Well Met in Molos

by J. Hepburn

  Zerris restrains a shiver.

  "Comrades," he says, dully. "Comrades?"

  "A token of our sincerity at least, then. I am offering an apology, Zerris, please accept it."

  Zerris stares at him, trying to find any reason to reject the offer, but cannot find any trace of dishonesty in Kalle's manner. He is also absolutely sure that Kalle will refuse to discuss anything else until this is resolved.

  Zerris accepts Kalle's embrace mechanically. Once inside Kalle's arms, he feels far too great a desire to remain there. The physical contact, and the intimacy of feeling Kalle's arms around him and body against his, recall the flush of heat Orianna felt when Kalle touched her, and the attraction Tiglis had felt in the market. He almost recoils as he remembers the danger of such attraction, and curses himself for feeling anything at all in this moment.

  A great effort of will lets him step back at the right time, at the right pace, with hands briefly clasping each other's upper arms in the manner often seen among wetland travellers.

  "There!" Kalle beams. "Now, to business. You were unable to meet with Orianna?"

  Zerris shakes his head sharply to clear it, and stiffens his resolve. Kalle's question inspires him. "Unable to meet, and even passing messages was impossible under these conditions. I cannot afford to attract Melech's attention anywhere near her. I believe I could convince her to meet with you without threatening violence, but arranging such would require time we may not have. However, you still have something that rightfully belongs to her, so, given our present predicament—"

  Kalle sighs wearily. "I am afraid that will not do. I care little for the key, and much for my honour. Unless you are so protective—"

  "I know nobody who cannot protect themselves," Zerris interrupts, raging inside.

  "Yes, so I imagine," Kalle murmurs. "Orianna nearly got the draw on me, and I saw how Tiglis had disposed of those drunken louts, although I would dearly have liked to see her do so, had I only arrived more quickly."

  "Then you have my thanks for rushing to her aid anyway," Zerris says shortly. "That is your final word? You will truly only return it to Orianna?"

  "Truly," Kalle says, a glint in his eye telling of danger to anyone who continues to press him on this matter.

  Zerris scowls.

  "Please," Kalle says. "I cannot afford the time to tarry any longer, and you surely have better things to be doing than prevaricating with me. I assure you, my intentions are purely honourable. I want to apologise for interrupting her. So—a meeting will be possible?"

  "You are as persistent as a Demon," Zerris growls.

  "Yes, I am," Kalle cheerfully agrees.

  The thought dawns upon Zerris that Kalle could be pursuing this merely to goad him, and that there is nothing he will be able to do about it because Kalle has the upper hand. He groans inwardly.

  "I am not, I assure you, trying my hand with both your associates at once," Kalle says.

  Zerris suppresses a hollow laugh, knowing it comes from his sense of irony. He mentally squares his shoulders. It is time to bluff.

  "Very well. She is not familiar with Molos; she came here for one purpose, and learned only what we knew she would need. I dare not offer to escort her, for Melech's men will be watching me as well as hunting for you. I have no desire to draw her to their attention, and she has no desire to be known to Melech."

  Kalle raises his eyebrows.

  Zerris casts a glance around them, sure that neither he nor Kalle will be easily overheard without detection, but worrying all the same that Kalle might have been seen by someone who sent word to Melech.

  "We need to talk somewhere safer," he mutters. "And with a drink in hand. Gods below, today has left me with a dire thirst."

  "I'm thirsty all the time in this climate," Kalle says, "but I get your meaning, and I applaud the sentiment. The taverns, however, may not be safe for me right now, and being threatened is not compatible with a peaceful conversation."

  Zerris lifts his chin. For all that Kalle is, Zerris is still a local shah, if a shah of a court of shadows. Here might be an opportunity to regain the upper hand, and with a little more time to think, he may be able to outsmart Kalle and Melech both. "Most of the taverns will not be safe for you," he agrees, "but there are still those where Melech and his men are not welcome."

  Kalle looks interested. "Are you welcome there?"

