Liavek 4 Page 7

  She glanced over her shoulder toward the exit. He rapped on the table and shook his head, mocking sorrow. "There really is nowhere for you to go. I have soldiers outside who have stopped the man you paid from loading your belongings aboard the wagon you purchased on Windday. Shall I tell you where you intended to go? On which vessel? You see, I know much about you. You've done well for yourself in so short a time—too well, one might speculate."

  "You're Count Dashif," she said in a normal tone.

  He quickly pulled her veil from her. "And what would your name be, girl?" She didn't answer; she seemed too stunned to speak. "I've spent considerable time and money seeking you. I'll have your name now."

  Her eyes narrowed, and he could almost see her stiffening her spine. "Jolesha," she said, as if the word could banish him.

  "Jolesha. And the rest of the name?"

  She seemed to be done answering questions. "Very well, child," he said. "I'll have the artifact now, and please, no tales or fabrications. I bore easily."

  Without a nod or an answer of any kind, she placed the leather pouch on the table between them. So easy. He set his gloves on the table, picked up the pouch, and removed the gold-traced cylinder from within. A link to the past. For the first time, it occurred to him that it could be a link to his past as well. He stared at it. He heard himself asking how it worked, and heard her suggest he call a name. One came to his mind, but not to his lips.

  But she was still speaking. He heard her say something about the former regent and looked up sharply. "What do you know of that?"

  She reached out and touched the cylinder. "Perhaps," she said slowly, "you would rather speak to Erina."

  He stared at her. How could she know? How? No one knew. If she knew that, then she might know everything about him. In one instant, he was closer to panic than he had ever been in his life. He dropped the cylinder and began to reach for his pistols—

  He felt her.

  His muscles turned to water and he stood dumbly. The girl was still speaking, saying something, but Erina was there, too. His dark-eyed witch from Minnow Island whom he had loved, betrayed, been betrayed by, and finally slain.

  Finally? Could there be a finally? Would it never end?

  "Dashif?" It was her voice, her presence, from her lips. He smelled the scent from her hair and felt the strands upon his face. Tears he hadn't known he could shed came to his eyes, and with them, knowledge of his own weakness. "I forgive you...." .

  "No!" he cried, throwing himself backwards out of the tent. He emerged into the full light of day, and the heads of four of his guards snapped to look at him. He forced the semblance of calmness over his features, and made his voice remain even. "Let them get on with their business," he said. "She has nothing we want after all." He let a hint of a smile come to his lips so they would think there was more going on than they knew.

  He heard Jolesha call his name, using her old-woman voice again. She approached him and held up her hand. He saw she carried something. The artifact? He felt the rush of panic again as he raised his hand to ward it off. Then he realized that she was only holding out the gloves that he'd forgotten in her tent. He took them, and they locked eyes for a moment.

  He made his way to his horse. Behind him, he heard her walking back to the tent. He had to think, to plan, to decide how to deal with this. He had to decide now, before the chance got away from him. But one thing was certain; no one who knew that much about him could be allowed to live.

  He turned back to the tent, speculatively, feeling his pulse and breathing return to normal. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to walk in and kill her now, before she could speak to anyone. But no, that wasn't enough. He had to find out where she had learned about his past. Ghostside itself? Maybe. But he would question her. And he couldn't have anyone else around when he did it.

  "Go back to the palace. All of you."

  He waited for them to leave, keeping his eye on the tent. He didn't know what to do about the artifact, but the girl, Jolesha, would die now.

  When the guards were out of sight, Dashif walked back toward the tent. The wagon was still there, but the man was gone. He was completely unobserved. He drew his pistols. If necessary. he would leave the artifact on the floor. Perhaps, if he waited, it would be safe to touch it again. But Jolesha would have to—

  He was walking past the wagon when a crossbow bolt hit his left leg just below the knee. One half of his mind screamed from a physical agony almost as sharp as the mental agony he had endured moments before. The other half considered. She was a good shot, therefore she must be quite a ways away. Therefore. he would have time… He became suddenly aware that he couldn't move. He looked down and found that the shaft of the bolt was protruding from his leg, and the head was sunk into the wagon's wheel. A freak accident? He quickly turned in the direction the bolt had come from, raising his pistol. He had a glimpse of green, then—

  He screamed and dropped one of the pistols as another bolt caught him in the left arm, pinning it to the side of the wagon. He was now caught by his left aim and left leg to the wagon side and attempting to turn caused such pain that he nearly screamed again. He forced himself to hang on to the other pistol and try to shut out the pain enough to think. If only he had his magic. Magic. Erina. No! Think, idiot! The agent hates you; she wants you to suffer. She'll probably go around behind you and taunt you; why else would she play with you like this? You have time, now think. Ignore the face in front of you, it isn't the agent, just another illusion. Think.

