My first instinctive and ugly thought was: the last time I’d seen a swimming pool the Star Lords had dragged me away. So, what was it this time?
The noise boomed up to bounce from a gracefully arched roof built cunningly from several spans joined and supported by slender columns. I saw that I’d been thrown into the water close under an array of diving boards and the next instant a naked young lady hurled herself on top of me. I dived out of the way, to surface and see her swing her hair out of her eyes, laughing, laughing. Then she rolled over and swam off into the throng, to become just another pair of flashing arms among a forest of arms and legs.
The splashing and commotion racketed up across in the corner past the diving boards. By this time I knew I was back at the Springs of Benga Annorpha and this was one of the smaller baths. In the corner the noise spurted up, hard and ugly, and a woman screamed.
I swam across to see the familiar faces, if not the forms, of Nanji and Floria, those two unlovely nobles Mevancy had already rescued. She had been firmly convinced they were the people we had to protect until the attack on Lunky. Now it seemed she was right. They appeared to be arguing with another couple, the man a striking redhead and the woman darker and with an intense, angry, contained face.
The pool grew shallower to the corner in a series of steps. I stoodup. There was blood in the water and a body thrashing about. The four struggling together were trying to climb out. Clearly, the woman who had screamed was now drowning and bleeding to death.
She came up in my arms limply, a floppy, naked, pathetic bundle.
A single glance showed me she had no chance of life left.
A wriggling movement in the water drew my instant and concentrated attention.
The beastie was not a true snake, for it had eight limbs and a fish’s tail like an eel’s. It had hinged jaws and fangs all the way up to its throat. It was about three feet long. And it was wriggling straight for me, jaws agape.
The woman had to be given up for lost; there are few snakes on Kregen, thanks be, but there are poisonous animals. This thing was a Chasserfic, unhealthy, quick and lethal. The woman was as good as dead.
With a quick prayer for her to Tsung-Tan, I hurled her pathetic body straight at the wriggling Chasserfic. She made a tremendous splashing confusion. Shallow though the water was, I could duck under and swim leanly between the stone step and the pool’s surface. Blood choked everywhere. Through its coils the woman’s body flopped away ahead and the squirming shape of the Chasserfic rolled away, pushed by the massive water disturbance.
Before he could flap his tail and wriggle himself into forward movement I pounced.
His scaly neck just about fitted my fist. Gripping him just abaft that vicious poison-fanged head of his I stood up. The noise shattered off the roof as people panicked. Nanji and Floria and the other two were half-way out, struggling to get up the marble lip. The raw stink of fear smoked over the pool. When the nearest splashing people saw me rise from the water grasping the sinuous lethal length of the killer the screams redoubled.
The Chasserfic was trying to lap his body around me as though he was a python. He had no chance of that, by Krun! He was a water breather. That meant someone had brought him here in a pot of some kind. Now I had no liking for him at all. But it was in his nature to bite people and thus poison them. He was probably just as frightened as the folk milling about trying to clamber out of the baths. On Kregen, of all places, is the spot to recall the frog and the scorpion. So I waded across to the edge and thrust his head under to give him a chance of a breather.
There was a jar. A ceramic pot of a suitable size, painted with mermaids and sea serpents. It stood a pace or two beyond the edge beside one of the columns. Whoever had organized this murder had preferred the subtle ways of nature to the crude knife or arrow of humans.
I started to climb out of the water still holding my poisonous little friend.
“Are you mad!” The voice slapped in, hard, high, intolerant. “Kill the beastly thing at once!”
The woman who spoke so intemperately stood arrogantly fronting me now the danger was past. Her hair was much darker than the norm and water plastered it to her skull. Her face had a curious intense look as though all her features had been drawn forward. She was, interestingly enough, really beautiful; but normal beauty was overtaken by the intensity and driving force of her expression.
“Did you hear? Kill it at once!”
Nanji and Floria, dripping and looking forlorn, gabbled on urging me to kill the horrible thing. They were so consumed with their own fears they hadn’t recognized me. Well, that was not surprising; they were nobles and I was a nobody.
