The Crystal Seas rb-16

by Джеффри Лорд

  Blade kept on without slowing or looking back for a good five minutes, ignoring the burning flame in his thigh. He turned each time he came to a corner, zigzagging away from Durkas's villa on what he hoped would soon become a completely unpredictable course.

  Eventually the pain reminded him that be could not run much farther without paying attention to the wound. He dropped into a ditch, then poked his head up from the long grass. As far as he could see in either direction, the road was empty under the moonlight. That light was getting paler too. Blade looked up and saw a solid mass of clouds marching up from the west, slowly shutting out the stars. And there was the smell of rain in the air. Good. In half an hour it would be pitch-dark and hopefully pouring down rain. An army of men with bloodhounds would find it hard to follow his trail then.

  He looked up the wall on the other side of the ditch. This wall was a good twelve feet high, and there were no handy trees or vines close by to help him. He looked along the wall. On the other side of the entrance road and the ornate gate, two stout saplings grew within a foot of the wall and rose high above it. Blade started crawling along the ditch. It was overgrown with rank grass and occasional nettles, and its bottom was slimy mud and foul-smelling water. By the time Blade reached the gate, he was soaked to the skin and plastered with slime, sweating, gritting his teeth at the pain in his leg, and thoroughly foul-tempered.

  He reached the entrance road and flattened himself in the grass, getting ready for a quick rush into the ditch on the other side. He checked up and down the road. The darkness was increasing, and he heard a distant rumble of thunder to the west.

  Then two things happened together. Far down the road, Blade saw ghost-dim figures moving purposefully toward him. With a squeal of long-unoiled hinges, the villa gate began to open. From inside he heard the clop-clop of hooves and the rumble of wheels.

  The searchers were still a good hundred yards away, so Blade risked a quick look through the opening gate. Coming down the road at a good walk was one of the ornate four-wheeled carriages of the Sisters of the Night. High on the upholstered driver's seat rode the driver and his assistant. They both had their eyes fixed firmly on their horses and the road ahead. Blade grinned. Not for a moment did the two men look to either side of the carriage, still less behind it.

  Blade tensed. If he could make his move before the searchers got close enough to see him make it. He looked behind him. The searching party had stopped and spread out across the road. They seemed to be poking spears or poles down into the ditch on either side. This was going to be bloody close!

  The carriage rumbled past. Blade came out of the ditch like a striking rattlesnake. His wounded leg almost betrayed him, slowing him by a heart-stopping fraction of a second. He felt the left rear wheel of the carriage brush his foot. Then he was safely under the carriage, hauling himself up into place to cling like a monkey to the center-pole as it rumbled out into the road. He twined arms and legs around the polished wood to lock his grip, then settled down to enjoy the ride.

  A second later he wondered if there would be any ride, except perhaps in a covered cart to a dumping ground for unwanted bodies. A harsh voice shouted «Halt!» from ahead, carrying over even the rumble of iron-tired wheels and the creak of the leather cords that acted in place of springs. The carriage slowed and stopped, and Blade heard the same voice calling out.

  «We are of the service of the Lord Durkas. We seek an escaped slave, a most dangerous and wicked man.»

  «Durkas?» came a voice from inside the carriage. It was a woman's voice, full-bodied, bell-clear, strong. It held a note that Blade couldn't quite identify.

  «Yes, Sister Brigeda,» said the man. His voice seemed a little less harsh.

  «I have seen no one pass by,» said the woman. «I have only-«A prolonged rumble of thunder, very close, drowned out the rest of her sentence.

  As the thunder died away, Blade heard the man saying, «I grant that you have not had much chance. But it is the Lord Durkas's orders, Sister.»

  «The Lord Durkas is not my master, soldier,» said the woman. This time the harshness was in her voice. «If he wishes my carriage searched, let him come himself.»

  Blade tensed. If the carriage was searched, and if the soldiers had half a brain, they would look underneath, Then-

  Before he could complete that thought, a sound like the crack of doom slammed down from above. Blade felt the whole carriage jerk as the horses jumped in fright, and he nearly lost his grip on the center-pole. Then came a sulphurous blast of hot air, the sound of cracking, splintering wood, a heavy thud, and the swelling roar of falling rain.

