by Doris Egan
"Cormallon's not working for Lord Porath anymore. And anyway—there wasn't time. Nobody even knew where Moros lived till yesterday. He kept a closed hatch, that one—didn't matter how drunk he was, never a word of personal information."
"You should've tried harder to find out. Your little girl was right, Loden, you can't just leave stuff with your name on it lying around."
"Don't lecture me. If I wanted to be lectured, I'd still be living at home. And what could I have done about it, anyway? Nobody knew where he lived!"
"Somebody knew."
"Nobody in the halls of fortune. Minister Tar'krim tracked down a whore he brought out here once, otherwise nobody would still know."
"Huh," said Trey, in a cynical tone of voice. "If nobody's investigating, how come Stereth Tar'krim bothered to track down the whore?"
Silence. Finally Loden said, "I'm not responsible for—"
"I know. You're not responsible for anything.'"
"That's not fair! Nobody understands what I've been going through. Especially the last few days. The agency throws me out, I have to live in a kanz mail chute, for the love of—and what about the Courts of Heaven, huh? Two high-tones try to kill me with a hotpencil during a tithball duel! I practically died of shock on the spot. Nobody warned me that was going to happen!"
"Made your reaction all the more believable, didn't it?" said Trey, with cold humor.
"I don't need that kind of help," said Loden firmly. A second later he added, "Though the barbarian feather did seem more sympathetic, afterward."
Feather is not a term you hear much in the circles Ran moves in. It means female—in usage, generally a female of childbearing years. I'm not going to tell you the derivation. If you're ever on Ivory, don't use it.
"There you are," said Trey. "Be glad you've got Velvet-Eyes and me to look after you." He was crumpling papers as he spoke. "Kanz! They're not in the desk, Loden, face it."
"So what do we do?"
"Hope you're right. Hope they're here someplace. Because if they are, they'll go up when we set fire to the hut."
What?
Trey said, "Get the cans. I set them down outside."
Wait a damned minute here—
Loden's boots went out, returned, and there was a sound of something heavy and metal being set on the floor. Somebody unstoppered a can, maybe Trey, for he began gossiping as he worked. "So tell me," splash, "did you spend all your time in the mail chute?" Splash. "Or is it true what they say about barbarian women?" Splash, splat. "Ugly to look at, but wild animals on the mattress?" A chemical smell filled the room.
"I don't kiss and tell," said Loden.
"The hell you don't." A can was set back on the floor, now with an empty, hollow ring. "Your pants have seen more activity than an Imperial legion in the field."
Loden chuckled. Trey said thoughtfully, "Speaking of mattresses—"
"What?"
"That one up by the ceiling."
I froze, completely, as though that would somehow take the idea out of Trey's mind.
"What of it?" asked Loden.
"Well, we haven't looked there. Maybe Moros liked to take out his tickets in bed and gloat over 'em."
"Who cares? We're going to burn the whole place down, anyway."
"Loden. My boy. We want to know we burnt them, don't we? We don't want to worry about them for the rest of our lives?"
"Nobody cares about Kade anymore. By next spring they'll have forgotten he ever existed."
"Loden, people hang themselves on loose ends. Take the pulley."
With a rusty, squealing sound, the bed began to lower. I turned onto my right side and elbow and brought my left knee up. I got lower; the shelves of bottles came into view. I took my left foot off the mattress and brought my leg back. They would both be standing next to the pulley, on my left. I pivoted in the bed, hoping that the swinging my movement caused would be seen as a natural consequence of hauling the thing down.
I'd been taught a few tricks once by a dirty fighter, an ex-member of the Imperial Guard. I hadn't practiced them in a long time, not having any heavily padded partners on hand to try to maim and kill—the circumstances under which I'd been taught had been unusual. But when your options dwindle down to a precious few…
Surprise, I could hear my old instructor say. Surprise is your friend. Most fights are over in three seconds, if you're going to win them at all. And she'd had us count the seconds to prove that it was true.
