They went down under her weight, a score of them or more, shrieking and chittering in outrage. I leaped onto the bridge Ratsheek's body provided, and my eight feet were wet with her blood as I ran for the bridge of skulls.
Before I slipped into the water, I met the Ratsheek's gaze for a brief moment, touched a bloody forefoot to my snout, and willed my borrowed form to turn bright green.
Let her make of that what she would.
Stars gleamed overhead as I crawled out of the dry streambed that marked the end of the tunnels through the Brazen Peaks. Three days had passed since I abandoned my water wraith form. In another day, I would reach Posdam, where I would instruct a certain moneylender to pay Ratsheek the money I promised her.
I couldn't know if Ratsheek had survived, or if so, whether or not she would try to collect her fee. Having gone back on her word, she probably expected me to do the same.
But to my mind, the hyena-woman had done her part, exactly as I'd expected.
Ratsheek had betrayed me before and I expected her to do so again, and in the most dramatic means available to her. I'd taken note of that altar, that pile of skulls, and expected her to act as she had.
She probably didn't believe me when I said I couldn't change to animal form again that day. I didn't expect her to, not until she saw me keep my half-elf form when the pugwampi swarm attacked. She had no way of knowing that none of the creatures whose form I could take were small enough to squeeze through the passage between the waterfall's pool and the river beyond the pugwampi temple. She took me to the other side, just as I'd asked. So I would pay her agreed-upon wage, just as I'd promised, and I would hope she lived to collect it.
We were neither of us children, but Ratsheek was wrong about two things: First, I am no one's fool. And though I might pretend otherwise, a vow means something to me. When I give my word, I do my best to keep it.
But because I'm no fool, I don't expect anyone else to do the same.
Chapter Four: Gemstones
No river is more aptly named than the Asp. Fed by streams that slither down the north side of the Brazen Peaks, it is slim, twisty, and treacherous. Few boats of any size can venture close to the river's source, so I considered myself fortunate to find passage aboard a northbound palace barge.
Under most circumstances, I would not expect to encounter a royal pleasure boat so far south. But Prince Khemet III had been making his private fleet available to the foreign treasure hunters who flocked to Osirion. The latest band of adventurers had disembarked in the foothills an hour or two past, so my traveling companions were limited to a surly captain, a score of oarsmen, a few armed guards, and the three women who'd come along as entertainment.
I was taking a turn at the oars, not because it was expected of me but to spur rowers accustomed to a leisurely pace. We were nearing the confluence where two rivers, the Asp and the Crook, merged into the great River Sphinx. This was rough terrain, home to creatures I'd rather not encounter.
The scent of jasmine and sandalwood wafted into the shallow, flat-bottomed hold, heralding another creature I preferred to avoid. Suppressing a sigh, I cast a glance toward the stairs.
Lapis, a palace dancer and the apparent leader of the troupe of entertainers, came down the center aisle, jingling musically with each step. My gaze dropped to her feet. They were bare, but for the gold chains linking her toe rings to her ankle bracelets, from which hung several tiny golden bells.
"There you are, Channa Ti!"
Her words were rounded with delight, as if she'd happened upon a child's hiding place, and her painted lips curved in a smile of surpassing beauty. Lapis was all charm and warmth and light, unless you happened to notice the obsidian glint in those kohl-rimmed eyes. After two days in her company, I was starting to miss my last travel companion—Ratsheek, a treacherous hyenafolk bitch who, when we last parted, was trying to sacrifice me on a stone altar. At least hyenafolk don't pretend they're about to do you a favor when they reach for a knife.
The man I'd relieved was tossing dice with two of the guards. Lapis clapped her hands to get their attention, then gestured the oarsman back to his post. He scowled but offered no argument. What could he say? I was a paying passenger, a woman who'd taken it into her head to try her hand at rowing. And judging from the relief on the sweat-streaked faces of the other oarsman, they were not unhappy to see me go.
I yielded my place and followed Lapis up to the deck. We walked to the prow and stood for a few moments in silence, gazing out over the water and the vast tawny landscape that stretched out on either side. After a while she sent me a coy, sidelong glance.
"The oarsmen were hard pressed to keep pace with you. You must be very eager to reach Sothis."
I shrugged.
She waited until it became apparent that no further answer was forthcoming. "There are enough rowers," she said flatly. The tone sounded odd, coming from such sweetly smiling lips. "You don't have to work with the men."
"It passes the time."
"You should stay with the other women. When I couldn't find you, I was worried."
My eyebrows rose. "It is difficult to misplace someone on a pleasure barge."
Lapis's smile went brittle at the edges. "Not so difficult as you might think." She tipped her head toward the block of tiny, curtained chambers near the far end of the barge. "Ankara went to her room to avoid the midday sun, as usual, and I haven't seen her since."
"I can't imagine why you'd bother looking."
The words slipped out before I could consider them. Ankara was as spiteful as a wet cat and she had the light-fingered skill of a veteran pickpocket, but she was a member of Lapis's troupe. Still, I found it difficult to regret words that finally stole the smile from the dancer's face.
