Pretty soon I'd picked up the tail they'd set on me. A number of possible reactions would have been proper. I could have become indignant at this affront to my dignity. I could have been contemptuous. I could have let red roaring rage take over and striding back have knocked the fellow's head in. The reaction I felt proper to the occasion was to estimate if they were being clever. Were they letting me see this tail deliberately, so that other trackers could follow me unseen?
So I came to what I considered a proper decision.
The idea of going along to the palace straight away was instantly discarded. I'd toddle along there bright and early in the morning. I'd go in wearing the face of Drajak and by using the techniques taught me by my comrade, the Wizard of Loh Deb-Lu Quienyin, I'd walk out with the face of Chaadur. Also, I did not relish returning to the Mishuro Villa.
So that left one course of action.
Around the next street corner I sidestepped and then waited quietly. My shadow dutifully followed me and as he came around the corner abreast of me I seized him by the throat and an arm. I twisted him a little; not much for I did not wish to damage the goods.
“Hey, hey!” he gasped. “You're not supposed—"
“I don't mind you following me, dom. Although I know some folk who'd have had your tripes all over the street by now.” His answer was a gurgle as I tightened my grip. “I am going to find a bed for the rest of the night."
With a supple rotation I twisted him around upside down. I shook him. Sundry objects fell off his person, his legs waving wildly over his head. “I just need lodging money, that's all, dom. These will do nicely."
I picked up three silver khans, bit them, and tucked them away.
He rotated again and landed thump on his feet. His face was dark with congested blood in the light of the Moons.
“What'll—?” he began.
“Just tell Kei-Wo to put this trifling sum on my account."
He goggled at this but I turned around and gave him a thumping great kick up the rump and sent him staggering off. I bade him a pleasant good night and then sauntered off the other way in search of decent lodgings.
In the event I soon found a reasonable lodging house and dickered for a bed for the night. I didn't care to patronize the more expensive lodging houses catering for visitors to the city. The place was clean, a meal was provided, and I was not disturbed by prowlers seeking portable property to claim as their own. By the time I'd finished eating a huge breakfast I really did feel a new man, or, at least, a less damaged one after the events of the evening before.
The Twin Suns of Scorpio, Luz and Walig, were streaming their mingled opaline radiance across the city as I emerged onto the street still chewing the last of the palines. My shadower was readily visible, a fellow lounging across the roadway and picking his teeth with a splinter. I did not wave to him. I simply walked slowly off in the direction of the palace.
The idea that this man was the up front tracker and the shadows were filled with other thieves watching my every move was probably correct. They had complete confidence in their abilities to have let me go walking off. Without the knowledge I had of disguise it would have been enormously difficult to escape detection.
Just walk boldly up to the front gate of the palace? Well, yes. That method probably would serve best.
So I did.
Ornate and over-dressed guards stood woodenly outside the open gates. Many people were jostling in and out and I gathered from their openly voiced hopes and fears that the courts were sitting. The queen's palace served as her place of judgment. I caught the impression that folk were unsure if they'd be happy or not if the queen in person sat in judgment on them. She was fair but strict. There was no possibility of bribing her as, lamentably, there was with the lesser magistrates. The noise of the people and the acrid smell of dust, the glisten of sweat along forehead and cheek, these sights and smells were as old as people built cities and created civilization.
The outer corridors and chambers had been designed to impress. Here people were guided by flunkeys to the courts where their appearances had been commanded. I went on directly and the first flunkey who stopped me, gorgeous in yellow robes and much trailing silver-laced cord, answered my question.
“Lord Wink? Certainly, walfger. You will find him in the Chambers of Luxurious Rest—the old Chemzite Chambers. So along this hall to the stairs and through the courtyard beyond.” He gave me instructions and I found my way through the warrens of the palace without difficulty. I recognized the last set of halls and corridors. Here I had hurried carrying Wink, with Leone and the other two hovering anxiously. The direction from which I was coming was the way Ching-Lee had scurried off to find the Puncture Lady.
