“The people will do what the queen tells them. And she does what Shang-Li-Po tells her to do.” Chandro spilled palines as he spoke.
“You were her mentor,” I pointed out.
Chandro’s narrow face twisted in mortification. “She told me she does not hold a grudge, and I believe her, for she is a bright forgiving girl. But she no longer trusts me. After all,” and here Chandro waved a finger in bitter anguish, “did I not betray her? Did I not vote for her rival Kirsty?”
“As you would again, san,” said Kuong.
“Aye. Aye, as I would again, Tsung-Tan forgive me.”
I caught Mevancy’s eye and nodded my head sideways. She stood up. We were both about to make our excuses to leave, for although we had talked incessantly about the disaster to our plans, there was yet more to be said.
Kuong was sitting bent forward with a paline half in and half out of his mouth. Chandro’s head was turned awkwardly as he looked up at Mevancy. Neither moved.
Very quietly, Mevancy said: “I am frightened, cabbage.”
There was nothing sensible I could reply. We both waited as Kuong and Chandro sat stiff and unmoving. We waited for the Star Lords.
The coldness gripped the room and passed. The Gdoinye flew in at an open window, circled around and alighted upon a high cupboard. He cocked his head on one side and surveyed us through one piercing eye.
Presently the Gdoinya flew in and joined him. The two superb raptors perched there, claws biting into the plaster of the cupboard, their golden and scarlet feathers sheening in the brilliance of the early suns.
The raucous squawk battered down on us; but which bird spoke we could not say.
“You have failed the Everoinye.”
In a cool, calm, modulated voice I said: “We have not failed the Everoinye. We preserved the lives of Lunky and of Kirsty.”
“Onker! Kirsty is not queen!”
“So you did have Queen Leone murdered, you rasts!”
“Drajak—” Mevancy’s voice was a stifled moan.
“No! That was not the doing of the Everoinye.”
“No? You snatched me away when—”
“When the old queen’s time was numbered, it was numbered. You had the new queen to protect.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t remain cool, calm and collected much longer, not when I recalled the passion and beauty, the warmth of the dead queen. Mevancy cleared her throat.
“The evil work was taken out of our hands.” Her voice whispered.
The two gorgeous birds shining refulgently in that upper chamber of the Mishuro villa shifted their perches, almost as though they communed together. Mevancy was trembling. I felt growing anger that the Star Lords in their high and mighty aloof way could so thoroughly frighten the girl.
At last they spoke in their raucous squawk. “Yes, that is so. There is still work to be done. Other hands must take up your task, and when they have done what must be done, you must finish the task.”
“Other hands?” Mevancy’s color, always high, had practically vanished. Now spots of crimson glowed in her cheeks.
“Hands more sure.” Was there a smug knowingness in the harsh tone?
“Tell us what to do next, you pair of nurdling great onkers!”
At this outburst I couldn’t stifle, Mevancy collapsed back into her chair. She covered her eyes, as though expecting me to be blasted on the spot. Well, by Krun, that wouldn’t have surprised me, either.
“You will be told when the time—”
“Is right!” I shouted up. “It’s always the same with you! If you want to do something useful why don’t you get this maniac Wizard of Loh, Na-Si-Fantong, off my back?”
“Your ridiculous escapade with the Skantiklar is your concern. Fantong has decided this gem is not available for the moment and has gone.”
“Gone? Where?”
“When he arrives we will know. He is not for the moment important. Your concerns lie in other directions.”
If I was surprised to learn the Star Lords had even that little concern for my skin, the next words of the twin birds astonished me completely.
“You have served us well in the past. Mevancy is loyal. We have no wish to lose your services, selfish though they may be. We are holding the evil influence of Carazaar at a distance. But more failures will inevitably increase his power.”
I shut my open mouth. I swallowed down. What I was about to say I’ve no idea, for Mevancy interrupted, speaking in a hesitant vague way. “Yes, I am loyal. I do not understand what you are saying; but I am loyal!”
