Water lapped against the sides of the boat. Lindell Fairweather stared at the sea. It was calm in every direction around the small boat. He ran a hand through his messy black hair, damp from sea spray. His gaze went back to the cave straight ahead. The boat was at a safe distance from it. Or at least, it should be a safe distance. There was no knowing with such a place as the Cave of Blood.

  “I’ve heard of this place,” the other man in the boat said, “but I’ve never been here.” Cory Lyle was nineteen, a year younger than Lindell. He was shorter and slighter than anyone else that age Lindell had met. His black hair was just as much a mess as Lindell’s. His pale gray eyes looked wary. “The cave is well known. Sailors learn where it is to avoid it. Why would Bazza send you here?”

  “I don’t know his sources, but someone told Bazza there are objects still intact in the cave,” Lindell said. “Bazza wants one of them retrieved for the museum. As for the story…” He stared at the dark maw of the cave. He had dreaded reaching the cave, dreaded the time coming for him to enter it, and that feeling had become only worse now that he was there. “Back in the Age of Reason, the country of Ivra had a tyrant king,” he continued, trying not to think of what he had to do. “Those among the tyrant’s court who angered him were taken to this cave, where they either starved or drowned themselves.”

  Cory glanced back the way they came. “The shore is too far for anyone to swim to safety.”

  Lindell nodded. “The sea takes up most of the cave. Especially at high tide.” They would have to hurry and do this before high tide came. “The cave is believed to be the most haunted place on this continent. Possibly in all of Eavris.” He doubted that last, but he also feared it. Could this place be worse than the other places he’d been?

  Cory frowned hard at the cave, then at Lindell. “Are you sure this is worth it? You’ve been to a lot of places that sound terrible, but those weren’t named Cave of Blood. Most of them didn’t even have names.”

  Lindell managed a smile, but he doubted it was convincing. “The ones without names have been the worst so far. Maybe this one won’t be so bad.”

  Cory stared. “Why is it called the Cave of Blood? Because a lot of people died there?”

  Lindell hesitated. “Maybe. There are stories about it, but they could just be stories.”

  Cory continued to stare.

  “Supposedly the cave looks normal until you enter it,” Lindell said. “Then the water turns red and the walls drip blood. The red disappears when you leave the cave.”

  Cory sighed. Though he looked reluctant, he said, “I’m here to help. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Lindell managed a smile. “You’ve helped by getting me here. And you’re here to make sure whatever I bring back from that cave isn’t dangerous.”

  Cory worked for Phoenix, a group that dealt with dangerous magical artifacts. They’d had to deal with museum artifacts worryingly often. Thankfully, Bazza didn’t know Cory had gone with Lindell. He hated it when Phoenix got involved.

  Lindell took a deep breath. “Let’s do this before high tide comes.” And before he lost what shreds of courage he had left.

  He didn’t want to disappoint Bazza by not trying. If the artifact he found in there was too dangerous, he wouldn’t retrieve it. There had been plenty of times he had to disappoint Bazza because the artifact was too dangerous to even touch it, let alone travel with it back to the museum.

  Cory picked up the oars and started rowing again, bringing them closer to the dark mouth of the cave. He stopped with enough room to turn the boat around. It would be too dangerous for him to enter the cave with the boat or get any closer. Lindell dived into the water, swimming the rest of the way. He kept his loose cotton clothes on and his boots. He might need the boots in the cave. Who knew what sharp things could be lying around in there?

  The cave wasn’t as dark as it had looked from the outside. Sunlight shone into the grotto, but left everything else in shadows. Lindell pulled himself out of the deep water, onto the wet stone of the cave floor. He stood carefully, looking around quickly. The ceiling was relatively high. Something sat in the gloom at the back of the cave. Lindell took a hesitant step closer. People? Slumped against the wall?

  The light shifted, reaching the back wall where skeletons sat, crowded together. With another step, something crunched under Lindell’s boot. He looked down, something glinting in the light, on the few parts of it that weren’t covered in muck. A thick red droplet landed on the back of his hand. He looked up, finding the cave had changed drastically. Red dripped from the ceiling and ran down the walls. The water in the grotto had turned red as well. So the stories were true.

