by Paula Volsky
“Perhaps,” she essayed, “you could summon one or two of your Quiet-fellows, and we might have a word with them.”
“Impossible, Miss Devaire.” HeeshNuri shook his head. “They do not speak Vonahrish. In fact, they do not speak at all.”
Or sleep? Or eat? Madness. She should slog back on down the hill to AfaHaal, she was wasting her time here. Or was she? What if the astromage’s offer turned out to be legitimate? If so, she could hardly afford to retreat, leaving the field clear to Girays and Karsler. Neither of them, she noticed, seemed disposed to withdraw. Did they know something she didn’t? Luzelle gnawed her lower lip.
“Forgive me, HeeshNuri-in-Wings, but I do not understand,” she confessed.
“Ah, the rational western mind craves the unreliable crutch of logic. But you are in Aveshq, Miss Devaire, and the forces at work in this land may perhaps exceed your experience. I might describe the nature of my Quiet-fellows to you, but the explanation would surely strain your credulity.”
“My credulity might surprise you.”
“Perhaps.” HeeshNuri allowed himself a small smile. “But time presses, does it not? Please accept the word of one whose stars have led him down many a curious path—the Quiet-fellows may be relied upon to serve your needs. M. v’Alisante and the Overcommander Stornzof have chosen to believe this. Their questions, so like your own, were answered prior to your arrival, and that, no doubt, is why they sit so quietly now.”
“Quite right,” interjected Girays. “The options are limited, and I’ve decided to take a chance on your Quiet-fellows. Since I’m eager to be off, I’d like to conclude our transaction quickly.” He reached into a pocket to bring forth his wallet.
Luzelle was taken aback. When last she had seen him, Girays v’Alisante had spoken and acted as her companion and ally. Now he was unmistakably her competitor. He was not even looking at her. He had hardly acknowledged her. He must still be angry at the way she’d run off and left him, back in Jumo Towne. Well, let him sulk.
Her surprise deepened when Karsler concurred quietly, “I too will hire a palanquin.”
The two of them seemed quite certain, and that was good enough for her. She would trust their judgment.
“I too,” declared Luzelle. “Oh, but what about food and water? For a two-day journey, we’ll need—”
“You are unanimous, then,” HeeshNuri interrupted, so gently that his courtliness seemed uncompromised. “Such perfect accord is rare and precious as the tears of a god. It is, however, my unhappy task at this time to acknowledge a minor obstacle. I see before me three travelers. I have at my disposal but two palanquins, and four Quiet-fellows to bear them. You perceive the difficulty.”
She perceived it perfectly, and she also perceived the remedy. “HeeshNuri-in-Wings, I will pay you well for the use of a palanquin and bearers. What price do you ask?”
“Price? Ah.” The astromage sighed. “I hardly know how to reply; such matters sadden me. I will rely upon Miss Devaire’s good sense and good conscience. What does she offer?”
“Oh. Well.” She thought about it. She had no idea what constituted a fair price, but amid such surroundings did not wish to appear stingy. “One hundred New-rekkoes?” she suggested. That was certainly more than generous.
“A handsome sum,” HeeshNuri murmured.
“I will match it,” Karsler Stornzof offered promptly. “I will pay seventy-five grewzauslins, which is the equivalent of Miss Devaire’s hundred New-rekkoes.”
Two palanquins taken, none left for Girays, Luzelle reflected. Bad luck for M. the Marquis. Now he would have to seek alternate transportation, else hang around AfaHaal until the rains ended. A pity. He really should have spoken up faster.
“One hundred fifty New-rekkoes for a palanquin and bearers,” Girays offered.
He wasn’t playing fair. Luzelle frowned at him. He was too late, the palanquins were both spoken for. He ought to accept defeat gracefully. No doubt their host would reject the inappropriate offer out of hand.
“One hundred fifty. It is considerable,” mused HeeshNuri-in-Wings.
She wasn’t about to let Girays get away with it. “One hundred seventy-five,” she snapped.
To her unpleasant surprise Karsler instantly countered, “One hundred fifty grewzauslins.”
