Chorus Skating (16 page)

This line of thought caused him to think of Talea, which made him more than a little uncomfortable every time Ansibette of Borobos crossed his line of vision.

“Then we must try to make our escape through the kitchens.” Aleaukauna started off in the opposite direction, her short legs switching spryly back and forth. “They should be empty of servitors this time of night, and Manzai does not set a guard over his silverware and kettles.”

Moonlight and the occasional flickering glowbulb lit their way, until they emerged into a room crowded with heavily lacquered tables and chairs. Passing silently past the empty seats, they pushed on into the kitchen itself. Sinks and soup vats glistened in the murky light.

It was Ansibette who, taking overmuch care in where she placed her feet, neglected to pay equal attention to the rest of herself and banged into a hanging copper strainer, setting it to jangling metallically. Knocked from its hook, it clattered to the hard floor, sounding in the shattered silence like a bolt of metallic lightning.

Everyone froze, eyes striving to pierce the darkness. Just as Jon-Tom was convinced everything was okay, a voice broke the silence.

“What's that? Who's there?”

The words were couched in sleepiness and possibly also a touch of alcohol. No one moved, no one breathed.

But the cursed figure refused to be put off by the unresponsive silence. Stumbling slightly and clutching a half-empty bottle in one hand, the ringtail rose up from behind a large, juice-streaked cutting block and gawked in their direction.

“I said,
who's there?
”

“Damnation!” Without hesitation Pivver headed straight for the slightly addled but now all too conscious servant. The bulky shadow of Umagi of Tuuro trailed behind.

A puzzled smile creased the face of the squinting ringtail. “Oh, it's you, Chamber Number One. And Number Two as well. Say, what are you doing out of your cells unescort—”

Realization struck before Pivver could.

“
Help, help, escape, someone hel
—”

Pivver hit him low while Umagi slapped an enormous paw over his mouth and snout. An instant later the four soldiers relieved the princesses of any further responsibility. They also relieved the hapless servant of his last breath.

Not quite in time, unfortunately.

From the far corners of the complex voices began to call: querulous, sleepy, uncertain, but very definitely awake.

“That's torn it,” Mudge cursed.

“I'm sorry,” mumbled a distraught Ansibette. “I was trying to be careful. Sometimes I just bump into things.”

Jon-Tom was quick to comfort her. “Forget it. We've been incredibly lucky to make it this far without rousing someone.” Even in the near darkness her eyes flashed azure.

“You're
very
understanding.”

A tremor somewhere between eight and nine on the body's own seismic scale raced through him. This was a voice sweet enough, he realized, to candy a man's soul.

The all but forgotten cloud of chords chimed urgently at his shoulder, as if perceiving that something was amiss. He didn't need music to urge him on. As for Mudge, the otter looked drugged. Which he was, Jon-Tom knew. The drug's name was Pivver of Trenku.

She was either oblivious to his attentions or else aware and ignoring him as she plotted strategy with her fellow royals and the Lieutenant.

Aleaukauna and Seshenshe led the way down a side corridor as voices continued to grow louder all around them. The buzz of awakening servitors was nothing compared to the alarm they could expect when the body of the unlucky nocturnal imbiber was discovered. By that time they would do well to be far from the complex.

Aleaukauna indicated a bend in the corridor. “There should be a door here leading to a loading ramp.”

“There'd better be.” Pauko was puffing hard as he loped along.

They needn't have worried. As they rounded the corner, they were greeted by the sight of a large double doorway. This opened into a spacious chamber in which containers large and small were neatly sorted and stacked. At about the same time a muffled roar as of distant surf rose behind them.

“Someone's found the body,” Heke announced.

“They sshouldn't ssusspect uss immediately.” Seshenshe's long, tufted ears were turned in the direction of the distant confusion. “After all, we're ssuppossedly unarmed and locked up.”

“That will gain us only a little more time. They'll find your two sleeping attendants soon enough.” Naike was examining the doors. “Locked from the inside!”

“Tough to get out of,” Karaukul murmured mournfully as he echoed the four-legged gardener.