  "I am not Melech's man," Zerris says, a little more sharply than he intended. "But nor can I risk being seen in your company in public. Do you know the Scarlet Scorpion, in Saradakh?"

  "Saradakh?"

  "The poor. Where the Scented Garden is."

  "Ah! I see. No, I know of no such place."

  Zerris silently curses. If he could have sent Kalle there, then gone home, seen Melech's men, become Orianna… He curses himself even harder for a fool. There is no way he could make that transformation and get back to the Scarlet Scorpion in time, and he has no clothes that Orianna, new to Molos, would wear both comfortably and, in Saradakh, safely. No, it is better to use this time for forming a more robust, less amateurish plan. He feels time pressing hard upon his back, but panicking would undo everything.

  "Then do you know the well between the Market Square and Saradakh?"

  "Ah! Certainly I know this well. There are few enough in Molos, and great enough a need for them."

  "Follow me from there, but do not acknowledge me."

  "I will be as a shadow, my fine comrade-in-arms."

  Zerris scowls. "I am confident you will be. Move quickly. I will not wait long, and it'll not be safe for me to look for you."

  Kalle flourishes an elaborate salute before melting back into the darkness.

  Zerris gives Kalle time to move unseen before he heads off, concealing his face once more to seem a boy on an errand.

  He does not move faster than a comfortable jog, hoping to give Kalle adequate time and also not wishing to draw the attention of anyone who might wonder why an errand boy is in such a hurry. Such speed frequently betokens a message of material value and thereby attracts attention, while Zerris has too much to worry about now to spare any more concern for his safety.

  He realises, belatedly, that Kalle has once again lulled him into friendliness, his unsettling edge of violence overwhelmed by cheer and affability, and Zerris didn’t even notice it happening.

  Zerris frowns at the darkness. He absolutely has to keep Kalle alive at least until he has the key or is sure of its whereabouts, meaning he must look out for Kalle's welfare as well as his own—something he is utterly unfamiliar with. On this occasion, out of all the contracts Zerris has taken, he is prepared to kill for his goal. But he is, for the first time in a long time, unsure he will be able to.

  Zerris curses inside his headdress. Damn this Kalle! He is as persistent as he is cursedly handsome.

  Zerris shuts down that line of thought abruptly, feeling his cheeks growing warmer.

  *~*~*

  He heads directly to the well, which means passing through Market Square. The markets are in full cry, with true darkness bringing a more aggressive note to every seller's voice and a harder, more mercenary glint to every shopper's eye.

  Zerris uncovers his face and turns back from errand boy to man before plunging into the crowd, the better to make easy progress. He weaves among shoppers without pretending not to be in a hurry. He is hailed a couple of times, and always gives a response, but he keeps moving. Amnon glares at him, but that is the goat-seller's usual reaction to Tiglis's brother. Vara does not notice him, having never met Zerris.

  On the other side of the markets, he makes good time, going straight some way before angling sharply.

  It takes him only a moment to lose the two men trying to shadow him. He detects no others, but he is certain that anyone he fails to spot will be noticed—and, most likely, killed, a fact he finds it difficult to care about this night—by Kalle.

  He reverts to messenger boy and arrives at the well without collecting any other followers
.

  The well, one of many around Molos, is as old as any building in the city, and has been repaired so often it is doubtful any of the original stone remains. It is one of the few places where no feuds or hostilities are observed, and where no hierarchies are respected save that of who arrives first. Everyone winds up their own bucket, and everyone keeps an urn on the rim of the well full, for those who merely want a drink of water or to wash their hands.

  Zerris stops to patiently wait for his chance to take a drink from the urn.

  He is frowning as he dives into Saradakh.

  He detected nobody watching him at the well, and nobody following him away from it. Not any of Melech's men, nor any small man in black.

  He pauses to cast a quick, hard glance behind him. He sees and hears nothing. He scans the rooftops, without success.

  If Kalle made it to the well, he is far, far better even than Zerris already judged him. If he did not, he may be in danger—and Zerris's hope for the key, lost.

