Scorpio Reborn Read online

  Two doors later I found San Hargon.

  Two pretty boys lay on the carpet where I’d knocked them. They had not seen me; Hargon certainly had for he started up in the bed. He tried to yell. I reached him in a couple of violent bounds and gripped my fist under his lower jaw. His mouth stuck out. He made a funny mewling noise; he certainly could not shout for help. His eyes goggled.

  “Listen, you kleesh, and listen good,” I said into his ear. I shook him to make him understand I meant business. He lifted his right hand from under the bedclothes and — lo! — it held a dagger. I took the dagger away with my free hand and stuck the point into his throat — a bit.

  My fingers and thumb bit into his cheeks and I didn’t care if I crushed his teeth in. “I said listen, not play silly onkers with daggers.” His eyes rolled. I spoke clearly. “You have been trying to kill the Lady Mevancy. You will not succeed in this; but you are an irritant, like a pestiferous fly. Do not try again. I shall not kill you now. Believe me, if you make any further attempt upon the Lady Mevancy you will die as sure as Luz and Walig rise in the morning.” I felt proud that I had kept my temper so admirably. But a vision of Mevancy’s arm and leg sticking out under the statue, a vision of Mevancy in the jaws of a strank, a vision of Mevancy bound in Hangol’s tent, abruptly afflicted me with a shuddering shake. I threw the dagger into a corner of the room and I put my fist into San Hargon’s eye.

  He jerked back and I released him and then, as a leem strikes, clipped him across the jaw. He flopped back onto the pillows, out like a light.

  Well, so much for being the new moderate wild leem of a Dray Prescot.

  Leaving was as much bother as entering. I went back to Mishuro’s feeling very small, with that damned itch up my spine, and without any firm conviction that San Hargon would heed my sage words of counsel.

  Chapter sixteen

  The city guards came for me as Luz and Walig rose into a limpid Kregen sky.

  Well, of course!

  San Hargon’s temper was such that he wouldn’t lie down under the insult, the assault and battery, I’d done him. I did not doubt the moment he recovered his senses he was raving for his people, calling out the city wardens, going to the queen if necessary, organizing my arrest, imprisonment, trial and punishment. That punishment would be death.

  I went over the back wall as the guards came in the front door. Llodi shouted: “I didn’t warn you so you could go by yourself. Wait for me!”

  “No, Llodi. You stick by Mevancy.”

  “We-ell, by Lohrhiang of the Straight Path! All right!”

  So, off I went, haring out into a new day in a city that would buzz with the hue and cry for my hide.

  The good folk would be outraged at my impiety — at least, I imagined so. I fancied a Repositer was in the same league as a Diviner, in which supposition I was wrong.

  With me, apart from my weapons, I had the gray tunic under the fawn cloak. I had a few golden mings and silver khans left from those flung at me by my hoity-toity lady. I wouldn’t starve, at least, not straight away. So I put on a straight and simple face that would not hurt too much. Since Deb-Lu-Quienyin had taught me the secrets of changing my face subtly, fooling by misdirection rather than heavy alterations, I had progressed in the art. I looked a simple sort of fellow, with little substance and much air between my ears.

  That, by Vox, was the sort of fellow I felt myself to be!

  All the same, everything was not lost. I could still keep an observation on Mevancy and Mishuro from, as it were, the crowd. If Hargon, or Hangol if and when he recovered, tried to get to them, I’d be there. That I promised myself as much as the Star Lords.

  With the mass of white cloth turbaned on my head and the rapier hidden under the fawn cloak I looked as much like the next simple fellow as could be. I just mingled with the crowds gawping at what went on in Makilorn on the River of Drifting Leaves. By its nature the city was long and narrow, with two extensive waterfronts, a number of parallel avenues and many cross streets. Before long I’d drifted into a section that bore the marks of poverty, avarice and vice. I inspected what was going forward there even at this early hour, and then wandered back towards Leotes’s villa.

  The smells of this place changed subtly. Down by the river, mud and weeds dominated; further along there would be the tang of spice, the reek of curing smoke, or the subtle aromas of scents from a woman’s souk. As I have said before, the marvelous air of Kregen varies from continent to continent; I thought I’d know the air of Loh again.

