As they looked on, the quadrupedal groundskeeper stood carefully on its hind legs to reach the lower branches of a fruit tree. Resting its forelegs on the trunk, it carefully nipped off several suckers that were sprouting from the otherwise smooth-barked surface. Aberrations located higher up were doubtless the province of some other member of the groundskeeping staff: a giraffe, perhaps.
Its horns were in no way formidable, nor was it an especially robust physical specimen. Certainly the goat was no soldier.
“Let’s take him.” Heke started forward.
Naike put out a short, furry arm to restrain him. “Patience, good Heke. There are weeds over here as well. He will come closer. Better for us, if there are others nearby.”
Jon-Tom admired the ungulate’s skill with his teeth. “He’s very good. I’d hire him myself. See? He keeps the cube grass at precisely the same height all the way around, regardless of whether it’s growing on flat or sloping ground.”
“That’s it!” barked Mudge suddenly.
Naike turned to stare at him. “What’s it?” But the otter had evaporated into the swamp.
Moments later he returned with a long, feathery branch tucked under one arm.
“What are you going to do with that?” Pauko looked bemused.
Mudge rolled his eyes heavenward. “Preserve me from the artless.” He stepped forward. “Shut your cake-’oles and get ready.”
Everyone tensed as the otter carefully eased the branch forward until it was sticking an entire body length beyond the otherwise neatly trimmed wall of greenery.
It was a while before the incongruous protrusion caught the attention of the busy gardener. First one eye, then the other inspected the innocuous frond, as if wondering how it could have been overlooked for so long. Then he started toward it.
“Wait till ’e starts nibblin’,” Mudge whispered tersely. “Then take ’im!” With quick little nods the mongooses silently dispersed. So did Jon-Tom, more slowly, as befitted his simian bulk.
Ever cautious, the gardener approached the fringes of the swamp’s wild and undisciplined vegetation. A glance to the right and then to the left apparently satisfied him, whereupon he proceeded to take a sharp nip out of the base of the jutting stalk. Two or three such nips would be enough to bring the offending growth down.
It was interesting, he mused as he worked, how nearly several buds at the base of the branch resembled fingers.
He never had a chance to take the second nip. The quartet of mongooses pounced, allowing the shocked gardener time enough to utter no more than half a bleat before he found himself rolled up in several musky blankets. A strong cord quickly secured his jaws, preventing any further outbursts. Whisked into the depths of the swamp, the unfortunate ungulate could only gape in terror at his abductors.
“Are we being followed?” A worried Naike carried his portion of kidnapped goat by its left foreleg.
Looking back the way they’d come, Jon-Tom could make out only mist, gray-green verdure, and irritated insects.
“Let’s get ’im to a place where ’e can safely scream ’is tail off.” Mudge was breaking trail for the others.
Only when they were deep within the pathless morass did they undo the gardener’s gag, leaving all four legs bound. His handsome cloak was now stained with moss and muck. As a helpful Jon-Tom reached to straighten the covering, its owner winced.
“Just try to relax. We don’t want to hurt you.”
“Which ain’t to say that we won’t,” Mudge added sunnily.
“Please to explain yourselves,” the goat moaned softly. “Please to tell this simple servant what you want of him.” He focused on Jon-Tom. “What a very large human you are.”
“Never mind that.” The spellsinger tried to put a little steel into his tone without sounding overly intimidating. “We’re not here to discuss me. You serve the warlord called Manzai?”
“Warlord?” The goat blinked. “Manzai? My master is but a simple country squire. Raising exotic fruits and vegetables is his passion. That and cataloging his many collections. Do not take it as an offense when I say to you that you have the wrong person.” Almost apologetically he added, “Please to know me as Prought. May I know your honored names?”
“No!” declared Naike firmly.
“I thought as much. Please, sirs, if you will not untie me, at least lean me up against a tree or something. It is painful to raise my head from this position.”
The Lieutenant considered the request briefly, seeking subterfuge and finding none. He nodded to his troops. Heke and Pauko wrestled the goat upright and left him propped against a nearby stump. His tail switched nervously back and forth.