She would never have expected it of him. Where had all his chivalry gone? And what would it take to beat his offer? She had never liked mathematics, she could not easily do numbers in her head, she just needed to bid enough to knock one of these men out of the competition.
“Three hundred New-rekkoes!” she exclaimed recklessly. That should certainly do it. Extravagant, but worth the price.
“Four hundred,” said Girays.
Outrageous. M. the Marquis used that money of his like a club, he thought it would win him anything. But not this time. She would show him.
“Four-fifty,” said Luzelle.
“Three hundred seventy-five grewzauslins,” Karsler offered.
Did that beat her last bid? She supposed it must, else he would not have bothered, but how could he be so ruthless? She darted a reproachful glance at him, and his face told her nothing, but she saw Girays smiling with that insufferable amusement of his, and the sight was so infuriating that she heard herself exclaim, “Six hundred New-rekkoes! HeeshNuri-in-Wings, I’ll pay you six hundred!”
“Six hundred,” echoed the astromage. “Truly, I am bewildered.”
“Eight hundred,” Girays offered with alarming nonchalance.
He was trying to intimidate her. It wasn’t going to work.
“Six hundred grewzauslins,” said Karsler.
Her head for numbers was not so poor that she failed to note that he had simply matched the highest bid without exceeding it. That, of course, was all he needed to do, but Karsler’s sudden access of caution suggested dwindling means. He probably wanted to conserve his resources, at least until he was back in the Imperium. It occurred to her then for the first time that her own funds were not unlimited, although they had seemed so at the start of the race. Her hoard of cash, diminishing over the course of weeks, was now seriously depleted, not that it really mattered. The letter of credit furnished by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs would open vaults all over the world. She need only present it at the Vonahrish Residency in ZuLaysa. But she had to get to ZuLaysa first.
“Eight hundred twenty-five New-rekkoes.” Luzelle could hear the first quaver of uncertainty in her own voice.
Girays v’Alisante instantly offered a thousand, and she shot him a look of appalled wonder. No use trying to outbid M. the Marquis with his bottomless pockets; she hadn’t a chance. But she might defeat Karsler Stornzof. She did not know how much cash he carried with him, but surely she held the heavier wallet.
Or perhaps not.
The bidding continued, and the fare to ZuLaysa shot up to eighteen hundred New-rekkoes. It was impossible, unreal. Her blood ran cold when Girays serenely offered two thousand, and Karsler at once followed with a bid of fourteen hundred fifty grewzauslins. Fourteen fifty. That would be—she figured feverishly—something over nineteen hundred New-rekkoes. Nineteen hundred and—and—thirty—whatever. She needed to beat that in order to stay in the race, and she was not certain that she could.
“One moment,” she requested, and produced her wallet. She counted the contents quickly. Nineteen hundred twelve New-rekkoes. In addition, a small assortment of international notes and coins, acquired en route and amounting to little. Not enough. Not enough.
“HeeshNuri-in-Wings.” She spoke very calmly. “I am prepared to exceed the highest bid, whatever it may be, by the sum of one hundred New-rekkoes, provided you are willing to accept my promissory note.”
“I fear that is out of the question,” the astromage returned gently.
“But I am entirely good for the debt. I carry a letter of credit from the Vonahrish Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Look, I will show you—” She worked hard to keep the desperation out of her voice.
“That is quite unnecessary, Miss Devaire. I am certain your credit is excellent.”
“It is, and the moment I reach ZuLaysa, I can—”
“I am truly sorry,” he cut her off mellifluously. “But I cannot accept a note. The oldest and simplest ways are the best, I have found, and therefore my dealings include neither borrowing nor lending.”
“I suggest neither. I only ask a little time to secure the cash. I would, of course, leave a deposit of eighteen hundred Newrekkoes with you, and post the balance just as soon as I—”
“I must decline. Let us speak of it no more.”
“But—” She cast agonized eyes around her. Karsler looked a little perturbed, but Girays was observing the exchange with that odious amusement of his. He was enjoying her misery, and she hated him thoroughly; she would find a way of wiping that unbearable superior little smirk right off his face.
