Back | Next
Contents

Chapter Sixteen

icon


Yovila’s Gardens were a maze. Even Fix, prodded to opine on the subject, had no idea who Yovila was, or had been, but her gardens were a tangle of stone walls, benches, and reflecting pools, which together formed a labyrinth. Over the top of the stone maze, and sometimes apparently in utter disregard of it, grew a second tangle of shrubbery, thick trees, vines, raised flower beds, and cane, constituting in itself a second labyrinth. The overlaid labyrinths were puzzling indeed, to first-time visitors like Indrajit, and constituted a large city block in their own right.

The Protagonists stood at the north end of the Petting Zoo, which was slightly higher than the south end, where Kish sloped away toward the Caravanserai, the Necropolis, and the Endless Road. They were looking for mernache trees. The rain was letting up, fading into a soft drizzle, and cold dawn was near.

“I see why this park is favored for assignations,” Indrajit said. “There must be ten thousand hiding places in here, and half of those contain a solid bench or a comfortable bed of grass.”

“My lady Elissa!” Two Zalaptings in an unfamiliar uniform passed, only a few paces into the park. They poked into and parted thickets with long sticks. “Lady Elissa, you’re due at home!”

“Not only romantic assignations,” Larch said.

“What do you mean?” Indrajit asked.

“I’m not sure,” Larch said. “But I know Archegos Major Tunk came here for meetings from time to time.”

“With other diplomats, you mean?” Indrajit asked.

“Meetings at night.”

Indrajit grunted, and then realized what Larch meant. “Secret papers delivered, unrecorded payoffs, rumors bought and sold, that sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing.” Larch shrugged. “I want to be useful.”

“Well, it does paint a picture,” Indrajit agreed.

“There’s only one mernache grove.” Fix pointed.

The mernache was a tree that was very nearly a vine. Its boles were thin, flexible, and gnarled, its bark rough enough to cut skin. Its leaves were dark green and glossy, and stayed through Kish’s cool winter, sheltering clusters of white berries in the spring. Its roots shot out, it was said, for leagues if nothing stopped them, throwing up a new tree trunk every few paces. The trunks of the mernache tangled together, so it could be used alone as a hedge that would stop large creatures, like droggers or ylakka, or with smaller, thornier plants to create a truly impervious wall. Within the grove, myriad small, sheltered corners played hosts to birds, animals, and, in this particular park, lovers.

The park’s mernache grove filled a depression that might once have been a pond, it looked so regularly oval in shape. The mernaches were crowded between taller thamber oaks at one end and a heap of stones containing an artificial grotto at the other. A single path cut through from the oaks to the hill, spreading into a tiny clearing, only a few paces across, in the middle.

“If we’re first, let’s pick our ground,” Indrajit said.

“If I had a dozen men with swords, I’d hide them in the oak trees,” Fix said. “If I had one Kyone with a bow and an uncertain left arm, I’d want him on top of the grotto.”

“My left arm is fine,” Munahim growled.

“And I certainly don’t want ten Sootfaces with crossbows on top of the grotto,” Fix continued, “shooting at me when this discussion breaks down.”

“It won’t break down,” Indrajit said. “They want something. If they just wanted to kill us, they’d have killed us in the sewer.”

He didn’t like saying the word “sewer.” It made him think about the fact that he hadn’t really cleared all the crud from behind his ears and between his toes, and he smelled sour.

“Yes,” Fix agreed. “They want something from us. And since we own nothing, what can that be?”

“They want us to do something,” Munahim said.

“Right. They want us to do something.” Fix nodded. “They have a whole thieves’ guild full of men, and they want us to do some task.”

“They know how good we are,” Indrajit said. “We’re brave, and dashing. We have a poetic sensibility.”

“Not one of the Gray Lords gives a rotten egg for your poetic sensibility,” Fix said. “Not one thief in all the Gray Houses together does.”

“You don’t know that for sure.” Indrajit harrumphed.

“They want something from us that their men can’t do,” Fix said. “We’re going to find out that they want us to betray Orem Thrush. Or kidnap Grit Wopal. Or maybe protect them as they conduct some Paper Sook fraud.”

“And some of those things we could do,” Indrajit said. “Wopal might even help us do some of them. So let’s hear these guys out, get back the Girdle of Life, and get over to the Vin Dalu. We have a day and a half.”

