“That all seemed too easy,” Archmage Havelock said, shaking his head and puffing his long pipe.
The Archmage, Vomarian Fae, and My‑re sat in the captain’s quarters of the Unsinkable III, discussing their conversation with Westwind and their time in Shadowspire. They returned with some luxury supplies purchased in the city. The three sat finishing a meal of roasted chicken, grapes, apples, unleavened elven bread, and a tapped small keg of ale. My‑re couldn’t consume much of the dense bread as it quickly filled her up.
“Too easy? Nothing we’ve gone through would be called easy,” My‑re snapped and took a drink from her mug.
Taking a long pipe-drag and shifting his eyes between the two, Havelock said, “Something doesn’t add up. Araminth died from the plain’s fever.”
“That’s what Westwind told us.”
“She lived in the city. The plain’s fever is usually found in remote locations and normally fatal to only the very young or very old,” Havelock explained.
“Usually, but it’s not uncommon. Besides, she could have picked it up from anywhere,” Vomarian replied.
“Perhaps, but the way you two tell it, Westwind presented the account in a nice, neat little package. Like he expected to have to repeat a tale of what happened to her,” Havelock commented.
“What are you implying? All the loose ends are tied up,” My‑re said.
“Exactly, all the loose ends were tied up, none of which you can confirm. You can’t verify she was sick. You can’t verify where she was buried. You only have second-hand accounts of her passing and his word that she died and was laid to rest,” Havelock answered.
“Araminth’s burial site is now in the middle of a waterway. I don’t think even Lady Greywand would expect us to divert an entire river to confirm it. It’s time to depart back to the Isle of the Eye,” Vomarian said. “Mission accomplished.”
“Yes, mission accomplished. Well done by all,” Havelock said rapidly, took another puff, and continued, “However, there are other things that don’t sit right. It seems to me Araminth tried to hide but made it a point of not trying to hide.”
“What in the nine hells are you talking about wizard?” My‑re asked.
“I think there is a possibility that Araminth isn’t dead.”
Grunting, Vomarian asked, “Your evidence?”
“I surmise Araminth wanted to be seen.”
“She’s a pale woman with tawny hair. Even trying to hide, she’d stick out in the Rirorni Empire. Everyone is sun-tanned with pitch-black hair,” My‑re said.
“Exactly,” Havelock exclaimed.
Exhaling hard, Vomarian asked, “What else?”
“Westwind had a trunk of women’s clothing hidden in the corner of the Dragon’s Hoard. The garments weren’t packed away nice and neat. My‑re didn’t you say they’d been gone through?” Havelock questioned.
“Maybe he’s moved on, seeing someone new, and it’s theirs,” Vomarian replied.
Thinking, My‑re answered slowly, “No, he wasn’t seeing someone new.”
“How do you know?” Vomarian queried.
“A woman knows,” My‑re said, but at seeing the elf’s brow furrow in skepticism, she clarified. “She’d go snooping to find out what she could about him. She’d find that trunk. No woman is going to tolerate having their lover keep another’s belongings. Besides, if he’s seeing someone, her clothes wouldn’t be hidden. They’d be with his personal things.”
“That doesn’t prove anything. Assuming those were Araminth’s, he’s probably clinging onto them and didn’t have the heart to toss them out. If she’s alive, they’d be with Westwind’s things. They wouldn’t be hidden in his shop,” Vomarian said.
“If Araminth is alive, in hiding, and someone looked for her, the first place I’d check is where Westwind lived. If her clothes were there, then it might point to she isn’t dead,” My‑re replied.
Throwing up his hands, Vomarian said, “Alright, say she’s alive, and Westwind is trying to hide her. He’s not going to tell us. So, what then? Stake out his place to see if we spot some tawny haired woman?”
“No, if she’s in hiding, they’d take precautions. However, I have something in mind,” Havelock motioned to My‑re’s abdomen.
“What?” Vomarian looked from him to My‑re’s belly and questioned, “Wait, it’s bigger. Are you pregnant? Why is your face turning red? You’re pregnant?”
“No, you idiot.” My‑re untucked her shirt and pulled out a tightly bound, red garment she’d acquired from the trunk in Westwind’s shop. She felt embarrassed. “How did you know I had something under there?”
Havelock snorted with a grin, “As you talked about the trunk, you kept touching your stomach as if to ensure something didn’t fall out.”
“You stole it?” Vomarian asked.
“No, I acquired it. I thought it might be a clue,” My‑re scoffed.
“So, you stole it,” Vomarian said flatly.
“Shut up. So, you think this is Araminth’s?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Havelock took and unrolled the pilfered item, motioning for My‑re and Vomarian to follow. Exiting the cabin to the main deck, the other Shagornan Elves were drinking from a similar keg and feeding the remaining two mere dragons, Kata and Kuki, fresh game purchased from Shadowspire’s markets.
Havelock held the shirt and said, “Mere dragons are some of the best trackers in Alastari. They could find a grey cat within the labyrinth of a dwarven iron mine. They should be able to acquire the owner’s scent and take us to them.”
“Bringing two mere dragons into Shadowspire may not get the best reaction,” Vomarian stated, examining the unfolded apparel.
“No, we start outside the city. If it’s Araminth, they should lead us to the river. If it’s someone else’s, they’ll lead us to the owner,” Havelock explained.
“What if they lead us nowhere, and they can’t find the scent?” My‑re asked.
“Then it’s likely Araminth’s garment, and she is truly dead. That’s a conclusion I’m comfortable telling Lady Greywand,” Havelock replied.
Bringing the garment over, the two mere dragons raised their heads and began to smell the red clothing. They grunted at each other and butted heads to take turns taking a whiff. Rotating their heads in several directions, they sniffed the air for several heartbeats. Kata bellowed a high-pitched screech and leaped to the railing of the ship. Kuki followed. They looked back at them and scampered over the side.
“They already got the scent?” Vomarian questioned.
“The nine hells,” My‑re exclaimed, looking out from the ship’s railing. “Follow them!”
“Pip pip,” Havelock said. “Off you go.”