  As I reached the front gate I joined a small crowd watching the notables emerging. I munched a handful of sticky dates, wishing I had a piece of bread slashed across and stuffed with onions and vosk rashers, so that I mingled admirably. The guards marched out and then slaves and stylors. San Mishuro walked along in quiet conversation with Mevancy, with Llodi hovering near. I didn’t notice Lunky. Guards brought up the rear and they all went off along the cross street to join the avenue — this was The Avenue of the Seven Trees — where they turned off to the right. Moving slowly with the bunch of hangers on I felt pleased. Llodi had looked right at me, and past me, without recognition. So, I walked along and heard the rapid patter of footsteps running up from the rear.

  I half turned to see Lunky, clutching his scrip with papers fluttering, pelting along from the gate to catch up.

  As he ran past he panted out: “You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, Drajak. Hargon is one boil of fury. You’d better take care.”

  I felt chagrin. A little sharply, I called: “You think you know me, dom?”

  He slowed a fraction and flung back: “Do what? Oh, you’re wearing a funny face, I see. Well, Drajak, San Mishuro says I will be a greater Diviner than he has ever been, and not too far off, either!” And he sprinted off.

  The chagrin slowly changed to amusement. There was more to this awkward Lunky than appeared. I felt pretty sure that Mishuro had not recognized me as he walked past. He might have done, of course, and given no betraying sign. Mevancy had been looking at the san and not at me.

  Keeping the procession in easy sight I followed as they were joined by San Hargon and his people. They all went off to an overly decorated building with a green dome and high-jutting eaves and the principals entered.

  They came out and there was much shaking of heads. They all went along the Avenue of Splendid Arches and at the second cross street they halted and I could make out that they’d been joined by another procession of similar character. Easing forward through the crowd which quickly gathered I saw the magnificently adorned figure of a woman at the head of her retainers. Her face was shadowed by a gem-encrusted turban of feminine style, quite different from male turbans. Her clothes were stiff with gems. Jewels winked on her fingers. I took her to be the queen.

  Presently from the people following her a short, stout man joined her in conversation with Sans Mishuro and Hargon. Everyone else stood back. This fat little fellow had as many gems and jewels as the woman. I’d not heard of the queen possessing a king; still, perhaps this was the fellow.

  The decision not to ask the scar-faced fellow standing next to me who this man and woman were was reached without difficulty. He carried a nasty-looking curved knife in a sheath, and his dirty robes smelled. The next person was a cheerful woman with a pot on her head and a child at her side. I decided not to ask her, either. If I knew the rast, Hargon would have placed a reward on my head. These folk would love to earn gold that easy way.

  The woman beckoned in no particular direction and immediately Lunky and another lad and a girl walked to join the group. The glitter of gems about the persons of the two women and two men contrasted with the simple attire of Hargon, Mishuro and Lunky.

  So the apprentices had been called to the conference. I began to suspect that this overdressed couple were not the queen and king but dikasters.

  As we stood watching these high and mighty important people in conference with the bustle of a city in our ears, I had time to think that perhaps I�
��d been far too hasty last night. I kept an eye on Mevancy. I made up my mind that I must buy a Lohvian bowstave and a score of good shafts. I’d been far too confident in allowing myself to be parted from her. And, she’d be worrying about me, wouldn’t she?

  At last the processions got under way again and they all went off and led us to a fisherman’s hut some distance from those near Kang the Hook’s section.

  When Mishuro came out of the hut he held a shawl-wrapped bundle high in his two hands.

  So I saw they’d found the baby they were looking for.

  The baby’s mother, clad only in a torn gray shift and with bare feet, slunk along after the san, half-crouched and looking up. I couldn’t read her expression; there was fear there, and regret — I thought also she looked jubilant. Her hair straggled across her face and she patted it back with a stunningly graceful gesture.

  A fisherman with silver scales across his back standing near me said: “Siloni lost her man two days ago, the stranks got him. If the Repositer deals justly with her—”

  A woman with a wide cloth-covered basket on her head, cut in to say: “Don’t have to do anything for her. That’s the laws.”

