Chapter 15
A Dread Tide Rising by Walt Shuler
Ready for the next ADTR installment? Here’s chapter 15!
Previously: Kye discovered something sinister lurking beneath the Helmsworth home.
Currently: Mac gets his meeting with Holua, but things may not be what they seem with the head of House Coët.
A Dread Tide Rising is a serialized, pulp-flavored, epic fantasy novel set in the world of Thalrassa. It follows the Talon, a group of mercenaries, thieves, and smugglers, as they come face-to-face with an ancient enemy intent on the destruction of the Rakkian Empire.
New to ADTR? Catch up on all the chapters here. You can learn more about the members of the Talon here and explore Thalrassa-related lore here. The map of Thalrassa can be found here.
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Chapter 15
Mac ducked into a concealing doorway.
The two guards passed not three feet away from him, completely unknowing. If I were an assassin, he thought, this would be the simplest job ever. It wasn’t, though. There was just so much walking involved. Times must have been good for Holua and his family; the place was immense.
In the end, luck helped Mac find his quarry more than logic or his dedication to the search. He was walking down yet one more corridor that looked like every other gods-damned corridor in the place when a pair of double doors ahead of him thundered open. A maid, her blouse torn open and one breast exposed, fled from the room, sobbing with her face in her hands. She was followed by a tankard of ale that crashed to the floor, sending suds everywhere.
“And don’t come back until you’re ready to show me the respect due my station!” an all-too-familiar voice shouted from within.
The maid collided with Mac and tumbled to the floor. Her face, already flushed with shame and embarrassment, grew hotter. Suddenly realizing so much of her was showing, she spun away from him, simultaneously trying to dry her face and pull her blouse together. She failed at both, and the tears flowed once more.
Not knowing what else to do, Mac turned his head. “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” he told the sobbing maid. Free of his scrutiny, she could leave with at least a modicum of dignity.
Holua had not changed a whit, Mac thought. Even in their youth, the man had been arrogant, overfond of drink, and less than respectful toward the women that his station often let him intimidate into his bed. Mac ground his teeth together at the thought of doing business with the man, but there was nothing else for it.
Holua had both the resources to pay and the drive. Thynne was as unpopular with House Coët as the ill-fated House Toth. “An enemy of my enemy and all that,” Mac muttered, stepping into the doorway. The scene he beheld stopped him short.
The room beyond was a mess. Pillows and bedding lay strewn across the stone floor. Clothing hung from the four-poster bed that dominated the center of the room. In the bed, a bloated, fat man lay propped against the headboard, another tankard of ale gripped by fingers that looked like sausages. Little resemblance remained to the lean swordsman with the razor-sharp wit Mac had known years ago. His face was florid where it could be seen through the thatch of black beard, with deep-sunk eyes and lips that glistened wetly in the candlelight.
“Hello, Holua,” Mac said, not entirely believing the man before him was his one-time companion.
“Eh?” the man in the bed responded, squinting to make out who spoke. “Who’s that? Erry? You brought more ale?”
Mac stepped forward, one boot scuffing the floor as he hesitated. Then, “No, not Erry. It’s me, Holua, Macland.”
“Macland who?” the fat man queried. Then realization dawned in his eyes. “Toth? By Mali! Mac, is that you?”
Mac stepped further into the room. “The very same.”
Holua heaved himself into a sitting position, ale spilling over the rim of the tankard, splashing the bed and floor. He did not seem to notice but beckoned Mac closer.
“Trouble with the servants?” Mac asked, indicating the departed maid.
Holua glared for a moment, then laughed. “Can you believe the gall? A quick tumble is all I wanted.” He took a pull from his ale, then looked back at Mac. “Is that really so much?” He sighed. “Now I’ll have to let her go. Send her and her family to some other island. Can’t have that sort of thing around here. Word gets about, and we’ll have near open rebellion from the help! Can you imagine?”
Mac could imagine, but in his vision, the rebellion was not such a bad thing. Holua would never understand that, so he only shook his head. His host rucked himself up further in the bed, managing to get almost fully upright. In the process, his robe opened, allowing a large amount of flesh to spill out.
“Times have been good?” Mac asked, head cocked and a slight smile on his lips.
“Are you implying I’ve gone soft?” Holua’s voice was dangerously calm.
“Just saying I’ve seen firmer teats on a sow.”
Holua was silent for a moment, and Mac worried that maybe he had gone too far. Then he burst into uproarious laughter, head thrown back and belly heaving with great guffaws. “By the gods, Mac,” he said, wiping tears from his eyes, “it’s been too long. No one has ever been able to make me laugh like you.”
“And no one could get a servant into bed faster than you, but it seems that times change,” Mac replied, the ghost of a smile on his face.
Holua nodded. “That they do. And sometimes those changes are far greater than anything we might have foreseen.”
Mac had to wonder about the reference. Was Holua subtly putting Mac in his place? As a houseless man, he had no station any longer. In some circles, the servants of House Coët ranked higher in society than he did. Were that the case, why the delicacy? Holua had never been a man to mince words. It was one of his few redeeming qualities. Or perhaps he was referring to something else completely?
“Come, sit.” Holua gestured to a chair beside the bed. “Let me get a better look at you.” As Mac made himself comfortable, Holua pulled his robe tighter about himself. Mac suppressed a laugh.
“What have you been up to? It’s been years.” Holua’s pleasant expression masked something deeper. Mac saw it in his eyes. It could be nothing more than his family’s heritage as a merchant, always on the lookout for an edge.
“Well, a little of this, a little of that,” Mac hedged. Holua knew little about the Talon, and Mac was unsure he should shed any light on that particular topic. Best to leave the man in the dark for now.