  Lindell tried to ignore the red, tried to ignore the smell of blood that had filled the air. He reached down to pick up the metal thing he had stepped on. It looked like some sort of cloak fastener. As soon as his fingers brushed the cold metal, the cave vanished. He smelled musty sea air, but no blood. Whimpering came from either side of him in the darkness. Hunger gnawed deep within him. He was too weak to stand, but he pulled himself along the wet stone of the cave floor.

  He wasn’t going to die cowering against the wall with the others. At last he reached the water, letting himself slide into it, sinking to the bottom as his lungs burned. He didn’t struggle, just closed his eyes. Lindell heard a familiar voice saying his name. His throat felt raw, like he’d been screaming. Cold water surrounded him and he struggled to get away from it. He didn’t want to drown.

  “Lindell!” Cory said. “Stop! I’m trying to help you!”

  Lindell opened his eyes. He was lying in the bottom of the boat. Cory was rowing fast, leaving the cave behind and heading for the shore. Lindell closed his eyes again. The next time he woke up, the sun was setting. They had left for the cave late in the day because they had missed the first low tide. There was a small dock at the shore, the dockmaster’s hut, and not much else. Lindell sat up, everything spinning at first. He helped Cory secure the boat at the dock. Cory went to talk to the dockmaster, as the boat was a rented one.

  Lindell sat at the base of a tree at the edge of the forest, trying not to go back to sleep, trying not to think of what he’d seen and felt in that cave.

  “Are you alright?” Cory asked.

  Lindell hadn’t heard him approach. He got to his feet quickly. “I’m fine.”

  Cory sighed. “You don’t look fine. We’ll make camp here tonight. The dockmaster said it was fine, and he even gave me some meat for us to cook.”

  Lindell helped make a fire, but Cory insisted on doing the cooking. Neither of them said much else the rest of the night. When Lindell slept, he wasn’t surprised to dream of a cave with stone that wept blood, to dream of drowning in red water. He woke up before the sun was up, but didn’t want to go back to sleep.

  As soon as the sun was rising, he and Cory set out. They walked back through the forest of Ivra to the harbor village of Maple, where they paid for passage on a ship going to Arkose, the main harbor of the country of Oenum. From there they headed for Shale, the main city, where the Museum of Historical Artifacts was.

  Lindell looked at Cory and saw he was smiling.

  “Nice day,” Lindell said.

  Cory nodded.

  “And I didn’t bring back any potentially dangerous artifacts,” Lindell said.

  Cory smiled further, but hid it quickly.

  It was sunset when the two reached Shale. Lindell went to Bazza’s house in the upper district of Shale. No matter how late Lindell returned, Bazza wanted him to stop by when he returned from his travels. Lindell had never understood why. Surely this conversation could wait until morning? He was tired and dirty, but Bazza was a friend. Lindell rang the brass knocker on the big door. Bazza Hardy opened the door and let Lindell in without a word. The two of them went straight to the study, where a warm fire crackled. They sat in the chairs before the hearth.

  Bazza and Lindell had started the Museum of Historical Artifacts together. Bazza ran the museum while Lindell retrieved artifacts. Lindell had no love of traveling, and had even less after all he had seen. Bazza was two years older than him. His white shirt and black pants were as immaculate as ever. His black hair was neatly combed. He stared at the fire for a moment, his light gray eyes distant.

  “Tea?” Bazza asked. “I could make some.”

  Lindell shook his head, stifling a yawn.

  “How did it go?” Bazza asked.

  “Badly,” Lindell said. “I couldn’t retrieve anything. That cave was a special kind of horrible.”

  Bazza sighed. “Pity…”

  Lindell tried to ignore his friend’s disappointment. Bazza wasn’t concerned about whether the cave had been dangerous, just that Lindell hadn’t brought anything back. He had even been disappointed when the Amulet of Nightmares was destroyed, even though it had been the only choice other than letting it kill Lindell. It wasn’t because Bazza didn’t care what happened to him, was it? Lindell ignored the small part of him that wondered if Bazza actually didn’t care what happened to him.