  Blade heard curses from the bravos standing all around the carriage and the sound of thudding feet as they ran for cover. Then the driver's whip cracked and the carriage lurched forward, rapidly picking up speed. The sound of the bravos faded rapidly away behind. Blade grinned again. Whatever the argument with Durkas's bravos, Sister Brigeda obviously wasn't going to sit around in the rain to finish it. And he doubted if the bravos would feel much like taking up pursuit. Not in this weather, and not without Stipors' officer driving them on.

  Before too long Blade had to stop grinning in triumph and concentrate on holding on. The whip-crackings came almost continuously as the driver steadily lashed the horses up to a gallop. The carriage thundered along in a deafening chorus of rattles and bangs and creaks and groans. Every shock and jar seemed to go clear through Blade, until he felt that his flesh was about to be shaken off his bones and his bones shaken apart. He could only hang on and grit his teeth at the pain of his wound.

  The carnage rumbled on through the rainstorm, jolting and lurching from side to side. Either Sister Brigeda didn't care how much she was bounced around, or she was more interested in getting home and out of the rain than anything else. Blade didn't blame her.

  The streets were becoming slick with the rain. Several times the carriage swerved violently and nearly went into a skid. The fast-turning wheels began to throw up spray. Bit by bit, it soaked through Blade's already damp and filthy clothes. He began to feel cold water trickling down inside his collar and a prickling in his nose. He had to fight back an urge to sneeze violently.

  Before much longer he was having to fight back an even more dangerous urge. It was an urge to loosen his grip, drop to the pavement, and lie there quietly and fade away. He knew where it came from; loss of blood was getting to him. He also knew he had to fight it. But that didn't make the fighting any easier.

  He clenched his teeth until he could taste the salt of blood on his lower lip. He tightened the grip of his hands until he felt the nails digging into his flesh. He ran mathematical formulas, remnants of his public-school Greek, orders for long-forgotten missions through his head. Anything to fight off that urge to let go, to give up.

  Blade was concentrating so completely on the fight to hold on that it was a while before he realized the carriage was slowing down. The rumble of the wheels was softer, the jolts less violent, the spray not so high. Blade had just realized this, when the driver's voice shouted out from above.

  «Whoa!»

  The carriage rumbled to a stop. Then Blade heard the door open, and the carnage tilted slightly as Sister Brigeda climbed out. Blade got ready to let go and duck for cover. Then another door opened and footsteps and voices sounded all around the carriage. From the words, Sister Brigeda's household staff was welcoming their mistress home. Blade gritted his teeth again and held on. When they had all gone-

  But before the voices died away, the driver's whip cracked and the carriage started up again. Blade nearly swore out loud. He held on grimly while the carriage rolled slowly down a short stretch of cobblestones, then turned to the right.

  More voices and footsteps sounded around the carriage. Men's voices, this time. Sister Brigeda's stablehands were going to work. Blade saw rag-bound feet around the carriage and heard the sounds of horses being unharnessed and led away. The carriage moved slowly and jerkily forward for perhaps thirty feet. Then it st
opped. A moment later the feet vanished, the voices died away, and then a large door shut with a thump and a rattle.

  Blade clung to the center-pole for a little longer. He wanted to be absolutely sure that everybody was gone away to stay. Then he let go, and dropped with a thud onto the floor of the coachhouse.

  He lay there quietly, not moving until he felt his head clearing and some circulation and feeling returning to his cramped limbs. Then he rolled over on his side and began tearing away the cloth around the wound in his thigh. The blood had clotted so solidly that he finally stopped, rather than risk reopening the wound to pack or dress it.

  Presently his leg stopped throbbing and he tested it. It still hurt like blazes, but he could walk if not run. Now to get out of Sister Brigeda's coachhouse and limp to the rendezvous with the sailors. Fortunately he wouldn't have to-

  On the other side of the coachhouse, a door opened.