Holua barked laughter. “Laconic as ever, I see.”
Mac remained silent.
Holua sighed, and his smile faded away. “I suppose this isn’t a social call, then? Out with it. What is it that you want?”
Mac pulled the purloined documents from where he had hidden them within his tunic. He paused before unfolding them, giving the other man a long, searching look. “Do you remember what you told me the day we learned my house had been destroyed?” he asked.
“Of course,” Holua paused, then continued at Mac’s look. “I swore that if ever there was something I could do to repay the bastards that did it, you had only to ask.” He looked at the folded parchments Mac held in a white-knuckled grip. “You have something to ask, I assume?”
Mac nodded, handing the papers to the other man. Holua took them and stood, stepping to a large table covered in platters of half-eaten food. He swept a space clear, sending crockery crashing to the floor, then spread the papers out and set a candle beside them to better see. Mac remained in his chair. He knew what information those papers contained. He was more interested in Holua’s reaction. Mac watched Holua scan the documents, eyes widening as he realized the import of the information.
“Mac,” he breathed. “I can’t believe you have these.” He raised his head, staring at Mac with a look of mingled respect and perhaps a little fear. “Where did you get them? Are they genuine?”
Mac nodded. “They’re the genuine article. As for where I got them, let’s say it was an unimpeachable source.”
“What would you be willing to accept for these? I’m assuming they’re for sale. Why else bring them to my attention?”
“They’re certainly for sale, and I think a shrewd businessman like yourself could find any number of uses for the information now available to you.” Mac then named a figure that made Holua’s eyebrows rise so high they threatened to disappear into his hair. Mac knew the counteroffer would be ridiculously low, but that was as it should be. They would dicker back and forth and then settle somewhere near the middle. It was old hat to him, and to be honest, Mac would be glad to have the things out of his possession and into the hands of someone with the clout to do something with them.
“Done,” Holua said.
“Just like that?” Mac sputtered. There had been no dickering, no back and forth.
Holua nodded, folding the parchment. “Just like that. I know what these are worth, perhaps more than even you do. I’ll pay fair value. Never let it be said that House Coët failed to reward adequately.” He rose from the table and began dressing without so much as asking Mac to avert his eyes.
Mac was unsure what to make of his sudden good fortune. On the one hand, the money would be enough to keep the Talon for some time, plus make some needed repairs to Sparrowhawk. On the other hand, something about the situation did not sit right with him. Men like Holua did not build their fortunes on honest exchange, and Mac wasn’t entirely sure the information in those documents was worth what he had asked. If Holua was willing to part with the sum so easily, how much more could Mac have gotten? He felt a momentary pang but decided against pushing his luck. Some coin was better than no coin, after all.
Mistaking the look on his face, Holua said. “Don’t fret, Mac,” as he wedged himself into a tunic before slipping a coat over his shoulders to finish the ensemble. “I’ll have my master of coin write you a note of exchange. It can be drawn at any bank of the empire. No need to carry coin.” He finished dressing and stuffed Mac’s documents into a pocket. “Come on. Let’s get you paid. The sooner done, the sooner you can get back to doing whatever it is that you do now.”
Mac followed Holua, the progress much faster now that he was no longer forced to hide from the guards patrolling the corridors. They descended a broad staircase to the first level, and eventually Mac found himself in a small room with no windows and almost no decoration. Holua rapped at a door set in the far wall. Moments later, a small, wizened man appeared.
“Edonis, please see that this man is given the money we owe him.” He passed a slip of paper to the old man, whose face went momentarily pale with shock but recovered quickly.
“Of course, Lord Holua. Right away.” He disappeared into the other room but returned only a few moments later, another slip of parchment in his hand. This he presented to Mac with no fanfare at all. Glancing at it, Mac saw the amount was correct and the note even carried House Coët’s seal set in wax.
“All official and everything,” he mused aloud.
“Of course,” Holua beamed, gesturing for him to follow once more. “Will you stay the night? Maybe we could celebrate with a feast tomorrow.”
Mac shook his head. “No, I should be going as soon as possible. I have…business associates waiting.”
“Certainly,” Holua chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
The easy dismissal surprised Mac a little. Since stepping into Holua’s bedroom, it had been rather a whirlwind. Almost like the man was trying to get rid of him. At least they were getting paid. Mac would content himself with that and the knowledge that while Holua would likely profit a great deal from the information Mac had sold him, it would cost Gregory Thynne a great deal more.
They reached an antechamber, and Holua held the door so Mac could walk by. Ahead, a pair of guards opened a small gate, offering egress. Beyond the gateway, the rising moon painted the grounds of House Coët in silver. He was almost done. Out the door, up the hill, and back across the mountains. In a few days and he would be home. He could almost hear Hax and Pax bickering, while Gorm sat as close to Wynne as possible without touching, thinking that no one was the wiser.
“Here’s where we part ways, Macland,” Holua said. “It was good to see you again. Pity we won’t be able to repeat the visit.”
Holua’s words registered late, so Mac’s reaction was slowed. He whirled, suddenly aware that the two guards were moving toward him, but more concerned about the threat he sensed from the rear. As he turned, he saw Holua framed in the doorway, a loaded crossbow ready.
“Goodbye, Macland,” he said. “It really is time to put an end to your House for once and all.” Holua pulled the release, and the crossbow thrummed, hurling its bolt forward.
Thanks for reading! I’m grateful that you’re here.
All caught up on ADTR? Why not explore something else?
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At the Edge of the World is my TIF award-winning short story about Caesar’s abortive first invasion of Britannia.
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Big trouble! Of course that guy is such a snake.
Eeeee! Tell me he ducked!