The laborer looked from Shane back to Marguerite, who gave her most winning and apologetic smile. “He’s had a bit much to drink.”
“Have not.”
“How did you even get down here?” the man wanted to know.
“Stairs,” said Davith grimly. “So many goddamn stairs. He refused to do the elevators, so I had to carry him—yes, I’m talking about you, you sod.”
“M’fine.”
“I told you, man, she wasn’t worth it. No woman’s worth this.”
Shane’s grip on Davith’s shoulders briefly resembled a headlock. Davith coughed. “Come on, man, your breath would kill a horse.”
Marguerite didn’t know whether to bless Davith or strangle him herself. “Please?” she said to the laborer. “He’s a tame duelist and we really don’t want his boss to see him like this.”
“Oh, aye, I can see that.” The man’s lip curled and he waved an arm. “Take the left staircase. Don’t want him getting underfoot on the main one.”
“You are a life saver,” said Marguerite fervently, and began steering Shane toward the stairs in question. The paladin stumbled a little too theatrically and she gritted her teeth.
No one else tried to stop them, although heads turned to watch their progress. Marguerite kept up a line of patter, not even listening to herself. “Come on, come on, you can do it, just a little farther, some fresh air will do you a world of good…”
And then, just like that, they were down the stairs and through the door and out of the fortress.
Out, thought Marguerite, with unspeakable relief, as the night air touched their faces. Free. Now we just get to the docks, find a captain we can bribe to take us across the lake without dropping us over the side halfway through, and we’ll be on the road and well away before anyone finds those bodies.
They hurried along the narrow wharf, no longer bothering to be stealthy. Speed was more important now. Marguerite pointed, and they rounded a stack of crates, onto the dock dedicated to lake traffic.
She blinked. Behind her, she heard Shane swear.
Moonlight glinted on the surface of the lake, dancing on the small waves that broke against the pilings. She could see each wave clearly because the entire dock was empty and there wasn’t a boat to be seen.
“It’s the boatman’s strike,” said Shane grimly. ‘I’m sorry. I should have remembered.” He couldn’t believe that he’d let it slip his mind. Although it’s not as if I haven’t had anything else to distract me. Still, at the very least, I should have told Marguerite, and she would have remembered.
He looked around helplessly, as if there might be a boat somewhere that they had simply overlooked. Unfortunately his night vision was getting worse the older he got. While the nearest boat mooring was clear enough, the far end of the dock dissolved into a blur. Even if there was a boat, I’d be the last person to see it.
It was cold consolation that apparently there wasn’t anything to see.
Wren put her hands on her hips. “Dammit, we can’t even steal a boat. Why would they take them all?”
“To prevent anyone from breaking the strike,” said Davith. “If all the boats are at anchor on the other side, anybody trying to slip out will be immediately obvious. They’d be branded a scab.”
“Community censure is a powerful incentive,” Shane offered.
Davith gave him a wry look. “Particularly when they express displeasure by breaking your legs.”
“Some forms of censure are more demonstrative than others.” Shane still had a strong desire to censure Davith’s face, but was determined not to embarrass Wren any further.
“That is…inconvenient,” Marguerite said. She chewed on her lower lip. “Let’s think this through. How are they communicating their demands, if there are no boats here?”
“There’s one anchored off the dock,” said Davith, pointing. “Most likely someone signals to it when they’re ready to negotiate.”
“And they’ll likely be the last people amenable to a bribe to take us across.”
“You don’t break a strike,” said Davith, sounding somewhat shocked by the suggestion.
“We’re not smuggling brandy, we’re trying to keep from getting murdered,” Marguerite shot back.
“Yes, but it’s the principle of the thing.”