“The Battle of Last Light is tomorrow,” Fix said.

“I haven’t forgotten. We can work around that, if we must.”

Munahim made his way around the mernache to the grotto, taking Larch with him. Larch had no missile weapon, and it wasn’t clear that he would even know how to use one if he had it, but Fix agreed with Indrajit that it was best to keep the archegos minor as far away as possible from any fighting.

Once Munahim was halfway up the slope, he crouched down among the rocks. He laid down his bow, within reach but out of sight, so he could quickly shoot down into the grove, but his own exposure to attack was limited.

Indrajit and Fix walked down the path to the clearing.

A thylacodon chewing on an old boot halfway along the trail grinned and bared its teeth at them, but didn’t bother moving. Kishi fowl chased each other through the ground creepers and yellow grass around the ankles of the mernache, and other things, unseen, rustled where the ground cover was thick.

“We’re going to save her,” Indrajit said.

“Like we saved Thomedes Tunk this morning?” Fix asked.

“No, we’ll succeed this time.”

“Like we succeeded in protecting the opera singer Ilsa Without Peer,” Fix suggested. Ilsa had been in their protection, though she had also been manipulating them, but she had been killed by her criminal coconspirators.

“To be fair,” Indrajit said, “there’s an argument that Ilsa got what she had coming. Ilsa might have been part victim, but she was more than a little bit villain.”

“I’m just saying, let’s not be overconfident. There was that priestess of the Nameless One, too.”

She had been a client. She had been trying to trick them and sacrifice them to her goddess, but she had been forced. And she had died badly, when they’d tried to rescue her.

Indrajit was starting to feel depressed.

“There’s Larch,” he pointed out. “We got him away from the wasp-men.”

“The day is young,” Fix said. “He might still drown, or fall into a hole, or get shot by a crossbow.”

They had been standing in the clearing only for a few seconds when three men came down the opposite path to meet them. Indrajit squinted at the thamber oaks and the mernaches near them, looking for men with crossbows. Or blowguns, now that he was thinking of it. Or even swords. He didn’t see any.

“We know these guys,” Fix murmured.

Yuto Harlee came first, the tavernkeeper doorman of the Sookwalkers. After him came Tully Roberts with his scarf, whom Munahim had released on a rooftop over the Armpit. And finally, Yammilku, the hawk-headed night warden of the Sootfaces.

Indrajit looked around and realized that the clearing was visible from both ends, but was concealed from most of Yovila’s Gardens, and certainly from the buildings around it.

“I guess no introductions are needed,” Fix said, when the thieves arrived. “You know I want that harness. You know I want it immediately. What will it take for you to give it back to me?”

“A couple hours’ work.” Yammilku handed Fix a rolled-up paper.

Fix unrolled it a few fingers to take a look. “I gave this to you last night. You told me where to find the harness.”

He was avoiding saying “the Girdle of Life.” Was he trying not to show how much he wanted it?

“Yes,” Yammilku said. “But Zac Betel doesn’t know that you brought the map back.”

“The men on guard know,” Indrajit said. “The Wixit. The other two fellows, Dag and Hober.”

“You have a good memory,” Yammilku said.

“I’m a poet.” Indrajit shrugged. He was in no mood to explain his theater of memory.

“Those men are loyal,” Yammilku said. “They haven’t said anything about last night and they won’t say anything. You’re going to come back to the smithy with this map.”

“It’s not your map,” Harlee growled.

“We’ll sort that out later,” Yammilku said. “You’re going to come back to the smithy with this map, as Zac Betel asked, so that he will tell you where the harness is.”

“Because Betel has no idea that his own men grabbed the harness from us in the middle of the night.” Fix frowned. “You’re trying to put one over on Betel. What do you want us to do, rob him? Change the deal, and ask for something else, some piece of information you want? What are you playing at?”

Yammilku chuckled. His laughter was a piercing rattle in the back of his throat. “You’re very clever.”

“You want us to kill him.” Indrajit looked at the three men. “A bunch of his men are already loyal to you, and now you want him dead. You want us to kill Betel, so that you can take over the Sootfaces.”

The thought of getting more deeply involved in the strife between the Gray Lords made him uncomfortable. On the other hand, he’d been half expecting that Yammilku would demand the assassination of Orem Thrush, or worse, and part of him now felt relieved.

