Festival Moon

by C. J. Cherryh

  It had been easy enough to effect during the old man's check-up; just a drop or two of poison on the tongue depressor was all that was necessary. The only tricky part had been to keep the dosage low enough to cause illness, but not death, for immediate death would have cast suspicion on him. The fatal dosage would be reached through his continued treatment of the elder Gregori's "illness."

  Of course, Terrosi did not see this as a betrayal of the Gregoris' trust in him. After all, it had been a Gregori who had paid him to do the murder, and while he was sworn to help no one outside the house, he felt that this was merely an extension of the services he offered to his retainers. What surprised him was that it was not Pietor who had made the request, but one of his younger brothers. Had the commission come from the eldest, Terrosi would have understood it as a bid for the inheritance and control of the house. As it was.

  The doctor sighed and turned once more to his task of administering yet another dose of poison to his patient. His job was to see to the "how," not the "why." It would have been easier if Pietor had been a party to the plot. It was hard enough to work under the watchful eyes of the elder Gregori without having his eldest son fluttering about as well. Still, Terrosi was a professional and used to doing his job under adverse conditions.

  With a reassuring smile, he held out the spoonful of death.

  Torches blazing on a score of boats lit the assemblage and served as a beacon for latecomers as the boat people of Merovingen pranced and capered in one of their rare parties. It was late, well after most of the Festival activity had finally staggered to a halt, but flushed with the energy of the day's frenzy and buoyed by the lavish earnings and tips from drunken Uptown revelers, the canalers were disinclined to rest, even realizing the chaos would start anew on the morrow.

  A dozen boats had lashed themselves together in the middle of the canal, and planks had been scavenged and laid across the gunwales to form a large, if unstable, platform, as the crowd beat on anything wooden with hands or sticks to provide a steady rhythm for those who eased or fed their tensions by dancing. Wine and occasional bottles of liquor, usually closely hoarded, passed around freely in acknowledgement of friendship or generosity. It was Festival time, and purses were too fat for the canalers to be miserly.

  The man known only as Chud perched on a low cabin roof, beating time against the wall with his heels as he leisurely drank in the spectacle with his eyes. He thoroughly enjoyed the canalers with their earthy speech and robust zest for life. Clapping his hands and whistling at a particularly outrageous bit of capering, he reflectively smiled at the contrast between this emotional outpouring and the more restrained, formal gatherings that were the pattern Uptown. There one had to watch every word, every gesture for fear of inadvertently offending the powerful, as well as tracking everything that transpired within hearing in hopes of gleaning a clue of the shifting favors and trends. While his work often required it, it was not a particularly relaxing pastime.

  That was why he had chosen to establish himself with the canalers, buying his own boat and donning the worn garb of the working class to labor among them for days at a time. Acceptance had been slow, but eventually he learned enough to be acknowledged as a fellow, if poorly skilled, boatman. He never asserted himself in competing for the small hauling contracts, meekly taking whatever fell his way by chance. His few acquaintances were annoyed by this, and harangued him to stand up to the boat bullies who crowded him out of fares in mid-negotiation, but he just smiled and shook his head until they gave up in disgust, vowing never again to give advice to someone not man enough to fight for himself.

  In truth, Chud did not need the money and enjoyed the luxury of being gracious. His normal work was profitable enough to make his venture into boating more of a vacation than a vocation, and much of what made it relaxing was that he could accept second place without losing more than an unearned handful of small coins.

  Someone lurched up to him offering a wineskin, but Chud refused with a smile and a wave of his hand. This, too, was part of his character on the canal: the quiet one who never drank or chased women. Combined with his tendency to disappear for long periods of time, this habit led people to believe that there was another part of his life which kept him from becoming truly one of them. There was idle speculation as to his reasons ranging from an ailing parent to a demanding mistress, but no one was interested enough to follow him or even ask directly to confirm or deny suspicions. The canalers were inclined to respect each other's personal privacy, and whatever it was that had unmanned Chud and kept him from being more open and assertive was generally deemed to be nobody's business but his own.

  As caught up as he was with the celebration, Chud was never completely unwary, and he suddenly sensed a new presence in the crowd. There was nothing which specifically alerted him to it, yet he knew it with the same instinctive certainty that lets a bug know when it's going to rain.

  Without changing expression or breaking the rhythm of his heel drumming, he casually scanned the growing crowd for the source of his subconscious alarm. Despite the fact that he was already alerted it took three passes with his eyes before he identified what he was looking for.

  She was standing well back toward the edge of the raft having just stepped aboard but yet unwilling to push her way forward as did the other new arrivals. What finally drew Chud's eyes to her was this lack of forward motion, that and her tendency, like his own, to watch the crowd around her rather than the dancers. Dark of hair and slight of build, she was wrapped in an old blanket which both protected her from the night chill and hid her garments at the same time. Though unremarkable in appearance, once Chud's attention was focused on her she seemed to stand out in the crowd like a pure-bred in a pack of mongrels.