Jon-Tom prepared to compose a lock-picking spell, but Mudge roused himself from his self-induced stupor long enough to give the heavy chain and padlock the professional once-over. As it developed, neither of their services were required.

“Pardon me.” Trailing her fragile silk headband, princess Umagi lumbered daintily on all fours over to the doorway and gripped the restraining chain in both hands. At the same time a shout sounded in the corridor they had just vacated.

“There they are!”

“'Ave at the rotters!” Drawing his bow and peering around the corner, Mudge put a feathered shaft in the neck of the first sentry to start toward them. This gave those coming up fast behind reason to hesitate.

The otter barked back at his companions. “No shilly-shallyin'! I can't 'old 'em 'ere for long!”

“Nice shot.” Pivver had slipped up to stand just behind him.

He beamed irresistibly. “Want to see me stick the next one with one leg crossed?”

“Don't stand there gawking at me, you piss-eyed idiot! Pay attention to your work!”

Well, maybe he was resistible. Setting his jaw, he notched another arrow.

Expecting to encounter a brace of escaped princesses and finding themselves confronted instead by an arrow-shooting otter, a quartet of halberd-wielding mongooses, and an over-large human hefting a sword longer than any of them, the recently roused guards decided to restrain themselves until reinforcements could arrive. Which, Jon-Tom sensed as he readied himself, could be presently. He yelled back over a shoulder.

“Umagi… I mean, Your Highness! I don't advise hanging around here much longer!”

“Patience, man!” came the reply. It was followed a moment later by several deeply voiced but feminine profanities and then a metallic snapping sound as the chain restricting their egress came apart in the princess's massive fists. “The way is clear!”

“Righty-ho, 'tis time to be off.” Lowering his bow, Mudge put an arm around Pivver and hurried to join the others. She did not shake him off. Very tolerant she was, Jon-Tom reflected.

With the princesses leading the way, the fugitives piled out onto the wooden ramp and down to the narrow road that rapidly disappeared into the surrounding greenery. The moon had gone down and the sun was threatening to put in an appearance at any moment. Behind them, lights were coming on throughout the length and breadth of the complex.

“We must leave this road and try to conceal ourselves within the swamp,” Naike told Jon-Tom.

The spellsinger shook his head. “There are too many of us and we'd make too much noise. Their Highnesses don't have proper clothing or footwear. And pursuers can track us by smell.” He did not need to point out that the party of escapees reeked of expensive perfumes.

“Where does this road lead?” Naike inquired of their charges.

“there is no proper road.” They had to strain to understand Quiquell's breathy reply. “but south lies mashupro.”

“Then we have no choice. We must hope to outrun them.”

For a time they jogged along in silence. Despite the muggy, cloying air, Jon-Tom was surprised at how good he felt. Better than he had in years, if the truth be known. With Pivver at his side, Mudge virtually flowed along nearby, his youthful enthusiasm restored along with his energy. For the moment, at least, the thought of being sliced and diced by Manzai's minions seemed to concern him not in the slightest.

Observing the two otters as they strode along chatting in tandem caused Jon-Tom's attention to shift involuntarily to the princess Ansibette. She ran easily, her long legs giving her an advantage over Umagi, Quiquell, and the others. They were also giving him fits.

“They're coming.” Naike tried to decide whether to keep on running or counterattack, thereby hopefully giving the princesses some time in which to put more distance between themselves and their pursuers. He put the question to his troops.

“What about setting an ambush?” Heke suggested.

“If we do that, some will still get past us.” The Lieutenant turned to query his charges. “How many servants and soldiers does this Manzai command?”

“We don't know,” Pivver told him between breaths. “I can number at least a hundred from memory.”

“And none of uss armed.” Seshenshe was angry at herself. “We sshould have taken weaponss before departing. Knivess from the kitchen, if nothing elsse.”

“Belabor yourself not with recriminations,” Naike told her. “We will do what we can.” He slowed and the others with him. “Conceal yourselves as best you are able in these rushes.”

Ansibette eyed the dense, mucky growth that lined the trail with obvious distaste. “It smells of something dead in there.”

