Changer's Moon (33 page)

Rane passed her hand over her tangled hair, grimaced. “Been a long time since I spent so much time in a skirt.”

He grinned at her, his eyes narrowing to slits, sinking into nests of wrinkles. With a chuckle he turned and went out.

Rane poked absently about the room, finally took up the old charcoal sack the Bakuur had dropped off at the tavern before they left the city. She dumped it out on the bed, rummaged through the odds and ends and found her small leather sewing kit. She set that aside and took up an old tunic. With a quick jerk of her hand, she ripped out a short length of the hem, tossed the tunic onto the bed beside Tuli. “Your camouflage.”

Tuli blinked. “Huh? Oh.” She tapped Ildas on his round behind. “Move over, bebé.” She shook the tunic out, held it up. “Why'd you bother bringing this along? I'd say it was one giant patch except it's about a hundred.” She tilted her head, put on a coaxing smile. “Thread my needle for me?”

“Hah!” Rane tossed her a reel of thread. “Watch it. There's a needle in there.”

Tuli yelped, sucked at the base of her forefinger, took her hand away and sniffed when she saw the tiny bead of red. “Little late telling me.” She pulled the needle loose from the reel, shook out a length of thread. “From the look of that thing a little blood would liven it up.”

“Maybe,” Rane said absently. She took one of the wobbly chairs, set it by the shuttered window, stepped back, eyed it, then set a stool beside the chair. With her own bit of sewing she settled herself in the chair, smoothed the wrinkled skirt down over her boots, straightened it as much as she could. She looked up. “Come over here, Moth. Proper young ladies don't sit on beds.”

Tuli snorted but she wadded the ancient tunic about the reel, twitched the coverlet smooth, then she settled herself at Rane's knee. She threaded the needle without fuss. “At least some things go right.” She began sewing the hem back in, taking small stitches to make the job last because she didn't want Rane thinking up something worse for her to do. “Mama would faint if she could see me now.”

“Mmm.”

Tuli lifted her head, looked round at Rane. The light seeping through the rotten shutters slid along the spare lines of the ex-meie's face, pitilessly aging her. Rane's hands lay still in her lap. Her mind was obviously elsewhere. Certainly she wasn't listening to Tuli. Tuli went back to the sewing, setting the small neat stitches her mother had tried to teach her, surprising herself with the pleasure she got out of the work. She thought about that for a while and decided the pleasure came partly from the realization that this wasn't the only thing she had to look forward to the rest of her life.

She glanced now and then at the door, expectation wearing into irritation as the minutes crept past. She was hungry and rapidly getting hungrier. “He doesn't get here soon, I'll eat him.” She slanted a glance at Rane, sighed and went on sewing, finishing the ripped part. With a glare at the door she began double-sewing the rest of the hem. The minutes still crept. Rane was still brooding over whatever it was. Tuli lifted her head. “You're wondering what to do about me?”

“What?”

“It was all right up to now.” Tuli cleared her throat, not sure she wanted to go on with this. Her stomach rumbled suddenly; she went red with embarrassment. That idiotic little sound sucked all the drama out of her, leaving only her curiosity and her pride in her ability to reason. “I was insurance,” she said. In case you got snagged. Now you figure you can move faster and safer without me, but you promised Da you'd take care of me, so you're trying to convince yourself I'll get along all right by myself. I will, you know; you don't have to worry about me.”

Rane pulled her hand down over her face. When she took it away, her mouth was twisted into a wry half-smile. “Hard lessons,” she said. “You've had to grow up too fast, Moth. You're right. Well, partly right. What I do depends on the Intii. If he's able to lend me his boat, we can scoot down the coast with no problems. If we have to run.… I don't want to speculate on what might be, Moth. It makes for sour stomachs.”

Tuli nodded, frowned down at the hem without really seeing it. She was more than a little uncertain about what she wanted to do. The sight of the army had shaken her more than she wanted to admit to herself or anyone else. She couldn't see herself going to sit tamely behind the Biserica wall waiting for that army to roll over her, just one more mouth to feed, contributing little besides a pair of hands not particularly skilled, her greatest gifts wasted, her nightsight and Ildas. Well, if not wasted, certainly underused. She brooded over just where her responsibilities lay until there was a loud thumping on the door. With more eagerness than grace, Tuli dropped her sewing and went to open it.