  “Still an’ all—”

  “And that’s San Hargon. You know what he’s like. Pity last night—”

  “Hush your mouth, woman!” And more than one pair of eyes glanced fearfully about.

  Again, I was not fool enough to risk my neck on the mere supposition that the woman’s chopped-off words meant they’d all cheer for me. Oh, no, by Krun!

  The baby was placed in a cradle and slaves lifted it on poles. Hargon turned to leave. The woman approached him, almost crouching like a dog, and stared up, speaking to him. He glanced down and then turned away without any acknowledgement of her presence. She fell prostrate in the fish-smelling mud.

  Mevancy caught her up under the armpits.

  I tensed, ready for violent action and hoping it would not happen.

  It did not, for San Mishuro stepped up and spoke to the gem-encrusted woman, with a slight side nod to the gem-encrusted man. Slaves moved forward to take charge of the baby’s mother and she went off with the procession.

  The woman near me with the basket on her head sniffed.

  “Like I said. At least it’ll save him the cost of a wet-nurse.” She hitched up her skirts and walked off, saying: “May Tsung-Tan have her in his keeping.”

  The fisherman turned away, shaking his head. He saw me and said, as it were, half to himself: “They ought to give the Diviners just that bit more power. Still, it’s in the accursed laws, so it can’t be altered now.”

  He didn’t pronounce the word accursed as though it were an adjective, given the Kregish sentence construction. The accursed — they must be people.

  I made up my mind — and confoundedly late, too, by Vox! — to do something positive at last about the questions seething in my head.

  First I went off to the Street of Bows. Well, now. I was in Loh. The Bowmen of Loh are the pre-eminent archers in most people’s opinions, although I’d had many a lively discussion with my comrade Seg over the merits of the reflex compound and the crossbow. In the Street the signs clustered thickly. The Trade of the Hork flourished here. I wandered along, savoring the atmosphere and looking in the various windows where the reed shutters were drawn back.

  Wood was precious along here where a thin strip of green cultivation grew between the river and the desert. The long log rafts might swan downriver from the forests of Chem; wood here was not grown on your front doorstep. The freak storm that had destroyed many of Ankharum’s fine trees would have been a total disaster here in Makilorn. Ankharum and Makilorn, two cities on rivers, and now by conquest in the same nation, were very different cities, vastly different. In the end I chose a little inconspicuous shop whose sign proclaimed:

  TWANG AND DAUGHTERS

  BOWYERS AND FLETCHERS

  The place held that familiar smell I had so often encountered entering Seg’s rooms. I snuffed, remembering.

  The proprietor smiled as I went in, saying: “Llahal. May I be of service?”

  He wore a decent tunic of yellow linen and his face was brown and experienced, his eyes gray. I saw that the fingers of his right hand were missing, and understood why and the vile practice that was. I nodded.

  “Llahal. A bow, if you please.”

  He started to bring out cases of bowstaves and I began to make an initial selection by eye only, and carrying on a casual proprietor-customer conversation. Presently we got onto the pleasant business of stringing one or two. When I had half a dozen I thought choice he said: “I see you understand.” He spoke in a friendly tone. “Although you are not a Bowman of Loh.”

  “I had lessons from a man from Erthyrdrin.”

  “Ah!” Well, of course, that ‘ah’ meant it all. Of all the Bowmen of Loh, those from Erthyrdrin are the finest.

  We went out into the yard at the rear of his premises. The butts stood at the far end. Twang brought a score with him and I selected one shaft, fitted it to the string, drew and let fly. I hit the chunkrah’s eye.

  After three shots from each bow I picked one up.

  Twang smiled.

  “Quite. Perhaps you would care for some refreshment.”

  It was not a question and when we went back into the shop a pretty girl who was obviously his daughter was just bringing in a tray and the cups. I sat down and said: “Have you tried a steel loose, Walfger Twang?”

