by Glen Cook
Saucerhead wasn't interested in common sense or rationality but he could handle them when they happened. "Then I'm going back to sleep." Presumably a trick he'd learned in the army. Doze as much as you can until flying misfortune makes you get up and go to work.
"Don't get into it too deep. I sent for the Guard. I can't see you wanting to be lying around here napping when they show."
"Which won't be for a while. And I can count on my good friend Garrett to kick me in the slats and wake me up as soon as he sees them coming over yonder ridge. Go on and get away from me. My head is pounding and I ain't in no mood."
I did get a smile out of Playmate before he turned nasty on me. Somehow, while he was unconscious, all his pain and misery had become my fault. Ignoring the incredibly stupid thing he'd done, chasing after a Kayne Prose who wasn't even the real deal, a dozen miles into the countryside.
Singe tried harder to be nice when she came around, but she did find it difficult to be understanding about the food shortage.
Seems I spend my whole life listening to people complain.
Maybe I should get into the priest racket. But I'm either too cynical or not cynical enough.
I told Singe, "If hunger becomes a bad enough problem we'll eat our pal Casey over there."
Casey didn't respond even though he was awake.
None of the elves seemed able to communicate without their clothes on.
50
I took a nap myself. It lasted through most of the night. I awakened to find my accomplices feeling better physically but no less testy. They all complained of hunger. The prisoners were all awake now, too, but were unable, or unwilling, to communicate. When I gave Casey his suit back, in hopes that that would help, but he just stared at the ruins and shook his head. Evidently my knifework had deprived him of his sorcery permanently.
I said, "I've had a thought."
Saucerhead grumbled, "Don't go spraining your brain."
"This one just popped right up, no work at all."
"Like a toadstool, probably. Growing on a cow pie.'
"Somebody from town should be showing up pretty soon. But they don't need to find the rest of you here. They don't know about you so there's no need for you to deal with their crap."
Playmate said, "They'll just hunt us down later."
"Not if I don't tell them. None of these elves can talk."
"There's that grapestomper."
"He's only seen the big guys. I can make him a deal that'll guarantee his silence."
Playmate gave up arguing. He enjoyed official scrutiny as little as the next man. "What about Kip? We haven't found Kip. Kip is what this mess is all about. It's all a waste of time, money, and pain if we don't get the kid back."
"I'll keep looking. He's got to be here somewhere."
"I have to take him back, Garrett."
"I know." Overly moral me, I'd decided that I couldn't let a kid fall into Colonel Block's hands. Not even that kid. Block is a decent enough guy—for a royal functionary—but there are a lot of people, way nastier than me, that he's obliged to keep happy. And Kip meant nothing to him personally. There were ten thousand Kips in town.
Maybe I get him together with Kayne Prose. Make Kip mean something long enough for the Hill folk to lose interest.
I strolled over to the discus. I climbed inside. The bulk of a sandwich awaited me beside the hatch to Kip's compartment. I was tempted to enjoy it myself. But I was concerned, too. That sandwich had drawn no flies. When I reflected on the matter I realized that I had yet to see any insect inside the aerial ship.
Now there was a sorcery worth stealing.
"Hello, Kip. This could be your lucky day. I have something for you to eat and a chance for you to get out of here before Baron Dreadlore and the Civil Guards arrive." Dreadlore was a fabrication but somebody with a name very much like that would turn up soon. Maybe several of them, considering how much damage a sorcerer could imagine himself doing if he owned the secret magery of flight.
"Water."
"Dang me, Kip." I hadn't even thought about water. I should have. I must be getting senile. "There's a whole big pond of the stuff right outside. And a nice cold spring. You still want to be stubborn?"
Yes, he did.
I told him, "They got hold of your mother and Rhafi, you know."
He croaked, "That was Casey."
"How would you know? How would you know that name?"
"The Drople and the Graple both told me. They have ways of observing things that are happening in the city." He didn't explain who the Drople and the Graple were. Two of his captors, presumably.
"They talked to you?"
"They hoped to convert me to their cause. They didn't get the job done." It was nice to see the kid too weak to be a smart-ass. "I couldn't understand what they were talking about. Lastyr and Noodiss are the only ones of them that I ever actually do get. They just want to go home."
"How'd they get here in the first place?"
"In a sky vessel. Like this one. But they didn't know how to work it well enough. They crashed it."
"I don't recall the incident."
"They crashed in the river. Whatever's left of their ship is underwater."
At last I was starting to dig something out. Not that it made a lick of sense.
"That being the case, why not let Casey take them home?"
"Because Casey isn't here to take them home. Casey is here to take them to prison."
"They're escaped convicts?"
Kip was losing patience with me and my questions. "No. They have the wrong politics. Although politics isn't exactly what it is. Not like what we mean when we say politics here. It's all politics and philosophy and science and law and research with all three groups. And even though I've talked and talked about it with Lastyr and Noodiss I still don't understand much better than you do without ever having heard them explain anything. It seems like there's a war going on between people who've got different ideas about how knowledge should be handled. The party Lastyr and Noodiss belong to, the Brotherhood of Light, believe that knowledge is the birthright of all intelligent life-forms. That it should be freely shared with anybody able to understand it. That's why they came here. So they could teach us."
