Liavek 7

by Emma Bull

  Kaloo looked up and saw Brajii holding a cup out to her. "Drink this," she said. "It will make you sleep. When you wake up, it will all be over."

  Kaloo stared at her, but made no move to take the cup from her hand.

  "Do it, girl," said Brajii.

  Kaloo felt paralyzed. Sleep was the last thing she wanted and she didn't want to be poisoned at all. She didn't trust either of these two.

  Brajii cursed and set the cup down next to her and picked up her crossbow, set a bolt in it, and cocked it. The "click" echoed loudly in the room.

  "No!" said the one called Jolesha. "Don't!"

  But Brajii aimed the crossbow at Kaloo and said, "Drink."

  Kaloo felt her heart pounding. The last time she had seen a crossbow bolt, it had been sticking out of Dashif's knee. When she had tried to pull it out, his blood had made it slippery. The fletching on it had matched the one on Brajii's bow. She swallowed, sick. Almost in a dream, she saw herself pick up the cup and put it to her lips. It tasted like water, with a faint lemony flavor. When she had drained it, she set it down next to herself and curled up against the wall.

  "Good," said Brajii. "You'll sleep soon."

  Not if I can help it, thought Kaloo. She wanted to be away from here, to get up and run. Had it really been a sleeping draught, or something more deadly?

  Poison?

  It is impossible to poison a sorcerer if the sorcerer is careful, Kaloo. The first thing you learn is to feel your body, inside and out. Some sorcerers can heal disease in others, but any trained sorcerer can heal himself. You learn to feel what is wrong, and you absorb it, or expel it, and make it harmless.

  Without moving, Kaloo thought about, but didn't touch, the fan that contained her luck. They probably didn't know she was a sorcerer, she realized. Suddenly she felt a little less helpless. And yes, Dashif had been right. Now that she thought about it, she could feel the potion in her stomach, spreading to her blood stream. She pulled it back, pushed it down, through. It was easy. She felt as if she should have been able to do it before investing her luck. This was her body with a foreign object in it, it just had to go that way.

  She lifted her head, tried to look dazed. "I need a toilet," she mumbled.

  The two women looked at each other, and for a moment Kaloo feared she'd given herself away. But then Jolesha fetched her a slop-pot from the far end of the room. They watched her as she used it, which made her angry rather than embarrassed, but she kept the anger off her face. Her control was getting better.

  She half-staggered to her spot by the wall and lay down. She let her breathing slow, become even and soft. Minutes passed as ponderously as hours. Patience, she reminded herself, and lay still.

  At last the one called Brajii said, "All right. I'm going to send the note. I'll be back soon."

  "Be careful, Brajii."

  "I will."

  Kaloo remained still as Brajii's footsteps faded, and forced herself to think. What now? There was only the one called Jolesha, but she could overpower her. Was there magic she could perform that would aid her escape? But she couldn't seem to concentrate. A thought kept intruding; these women had been so confident that she would be bait enough to draw Dashif out of cover. How could they be so certain that a threat to her would bring Dashif to them? An even stranger thought followed. Why had she come with them so meekly? Because they had told her Dashif was in trouble. And so she had come with no thought for herself. Would he come the same way? Certainty made her ill. He would. He'd walk right into their jaws.

  Then Jolesha spoke, and this startled Kaloo so much that she opened her eyes. Jolesha was turned a little away, the hood up on her head. A bright violet light outlined her body against the dimness of the bare room. The source of the light seemed to be a cylindrical object in her hand. She repeated the word she had spoken: Klefti. It sounded like a name.

  Suddenly there was another voice—a whispery voice—in the room. It seemed to emerge out of Jolesha, and it sent a chill through Kaloo. It said Jolesha's name.

  "Yes, Klefti. I'm here. I'm in Liavek again. How are you?"

  "As always, Jolesha. Urgelian, too."

  "Klefti, Urgelian, I am … doing something."

  "What?" asked a second strange voice.

  The light seemed to flicker when they spoke. Kaloo gaped. Ghosts? Invisible spirits?

