“Over thirty in the past four months.”
Kurtz whistled. “You sure it’s not just escapes? The guards sell everything. I’ve seen them misplace keys and look the other way. It’s all for sale, for those who can afford it.”
“No one is escaping,” Quimby said, “nor is this related to the king pardoning prisoners. His Highness made a mess of the place when he broke out you and Sir Eagan, but eventually the guards got a firm count on who remained.”
“My uncle is a prisoner on Ice Island,” Cole said. “Prince Oren wants me to talk to him. Perhaps he might know something.”
“Could be he does,” Quimby said. “But it won’t be easy for you to get in. In light of the missing, Verdot has stopped letting anyone visit.”
“When they got us off the island, Gavin made me swear to be nice to that man,” Kurtz said, “but it didn’t sit right with me. I still don’t trust him.”
“I wouldn’t trust him either,” Quimby said.
“How’s the lad supposed to visit his uncle if Verdot won’t allow it?” Kurtz asked. “Think Lord Livna could help make it happen?”
“Prince Oren would rather not involve Lord Livna in any of this,” Quimby said.
“Maybe we could sing at Ice Island,” Cole said. “Would the warden ever have reason to entertain the prisoners?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Kurtz said. “They’ve done such things before, they have. But I wouldn’t take Miss Wepp close enough to even look on that foul place.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” Cole said. “Surely there are bloodvoicer guards? Watching the prison through the Veil?”
“No bloodvoicers can see into Ice Island anymore,” Jol said. “It’s hidden by rune magic.”
“Magosian witches in the king’s prison?” Kurtz asked.
Cole shuddered, thinking of the Chartom mages in Armonguard who had blocked bloodvoicers from seeing into their camp. Who had attacked him.
“Aye,” Jol said. “Another change after His Highness’s visit. The warden felt it worth working with a Magosian to keep the prison impenetrable. And the runes work. Against bloodvoicing magic, anyway. Bribes and whatever is going on with the missing prisoners is another matter.”
Getting inside Ice Island sounded impossible. “What do you know about my uncle?” Cole asked.
“Not much,” Quimby said. “Crispen West was sentenced twenty years for killing a local tailor. They got into a brawl when the tailor accused West of impropriety toward his wife, and West refused to pay for the work done. West claimed he never knew the tailor or the man’s wife, but there were plenty of witnesses who claimed otherwise.”
“Prince Oren said he was framed,” Cole said.
“That’s the theory,” Quimby said. “He was definitely mixed up with the wrong crowd.”
“Did you know him?” Cole asked Kurtz.
“Nah, I was in Armonguard back then,” Kurtz said. “Eighteen years old and squiring in the king’s personal guard, so full of myself I couldn’t breathe. Thought I was Arman’s gift to the world, I did.”
Cole had heard plenty of stories from Kurtz’s days as one of King Axel’s Shields. “What about the tavern?” he asked. “Prince Oren also wants us to get hired at the Black Boar.”
“Didn’t exist before I went to the island,” Kurtz said.
“That place has a reputation,” Quimby said. “The air is thick with pipe smoke and secrets. If a man has got the coin, he can buy anything—information, loyalty, an assassin. And if he’s looking for the kind of dealings best left off the record, he won’t find a better place, despite it being owned by an upstanding local councilman, Joonas Erlichman.”
“Didn’t his father used to sell hunting dogs?” Kurtz asked.
“Joonas sells them now but is better known for boar. Makes a handsome profit too,” Quimby said. “Which reminds me. I suggest you also keep an eye on a man named Renshaw Thusk.”
“Who’s he?” Cole asked.
“Local businessman. He’s also on the Tsaftown ruling council—crooked, but everyone looks the other way. Backed Esek Nathak for king, so I suspect he’d oppose our new king if given the chance. I’ve had no excuse to get near him or his property to investigate, but you might, being new to town.”
“You want us to follow him?” Kurtz asked.