I lifted the lid of the pot. There was water there. With a swift and I hoped skilful enough movement, I thrust the Chasserfic in and slapped the lid down. There were plaited cords to hold it securely.
The man with red hair, a splendid specimen of a fighting man, said: “He’s safe enough now.” He looked at me. “You did well.”
The intense woman interrupted. “I want that awful thing killed. Rodders! Smash that damned pot!”
He gave me a lop-sided grimace. “Llahal. I am Ron Dang Fang — friends insist on calling me Rodders — and you, walfger?”
“Llahal. Drajak. I leave the decision to you, walfger. I will fetch that poor woman out.” And I dived in. I didn’t want to get involved in a domestic argument, and I didn’t want wantonly to kill the animal.
The woman was dead and I put her down gently. Reddened water ran from her to drip into the pool. The ceramic pot painted with mermaids and sea serpents lay in pieces, shattered, and the Chasserfic was contorting in the last few automatic reflexes of death.
The dark-haired woman now had a yellow towel draped about her. Her shoulders were very high and square. The red headed man took his towel from the attentive slaves, goggling at the last dying floppings of the Chasserfic. Nanji and Floria were hurrying off. It seemed to me the Star Lords had brought me here to protect them. That was not as important a detail as finding out who had tried to kill them.
I took a towel and said to the man: “Have you any idea who would bring such an animal in here? And why?”
He wiped the back of his neck with a corner of the towel. “They are scarce animals; thankfully they are dying out. But as to who would do such a dreadful thing—”
The woman suddenly shivered, interrupting. “I may be a Paol-ur-bliem. I would not like to die like that.”
The man, this Rodders, put his hand on her shoulder and murmured a few soft words of comfort I did not listen to. For an instant she let his hand rest there, her head drooping a little sideways, then she straightened those square shoulders and threw his hand off, swinging about to give a shard of the broken pot a vigorous kick.
“If I catch who did this he’ll go headfirst into the river.”
There was no doubt she meant it, and no doubt — at least in my mind — that she would carry out the threat.
“I want the Puncture Lady to take a look at you,” said Rodders. He turned to face me, smiling his lop-sided smile. “I give you my thanks again, Wr. Drajak.” He swung back to the woman. “Now let’s go. Come on, Kirsty.”
Chapter thirteen
Yes. Indeed. This was the Kirsty whom San Chandro had spoken of, a cousin to Leone. She was sharp. Very. Her nose was small and with flared nostrils. This was unfortunate, for she seemed always to be wearing a contemptuous expression towards the rest of the world. She’d determined to have the Chasserfic put out of the way for the thing had scared her in a fashion she found unsettling and unpleasant. She was a lady who did not have upsetting experiences happen to her. The Chasserfic had died.
Marveling at the way creation brings forward these different characteristics in people related to one another, for Leone and Kirsty were like the famous chalk and cheese, I put Kirsty out of my mind and cast about for a way out of my predicament.
Here I was, in a fashionable watering place, without clothes and without money. Ha! Th
e Star Lords might even find amusement in my plight if, as I believed, they retained that tiny scrap of sense of humor.
In other spots of Kregen there would be no problem. I could go to the local Vallian consul, as I had done before. I could contact a merchant with trading links with Vallia, or Djanduin or, these days and remarkably, Hamal, and take out a letter of credit. In the last recourse in hostile lands I could knock some poor wight on the head and help myself.
Finding some clothes proved not too difficult. With the yellow towel draped about me I wandered along to the changing rooms. Circumspection was necessary. Any thoughts of going to Nanji and Floria were put out of my head as soon as the ridiculous notion occurred to me.
A little Och slave with a shriveled left middle sat at a table. A pottery bowl before him held a collection of coins, all copper. I marched in past the table without even looking at the Och. The room was long and narrow and there were cubicles lining each side. This, then, was indeed a high class establishment, for many changing rooms were just an open room and everyone got on with it. However upper class the place might be, the arrangements made it more difficult. There did not seem to be any system of presenting a tally to secure your clothes from your cubicle. This was a case of pot luck.
