The Jaguar Knights

by Dave Duncan

  Only a fool failed to admit when he was beaten. “Not today. You really are the best, aren’t you?”

  Flicker nodded vigorously, still almost spitting venom.

  Wolf was half again as old as he was and half again as heavy and yet Flicker could knot him like macramé whenever he wanted. He had lured Wolf onto his turf and rubbed his nose in it. Battered and bruised, Wolf could see only one way in the world to rescue anything at all from this humiliation.

  “I’m a gentleman adventurer sailing to the Hence Lands with my lady wife. We have decided to take just two servants with us, no one else. You want to come along as my man?”

  Flicker bared his teeth in anger. “Is that a serious offer?”

  “Are you man enough to accept?”

  He sprang to his feet. “Oh, master, let me help you up, sir! That was a nasty tumble you took there, master.”

  “Thank you, Flicker,” Wolf said as he was raised, apparently effortlessly—Flicker was all whipcord muscle and knew how to apply his strength. “If you’ll fetch the wheeled chair, my man, I believe I could just manage to sit upright in it.” He was limping on both legs.

  “Oh, please lean on me, master. You can depend on me always, Sir Wolf.”

  Dolores had probably not overheard their exchange, but she could guess what had been agreed just from seeing the transformation in Flicker, for now he was the perfect obsequious servant. She wore an expression of doubt and horror in roughly equal proportions.

  “Congratulations, Flicker,” she said. “I’m happy you’re going to join us.”

  He touched his forelock to her. “It’s very kind of you to say so, my lady. I will try to give satisfaction and justify Sir Wolf’s faith in me. Oh, master, do let me carry those!”

  She regarded her husband’s condition angrily. “You should go downstairs and have your bruises healed.”

  “No need!” Wolf would not give Flicker that satisfaction.

  He said nothing else of importance until they reached their room, because he had his faithful manservant in attendance, carrying his books. The moment he sank down on a chair, Flicker was kneeling at his feet, helping him off with his boots.

  “With respect, master, these seem a little scuffed. May I take them and clean them now?”

  Homage was certainly better than homicide. “Do that. Be quick, though.”

  “Of course, master. And have you some laundry I could attend to?”

  Clothes were a problem. Now Wolf thought he might send his man out to buy some for him, but not yet. “Lady Attewell may have.”

  With a perfectly straight face, Dolores gave Flicker a bag of laundry and off he went.

  “How long will he keep that up?” Wolf asked, chuckling.

  “Until he returns from Sigisa. Night and day. He really will do that washing himself.” Her voice rose. “Wolf, if you’re doing this just because you want to lord it over him, you’re making a bad mistake. You won’t score points off him. He just sees it as more of a challenge to stay in character.”

  “That was not my intention,” Wolf said gently. “I’m hurt that you would think it was.”

  “You’re a fool to take him! Why didn’t you ask me first?”

  They must not have their first spat already, and over a pimple like Flicker. He stood up, wincing. “Partly out of wounded pride, I admit. Mostly because you told me he was the best and now I believe it. I have never seen a man move like that!” Not Wyvern, the current Blade champion, or even Quintus, the one Wolf had slain.

  She stalked over to the window. “But he hates you!”

  He followed. “If he hates me because he wanted to go on the Tlixilian mission, then I have given him his wish and will trust him to perform as best he can. If he hates me because he lusts after my wife, that’s different. You told me he was like a brother to you and there was nothing between you. If that is not so, then of course I will withdraw the invitation.”

  “It’s too late to do that. They’d all think I’d overruled you. No, Flicker won’t pester me.” She turned away when he reached for her. “A good servant wouldn’t dare presume so and he will always be the perfect servant. But he will try to upstage you.”

  “A knife in my back?”

  “No. When we make a final report, we are not allowed to mask our answers.”

  “Then let the best man win,” Wolf said. “He can have all the credit as long as I get to keep the top prize.” He turned her around to kiss her and they nuzzled as lovers do.

