So now I knew he had recognized me.
When I say this gave me an uncomfortable itch up my spine, I am sure you will understand.
Mevancy and I made protestations of gratitude which were perfectly genuine and then we went off to prepare for the journey. The gold she had had from the Everoinye was holding up; it would not last forever.
“Anyway, pigeon, why are they going to the Annorpha Springs?"
“Same reason everyone else goes. Floria has a swollen ankle and the waters are a renowned cure."
The Springs of Benga Annorpha were situated in the oasis town of Orphasmot a few day's ride to the west. Sleepy, dusty, white, the town in these days existed only for service to the visitors to the Springs. As to the efficacy of the waters, mistress Telsi declared in glowing terms that they could cure anything.
“Including a broken heart?” enquired Lunky, gloomily.
Mistress Telsi looked at him under her long curling lashes and then turned to stare across the Wayfarer's Drinnik to Walfger Olipen. He had not gone to his home of Guishsmot. He had remained in Makilorn in passionate pursuit of the butterfly beauty of Telsi. She had refused all offers. Still, now that lord Nanji and lady Floria were going to the Springs, well, this might be the time she would change her mind. This, naturally, depressed the good Lunky. He had thought—and only a humble apprentice—and then the rich merchant had appeared, and, well, Lunky wasn't sure just what he ought to do.
San Tuong Mishuro, unsmiling, said: “In this I cannot give you counsel, Lunky. You must work out the vicissitudes of the heart yourself."
“I'll go and be a Todalpheme,” he said, savagely.
Mevancy and me, hidden in the back of a cart, felt for poor Lunky. Still, our decision to go with Nanji and Floria made, we now found mistress Telsi and the merchant, Olipen of Guishsmot, in the company from the old caravan. If our target turned out to be one of those two I'd not be surprised. Not now, after all my dealings with the Star Lords.
“If there is another death, Lunky, I will send word."
“Yes, san. And thank you."
“I have a meeting with two of the queen's Repositers. So I will bid you remberee and take my leave."
“Remberee, san!” they called and Mishuro walked off with his heavy stately walk. I noticed Chiako the Gut and half a dozen of his men were there.
Eventually the little caravan got moving and we trundled off westwards. It did occur to me to wonder if we'd ever return east to Makilorn.
Mevancy dug me fiercely in the ribs as we lay side by side under the sacking in the back of the cart driven by one of Mishuro's slaves. “Well, cabbage. And what of your famous idea? Your disguise?"
“All I can do now is to pull my flamin over my face.” I twitched the sandscarf up. “We'll have to emerge and mingle soon if we are not to—"
“Yes, yes, of course. Have you seen anyone you think might belong to that shint Hargon?"
“No."
“H'm. Well, neither have I. And that means nothing, by Spurl."
She was right.
She turned over restlessly and this time her elbow dug in although she had my full attention. I growled: “I feel sorry for the poor devil you marry."
She sat bolt upright. She glared at me and the blood in her face glowed scarlet. “You! You!"
“Oh, I didn't mean it, pigeon. My ribs'll be blue now."
She breathed hard; but eventually she quietened down. I own, I am an uncouth boor at times. Not all the time, only sometimes.
Presently she said: “I am surprised there is this liaison between Lunky and Telsi. It is—"
“Would-be liaison, don't you think?"
“Oh, yes. I hope Lunky wins over Olipen, although he's quite nice."
“I saw a sweet little girl with Llodi the other night when he was off duty. Black hair in ringlets, slender legs, a sprite. Llodi was quite—"
“Quite, cabbage! I'm not sure I want to hear!"
“Come on, Mevancy! Llodi's entitled to a romance, isn't he? This Pulvia—Pulvia the Ringlets, I believe—might be good for him. I don't know. I just hope so, that's all."
“Yes, of course."
Funny thing, that. Our Mevancy was a bit of a straight-laced lady, more than a little correct. I found that charming.
* * *
Chapter nineteen
“By the Black Chunkrah!” I said, and gave the sand a thumping great kick. “I wish I knew what to do!"