  Of course, his knowledge of who she was sharpened his perceptions.

  For the barest moment he thought of ignoring her. She was no threat to him, and this was his chosen retreat from her world. Then the reality of the situation rose to dominate his mind; a chance meeting like this was a rarity, unlikely to be repeated. It was not wise to ignore what fate had so conveniently dropped in his lap.

  Once resolved, he had to fight back an impulse to rush to her side before someone else noticed her or she retreated. Instead, he made his way across the raft in leisurely stages, zigzagging his way through the crowd as he paused to exchange greetings with acquaintances or to listen to a heated conversation. Watching her obliquely all the while, his heart leaped each time someone glanced her way or brushed past her, but maintained his pace.

  Finally he reached her, or rather the position he had targeted; squatting a few feet away, racing away from the dancers, staring out over the water.

  "You shouldn't be here, m'sera," he said loud enough for her to hear. "It's dangerous."

  The girl started and looked at him as if he were a venomous snake.

  "What did you say?"

  He shook his head without shifting his gaze.

  "Don't stare at me. It'll draw attention." he instructed. "I said it's dangerous for you here."

  "Why do you say that? And who are you? You don't talk like a canaler."

  "Neither do you," he said pointedly. "I'm just doing a little slumming, myself. These folks will usually leave a man alone if he's fit and seems to have his wits about him. There are people on this raft, though, who would love nothing better than to have an Uptown lady for a plaything ... when they spot what you are."

  Chud felt her relax as he spoke and congratulated himself on his word choice. He had been rehearsing his approach as he made his way across the raft, and it seemed he had been correct. His expressed concern was for "what" she was, not "who" she was, and this confirmation of her anonymity eased her fears. "I thought if I dressed. ...

  "The first time you open your mouth, it won't matter what you're wearing, they'll know. What are you; doing here, anyway? Does your family know you're here?"

  "I ... I slipped out of the house after they were asleep," she said. "I've heard...
I'm looking for a woman named Zilfi. The boatman said I would find her here."

  "Old Gran Zilfi?" Chud frowned. "The boatman-cheated you, or was too lazy to pole with his pockets full. She's not here. Her tie-up place is up in the Spur Loop."

  "It is? Then how..."

  "Don't worry. I'll take you there myself. Come on."

  He rose and started to move away, then realized she wasn't following him. Had his eagerness betrayed him? -

  "How do I know you aren't as crooked as the last boatman? Maybe you're lying to me to make a few extra coins yourself."

  Chud smiled at her, though his expression was prompted as much out of relief as for reassurance.

  "It's Festival time, m'sera. A few coins one way or the other doesn't make much difference. I was more thinking to help you out of a bad spot."

  She nodded, but still hesitated.

  "Tell you what," he said, "I'll take you where you want to go. On the way, you mark the buildings and docks to be sure I'm not poling in circles. When we get there, you pay me what you think the trip's worth. Fair enough?"

  A rare smile escaped her then as she nodded again, more firmly this time.

  "Fair enough. Forgive me for being suspicious. I was raised ... I haven't had much experience dealing with people. 1 hope my clumsiness doesn't offend you."

  He made the proper reassuring noises, but guided her to his skip as he did. Now that she had agreed to accompany him, his major concern was that they get underway without drawing too much attention. There seemed little chance of that, though. The canalers were too preoccupied with the festivities at the center of the raft to pay much mind to anything happening at the edges.

  After seating her securely, Chud cast off, then moved to the stern of the craft with his pole to back them out of the tangle of gathered boats.

  "Ware, hey!"

  The call came out of the darkness behind them, and he desperately dug in with his pole as he echoed the warning.

  "Hey, ware!"

  The regular boatmen were far more adept at handling their vessels, and he usually found the safest course in potential collision situations was to hold steady while they maneuvered around him.

  "That you, Chud?"

  A weathered skip eased into the torchlight with a white-haired crone wielding the pole as she peered at the craft blocking her path. Chud groaned inside.

  " 'S me, Mintaka. Got a fare."

  "This late? Good, good. You young 'uns kin keep the canal open 'round the clock. Good fer the town."

  He felt her eyes studying them as the boats passed.

  Damn! That arthritic old lady was one of the biggest gossips on the canal. It was unthinkable that she'd be able to resist spreading the news that Quiet Chud had left the party with a young girl. Anyone who didn't hear it tonight would know before noon tomorrow.

  "You handle the boat very well."

  The girl's words dragged Chud's thoughts back to the task at hand. If any of the other canalers had heard her, they would have laughed aloud. While he was not the poorest boatman on the canal, his skills had a ways to go before they would even be considered mediocre.

  "Thank you, m'sera. It's really easier than it looks once you get the hang of it."

  They were picking up a bit of speed now as Chud got the rhythm of the poling going, the sounds and lights of the party slipping away behind them.