  He broke free before he began running a fever. “Love, I must write the letter to Durendal and if it’s to reach Ironhall before high summer, then it will have to go by Blade. I’ll send Flicker round to the palace with it tonight.”

  “Won’t they read it?”

  “Not if it’s addressed to Grand Master.”

  She shrugged, as if amazed at such naivete. “Then we must decide who else we take with us.”

  “That’s up to you. Ladies choose their own lady’s maids.”

  “Remember Megan, who was at the party last night?”

  “Of course.” Wolf recalled the older woman—motherly, loud-voiced, short and inclined to dumpy, and hair graying although she was probably only in her mid-thirties. She’d drunk two glasses of wine, told a risque story or two, and laughed a lot. “She seemed very pleasant, good company.” Already he knew enough about Sigisa to know that Dolores would find no compatible female companionship there.

  “Oh, she’s a wonderful person. I love her. She was in charge of our pod, my foster mother, really. Until we were twelve, when she was reassigned and we began looking after ourselves, but we’ve never lost touch.” His wife was pacing, avoiding his eye, and displaying symptoms of indecision. “Very competent, has an excellent record as an investigator. I’m sure she’d love to go on a wild romantic mission like this to wind up her active career.”

  “Are you suggesting, my beloved, that we take Flicker’s mother along on his first mission to keep an eye on him?”

  Dolores was wearing her inscrutable inquisitor face. “That was not my intention. I’m hurt that you would think it was.”

  Wolf hooted with laughter and embraced her. “But?” He knew that there was more to come. They were reading each other as if they had been married for years.

  “But Megan was married to Ed Schlutter.”

  That ghost was going to haunt him as long as he associated with inquisitors. “You don’t mean Schlutter was your foster father?”

  “Oh, no. She met him later, on a mission to Gevily.”

  “Two knives in my back?”

  “No. She was not sorry to be rid of him. But it will cause gossip.”

  “If you want her and trust her, my love, then you ask her. If she refuses, then nothing’s lost. I trust you and trust your judgment.”

  So Wolf sat down to write an impossible letter while his wife went off to invite her foster mother to join the mission. His quest was turning out as unorthodox as his marriage.

  6

  Wolf led the way into Edgewyrd’s stale, oppressive den. She looked as if she had not moved since the previous day, but Dolores had warned him that nothing happened in Thirteen without her hearing of it.

  “Good chance, Inquisitor,” he said. “I have brought my team and a first draft—”

  “You met your match yesterday, I hear. Louis?”

  Flicker was arranging the visitors’ chairs. “My lady?”

  The old beldam uttered a squeal that was apparently an attempt to shout, for she went into a paroxysm of tiny coughs. When she could speak, she whispered angrily. “Wolf! Stop this nonsense!”

  Dolores bit her lip. “You have to declare this a conference, darling, so he can drop his personation.” She was unhappy, because she knew the plan Wolf was about to present was not going to be popular.

  “I see. Megan, Flicker, this is a conference.”

  “About time!” Flicker said. “Yes, I’m here, grandmother.”

  Sir Wolf and Lady Attewell sat down,
Flicker and Megan stood behind them.

  Edgewyrd was showing her gums in a smile. “I’m glad you’re going, Louis, because you can stop this murdering swordsman from messing everything up.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Don’t take any nonsense from him! You’ll have to do all the work, because he doesn’t know anything. And you, Megan Schlutter! What are you dreaming of? Supporting the monster who murdered your husband?”

  Megan hid her fangs behind a motherly smile. “I have heard Sir Wolf’s version of events and I am satisfied that he had considerable justification for his dilatory response. I am honored to have been invited to assist him.”

  The crone ignored that. “Well, Blade? What are you waiting for? Report!”

  “First problem,” Wolf said, “is obvious—there is a war on. We want to collect information about Tlixilia, but the Empire does not extend to the coast. It has been driven back, and that area is now held by the Distliards and their allies—Tephuamotzins, Yazotlans, and others. El Dorado itself lies many days’ travel inland. Distlain more or less rules the seas, and tries to keep all foreigners out of the Hence Lands completely.

