‘And someone’s told them the Ranjana is here,’ said Amos. ‘Maybe that Anward Nogosh Pata was trying to repair some of the damage done to his master’s dealings with the Overlord.’
A shout caused Nicholas and Amos to hurry to the rear, where they found Brisa hitting Nakor on the head and shoulders with one hand, while trying to keep her vest closed with the other. The little man was half laughing as he shouted, ‘I’ll sew the buttons on! I’ll do it right now!’
The Ranjana’s mood was no better than Brisa’s. She threw a dark look at Nicholas as she said, ‘That man put his hands on me!’ She pointed at Calis, who smiled broadly, for the first time Nicholas could remember. ‘He pushed me up the ladder, and put his hands on my bottom!’ complained the girl with indignation. ‘I will have him trampled under elephants!’
Calis shrugged. ‘She wasn’t moving as quickly as the maids had, and I heard the captain order the search.’
Nicholas said, ‘Girl, those men would have taken you out of here, to the Overlord’s palace, and I think you’d not have lived to see sundown. Now be quiet and go to your quarters and pack.’
‘We’re leaving?’
Nicholas nodded. ‘Tomorrow, but early. So have your maids have everything ready by tonight’s meal. Now, go!’
Brisa pushed Nakor away and said, ‘I’ll sew them on myself, but we still have a score to settle.’
She vanished into the Ranjana’s room behind her and slammed the door. Nakor grinned. ‘That was fun.’
Watching the door for a minute, and thinking of how attractive Brisa was when she wasn’t decked out in shapeless man’s clothing, Nicholas could only say, ‘I imagine it was.’
‘You’re a strange man,’ said Amos to Nakor, laughing.
‘How did you know to keep that man from leaving?’ Nicholas asked Nakor as Marcus and Harry came down the ladder from the roof.
‘Smelled him,’ said Nakor, motioning for them to follow. He led them back to the common sleeping room, where Ghuda and Praji sat on beds on either side of the unconscious man. Nakor moved over to him and opened his shirt. He pulled a small pouch on a thong from around the man’s neck. ‘See?’
Nicholas took the pouch and smelled a familiar pungent odor. ‘Cloves?’
Nakor nodded. ‘I smelled it on him before, the first time I saw him in the commons, a day or two ago. Then I smelled it again when he tried to leave.’
Amos opened the pouch and poured a pile of cloves out. ‘So what’s this all about?’
‘Cloves. Clovis. Obvious.’
‘I still don’t understand,’ said Amos.
‘Do you know what clove is called in the Delkians dialect of Kesh?’
Amos said, ‘No.’
‘Black rose. Ask any spice merchant south of the Girdle of Kesh. It took me some time,’ admitted Nakor. ‘I couldn’t understand why this man smelled like cloves. But it came to me.’ He took the bag from Amos. ‘If they leave a message for another agent, say, in an agreed-upon place, they put one of these cloves with it, and the other agent knows it is genuine. Simple.’
Nicholas said, ‘Very.’
Amos said, ‘Too simple.’
Nicholas said, ‘For ruling and conquest. But remember who we’re dealing with and what their motives are, and you’ll see that they’re effective enough.’
Amos nodded. He remembered what Nicholas had told him and what he had seen at the Battle of Sethanon. The Pantathians were not concerned with conquest and ruling. They were a death cult bent on recalling their goddess through the Lifestone. If death was the only object, one need not be that clever, thought Amos.
‘What do we do with this one?’ asked Ghuda, indicating the unconscious agent.
Nicholas said, ‘Tie him up and keep him someplace safe. Have Keeler cut him loose after we’ve been gone a day. We’ll be safely away or … it won’t matter.’
The others nodded. They knew exactly what he meant by that.
Brisa pulled her trousers on, tied the waist cord securely, then sat on the floor, ignoring the black looks directed at her by the Ranjana. She refused to leave half-clothed, so she insisted on sewing the buttons back on her shirt before quitting the noblewoman’s quarters. She had bullied a needle and thread from one of the maids.
‘You may be used to the rough hands of common men on you,’ snapped the Ranjana, ‘but I am not!’