“That's the idea.” The Lieutenant turned back toward the now distant complex. “The rest of us will confront them briefly and then retreat into the swamp, making as much noise as we can. Hopefully they will all follow us, leaving you time to flee in relative safety. If fortune smiles on us, we will lose them in the bogs while you find a helpful wagon driver or boatman.” When Aleaukauna tried to speak, Naike forestalled her.

“No, Your Highness.” Exhibiting uncharacteristic audacity, he reached out to tenderly brush her cheek. “We were prepared to sell our lives in your cause long before this.”

“True soldiers of Harakun you are,” she replied affectionately. “Noble and brave.”

“And stupid,” added Mudge. This time the Lieutenant overheard. He whirled sharply to confront the otter.

“You have a better idea?”

Mudge was not intimidated. “Look 'ere, guv. This Manzai bloke may be a bastard, but 'e's a smart bastard. You take off into the great green goo yonder an' 'e'll send pursuit after you, sure, but 'e's not goin' to assume you've abandoned the only road out o' 'ere. 'E'll send some to check on it, right enough. And they'll find our cache o' princesses.” His whiskers twitched vigorously as he turned to face Jon-Tom.

“As for suggestions, it pains me to say this, mate, but your singin' is the nearest thing to a better idea I can think of.”

“What, him?” Umagi's heavy brows lowered as she considered the tall human. “What can he do?”

“'E's a spellsinger, 'e is. Through 'is music 'e commands vast if somewot fickle powers.”

“This is so,” put in Naike. “I myself have seen him at work.” He looked up at Jon-Tom, who was already thoughtfully fingering the strings of the duar. “Use the sleeping spell, magician.”

“Or the stupid one,” added Heke hopefully.

Standing tall at the center of their concern, Jon-Tom plucked at the two sets of strings as he strode purposefully out into the center of the road. Nearby, the lost chords compacted into a concerned ball of light and sound.

“Actually, I think something stronger is in order.”

“That's right, mate!” barked Mudge encouragingly. “Show 'em your power. Make 'em crawl whinin' an' whimperin' back to their beds!” To the princesses he added in a lower voice, “I suggest you each find yourselves a 'ollow or a stout tree to 'ide behind, I do.”

Pivver glared at him. “Have you confidence in your friend's abilities or not?”

“Oh, I do, I do. But you 'ave to understand, I've also seen 'im work.” Whereupon he began searching for a temporary refuge for himself.

A mob of angry, armed figures was advancing down the narrow dirt road toward the tired, sweaty refugees. The first suggestions of sunrise sparkled from the tips and edges of numerous weapons. There might be less than a hundred of them, Jon-Tom decided as he considered the unbroken wall of approaching mayhem. Still more than enough to overpower the little band of escapees.

Which meant it was all up to him. As usual.

It was a condition he was familiar with, though one he hadn't been forced to face for many years. Potential lyrics tumbled through his mind. In years past he would have sought to project overwhelming power, awesome strength. But that, he'd learned sometimes painfully, could be difficult or even impossible to control. Subtlety was the hallmark of the accomplished sorcerer. Select the magic to match the situation. “Waste not, want not” was a homily that applied as well to magic as to the rest of life.

It was also much safer.

As those behind him looked on (several from behind rocks or large trees), he began to sing. Not of fire and destruction, of chaos and cataclysm, but of better times and better climes. Of a more peaceful environment and genial surroundings. Sorcerially speaking, it was, given the danger bearing rapidly down on them, something of a departure. So much so that a baffled and worried Mudge rose from his hiding place.

“Oi, mate, wot the bloody 'ell are you posturin' on about? We need to be thinkin' life an' death 'ere, not meditation an' pretty posies!”

Ignoring him, Jon-Tom sang on.

“Another place, another time

a different day, a different clime

I'm so tired of trading blows

with enemies I don't even know

So shift us quick but shift us slow

Or I'll be forced to fight in mime.”

At the appalling and sense-distorting mention of the word
mime
the hovering chord cloud began to tremble plangently. Simultaneously a sinister green mist began to issue from the glowing nexus at the heart of the duar.