One remained, a redhaired woman in clothing that was obviously new. She stroked an alley cat she had caught up. She glanced around. Pacing to the side wall, she tossed the blue-barred little beast over. Silly, perhaps, but Tiana cherished the hope that she could learn something thereby — from a good vantage point. As if in invitation, a bushy tree thrust a branch out over her head. Easier to climb the bole, but she felt energetic; she squatted, leaped, caught the branch, swung up. She moved back toward the trunk until she reached a fork, where she sat. It was an excellent lookout, made the better by the bright silver coin sailing up across the sky. More light poured from the windows of the greenhouse to turn the garden into a maze of shadows in mauve and bottle-green.
Nevertheless, Tiana could not see her feline go-before.
She waited, but still her keen-eyed seeking went unrewarded. A whirling arose behind her. The tree rustled in a breeze; a giant Arctic hawk landed on the ground only a few feet away. Hardly breathing, Tiana watched it follow her trail to the wall, hopping along; and then, with two swift noisy flaps, it was atop the wall.
The unnatural bird peered into the shadows of the garden. It waited, poised and staring, the consummate hunter. There came a slight movement in the shrubs, and with an ear-splitting scree the hawk launched itself. It rose rapidly, dived to hurtle like a living arrow into the shrubs. The cat squawled — and Tiana’s eyes shrank from an eerie flash of flame that turned the bushes momentarily into a minor sun.
*
On a table far to the north rest three little figurines in the shape of hawks. One is a charred ruin; another is burning.
*
“So much for avenging Marderun,” Tiana muttered.
The pirate was not, however, happy. Though she was glad to be rid of the menace of the werehawk, the manner of its death made her theft appear far more dangerous. Turgumbruda’s defences were… extraordinary. Yet the robbery must be tonight; she was certain that on the morrow the Bashan army would attack in full force. If all else failed, they’d bring up siege engines and extirpate Turgumbruda, house and all, with fireballs. Her need to act was desperate, and she’d learned nothing — save that all who entered this ireful place did not return.
While the house could probably be approached via the sewer system, she’d had enough of dark tunnels for a while. Her eyes narrowed; a smile touched her lips. She’d use the stream! Dropping from the tree, she plucked a long-stemmed dandelion and snapped off its golden head. She went directly to the water and slipped in.
The streamlet was swift but shallow, so that she crawled more than swam. From time to time she remained underwater, using the dandelion stem to draw breath. Nearing the greenhouse, she noticed the creeper-shrubs. Long, arching branchlets dipped into the stream on both sides, though the centre remained clear. As it was dark, she did not avail herself of their excellent cover. Purely by chance as she neared her goal, she brushed one tendril-like branch. It quivered like a drowsing beast.
Tiana was careful not to touch another as she slipped under the greenhouse wall and into an aqueduct of smooth stone. It tottered a little; a rotted support? Warily, she raised her head to peer over the edge.
The greenhouse below was a fairyland of beautiful blooming plants.
A small portion of this stream, she saw as she inhaled a blend of myriad fragrances, was automatically diverted to irrigate the plants. The rest did not drain into the sewer at all, but left the greenhouse via the aqueduct. Puzzling; the stream bed before the house was dry. Where did the water go — and why?
The fragrant, frutescent wonders here drew her attention, and she set aside the new mystery.
Tiana climbed down to inspect the marvels of Turgumbruda’s garden. Though neither lamp nor candle was in evidence, the greenhouse could not better have been lighted by day. Scattered all about, obviously by design, were tall flowers whose large blossoms were a brilliant white. Their uncanny glow illuminated the garden.
The colours of the first grouping of flowers she approached were reversed; the blossoms were a dull green, thrusting from leaves and stems that were a riot of colours. Nearby, plants that were otherwise unprepossessing put forth odd structures rather like the pipes of a shepherd’s flute. On impulse, Tiana blew across them. She was rewarded by a burst of cheerful music. As if in response, a faint sweet tintinnabulation arose on her right. She examined the plants from which that dainty ringing tinkled; their little silver bells were equipped with clappers! Amid the tiny bells squatted a bush of medium size whose fruit was fascinating indeed — gold coins of varying mintage! Tiana squatted to discover that the soil from which the bush sprang was rich gold ore.