  Blade froze where he was, then silently crawled back under the carriage. He felt like cursing, not silently. Of all the damned times for someone to come in!

  He heard footsteps, the sound of the door shutting, then two voices, both young, one male, one female. The footsteps moved along the wall to Blade's right. A faint glow crept in under the carnage as one of the newcomers lit a candle. Then Blade heard the unmistakable rustle of clothes being taken off and the plop of them dropping on the floor.

  A moment later the girl gave a soft little whimper. There was another kind of rustling sound and a grunt from the boy. Then another unmistakable sound-the furious thud of flesh against flesh as the couple went at it with all the eagerness in their young bodies.

  In the pale yellowish light of the candle, Blade could see writhing shadows on the gray stone floor of the coachhouse. He could also see a slim tanned leg, obviously female, hanging down in front of a background of hay bales.

  It was also obviously moving in the grip of steadily mounting passion, kicking higher and higher.

  Blade sighed. It was tempting to make his break now, while the two were approaching climax. Odds were they would neither notice nor bother him, not in that state of mind and body. But he decided to play it safe. Unless they were going to go to sleep and spend the night? Unlikely. He lowered himself off his elbows and tried to relax. The chorus of gasps and flesh surging against flesh was getting louder and faster.

  Then something bit Blade sharply in the ear. He was so completely surprised that he snapped with a yell. His head crashed into the underside of the carriage with a jolt that dislodged the rat and nearly knocked him unconscious. For a moment blackness shot with sparks, and explosions swirled in front of his eyes.

  The girl let out a scream like a steam whistle at Blade's yell, and jerked violently. With a thud the young lovers toppled off the hay bales, landing still entangled on the coachhouse floor.

  Half stunned, Blade came out from under the carriage too slowly. By the time he had lurched to his feet, the young man had done the same. He had also grabbed up a pitchfork.

  As Blade slowly stood up, the girl kept on screaming. In fact she was too busy screaming to make any effort to put her clothes on. The young man-he could hardly be more than seventeen-was wide-eyed and naked as a baby. The pitchfork shook in his hands. But he held his ground, meeting Blade's eyes with the determined stare of a man willing to die to defend his woman.

  Normally Blade would have drawn his sword and dispatched an opponent like this in ten seconds flat. But damn it, he couldn't kill this boy and his girl! So he held out both hands in a peaceful gesture. «Be quiet, please. I'm not-«

  But the boy apparently thought Blade was going to attack him bare-handed. The tines of the pitchfork darted forward like the head of a snake. Blade had to step aside in a hurry to avoid being pinned like a butterfly against the door of the carriage.

  He drew his broadsword and raised it, intending to chop in a disarming stroke. He still didn't want to hurt or kill the young idiot!

  But fatigue and loss of blood and the blow on the head had slowed Blade more than he had realized. As he closed in, the boy reversed his grip on the pitchfork and swung the handle in a roundhouse arc. Blade's sword rose, but not fast enough. Instead of being chopped in half, the pitchfork handle swung through its arc and smashed into the side of Blade's head.

  Again he saw blackness shot through with fireworks. He reeled back against the carriage, trying desperately to hold onto his sword. But the boy stepped back and brought the pitchfork handle down full-strength on Blade's sword arm. His fingers opened numbly, and the sword clattered to the floor.

  Blade was trying to stay on his feet and draw his other sword, when the door of the coachhouse flew open. Three men waving pikes dashed in and formed a circle around Blade. He bared his teeth in a defiant grin. Normally three men and a boy would have been easy meat for him. But this time he knew he would be too weak, too slow. But at least he was going out on his feet.

  Blade had drawn the short-sword and was getting ready to fend off the pikeheads when light, fast-moving footsteps sounded outside the door. Then a slim, white-clad figure with dark hair was silhouetted against the darkness outside.

  «Sister Brigeda!» exclaimed one of the pikemen. «This isn't-«

  «Wait!» the woman said sharply. «Where did this one come from?»

  «He was hiding under the carriage when-when-«the boy began. Then he stammered and blushed scarlet all over as he remembered how Blade had caught him and the girl.

