Festival Moon

by C. J. Cherryh

  Denny shook his head. "No go. He needs more; needs protection, needs somebody with weight backing 'im. So I'm askin'—you seen that pretty blond that ain't canal 'round lately?"

  Rif shook her head, letting go of Raj's chin. "Not me. Rat-love?"

  She, too, shook her head. "Ney, ney. Know who might, though—that canal-rat that used t' be Moghi's. Tommy."

  "Oh, no—" it was Denny's turn to shake his head. "Ain't messin' that one. That Jones keeps an eye on 'im; push him, she'll know—I damn sure don't want her knowin' I'm trying' to touch her man. She's got a nasty way with folks as bothers 'im."

  "Point," Rat agreed. "All right—best I can say is try that runner-fluff of yours, Lady-o. She's been doin' runs down along where he mostly seems t' hang out— 'specially lately."

  A fistfight broke out across the room, interrupting them. For a few seconds it remained confined to the original two combatants—but a foot in the wrong place tripped one up and sent him into a table and its occupants—and things began to spread from there.

  Rat and Rif exchanged glances filled with unholy glee.

  "Shall we?"

  "Let's shall—"

  With reverent care, they handed their instruments to the bartender, who placed them safely behind the wooden bulwark. They divested themselves of knives— this was a fistfight, after all—then charged into the fray with joyful and total abandon.

  "Women," Denny said, shaking his head ruefully, "Well, at least they 11 come out 'f that with full pockets. Back way, brother." Raj followed him outside with no regret.

  Denny led the way again, back over rooftops, climbing towers and balconies, inching along drainpipes and across the support beams of bridges until Raj was well and truly lost. Fatigue was beginning to haze everything, and he hadn't the least notion where in Merovingen he could be—except that by the general run of the buildings, they were still in the lower-class section of town. When Denny finally stopped and peered over a roofedge, Raj just sat, closing his eyes and breathing slowly, trying to get back his wind, with a gutter biting into his bony haunches.

  "Yo!" he heard Denny call softly, "Ladyo!"

  Sound of feet padding over to stand beneath where Denny hung over the edge. "Denny?" answered a young female voice. "You in trouble?"

  "Ney. Just need to find someone."

  By now Raj had recovered, enough to join Denny in peering over the roofedge. On the walkway just below him was a child—certainly younger than Denny, pretty in the way an alleykitten is pretty.

  "I'm waiting," she said, and "Oh!" when she saw Raj.

  Denny shook his head at the question in her glance. "Not now. Later, promise. Gotta find that blond you're always droolin' after."

  She looked incensed. "I ain't droolin' after him! I just think he's—nice."

  "Yeah, and Rif just sings cute little ballads. You know where he is?"

  She sniffed. "I shouldn't tell you—"

  "Oh c'mon! Look—I promise I give you that blue scarf of mine—just tell."

  "Well, all right. He's in Tesh's on Foundry. I just run a message over there and I saw him. I think he's gonna be there awhile."

  "Hot damn!" Denny jumped to his feet, and skipped a little along the edge of the roof while Raj held his breath, expecting him to fall. "Brighteyes, you just made my day!"

  Denny had traded on the fact that he was a known runner to get into Tesh's. It wasn't a place Raj would have walked into by choice. The few faces he could see all looked full of secrets, and unfriendly. They approached the table Mondragon had taken, off in the darkest corner of the room, Denny with all the aplomb of someone who had every right to be there. Raj just trailed along behind, invisible for all the attention anyone paid him. This place was as dark as Hoh's had been well-lit; talk was murmurous, and there was no one entertaining. Raj was not at all sure he wanted to be here.

  "M'ser—" Denny had reached Mondragon's table, and the man looked up when he spoke. Raj had no difficulty in recognizing the Mondragon from Nev Hettek. Older, harder—but the same man. "M'ser, I got a message for you—but—it ain't public."

  Mondragon looked at him; startled at first, then appraisingly. He signaled a waiter, spoke softly into the man's ear; the man murmured something in reply, picked up the dishes that had been on Mondragon's table, and motioned for them to follow.