A promising achievement, Tiana mused piratically, if a bit beyond the average gardener’s means!
Judiciously dropping the coins into the pouch at her belt, she moved on to a table on which grew little potted flowers of varying colours but similar shape. It was a pleasing effect, and she couldn’t resist the temptation to smell each hue.
The first variety was a hot crimson. Upon inhaling it, Tiana became aware of how much she wanted a man’s arms around her, his hard body against her, how she needed to submit to his desire, urge him to do with her what he would. Trembling, she broke away, pushed her nose down to the pink-and-blue blossoms. Ah, if only I were married! What a fine wife I’d make! I’d take tender care of my man, cherish him, obey his every wonderful whim… Sighing, she moved on to the blood-red blossoms.
“What am I thinking? All men are swine! Better to slay than let one touch this body — I’ve slain many and I’ll slay more, more!”
The scent of flowers of greenish yellow sent fear to lay an icy hand on her heart. I knew it was madness to come here; this is my bane! Here in this vile place of unnatural flowers I will meet a nameless and obscene death. Flowers of deep blue: Ah, fate. She’d come here for the sake of her brother; now she knew he was gone forever. Tears streamed from her eyes as Tiana bent to blooms of pure soft white. Ah, everything was fine, good and right! She faced no danger in this place of calm serene beauty. It was so relaxing — why, she felt like easing right up onto the table among the lovely, lovely flowers to sleep in peace and forget all her resolves, her bothersome mission…
Only with a great deal of effort of will did Tiana force a step back from that beguiling table.
By the Back, what a brilliant and fiendish accomplishment this is! Everyone is prey to a devilish wizard who can force upon him any emotion he pleases, merely with the nice gift of a little plant!
The baneful nature of the spear-leafed plants on the next table was more obvious. These bore not blooms but small, doll-like figures about the length of her forefinger. Most were vague and unformed, but she saw crystal-sharp images, too: the King of Bashan was here, with several of his nobles and various other people of import. A few of these perfect images were pierced with long pins, while several tiny human skeletons dangled from the foul branches.
Monster! Tiana withdrew every pin.
An assortment of stunted fruit trees pushed up alongside the wall. All were heavy with lush scarlet fruit, obviously ripe, begging to be plucked and eaten. All were perfect, none even slightly green or overripe. She had learned to be suspicious. Drawing her dagger, she prodded a fruit lover’s dream. Instantly sharp spines leaped forth.
Poisonous, no doubt, she mused. How popular these would be in bloody Shamash!
Tiana glanced about that house of beauty that was a chamber of horrors. Beyond the fruit trees, a small section of the greenhouse was partitioned off. Plucking one of the light yielders she already thought of as a glim-flower, Tiana entered the little room the partition formed.
Here the irrigation system must have failed. Everywhere drooped red flowers, going brown; withered they were, and completely dry. Her curiosity carried Tiana far into the room before she recognised the danger. Fireplants! The flowers were so called because of the extreme irritation their pollen induced. The victim did not survive, and showed every sign of having been burned to death. Ti
ana had walked into a trap, not dreaming this virulent plant could be grown so far from its native home. To her horror she saw that every flower was dehiscent, ready to discharge deadly pollen at the slightest disturbance.
She froze, looking about, then staring at a tree in one corner of the death room. It was not out of place here; those barren branches looked like skeletal arms… and some were! The twigs were small, finely formed… bones. With a shudder, Tiana thought of vanished slavegirls. Choosing each step with great care, a suddenly prickly-hot Tiana escaped the plants that would have slain most intruders.
As she approached the steps leading out of the greenhouse, she blinked at two barrel-size pods to her left. They were not hothouse plants, for their stems passed through breaks in the wall. These were outside shrubs, invaders. Tiana felt no desire to disturb them. Halfway up the stairs, she remembered the little stone building she’d seen from outside.
