“And one more thing,” Marc added as he stopped and turned to face his young protege. “I’d like to find out what happened to one of the older Managers, a man named Ostrovsky. The Managers who followed us weren’t too familiar with my powers, and I wonder why they didn’t hire Ostrovsky to get me.”
Henry’s lips creased together. “I don’t need to look up that information, sir. I already know where Ostrovsky is.”
Marc lifted an eyebrow. “Where?”
“The Highview Cemetery.”
Marc froze, and his mouth fell slightly open. The moment passed, and he gathered himself after clearing his throat. “You’re sure?”
“I saw the headstone myself. It wasn’t much. I suppose the Managers put it up just to show the others they won’t let them lie dead in some ditch.”
“How did he die?”
Henry folded his arms over his chest and furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure. I think a job went wrong, but that’s just the rumor that went around about two months ago. Then one of us was dared to go into the cemetery about six weeks ago and noticed the fresh grave with that name.”
Marc cast his eyes on the part of the street ahead of us. “Where’s the grave?”
“In the northwest corner by one of the oak trees,” Henry told him as his face fell. “I guess he was in with the Managers long enough to earn that spot.”
A bittersweet smile slipped onto Marc’s face. “Quite a long time for one of them. You find out what you can about the living.” He took my hand and led me up the road.
“What are you going to do?” Henry shouted at us.
Marc turned his head to one side so his bright blue eye fell on the lad as we left him behind. “I’ll deal with the dead.”
A heavy quiet fell on us, as did the night. The lamplight and the twinkling stars overhead acted as markers as we made our way up the slope. I caught up to Marc’s side and looked him over. He stared ahead with a tense expression on his face.
I squeezed his hand. “Marc? Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
I thought back to the last time the name of Ostrovsky had been brought up. “You knew this Manager really well, didn’t you?”
A faint, bittersweet smile slipped onto his lips. “You could say we were the best of enemies. We faced off more times than I can remember.”
“Did you win?”
“Not always, but it was always a treasure that he won.”
“What did you always win?”
Ramaro popped his head out of my coat. “The girl. If there was a choice between one or the other, we had a woman on board, at least for a while.”
“And then what would happen to her?”
Ramaro rolled his eyes. “We’d eventually find her home, or get her a job at some port. There was that one woman, though, who wouldn’t let go of the sea life. She became a pirate herself. Last I heard, she was making good money stealing from ships along the spice trading routes.”
“What routes do you guys haunt?”
The agama wiggled his butt to make himself more comfortable, seated as he was in the hammock. “Whatever the captain has a fancy for.”
I returned my attention to the quiet captain. He still has a contemplative expression on his face. “So did this Ostrovsky guy ever really try to kill you?”
“Once or twice.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I was getting the impression he was kind of a friend.”
“He took his work very seriously. If a client wanted something done, he tried his best to do it.”