  “Secondly, while Dolores and I cannot suggest a better cover story, the arms-peddling masquerade you proposed is a very wobbly boat. It makes enemies at the same time as it makes friends. It is even illegal under the laws of Chivial. According to the bats, His Majesty is strongly opposed to the prospect of King Diego getting his greasy hands on the fabled gold of El Dorado, which would make him the richest monarch in Eurania and upset the balance of power. Until we provide evidence that El Dorado deliberately attacked Quondam, Chivial favors the Tlixilian side in the war.”

  “Why is that a problem?” the old woman croaked.

  “Because two years ago the Privy Council forbade any shipment of weapons, armor, or horses to the Hence Lands, in the belief that they would certainly end up in Distlish hands, no matter whose name was on the boxes.”

  “So?”

  The Dark Chamber did what it thought the King needed, not what he ordered.

  Wolf said, “If the Council hears of illegal shipments of—”

  “It will order Grand Inquisitor to investigate.” Flicker waited a beat before muttering, “Stupid!” so it became an aside and not a direct insult.

  “I was just making a point,” Wolf said calmly.

  “Get to the plan!” Edgewyrd croaked. “You think I have nothing better to do than listen to you drone all day?”

  “Very well. We will ship out in Glorious and proceed to Sigisa, which is the main port for the whole of Tlixilia.” Lynx would almost certainly have to pass through Sigisa, too. “There we will set up house and gather whatever intelligence we can. We will send word to El Dorado that we have arms for sale. If we fail to make significant contact in half a year or so, then we shall give up and come home.”

  Edgewyrd opened her mouth but Flicker was quicker. “That’s ridiculous! Go all that way and stay only six months? Sit around an offshore trading post handing out glass beads and trinkets in return for saloon gossip? That’s not what you’re supposed to do!”

  “We’d also pay gold.” The meeting was going much as Wolf had expected. “Beads for naturales, gold for Distliards.”

  “Oh, stink!” Flicker said. “Dolly, you don’t approve of this rat shit, do you?”

  Since her own first reaction had been similar, Dolores was ready with the arguments Wolf had used to convince her. “It makes a lot more sense to me than plunging off into a land the size of Eurania, all full of mountains and jungle, when we have no maps and no local support. The rebel kingdoms would never let us through and if we did get past them, the Empire would take us for Distlish spies. We can always change our plans once we know the current situation.”

  “Send word to El Dorado?” Flicker growled. “How? Smoke signals? Mail them a letter? And suppose you do make contact with the Emperor? Even if he is willing to trade his spell books for swords, how do you get the weapons to him? It would take a year to send an order back here to Chivial, fill that order, and deliver the goods. Maybe even two years. Nobody cares what happens so far ahead when there is a war on now!”

  “Details,” Wolf said airily. It was fun to needle Flicker and he wanted to see if Edgewyrd could live up to her reputation.

  She was nodding. “That’s all?”

  “That’s all,” Wolf said.

  “Very good plan! Simple and flexible! Dolores, you did this, didn’t you?”

  Wolf nodded vigorously.

  Dolores grinned and said, “Yes, it was really my plan, grandmother.”

  Edgewyrd could still truth-sound, apparently, because she scowled horribly. So could Flicker, for his face went blank.

  “The roads are frightful,” Wolf said. “To be sure of catching Glorious, we must leave here no more than four days from now.”

  “I see no problem,” Flicker sneered.

  “You will. How long can you get by with no sleep at all?”

  “Five days. How about you?”

  “Five years at last count. Conference is ended. Put the chairs back where you got them, Flicker.”

  “At once, master.”

  7

  In the mad scramble to equip the expedition, the conjurations were the worst. Wolf’s sensitivity to spirituality, a minor nuisance until then, suddenly became torture. He had to undergo many more enchantments than the others, because real snoops were routinely provided with defenses against bad food, seasickness, travelers’ vermin, and even mosquitoes. Every member of the team was given the ability to pick up foreign tongues so fast that within an hour Wolf was starting to make sense of those weighty Distlish log books he had to study, but every visit to the octogram meant hours of pounding headache for him.