  The waiter led them all to a tiny room, with barely more than a table and a few chairs in it—but it had a door, and the door shut softly behind them. Mondragon seated himself at the table, and picked up his tea-mug. The way he positioned himself, the boys had to stand with him seated between them and the door. The lantern that lit the room was on the wall behind Mondragon's head, and made a sun-blaze out of his light hair.

  "I'm waiting," was all he said.

  "M'ser—my brother's got information that you might could use—it might be you an' him know the same people. We wanta sell it."

  He poked Raj with his elbow, who shook himself into awareness.

  "Information?" Mondragon did not look amused. "What on earth could you two have that would be of any use to me?"

  "M'ser, somebody thinks it's important. He's been havin' to hide out in the swamp because somebody thought it was important. Our Mama was killed because somebody thought it was important, but she passed it to Rigel, here. See, we know who you are. We know where you're from. We reckoned you would be the right man to know what he's got. And we figured you'd be the best man to pay our price—an' that's t' keep him safe after he's told you."

  He began to look angry. "If this is some kind of a scam—"

  "Brother," Raj said clearly and distincdy, "the Sword is drawn."

  Mondragon, who had just taken a mouthful of tea, coughed and practically choked.

  Raj took the most recent of his precious copies of The Message from his shirt pocket and handed it to him.

  Hazed with fatigue, Raj was blind to Mondragon's reactions—but Denny wasn't.

  Within a few moments, Denny had figured that Mondragon was not pleased with their recognition of him as Sword. Moments after that, he knew by the worried look that Mondragon wasn't Sword anymore.

  This required recalculation.

  Then Mondragon's mouth began to twitch as he read the paper Raj had given him.

  "Where did you come by this?"

  "Told you," Denny said, stalling for time. "Our Mama was something with the Sword—passed 'em messages an' whatall. 'Cept somebody figured that out an came for 'er, an' Raj ran for the Marsh t' hide out with the last thing she got. Figured things was fine until he got jumped out there today, and 'tweren't no crazy, was an assassin. Takahashi's who we are; ye might know the name—ye might know people here Mama knew—Gallandrys. You gonna help us out?"

  "Nothing here for me," Mondragon said, his mouth amused, though his eyes were hard. "What you've got is an out-of-date infiltration schedule. Useless. And worthless."

  Raj's mind went blank. All the hope—the plans— all in ruins; and the man Mondragon didn't seem the least bit interested in helping, much less being the shining rescuer Raj had prayed for. "But—-somebody must think I know something—" he replied desperately,"—or why try to kill me? And why send a trained assassin? They could have hired one of the swamp-gangs, easy." Now all he wanted was to be able to think of something useful to Mondragon; something worth the cost of protecting both himself and Denny. It was far too late now to go back to the swamp. "Maybe—maybe I know something someone doesn't want out—like a name, or a face—can't you use that?"

  "Affirmative—Raj never forgets anything," Denny chimed in. "That's why Mama took him everywhere with her. He knows all kind of things—things maybe still worth knowing."

  "Like—I remember you, m'ser. You were with Mama's man, Mahmud Lee—it was—around the beginning of Harvest, I think, about nine years ago. You were wearing brown velvet, and you and Mahmud talked about the bribes your father'd been paying—" Raj trailed off at the grim set to Mondragon's mouth.

  "Sides—damn Sword's out after us a
long with you," Denny interrupted, stepping hard on Raj's foot. "Mama would have sold us to slavers if they'd told her to. Sword never got us anything but trouble, an' I betcha it's them sent the assassin. You need something to keep them off, I bet Raj knows it. And you need us for more than that. You got to hide real bad—Raj can tell you, nobody goes into the swamp— but he knows it, now to live there. You need something, well, I can get it, or I know who can; I can get things done, too—get people disappeared—get you disappeared too, only less permanent. We've got connections you can't get from the families or the canalers. You need us, m'ser—'bout as much as we need you."

  "Interesting," Mondragon said, then said nothing more, obviously thinking hard. Raj turned on Denny.