I believe I've mentioned my tendency toward the cynical reaction. I sneered at the charity of Kip's friends.
I said, "The way you're hacking and croaking, I'll bet you're ready for a long, cool drink of springwater."
Kip grunted.
"So point the way for me."
In complete exasperation, the boy told me, "I don't know where they are!"
"You know how to contact them. Let's go, Kip. It isn't a game anymore. It isn't an adventure. People are coming for you who'll pull pieces off you like you're a bug. The stakes are probably a lot bigger than either of us can imagine."
He gave me a look that belittled my imagination. I kept plugging. "We need to do whatever we can to get ourselves out of their way."
The kid looked at the stale sandwich but didn't fold. I had to admire him even if, from my point of view, he was being stubborn for all the wrong reasons.
"You win, kid. Eat hearty." Time to change over to Plan Q.
51
"I found him," I told Playmate. "They had him stashed in some kind of locker. Marsha! Get everybody ready to hit the road. We're gonna move as soon as we can get the kid cleaned up. Playmate, take him to the pond."
My instructions inspired a hundred questions. I ignored them all, located my local buddy Mr. Thring. He had value under the new plan. He glared daggers once I removed his blindfold but he'd begun to understand that bluster and attitude weren't his best tools here. "Mr. Thring. Good morning. I've been talking with my associates about what we should do with you. Most of them think we should take you over to the pond and hold you under until you can't remember names or faces anymore."
Surprise and fear lit up the dusky round face of the estate manager.
"But it seems to me that you migh
t be more use to us healthy. If you'll help us with a little something and can leave us comfortably assured that you wouldn't discuss your adventures with anyone later on."
Thring was eager to provide assurances. He couldn't by virtue of having been bound and gagged.
"What I'm looking for is a little-known path or road we can use to slip away from here." Inside I was kicking myself for not having pulled this together last night, when we'd had a lot bigger lead on the folks who'd be headed our way now.
That messenger was going to end up having to whistle for the second half of his stipend.
"You do know this country well enough to help us with that, don't you? Probably grew up around here? Came right back after you did your five? Right?"
The man nodded his head.
"Good. I'm going to take your gag off now. And we'll get started on making you one of the crew."
I scanned the group. This wasn't a promising crowd for making a running retreat. Kip was in no shape to travel. Neither was Mr. Thring. Dojango would whine a lot but he could walk. Limping. He'd soaked his feet. Playmate and Saucerhead would manage what they had to manage. Doris and Marsha would end up doing more than their reasonable share, as usual, probably by having to carry somebody. And I would want to take an elf or two along.
The females seemed the most promising hostages. They were lighter and from what little I could sense of what was going on inside them, they seemed more cooperative, more likely to talk about things none of the several crews wanted known.
Playmate, Saucerhead, and I could take turns pulling our prisoner cart.
Saucerhead approached. "What's up, Garrett?"
"I've decided not to wait for Colonel Block. Mr. Thring here has been generous enough to offer to guide us out of here by back ways so we can get out and go home without having to deal with those special people who're likely to show up here with the Guard."
"I gotcha. Good idea. You suppose he could guide us somewhere where we could get something to eat?"
"I'll talk to him about that."
A little hunger probably wouldn't hurt us nearly as much as leaving a clear backtrail. Once we put some miles between ourselves and the wrecked skyships, though...
I was ready for a snack myself.
52
I was so agitated. All my paranoia went to waste.
When I reached home, after an epic death march that brought the survivors and me into town through the west gate, I learned that the Dead Man hadn't received my message at all. Neither had Morley, because Morley would've contacted His Nibs if he had.
What that meant was, there was still a gang of elves out there, tied up and maybe dying of thirst and exposure.
I headed for the al-Khar immediately. There wasn't much of me left when I got there. I need to work on my strength and endurance.
I had no trouble getting in to see Colonel Block. He really was interested in what I was doing.
I related a comprehensive version of my story. It ran light on the sorcery side and came up short on names but was solid enough to let the colonel know that here was a matter genuinely in need of his attention.
Block asked, "Did you happen to catch the name of this weirdly dressed fellow who was supposed to bring me your message?"
"Yeah. Earp. Eritytie Earp."
"Was he Michorite? That sounds Michorite."
"Possibly. Maybe one of those cults, now that you mention it. He dressed the part."
"And I'll bet all the other hands yucked it up when he volunteered to take the job. Am I right?"
"There was some amusement. But nobody else volunteered."
"You know what? Your boy is going to wake up in the Tenderloin stone-cold broke, without even his farmboy brogans, undoubtedly so wrecked that he can't remember his own name, let alone those of people he was supposed to give messages. Those ascetic cultists don't deal with temptation well when they come up against it without all their sour fart buddies watching over their shoulders, holding them back."
"Hell, that could be me. But at least I've been there enough times that I know what I'm missing."