The hidden door required but a few moments to find. Inside’ were no plants but numerous pots of earth, racks of bottles and jars, and a bewildering variety of strange instruments and apparati. In the room’s centre squatted a narrow table, six feet long and sinisterly equipped with numerous leather straps. A stand beside the table bore an array of surgeon’s tools; the table was dark-splotched. Despite her revulsion, Tiana was surgeon of Vixen and had to examine these instruments. She marvelled at their excellence; with them it would be as easy to sew a limb back on as to chop it off. And their sharpness!
She paused, considering, attempting to plan.
The neglect of the fireplants, added to other evidence, tended to indicate that Turgumbruda was no longer master of his house. Either he was dead or a captive. In the latter case, he could be a useful if hardly trustworthy ally. Moreover, there was a most important question he could answer. Now suppose that…
Wearing a tiny smile, Tiana plucked a scalpel from among his instruments, squatted and went about the table, slicing nearly all the way through every strap, where they were fastened to the table’s underside. No one would notice, not the gardener-mage’s captors — not even Turgumbruda himself. Perhaps some future captive would surprise someone!
As Tiana left the hidden room, there was an agitation within one of the enormous pods. It partially opened, to spill forth a limp figure with a little plup.
“Ah,” she gasped, “why does such monstrous horror exist?”
The misshapen thing ejected by the outsize pod was — or had been — a man. Every inch of his skin was covered with minute red wounds. Rather than pinpricks, they looked as if roots had been pulled out through them. The pitiful creature was still alive, all floppy and boneless looking, with each shuddering breath an obvious convulsion of agony. Awful eyes opened, saw Tiana. He, or it now, forced out words in a blubbering, barely understandable voice.
“Tell the king not to send soldiers.”
That warning, made the more pathetic by its concern and misfortunate tardiness, exhausted his last reserve. The man Tiana assumed had been the tax collector ceased breathing. She forced herself to feel the body to confirm what her eyes told her. Gooseflesh ran the length of a fearless pirate captain, then; aside from the tiny wounds, the man’s skin was unbroken. Yet every single bone had been removed from his living body.
This time there was no warning whatever. The seedpod split wide and a man pounced forth — a green man.
Though his eyes were but black holes in his head and he possessed no genitals, he was more than man-shaped, and he could see. He advanced on Tiana with clear menace. Her rapier sang its way into his heart — or to the spot where his heart should have been. He twisted, jerked, and the sword was tom from her grasp. It slid from the wound to clang to the floor. No blood marked the blade; none oozed from the creature’s tom flesh.
Fading back, Tiana drew her dagger, observing the while that the creature’s height and general build were the same as the late tax collector’s… Though clearly strong, the green body was clumsy as the new-born. Tiana easily evaded its rushes, while slashing it repeatedly. It should have lost a gallon of blood; there was none. Nor did its awful wounds reduce the thing’s vitality.
The woman made a small error in timing; the green man caught her. Abnormally chill fingers closed about her throat. They began to squeeze the life from her. With her hands together, she jerked her arms up between its wrists and broke the strangling grip. Up and out went her linked, balled fists while she pivoted, and in they crashed, into the thing’s neck. The snap was loud in the silent greenhouse. His head toppled to an odd angle — and still the green monster sought another strangle hold. Tiana snatched his right arm and twisted, again pivoting, to throw the creature over her hip. Before he could rise, she twisted his right arm behind his body and pushed up hard. Crack!
His neck and right arm were broken. And the plant-green man continued to attack.
Grimly, she broke the other arm, and both legs. The monster continued to writhe in ineffectual maleficence.
Tiana tried hard not to look at him/it while she regained her weapons. Viciously, she hacked his foul womb, then slashed open the other one. Within that second pod were a shapeless green mass-and a man. She was careful in cutting him free of the great tangle of green tendrils surrounding him. None had penetrated his skin, which felt like glass. She drew him from his prison, a ghastly botanic womb in which a man was boned to provide the skeleton for his heartless, bloodless plant substitute.