“I've told you, cabbage—we are—"
“Yes, yes, pigeon. Yes. But I don't like leaving Mishuro alone—"
“Llodi—"
“I know. Llodi will cope. But, just suppose, pigeon, just suppose it is Mishuro."
The day was on the wane and the twin Suns of Scorpio, Luz and Walig, dropped down the sky ahead of us. Massy banks of ochre and chocolate, of gold and vermilion, a swirl of colors high up and level banks below, filled the sky with a rainbow confusion. Shadows, red and green, streamed behind us.
“Just suppose."
“Then the Everoinye will take us back, Drajak!"
“There have been arguments between me and the Star Lords. They're not so all-fired hell-on-wheels. They make mistakes."
“Cabbage! Have a care, for the sweet sake of Gahamond!"
“All I'm saying is they could take us back too late.” I walked on across the sand beside our cart in the little caravan. Camp would be made shortly and I felt the greatest unease. “If the Star Lords don't act soon—"
“Then that will prove Mishuro is not the one."
“Not necessarily! I've told you. The Everoinye make mistakes. They're old. They've dropped me in it before this—"
“It would not surprise me if they decided to discipline you—"
“Oh, they've done that. But, right now, I'm trying to work things out their way.” If there is one thing among the many I do detest, it is not being able to make up my mind. I like to decide and then get on with it.
I said: “Right, pigeon. Our target could be Mishuro. It could be the Nanji and Floria connection. It could be anybody of those you pulled out of the fire with Rafael—"
“Yes! And that includes you!"
“Yes, and that includes me. There are two of us. You stick with what you think right and I'll stick with mine.” She glared at me. “Mishuro is clearly the most important person involved—"
“And, as you've said and we know, that need have nothing to do with it."
“I agree. If you look at all the runners, anyone—"
“Yes, yes,” she snapped. “So?"
“So I'll toddle off back to Makilorn and keep an eye on Mishuro."
She'd been walking along sturdily, striding out, head up, kicking the sand out of her way. Now she favored me with a quick upward glance, like a bird. “If you think that best, cabbage. My bindles are almost full-grown now. I do not want to quarrel with you or give you orders you think unjust."
I shut my black-fanged winespout with a snap. You see! How could I be nasty to her? She was doing a job, and trying to do it well. And here was I, a hairy old graint, a leem-hunter, a ferocious fighting-man, a zhanpaktun, and much more besides, lumbering along like a self-destructive avalanche ready to engulf her in my bad temper.
“We-ell—"
“If you think that right. I admit; I worry about San Tuong."
“Give me an animal, any animal, and I'll trot back."
Then, surprising me—but in a pleasant way—she laughed.
“Very well. And if I'm wrong and the Everoinye act, I'll be in Makilorn before you!"
“By Zair! You're right!"
Only when I was riding back astride the dinky little white-haired preysany Mevancy had cajoled a flushed-faced merchant into selling did I consider that the Everoinye might well not act. Mevancy ought to be able to cope on her own, surely? Almost I pulled Blanky around to ride back; then the thought of Mishuro gripped me again. Mevancy just had to be able to cope if fate should pick on her.
Ahead the desert glowed with the
pink and golden light of She of the Veils. I'd always felt a special affinity with this particular Moon of Kregen. A reflective mood overtook me. In the spirit of that mood, now, I can mention that in reality the Moon called She of the Veils is the largest of Kregen's moons. It is her distance from the planet that reduces her apparent diameter to less than the Twins and the Maiden with the Many Smiles.
Shadows flitted under the Moonglow.
For only a single moment I tensed and grasped my sword; then I saw the untidy procession of Umblers just beginning to halt and think about making camp for the night. A funny lot of diffs, Umblers—erratic, incompetent, leaving behind them a trail of accidental damage. The noise they were kicking up as patched tents were pulled out and firewood searched for and children ran screaming spread across the desert. The wonder was with their notorious incompetence how these Umblers ever succeeded in reproducing. Truly, Kregen is home for an astonishing and splendid array of diffs!
Shaking my head I rode on and quite soon threaded my way through the irrigations of Makilorn.