“Please again to tell me what you wish from me, honored sirs.”
“Polite little bugger, ain’t ’e?” Mudge murmured. Then, more loudly, “We need some information, beet-browser.”
For a second time the gardener appeared thoroughly baffled. “Information? Well, soon it will be the time to prepare the grounds for the summer fertilizing and weeding. I can also speak to—” Sudden realization struck home.
“Ah, now all is clear. You are brigands, come to rob or murder my master. Or assassins, hired by some misguided foe. The best advice I can give is for you to turn back the way you have come and depart with your skins intact. You will never reach the master’s private chambers, for he is watched over constantly by devoted servitors and protectors.”
“We ain’t interested in disturbin’ ’is beauty sleep,” Mudge snapped.
“Your beloved master,” Naike explained, “has stolen away our Princess, whom we are bound to return to her kingdom and family, or perish in the attempt.”
The gardener pondered this solemn pronouncement before replying, quite unexpectedly, “Which princess?”
The four soldiers exchanged a glance. Jon-Tom and Mudge were no less bewildered.
Finally Pauko asked, “What do you mean, which princess?”
“Please to understand, honored sirs, that I pride myself in the precision of my speech. I mean just what I have said. Which princess?” He was straining to see behind Jon-Tom. “What an interesting instrument you have there. I play a little myself. Music is a refined pursuit which I find difficult to tally with your intentions.”
“Never mind that.” Naike jabbed at the goat throat with the tip of his sword. “Explain yourself!”
His left eye fixed on the blade, the trembling gardener tried to draw his head back into his neck. “Please to explain why, since you are going to kill me anyway, I should tell you anything?”
The sharp point dipped slightly, as did Naike’s voice. “We’ve no interest in killing you or anyone else. We just want our Princess back.”
“He will not give her up,” the gardener told them. “He won’t give up any of them.”
“What you’re telling us is that Manzai holds more than one princess captive,” Jon-Tom stated flatly.
The goat blinked. “Why, certainly. Understand that while the fine details of my master’s hobbies do not fall within my humble province, I am still conversant with most household matters.”
“Hobbies,” muttered Pauko.
“What does Manzai want with a ‘collection’ of princesses?” Naike inquired. Behind him Mudge let out a hoot of disbelief. He was ignored.
“Did I not mention that my master was an avid collector of many things? Some folk collect rare books or coinage, still others exotic shells. A few find contentment in the propagation of rare and beautiful flowers. In a sense Master Manzai may be counted among the latter.” The gardener became thoughtful. “An expensive hobby, but, I am told, a satisfying one.”
“Why you … !” Karaukul raised his sword.
The goat shrank back and closed his eyes. “Please to vent your anger on the source of your discontent and not on the mere dispenser of disconcerting tidings!”
“An exclusive pastime,” declared Jon-Tom. “In fact, I really can’t think of anyone else who collects princesses.”
“We are
only interested in one.” The Lieutenant turned his attention back to the shivering goat. “You’re very deferential. It’s my experience that deferential, obsequious types generally know more than they volunteer. Now, among his ‘collection’ does your master count one of our tribe?”
“Ah, yes,” the gardener answered readily. “A beauty of your kind who is known by the name Aleakuna.”
“Aleaukauna,” Naike corrected him. “Youngest daughter of our liege.” Eyes flashing, he leaned forward. “In what part of the compound is she held?”
“I am not certain.”
“Think hard.” The Lieutenant prodded with the sword.
“A moment, please, to recall. My master treats his rarities with concern and even reverence. Each princess has her own quarters, with her own staff of servants. He is not an uncultured host.”
“Oi, ’e’s a real paragon, ’e is,” Mudge snarled. “Quit stallin’.”
“The Home has many turnings,” the gardener insisted. “As it would please me to preserve my head, I am trying to remember exactly. It is a simple matter to enter, but most difficult to exit.”
“We’ll be the judges of that,” Naike told him. “You just give us directions.”