  "What the hell—"

  "Truth, damn it!" Denny whispered harshly. "It's all true and you know it! Mama used you—why d'y'think she never paid me any attention? Fedor's folks knew what was going on; told me, too. Told me it was probably Sword that got Mama."

  "Uh—"

  "That's why they turned me out, couple years ago. They were afraid, an' I don't blame 'em. Lucky I ran into Rif an' Rat."

  "They're thieves! I know cant when I hear it!"

  " 'Course they're thieves! How d'ye think I scrounged all that stuff for you? Where'd ye think it came from? The Moon? I've been livin' in a bloody airshaft on Fife fr two years now! Look, brother—I mostly gave up thievin'—the odds aren't in it. I'm a runner now. But I couldn't get stuff to you and feed me on what I make runnin', and I wouldn't leave you without. So I stole. An' I still steal. An' I'd keep doin' it. Cause you're worth it—like Mama wasn't. Tell ye what else, this Mondragon may a' been Sword before, but he damn sure ain't now! Or didn't ye notice him have a fit when ye hit 'im with the password? Our best bet is t'figure somethin' he needs bad."

  The fog began to clear from Raj's head; as Denny's words and memory started to come together, certain things were coming a lot clearer than they'd ever been before.

  Item: Raver and May had been trying to tell him—in gentler terms—exactly what Denny was telling him now. If three so very different people—one of them his own flesh and blood—were saying the same things about the Sword of God and Mama's involvement with it, well, it followed that he had probably been dead wrong and dreaming all these years.

  Item: stripped of the fairy-tale glamour Mama had decked them with, the members of the Sword of God were not in the least attractive. Take the holy cause away, and they became little more than highly trained, professional killers.

  Item: they were now alone with this unhappy professional assassin. Who probably was thinking no one would miss them.

  Raj looked over Denny's shoulder at Mondragon, who was contemplating them with a face of stone. Raj's blood ran colder than the Det at midwinter.

  Item: they were a liability. And Mondragon was looking at them like someone who couldn't afford liabilities.

  Denny suddenly broke off, seeing Raj's face turn pale and still. "Brother—you all right?" he whispered, unable to fathom why Raj should suddenly look as if he were watching the Angel draw His Sword and begin Retribution. He knew some of what he'd told Raj was bound to come as a shock, but he hadn't thought any of it was enough to turn him white to the ears!

  He shook Raj's arm a little, beginning to feel worried. The way Raj was staring at Mondragon, sort of glassy-eyed—it wasn't like him. Raj was always the quick one, the alert one—except—

  Denny went cold all over. Except when Raj had been sick—

  Raj was watching Mondragon's eyes, the only things in his face that were showing any change. They were growing harder; and Raj's blood acquired ice crystals.

  Item: they were quite likely to be very dead very soon. Denny, with the panache of a thirteen-year-old unable to believe in his own mortality, had led them into dangerous and unfriendly hands—and with no way to escape. Mondragon was between them and the door, in a room barely big enough for all of them and the table.

  Looking at those calculating eyes, Raj knew exactly what their fate was going to be. They had, at most, a few more minutes.

  He forced himself to smile at his brother; he couldn't protect him from what was coming, but at least he could keep him from knowing it was coming. "Nothing—just—you're right. About all of it. I've been plain stupid—"

  Denny shrugged, "No big deal. Hey, everybody makes mistakes, an' hell, I prob'ly wouldn't believe anything bad anybody said about you, either."

  "And I never told you how much I missed you, First." The old nickname made Denny grin. "That was even stupider. We're the team, right? So, from now on it's gonna be you an' me—yo? All the way."

  Denny dropped his pretense of adulthood and threw both arms around his brother in an affection-starved hug. Raj tightened his own arms around Denny's shoulders and stared at Mondragon, trying to beg with his eyes, and figuring that it was a lost cause before he started.

  Mondragon nursed his tea and pondered the problem of the kids as dispassionately as he could. Realistically speaking, the canal was the safest option. It was bad enough that there was anyone beyond Jones and Kalugin who knew who and what he was—and these kids were likely to tip the whole town off. He knew what Jones would say about it—she'd be right there with a piece of rope and two rocks.