Where last night a door studded with brass nails had simply been pushed open by Leone, today a tough-looking guard stood alertly. He hefted a strangdja, and that vicious glittering weapon could take my head off.
“Llanitch!” He spoke and meant what he said. Llanitch is a word meaning Halt; but it is more than that, for it carries the clear implication that if you do not stop stock-still in your tracks you will probably wake up in the Ice Floes of Sicce pondering your mistake.
I stopped stock-still.
“Drajak to see Lord Wink!"
I spoke as a military man, snapping it out.
He slammed the butt of his strangdja twice on the door and it opened and Ching-Lee's face peered through.
“Drajak to see the Lord Wink!” bellowed the guard, not taking his gaze from me.
Ching-Lee saw me, and fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, it's you! Well, you'd better come in. And don't make a noise."
The guard swished his strangdja out of the way and I went in.
We did not stop in the pretty room papered in blue and white volail flowers but went on through the way Prang had carried Wink. We found him in his own bed in his chambers within this wing of the palace, The Chemzite Chambers, now renamed in the florid Makilorn way the Chambers of Luxurious Rest. He was propped up with a mass of pillows and was playing Jikaida. His opponent was a lean, narrow-faced man who, whilst clearly a man who did not pamper himself, was, I judged, not your full fanatical ascetic. He was smiling at Wink as he moved a piece on the board, saying: “I will put your lack of concentration down to your injury, Wink, my boy."
“Your sarcasm does you credit, san."
So this fellow was a san, and you don't get called a master or dominie or sage on Kregen without very good cause. His smile made his narrow face more attractive, and by the laugh lines around eyes and mouth I fancied he liked to enjoy the quiet joke or three. He wore a soft lounging robe of yellow silk and his slippers—and here I found myself heaving up a sigh—were bright red velvet and with huge curled up toes.
Wink made a move and then slumped back against the pillows.
“You are in pain?” The narrow face lost its smile.
“No. No, San Chandro. Just itchy. Perhaps—"
“Of course."
San Chandro stood up and saw Ching-Lee and me entering. “Wink needs the Puncture Lady. I'll—"
“I will go, san,” said Ching-Lee. “This is Drajak.” And she hurried off back into the palace.
“Drajak!” called Wink. “They told me, and I remember. I owe you my thanks."
“Oho!” quoth San Chandro. “I understood you to say you accidentally fell over on your knife, Wink. What is this about Drajak here?” Then he turned to me, his smile returning, to say: “Llahal and Lahal, Drajak. I am remiss in my manners, I fear."
“Llahal and Lahal, san. What Lord Wink says is so. Believe me."
He gave me a mighty shrewd look. Then: “And is it just Drajak alone?"
“I have been called Drajak the Sudden."
“Drajak the Sudden. You will care to finish Wink's game for him?"
Jikaida, the principal board game of Kregen, is played everywhere, continuously, obsessively. This San Chandro didn't even stop to consider if I could play. It was taken for granted that any educated per
son played Jikaida. There are those who cannot fathom the fascinating intricacies of Jikaida, and who must therefore make do with games like Jikalla and the Game of Moons.
I nodded. “I am at your disposal, san."
Mistress Lingli swept in already brandishing her box of needles, and so with a few words San Chandro and I were able to take ourselves off into an adjoining room where a table and chairs were all we needed. Chandro corrected me on that as he rang a silver bell. A most beautifully-formed Fristle fifi came in, smiling, ready for anything.
“Parclear and Sazz, miscils and palines, Fansi."
Fansi said: “At once,” and with a flick of her tail, around which a red bow was artfully tied, went out.
Chandro had not spilled a piece from the board and as I studied the game situation I saw that Wink had been lax. Chandro was almost in an unassailable position. There was just a chance. As you know, I have studied Jikaida under masters. My son-in-law Gafard, now dead, had been a Jikaidast. I had played Death Jikaida and Kazz-Jikaida. Extricating Wink's pieces from the carefully prepared trap and then going on to a winning position would prove an interesting challenge. And I was in no mood to go racing about after the queen's necklace for a bunch of thieves.