  He held on to the pistol as a drowning man holds on to a log, but all he could think of to do with it was to kill himself before he could be subjected to more pain and humiliation. The face on the illusion was showing pity, which was bad enough, but now it was looking like a younger Erina. He shook his head, but it wouldn't go away.

  "Count Dashif?" said the illusion.

  He focused on her for the first time, and found himself face to face with the girl, Kaloo. She was peering up at him from under the wagon.

  "Are you really going to die now?"

  That was enough to convince him it was an illusion. She was still staring up at him. She said, "Should I find a City Guard?" He shook his head but no words came forth. "Why don't you use your magic?" she asked, and he nearly wept.

  "Dashif!" came the voice of the Tichenese agent. And yes, she was behind him; only four or five feet, judging from the sound of her voice. He had his pistol, but it was useless unless he could turn to aim. and two crossbow bolts prevented that. He felt himself getting dizzy and he started to sag, which sent jolts of profound agony through his arm and leg.

  "Kiss it goodbye, Dashif. Any last words?"

  He stared at the girl who had called herself Kaloo, realizing suddenly that his body concealed her from the Tichenese agent. How could she be here? But, dammit, she was real. Could he count on a stranger, a child, and one who looked like… "I forgive you, too," he muttered.

  Hardly moving, he cocked both barrels of his remaining pistol, reversed it in his hand, keeping it before his body so the agent couldn't see what he was doing. Over his shoulder, he called, "Yes. One question." He handed the pistol down to Kaloo. She took it. Her eyes were wide, her mouth forming an 0 as she stared at it, then at him. He felt himself start to faint again.

  The agent responded. "What is that, Your Scarred Eminence? Or is it now Your Scared Eminence?"

  "Do you really think you can last in this business if you take everything so per—"

  Kaloo held the gun in both hands, stepped out in front of him, and fired both barrels at the Tichenese agent. There was a scream, the sound of a bolt releasing, and the sound of a body falling. Then there was the sound of Erina sobbing. No, someone else. Dashif discovered to his amazement that he had closed his eyes.

  He reached over with his good arm and drew the bolt from the wood, leaving it in his arm. A gasp of pain escaped him. He reached down and retrieved his other pistol, which had somehow not gone off. He turned, but the Tichene
se agent was gone. He found himself staring into Kaloo's red, tear-filled eyes.

  "I didn't kill her," she said.

  "Good," said Dashif without understanding why.

  "Here, I'll help you."

  And she did. Together they got him free from the wagon wheel. and he collapsed onto the ground. He struggled to stand again.

  "Rest," said Kaloo.

  "Can't," said Dashif. "Have to get up."

  "Why?"

  "Have to kill—" He stopped, finding that his wounded leg wouldn't support him. He collapsed again, onto his back, and found himself staring up into her face. Why? she had asked. He lay there panting. The face above him faded in and out. "Erina," he called, or maybe he only thought it. Her hair tickled his face and he smiled.

  •

  Dashif stared at the place on the bed where the lower half of his left leg should have been. The Eminent Pitullio sat by the bedside.

  "He says he will keep you on anyway, Dashif."

  "I'm surprised."

  "Yes. What about the artifact, though?"

  Dashif paused. Yes, the artifact. He thought about Kaloo. He thought about Jolesha, and those last looks they had exchanged. Yes, she was smart enough not to return. "I've taken care of it," he said at last.

  Pitullio looked at him quizzically, then nodded. "I'll tell him."

  "How did they find me?"

  "An anonymous message, saying you were injured. Most of the words were spelled wrong, if that's any help. I've saved the note. You can see it when you're feeling better. You'd been very crudely bandaged, too; otherwise you wouldn't be alive."