  “How is the rod?” Lindell asked. “Do we know what it is yet?” The strange metal rod was the previous artifact he had retrieved.

  Bazza’s expression darkened. “Wallace is stopping by to see it tomorrow, then I will send someone to the library to find out what it is.”

  Wallace Fenty also worked for Phoenix.

  “You’re worried it’s dangerous,” Bazza said, watching Lindell.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Lindell said.

  Bazza shook his head. “It will be fine. It’s just a rod, Lindell.”

  “A spoon caused the destruction in that alleyway of the upper district,” Lindell said.

  Bazza sighed. “Wallace will tell us if it’s dangerous. Don’t listen to the nobles.”

  “Are they still complaining about the previous dangerous artifacts we’ve gathered?” Lindell asked.

  Bazza nodded. “They never stop complaining. Now they’re saying we bring unnatural things to Shale.”

  That was true.

  “Is Irwin still leading the charge to get rid of us?” Lindell asked.

  “He wouldn’t let anyone else do it,” Bazza said. “Go home and rest. Things always look better in the morning.”

  Lindell knew for a fact that wasn’t true, but he didn’t argue with Bazza. He left the house, heading toward his own home in the upper district. He hadn’t gone far before a man walked beside him. Irwin Meadows dressed as neatly as Bazza but more formally. He wore a suit and tie. His short, dark hair was combed neatly like Bazza’s, but was streaked with gray. The man was only forty-five, but he appeared older. He frowned at Lindell.

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  Lindell was too tired for this conversation, but things would only get worse if he wasn’t polite. “Lord Meadows.”

  Irwin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t be so formal, Lindell. This is not a formal conversation. It’s just the two of us.” The smile vanished. “You’ve just returned from traveling.” It wasn’t a question, so Lindell said nothing. “Such traveling and ventures are not appropriate for a noble born man. A court position and an advantageous marriage would be better suited.”

  “Not for me,” Lindell said. “I’m not interested in a court position or marrying for advantage.”

  Irwin scowled. “Stubborn as ever.” He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he turned and went back the other way.

  It was so hard not to offend Irwin. Lindell glanced back at the overbearing noble, who was thankfully still walking in the opposite direction. Were the rumors true? Did Irwin really subdue unruly and embarrassing nobles? Supposedly, he drugged those people with herbs and hid them away in the basements and attics of the noble houses. Lindell sighed. That sounded ridiculous. They were just rumors, from people who didn’t like Irwin. They wouldn’t dare say those things if Irwin might find out who had said them.

  -- --

  Thankfully, there were no more interruptions on the way home. No more interruptions between Lindell taking a bath and going to bed. The dream of drowning in red water and a cave dripping blood was waiting for him again, but he woke up the next morning more rested than the last time he’d slept. He felt even better when he found a daisy on his doorstep. That meant Eireen would be out in the forest.

  On the way to the museum, Lindell tried to be optimistic about the new artifact. Despite Bazza’s reassurance the night before, Bazza was in a foul mood when Lindell reached the museum. He always was when Phoenix got involved. At least Wallace wasn’t there yet.

  Lindell waited with Bazza in Bazza’s small office. The house once belonged to Lindell’s parents, but it had never been home to him. He and his brother had stayed with their uncle while their parents traveled, and had lived with their uncle after the death of their parents. That had been when Lindell was thirteen and Hector was eighteen. They had another uncle, but he lived in Arkose and had never approved of their parent’s traveling. Bazza sat behind his desk, frowning hard. Lindell sat across from his friend. At a knock on the office door, Bazza frowned only harder.

  “I’ll get it,” Lindell said quickly.

  When he opened the office door, it wasn’t Wallace waiting on the other side.

  “Hector,” Lindell said. He definitely hadn’t expected that.

  Hector frowned. He looked the same as when Lindell had last seen him two years before. He wore the usual black shirt, buttoned except for the one at the top, black pants, and black shoes. His shoulder length black hair was swept back. He had the same dark gray eyes as Lindell, but he wore glasses. He was five years older than Lindell.

  “Brother,” Hector said. “We need to talk.”