  He lifted his cup. “Yes. And horn and ivory, bronze and wood. They serve. That is all one can say for them.” I could imagine. An archer whose fingers have been amputated is in sorry case; an artificial set of fingers, a loose made of cold material and not flesh and blood, could not compensate for the loss. He saw my expression. “My four daughters build the bows. They are the finest fletchers I have ever known. Their mother is with Tsung-Tan, whose name be praised, in Gilium. Meanwhile, as I wait to join her in paradise, our daughters build the finest sets in all Makilorn.”

  I finished the cup, thanked him and then broached the subject of price.

  He told me.

  I said: “I do understand that bows cost a great deal here. Unfortunately I did not realize just how much.” I spread all the money I’d left over from that given to me, hurled at me, by Mevancy. “Will you take this as a deposit, keep the bow for me until I return?”

  “You do not haggle?”

  “Not for a bow whose worth is such as this.”

  “I see. I will keep the bow safely for you, walfger.”

  “Chaadur,” I said, using a name I’ve used before.

  “Chaadur the Horkandur, perhaps?”

  “No, Walfger Twang. I leave that to my comrade.”

  When I went off I did not have a bow. I felt inspired by this man Twang, useless in the profession he had trained in since his grandfather’s time, creating a new life out of the wreckage. Brave deeds are not all on the battlefields of Kregen or of Earth. No, by Opaz!

  Thus thinking, wearing my strong simple face, I went off towards the sumptuous villa of San Tuong Mishuro.

  A certain misty miasma that had been hanging around my head since the fire and my paralysis appeared to me to be clearing. I thought I could both see and think with a great deal more clarity.

  And, by Krun, I needed to for what lay ahead!

  Chapter seventeen

  “But, cabbage, what did you do to the beastly man?”

  As she spoke she laid the baby back in his cradle. I’d waited until his mother had finished feeding him before climbing in through the window. There had been no difficulty whatsoever in re-entering the villa, and now I intended to have a right royal heart-to-heart with Mevancy.

  “I told him to steer clear of us. Apparently he did not heed the warning.”

  “Oh, you! Did you expect him to?”

  I wore my own face. I spoke in a suitably apologetic tone of voice that would have vastly amused some of my more disreputable friends.

  “Well,
I’d hoped—”

  She sighed. “What am I to do with you? Anyway,” and her voice sharpened, “I doubt if you’ve the strength.”

  “I see they found the baby they were looking for.”

  “Oh, yes. And Leotes is such a dear sweet—”

  “Leotes? You give him that name — a fisherman’s son—?”

  She looked at me. Again she sighed. She wore a long pale lavender gown that clung to her hips and breast. Her arms were covered in her usual way and I wondered how she was getting along with growing her bindles. “I suppose you ought to know. The Everoinye must have given you to me for some reason.”

  “Whatever reason that might be.”

  “They are above criticism, cabbage! Well, I will tell you. Perhaps it will help us find our targets. I confess I am puzzled.”

  “Chances are it’s Mishuro. Anyway, just tell me.”

  She might have flared up at this; instead she gave me a low look under her eyebrows, her eyes bright, and said: “The baby is Leotes.”

  “If that’s what it’s been decided to call him.”

  “Oh, you! You just don’t understand. This is Leotes!”

  I suppose some inkling of what had really been going on before my eyes must have made me realize what Mevancy was saying was true. At least, in the eyes of those who worshipped Tsung-Tan. The accursed needed explanation, as did paol-ur-bliem. But I had experience enough to grasp at what was going forward here. I said: “Why is the baby here and not at Leotes’s villa?”

  “The mother had to see to him, and Mishuro has rights until the going down of the suns.”

  “Then he goes to Leotes’s villa?”

  “To his own villa, yes.”

  “Yes, well.” I drew a breath. “I see some of it; a lot, I suppose. You’d better tell me all. The Everoinye are not meddling here for nothing.” I tried to keep from my voice and manner the habitual briskness that would have bristled her up. “Mishuro seems all at sea. One minute they’re out to get him, the next and he’s back to the inviolability of a Diviner. If the Everoinye want us to do a task here, then Leotes, Mishuro, Hargon, must all be mixed up in it.”