  Both thoughts give Zerris an unpleasant chill, but he stiffens his resolve and continues into Saradakh, seeing no option more likely of success.

  He uncovers his face and saunters on more casually, putting on the cocky air of someone who feels too self-important to have to be careful, or to need to hurry.

  He should be safe, while people can see who he is. He is too well known as vicious when cornered to be worth any small-time mugger's efforts, and too well-in with Melech to be a target for anyone more serious—or so he hopes.

  He is still in that part of Saradakh where Melech's word makes a large part of the law, but his sharp and ever-alert gaze detects none of Melech's men who might try to follow him.

  Ahead of him is the desert, Kedar's realm, marked by a line invisible to all who do not belong in either space.

  Between Melech and Kedar, however, lies a strip of Saradakh, two buildings wide, that is left alone by careful and largely unspoken agreement to be a buffer between them.

  Zerris could lead Kalle to one of the desert coffeehouses, but he is as anxious to avoid Kedar's attention in this matter as Melech's. The two shahs cooperate well at times like this, when one has been wronged and the other was not at fault, and besides, it would be unwise to draw any attention at all to any meeting between Zerris and Kalle.

  In the strip of uneasily neutral territory, always dingier and more violent than elsewhere in Saradakh, stands a few taverns where men of the city and men of the desert drink their own liquors in guarded, uneasy peace interrupted by sudden and savage battles.

  One such is the Scarlet Scorpion—named after a creature feared by men of the city and shunned by men of the desert.

  Zerris pauses at the door to glance around him.

  He sees nothing, hears nothing, and almost begins to doubt the wisdom of not waiting at the well until he was sure Kalle was following him.

  Beginning a slow count under his breath, he pushes his way inside.

  He has barely reached five when the door opens to admit Kalle.

  Zerris gives nothing away in his expression as he nods at Kalle while paying for two tankards of ale.

  He leaves both tankards on the bar. Kalle, arriving, chooses one and raises it in salute. Some traditions, it seems, occur everywhere.

  They share a silent pull of the ale before moving to a table against one wall, heading for the same destination by unspoken assent.

  "A good place, I had not found it," Kalle says.

  "Some places are hard to find unless you already know where they are," Zerris says.

  Now that Kalle's skill has unnerved him, Kalle's grin—combining disarming friendliness with bloodthirsty intent—is rattling him.

  He smothers his unease in a swig of ale.

  "So, here we are once more," Kalle says. He sits forward. He pulls his right sleeve back, puts his left hand palm-down on the table, and offers his right hand to shake.

  It is a gesture Zerris has never seen before, but he has seen similar. "No weapons, no violent intent?" He asks.

  Kalle nods. "We have business to discuss, but let's meet as men, not merchants."

  Zerris finds himself grinning at the phrase. He lets the grin stay as he puts his ale down, pushes his sleeve back—feeling self-consciously silly—then spits in his right palm before offering it.

  Kalle, grin not changing, spits in his own hand before they shake. "Water is everything in the desert, isn't it?"

  Zerris nods. Kalle's hand once more leaves his tingling at the contact. He finds another curse to silently direct at himself. He's acting like a youth with no self-control. Maybe, after this accursed business is resolved, it will be time for Alia to take another contract and sate those desires.

  "If giving of water is a sign of respect," Kalle asks as he picks up his ale, "and I am assuming it is, what does spitting in the street mean?"

  Zerris's conflicted emotions resolve instantly into caution. "Contempt."

  "Ah." Kalle nods, then sips, then nods again. "Ah." A dangerous glint passes over his eyes, then is gone immediately.

  Zerris suppresses a shiver.

  "Speaking of contempt," Kalle says lightly, "what do you think my chances are of a peaceful discussion with this Melech?"

  Zerris glares at him. "I repeat: You killed two of his men and he is after your head. He will not make peace with you without taking at least a hand in payment. I was serious when I said I would have to give you to him if you are not found dead or seen to leave town before two more nights are gone. The only concession Melech might give me is because he knows I am working on a contract. If any word reaches Melech that we have met, that will be the only thing saving my head."