Block gave me a concerned look. "You may end up with some legal problems if any of those elves die. Can you produce trustworthy witnesses to back you up when you say they kidnapped this kid?"
"Hell, Wes, you had a guy there when it happened."
"Not exactly. Oh, I do believe you. More or less."
"So why don't I just stipulate that you've got me over a barrel? Get somebody out there. Those creatures can't do you any good dead. If you really need me, you know where I live."
"I thought you'd go along. Be right there handy when questions start popping up."
"You thought wrong. I'm going home. I'm going to eat and sleep and not do anything else for about nine days. I'm allergic to the country. It takes me a long time to get over it. I'm just trying to do my civic duty here, anyway."
"You always were a bullshitter, Garrett. I'll let you know how it comes out."
I'd heard that before. He'd forget about me the second I left. The only reason he'd mentioned taking me along was to make me more eager to get out of there. He wanted to grab the benefits of this for Westman Block.
Damn, that was smart of me, being stupid enough to hire a messenger who'd get lost in the red-light district before he thought of doing anything else.
From the little I've heard about the Michorites and related cults, that's a rite of passage. They—the men—get one chance to sneak away and wallow in sin and depravity. Then they spend the rest of their lives keeping an eye on each other, every miserable man making sure nobody else has any fun ever again.
"In your hands," I said. "I hope you get more out of it than I did."
"Go on. Before I change my mind." He might, just to show me that he could, so I got.
The house was crowded, what with Singe, Kip, and the captive silver elves staying over. Singe offered to ease the crowding by moving into my room with me.
I begged off again. Kip and the elves ended up sleeping on the floor in the Dead Man's room, where he'd have the least trouble keeping them under control.
I'd really hoped that Singe's encounter with Rhafi unclothed would scare her off. It seemed to have whetted her curiosity instead.
The situation amused His Nibs immensely. He wasn't going to help me get out of it, either. I fell asleep in a household drenched in the miasma of his amusement.
53
Dean never gave the bitching a minute's rest but he did cook up breakfast enough for the whole wretched crowd.
The elf women joined in timidly. Dean tried them on everything in his arsenal. Tea they found acceptable. Honey seemed to be all right, in tea or straight from the pot. One nibbled a biscuit, also with honey aboard. Bacon revolted the two of them. The more obviously feminine member of the pair—the one who looked like she'd actually made it a few weeks into puberty—attacked the mustard once she discovered it. Dean scowled and muttered to himself. A lot of work goes into grinding seed and preparing the condiment. There's always a pot on the table, mainly because I don't much like mustard.
The other elf woman, the elder and senior woman—judging by wrinkles—seemed terrified, though no one even spoke to her. I got the feeling she'd never seen the inner workings of a Karentine household.
Fear or no, she did appear to me immensely curious about everything.
Kip was a shuddering zombie, controlled by an increasingly exasperated Dead Man. Kip never stopped fighting him. Something was missing in that boy's makeup. I couldn't understand how he'd managed to stay alive this long.
Singe and I removed to the Dead Man's room as soon as I'd had enough to eat. She brought a platter along with her, loaded with seconds or thirds. Having no better idea what to do with herself, the slimmer elf woman tagged along. She wouldn't sit when I offered her my chair because that would leave me standing between her and the door. The other one stayed with Dean, exploring the wonders of the kitchen.
"So where do we stand, Old Bones
? Have we learned anything?"
Perhaps. At the first instance, probably that we should not have allowed emotion to sweep us away and get us involved in this. As I see it now, we have stormed into the middle of something that was none of our business. We have done nothing but trail chaos and dismay wherever we have gone.
"What do you mean, ‘we,' Big Daddy Homely? You can't really talk about someone else in the royal plural, can you?"
Do not become tedious. I am struggling to translate what little recognizable material I find in the thin creature's mind. This is truly an alien intelligence, Garrett. I have encountered nothing like it in all my years. Nor have I ever heard of such creatures... Unless... There may have been similar folk here when I was a child. Visitors, they were called then. They were all murdered for their secrets. Inasmuch as they did not reveal anything they were soon forgotten.
I am having difficulty communicating not just because of what you would call a language barrier but also because of her fear. She is awash in fear, not just of us, here, whom she finds terrifying enough, but of being cut off from her own people. She is completely unmanned by the possibility that she may never be able to return home. And least of all, but still there in the mix, is a fear of the consequences of the failure of her mission.
"And that would be?"
I do not know. That is in a sealed part of her mind.
"What about the other one?"
She is frightened, too. And her mind is more closed. But behind her fear there is a hint of her seeing this personal disaster as a potential opportunity for... I do not know what. Something compulsive. Possibly obsessive. Possibly something wicked. Worms of temptation have begun to awaken way down in the black, mucky deeps...
I hate it when he meanders off on a free association, poetic ramble. I guess because I can't ever figure out what the hell he's babbling about. "What about Kip? Did you get anything new out of him?"
Yes. Once I became aware that there was something that should be there. But it is not much. And I do not know if we can justify hunting down Lastyr and Noodiss.