  "You said you were slumming. How is it that someone who can, and apparently does, move freely Uptown choose to spend time with the canalers—even to the point of having his own boat and learning to pole it?"

  "One tires of intrigues and politics," he said in a rare display of honesty. "However frugal their existence, the canalers control their own lives. In their company, I can at least enjoy the temporary illusion that I'm in control of my own life instead of dancing to the tune of factions and houses."

  The girl was silent for a while, watching the piers and bridges slide by in the darkness, and Chud wondered if he had offended her with his candidness, or if she were simply bored with the conversation.

  "I envy you," she said suddenly, proving her thoughts were still with him. "I, too, tire of being controlled by the politics and feuds of this town's hierarchy, but I am never offered the chance you have to escape... even temporarily."

  "Never?"

  He smiled, confident that the dark would hide his expression.

  "Well, rarely. So rarely that my one venture into independence only served to show me the extent to which my life is normally controlled by rules and traditions of my family. Even worse, it made me admit to myself that I was not strong enough to stand alone against them."

  "Is that why you decided not to have the baby?"

  His words hung in the night air as if they were sketched in fiery paint.

  The girl was still for a moment, then he saw her turn, staring at him in the dark.

  "What did you say?"

  "Come now, m'sera. It is not so hard too deduce. Your sneaking out alone tonight is in itself evidence of a degree of desperation. And looking for Gran Zilfi... there are only two medicines she offers that can't be had easier and cheaper Uptown. One renews the potency of elderly men, and I somehow doubt you require that; the other rids a woman of an unwanted pregnancy. Do you see my logic?"

  He thought she might argue or at least deny his assertion, but instead she simply shrugged halfheartedly.

  "It's true. As I said, there are some things I'm not strong enough to face alone."

  "Alone? What of the father?"

  "The father? He's part of the problem... most of it, really. My house would never accept him, nor his me. He says he'll find a way to take care of things, but it's been more than a week since I told him and he hasn't been in touch. Whether or not he has abandoned me becomes inconsequential. I know now that I'll have to deal with this problem myself."

  "Perhaps the matter will be resolved for you."

  "What do you..."

  His pole caught her on the side of the head, sending her over the side into the inky waters.

  She floundered weakly, too stunned to even cry for help, and Chud debated for a moment whether she stood a chance for survival, weighted down as she was with clothes and blanket.

  Better safe than sorry, he decided finally. Reaching out again with his pole, he anchored it between her shoulder blades and pushed with all his strength until he felt her pinned against the bottom, then held her there until the water was smooth.

  Several of the menfolk were present as the assassin was ushered into the elder Gregori's presence. This had been the custom ever since they had lost a member to a killer supposedly seeking a private pay-off.

  Pietor Gregori was uncomfortable with the interview, but as the next in line to head the House it was his duty to be present, both as part of his training and to ease the strain on his ailing father.

  "This man claims to have killed one of the Hannons last night, Father," he said, "but he has no evidence...."

  "It was Teryl Hannon, the youngest daughter," the assassin interrupted, clearly annoyed. "I drowned her in the canal, and her body should be discovered shortly if it didn't get hung up in the silt at the bottom. I'll wager nobody else even knows she's dead, much less the method. There's a possibility that witnesses may associate me with her disappearance, so I'll have to lay low for a while and would just as soon not have to wait around for my payment."

  The elder Gregori waved aside the hovering family physician.

  "This man has killed Hannons for us before, Pietor. Do you have any reason to suspect he's lying to us now?"

  "Even if he's telling the truth about the girl's death, it may have just been an accident that he's trying to claim credit for."

  "An accident?" the killer hissed. "I may have ruined one of my favorite identities for that death, and if you think...."

  "Pay him." the elder Gregori ordered. "Even if it was an accident, there's one less Hannon, and that's worth something to us. If you want to be sure of how they die, Pietor, you'll hav
e to kill them yourself instead of waiting for assassins to do your work for you. It's good to see that someone is hunting Hannons this Festival."

  Pietor flushed at the reminder of his negligence, but fumbled in his purse for the required sum.

  "Thank you, sir." the assassin said stiffly, still irritated at the haggling. "You're lucky I don't charge you for two deaths."

  "How's that?"

  The elder Gregori was alert now.

  "The girl, Teryl, was with child. That's what got her out from behind the Hannons' defenses so that I could get a crack at her. By rights that's another Hannon thai won't be around, even though the death was a little premature. I should probably try to find the lover who abandoned her and get payment from him. He's the one who's interests I really served."

  "Pay him half again for the child, Pietor." the old man cackled, sinking back into his pillows. "He's served us well, and if he's going into hiding, he won't be able to scour the town for some rake."

  "Father, you shouldn't excite yourself."

  "Pay him! This kind of excitement is the best medicine for me."

  Despite his patient's agitated state, Terrosi was covertly studying the reactions of Demitri, Pietor's middle brother.

  The lad had gone pale, his eyes almost sightless with his apparent shock.