There was Mevancy out at the Springs. I'd have to tell her that Tuong Mishuro was dead, I knew that, and I didn't care for the job.
“Are you ready, Drajak the Sudden?"
“As I'll ever be, san."
“Then it is your move."
I did what was necessary to rescue my almost-lost paktun and restore the situation on that side of the board. Chandro hummed a little tune under his breath, fingered his lips, hesitated, and then moved. I knew he had been forced to move a piece different from the one he'd planned to throw in. He glanced up at me. “You have a plan?"
“An old one, san. But it might serve."
“I see."
I didn't feel it necessary to say that whilst the plan was an old one it had been extensively modified by Naghan Furtway, who had once been the Kov of Falinur. Chandro was playing the blue, and Wink, and now me, played the yellow.
The situation was retrieved for the yellows as Fansi returned with a laden tray. I was glad of a little throat-moisture and drank off a glass of parclear with relish. I popped a paline and made the move that would start an attacking drive that, if all went well, should see yellow victorious.
San Chandro did not make the correct response.
I said: “I would ask you to bare the throat, san."
He raised his eyebrows. “So soon? You are very sure. I do not see it."
I explained.
He pushed back in his chair. His eyebrows drew down and together. His face looked thunderous. Then the black scowl cleared, he threw back his head, and laughed. Tears squeezed under his eyelids.
“By Tsung-Tan the Mighty! A veritable coup!"
He looked at me, still laughing, and spluttered out: “Aye! Aye, I bare the throat. And well done, Drajak the Sudden. I shall remember that plan. I have in mind a certain San Yango who needs to be humbled in the sight of Tsung-Tan."
I made a few further observations about Furtway's plan, elaborations to counter the opposite diagonal thrust. He drank his Sazz and popped a paline and looked quizzically at me.
“Were you not with San Tuong Mishuro?"
“I was."
“I heard the ghastly news this morning. And Caran and Hargon, too.” He licked his lips. “Tuong mentioned his unease. But neither he nor I believed anyone would harm a dikaster.” He shook his head and there was not the trace of a smile on that narrow visage.
I had to speak carefully, for meddling in other folks’ religious beliefs is always a chancy business.
“San Tuong told me that many of the old beliefs had fallen away. That there are people who will kill a Diviner or a Repositer is obvious from these awful happenings.” He was studying me attentively. I took a breath. It was quite clear he had not heard all the news; there hadn't been time for that. I felt a liking for this narrow faced old buffer. And—methought Dray Prescot the old leem-hunter—he could be useful to my own plans. So I went on: “Hargon and Caran plotted to kill Trylon Kuong and San Mishuro. They failed in one instance and, heartbreakingly, succeeded in the other."
“Yes? Go on."
“I was there when Caran attempted Kuong. I stopped him. I was too late with Mishuro. But not too late for Hargon."
He sucked in a ragged breath. He put a shaking hand to his lips.
“You! You killed two Repositers!"
“Trylon Kuong put the situation succinctly. Those two murdering cramphs forfeited their position as dikasters."
“Yes, yes. I would agree. But, you slew two Repositers!"
“I stand in no peril from the law. That I am assured."
“Kuong stands well with the queen at the moment. She is strong-willed, some would say self-willed. I applaud that, for I trained and guided her and watched her grow to womanhood. She is a remarkable woman."
As he spoke, his fervency revealed to me how much he loved the queen.
He picked up a paline but did not pop it into his mouth. “Will you tell me the truth about the death of Vad Leotes in Ivory Lorn?"
“I have already told all there is to know; but I will gladly repeat myself.” I saw his eyes suddenly widen on me and realized I'd put on something of a scowl at the idea that I'd got to go all over this old ground yet again. I said: “My comrade, Mevancy, and Leotes were pushed over the edge of a high building by Hargon and Strom Hangol's bully boys. Leotes fell. All those rasts except Hangol have paid the price."