  "I have found a—a friend." The word rang false to Kaloo. "Her name is Brajii. She has a plan to help me, but it's dangerous. I don't know if I want to do it, but they're looking for me, everyone's looking for me."

  "Be careful, Jolesha," said Klefti.

  "Yes, yes, of course. But it's all right, really, isn't it? If I fail, I'll die, and be reunited with you. If not, I'll still have—"

  "Be careful," the other voice interrupted. "We must go, it's becoming painful. We love you."

  "I'll speak with you again, when we're done," she said. She sniffled. Kaloo saw her slide something into a leather pouch and hang that around her neck.

  Kaloo closed her eyes again and tried to understand what this meant, and what she should do about it. There had to be a way to use that thing, whatever it was. What was it? Her luck object? What had she said, "If I fail, I'll die, and be reunited with you." A device to speak with the dead! That had to be it. Could that be what her father had been looking for? And these two were going to kill him because he wanted to find it.

  Kaloo lay there, feigning sleep, and didn't realize that for the first time she had thought of Dashif as her father.

  She had come to no conclusion when she heard Brajii return, saying, "It is done. Help me carry the girl to the wagon. We must be there before him."

  She felt herself being picked up and carried. Her mind raced, looking for a way to escape. She smiled to herself at her sudden confidence. They were clever, these two, but they didn't seem to realize what it meant to capture Dashif's daughter. Soon they would. Soon.

  •

  Pitullio studied the message and wondered what to do about it. It had been addressed to Dashif, but it wasn't sealed. Had that been an oversight, or was he meant to see it? Damn, there were too many forces at work. One could hardly tell which plots were one's own anymore. He should simply pass on the message to Dashif, but …

  It was too clearly a trap. If Dashif wanted to see his daughter alive again, he was to come to the alley behind a tavern called the Catspaw, alone, in less than two hours. Not much time, for one thing. If he, Pitullio, chose wrong, and was responsible for the death of the girl, Dashif would kill him. But if he allowed Dashif to be killed, well, Resh wouldn't like it, and he, Pitullio, would be pretty unhappy, too.

  He could show Resh the note, but what would Resh do? Probably ignore it and have Dashif attend to business. He sighed. He hated making decisions in a hurry.

  Finally, with some reluctance, he called in a messenger, gave him a terse message to pass on, and dispatched him. Then he settled back to wait, hoping he'd done the right thing.

  •

  Dashif moved through Old Town like a ghost, invisible, yet seeing everything. His agents would receive a tap on the shoulder and see him, answer his questions, and then he'd be gone.

  It seemed slow to him, yet only half an hour after he'd arrived in Old Town, Dashif had found where Arenride was carefully searching, interrogating, and checking with his agents. Dashif was in no hurry, in any case. He waited for his opportunity.

  Soon he saw Arenride, alone, begin a search through a small, winding street where most of the houses were empty, and where Dashif knew there was a small cul-de-sac at the end.

  He found three city guards in the area and "requested" that they stand at one end of the street to make sure no one wandered in. Then he checked the charges on his pistols once more and began to follow. Arenride would never leave the cul-de-sac alive.

  Then he heard his name called, and saw someone he recognized as a messenger of Resh's standing next to the guards, who wouldn't let her past. Dashif signaled to them, and she approached him.
/>   She handed him a note, which he read quickly. "I was lucky to find you," she said. "I was directed by—"

  "Quiet," said Dashif, reading the note again. He felt himself trembling. He crumpled it up and started to throw it to the ground, then stuffed it into his pouch instead. "Do you know any details that are not contained in this?"

  "No, Count Dashif."

  "Very well. That will be all."

  "Yes, my Lord."

  As he mounted his horse, he dismissed the city guards. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew they wouldn't be needed at the moment. Arenride—yes, and Jolesha, and His Scarlet Eminence—would all wait. His daughter had been kidnapped, and he was needed back at the Palace. Why the Palace, he didn't know; but if someone had done something to endanger his daughter, that someone would die.