“HeeshNuri-in-Wings, I appeal to your chivalry. You belong to a high and noble Order. Surely you will pity the plight of a woman in distress—alone, unprotected, helpless, stranded in a strange land,” she wheedled shamelessly. A few tears might have helped, but she could not produce them at will. She was able, however, to achieve an effectively piteous vocal tremor. “Help me, HeeshNuri-in-Wings, else I am surely lost.”
She saw Girays roll his eyes, but would not let him distract her. She concentrated her imploring attention upon her host, who seemed to display some signs of compunction.
“You move me, Miss Devaire. Truly, you have touched my heart.” HeeshNuri bowed his head and sighed. “You will understand that I cannot alter the principles of a lifetime to satisfy your need. And yet I am greatly disposed to assist you, and I believe that there may be a way. Yes—it is perhaps irregular—but I feel I can offer a solution.”
“I am certain you can, if only you will, HeeshNuri-in-Wings.”
“Here is my decision, then,” the astromage proclaimed with an air of generosity. “My two palanquins and four Quiet-fellows shall be hired out as a team. The rental price of this team is thirty-eight hundred New-rekkoes plus fourteen hundred fifty grewzauslins.”
This bandit is skinning us alive, thought Luzelle. But the bandit was doing her as well as himself a large favor. Smiling in pretty gratitude, she replied, “You have resolved all difficulties, HeeshNuri-in-Wings.”
“I think not,” Girays objected instantly. “Two palanquins cannot accommodate three travelers.”
The smirk was gone, Luzelle observed with satisfaction.
“The litters are commodious, Master v’Alisante,” soothed HeeshNuri. “No doubt you will make do through so short a span as forty-eight hours.”
“The arrangement you propose is unacceptable. I have offered two thousand New-rekkoes—rather a substantial sum—for the private use of a palanquin and bearers.”
“That is a matter to be decided among you and your companions.”
“I am traveling alone,” Girays informed him.
“In that case, perhaps M. v’Alisante alone would prefer to assume the entire cost of the team’s hire?” the astromage suggested.
Luzelle’s breath caught. She had not thought of that. If he could afford it, M. the Marquis held the power to trap two of his rivals here in soggy AfaHaal for days to come.
Girays said nothing. Perhaps his pockets were not quite bottomless after all.
“No? Then I shall assume that my three guests embark upon a joint venture.” The astromage nodded benignly. “No doubt you are eager to set forth, and I shall do all in my poor power to speed your departure. Even as we speak, my servants ready the palanquins for your use. I go now to instruct the Quiet-fellows. During my brief absence, I entreat you to regard my home as your own.” Silk robes royally sweeping, HeeshNuri-in-Wings strode from the salon.
“We’ve good reason to regard his home as our own,” Girays observed sourly. “The price that extortionist is wringing out of us would purchase the entire property. He’s made fools of us all.”
“His strategy is admirable,” Karsler approved. “He uses our rivalry to excellent advantage, and we do not recognize the ploy until it is too late.”
“You recognized it,” Luzelle realized. “You were trying to hold the bidding within reasonable bounds, weren’t you?”
“I was unable to do so,” Karsler acknowledged.
Because Girays and I were going at it, she thought. Well, he started it. She glanced at Girays, wondering just how annoyed with her he was, but his face told her nothing. He was not even looking at her.
“I wish I’d stopped to think,” she told Karsler. “If we’d all cooperated, we might have saved a fortune. I’m sorry I didn’t use my head.” Curious how easily she could admit an error to him. Probably because he never seemed to find her foolish or juvenile, she could tell him things that she could hardly reveal to M. the Marquis.
Perhaps the same thought struck Girays, for now he did glance at her very briefly, no more than a quick flick of expressionless dark eyes, then looked away again.
“We race, we strive to exceed one another,” Karsler returned. “We do not ordinarily attempt cooperation or combined effort—it is not the first thought.”
“Yes, you once warned me about something like that.” She met his eyes. “You recall?”
“Clearly.”
Her peripheral vision encompassed Girays’s face. It did not alter in the slightest; in fact, he appeared inattentive. Something like disappointment flashed through her too swiftly to analyze.
“I lost track of you after that,” she continued without a pause. “I thought you must have left Xoxo before me, and wondered if the Blessed Tribesmen of the jungles hadn’t eaten you alive. Literally.”