“They are all dead. Yes. And Strom Hangol lies abed of a wound and is near death so I am informed."
He favored me with another of his shrewd narrow looks. “There is a mystery about that. Are you the man who gave Hangol his wound?"
“Aye."
He stood up and started pacing up and down. I can tolerate folk who do this in order to get the blood flowing through their brains so they can think, provided they don't trip over my legs or walk on my belongings. He marched up and down, looking thoughtful, hands clasped into the small of his back. His curly red velvet slippers made hush-shush-hushing sounds on the thick carpets of Walfarg weave.
At length, still pacing, he said: “You are a man of parts, Wr. Drajak."[2]
[2 Wr.: Abbreviation for walfger, herr, mister. A.B.A.]
I said nothing and listened.
“Tuong Mishuro was not mistaken in you. You are well named Drajak the Sudden. I am confident I can trust you. Will you help me? Will you help my cause and the cause of the queen?"
He stopped directly before me and spread his hands.
“I will insult you by offering gold. You will not insult me and you will accept. I need your help. I would like to employ your special talents. How say you?"
* * *
Chapter five
I sat there pretending to think, seeing the pieces on the Jikaida board's blue and yellow squares, and Chandro's tipped-over Queen. There was no need to let him see how pleased I was at this turn of events.
I stood up and he lifted his face to stare into mine.
“I accept your offer, San Chandro. Thank you."
He smiled and looked pleased and relieved. “I am glad. Good. Excellent. Now we can plan how best to circumvent the queen's enemies."
The cynical thought occurred to me that now he knew I'd seen off a number of villains who'd run across my path, was he using that word circumvent as a euphemism for a darker thought?
“There are five of us Queen's Repositers,” he told me. “San Nath the Uttarler is our chief. He tries to be just and fair and finds that hard. San Nalgre Hien-Mi is my friend and we think alike in the queen's service. I have mentioned San Yango in connection with your splendid Jikaida plan. He stands against us. With him is San Ranal Shang-Li-Po known as the Kaour, the Death Dealer. If Ranal hadn't been a Repositer for most of his life he would have been knocked on the head seasons ago."
As I
digested this information, Fansi came in flicking her tail to say the queen was abroad and wished to see San Chandro at once. Fansi gave me a saucy look, tossed her head, and let her tail curl up around her waist. The red bow stood out brightly against her silver-gray fur. She walked out with that kittenish swaying movement young Fristle fifis employ to infuriate susceptible males of other races of diffs.
Chandro started for the door at once, then caught himself and paused, turning to me with a lop-sided smile. “Your pardon, Wr. Drajak. As you see, I must go. The queen calls. Tell no one of our new arrangement. You understand?"
“I understand, san."
When he'd gone I picked a handful of palines and went back quietly through the bedroom where Wink was snoring away like a volcano. I went out and Leone came hurrying up, looking annoyed.
“There you are!"
This morning she wore a pale blue gown with silver leaves patterning the hems. Her light hair was neatly combed back. Her face was not—quite—petulant in expression. I had seen evidences of courage in this girl. She might be a spoilt palace brat; her spirit was all right.
“Here I am, Leone."
Her eyebrows went up.
Before she could answer I went on: “Is there a place more private than this corridor where we might talk?"
Without a word she marched off, shoulders held very squarely, and I tagged along. We landed up in a small antechamber furnished in simple style, mostly fragile wooden and rush pieces. The double doors to the chambers beyond were closed. An eagle was carved and painted on each leaf.
“Well?"
“First, Leone, the necklace."
“Yes?"
Neither of us had seated ourselves. We faced each otheralmost as antagonists in the arena. Her breathing quickened.
“Is there a copy made?"
“A copy? You mean a fake?"
“Yes."
“I don't know. Why? Is it important?"
Scorpio Assassin [Dray Prescot #39] Page 4