  The whispering stopped, and he focused his attention back on them. The older one was staring at him with an expression utterly unlike the lost-pup befud-dlement he'd shown before—as if he'd just now begun to realize what they'd walked into. He said something to his brother that made the kid drop about five years and fling himself into his older brother's arms with joyful enthusiasm. The older boy tightened his arms around the younger's shoulders and stared at Mondragon, his expression so easy to read he might as well have been speaking his thoughts aloud.

  I know you now, it said, I know what you are. I know you're likely gonna kill us. But—you're the only hope we've got left; we've got nowhere to go with Them on our heels...

  He knew that expression from the inside. Hadn't been so long ago he'd worn it himself.

  As he set his face like stone, the hope visibly drained from the older boy. His eyes went tired and sick; bleak, and somewhere past fear. He whispered something else in his brother's ear, ruffled his hair, and pushed his head against his own shoulder—a casual, caring gesture that "accidentally" left his hand so positioned that the boy could no longer see Mondragon without shoving his brother aside. Then he raised

  his chin with pathetic bravery, and he locked his eyes with Mondragon's—a look as sad and wise as Mondragon had ever seen—and far, far older than his few years.

  All right then, it said, Do it. But get it over with quick, and do it while he can't see. The mouth tightened, he shivered and the eyes closed. And don't let me see it coming, either.

  And he waited quietly for Mondragon to take them.

  Mondragon knew that expression, too; in the dark watches of the night a too-vivid imagination had painted that same hopeless, despairing courage over other faces—

  His gut twisted and he cursed himself for a softhearted fool even while he made his decisions.

  He cleared his throat; a little sound, but the older boy started as violendy as if a gun had gone off in his ear; and his eyes jerked open to show nothing but dazed pupil.

  "You say your mother had connections with Gallandry?"

  Raj stared, unable to get his mouth to work. It was too much to comprehend—he'd expected the touch of a knife, and he'd only hoped Mondragon was good enough to make it fast and relatively painless. And then—this—

  His ears roared, and little black specks danced in the air between his eyes and Mondragon's face.

  "Gallandry?" he heard himself say stupidly, as his knees suddenly liquified on him.

  Denny felt Raj start to collapse, and held him up by main force. Oh, God, please—no—

  The last time Raj had done this, he'd missed the meetings for the next month; and when he finally showed up, it was pounds thinner, with eyes gone all ho
llow, and a rasping cough that lasted weeks. Please. God— he begged, struggling to keep Raj on his feet long enough to pull a chair under him, don't let it be fever, he might not make it this time—and we're almost home free—

  * * *

  "M'ser, just let me get him sat—m'ser, he's all right!" Raj heard Denny over the roaring in his ears, over the scrape of a chair on the floor "You don't— m'ser, you don't need—"

  Something shoved up against the back of his legs; hands were under his armpits letting him down easy, the same hands then pushing his head down between his legs.

  "Stay that way for a bit—" Mondragon's voice. And the roaring went away, his eyes cleared. When his head stopped spinning he looked up. Mondragon sat on his heels beside him, Denny looking frantic, trying to get between them without touching Mondragon. "Better?"

  "I—" Raj managed. "I—"

  Mondragon took his chin in one hand, tilted his eyes into the light, scrutinized them closely.

  "I'm sorry, m'ser, I'm all right," Raj whispered, thinking—Daren't, daren't show weakness in front of this man!" Honest, I'm all right."

  "You're not—but you will be."

  I gnoring Denny's worried protests (Great, thought Raj dizzily, NOW he realizes we could be in trouble), Mondragon went tq»the table, poured his own mug full of tea, and spooned sugar into it recklessly. He brought it to Raj, who took it with hands that shook so hard the tea slopped. Poison? No—not likely. Not when he'd had the chance to kill them easily, and hadn't.

  "Get yourself on the outside of that."

  Raj sipped—the tea almost like syrup, the warmth going from his stomach to the rest of him. His hands stopped shaking, slowly.

  "When did you last eat?"

  "Eat?" Raj was taken totally by surprise by the question and the funny half-smile on Mondragon's face. "Uh—I don't remember—"