  "Such as I am."

  "Such as you are. Are you smiling?"

  "If he's going to keep me on, I'll want as good a wooden leg as you can find. And don't let anyone know about this." Pitullio nodded. "Of course." Then he left the room, leaving Dashif to try to adjust to this new current life had asked him to swim through, or against, or with. He stared down at the spot where his leg had been and wondered. He had felt something, while the girl was looking at him, and helping him, that he hadn't known he could feel. Dead areas inside him were waking up, and that hurt almost as much as his leg did.

  Dashif wondered if the pain, both kinds, and even the loss of his leg might have been a fair exchange for what he had gained. He couldn't—yet—understand that by asking the question he had answered it.

  "A Cup of Worrynot Tea" by John M. Ford

  THE OBJECT ON the roadside looked like a bed, as much as it looked like anything. Two young people, a dark and muscular boy and a slim fair-haired girl, were climbing over it with a sort of exhausted good will. The girl, whose everyday name was Reed, said, "It's no use at all, Kory. The spring's broken and the hub is bent."

  The boy, Kory, crouched next to the wheel of the light wooden landsailer and looked across the Saltmarsh in the direction of Liavek. It was no-longer-early afternoon in late Wine, the breeze off the marsh already turning chilly, and they had been no more than halfway from Hrothvek to Liavek when a gust sent the spidery wind-car off the road. If they started walking now, it would be very late when Reed got home. Very, very late. Unconscionably late.

  And you were no doubt thinking—oh, shame on you.

  A two-horse coach appeared from the south. Kory said, "Look, there's someone. Maybe they'll give you a ride to the city. I'll walk the 'sailer back."

  "You'll never get it back before night."

  "Then I'll tent the sail over it and sleep inside. I've done that before, hunting dawn spooks. I've got all the stuff for an overnight. "

  "You do, huh? You didn't tell me that."

  "Aw, Reed—"

  "And what about me? What if I don't choose to risk my life with the first stranger to come along the Hrothvek road?"

  "Reed," Kory said desperately, and then she laughed and hugged him. "I'd better, uh, stop that coach. Before they decide we don't want to be rescued."

  "You said it, I didn't," Reed said, and kissed Kory on the nose.

  The coach pulled rather suddenly to a stop. It was painted a dark maroon color, with polished brasswork; well-made and well-kept without being flashy. The driver was a big man in a long coat of blue leather. Kory looked up at him and blinked. The driver's face and hands were a shade of blue only a little paler than his coat. He was bald except for a line of bushy white hair around his temples, like fur trim on a collar. "Good day," he said, in an accent unlike any Kory—who had grown up on Bazaar Street—had ever heard, flat and unmusical.

  The side window opened and another man leaned out. This one looked like a Liavekan, with sun-bleached hair above an ordinarily dark face with bright blue eyes; he wore a black quilted gown with a high wing collar. He was smiling.

  "Are you in need of assistance?" the passenger said, in perfectly proper Liavekan. He looked past Kory to the car on the roadside. "Mechanical difficulties'!"

  "Yes, master. I'll get the car home all right, but my...friend must be back in Liavek before dark. We were wondering if you could—"

  "I'll ride on top of the coach, sir," Reed said, stepping in front of Kory. She looked up at the driver, who had not moved at all. "Or on the back will be fine," she said, in a less certain tone.

  "There's room for both of you inside," the passenger said. "And for your vehicle on top, I should think, if you and Jagg can lift it without doing it any more damage. Jagg?"

  The driver looked over the landsailer and said, "The car folds?"

  "Yes," Kory said, surprised. "I built her jointed, to carry and store."

  "Plenty of room, then," the driver said. He climbed down. Kory glanced at the passenger, who was looking at Reed. There was something Kory didn't like about the way the man looked at her—but he supposed he was just annoyed. If the travelers had anything bad in mind, they were going to a lot of effort for it. Kory went to the landsailer and began pulling the hingepins that held it rigid. It folded up tightly, the side spars bracketing the pedal-drive cables. Jagg began folding the linen sail expertly.