  In the odd moments when he was not bleary from pain, Dolores gave him lessons in applied conjuration, which meant practicing with the cute little gadgets inquisitors carried: golden keys, coding sticks, warding cord, and others he had never even heard of before.

  Why the rush, when it would take months to travel to the Hence Lands? Obviously because the snoops had failed to foresee the attack on Quondam, and even an idiot like Athelgar might start asking questions about the safety of the realm. If that happened, they could now report that they had snatched up His Majesty’s favorite killer, Sir Wolf, the moment His Majesty had released him from the Guard and Sir Wolf was already on his way to the Hence Lands to investigate. When he returned—if he ever did—odds were that the King would have forgotten the whole affair. Wolf was a cynic, especially where Athelgar was concerned.

  As a stickler for detail, Edgewyrd put even him to shame. She had been organizing spy missions for a hundred years or so, interviewing the survivors and forgetting nothing. She suggested scores of items that were always to hand in Chivial but might not be available in the Hence Lands—needles, scissors, salt to clean teeth, oil and whetstones, spare buttons and buckles because they got stolen, tinder, and so on.

  Megan was practical, soothing, and capable of teasing anything out of anyone. She supervised and catalogued the steadily mushrooming heaps of gear in the stock room, oiling the squeaks between Flicker and Wolf without annoying either of them. One day Wolf found her weighing bags of gold coins bearing a face he did not recognize.

  “King Diego’s ugly jar,” she explained. “They’re Distlish pesos.”

  Wolf bit one and decided it was even worse currency than Athelgar’s, containing little gold. According to the bats, the Hence Lands war was bleeding Diego into bankruptcy. “Is it real?”

  “It’s better than real,” Megan assured him solemnly. “But don’t offer it to any White Sisters.”

  Flicker was so determined to prove himself the better man that he seemed hellbent to work himself to death. Fortunately, Wolf could exploit his vanity. On the third morning, when he reeled into the stock room like a walking corpse, Wolf ordered him to lie down and sleep until the palace clock struck noon. Flicker could not refuse a direct o
rder without breaking out of his servant role, but he had not actually been told to go to bed, so he accepted this as a challenge and crawled under the table to stretch out on the flagstones. Soon afterwards a porter tipped out a barrow-load of cuirasses and vambraces not a yard from his head and he did not even twitch. He opened his eyes about a minute before the chimes began. He thought he had won, but Wolf had a useful helper again.

  There was no mail service from the Hence Lands to Chivial. At Dolores’s suggestion, they added a fifth member to the team. Quin Barnhart was another of her foster-brothers, but as unlike Flicker as could be imagined. He was solid, even pudgy for his age, but quiet and perpetually cheerful, a good-natured plodder who would do his duty as best he could and leave the thinking to others. He accepted the invitation with a grin and a fast “Yesr!” His duties would be to turn around and sail all the way back again to report to the Chamber that the expedition had reached Sigisa. Wolf appointed him his personal secretary, which meant manservant Flicker had another pair of boots to clean.

  They decided to take supplies for a one-year stay and two years’ travel. But what gifts should they take to bribe both haughty Distlish officials and cannibal chieftains dressed in feathers? How best could they conceal all the gold they might require? How long did boots last in a tropical jungle?

  Swords? In the end Wolf’s letter to Grand Master had merely told him of his marriage and release, Lynx’s departure in search of his ward, and Wolf’s intention to go abroad for a while. Better than anyone in the kingdom, Roland could put two and two together and get the whole dozen. Wolf did not ask him for any spare cat’s-eye swords he had lying around, mostly because he would not ask Grand Master to break the law, but also because he could not believe Tlixilians would appreciate such quality if they saw it. After chips of glass, any edged steel must look good. He bought what he needed in Grandon.

  Amazingly, it was all ready on time. By dawn on the fourth day, the wagon was loaded, the team harnessed, and they were ready to go. Nobody came to see them off, but they all went to say farewell to Edgewyrd. She wept and told them to come back safely.