Umblers like to keep out of the way of other folk, keep to themselves. The generally-held belief is that if they tried to build houses for themselves every single one would fall down, brick almost leaping off brick. There is only one known activity in which the Umblers possess skill, and that is a world-renowned skill. They can breed and produce the most marvelous goats. There are many varieties of goat on Kregen with a multitude of names. Umblers can husband them all superbly.
No one inhabiting the land of Tsungfaril was at this time expecting any direct military invasion from any direction, so the walls were lightly manned here in Makilorn. Moonglow and star glitter reflected from a few helmets along the parapets. I headed for the Pancheen Gate. The waft of perfume from moon blooms sweetened the air past an open drain. I heard the noises as I caught the stink.
Very familiar, those noises, very commonplace on Kregen and very dreadful. The slither of steel on steel, the slurring stamp of sandaled feet, the soggy thumps and the abruptly choked off scream of agony—oh, yes, this was the Kregen I knew.
Like phantoms the brown-cloaked figures rose from the shadows and the moonlight threw black and silver stains across the glitter of their blades where the pinkly-silvered steel darkened with blood.
A fleeting glimpse of hook-nosed faces, dark and narrow, the flaring swirl of a cloak, a distinct view of ornate glittery badges in their turbans—that was all I saw. The assassins vanished.
The poor devil they'd done for was past worrying about his fate here on Kregen. He would be concerning himself on the best ways of getting safely past the specter syatras and the stifling spirits of the Death Jungles of Sichaz. This was the hard and vicious face of this wonderful world that sometimes lay dormant so that one could forget the horrors. Eventually the lurking beast would spring forth, snarling and shaking the blood drops from fangs that had bitten deep, tearing the life from brightness. I rose to my feet, promising the corpse's ib that I would send a party to secure him a proper burial. Then I went on and shouted up at the watchmen and they let me through the postern by the Pancheen Gate.
The sense of urgency that had hurried me on through the night forced me into a run as I neared Mishuro's villa. Suppose the san had been murdered whilst I was away! I fairly raced up to the gate and saw the figure of an armed man turning back from the little sentry box. I whipped out my sword.
“Hai, Drajak! No need for that—it's a long watch, me bein’ on me own an’ all. Pulvia's just keeping me company, like."
The glitter of bright eyes in the moonlight, the glint of teeth, the sense of a swirl of black ringlets—yes, this Pulvia would be a luscious armful to while away a tedious and uneventful watch. All the same...
He must have caught the expression on my face, for he said quickly: “I know, I know. But there's nothing doing since lady Mevancy went away, an’ it being so quiet and everything."
The reflection that it was no part of my business to reprimand or discipline Llodi made me relax. He was a good comrade. I said: “I bid you Mellow Moonlights,” and went on towards the villa. Mellow Moonlights is just one of the many Kregen ways of saying Good Evening.
The servants told me San Mishuro was safely tucked up in bed.
I checked this information, personally, to find it correct.
Absolutely no feeling of anticlimax could find lodgment in my head. The dash across the desert among moon shadows, the bloodcurdling incidents of the night, the momentary heart-stopping apprehension at what might have become of Llodi's antics with Pulvia, and then the subject of all this concern to be sleeping like a baby simply fuelled the fires of concern. The tension screwed tighter. There was no release from the pressing sense of encompassing danger. If anything, my feelings of anxiety increased.
The next two or three days passed as though life was running along normally. Mishuro accepted me again into his household with elegance. We ate and drank, slept and walked, played Jikaida and discussed erudite topics, all just as though nothing was amiss with our existence. And the screaming heebie-jeebies clawed away at my nerves and threatened to turn me into a shredded husk.
No word came from Mevancy.
On a morning when the twin suns’ radiance was fuzzily dissipated by a high thin drift of vapor pretending to be a cloud, Mishuro asked if I would care to accompany him to the villa of Lord Kuong. Glad to get out I readily agreed and we set off in that strange multi-colored light. Mishuro told me that Kuong Vang Talin, the Trylon of Taranik, had recently reached the age at which it was considered proper for him to take up the reins of management of his estates. As a Paol-ur-bliem he had grown to manhood under the guidance of his Repositer, San Caran. I received the impression that Mishuro did not much care for this San Caran. “He still has many lives to lead on this sinful world,” said Mishuro. “But that is his punishment. Kuong is a likeable lad, though."