A couple of men walked out, talking, engrossed. They remembered to drop a couple of copper coins in the bowl as they went. Now the place was empty apart from the Och slave attendant. I took a breath and started for one of the doors in the row.
Footsteps slapped on the marble and a voice called: “Wait for me, walfger. We must take a glass together.”
I span about. Ron Dang Fang, who was always called Rodders, walked in briskly toweling his fiery red hair. He strode along and halted beside me, half-turning. His clothes were in one of these cubicles, then, in any one of those to left and right. I managed a grimace that passes for a smile. “You are very kind, walfger.”
“Call me Rodders.” He put a hand on the door latch of the cubicle directly before me. “Don’t be long.” He opened the door and went inside. When the door closed I let out a breath. I could smell water and salt and vinegar and those mingled scents inseparable from the baths.
These were mineral springs, not the Baths of the Nine. So we were here for health purposes. There might well be establishments here catering to the sybaritic desires of honest folk; certainly there would be a place where a fellow could slake his thirst.
I dived into the opposite cubicle and saw at a glance that the clothes might fit a dwarf; not Dray Prescot.
Tumbling out I cast a glance at Rodders’ cubicle. He might well wonder at my antics. The next cubicle along contained a hideous bright green gown with the ubiquitous fawn cloak. I remembered I was Dray Prescot. This play-acting lately must be eating into my brain. I slammed that door shut and tried the next.
Here a decent set of fawn gown and cloak fitted me well enough. There was a curved dagger in a plain sheath, a pair of sandals, and a scrip containing coins. There was no time to check them for a voice lifted outside: “Come on, Drajak! My tongue is afire!”
Rodders swung about as I emerged. “Ah! Let’s go!”
I pitched a copper coin into the Och’s bowl after Rodders, and we went out under the arcade. The Suns slanted in, glorious in mingled jade and ruby. The scent of flowers from the court and the tinkle of water came very restfully to me.
“The Puncture Lady said she would be all right. She had a shock.”
“A nasty business — Rodders. Any idea who—?”
Expansively he put a hand on my shoulder. He was as tall as was I. “Not in the matter of names I would repeat, Drajak, no. But I surmise. Ah, yes, I surmise!”
If he thought the threat had been to him or Kirsty, my feelings were that Nanji and Floria had been the targets of the assassination, the kitchews as stikitches call them. I wondered what Madam Mevancy would say.
This Rodders was powerfully built, a fine fighting man. At his waist he carried a lynxter and dagger. His clothes were not ornate. I fancied he’d been a mercenary in his time. Probably he’d been a zhanpaktun, entitled to wear the golden pakzhan at his throat, a mercenary of renown. He carried himself lithely, and he would not be easily surprised.
So that made me realize that, like many men, his panic-stricken concern for his lady had robbed him of his habitual toughness and common sense. He told me she had a mind of her own, and had insisted on returning to carry on her affairs as normal. He made a lop-sided grimace. “So here we may sup a while. The H’siung Garden is refreshing at this time of day.”
The establishment was surrounded by a small garden lushly green, a result of ample water, and Rodders led in briskly. When we were seated he drank down quickly and called for more. I drank sparingly.
He began to tell me about himself and I listened out of politeness. My plan — transparent as ever! — was to hitch my fortunes to his until I could get back to Makilorn. Every heartbeat that went by I expected to feel a heavy hand on my shoulder and a voice: “Those are my clothes!”
Rodders was, indeed, a mercenary, a pakzhan. He smiled wryly as he said he habitually kept his golden pakzhan with his baggage. He was a Bowman of Loh from Walfarg. Wandering from hire to hire he’d met Kirsty in the line of business, and she’d done his business for him. He recognized her prickly qualities, the sharpness of her, her ruthlessness; but, as he said: “That’s Kirsty.”
