CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: COUNTING FLAMES

Fawkes dug a brass bowl and a broad little pouch out of his satchel. Flipping open the satchel revealed many tiny pockets that each held a vial filled with a powder, a liquid, or bits of ... stuff.

He stepped out on the deck to grab a piece of charcoal from the barrel next to the bolted-down brazier. Closing the door, he dropped the charcoal into the bowl, sat on his stool, and added a bit of tinder. This spell would make a very small aura that would not reach outside the cabin. Should one of those wizards happen to 'look' this way, they would not see it with his door closed. Fawkes lit the tinder then waited for the flames to die down.

Once the charcoal turned grey, he sorted through the vials before taking one. Shaking it, he watched the many-colored powders in it swirl inside the glass and then sprinkled the powder over the charcoal. He breathed into the bowl.

His breath stirred the tiny tendrils of colored smoke. He ignored them to watch the charcoal. The smoke cleared away and he breathed again. This time, the charcoal flared. It brightened with a gentle orange glow beneath the powders. The glow lasted only a moment, but it sprouted seven colorful flames that danced on the charcoal.

Three were emerald green. These represented acolytes, who were Father Burnyrd, Brother Symel, and himself. Three more of the flames were sapphire blue. They represented wizards. One had to be the murdering wizard. The other two probably came on the ship.

The last tiny flame was citrine yellow. Fawkes frowned at it. What did citrine yellow represent? It could not be Garzio. The cemetery was more than a mile out of town and beyond the limits of his spell.

Fawkes blew a third breath into the bowl. All the little flames snuffed out. He left the bowl on the table so the charcoal could burn itself out. Putting away the pouch, he dug to the bottom of his satchel and took out the old tome Garzio had picked for him to study from.

He opened the book and sneezed more out of habit than dust. The old tome had been carefully cleaned when he and Grandfather had packed up before leaving the Vaults. Huffing out a breath, he flopped it onto the bed and began to page through it, searching.

"Sorcerous elf?" he blurted out, staring at a page. "There's a sorcerous elf about?"

He closed the book and returned it to the satchel. How had he never noticed an elf?  Well, idiot, there is disguising magic, he scolded. Who could be an elf in disguise? How long have they been around? More importantly, were they after Garzio?

CHAPTER THIRTY:  DECKED HANDS

He reached for his unfinished sandwich. PeyPey and JuJu both let out low warning barks.

"Damnation, now what?"

Fawkes stepped out of his cabin and on through the deck tent.

Four men stood on the dock looking ready to jump aboard. They hesitated at the sight of Peypey and JuJu bristling and baring their fangs in loud snarls.

"May I help you?" Fawkes dropped his hand to the hilt of his sheathed dagger. They were not wearing black armbands but he recognized two of them as having been among the hands who had stolen the fishing boats. A quick glance at the other low dock showed the boats were back with several fishermen looking them over. They must have returned right after the Eddy Rider ported in. A wise move, letting the Eddy Rider protect them.

"We want to buy some o' them spices yer sellin'," a man with black hair said with a smile that looked forced.

No, you're not. "I'm not selling today, sorry."

"Passin' up earnin's ain't good fer ya, boyyo," a brown-haired man said then slipped a hand in under his shirt..

PeyPey and JuJu growled together in a deep sound that had a strange hair-raising harmony to it. The men eyed the dogs again.

"The damp isn't good for spices. I won't be back to selling until things get nice and sunny again."

"Enough." The black-haired man snarled. He pulled a cutlass out from under his shirt. The other men did the same. "You should be sailin' on outta here, boyyo."

Fawkes snorted a laugh.

"I need a crew for that," he snapped at them. Rage boiled up in him. "They and my grandfather were all killed in that damn murdering fire of yours!"

"Sell yer boat an' buy a donkey cart," a third man, whose straggly brown hair was going bald, suggested, not even bothering to deny the accusation.

Fawkes narrowed his eyes. His hands tightened into fists and he shook with the effort to not cast a spell.

"What riverman'd ever take to donkeys?" Bristol scoffed as he climbed up onto the dock from Boatessa. He held his turtle spear.

"Shut it, fishbait," the black-haired man snarled at Bristol. "The boy's gonna be leavin'. Boat's too big fer 'im."

"My boat has mascots, you know," Fawkes pointed out to the men, waving a hand for Bristol to stand back.

"A couple ratty dogs ain't nothin'," the brown-haired man sneered, looking ready to deal with them now. 

Bristol raised his brows at the wave from Fawkes but waited where he stood.

The dogs growled in harmony again and the four men flinched but gritted their teeth and refused to back away.

"Tell them off, boys," Fawkes ordered.

Each dog took a deep breath.

"WOOF!" PeyPey and JuJu barked out together.

The air between the dogs and the men rippled at the strong sound then slammed into the first two men, knocking them into the two behind them. All four fell to the dock in a jumbled heap.

"Get them." At Fawkes' command, PeyPey and JuJu leaped at the men. JuJu slammed into a man almost back on his feet.

Air whooshed out of the Hand as he flew off the dock. His arm snapped loudly as he hit the sidewall of a fishing boat before he splashed into the water.

PeyPey leaped and bit down on an arm holding a cutlass.

The man screamed as the bite crushed his forearm into a bloody mess. The cutlass fell to the dock.

JuJu turned to the last two men. Both were on their feet but bent low trying to grab for their dropped cutlasses. He let out a ferocious snarl and lunged at them.

"Aaaahhh!" Both men screamed. One of them dove off the dock while the other turned and ran back towards town.

PeyPey let go of the bloody arm in his mouth.

The man hunched over, trying to curl around his arm even as he, too, ran towards town.

"Mighty fine fightin' in them dogs," Bristol said, one hand rubbing his ear. "Don't blame them fools fer jumpin' so bad from those barks."

Fawkes blinked, then relaxed. If Bristol did not see the barks as magic, he doubted anyone else would, either.

"Barked most of the fight right out of them," Fawkes agreed.

Thunder rumbled. Fawkes looked up at the dark clouds rolling in ready to drop more rain. The sun was starting to set somewhere behind those clouds.

"Ugh," Bristol grunted. "Good thing I went into town and got things. Another storm to ride out." He squinted up at the clouds Fawkes was watching. "Pretty soon, too."

Drops began to drip down from the sky.

"I think you mean now, Bristol," Fawkes said. "Stay dry."

"I'll be dry, boyyo," Bristol said. "But not parched. Got me more rum."

He waved to Fawkes and went back to his boat. Putting away his turtle spear, he crawled inside his much smaller deck tent.

"Rrr-rrr," PeyPey pawed at the dropped cutlasses on the dock.

Let the Hand swim for them, Fawkes' hand shook as he let go of the handle of his dagger.

"Toss them in, PeyPey."

Two quick swipes of his paw, and the huge dog sent the dropped cutlasses splashing into the water.

Stepping back under the tent, Fawkes lit the lantern hung outside the cabin door. He then lit the one on the wall above his table inside the cabin.  Usually, he only kept one lit at a time but with the Hands back in town, he felt it best to be ready to see trouble coming in. Sure, the dogs did not need the lights but he did. Why had the Hand decided to go after him now? Had he been careless? Was it because Putur kept telling that stupid "hero of the docks" story every time someone bought him a drink?

Leaving the front flaps tied open for now, Fawkes returned to his sandwich. Finally.