Trey and Loden were trained guardsmen with weapons. They knew what to do better than I did. But they weren't expecting Loden's barbarian feather on the pallet, and they wouldn't expect her to do much beyond cower. Time was on my side; it was the only blessed thing that was.
A hand on a rope was visible. In a second, there would be a head—
Trey's head. I kicked out my left foot with all my might, imagining there was a melon behind Trey's skull that I needed to burst. I could feel the heel of my sandal penetrate the softness of his face. He stumbled backward, without even time to look shocked.
But the swinging bed hadn't provided enough purchase. I jumped off it, ran up to Trey, as close against him as though we were lovers, pulled down the bloody face he was grasping between his two hands, and smashed his forehead against my knee.
He sank to the floor. I kicked his head one more time, being cautious. Probably about two seconds had passed. Loden was standing near the pulley, having taken a couple of steps back, looking horrified and at a loss. There was no belt holster; he wasn't armed, at least not with a pistol— maybe he'd had to turn it in when the Mercians put him on probation.
I looked down at Trey, ready to grab his pistol and point it at Loden. No holster here, either? What was wrong with the world when security guards went around unarmed? Didn't they let them out with the ordnance when they were off-duty?
Kanz. This left hand-to-hand, and the element of surprise was draining rapidly from the situation. I might be able to beat Loden on an IQ test, but he was a good twelve centimeters taller than I was, not to mention stronger and in better condition. Did I leave out better trained?
Quickly, Theodora. Do it now, before he has time to assess the situation. He's still of balance. I launched myself at him.
He backed away, arms out, not letting me close with him. "Theo," he-said, "wait a minute."
Don't let them start a conversation, I could hear my instructor say. Nothing they say is of any interest to you.
He moved farther away, behind the stove. "Relax, dammit, will you? Look, I'm unarmed."
By now he should be willing enough to fight; he'd had time to get himself together and realize he could beat me to a pulp. The fact that he wasn't doing it lent him some credibility.
I was starting to shake. Oh, kanz, if I'd missiled right into him, I could've finished before the aftershock hit.
His gaze went to Trey on the floor. "Theo," he said, "we're here for good reason." He locked eyes with me and wiped sweat from his brow. "Could you just, please, give me a minute to tell you about it?"
"What? What is it?" My voice came out on the thin edge of endurance.
He was being awfully polite to somebody who wasn't a threat. Maybe he had a problem psychologically with doing the killing himself. Morally slippery, Loden. The responsibility drops onto the person who arranges it, not just the person who carries it out. Not a boy who thinks things through, are you?
"Well?" I said again.
"I was going to talk to you about this tonight… you have to believe me." He pulled a silk kerchief from a pocket and wiped his neck. I could smell his cheap perfume from here, even over the chemical scent from the spilled cans; a musky, repellent thing that reminded me of nothing so much as wet dog. The parcel receipt had reeked of it when we'd opened it up. The two smells twined together nauseously.
The possibility existed that I might faint. I put one hand on the edge of the stove and let as much weight onto that as I could without seeming obvious. "So talk."
"Look,
uh, Theo, you've been really nice to me, and I appreciate it. My family's a thousand kilometers away. I didn't have anybody but Trey I could turn to."
Probably so. And bad sense in gambling and bad taste in perfume don't make you a murderer. Now let's see you explain the IOUs. I shifted a few steps back; he was still between me and the door.
"I owed money to half the halls on Red Tah Street. I just wanted to get them off my back, you know? So I put all my debts together with Kade." And used the new cash flow to hit more parlors, instead of paying his back debts. I was beginning to grasp the picture. "Don't tell me you've never done anything crazy in your life. Never took any risks? Never threw any dice?"
Shook off two planets and married into alien thinking, magic, and unreason. Apparently I didn't waste my time gambling with small painted counters.
"Come on, Theo. Cut me a little slack."
"What about Kade?"
"I told you, I didn't do anything to Kade. I'm not a sorcerer, I'm just an agency hire-out. Besides," he stepped closer, gesturing, "don't tell me you care kanz about him."