  Lindell sighed and let Hector into the office. Bazza tensed. He had met Hector once, and the two hadn’t gotten along. That was before the museum. Lindell closed the office door again. There were tables and shelves in the main room filled with artifacts. Four people, not counting Lindell and Bazza, worked at the museum. Lindell wanted this conversation to stay private, knowing it could get unpleasant.

  Bazza stood but stayed behind his desk. “Why are you here, Hector?”

  “I just returned from traveling,” Hector said, looking at Lindell and ignoring Bazza. “I heard about the museum and came to see for myself.” He frowned further. “I heard many things about the museum and the countless mishaps with dangerous artifacts.” Somehow he frowned harder. “I heard about the Amulet of Nightmares.”

  “You had no interest in the house before,” Lindell said.

  “Nor do I now,” Hector said. “The artifacts are clearly dangerous. The museum needs to be shut down, for the good of the city. I would have thought it would be obvious you shouldn’t gather such dangerous objects.”

  “We’re not closing the museum,” Bazza said. “You just want the house.”

  Hector glared at Bazza. “I do not want the house. As I said. You have always been a bad influence on my brother, Hardy. Was the museum your idea?”

  “You never liked me,” Bazza said. “Because I let Lindell think for himself.”

  Lindell knew his brother well enough to know he was telling the truth. He didn’t want the house.

  Hector laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “I’ve never stopped him from thinking for himself. You can’t stop him either.” He looked at Lindell and frowned again. “The museum will be closed.” He turned and left.

  “What do we do?” Bazza muttered, sinking back into the chair behind his desk. “I doubt we’ve seen the last of him.”

  Lindell sat across from Bazza again. “He could certainly make a good argument that the museum is dangerous.”

  Bazza nodded slowly, looking lost in thought. Lindell wasn’t sure Bazza had heard what he’d said.

  Maybe this would be it for the museum. He had never been close with his brother. Hector had always been interested in being a noble, in keeping up his reputation in Shale. He had never liked the fact that Lindell couldn’t care less what other nobles thought of him. But his brother was right about the artifacts being dangerous. This time, Lindell didn’t say it out loud. Bazza would only dismiss his worries again.

  Bazza was staring at him. “I know you’re worried, but the artifacts are safe. I make sure things are secure, that the artifacts won’t cause any trouble.”

  “Some of them are dangerous, aren’t they?” Lindell knew it was true.

  “There is nothing to worry about,” Bazza said. “The dangerous artifacts were the exception. Not all of them are dangerous. We haven’t had any incidents in some time now.” His usual smile returned. “There’s a sundial at a shop in Arkose. The shopkeeper promised not to sell it until you can get there to look at it.”

  Lindell couldn’t stop the sigh from escaping. “I’m still weary from the travels I just got back from.”

  Bazza opened his mouth.

  “I know,” Lindell said. “People in Shale and travelers pay to see the artifacts, and that keeps the museum running.” He was starting to question if he wanted the museum to keep running, but he didn’t dare bring that up just then. “I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

  “The sundial could be very interesting,” Bazza said.

  Lindell hoped it wouldn’t be too interesting.

  Another knock came on the door, and this time Wallace was on the other side. His black hair was messy as ever. His dark brown eyes looked tired. It was hard to tell how old he was. He looked around Lindell’s age, or maybe Hector’s.

  Bazza stood. “You’re here to see the rod?”

  “Yes,” Wallace said. “Were you hoping Phoenix would forget?”

  Bazza didn’t answer, but his face said it all. He despised Phoenix.

  Lindell and Bazza went upstairs with Wallace. The halls up there were a bit of a maze. Lindell wondered how Bazza decided what went upstairs and what went downstairs. Some upstairs artifacts were alone in their rooms. He hoped that didn’t mean they were dangerous. Bazza opened a door on the right wall. The room on the other side was small, with a table in the center. The rod was the only thing on the table, the only thing in the room. It appeared to be some sort of metal, with a few almost worn off carvings. It was short, barely the length of Lindell’s forearm, with both ends rounded and smooth.

  Wallace stared at the rod for a long moment. “It has magic, but the magic is asleep.”

  “Then it isn’t dangerous,” Bazza said quickly.