  5 BLOCKING

  Kaloo peered out through her lashes. They had stuck her wide-brimmed sun hat on her head, "to disguise her," she'd heard Brajii say. It served Kaloo now by keeping her eyes in shadow. No one was looking at her. Jolesha was in the back of the cart with her, but she was staring at the sky. Whatever she was imagining was putting lines of tension around her mouth and eyes. Brajii was in front, guiding the mule. She knew by the tops of the buildings that they were still in Old Town. She wished she knew where they were going, but she didn't. The sooner she acted the better.

  Dashif had taught her a great deal about the casting of spells and how to approach magic, but few spells of any practicality. She could just jump for it. Do it now, she told herself, up and over the side of the cart, hit the street running and get around the comer—before a yell from Jolesha and a crossbow bolt found her spine. No.

  Think, she told herself. They believed she was asleep. Sleep. Perhaps—

  She closed her eyes. Felt the fan on its loop of silk resting against her hip. Mentally she touched Jolesha, imagined stroking her temples. Sleep, she told her. Sleep. The afternoon is warm, all is well. You have time to rest. You will awaken later, when it is time. Sleep.

  Nothing. No, it was growing, the spell was working, but she had to have patience. She needed to hurry, but the spell could not be hurried.

  Sleep, Jolesha. Sleep. Rest. Close your eyes, the sky is so bright. Let the motion of the cart lull you. All is well, Brajii is taking care of everything, you are tired and you can sleep. The sun is so hot, it is time to sleep. Sleep, Jolesha. Sleep.

  Kaloo peeked at her. Yes, her eyes were closed. Kaloo stood up carefully. She needed to make one jump and be gone, Brajii must not even feel a lurch as she left the cart, for the cocked crossbow was on the seat beside her.

  Another thought struck her. She turned it over, considered it. Dashif wanted it, that was true. But if it did what she suspected it did, she had her own uses for it.

  She didn't hesitate. She lifted the pouch over Jolesha's head, felt a sudden spasm of terror, and let it carry her over the side of the moving cart, out of the street, and between two buildings and down the alley behind them. Around corners and over fences and through one fancy garden, racing like a scalded cat. She never even heard Brajii's shout of anger and alarm.

  •

  The southwestern edge of Old Town was just that—an edge. A street called Meadowhill Road curved between Fog Way and Twanith Street and almost intersected Fairday Road several times. Fairday Road was proper residential Liavek. Meadowhill was filled with tall, leaning, grey houses, many of them empty, and all of them looking like they were either haunted or ought to be. The shops mostly didn't have signs.

  The dark, bearded pedestrian walked past one of them and was accosted by a man who was probably younger than he looked, who should have quit drinking years before.

  "Good sir, might I trouble you for some tobacco?"

  Arenride stopped and looked at the derelict. "I don't know you."

  "I'm a friend of Whitehair."

  "Oh. What is it?"

  "Have you spoken to our friend in the last hour?"

  "No."

  "You had no trouble in Ruckhoe Circle?"

  "No. Should I have?"

  "Someone who wears red was going to kill you there."

  "He didn't."

  "That is true. Whitehair tried to reach you, but I guess he didn't make it in time, or it proved unnecessary."

  "What do you know?"

  ''That the one who wears red came by here, not long ago, on a white horse. He was in a hurry."

  "Back toward the Palace?"

  "Yes."

  "I see. Anything else?"

  "I didn't see this myself, but two people have been scurrying around here, searching for something or someone, in very obvious ways. One is young and pretty; I don't know her. The other had red hair, used to wear green, and I think she had a crossbow hidden under her cloak."

  Arenride paused, considering. Dashif returning to the Palace, Brajii looking for someone—who?—with someone else—Jolesha? This was the second indication he had come across that the two of them had teamed up. Was it true? If so, why?

  He paid the derelict and said, "Keep an eye out for them, and stay in touch with Whitehair. And my compliments on your disguise—you smell like offal."

  "Thank you, Master Arenride."

  •

  "Who … ?"

  "Can you hear me?"

  "Who … ?"

  "My name is Kaloo, I'm—"

  "Who … am … I ?"

  "I don't—that is, Erina?"