I didn't, to be perfectly honest, as a good Athenan should be. But that wasn't the point.
He said, "Be reasonable. I'm just trying to get along. How great can my life be, sweetheart? I'm living in a mail box." I didn't need to be called "sweetheart" by Loden Broca. He was standing right next to me by then, his blue kerchief spilling out of his outer robe pocket. He put one hand against the wall behind me. "Am I asking so much?" His voice had gotten low and throaty.
Had Ivoran-style culture shock finally reached some cumulative level where I'd lost my senses, or was Loden making a play right here in Moros's hut, with his friend Trey sprawled on the floor? He leaned over and kissed my cheek, gently. "I'm just asking," he said, moving down toward my mouth, "for some understanding." Then he pulled back an inch and scanned my face.
I must say, I was utterly absorbed in morbid fascination. Never had I seen such unjustified nerve and ego married to such folly. It must be terrible to depend on glamour and have none. The situation was repulsive, yet riveting in a sick way. It seemed distant from my own life, like a scene from a melodrama, with the stage in lights and me way back in the tenth row caught up in watching somebody else's reality. I had a sudden suicidal urge to go along with him, just to see what he'd do next, and had to stop myself from returning the embrace.
But common sense broke into my wonderment, in the form of a voice, or rather the memory of a voice.
My old combat instructor: He's standing right next to you.
So he was. Wide open.
Well? You know what to do.
Regretfully, I did. At this point I was beginning to consider Loden as a minor child, in need of guardianship, or possibly institutionalization. But I knew what my instructor would expect me to do. And Ran. And Kylla. And every other non-Athenan soul on this planet.
I put my arms around his neck to position them better. He bent down again.
I brought up my knee sharply. As he doubled over he came out with an odd sound, something like a ground-hermit whose neck has just been twisted for the pot. I took hold of his head, shoved it farther, and brought up my other knee to meet it.
He fell to the floor. His eyes were closed, but I heard a low, involuntary moan. He didn't move.
Give him a icicle to make sure he's out, said my instructor's voice.
Come on—he's not armed. And he's in no shape to come after me without weapons.
It's proper procedure.
But he's an idiot. Can't I just let him go?
No answer from my internalized coach. I walked the other way around the stove, opened the door, and left.
I should have enough adrenaline to make it back to the city, I thought, climbing up the slippery bank. But I'd probably be out of commission for the rest of today and tomor-
row. I passed the stack of broken tah tables, lying in muddy splendor, the green-lacquered sides cracked. They looked rather pathetic. Once somebody had placed them proudly in their house. Oh, well, we'd all die eventually, just like the flotsam here.
—Oh, for heaven's sake, Theodora. Go home and pour yourself out a bottle of Ducort—one bowl will put you out, the way you are now. Ran will be there, and tomorrow you'll be all right.
Good idea. I climbed past them. Something seemed to glitter past the edges of my sight, some trick of sunlight; I turned and looked behind me.
Loden was standing in the doorway with a pistol in his hand. The charge must have gone over my head.
How in the name of the gods did he get that? I dived behind the broken wagonseat. He hadn't been wearing a holster. Trey hadn't been wearing a holster. Why would either of them tuck a pistol away anywhere else? The wagonseat wasn't going to make it as protection, I thought.
Loden started up the hill, awkwardly, one hand going to his head. I crawled through the mud behind the wagonseat and into a pile of old boxes. I didn't know what was in them, but they stank.
This was terrible. I was going to be killed by somebody I didn't even respect.
And it wasn't right, either! I pulled myself under an overturned carton. Not that I expected fairness from the universe, but this was like one of those tile-machine games that nearly laid itself out perfectly for you, then missed by a single tile. Theodora the barbarian had just taken out two fully grown security guards. Two! Trained. And after that… shot in the mud by a libidinous, egotistical fool without sense to come in out of the rain.
Loden reached the wagonseat. I don't know why it bothered me to be killed by Loden, particularly, but it did. It's not that I looked forward to being taken out by an honorable and intelligent enemy; I looked forward to dying in bed. Or better yet, not dying at all. But this was just so, well, lacking in dignity.