  Wallace sighed. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to make sure your artifacts don’t cause trouble. As long as the magic stays asleep, the rod is fine. Let me know if anything happens with it.” He left the room without another word.

  “I’ll send someone to the library to find out more about it,” Bazza said. “All we know is that the rod is from Ivra.” He looked at Lindell expectantly.

  “I’ll get ready to leave for Arkose tomorrow,” Lindell said. There wasn’t much getting ready to do, but there was someone he wanted to see.

  Bazza smiled. “You’ll be going to see Eireen?”

  Lindell felt his face turning red. “Yes.”

  He left the museum, heading for the middle district. He walked past the edge of Shale and into the forest. It didn’t take long to reach the forest ruins, with the half collapsed walls and the crumbling well at the center. It might have been a city far in the past, but there was hardly anything left of it now. Not even the truth about what had happened to it. Eireen was there, sitting on the edge of the well. The sun shone on her long dark brown hair. It was tied back loosely, much of it already having come loose. She wore dark brown robes.

  Her antlers, like those of a deer, were pale. They had some sort of runes carved into them. Her ears were longer than those of a human, flat on the inside, and round on the end. She smiled when she saw him. He smiled too, sitting beside her on the well. Bazza had met her once and had promised not to call on the witch hunters. Not that Lindell had thought his friend would do that. The witch hunters were from Vandis, but they traveled all over. For a time, the witch hunters had been trying to make peace with witches, but it hadn’t lasted. They also hunted demons.

  “Did you just arrive?” Lindell asked.

  Eireen nodded. “Nevyn and I got here last night. He’s around here somewhere.”

  Nevyn Merrick was the first Priest of Iterna, which meant he must be very old, not that he looked it. Eireen hadn’t been a priest of the Goddess of Nature as long as Nevyn, but she wouldn’t tell Lindell how old she was. Lindell glanced around at the trees, but didn’t see Nevyn. They had met twice, but Nevyn seemed convinced Lindell wasn’t to be trusted.

  “How did it go in Ivra?” Eireen asked, looking worried.

  “Badly,” Lindell said. “I just got back last night.” He sighed. “And I’ll be leaving again tomorrow morning, for Arkose.” He hesitated. “Hector came to the museum this morning. He heard about the museum and the incidents, and he wants to shut down the museum.”

  “Then he’ll be helping the other nobles with that,” Eireen said. She put her hand on Lindell’s where it rested on the warm stones of the well. “I know you’re worried about the artifacts too.”

  “Bazza still isn’t,” Lindell said. “Or if he is, he’s very good at hiding it.”

  Eireen’s brows furrowed. “I know Hector doesn’t want to hurt you from what you’ve said of him, but I’m worried what lengths the nobles will go to. Mostly Irwin. It sounds like he has quite the reputation.”

  “I’m not sure what he wouldn’t do to keep up his reputation and the reputation of all the noble houses of Shale,” Lindell said. “But I know he wouldn’t risk getting caught doing something that would endanger his reputation.”

  “What if he thinks he won’t get caught?” Eireen asked.

  A shiver ran through Lindell, despite the warm sunlight. “He talked to me on my way home last night. Apparently my travels are ill suited to a man of my amazing stature.”

  She laughed, but he still saw worry in her eyes.

  He took her hand in his. “I’ll be careful, but I’m more worried about the artifacts than Irwin.”

  Eireen sighed. “Maybe one of these days we can leave Shale. Together.”

  Lindell thought of Bazza and the museum.

  Eireen put a finger against his lips to stop him from talking. “I know you don’t want to abandon Bazza.” There was a deep sadness in her eyes now. “Would he do the same for you?” she whispered. She took her finger away and kissed him.

  The kiss didn’t last nearly long enough before she got up and disappeared into the trees. Lindell sighed. He wanted to think Bazza wouldn’t abandon him if their positions were reversed, but some part of him was starting to doubt that. He didn’t like that doubt. Bazza was his friend. They needed to talk about the museum, really talk about it, but Lindell didn’t know how to do that without starting an argument between them. He didn’t want that argument to turn into something worse that would end their friendship.