Lapis propped her hands on her hips and glared up at me. "Why do you think you're on this barge?"
"I paid for passage?"
Her response was a single derisive sniff. "The Ruby Prince has no need of your coins, nor do I. Think again, nifrani."
The answer was in the insult. Nifrani was the Osirian term for a particular type of bodyguard, trained fighters who served wealthy women and, on occasion, the pretty adolescent sons of high-caste families. The nifrani were eunuchs, drastically gelded not-men who disguised themselves in feminine clothing, the better to protect their charges' lives and virtue. A pretty, perfumed trifle like Lapis would probably consider comparison to a nifrani to be the worst insult one woman might offer another.
I burst out laughing, which only served to annoy Lapis further.
"Oh, I see," she said in a furious whisper. "Because I'm a dancer, because Vantiti plays the flute and Ankara sings and tumbles, you think we have no virtue to protect?"
"Actually, I found the insult amusing. But now that you mention it."
Lapis glanced away to meet the gaze of a passing guard. She returned his leer with a dignified nod and pointedly smoothed the deep blue silk of her gown.
The gesture held more significance than a stranger to Osirion could easily understand. Thanks to Prince Khemet III, the Ruby Prince, it was fashionable to name oneself after colored rocks. The dancer chose the name of a blue gemstone, one strictly reserved for royalty. She further emphasized her hands-off status by wearing lapis-hued gowns. It was a clever ploy, but I could see why she'd want less subtle protection than that afforded her by a gemstone name and bright blue clothing.
"As you can see," Lapis said quietly, "there are men on this barge who think of entertainers as you do. You are as tall as any of them, and you wear your weapons well. They will leave you alone. You will make sure they leave me alone."
I almost had to admire her thinking. "So I paid not for passage, but for the privilege of protecting you?"
Suddenly her charming smile was back, this time spiced with a hint of challenge. "Privilege? That might be putting it
a bit high. But some people might consider this an opportunity, don't you think?"
"Some might," I admitted. "Most men, in fact, and no doubt more than a few women. As for me, I'd sooner befriend a nifrani. He'd be more man than you're ever likely to get, and more woman than you're ever likely to be."
She glared at me for a long moment, then turned away abruptly. "Come with me. If some harm has befallen Ankara, you will make sure I don't suffer the same fate. If we can't find her, we'll have to assume she went over the rail."
"Or we could figure out which men were last seen near her room and persuade them to explain what became of her."
That earned me a quick, sharp glance. "‘Persuade'?"
"Dangling a man over a few hungry crocodiles can be very persuasive."
Her incredulous stare demanded more.
"I am a druid. If need be, I can call crocodiles."
Lapis shook her head, not in denial but astonishment. "Not what I expected of a druid, but it might come to that."
We quickly searched the hold, moved storage bins, looked in every curtained room. There was no trace of the wretched woman anywhere.
"Are her possessions still in her room?" I asked.
Lapis looked startled, then chagrined. "I didn't think to check."
She flipped aside the curtain to one of the chambers. The room held a narrow, pillow-heaped cot and a small sea chest. I knelt beside the chest and flipped open the lid.
Immediately the air took on a charged, brittle energy, like that which precedes a lightning strike. The sensation was familiar; I'd last experienced it when my current employer's "pet" transformed from a miniature blue elephant into a hideous little imp.
In some distant part of my mind I was aware of the neatly folded clothes, the scent of perfumes and ointments. But my hand went unerringly to the source of the disturbance: a thin silver chain, from which hung a single opal, a smooth orb about the size of a very large pearl.
I regarded the pendant for a moment, then raised my other hand to cup the gem. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lapis start to throw out a restraining hand.
Interesting.
"There's more to Lapis than meets the eye."
The opal felt strangely weighty in my palm. I glanced over at Lapis in time to catch the narrow-eyed speculation on her face.
She quickly rearranged her expression into a rueful smile. "You were right. Ankara is gone. She must have slipped ashore with the Vudrani treasure hunters. She took her best things, and probably a few that belonged to other people as well. The pendant is mine."
As she reached to claim it, a shout of alarm went up from the deck. Lapis snatched the gem from me and darted toward the prow. She pushed her way between the captain and one of the guards and leaned over the rail to look, then whirled to gesture frantically for me.
In the river ahead rose several glistening black humps. Seven or eight enormous hippopotami swam steadily toward the barge. They were spaced out so that the barge would have to swerve hard to miss them. The river was shallow here, so whatever direction the captain chose, we would likely run aground.
"Talk to them!" Lapis shrieked, pointing toward the behemoths. "Channa, you must make them
give way!"
My affinity for water creatures extends to the hippopotami, but only faintly. I closed my eyes and reached out to touch the animals' minds, expecting to encounter the familiar vast, dull stubbornness lit by lightning-flashes of temper. What I found instead sent a shock of alarm racing through me.
The captain edged Lapis out of his way and reached for the bell pull to relay an order. I seized his wrist to stop him.
"Keep to the deep water," I urged. "Go right over those things, as fast as the oarsmen can take us."