“What’s the rest of the deal?” Fix asked. “Do you then turn around and help Harlee get rid of Arash Sehama next? Tully, are you planning on killing your brother?”

“See, the problem with cleverness,” Harlee said, “is that too much cleverness is bad for your health. You need to stop asking questions right now.”

Indrajit took a deep breath. “You set us up, Yammilku.”

“There we go again,” Harlee said, “crying about tricks.”

“You can’t blame me for taking advantages of the opportunities that come my way,” the Heru said. “That’s just ordinary prudence.”

“What’s to stop our Kyone sharpshooter from killing you right now?” Fix asked.

“Our six men concealed in the mernache just below his feet,” Harlee said. “He’d shoot one of us, and that would be the last thing he did.”

Indrajit wanted to turn around and look, but managed to control himself. “What’s the plan? Do we attack him, and then you come to our aid? Do you hide weapons for us in his office?”

“His office is the smithy,” Yammilku said. “The plan is you walk up and attack him by surprise.”

“He’ll have men there,” Fix pointed out. “He wasn’t alone.”

“You’ll have surprise on your side,” Yammilku said again. “And your Kyone sharpshooter. Are you telling me that the mighty Protagonists can’t kill one simple Luzzazza?”

“We’ll kill him,” Fix said. “When do you give us the harness?”

“On the spot,” Yammilku said. “It’s already been taken to the smithy.”

That had to be a lie.

Indrajit and Fix looked at each other. Indrajit had half a mind to draw his sword and attack. Maybe they were bluffing about crossbowmen ready to shoot Munahim, and maybe not. Munahim had a great sense of smell and a strong sense of hearing, and if there were men waiting in ambush a few paces from him, he probably knew it. Also, he was a very fast shot.

And two-to-three odds weren’t great, but they weren’t the worst odds the Protagonists had ever overcome.

But the men didn’t have the Girdle of Life with them. If Indrajit and Fix overpowered them here and now, there was no guarantee that the men had the harness within easy reach, or even that they knew where it was.

Indrajit found himself nodding slow acquiescence, and Fix nodded, too.

“As fast as you can walk over there,” the Heru said, “you can get the harness and go do whatever Druvash magic it is you want to work.”

Indrajit and Fix turned and walked back up the path. Indrajit now imagined every rustle among the mernaches to be a concealed Sootface or Sookwalker or Silkstepper marksman. Munahim watched from his perch, and when Indrajit and Fix came close, he climbed down to meet them, bringing Larch with him. Indrajit signaled for silence, not trusting the hedges and walls around them, until they had walked out of Yovila’s Gardens and stood on an adjacent street. Wagons heaped high with dried goods and barrels of alcohol trundled up and down the street past them. Shops were beginning to open, the streets before them to be swept, awnings and carpet unrolled.

“You don’t have the Girdle of Life,” Munahim said.

“They’ve concealed it somewhere,” Indrajit told him. “They’re pretending it’s in Zac Betel’s smithy. They claimed they had six men hidden, waiting to ambush you.”

“They had eight,” Munahim said. “I was prepared to shoot them first, if I had to.”

“I was ready to hit one with a rock.” Larch grinned. His hands shook, but it appeared to be with excitement rather than fear.

“I’ve been thinking about the harness,” Munahim said. “I should be able to follow it.”

“By smell?” Fix asked.

“If you can use the map to find where they docked the flatboat.” Munahim nodded. “Even with the stink. I think the smell of Thomedes Tunk’s blood and the Kattak nymphs will be on the Girdle, and I should be able to track it. Easily. Even in the sewage stink.”

“Although when the rain lets up, some of that stink might be less.” Indrajit shrugged. “The rain should have flushed out some channels.”

Fix’s face was screwed into a thoughtful expression. “We have another problem. And we should begin to make our way back toward the Spill as we discuss it.”

They turned uphill and made their way toward the Crown. The rain had stopped, but the streets of the Lee were pitted enough that they were now stepping around and over large puddles.

Indrajit summarized their conversation with the Gray Lords’ lieutenants. “They say they’ll give us the harness if we kill Betel.”

“So we have to appear to be doing that,” Fix said, “and expeditiously. If we dally, they might move the harness.”

“On the other hand, even if we kill him,” Indrajit said, “there’s no guarantee they’ll keep their promise.”