In a biting tone I said: “Perhaps you had better tell me about this Carazaar. At least I’ve done for his henchthing, Arzuriel.”
The birds did not exactly laugh; their cackle was perilously close to mocking laughter. “Arzuriel is a multi-dimensional being. You have not finished with him or seen the last of him.”
“I stuck him—” I started, hotly.
“One dimensional representation only. As for his master, Carazaar, your bungling here increases his influence. Do what must be done here and then we will—”
“If we’d had more co-operation,” I fairly yelled up, “things would have been different! The bungling is all yours, you and the Star Lords!”
Mevancy put a hand on my arm. “We will do as you command.” She spoke up firmly, her voice clear and controlled. I admired her more in that moment, for I understood her feelings — at least, I thought I did.
With lazy, arrogant beats of their shining wings, the two raptors flew through the open window, and their last squawks floated down.
Chandro said: “Take great care, Mevancy.” He finished his turning movement to look up at her. His eyebrows drew down. Clearly, he could see the change in her face caused by an occurrence of which he was entirely ignorant. “You do not feel well?”
Kuong popped his paline into his mouth as Mevancy brushed a hand across her forehead, forcing a smile for Chandro. “Oh, all this business would upset Benga Serenmefa.”
With that Mevancy and I were able to leave. We had a lot to discuss. We were, as they say in Clishdrin, in a pretty pickle.
“At least,” I said to her as we walked down the stairs to the villa’s side exit, “we don’t have that idiot Wizard of Walfarg Na-Si-Fantong on our backs.”
“On your back, cabbage!”
Oho, I said to myself. So madam is recovering her spirits. Good!
She went on: “You’d better explain the other things — Carazaar?”
“An apparition. His beast follower, Arzuriel, apparently is not dead, which in itself is a crime against nature. They seek to do me mischief.”
“If they are connected with the Everoinye—”
“I had assumed not. I was surprised when those damned birds—”
“Cabbage! Really! You must moderate your tone. Who knows what could have happened to you?” She turned her face to me, glowing now with her natural high color all returned. I felt a real mean sort of fellow to cause her distress. But, I’d been slanging the Gdoinye now for years and he returned my insults with interest. As with the Star Lords themselves, I had established a rapport and a kind of accommodation with the Gdoinye.
“Yes, well,” I said, mumbling a bit. “Those uppity birds fairly get up your hooter.” We walked out into the radiance of the Suns of Scorpio. “Let’s go and find a cool drink of parclear. I’m parched.”
“After all you drank at breakfast?”
“Too right.”
There is always an odd feeling in a fellow when he walks along with a pretty woman and nearly all the passing men turn to stare at her. This is not rudeness, at least as I see it, rather it is a form of homage to beauty. Of course, if the lady is restive, if her escort feels the stares to be too oppressive, then perhaps action must be taken. All the same, you really cannot legislate against the thoughts in a man’s mind — at least, not until these prophecies of thought police and control become realities.
So Mevancy took absolutely no notice of t
he man who stared openly at her from across the street. I gave him a hard look. He was of middle height, with dark brown hair and eyes. His face appeared to me to be pleasing and regular of feature, although marked by a couple of spots here and there. Like most folk of Makilorn he wore the ubiquitous fawn gown and cloak and his left hand rested inside his robes. When he saw me staring at him he swung away and vanished down an alley. No thought of following him crossed my mind. Mevancy, head up, strode on ahead.
One — just about the only one, by Vox! — good thing to come out of the victory of Shang-Li-Po’s party, as far as Mevancy and I were concerned, was that we were off the hook of assassins. At least, I had taken that view, one concurred in by both Kuong and Chandro. The sight of this smart fellow, well set-up, watching us with more than simple admiration for Mevancy, worried me. As I have said, Mevancy was not your raving beauty of a girl. Her attractiveness came from her vitality and aliveness more than the configuration of her features. So, what did this fellow want?
We found a small open-air counter on the corner of a building with apartments above and drank our parclear. At least, I did. Being contrariwise in the accepted way of womankind she demanded sazz. She chose a bright green drink. That didn’t bother me one iota.