His voice fell silent and in that vacuum, for the sake of something to say, I piped up: “She is cousin to Leone, I understand.”
The Bowman of Loh downed his drink and slammed the glass onto thetable. “Aye. The little milk and water miss shivers every time she sees Kirsty. Leone — she has no idea what being a woman means.”
“She seemed very pleasant,” I said. “She is always very kind to me.”
“You know her well?”
Alarm signals buzzed in my brain. I drank a little of the sazz to cover my hesitation. Then: “We have just met. I was able to do her a small favor.” His eyebrows rose. I plunged on. “Young Lord Wink—”
His powerful face creased into a knowing smile. “Say no more. That young tearaway and his cronies will cause a sensation one day.”
“He was a trifle — elevated.”
Rodders laughed. “And their mentor, San Chandro?”
“I played him at Jikaida.”
He nodded. “I see you are a man of parts.” He finished his glass and rose from his chair, looking at me. “I have enjoyed this short talk, Drajak. Now I must look in on Kirsty and then see if Erthanfydd smiles on me. Then it will be an early night and the Annorpha Aigrette on the morrow.” He shook his fawn cloak straight. “Where do you lodge?”
Ah! I said: “I put up at a caravanserai—”
“Nonsense, Drajak! You must lodge with us. Kirsty would not forgive me else. And we can talk!”
I wasn’t so sure about that self-centered lady’s forgiveness; but this solved my problems of food and lodging — as I had planned, by Krun!
We went along to the private butts and shot a short round. He was a splendid bowman. Just because Loh is the home of the Bowmen of Loh does not mean that everyone in that continent is a superb shot. He was good. I shot circumspectly, reserving my fire, as we say on Earth. He told me he was agog to shoot in the tournament tomorrow, the winning archer to receive the Annorpha Aigrette and a handsome purse. At once I saw a way to fill my pockets, and my first task would be to buy fresh clothes and dump these in a convenient spot to be found and returned to their owner.
The rest of the day passed slowly enough. We went to his lodgings — very comfortable — and ate and drank moderately and talked and then turned in early ready for the competition the next day. The more I learned of this Rodders the more I found I liked him and the more he seemed to me to be a complete man. He admitted to faults. His temper was quicker than slower. He’d broken the nose of a man who stared insolently at Kirsty.
The moment I could kit myself out and either buy or steal a zorca would be the mome
nt I could take off for Makilorn.
Just what was going on there now, Opaz alone knew.
The problem of the Glitch Riders I trusted had been dealt with by strong forces from the city. The party who had chased after the survivors of the Glitchers who had attacked us were the advance screen. Just how effective Tsungfaril’s military forces were was something I could not be sure about. News of the queen’s death would reach Annorpha soon and then no doubt there would be a mass exodus as people rushed back to the capital.
The temptation to remain with Rodders and enjoy myself in shooting and singing and bathing and then return with everyone else was mighty powerful, mighty powerful, by Vox!
After all, Madam Mevancy could look after herself. She’d proved that, and, into the bargain, could look after the folk the Star Lords required to be protected. It occurred to me — belatedly — that perhaps I ought to stay here at the Springs to keep an eye on Nanji and Floria. The Everoinye it seemed to me were conducting this operation in ways different from any I’d encountered before. Yes, there were some similarities with the time Pompino and I had operated together; the differences were what counted.
When duty and inclination coincided was the time, by Vulken the Insinuator, to be watchful, vigilant, and ready for something squashy and unpleasant to drop on you from a great height.
During my time on Kregen many strands of life had threaded their tangled webs and people had appeared and disappeared, as you will have heard in my narrative. Many resolutions had taken place that I have not mentioned because they happened, as it were, off stage, and events had overtaken them. Happy — and unhappy — outcomes had taken place to many of the problems I have mentioned in the past and if these tapes hold out I hope to tell you who listen to me all the details. As it is now, I must press on with the tangled webs being woven in Tsungfaril in Loh.
Scorpio Assassin Page 11