Haqtar came stumping in with a two-handled tray. Grunting, he slammed the tray down on the table, his eyes sliding with sly malice from Tuli to Rane and back to Tuli. Tuli retreated to Rane, dropped her hand on the ex-meie's shoulder, the look in those bulging eyes, the greed in the doughy face frightening her. After a minute, though, he turned and shuffled out.

“Whew.” Tuli shuddered. “What a.…”

Rane caught hold of her arm and squeezed. A warning. After he slammed the door there should have been the sound of his retreating footsteps, especially over those yielding groaning floorboards. There was only silence, which meant he had an ear pressed against the door. “Help me up, daughter,” Rane said.

Swallowing a nervous giggle, Tuli said demurely, “Yes, mama.”

Rane dragged the chair noisily to the table while Tuli fetched the stool and made a lot of fuss over getting her “mama” properly seated.

Rane made a face at her, then solemnly intoned, “Blessed be Soäreh for the food he has provided.” There was a quaver in her voice that Tuli hoped the clothhead outside the door would take for age and not for a struggle against laughter. She managed to quaver the response. “Soäreh be blessed.”

They ate in silence after that even when they heard the floorboards groan and creak under the lumbering feet of their spy.

The Intii Vann came with the dark; he sat in the taproom drinking and grousing with Coperic about the ingratitude of relatives, the miserable fishing, wives and their whims, saying nothing that would trigger any interest in enemy ears. Coperic served him and saw to it that his wine was heavily watered so he could give the impression of drunkenness without acquiring the real thing; the repeated refillings of his tankard also gave him all the excuse he needed for spending hours at that table. Sometime after midnight, he wobbled out, the key to the alley door in his pocket and with instructions to knock on Rane's door, then go on to Coperic's room and wait for him.

When enough time had passed after Vann's departure so the two things would not appear connected, Coperic shooed out the last drunks, locked up, watched Haqtar bumble off to his cellar room, waited until he was sure the man was shut into his den, then went wearily up the stairs and down the hall to his room.

Tuli was sitting on the bed stroking her invisible pet, Rane silent beside her. Vann was standing with his shoulders braced against a wall, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on the floor; he looked up when Coperic came in.

Coperic swung a chair about, sat in it. “What's the problem?”

Rane lifted a hand, let it fall. “He's been like that since we got here.”

“Vann?”

The Intii began stroking his beard. “'Tis not them. 'Tis I've a notion what you're wanting of me, and it can't be. 'Tis I've been ordered to my village with a trax on my tail to make sure I go straight there.” He nodded at Rane. “Knowing what that one has in her head is life-and-death for Biserica and maybe me and mine. 'Tis knowing too that the army has marched and we got Kapperim thick as lice on a a posser's back and a shaman like as not going to gut the bunch of us if we sneeze wrong.”

Coperic nodded toward the other chair. “Sit, old friend. I been doing some thinking about that since last we met. I don't mind talking about them now they're out and not going back. I put a couple plants in the Plaz. Picked up an impression of the lock on the Guard Armory. 'S afternoon a bunch of us, we got in, cleared out what was left there. Not much, damn the bitch, but some bolts and a few crossbows, a bundle of lances and a good pile of knives. We keeping some, getting some ready for you to take.”

Vann came away from the wall, his usual containment vanished. He said nothing but threw himself into the chair; it creaked precariously and seemed about to come apart beneath him. He ignored that, drew a huge breath. “How?” A moment later he added, “The trax.”

“Packing them in water casks and a flour barrel—with a bit of flour too, courtesy of the Plaz.” He rubbed his nose, glanced at the time candle burning on its stand next to his bed. “Should be finished hauling the barrels soon. When you come in, I got word to Bella; she's going to leave men on the wharf, guards. You grab 'em, tell 'em to help you load the barrels. My folk and me, we figure the next couple days things going to be looser than before, agli keeping one eye looking south instead of both on us.”