We discussed the apparition of Carazaar, and I said that it hadn’t needed the Gdoinyi
[3] to tell me he was evil to his backbone.
“If he is connected with the Everoinye in any way, cabbage, then he is my business, too.”
“Assuredly.”
“Oh, you!”
Well, I said to myself, she may not be the prettiest girl in two worlds, she has a fire and spirit anyone would admire.
By this time she’d tumbled to my gentle mockery, my idiotic leg-pulling, and would flash me a glance from those eyes of hers that was designed to cut me down to size and put me in my place.
She did not mention the man who had stared at her.
I turned around to lean back against the counter with my elbows on the bar, watching the passing parade. The suns slanted in and there was the usual taint of dust on the air. A party of the Queen’s Guards marched along and as this was in Loh and the old imperial traditions still persisted they marched all in step with a swing. The yellow fletchings of their arrows caught the light and shone brassily. At their head a Hikdar with an anemic face and too much gold lace about him walked, I thought, rather too mincingly for a soldier. He called a command in a high-pitched voice and the party came to a crashing halt opposite the refreshment counter. I shoved up straight and I couldn’t prevent my hand going to my sword hilt.
“None of that, tikshim!” The reedy voice had a nasal twang. “You are Drajak known as the Sudden?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Cabbage!” came the fierce whisper at my side.
“Hikdar Vangli ti Trishnar, shint! You are summoned!”
With that the guard party closed up about me.
There was no way even Dray Prescot was going to cut free from this little lot, particularly as the Lohvian longbows came off shoulders and the sharp steel arrowheads all aimed at my midriff.
I said: “Who summons me?”
No way or not, if the wrong answer was given I’d have to make the effort.
“The queen, shint! Now, Bratch!”
That was not the wrong answer. At least this unpleasant person had said Bratch and not the slave-driving Grak. I moved quickly forward until I stood by his side. He blinked. He opened his mouth, which was thick-lipped and purple, and I said sharply: “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.” And I pushed past the two nearest guards and started off.
He pattered up alongside, trying to match my stride. I did not turn my head. If Mevancy — as we moved along I heaved a sigh of relief. She had had the sense not to cry out or make a scene. As far as Vangli ti Trishnar could see she was just a woman at the counter and nothing to do with the man he’d been ordered to bring in.
So we all swung along in the dusty sunslight toward the palace.
You had to give Leone the credit. She looked every inch a queen. My escort wheeled me into a chamber that, whilst it was not large or conspicuously grand, was not your simple ante-chamber. Leone sat in what can only be described as a mini throne, glittering with gold and cool with ivory. She wore a queen’s ransom of jewels about her person. Her light-colored hair was coiffed up and threaded with gems. Her face — well, that pretty face glowed with color and her eyes looked brilliantly upon me.
“Drajak!”
“Majestrix.”
She waved the escort off and Vangli hesitated. “You may rest easy, Hikdar. This man is a friend.”
He bowed and took his guard party off.
Leone frowned at me. “I call you a friend, Drajak, yet you ignore me.”
“You have new friends now, Leone. San Chandro—”
“Oh!” she burst out. “And are you going to whine on his behalf?”
“He loves you dearly—”
“And a fine way he has of showing that!” She was breathing rapidly and the jewels adorning her bosom glittered. “And you, Drajak, do you love me as much?”
The thought occurred to me that she had the power to order: “Off with his head!”
I stared into her face, seeing the high color, the brilliance, and the little betraying tremble of those soft lips.
“Well, Drajak?”
“You know the answer to that, Leone.”
She bit her lip and sank back in the throne. A little silken-slippered foot tapped the ivory rail. “You would be my consort.”
“This is impossible. I would spare you the indignity—”
“Indignity!” She flared up, leaning forward and sitting bolt upright. The jewels positively coruscated about her. “Shang-Li-Po has said certain things about you, and about San Chandro. Had I a mind to...”