  In very short order Kory and Jagg had the car folded down to a square bundle of spars and a stack of wheels. They began to lift it onto the coach roof, when another hard gust came in off the Saltmarsh. The coach rocked slightly. Kory's grip slipped.

  The bundle did not fall. Kory looked through the coach window. The passenger was smiling at him. A wizard, Kory thought. So what kind of luck has this been? He got the covered bucket with his and Reed's catch and handed it up to Jagg. "Please see that doesn't turn over," he said, and Jagg fastened a strap over it.

  The coach got under way. Kory and Reed sat on red cloth cushions, facing the light-haired wizard. He seemed to be in early middle age, whatever that meant.

  "My name is Ciellon," he said. "My friend is called Jagg."

  "Is he a Farlander?" Reed said.

  "From a far land, yes. And whom have I rescued from the Saltmarsh?"

  "I'm Korik Li. I'm...I trade and transport. People call me Kory."

  "I am Cadie ais Ariom, called Reed. My father is Dyelam ais Ariom, of the Liavek Society of Merchants, and the Levar's Council."

  "Korik Free-Fortune and Ariom's White Heron," Ciellon said. "Kory and Reed. Happy to meet you both." He paused, then said, "Ais Ariom is a Hrothvekan name. But you are both Liavekan?"

  "Kory is," Reed said. "I was born in Hrothvek, but we moved to the great city when I was four. My father's trading business was prospering, and he needed to be near the centers of commerce."

  And society and politics, Kory thought without saying.

  Ciellon nodded. "I know your father's name, though I regret I do not know the man himself. I am Hrothvekan by birth as well, you see, but that was—oh, a long time ago."

  After a brief silence, Reed said, "Have you returned for the celebration, then? The End of Wine?"

  Ciellon said nothing for a moment, as if considering his answer. "Yes. I have come for the End of Wine." He reached inside his black tunic, took out a small silver flask, sipped from it. "Forgive me, an indulgen
ce. I have juice of apples and apricots if you are thirsty, and I think a little cold milk left."

  Reed accepted a glass cup of apple juice. Kory said, "I'm not thirsty, thank you," which was not true.

  Ciellon poured himself a cup of apricot nectar, adding to it a little golden liquid from his flask. "May I ask why you were on the road? Visiting friends in Hrothvek?"

  "We were huntIng marsh crabs," Kory said. 'The small ones, with the red patterning, called clawfires. I...trade in them, with Thomorin Wiln the apothecary."

  Ciellon nodded. '"Is it profitable?" he said, in the tone of any serious business discussion.

  Kory relaxed a little. "Worth one day a week," he said casually. "It really depends on the size of the crabs, you see. Thomorin Wiln uses a small fluid sac from inside the crab, and the rest goes for animal fodder—or to a couple of inns in Old Town, which I can name for you."

  Ciellon laughed. "My arrangements are made, thank you. So the apothecary pays more for big crabs, then?"

  "That's what you'd think," Kory said, pleased with the question, "but it's just the other way around. He wants them tiny. He's said that if I can find one no bigger than my thumb, he'll pay me..." Kory thought, then doubled the figure for effect, "...half a levar."

  "Extraordinary," Ciellon said. "But why is this?"

  "I believe." Kory said. and gave his best guess, "the fluid in the sacs becomes less potent as the crab grows."

  "That is logical," Ciellon said, nodding. "Though it is also a possibility that what the apothecary desires is not the fluid but the sac itself, and the skin of the sac must not be too stretched."

  Kory felt himself blush. Reed grinned. Kory said. "Excuse me. sir. I did not know you were an apothecary."

  "Excuse me for embarrassing you," Ciellon said. "And I am not an apothecary...though I do require the services of one. Do you recommend this Thomorin Wiln?" He added gently, "In your informed opinion."

  "Very highly, sir. He does business on his boat, The Vessel of Dreams, which is anchored at Canalgate. I'd be pleased to introduce you."

  "That would be most satisfactory!" Ciellon said. "It is true what they say, that a kindness is always returned with profit." He pointed out the window. "And look, you can see the city wall already." He took another sip from his silver flask, then put it away. "I am staying at the Sea Eagle; we'll be passing it very shortly. Would you have a cup of tea with me before going on?" Ciellon looked at Reed, and once again Kory found something to dislike in the wizard's expression.