Vann stroked his beard. “Can't take the barrels through the village gate. Kappra shaman got a nose for edged steel.” His hand smoothed repeatedly down the oiled plaits of his beard. The oil had gone a trifle rancid and the plaits were frayed, some of them coming undone, an outward sign of the disorder in mind and spirit. “Stinking Kapperim, got half the women 'n children shut up in my hall. Shaman's got it set to burn, we give him any trouble. Saw Vlam and Vessey.” He glanced at Rane, smiled. “My sons,” he said. “We figured to go after Kapperim barehanded. Save part anyway. Them outside the hall.” He leaned forward, cupped large hands over his knees. “Cut more throats than we can choke with those knives you got, 'n half a chance we maybe can take out the shaman and stop the burning. We owe you, Coperic old friend.”

Coperic grinned at him. “We talk about that a passage from now.”

Rane broke in. “Be easier if you could catch the Kapperim asleep,” she said. “Especially the shaman.”

“That viper?” Vann ran his tongue over his teeth, his upper lip bulging under the bristly moustache. “Evelly, that's my wife, she tells Vlam he set wards that wake him if anyone even think too hard about him.”

“Who cooks for the Kapperim?”

“Our women. But they make them taste everything before they eat.” He scowled. “Children too; keep the women honest, they say.”

“Seems to me a nice long sleep wouldn't hurt your women and children and your men could dump one meal.”

“Drug the trash?”

“Right. There's a couple drugs I know could do it, probably lots I don't know, put them to sleep without hurting them so your women and children would be safe.” She grinned. “I figure you and your men can do all the hurting the Kapperim are very likely to need.”

The Intii's lips moved back and forth as if he were tasting the idea, then spread into a grin. “Yah.” he said. Then he sobered. “Always that Maiden-cursed shaman. He suspect his dam if he weren't hatched.”

“I ate a kind of fish stew in a fisher village once when I was a lot younger and tougher. Called tuz-zegel, if I remember. I see you follow me.” Rane chuckled. “The inside of my mouth still remembers. You couldn't taste stinkweed through that. If you showed up with a collection of the right spices, a little present for your wife, wouldn't it be the most ordinary thing if she fixed up a batch of tuz-zegel for the whole village? You could warn the men you trust to dump theirs.” Vann sighed and Rane chuckled again. “I suppose it's your favorite dish; well, a little sacrifice won't hurt.” Vann snorted, his eyes gleaming, the sag in his spirit banished. Rane ran her hands through her hair. “First thing, get those spices; you give Coperic a list. I suspect he won't have too much trouble filling it. Next, what drug. I'm a long time out of my training, but there's a healwoman in the hanguol rookery.”

Tuli's eyes opened wide.
Ajjin was right,
she thought.
Trust Rane to remember after all that's happened and fit it right in with her plans.

“Healwoman? Never heard of any. Not there.” Coperic scowled past her. “Healwoman, mmm, she'd disappear into the House of Repentance soon's an Agli got a sniff of her.”

“This one hasn't got the name since she didn't finish the last bit of training. Debrahn the midwife.”

“Oh, her. Yah, I know her.”

“You can find her?”

“Rane.”

“Yeah, I know. Silly question. She'd know about herbs, have a good mix tucked away somewhere. One of those sleepytime drugs I was thinking of, a lot of midwives use with difficult deliveries, doesn't hurt the baby, but puts the woman's head to sleep. There should be at least one woman ready to birth in your village.”

“My middle daughter.” He smoothed a forefinger along his moustache. “M' wife would have my ears for bringing a stranger in.”

“Would the Kapperim know that?”

“Don't see how.”

“Would your wife make a fuss?”

“Front of that trash? Never.”

“Good enough. Ajjin Turriy asked me to coax Debrahn out of the rookery. This is a better excuse than most.”

Coperic nodded. “Be a good idea for any lone female to get out of the rookery before it turns into a rat pit. I owe the Ajjin a favor or two myself. Give them a tenday in there'n they'll start cutting each other up for stew.” He frowned at Rane. “Best I fetch her now. Morning might be too late.”

Rane shook her head. “We.”

Coperic raised a hand, pushed it away from him. “Bad enough for a man to be out this hour, if some Follower sees you.…”

“I'll get my other clothes. He'll see two men, that's all. Good thing I was never voluptuous.” Rane chuckled. “What she knows of you, old friend, wouldn't persuade a rat into a granary.”