In a hard and hating voice I fairly snarled out: “Shang-Li-Po is no friend to you, Leone! He had Nalgre murdered. He will have Chandro slain if he can find a way. He cares only for himself.”
She was shaking with passion. “You cannot speak to me like that!”
“I just have. And there is more. If you listen to Chandro—”
“After his betrayal!”
Clearly you couldn’t expect her to understand, still less accept Chandro’s support for her cousin Kirsty. I said: “Just remember, Leone, Chandro and Lunky and Kuong are your true friends.”
We might have gone on wrangling like this for some time if Wink hadn’t walked in with Prang and Ching-Lee. At least I’d got her off the subject of me. Her friends crowded in, laughing, calling: “He is here!”
She was almost as glad as I was at the interruption. Also I was glad to see she had remained on intimate terms with her palace companions. There was a great deal to admire in Leone, as I knew. Now, I surmised, she’d regain her composure and have another go at me later on.
She rose gracefully from the mini throne. “You may go now, Drajak.” I didn’t smile at her tone. She’d picked up the knack of giving orders quickly enough. “My portrait is to be painted and the artist is here.”
I favored her with a small bow and she lifted her head and went out with her companions, all chattering in the old way.
Finding my way out was not difficult. Guards stood here and there and the palace corridors were familiar. I suspected poor old Chandro missed the comfort of his quarters in the queen’s palace over at the Mishuro villa. The penultimate corridor before the chambers leading to the side doors lay before me empty of guards. At the far end I caught a glimpse of movement instantly stilled at the rear of one of the huge ceramic jars. So I was ready as I walked down. This, I felt completely confident, was not Leone’s work. This was the dark hand of Shang-Li-Po. The fellow down there, a damned assassin, I felt sure, had been hurriedly summoned the moment Hikdar Vangli had reported my presence in the palace. I trod on steadily, ready to catch the first blow and stick the stikitche in return.
A few paces only remained before the
ceramic jar. A bulky man wearing black robes toppled out from behind the jar, sprawled face down. From his back protruded the handle of a dagger.
I stopped stock-still, and now I drew my sword.
“You won’t need that, dom. He’s done for.”
The voice was light and self-assured. The man I’d seen staring at Mevancy stepped out from the shadows of the doorway. He strolled up, bent down, and retrieved his dagger, wiping it on the black robes.
He looked about. “We’d better put some distance between us and this pathetic stikitche, Drajak. Through here.”
Without further ado he pressed a panel in the wall and a secret door slid open. “I found this only this morning. It was so simple it would make you cry. These folk really aren’t up to much.”
If he’d intended to kill me he’d have done it by now — or, at least, died trying. I nodded and we went into the secret passage and the door closed. A lantern burned at a corner corresponding to the turn of the outside wall. Here stood two doors, both closed.
He put his hand on the latch of the left hand door, and nodded to the other one. “That leads outside. Now I must cut along to the queen. It won’t do to keep her waiting at the first sitting.”
The door did lead outside into an inner courtyard, as I knew from my explorations. This artist was certainly a lively fellow.
He didn’t open the door. He half-turned to me. “You are Drajak the Sudden, surely?” His hand grasped the dagger handle.
“Aye. And you?”
“Caspar Del Vanian. Lahal.”
“Lahal.” I felt a genuine shock. I didn’t know him. A superb artist who’d painted for Delia’s grandfather, the Emperor of Vallia, had been called Caspar Del Vanian. If this fine young fellow was the great grandson it was clear he’d never seen Dray Prescot when I’d been Emperor of Vallia. In addition, Caspar had been made a trylon, the third highest rank of nobility after a kov and a vad — not counting a Vadvar — not only for his enormously brilliant artistic achievements but for financial assistance to the crown. Things had gone wrong for the Del Vanians and whilst I did not know all the details, I had heard they’d lost their trylonate and little had been heard of them at the beginning of Vallia’s Time of Troubles. Now it seemed this latest scion of the line intended to regain his family’s fortunes by more than the brush and paints.
Scorpio Assassin Page 15