  "Erina."

  "Yes. I was drifting. So peaceful. I am Erina. Who are you?"

  "I think—I think I'm your daughter."

  "Daughter."

  "I am Count Dashif's daughter."

  "Dashif. Tori."

  "I—"

  "Yes. Kaloo?"

  "That's what they called me. Do you—"

  "A pretty name. Kaloo. T'Nar always liked birds."

  "What should I—"

  "Are you happy, Kaloo?"

  "Not really. I'm too confused."

  "It will pass. Take care of your father, Kaloo. He's been confused, too. He needs to be happy again."

  "What happened to you?"

  "All in the past, my sweet Kaloo. You have a beautiful presence, here. Who has raised you?"

  "Her name is Daril."

  "Daril."

  "But then Dashif found me again, he has been seeing me."

  "Does Daril love you?"

  "… Yes. Yes, I supposed she does, Mother."

  "No. Don't call me that. The woman who raised you is your mother."

  "But—"

  "You were conceived out of love, Kaloo. Daril raised you in love. Your father found you again to find love. Remember that."

  "But—"

  "I must go now. This is difficult."

  "I—Erina? Are you there?"

  •

  "My Lord, wait!"

  Dashif reined in his horse and looked for the source of the call. It was the cab runner. There were people around. For the runner to be calling to him openly, it must be important. Dashif dismounted as the runner approached. Pedestrians looked at him and gave the pair of them a wide berth.

  "You are looking for the little girl."

  "I have a message—"

  "From Pitullio."

  "Yes. What of it?"

  "He didn't give you all the information he had."

  Several competing questions, all of them urgent, flashed through Dashif's mind. He settled on, "Why not?"

  The runner worked his lips, then. "The man who cleans around His Scarlet Eminence's offices—"

  "Bilthor, yes."

  "He works for you."

  "I know that."

  "He found the message in your chambers, after having heard Pitullio give the message you were brought."

  "Why wasn't I given all the details?"

  "It was a trap, Count Dashif."

  "Of course it was. So? Have you the actual details?"

  "Yes, Count Dashif. You are to go, alone, to the alley behind the Catspaw tavern in order to get th
e girl back. You are to be there in an hour. My Lord, it is clearly an ambush."

  "Yes. Anything more?"

  "My Lord, everyone has been running around today like I've never seen. Arenride is out, and his people are looking for someone. We are looking for the girl, Jolesha, and, well, it is all very confusing. Things are happening that I don't understand, my Lord, and I suspect that things have gone wrong for everyone involved, until there is little but confusion left."

  Dashif nodded. "Yes. I think you're right. All right, I don't suppose you ought to let the Eminent Pitullio know you've told me this. I'm going to go spring this trap, if it is one. After that, if I'm able, I'll return to the Palace."

  "Yes, my Lord. Good luck to you."

  Dashif mounted his horse again, muttering, too low for the runner to hear, that he had none, so skill would have to take its place.

  •

  Kaloo put the strange cylindrical object back in its pouch, and the pouch around her neck, then held herself very still. She didn't want to think about what any of this meant. Everything she had believed in was now questionable. No one was behaving as he ought, everyone was saying unpredictable things, and there were people out there who had kidnapped her, and—

  And she realized, suddenly, who she trusted in all of this. There was only one person with the strength to protect her, who wanted to protect her.

  It was a hot midday in Heat. There were crowds to move through. Kaloo began to make her way to the Levar's Palace, to Dashif's private entrance.

  •

  It took Dashif twenty minutes to determine that not only was there no ambush set up behind the Catspaw, but no one was there to meet him at all. This could mean many things. Any of a number of people could have lied to him, and any of a number of people could have been wrong, and any of a number of people could have changed their plans.

  All he knew with certainty was that he wanted his daughter out of danger. That meant finding her, and he had no idea where to look.

  He mounted his horse again, considering. Well, for lack of a better idea, perhaps he should return to the Palace and have things out with Pitullio. Or he could wait here. He was early, and it was possible those who had taken his daughter were foolish enough not to arrive early to kill him.