The goat nodded. “The large white building that lies immediately in front of the place where we encountered one another has a porch attached to its northern side. If you are successful in entering through that door, you will find yourselves facing a long hallway. It leads to another, larger structure with many rooms.”
Mudge was nodding to himself. “Easier to guard a narrow corridor than ’alf a swamp.”
“At the far end of this hallway there is a branching. Turn north once again and find a second corridor. This leads to a common dining area, which you must traverse. Beyond and to the south lies a gracious living area. Fortunately for you, the ones nearest the dining area serve as the present quarters of your princess.”
“Is she in good health?” asked Heke anxiously.
“As I told you, my master takes only the best of care of his collection. With assurance I tell you that she is no doubt as healthy as she has ever been.”
“Though not as happy, I’d wager,” muttered Karaukul.
The goat shrugged. “Such matters are not for lowly ones like myself to speculate upon. I am only a humble trimmer of roses and digester of weeds.” He looked up and idly rubbed a horn against the tree trunk. “If I have satisfied your curiosity, I would very much like to know what you intend to do with me, so that in any event I might have time to compose myself.”
“Not a problem.” Mudge fingered his short sword and eyed the goat’s throat.
Naike stepped forward. “The prisoner has complied fully and willingly with our requests. A sense of honor demands that we spare his life.”
“A sense o’ ’onor’ll get you killed every time,” Mudge grumbled. “You want to untie ’im and let ’im get back to his grass grubbin’? O’ course, ’e wouldn’t ’appen to let it slip to a fellow garden type that the six o’ us are caucusin’ out ’ere, about to open up that complex like an echidna atop a rotten log?”
“Certainly we cannot do that.” The Lieutenant considered the gardener. “In that respect we have a problem.”
“Please to solve it in a fashion amenable to all?” offered the goat hopefully.
“Let me handle this.” Unlimbering his duar, Jon-Tom stepped forward. Muttering under his breath, Mudge sidled out of the way. So did the goat, as much as he could with the tree behind him. The ominous shadow of the tall human blocked out the sun.
“The rest of you, plug your ears as thoroughly as you can.”
“What for?” wondered Karaukul.
“You don’t want to know, guv.” Mudge was already hunting for suitable clumps of muffling moss. “I’d give ’im some space, too, if I were you.”
For once the result was exactly as Jon-Tom intended. But then, between caring for Buncan and helping to raise Nocter and Squill, he’d had years in which to practice lullabies. He’d simply never had to spellsing one before.
He was half asleep himself when the goat finally keeled over.
“Gnnnncchh … baaa … gnnnchph … baaa …” The gardener snored softly to himself.
“That’s that.” Pleased with his effort, the spellsinger shook himself. Maybe he hadn’t toppled any towering ramparts or outblazed an attacking dragon, but as Clothahump often said, any spell you could walk away from was a good one.
“Wot’s that you say, mate?” Mudge leaned forward, straining to understand.
Jon-Tom impatiently plucked the packed moss from his friend’s right ear. “I said, that’s done. Taken care of.” He nodded in the direction of their prisoner. The gardener lay on his right side by the base of the tree, wheezing contentedly. “I used a pretty heavy lullaby. He’ll snooze for at least a day, probably two.”
Obviously impressed, Naike stared at the goat. “You are a spellsinger true.”
Jon-Tom shrugged modestly. “Listen, if you can get a pair of juvenile otters to go to sleep, you can put anything under.”
“Actually, methinks it triggers the body’s own defense mechanisms,” Mudge hypothesized. “See, the best way to shut out me mate’s caterwaulin’ is to fall straightaway asleep.”
“Thank you for that unsolicited encomium,” Jon-Tom said dryly.
The otter grinned. “Don’t mention it, mate.”
“I try not to.”
“We will wait until dark,” Naike decided.
“Obviously.” Mudge grew serious as he moved closer to Jon-Tom. “D’you think the grass-chomper was settin’ us up, mate? Maybe ’e’s gone an’ given us directions to the ’ouse’old barracks instead o’ the lady’s quarters.”
