View from the Mirror Quartet #03 - Dark Is the Moon by Ian Irvine

Author:Ian Irvine [Irvine, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Fiction, General, Fantasy Fiction, Imaginary Places
ISBN: 9780446609869
Google: sg4rB96EzD0C
Amazon: 0446609862
Publisher: Aspect
Published: 1998-01-01T23:00:00+00:00

OFFICIAL

CORRUPTION

Fifty days!” Tallia said. “Well, that gives us time to look for Stiletto, and I can visit my family too.”

Osseion, Tallia, Rustible and Pender were taking breakfast together in the shade of a sail, for the sun was up before they were and it was already hot. Beautifully hot and sticky, the climate she’d grown up in. Osseion was carving pieces from a whole fish cooked in a fiery red sauce, a splendid specimen that from blue lips to rainbow tail stretched the width of the table.

“Not at the breakfast table,” said Pender with a shudder as Osseion reached for the eyeball.

“It’s the best bit,” said Osseion. He popped it out with his thumb, held it up between thumb and finger then flicked it into his open mouth. He chewed for a while, took the eyeball back out, examining it ostentatiously, licked off a bit of red sauce then rolled it along the back of his hand. Pender gagged on a piece of bread and boiled egg.

“Stop teasing him!” Tallia laughed.

Osseion allowed the eyeball to fall through the gap made by the missing finger, caught it neatly in his other hand and popped it back in his mouth again.

Even Rustible, stolidly packing away the fish as if it was his last meal, gave an amused snort. He was a messy eater, his shirtfront spattered with red sauce and strands of fish intestine.

Pender, who was drenched in sweat, turned his head away. He had not been surprised by Mendark’s disappearance. “He’s a secretive one, eh!” he said to Tallia, recovering enough to spoon down half a dozen soft-boiled eggs. They had been living on hard tack for weeks but the spicy fare of Crandor did not agree with him. “Well, I’ve got plenty to do this month if you haven’t.”

Tallia raised an eyebrow.

“While you were busy in town yesterday I had several approaches,” said Pender. “Cargoes down the coast of Crandor as far as I want to go. I also have some private dealings that might make both our fortunes.”

“As long as they aren’t the kind that could lose our heads!”

Pender rubbed the bristly stump that joined head to body, looking unhappy.

“How far do you want to go?” Osseion interjected, mopping sauce off his plate with a slab of bread as long as Tallia’s forearm.

“Roros, Guffeons, Gosport—perhaps even as far as Maksmord if the winds are with us. There’s buckets of money to be made here, and a cargo to be found for the journey back home.”

“I’ll go as far as Roros,” said Tallia, “where my mother and father dwell. I wouldn’t advise you to go much further, Pender, or you’ll never get back in time.”

While Pender’s crew loaded cargo—spices, coconut, smoked clams and a miscellany of other freight—Tallia went back to the Customs House to enquire about the five remaining boats on her list. After lubricating the tongue of a junior clerk with a few silver coins, she confirmed that three had home ports in Crandor—Ivory Cutter, Cutlass and Stiletto—though

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