He showed no sign of life, but seemed not so much dead as in a suspension of life. He was thin, old, and wore a gardener’s green smudged smock. His nose was enormous and his teeth were bad. The hair that straggled past his shoulders was limp as old corn-silk. When the cold steel of her dagger touched his skin, he awoke.
“Turgumbruda?”
“Yes… who… what has… happened?”
No time to answer; the windows were smashing all around them to admit long vines and branches. The foliage slithered and snaked with malevolent animation that seemed brain-guided. Tiana jerked the old wizard to his feet, fled up the stairs into the house. It smelled — green. She slammed the door behind them. They were in a pantry, and Theba be praised there was not a plant to be seen.
“You provoked them to desperate violence in cutting me free, young woman.”
“How was I to know you’d outdone yourself? Your shrubs have revolted and taken over the whole place, haven’t they?” The door thudded and shook under the impact of slamming branches. From other parts of the manse came most unpleasant sounds; the shrubs were entering via the windows.
“We’ll not be safe here for long. Why came you here?”
“For the trunk — I mean the body of Derramal. If I help you subdue the plants, will you give it to me?”
His voice was growing stronger by the moment; he sounded no older than thirty, as though he possessed more knowledge of life than mere plants. “Aye.”
“I would go in peace as well, wizard. Swear.”
“I will permit you to go in peace. This I swear on my power. If I break this oath, may my name be changed and my power lost.”
Tiana nodded. “Done. Now how do we destroy the plants?”
“My beautiful young… lady, I have no idea.”
“Oh, wonderful. No use trying to burn them; the werehawk was consumed without harming the shrubs. Ah! The water from the stream! Turgumbrada — the main group of shrubs in front of your house is sucking up all that water. No wonder they’re so green and healthy. And they are huge, exerting themselves — they need more water than an army of horses!”
Without hesitation, Turgumbruda’s piratical saviour pulled open the door and pounced onto the greenhouse steps. A whistling slash of a long, triangular blade sent three large branches flopping, and she descended into a hell-pit of snakelike vines and writhing, whipping branches.
Dodging the heavy blows aimed by the larger branches was not difficult. The vines, however, enwrapped her and were deadly. Wherever they struck her flesh, they quickly sank rootlets that probed like needl
es and could not be pulled loose. She kept dagger and rapier in constant play, cutting and slashing, weaving a deadly web of steel around her, for there was naught here but the silent enemy. Imbedded tendrils dangled, severed but clinging. She would rather have been surrounded by swordsmen; these living, cerebrating plants were ghastly and their only sound was the constant sinister rustling.
She had almost reached the aqueduct when two branches swung at her in eerily perfect coordination.
She sidestepped one blow, rolled with the other — and was knocked flat amid tendrils and branches like a snake-pit.
A swift-snapping vine pulled the dagger from her hand. Others began to enwrap her legs like so many green serpents, and she was glad of the jackboots she’d bought with the rest of her new clothing, after the stripping back in Calancia; at least these things could not sink roots through leather that rose to her thighs! They attached themselves to her arms. She whimpered in pain. It was as if she were attacked by scores and scores of needles. They entwined her body, sank their rootlets through expensive blue silk, tore it.
All the while she forced herself forward. Through she was being enwrapped like a mummy, she gained her goal — one of the wooden beams supporting the aqueduct. Nor had she remembered awrong; this was the quivery one, rotted at the base by overmuch dripping water.
Wallowing, burning with needly root-probes, more than half mummified in green, Tiana drew back her legs and with all her strength drove them at the brace. Pain bit the soles of her feet and leaped up her legs — and a section of the aqueduct collapsed. Down-crashing stone narrowly missed her; water gushed freely.
Now the stream was diverted into the sewer, denying the ruling shrubs outside so much as an ounce of water. More of the weird, the eerie, but this time it was in her favour: the activity around her changed immediately, becoming less coordinated and more frantic.
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