The spellsinger reflected. “I don’t think so. Surely he realizes that any survivors would make it a point to come back here straightaway and slit his throat. His manner was subtle, not not duplicitous. I think he was too scared to think that far ahead.”
Mudge nodded somberly. “’Tis ’ard to be clever with a sword at your throat.”
“We’ll go carefully in any case.” Naike turned to his troops.
“Righty-ho. Let’s ’ave at the blighters, then.” To everyone’s surprise, it was Mudge who headed off first back the way they’d come.
Chapter 8
THEY WERE GRATEFUL FOR the absence of much moon as they crept noiselessly across the grass and up onto the deserted porch. The highly polished wood was slick beneath feet and paws, and the simple door latch yielded silently to Mudge’s experienced ministrations.
“This is too easy,” Jon-Tom whispered as they tiptoed down the first hallway.
“Sometimes you think too much, mate.” The otter trotted along at his left elbow. “Maybe this ’ere Manzai is convinced ’is reputation an’ isolation give ’im security enough. ’E’d ’ear about any advancin’ army in plenty o’ time to prepare, an’ small groups o’ crazies like ourselves probably don’t worry ’im none.”
Thrown in with mongoose and otter, Jon-Tom felt as ungainly as a drunken elephant. Every squeak, every groan the floorboards made seemed to issue from under his feet.
“This way.” Naike gestured for the others to follow his lead.
They soon found themselves in the common dining area the gardener had described. Paintings and drawings of surprising taste and sophistication lined the pastel walls. Entranced by an especially delicate watercolor showing a marshy landscape at dawn, Jon-Tom had to be nudged along by Mudge.
“For a kidnapping thug,” Jon-Tom whispered as they entered the next corridor, “this Manzai has elevated taste.”
“’E’s likely to elevate our gonads if you wake ’im up with your babblin’,” Mudge reproached his companion.
As if to emphasize the warning, a heavy thud followed by a grunt came from the distant, dark end of the corridor. Something vast rose to block their path. It accomplished this through the simple means of occupying the entire hallway with its bulk.
At
first Jon-Tom feared they had triggered some kind of automatic gate or portcullis. He was rapidly disabused of this notion when the outline took a step toward them. The hallway floor trembled slightly under its weight.
As starlight silhouetted the shape in silver, he saw that the metaphor he’d used earlier to describe his own progress had been inept. Or rather, inapt. Whatever else it might be, the elephant lurching toward them was not ungainly.
Caught napping at the far end of the corridor, it had taken a moment to rise to all fours. Impressive tusks had been filed down to sharp points tipped with steel. Custom-fitted leather chain mail protected skull and torso, while heavier leather leggings covered the pillarlike legs. Eyes sparkled while the sensitive trunk probed the air in the passageway.
“I don’t recognize your shape or smell,” it rumbled dangerously. “Intruders?”
“Watch out!” Heke blurted thoughtlessly. “He’ll sound the alarm!”
The elephant generated a robust chuckle. “Why would I want to do that? If I give an alarm then I have to share you with others, when I’d much rather stomp you all flat by myself.”
Only one guard to bypass. Of course, if that guard was a homicidal pachyderm, Jon-Tom realized, you might only need one.
“Back!” Naike yelled. He held his sword out in front of him, looking for a way past even as he retreated. There wasn’t one. The elephant occupied the corridor completely, its hair brushing the walls on both sides.
Reaching out with the tip of its trunk, the guard tripped a hidden lever. The imagined concealed door Jon-Tom had been worrying about all along finally made its debut, sliding down lubricated rollers to slam firmly shut… behind them.
When the gardener had spoken of the complex being easy to enter but difficult to escape, he had not been waxing philosophical. Now the reason for the compound’s design became clear. Each of the corridors which connected the principal structures to one another was also a potential trap for the unwary, a restrictive and easily manipulated tunnel in which intruders could be isolated, trapped, and summarily dealt with without exposing the household staff or the elegant furnishings to any danger.
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