[maikafanawen]

"Then I guess I should be getting on up to Pearlle's classroom," said the scholar, standing and rubbing absently at his throbbing temples.

"Yes, and me to my duties," said the attaché, "Callath?" The stable-hand nodded and saluted his friends farewell as the oldest and youngest made their way to the embassy and Callath with them for a short while until he turned down a forked lane to the city's stables.


Corac stood abruptly and followed them, snapping his fingers once and gesturing to the shadows on either side of the street. Three commonplace sailors stepped honestly into the street, taking care not to make eye contact and browsing the kiosks uninterestedly. Their steps carried them after the trio though and Corac, sticking to the shadows, followed. When the stable-hand boy took his path, the blue-clad sailor followed, leaving the three to trail the other two.

Once the two young men entered the embassy, where the stalkers could not pursue, Corac walked casually by each one informing them to stay around and watch for them to exit in order for them to pick up their job. He, however, slunk back into the shadows and managed to sneak around back to a kitchen-alley entrance and make his way inside.


The classroom was stuffier than Devon remembered it and Pearlle's voice seemed to drone on, agitating the ceaseless pounding that hammered in the student's head. He continued to blink and squint his eyes as the vision of his fat tutor wavered and swam before him. He wasn't really concentrating on anything the man was saying anyways. He was trying to figure out how he was going to go about finding a ship, a crew and a captain in time to meet Doran in a week. He figured that the best thing to do would be to start with finding a captain. Then he could rely on his help and advice on ship-buying and crew-hiring. But what about all the technical parts such as navigation and repairs? Devon groaned with the tremendous burden and rubbed again at his forehead.

"Master Devon?" Pearlle inquired nervously, "Are you feeling ill?" At that moment a large rock was thrown into the room, smashing the glass and pane of the window. The two occupants dove out of the way and listened as the mob of corsair protestors scattered as the guards gave chase. The tutor stood in a huff, and steaming he waddled over to the window and leaned out to see what was afoot. He shook his fist and shouted back at the pirates as they ran back into alleys and houses two stories below him. "That's a far toss," he commented, measuring the distance from the street to their window, "they've got good arms."

The fat man maneuvered his way through the mess to where Devon lay and offered him a helping hand up. The student brushed shards of glass from his clothing and allowed Pearlle to assist him in retaking his seat. Then the tutor noticed the lump on his head, partially covered by his askew bangs. He must have paused in his actions, for Devon quickly tried to hide it again.

"Must've hit my head when I fell," he mumbled. Pearlle narrowed his eyes. Twenty years of medical training told him that the lump would not have swelled and turned the bluish color of Devon's in a mere forty or so seconds. Standing slowly, the old man looked down over his hooked nose at his pupil.

"Of course," he said, "do you have any other scratches that need attending to?" His voice gave away his knowing and Devon tried to sneak a glance at the man's face. That was when he got his idea.

"Pearlle," he began, suddenly excited. "What do you know about ship-navigation?" The tutor narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. He could tell that something was weighing very heavily on his student's mind.

"A good bit," he admitted, "Mostly of the stars and the sun's position. It's all you really need to know. Why do you ask young Thrann?" Devon's mind was working as fast as it had been, trying to think of how to attain everything he'd need for the sea-battle. He knew that he should run it by Calnan and Callath first but Pearlle could be a valuable asset as a Navigationalist on one of their ships! And would Pearlle consent to helping them? He shook his head; he needed Calnan's eloquence to help convince the tutor.

"It's kind of complicated though, but I'll be getting back to you on it." That seemed to satisfy the paunchy tutor and the lessons were resumed.


Noon rolled around and Devon was dismissed from his lessons. He stopped by the kitchens for something to eat. He hadn't had any food since the Snifter and Song the previous evening and his stomach churned unsatisfactorily. After scarfing down some thick molasses bread, a whole cheese chunk and a glass of wine, he was going to make his way to the stables when he stopped abruptly. He had forgotten all about the note pinned to his jacket after they'd been discharged from Doran's coach. We are watching. He cursed softly under his breath wondering where his tailgater was and if he should go to the stables with him in pursuit. Then he wondered if Callath or Calnan had men following them too. If there was just one he'd be on Devon's tail, no doubt, being the son of the ambassador.

He stood there for a while wondering what he should do when he decided that there was probably someone listening to their conversation when they had woken on the curb so he knew that Callath worked there all ready. Penning his frustration into the back of his mind, he walked casually out of the embassy grounds and down the street to the stables.


Corac watched his subject leave the grounds and prepared to follow. He glanced around for the other man who was supposed to be following Devon but didn't see him. Shrugging it away he crept along the bushes next to the side of the house.

"Hey!" cried a voice rough and groggy, that of an old man. "Who's there? Devon?" Corac ducked and rolled underneath a shrub as a short old man wearing gardener's clothing appeared from behind a hedge, a pair of clippers in his hands. He looked around for a moment and shrugged, disappearing again behind the wall of bushes. The corsair waited for a moment before coming out again and crawling fast towards the back gate.

When he finally stepped out onto the street he looked either way for Devon but he didn't see him. Suddenly loud shouting and the sound of grappling fists reached Corac and he looked to see the sailor being beat by the guards for being too close to the embassy. He quickly jumped back into shadow and watched as his friend was pulled away to the jail. He fingered the hilts of his throwing knives longingly. He'd had quite enough of this injustice and he swore that Doran had better finish his business. So staying as inconspicuous as possible (his badge hidden beneath the large sleeve of his tunic) he made his way to the Snifter and Song thinking that would be where Devon was headed to meet his friends.


When Devon arrived at the stables he noticed that Callath was not there. He's probably gone to get Telson, he thought, wandering around and looking at the horses.

In one supposed to be empty stall he found a sailor, sprawled on one of the stacks of hay apparently sleeping, the stench of strong ale being around him. About his arm was wrapped a canvas band with a large red 'C' painted on it. Curious, Devon opened the door to the stall farther meaning to go in. When he did a bucket secured to the rafters above shifted and toppled swaying in the air where Devon's head would have been had he entered. Pushing the pail aside, the young man knelt next to the man and checked his head for bumps. His fingers brushed a rather large one swelling just on the left side of his head. He chuckled faintly. Obviously Callath had discovered his own follower.

Devon threw a glance over his shoulder and wondered where his was (or 'were' if he himself had more than one). Then he draped a blanket around the man and pushed him under the pile of hay. For one who didn't know he was there it would not be too noticeable.

Then he stood and walked out of the stall, closing the door behind him. Walking out to the pasture ring, he watched the other horses graze as he waited for Callath's return.