Deadhouse Landing

Wu, he saw, was watching him, looking quite vexed. ‘What?’

‘Do you wish me to continue?’

‘Certainly.’ Dancer motioned to the Napan server who was now leaning against the wall next to the kitchen’s entrance, examining her nails. The woman made a disgusted face and sauntered over.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

He motioned to his plate. ‘This food is atrocious.’

‘Atrocious. Really. A plate of boiled pork. How atrocious could that be?’

Dancer invited her to take the plate away. ‘Well, your cook managed it.’

The woman scooped up the plate and stalked to the kitchen entrance. ‘Hey, Urko! There’s a fellow out here taking issue with your cooking.’

A great basso voice thundered from the kitchens. ‘Whaaat!’

The doors burst open and out shot fully the biggest and scariest-looking Napan of the lot: monstrously wide, with the shoulders of a strangler, yet wearing a dirty leather apron. Dancer readied himself for a confrontation, but instead of facing him the man turned on the server, bellowing, ‘I don’t need these complaints! I didn’t want to be the damned cook anyway. Make Choss the damned cook!’

‘He’s a better shipbuilder,’ the woman calmly returned, leaning against a wall, her arms crossed.

The big fellow raised fists the size of hams to his head. ‘Well … give the job to my brother then, dammit to Hood!’

‘He’s at sea.’

The gigantic cook sniffed his affront, grumbled, ‘Trust him to find a decent job.’

The server pointed back to the kitchens and the huge fellow – Urko, apparently – clenched his thick leather apron in his fists until it creaked. He scowled at the woman then drew a hand down his face, snorting through his nostrils like a bull. ‘Well … I got onion soup. Offer him that.’ And he stomped back through the doors.

Dancer could only shake his head at the state of the hired help here. He supposed it was difficult to find quality labour on the island. He motioned to the door. ‘Let’s try another place.’

Wu gave a strange high laugh, almost nervous, and Dancer cocked an eye at him, suspicious. ‘Change of management,’ Wu explained, gesturing to encompass the establishment. ‘Be patient.’

Whatever. Dancer tried a sip of the beer and found it far too watery. He made a sour face. ‘You said that you had news?’

‘Ah! Yes … news.’ Wu fluttered his hands on the table, the wrinkled knotted hands of an ancient as the mage was still maintaining his appearance of an old man, but his motions were quick and precise; not those of a doddering oldster. Dancer decided he’d have to coach him on that. ‘So,’ Wu continued, still brushing his hands across the tabletop, ‘yes. News. Well … while you were out reconnoitring the waterfront, I happened to fall into conversation with the owner of this fine establishment…’

Seeing that this was going nowhere fast, Dancer forced himself to take another sip of the foul beer. ‘Yes? And you killed him for gross incompetence?’

This raised a weak laugh that faded into a long drawn out coughing fit. ‘Well, actually, no. I found that he was in a feverish hurry to sell…’

Dancer set down the tankard. Oh, no. Tell me no. ‘What,’ he began, calmly, ‘have you done?’

Wu raised his hands. ‘As I was saying – we need a base of operations for our plans. This location is ideal. Close to the waterfront, great for smuggling…’

Dancer pressed his palm to his forehead. Mustn’t lose it. ‘What,’ he began again, through clenched teeth, ‘have you done?’

Wu opened his hands wide. ‘Our partnership has entered a new phase. We’ve gone into business together.’

Dancer somehow found himself on his feet, towering over Wu, his hands flat on the table. ‘You bought this rat-hole?’

Wu’s dark ferret eyes darted left and right. ‘So it would seem.’

Through his rage, Dancer sensed a presence close to him and snapped his gaze aside – it was the serving woman. How did she get so close?

But her sullen attention was on Wu, ignoring him. She flicked a piece of dirt from the table. ‘You want to see your offices now?’

Wu brightened immediately. ‘Why, that would be excellent! Thank you … ah…’

‘Surly,’ the woman supplied, with a tired curl of a lip.

‘Ah, yes. Excellent. Thank you … Surly.’

She motioned to the stairs and Wu bustled off. His walking cane was now in his hand, tapping as he went. Dancer decided that the privacy of an office would be a better place for their discussion, in case he accidentally strangled the wretched fellow, and so he followed, but not before he noted the woman’s hands: hardened and calloused. The hands of a servitor? No, not the cracked and reddened skin of washing and scouring. Rather, skin toughened and scarred. Hands like his.

The office stood over the common room and here he found Wu waving a cloud of dust from his face after pushing a heap of papers off a chair. The mage gave a nervous laugh. ‘A quick whip-round and it’ll be decent in no time.’

Dancer closed the door behind him and pressed his back to it. ‘What have you done?’