Trylon Kuong, indeed, turned out to be a cheerful, personable young fellow. His eyes were clear, his cheeks ruddy, his lips firm. I fancied that plenty of girls would take to the cut of his jib. He welcomed us warmly and just as San Tuong opened the conversation, San Caran marched in.
Well, now.
Rub a cat's fur up the wrong way and watch the sparks fly.
Yet the whole encounter was handled with exquisite manners on both sides. San Caran as good as told San Tuong to shove off and stop interfering in things that were not his concern. San Tuong replied that he was not happy at the way San Caran was handling the trylon's affairs. It was all prettily done but at the end I took the clear impression that Caran, having run the estates for so long, was not prepared to hand over his authority to this slip of a boy he'd raised from babyhood.
With self-mocking cynicism I could well understand how Trylon Kuong would be happy and well fed and chased by girls. After all, by Krun, he had money, and estates, and so why shouldn't he enjoy himself? If leading this kind of life was his punishment, one might think, you'd have folk queuing up to be punished. The reality, of course, was quite the opposite. No one of Tsungfaril was prepared to wait about for lifetime after lifetime before being allowed to enter Gilium. However marvelous a life the paol-ur-bliems might lead here, the paradise of Gilium offered unthinkable delights.
This San Caran was having his cake and eating it.
He was partaking of the delights of a sumptuous lifestyle here and now, and his passage to Gilium was assured and booked.
Oh, no. He was not prepared to give up his power and luxury to a youngster.
As for himself, San Caran wore a snuff-colored robe, with green slippers and sash, and wore on his long face a mournful expression. I couldn't make up my mind if that pained expression was that of a martyr or someone sniffing an unpleasant smell.
Absolutely nothing came of that visit. Kuong had just returned to Makilorn from Taranik over to the west and San Tuong, shaking his head, grumbled to me that there was going to be trouble, big trouble, in that quarter. “And in the not too distant future, too!"
“I suppose San Hargon and San Caran are bosom friends?"
“Assuredly."
I said: “Perhaps too much power is collected into the hands of a Repositer under the present system.” I spoke carefully.
“That is certain sure. The queen has listened sympathetically to arguments in favor of altering the laws. But that always takes time."
“So in the meantime—"
He interrupted me, a following thought in his mind breaking out. “Caran is well aware I am trying to influence the queen to have the laws changed. Hargon with a new Paol-ur-bliem to care for will support Caran and the other Repositers. Yet it is the queen's policies with regard to Tarankar that should concern us all at this time.” He sounded out of breath. “Well, that is not for us to meddle with. What the queen wills, the queen wills."
Later that day Mishuro had to attend a meeting and I was left at a loose end. After a few practice shots with Master Twang's fine bow, I felt in need of a wet. The evening trade was beginning to buzz, although this city of Makilorn was vastly different from Ruathytu or Vondium, and even more vastly different from Sanurkazz, as Mother Zinzu is my witness!
They did have clouds around here, once or twice in a decade, I guessed, when some freak meteorological conditions prevailed. The early wisps had not been burned off but had thickened enough to cause evening to arrive earlier than usual. Just as I passed Tongwan the Slow, who'd been told off to stand guard at the doorway, a flurry of drapery rushed towards us. We saw a shock of dark hair, bright eyes, lissom legs flashing under lifted skirts. “San Tuong!” cried the girl. “It is murder! They are murdering Trylon Kuong!"
Tongwan grabbed her and twisted her around. I recognized a girl who'd brought in refreshments when Mishuro and I visited Kuong. Tears glittered on her lashes; but she was fierce as a leem.
“Hurry, hurry! Send men!” She tried to wriggle free from Tongwan but he held her fast. “You great lummox! What do you wait for?"
Scorpio Reborn [Dray Prescot #38] Page 17