Player's Ruse by Hilari Bell Read Free Book Online

ship that wasn’t carrying something small and valuable. The bulkiest cargo they’ve taken was a load of dyes, and they pay almost as much as silver, by weight.”
    Fisk’s brows knotted again. “But how could they learn what ships carry the kind of goods they’re looking for? How many have they sunk, by the way?”
    The deputy’s eyes, like mine, were on the sea; he slipped and swore. “Eleven, so far. Some we didn’t find till days after. But everybody knows which ships are due in. We’re a port town.” He shrugged. “As to how they know what’s on the manifests—that’s one of the things we can’t figure out.”
    We saw nothing as we climbed down the cliffs. I began to hope, as we hurried over the slippery stones and water-hardened sand, that we might be in time. Or that they’d failed to bring their prey into the shore.
    But then we rounded a jagged outcrop of rocks, splashing through the higher waves, and the men ahead of us cried out in anger and dismay.
    Once past the rocks I could see the wreck myself, and ’twas no wonder we’d not seen it from the cliffs. The ship had come within a few hundred yards of the shore and, on striking the rocks, had broken and rolled. Or mayhap the wreckers had sunk it. Only the round, dark curve of its hull showed above the waves, like a half-beached whale.
    Even at this distance we could see bodies crumpled on the sand. Crabs were already scuttling about, plucking at clothing and flesh.
    ’Twas that which drew my unwilling feet forward, for I confess the ignoble part of my spirit wanted only to turn away. My useless sword jingled mockingly at my side. The least we could do for those poor souls was to carry their remains up to be identified, that their kin might be told.
    I’ve seen violent death before, in the collapse of a mineshaft some years before Fisk and I met. But no matter how many times you’ve seen it, ’tis still grievous to gather the heavy, lifeless limbs. And now ’twas grievous to bind blankets over the empty faces, that they might be protected until transport up the cliffs could be arranged.
    I’ve no idea what Fisk’s experience with sudden death might have been, for though I believe I am as close to his heart as any person living, my squire has the habit of keeping his past to himself. Indeed, had his sisters not summoned him home the winter before last to settle a most troubling matter, I don’t believe I’d know anything of his life at all. His brief visit home had ended badly. I sometimes wondered if he corresponded so happily with Kathy to make up for the fact that he wasn’t answering his own sisters’ letters. Fisk’s reticence about his feelings had long since told me that someone had badly broken his trust, but I knew that badgering him would gain me nothing. I was content in his friendship, and time eventually mends all hurts.
    As he worked beside me now, his expression bleak and hard, I was grateful for his company. We wrapped a blanket about a man in his middle twenties—scarce older than the two of us. Had he a wife or babes who would mourn him?
    Fisk scrubbed his hands in the damp sand, for this time he had lifted the broken, blood-soaked head. “I hope they hang the bastards.” His voice was vicious, for this was the fourth such skull we’d seen.
    “ ’Twill not bring back the dead,” I told him, though my heart agreed. “I only wish—”
    “There! Look there!” ’Twas one of the deputies, pointing out to sea. Had it not been for his gesture, I’d have missed it. The scrap of wreckage slithering in the wave troughs was less than a yard square. In the shifting light only the sharpest of eyes could have caught the white flash of clinging human hands.
    The cold waves slapped my calves as I ran into the sea; then I was swimming, growing cold and wet, my whole attention focused on the need to reach that makeshift raft. On the hope that one life might be salvaged.
    The surf fought my progress, battering me back, but I