  A smile flickered across the courtesan's face as she looked at the naked boy and girl. «Go and get some clothes on, children,» she said calmly. «The rest of you, escort this man up to the Fourth Chamber.»

  «Sister?» said one of the pikemen inquiringly. «I do not under-«

  «You fool,» Brigeda said, not angrily, but as though she was stating a simple fact. «This must be the escaped slave of Durkas.»

  «But if he is, then he is dan-''

  «You do ill to argue with me, Fturn,» said Brigeda. «Do you think Durkas would ever tell the truth in such a matter?»

  «No, but-«

  «The man will go to the Fourth Chamber,» said Brigeda. «At once. Or you will go to the quarries tomorrow morning.»

  There was a dangerous moment of tension before the man's shoulders slumped and he nodded and turned away. Blade had been wondering what he could do to help Sister Brigeda if her servants turned on her. But obviously she had the force of character to keep them all in obedience without his help. A formidable woman. If she was really interested in helping him- But if she was going to be an enemy, it would be like falling into the den of a she-tiger.

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  The three guards escorted Blade up to the Fourth Chamber as nervously as if they had been escorting a virgin princess to her wedding chamber. It took all the strength Blade could find not to fall on his face on the thick red carpet in the hallway.

  Three maidservants took over from the pikemen when Blade reached the Fourth Chamber. Two were fresh-faced and smiling, but the third wore a veil that left only one brown eye visible out of her whole face. All three bustled about as eagerly as puppies, stripping off Blade's filthy clothing, sponging him with herb-scented hot water, and massaging the kinks and knots out of his muscles. He lay face down on the big feather bed, letting them work, until the tension and strain left his mind.

  But he didn't relax too much. So far Sister Brigeda and her servants had done nothing that suggested he was in any danger. But he couldn't rule out some future plots, which he might be helpless to resist. He couldn't even use most of his unarmed combat skills, not wounded and exhausted as he was. However, he needed the treatment he was getting. That was for certain. And if there was going to be treachery afterward, Blade was sure he could at least take a number of Sister Brigeda's household with him.

  However, the next person to come into the chamber was not an assassin. It was another maidservant, pushing a wheeled cart with several dishes on it. There was cold cheese and bread and meat and hot wine. Blade loo
ked at the cart hungrily and heard his stomach rumble ominously. But he shook his head at the maid. Once again he would take no chances with drugged food or wine. He would have to speak to Sister Brigeda herself before he could be sure if it was safe for him to eat and drink in her house.

  «You are not hungry,» said the maid with the veiled face.

  «I am not,» said Blade. He hoped his stomach wouldn't rumble again, loudly enough to prove him a liar.

  It didn't. But his words apparently weren't enough to convince them. All four sat down cross-legged on the rug and stared at him. Occasionally their eyes wandered from Blade to the food and back again. The silence in the room thickened like a fog. Blade wondered how long he could refuse the food and wine without giving offense.

  The silence was broken by the arrival of Sister Brigeda herself. Her flashing dark eyes took in the whole scene-Blade lying in bed, the untouched food, the staring girls-in a single sweeping glance. Then she lowered her eyes to the maids and jerked her head toward the door. Almost with a single motion, they sprang to their feet and scurried out into the hall, pulling the door shut behind them.

  Brigeda sat down on the blue velvet cushion in the far corner of the room and stared at Blade. He thought he detected amusement in those dark eyes. He stared back, taking in the woman. There were wrinkles around her eyes and a bit of sagging skin on her neck; she must be forty or well past it. But otherwise she showed no signs of a life spent at her ancient and demanding profession. Her skin was smooth and high colored, her swept-back hair glossy black, her figure still almost girlishly slender and quick in its movements. Only a large jutting beak of a nose marred her features. No, not marred. Gave them character-a character that made Blade think of a bird of prey ready to plunge on a victim. The look in the wide dark eyes matched that air.

  But Brigeda's red lips curled in a smile before she spoke. That smile didn't take the edge off Blade's alertness.