He jerked his hand away from my grasp. "Are you insane? Hitting just one river horse could sink the barge. The rest would tear my men apart before they could swim ashore."
"Those aren't hippos."
"Of course they're—"
He broke off, squinted at the approaching bloat of hippos. Indecision rippled over his face.
"Channa is a druid," Lapis said. "She'd know. Do as she says, and do it now."
Perhaps the captain had endured too many commands from the dancer to follow one that made good sense. Perhaps he had little regard for the opinions of druids. Whatever the case, he scowled, seized the bell pull, and gave it three hard tugs. In response, the portside oars lifted high and hung there, dripping, while the starboard oars bit deep and hard. Twice, three times they pulled. The barge spun to the right and shot toward the shore. The dull hard scrape of the flat bottom against sand sent us all staggering.
The "hippos" changed course to follow us aground. Rounded black humps flipped aside to reveal small boats filled with armed men. The river pirates splashed into the shallow water and swarmed the barge.
Two of the guards seized bows and started to pick off the attackers. The oarsmen boiled up from the hold, armed with long knives. They met the pirates with ferocity and skill, as one might expect of men entrusted with the prince's safety. What did surprise me, however, was Lapis.
The delicate little dancer howled like an enraged baboon as she ran to meet one of the river pirates. Leaping into the air, she twisted her body so that it was nearly parallel to the deck. Her lower foot slammed into the pirate's shoulder as the heel of her upper foot kicked back, catching his chin and wrenching it hard the other way. The crack of bone was audible even over the noise of battle.
Lapis landed in a crouch and thrust one leg out to sweep the feet from under another pirate. He stumbled and went down on one knee. Before he could regain his balance, I seized a handful of hair, jerked his head back, and cut his throat.
The dancer shouted a warning. I spun, reached up to grasp the wrist of a man who held his knife high for a down-stabbing attack. My own knife angled up between his ribs, hard and deep enough to grate against his spine.
Another pirate charged me, lofting a curved sword and howling promises of vengeance. The man I'd just killed began to slump forward. I tugged at my knife, but it was firmly, fatally stuck.
Up leaped Lapis. She pivoted on one foot and kicked high, pushing the dead man off my knife.
I ducked beneath the first wild sword-swing of my latest attacker and thrust my knife into the soft flesh just under his belt. He bellowed like a gelded bull as I rolled aside, tearing the blade free as I went.
He still might have killed me, if not for the dancer. She kicked over my head—I could feel the swift rush of wind, the brush of golden bells against my headscarf. His blade clattered to the deck, and his hand flopped limply from a new joint between wrist and elbow. Incredibly, the pirate drew a long knife from his belt with his remaining hand and kept coming.
Lapis hooked one bare foot under the sword and flicked it toward me. I caught it by the hilt and brought it up in a sweeping backhand slash that sent the pirate's knife—and the hand holding it—spinning away to splash into the water.
The pirate's fierce gaze held mine as he stumbled back through the pool of his own blood. He stood leaning heavily to one side in a way that made me wonder if he intended to emulate the dancer's foot-fighting. But the mad light of vengeance suddenly left his eyes, and he went down like a felled tree.
By then the battle had wound down to a few small skirmishes and the pragmatic work of dispatching wounded pirates. Several members of the crew were dragging the pirates' bodies ashore to leave them for the jackals. The rest were waist-deep in water, their shoulders braced against the barge's side as they slowly, slowly pushed it back toward the deeper waters.
Lapis had arranged herself prettily on the deck and was making a show of fussing with the bells on her ankle bracelets. Our gazes caught and held.
"Tell me again," I said coldly, "how you need me to protect you from the crew."
The approach to Sothis never failed to impress. Busy marketplaces, miniature cities of brightly colored tents, offered goods from a hundred ports. Beyond the portside markets lush gardens surrounded buildings of white marble. But the greatest marvel was the glistening black dome, the carapace of a long-dead scarab of a size that was almost beyond comprehension. In past centuries, the people of northern Osirion had taken refuge from sand storms beneath that shell. Now it was the centerpiece of the royal city.
I strode along the footpath of the Crimson Canal, a man-made river that brought fresh water into the carapace. Mansions, each with its own small oasis, filled this part of the city. Magical lights glistened everywhere, land-bound stars against an obsidian sky. It was beautiful, I suppose, and certainly luxurious, but to my mind, there were better places to live than inside a dead bug.
Gham Banni, my Pathfinder venture-captain, liked the carapace well enough. I hurried to the library that he called home and found it strangely silent. I'd stayed there often enough throughout my years as a Pathfinder to know that people came and went at all hours. Gham was a noted scholar, famed for his generosity with his time, his knowledge, and his collection of rare books and scrolls.
I banged on the locked door for a long time before a servant came to admit me. One glance at her white-veiled face sent my heart plummeting. In Osirion, white was the color of mourning.
"Gham Banni?"
"It seems I've caught up to Janu after all..."
The woman nodded.
I thrust both hands into my hair, for once not caring that doing so knocked my headscarf aside. Gham Banni had never seemed to notice my elven ears, my strangely mixed heritage.
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