“They will certainly not keep their promise,” Fix said. “Think about it. Yammilku wants to take over, but there’s no reason to think that all the Sootfaces hate Betel. In fact, that can’t be the case. If they all hated Betel, Yammilku would kill Betel openly and be done with it. So there must be a group, maybe even the majority, that supports the current Gray Lord.”

“So he wants us to do the dirty work,” Indrajit said. “That seems obvious enough.”

“Think it through one step further,” Fix urged him. “Once we three have killed Betel—”

“Four,” Larch said.

Fix looked at Larch in surprise, then nodded. “Once we four have killed Betel, how does Yammilku make sure he has the support of all the Sootfaces, including the ones who were big Betel loyalists?”

“He avenges his old boss’s death,” Indrajit said. “He kills us.”

“Welcome to Kish,” Munahim said.

“So we can’t do that,” Larch said.

“Larch,” Indrajit said.

“Call me Philastes.”

“Philastes,” Indrajit tried again, “I don’t want to seem rushed, but now is a good time to tell us what skills you have. Especially if you have any really useful magical powers. Can you translocate? Appear to be elsewhere than where you are? Launch heat rays from your fists? Kill with a glance?”

“I’m good with bureaucracy,” Philastes said. “And negotiation. And ritual.”

“Okay,” Indrajit said. “Forget I asked.”

“Can you climb?” Munahim asked. “That was on the list, wasn’t it?”

“I’m a pretty good climber,” Philastes said. “The Sultanates are rocky islands. I was a shepherd as a boy, so I can play the flute. I’m good with a sling, and with thrown rocks or javelins. I know herd animals, I can start fires. I speak many languages. Pelthite, of course, Kishi, but also Xiba’alban, Ildarian, and several others.”

“Languages,” Indrajit said. “Hmm.”

They stopped talking briefly as they were ushered through the gate into the Crown.

“We should get you a sling,” Fix said to Philastes. “And we need to at the same time track the harness. Obviously, that’s a task for Munahim.”

“And a task for you,” Indrajit said. “You’re the one who can read the map. At least, more or less.”

“Which means that you and Philastes need to move slowly,” Fix said, “while not appearing to act slowly, pretend to be preparing to attack Zac Betel. Buying as much time as you can, so we can find the harness and then hopefully rejoin you.”

“There’s only so much time I can buy,” Indrajit said. “Eventually, I’m going to have to do something.”

“I agree,” Fix said. “And I don’t know what that something is. But I don’t think it should be attacking Betel.”

“I’ll improvise,” Indrajit said.

“Oh, good,” Fix said, “that always goes well.”

“What if the thieves wonder where Fix and I am?” Munahim asked.

“I’ll tell them you’re getting in position to attack from a distance,” Indrajit said. “They know you’re a sharpshooter.”

Fix took the original map, soiled and blurred but usable, and Indrajit held on to the copy. As they approached the northern wall of the Crown, Fix and Munahim turned down an alley and disappeared.

“I don’t know where to buy a sling,” Philastes confessed. “I always made my own. Can we just get a soft hide and a sharp stone?”

“No time for that,” Indrajit said. They joined the line to pass through the gate into the Spill, and found themselves standing behind a drover with a string of droggers. Indrajit looked and saw that the man, swaddled in silks in the style of Togu or Hith, had a serviceable sling tucked into his belt. “Sir,” he said, “this is an awkward conversation, but we could use a sling, and I see that you have one.”

“Go to hell,” the man said in an accent that came completely out of his nose.

“I’ll give you five Imperials,” Indrajit told him.

“Sold.”

They made the exchange, and Philastes took the weapon.

Indrajit recognized a jobber company called the Veterans working the gate. They shuffled closer. He took a deep breath at the thought that the Handlers weren’t going to spit on him or worse.

“Is it always this exciting, being a jobber?” Philastes asked.

“No, I’d say this day has been more exciting than average.” Indrajit turned his head slightly, looking for pursuit. He didn’t see anyone tailing them, but they must be there.

Or were the thieves taking a shortcut through Underkish? In which case, might they cross paths with Fix and Munahim?

Indrajit ground his teeth.

“This has been a lot more drama than I’m used to.” Philastes smiled gamely. “I mean, I set out to be a minor diplomat. It’s all become much tenser, recently.”

“Well,” Indrajit said, “just you wait.”


Back | Next
Framed