Told you to give 'im the extra kick.
Oh, shut up. I burrowed beneath the pile. Kanz, I couldn't see Loden from where I was any more. Risking death seemed preferable to suspense. I came out on the other side of the cartons and raised my head—very, very slightly.
The wagonseat had been cut cleanly in two, on the diagonal. The ground behind it was dry, no longer muddy. Loden was nowhere to be seen.
There was a wardrobe with a door missing standing farther up the bank, tall enough to hide a man. Unless Loden had chosen to crawl behind one of the piles of junk… but his present headache would probably make crawling unattractive. Still, he was so clearly enraged with me that he was working hard to scare me to death otherwise he would just step out again openly with the pistol.
I did have a knife, but it can be more dangerous to pull that out in a fight than not. Knives can be taken away from little female barbarians and then their throats can be cut with them, which is a poor use of irony in one's life. But he was far enough from me now that I could throw it… though not as fast as he could use a pistol.
Kanz. Ran was never even going to know exactly what happened.
I am not a person of action! I thought desperately. I'm just a scholar! I collect things, I write things down…
Movement on the periphery of my right eye. I whipped my head around. Far down the bank, on the path beside the water, two figures… A red and white robe I recognized. A walk, a gesture, in the person beside him. Ran and Stereth. What were they doing here together? Who cared? I smothered a dangerous impulse to jump up and wave my arms.
They were still a good distance away. If Loden saw them, he'd shoot me quickly, pick them off, and get out of here. No. Keep him occupied, don't let him know the game has a time limit. Go on, Loden, torture me some more. Toy with me, scare me, remind me that you've got the pistol and I don't.
I crawled around the cartons and behind a table. If Loden saw any movement, it would take his eyes farther from the path below. Was that the edge of a sleeve hind the wardrobe?
"Lady Theodora!" His voice came over the empty air, the open silence around us, and the faint sound of the river.
If I answered, he'd know for certain where I was, if he didn't know alr
eady. "Why are you doing this?"
Why am I crawling through the mud and stink? If you'd seen the look on your face, you wouldn't have asked.
"Come on out and talk to me, like a normal person," he called.
I'm sorry I can't reproduce his tone of voice here. What it was saying was: Come out so I can shoot you and get on with my life. I don't know if he had any idea how transparent he was.
I glanced down the bank: Still too far away. Shame to die now, with possibility so close, but that's the way some of those tile-games end—when you're one tile down, you lose the whole pot. I turned back. Loden had emerged from behind the wardrobe. "You know, I really have nothing against you personally," he assured me, walking forward, toward my hiding place. "I was angry at you a few minutes ago, but I realize you were scared." His voice sounded more sincere now. Possibly he meant it as an apology for shooting me.
"Trey's not dead," he added. Why he wanted to share this with me, I don't know. I let myself roll down the slope toward the garbage sacks just below.
My roll stopped and my face bumped into something hard sticking out of one of the garbage sacks. A chair leg. Hardly any chairs on the entire planet, and I bump into one while escaping a lunatic. My nose started to bleed enthusiastically.
The sack in front of me parted, cut neatly in half, the surfaces of the cut smoking faintly. Loden's voice, pleased, said, "You left a trail when you slipped down there, Theo."
So much for hiding. I jumped to my feet. He blinked, startled, at my sudden appearance. I turned quickly to check for my potential rescuers, and Loden's glance followed mine. My beloved husband and the Minister for Provincial Affairs were well within sight; Loden goggled. As I recalled from the hut, he did not react well to surprise.
But he pulled himself together. He turned to me, raising the pistol. I faced the lower bank, took in the biggest lungful of air I'd ever taken, and yelled, "STERETH!"
The two figures on the path turned. Loden's arm pointed straight at my face. Ran's pistolcut hit his shoulder—a full second after Stereth's cut cleaved his skull in half.
Feeling too shaky to stay on my feet, I sat down in the mud in my party robes and waited for them to climb the hill. Ran reached me first.