Brisa said, ‘Take your black mood out on someone else, girl. I’m not inclined to put up with it.’ She bit at the thread and checked the condition of the first button. Starting on the second one, she said, ‘And if you’re too stupid to notice, Calis is not what I would call common.’
The Ranjana lost her petulant pose long enough to say, ‘He is uncommonly strong. I am not large, but I would not have guessed any man could have pushed me upward that rapidly and easily.’
‘With one hand, too, if he was on the ladder.’
The maids exchanged looks of amazement, as they had all been on the roof and had seen none of this. The Ranjana said, ‘He’s not bad-looking, either, though there’s something about him that’s strange.’
‘More than you’ll ever know,’ said Brisa with a mocking tone.
The Ranjana said, ‘More than I would ever wish to know. My maids may know common men, and it’s clear you’re used to them, but I am to be saved for a man of rank, a man of wealth and power.’
‘And you think being the fifteenth wife of this Overlord is something special?’ She shook her head. ‘Some people.’
The Ranjana smiled. ‘Your captain is handsome, in a stern way, but I like it when he smiles.’ She found Brisa staring at her in amusement, and said, ‘But he’s too common a man for one such as I.’
Brisa couldn’t help it, and burst out laughing.
‘What’s so amusing?’ the Ranjana demanded.
‘Ah, nothing,’ said Brisa, finishing the second button.
‘No, what is it?’ asked the Ranjana while Brisa set to work on the third button.
Brisa ignored her for a minute; she finished the third button and started on the last. ‘Girl,’ demanded the Ranjana. ‘What was so funny?’
Brisa put down the needle and donned her man’s shirt. Standing up, she said, ‘Just that some people have an odd notion of what’s noble and what’s common. You wouldn’t know a prince if you’d been standing next to him for weeks.’ She left without further word.
The Ranjana stood, hands on hips, a moment, then stormed to the door and pulled it open. A guard stood outside, and as she attempted to move around him, he said, ‘Sorry, my lady, but you’re to stay in the room and oversee the packing of your baggage.’
‘I need to talk to that girl –’
The soldier interrupted. ‘Sorry, my lady. The captain was very clear you were to do nothing but pack until supper.’
The Ranjana stepped back into her room and closed her door. She turned with a thoughtful expression on her face and said, ‘Prince?’ After a moment of reflection, she clapped her hands together and said, ‘Hurry! What are you waiting for. Everything must be packed and ready for travel by supper!’
Seeing her maids were hurrying to get her clothing and jewels packed away, the Ranjana crossed to her bed and lay down, thinking. ‘A Prince?’ Then a smile came to her and she began to hum a faint tune.
As the sun sank in the west, Harry stood nervously overseeing the line of carts and wagons heading for the docks. The boats were all waiting, manned by hired boatmen paid extra to be ready to leave at any time of the day or night. Tuka was at the dock to see none of them wandered off or got drunk while waiting. Praji, Vaja, and twenty-four mercenaries, posing as guards, were there to ensure the little wagon driver’s orders were obeyed. Calis and Marcus would join them, and as the boats set off down the river, it would be their job to get the prisoners out of Dahakon’s estate.
Harry directed the four guards to go to the head of the small caravan, while Brisa herded the Ranjana and her maids. Nicholas had decided to keep the girls with his party
a while longer, before releasing them with enough money to purchase escorts back up river. Harry was worried; the Ranjana was being cooperative to the point of behaving sweetly, even to Brisa.
Brisa looked suspicious whenever the noblewoman asked a question, but she welcomed nattering over arguments. Brisa kept her eyes moving through the late afternoon shadows, looking for signs of unexpected movement, or of being watched, while she half listened to the chattering Ranjana. Most of the questions were about Nicholas, which she fended off with vague answers.
Harry was watching the last wagon leave the bazaar when he heard a shout and the sound of confusion from the north side of the giant square. A detachment of soldiers rode into view, laying about with lashes as they drove everyone out of their way. Behind came a line of wagons, each carrying what looked to be prisoners. Then Harry’s eyes widened.
He turned to his wagon driver. ‘A bonus if you make sure everyone in front of you gets to the docks in order. I must take a message to my master!’
