means.»
«I-thanks. Got to-forget. Damned Fishmen. Sixteen o' my mates. Sixteen!» He looked about to cry. Blade nodded. «You too?»
«Yes. I'm the new armsmaster off Foyn's Green Mistress. We lost eight.»
The huge sailor stared blearily at Blade. «I-uh, don't know you. Not-'board, last time I saw Mistressh.»
«I said I was new. I'm an escaped slave from Nurn. I was a warrior among my own people, so I was able to help Foyn beat off the attack. In return he gave me a place aboard his ship.»
«Good man, Foyn,» said the sailor, with elaborate gravity. «Too-too damned bad 'bout that daughter of hish, tho'.»
«What's wrong with her?» said Blade, suddenly alert. He decided not to say anything more until the sailor answered his question.
That decision produced a long silence. The sailor seemed to be having trouble making up his mind what to say and then getting up the nerve to say it. He eventually had to drain another cup of the cordial before he could speak, and when he did, it was in a guarded whisper.
«Don't say it 'loud-she's-she's a damned Con-Con — Conshilyator!» He said it as though he were saying Svera had some loathsome disease.
Blade managed to look authentically shocked. «By the Goddess, no!»
«Uh-unh,» said the sailor, nodding ponderously. «Disgraysh to a fine family. Brother killed by the Fishmen; mother drowned at sea. Not a blot 'n the whole family, 'cept her, 'lil slut.» Blade tensed internally.
But apparently the sailor hadn't meant anything in particular by calling Svera a slut. He filled his cup again and rambled on, until Blade began to find it hard to keep from falling asleep. Fatigue, alcohol, the stuffy and smokeladen tavern air, and boredom were all working on him. But the sailor's ramblings were about the Conciliators, Svera's group, and Blade badly wanted and needed to know more about them.
So he managed to stay awake until he suddenly heard something that snapped him to full alertness. «Conshilyators goin' to do somethin' about all thish, betcha. Goin' to say-make peace with the dirty Fishmen. Never!» The sailor's fist slammed down on the table so hard that Blade was afraid the tough wood would split. «Never! Dead not even buried. Damned little fish, not out o' the egg yet even.»
«I thought there were some captains with them,» said Blade cautiously. He was also looking for the fastest way out of the tavern, just in case the sailor accidentally took offense and became violent. He could easily put the sailor down for the count if he wanted to, but it would be much better to avoid a fight entirely.
«Hunh!» the sailor snorted like a walrus. «Young 'uns, maybe. No sea sense, no guts.» He looked at Blade with eyes suddenly grown hard. «Know any o' them-names, I mean?»
«No,» said Blade shoving his chair back a few inches. He didn't like the sailor's belligerent new look or tone of voice. «It's just rumors I've heard. I only got in tonight, remember?»
The sailor seemed to remember that and was pacified. «Yunh. And you fought off the damned Fishmen for Lando Foyn, too. Good man. Not like the captains with the Conciliators.» Somehow the word came out right, for once. «Well, they're not goin' to do anythin'. We's goin' to raid the Fishmen, kill 'em like they killed us. Conshilyators try-get in our way-smash 'em dead. Killall-«The sailor's head sagged down onto his hairy arms. A final twitch of one massive brown hand knocked over his cup. Green seaweed cordial dripped down onto the floor. A moment later his nostrils flared, and a great rolling, gasping snore floated out.
Blade shoved his chair back the rest of the way, picked up the half-empty bottle, and carefully slid out from behind the table. He left the bottle and an extra handful of coins on the bar, and went out.
It was blowing half a gale in the narrow streets of the City, but Blade welcomed the wind and the salty chill in the air. It helped clear the liquor and the stuffiness out of his head. When it had done that, he headed for the bridge that led to the City of Sailors and Captain Foyn's house.
He walked fast and had to force himself not to let his walk break into a run. He very badly wanted to get to Foyn's house and talk with Svera. He still didn't know much about the Conciliators. But he knew much more about what people thought of them, and didn't like any part of it. If Svera and her friends tried to do anything except lie quiet during the next few days, there would be bloody trouble.