“I survived the Forests of Oorex and reached Jumo Towne intact,” Karsler told her. “I rode horseback from Jumo Towne to Dasuneville, whence I sailed for Aveshq aboard the Grewzian transport vessel Triumphant. Halfway through the passage the ship’s engine malfunctioned, and the pause for repairs delayed my arrival by some twenty-four hours. In UlFoudh I made my way to the river pier known as the Khad-ji, where I encountered v’Alisante. Together we traveled by barge up the Gold Mandijhuur to AfaHaal.”
“The two of you reached UlFoudh ahead of me, then,” Luzelle observed. She still did not see how it was possible. Turning to Girays, she inquired uncomfortably, “And what did you do, after—we last saw each other?”
“Hired a horse in the early morning, the moment the livery stable opened its doors,” he replied shortly. “Rode hard and reached Dasuneville the next day just in time to catch the last scheduled eastbound steamer.”
“Which I missed. Now I understand. Except”—Luzelle frowned—“did you ride all night along the Jumo-Dasune Passage?”
“No, I stopped at the Halfway Inn.”
“But I was there too. You mean we spent the night at the same inn, and never even knew it?”
“I knew it.” He shrugged. “I spotted you in the dining room. You were bundled up in Iyecktori mourning.”
“You saw me? You knew I was there, and you never even spoke to me?”
“I did not wish to compromise your disguise,” he returned coldly.
“I see.” He was trying to punish her, but she wasn’t about to flatter him with pained reproaches. She manufactured a cool smile. “That was considerate.”
Turning back to Karsler, she urged him to recount his experiences in the Forests of Oorex. He obliged, and she learned for the first time that he had not traveled aboard the ill-starred Water Sprite. He knew, however, of Porb Jil Liskjil’s death, of the kidnapping by the Blessed Tribesmen and the subsequent magical cradling in the arms of the forest, for Girays had described all of it during their shared barge trip up the Gold Mandijhuur.
And had Girays likewise described the ugly, degrading encounter with the Jumo Towne constabulary? She threw him a questioning glance, which he ignored.
Karsler asked nothing about Jumo Towne and she volunteered nothing, but spoke instead of yahdeeni and their deplorab
le eccentricities. They were still talking when their host returned.
“It is done,” HeeshNuri-in-Wings announced. “The palanquins await. Your baggage has been loaded, there is food and drink, the Quiet-fellows have been instructed.” He paused.
Money changed hands. Wallets shrank.
“Come, then.”
They followed him from the salon, along a corridor and through a short covered walkway connecting the house and a small outbuilding, the Aveshquian equivalent of a carriage house. But Aveshquian natives rarely if ever kept western-style carriages. The outbuilding sheltered two very fine fhozhees, one sturdy wagon, a wheelbarrow, and two large palanquins on which her eyes fastened appraisingly. Wooden construction, strong looking, stout poles, fresh caulking. Shuttered windows on two sides. Good. And stationed beside each palanquin, a brace of Quiet-fellow bearers, each hooded, gloved, masked, shod in outlandishly broad-soled sandals, and heavily cloaked in waterproof oilcloth. She studied the still figures curiously. She could not see much—the clothing masked all details of face and form—and thus could hardly account for her own powerful sense of their strangeness. She could only guess that it had something to do with their preternatural immobility. None of the four so much as twitched, and she detected no evidence of respiration.
“I assume that the gentlemen will occupy one palanquin, Miss Devaire the other, and the baggage has been disposed accordingly,” HeeshNuri reported. “Correct me if I am mistaken.”
Girays assured him that he was not.
“Very well. Know this, then,” their host advised. “The Quiet-fellows will carry you east across the plains by the shortest and most direct route to the outskirts of JaiGhul, where they will leave you. No detour or alteration in course is possible, nor will your bearers remain with you once their task is complete. There are only two commands you may issue to which they will respond. One is ‘Go,’ the other is ‘Halt.’ Thus you may pause as often and as long as you wish. A word of caution, however. Should difficulty arise along the way—illness, accident, an emergency of any kind—the Quiet-fellows will furnish no assistance. They cannot. You understand this?”