As the wagon driver shouted, ‘How much?’ Harry raced back into the bazaar, dodging through the press of shoppers and merchants. He could see the plumes of two guard officers above the heads of the crowd, which gathered to watch the spectacle, and some of the heads of the prisoners in the high wagons as well.
Harry forced his way close enough to get a good look, then turned and sprinted back through the crowd, knocking aside anyone in his way. A string of curses and oaths followed after him as he ran toward the hostel.
A few minutes later, he pushed his way into the commons, past a dozen curious soldiers and headed for Nicholas’s room. Without knocking, he pushed his way in, to find Nicholas going over his plan for the night with Amos, Ghuda, Marcus, and Calis. Anthony and Nakor had already left to do some mysterious errand the little man insisted was vital.
‘What?’ said Nicholas. ‘You’re supposed to be with the wagons. ’
‘They’re moving the prisoners!’ said Harry, almost breathless.
‘Where?’ said Amos.
Harry sucked in a breath. ‘To the southwest. It looks like they’re heading for the docks!’
‘Damn!’ said Nicholas, pushing his way past the others, who all followed after Nicholas and Harry. In the common room, Nicholas turned and said, ‘Calis, Marcus, head for the river docks. If you don’t hear from us, do as we’ve planned. If anything changes, we’ll send a runner.’
Outside the hostel, they split up, and Harry, Amos, Ghuda, and Nicholas hurried after the wagons. They dodged behind the procession and ducked around gawkers, keeping the last wagon, flanked by two mounted guards, in sight. Nicholas said, ‘I recognize one of those faces – it’s Edward, a page from the castle.’
He indicated a young man who sat in the rear of the last wagon, staring off into space with a vacant expression.
Amos said, ‘He looks like something’s wrong with him.’
Ghuda said, ‘They all do.’
Nicholas moved to the side of the street and ran along to make up some of the distance, then ducked back into the road, almost knocking over a woman carrying a tray of fruit, who had been watching the wagons. She shouted at him, and one of the guards turned to see what the disturbance was.
Nicholas turned to the woman and said, ‘Sorry.’
‘Watch where you’re going, you fool!’ she shouted.
‘Who’re you calling a fool!’ he shouted back.
Then Ghuda grabbed his arm and said, ‘He’s stopped watching.’
They were off, and Nicholas craned his neck to see the wagons. They followed until they were at the docks. As market traffic thinned out, they were forced to fall farther behind the wagons, lest they be noticed. When they could finally get close, by ambling down toward a fine of sheds as if on some errand, they caught a good look at the proceedings. Longboats waited to carry the prisoners to a ship in the harbor.
Amos pulled Nicholas and Harry back between two sheds, and Ghuda ducked in behind them. ‘What is this?’ Amos said.
Nicholas said, ‘I don’t know. There’s something wrong with our people.’
‘Maybe these aren’t our people,’ said Harry. ‘Maybe these are the copies.’
Nicholas swore. ‘If that’s true, we still have to go into the estate to find out.’ He thought a minute, then said, ‘Harry, go back to the river docks and tell Calis and Marcus to head across now. I want Calis to get in and see if our people are still there. If they are, have them bring word back to Praji and Vaja and go forward with the plan. If they’re not … or if our people are dead, it’s useless to raid for revenge. Have them hold the boats at the river docks until I tell them what to do. If our people are there, you’re in charge of the river boats. Get them down to the meeting place and get our people aboard, then head for the harbor.’
Harry said, ‘Got it,’ and turned to leave.
‘Harry!’ shouted Nicholas after him.
Harry halted. ‘What?’
‘Stay alive.’
Harry grinned back. ‘You too, Nicky,’ he answered, and ran off.
The three who remained watched until the first group of boats reached the first ship, then Amos swore. ‘They’re taking both ships out!’
‘When?’ asked Nicholas.
Amos has asked around about the local tides and sailing conditions, but couldn’t get too much information without arousing suspicions. He said, ‘My best guess is sometime between midnight and dawn, whenever the tide turns.’
‘Is there anything else there we can steal?’