  Kalle nods, apparently unconcerned. "If they had approached me nicely, and asked if I would mind giving Melech a moment of my time, I would not have drawn on them. But no matter, we have trod that ground before. Being an outsider to Molos seems to grant me no clemency."

  He turns suddenly serious—while not threatening bloodshed—for the first time Zerris can remember. "So now it seems I have drawn you into danger as well. That is an affront to my honour, and something we must resolve. It is, however, something we can resolve. We can arrange for you to send word to Melech, whose men can find evidence of me while I am already outside the walls and laughing. It is nothing I have not done before."

  Zerris is too startled to respond for a second. "Truly?"

  Kalle shrugs, careless once more. "Certainly. The timing is a trivial matter. I will simply let you know where I have been sleeping, and draw everyone's attention there while I slip away. As I said, nothing I have not done before."

  "Where is that?" Zerris snaps, barely avoiding sounding too eager. "Where have you been sleeping? Can Melech find you?"

  Kalle winks as he taps one finger against his nose.

  Zerris is so startled by how leering the wink was that it almost shows on his face. He retreats from the entire subject instead. "Very well. I will give you any help I can to avoid Melech and leave Molos, but it will be beyond my power to help you escape Melech's retribution if you do not."

  Kalle gives Zerris an interested look. "All that, just for a return of this key to Orianna?"

  Zerris feels punch-drunk. The conversation, and Kalle's mood, shifts more often, and more unexpectedly, than windblown sands. He had not expected to reach this point for a while yet, but he seizes upon it now it is there. "Yes!"

  Kalle's grin, which often does not touch his eyes, lights up his whole face. "Wonderful! Then we should arrange another meeting. But let us put that to one side for now. Today has been exciting enough, and we should talk—as I believe I have already declared—as men, not businessmen. There is time enough later to talk of beautiful women."

  Zerris is not sure whether to be relieved at getting extra time to think, or frustrated. It is, in any case, inevitable; when men meet to discuss business, it is rude to discuss business first. "Very well. But you, Kalle, have to stop strutting about in public! Melech does not have men everywhere, and t
he Artisans' Quarter is often safe from his eye, but take fewer chances, for the love of all the Gods!"

  "I confess that is not in my nature, but it certainly sounds intriguing," Kalle replies.

  Zerris stares at him. "How do you ever avoid the attention of guards long enough to be safe in any city?"

  "By being too obvious to take seriously," Kalle says, as if surprised Zerris needed to ask the question.

  Zerris stares at him, confusion and Kalle's ability to upset the smooth paths of his thoughts combining to make his mind blank while he tries to understand Kalle's answer.

  Then he understands, and has to struggle against wild, disbelieving, barely controllable laughter.

  Kalle favours him with a mildly intrigued look while Zerris struggles mightily to restrain himself.

  "You!" he gasps at length. "You are serious, aren't you? You parade in front of everyone, so they don't think you're dangerous! Your fancy clothes, and talking too much, and making yourself visible, is all a ruse! You..." Zerris stops himself with a shock of fear at his own stupidity before he says, "You wear a mask as much as I do."

  "But of course," Kalle says. "Why else? I have found it extremely valuable to lull people into underestimating me, and I have found it even more valuable to have people assume without question that there is no way it could have been I in the house the night before, or I who was seen slitting a rich merchant's throat, or I who could possibly have led the guards on such a chase. I am the right height and I wear black, but so do many, and my clothes are clearly those of a gentleman, not a brawler. My weapons? Clearly for protection!"

  "And nobody can see all the weapons you carry," Zerris says pointedly.

  Kalle answers that with merely a grin and a salute of his tankard.

  Zerris returns the salute, then uses his left hand to mimic the florid salute, seeming like a full bow, that Kalle had given to Tiglis. "I salute you and bow to your skill," he says. "That is a wonderful deception, and I applaud it."