Amos glanced around the bay. ‘Lot of ships have come and gone. But …’ He pointed. ‘That begala.’ He indicated a smaller sailing vessel with two masts, lateen-rigged. ‘She’s a coaster, but she’s fast. If we get out of the harbor before those warships leave, we can intercept one up the coast. They’ll have to keep close to the wind coming out of the harbor, until they turn southeast to run around that peninsula east of here. We can take whichever ship is second in line-the other can’t turn to come back and help in time. But we have to close before they turn, or both ships will just run away from us.’
Ghuda said, ‘Can that little ship hold everyone?’
‘No,’ said Amos. ‘We’ll have to come back, load up, then take out after the first ship.’
Nicholas said, ‘We need to take one before we worry about the other. Come on. Let’s get back to the hostel and send word to the river about the change.’
They set out, and suddenly Nicholas said, ‘Oh, gods!’
‘What?’ asked Amos.
‘Nakor.’
Ghuda said, ‘“Oh, gods” is right.’
‘Does anyone know what he and Anthony are doing?’
‘No,’ said Nicholas. ‘We can only hope it doesn’t stir up a hornets’ nest before we’re out of the city.’
They hurried back to the hostel.
As night fell, Calis vaulted over the wall of the estate. He hurried, unconcerned about being observed. He was familiar with the scant security under normal conditions, and Nicholas’s message about the prisoners being moved to the ship made it even less likely anyone was about the estate.
As he turned the corner of a large hedge, part of a landscaped yard going to seed, he almost knocked over a guard. Before the man could react, Calis struck out with the flat of his hand, catching the man in the throat, crushing his windpipe. The guard fell over backward, thrashing on the ground. Calis hurried along, not waiting to watch him die.
Calis was not given to vainly cursing luck or fate, but despite the long odds of a guard left behind to patrol the estates, he still knew that time was more important than stealth. The condition of the prisoners the last time he saw them meant their captors had no concern beyond keeping them alive to make their living copies, and since it now appeared that task was complete, there would be no reason to keep them alive.
The crunch of boots on gravel announced the approach of another guard, and Calis hugged the ground behind a small gardener’s shed. When the soldier walked past, Cal
is stood up and quickly reached out, grabbing the man by the chin and back of the head. Before the startled soldier could raise his own hands, Calis snapped his neck.
Calis ran. He reached the side of the walled court where the prisoners were kept and leaped, landing on the wall. Crouching low, he saw the prisoners still lying upon their pallets, abandoned by their keepers and the creatures that were transformed into copies.
Calis saw they were unconscious, to the last of them, but still alive. He leaped down into the compound and approached the nearest prisoner. Kneeling next to a young man, now gaunt and filthy, he attempted to rouse him. The man groaned softly, but wouldn’t awaken.
Looking up, he saw that something had changed since the last time he had been to the compound. The elfling stood and trotted to the other end of the square. There was a life-sized statue there, of what at first looked to be an elf but, upon closer examination, was something else entirely. Then Calis felt his hair stand up on his neck and arms, and a rush of fear shot through him. Never in his life had he felt such dread, but never before had he encountered what stood before him. The idol was a Valheru, an icon of the long-lost masters of Midkemia. And something basic and profound in Calis’s being responded. He might only be half-elven by birth, but that half cried out in fear at something no living creature had seen in this life. Only his father, Tomas, had firsthand knowledge of the Valheru, and then because he was the legatee of that heritage. For a time he had been both man and Dragon Lord, and his memories had been those of a creature dead for thousands of years.
Calis circled the statue, examining it. It was a female Valheru, wearing armor and helm. The motif was that of snakes, embossed on her helm and the shield she carried. Calis then knew that Nicholas’s worst fear was well founded: the Pantathian serpent priests were behind all that had transpired so far, without a doubt. This was Alma-Lodaka, the Valheru who had created the Pantathians millennia ago, raising serpents to consciousness and intelligence, to serve in her home, amusing but trivial creatures. But in the centuries since the Valheru had quit Midkemia, these creatures had evolved, becoming a death cult who worshipped their lost goddess, Alma-Lodaka, believing that should they conspire to bring her back to this world, all would die and enter her service, and the Pantathians would be elevated to the rank of demigods as reward for their loyalty.
Prince of the Blood, the King's Buccaneer Page 90