Dragon Stones (28 page)

She stayed at the window and watched; eventually, two men dressed in Dunshandrin's livery came down the pier, stopped at the gangplank, and talked a moment with Talbrett.  These must be the inspectors.  The stubby merchant greeted them warmly, clapping their shoulders, shaking their hands; then he guided them up the gangplank, exactly as he had guided her.

He seemed much friendlier with these men than she had expected.  Why wouldn't he merely tell them that he had a missing prisoner aboard, collect whatever reward was offered, and go about his business?  Had she been foolish to get aboard his ship?  Should she sneak off right now, jump into the lake, try to swim away?

She checked the door to her cabin again.  It was still bolted, as she had left it; the lock had not magically come undone.  She put her hand on the bolt, hesitated, took her hand off again.  If trusting Talbrett had been a mistake, then so be it; it was too late to run now.

Tolaria heard the stairs creaking outside her cabin as someone descended into the narrow hallway.  She stayed where she was, right behind the door, afraid to move lest they should hear through the parchment-thin walls.  The floor groaned as footsteps approached her cabin.  She clutched the door handle, ready to resist if someone tried to open it; but they passed on by, heading toward the hold to her left.  She imagined Dunshandrin's men peering at the cargo, one of them perhaps holding up a lantern to illuminate it.  Would they go down and pick through the crates and bags to ensure that Talbrett had packed no contraband?  If they found any, would they search the entire ship?  Did they know about her, the missing prisoner?

She put her ear to the side wall of her room, listening as the men moved about the hold.  She heard them rapping on crates, opening boxes.  After a few minutes of this, the footsteps returned to the hallway.  A voice right outside her door said:  "Everything appears to be in order here."

"Naturally," Talbrett said.  "I'm always careful with what comes aboard my ship, you know."

"Indeed you are," the other man said.  Then, in a lower voice:  "You heard the horns, of course."

"Of course."

"That means an escaped prisoner."

"Ah," Talbrett said.  "That's why you brought a companion?"

"Yes.  He'll be questioning your men.  We've had no description, though, and no explanation of the crime committed, so we are not sure what we're looking for.  Have you seen any suspicious characters lurking around the docks?"

"Most of those who lurk around the docks are suspicious," Talbrett said with a chuckle.  "But I've seen nothing out of the ordinary.  You are welcome to search the ship if you feel the need."

"Hardly.  Even if I wanted to, my Lord Dunshandrin has just taken two-thirds of my men for some campaign in the south.  We'll scarcely be able to perform our regular inspections, let alone turning every vessel upside-down."

"Well, I appreciate your concern for getting me on my way in a timely fashion," Talbrett said.  Tolaria heard faint metallic clinking, and pictured coins falling into an outstretched hand.

"Would that all merchants were as circumspect as yourself."  

The footsteps moved away from her door, toward the stairs to the deck.  Talbrett's voice, farther away now, said:  "But if they were, how would you justify your salary?"

The inspector laughed.  "My salary, as you well know, scarcely buys bread for my family."

Talbrett's reply was inaudible; they had gone back above.  Relieved, Tolaria shucked Orioke's cloak, throwing it into the corner.  She sat on the edge of the hammock, listening to the ropes creak as it swayed slightly beneath her.  True to his word, Talbrett had not betrayed her; and despite his ship's ramshackle appearance, he was apparently known to the inspectors as a reputable merchant.  But even then, the man might have searched Talbrett's ship, had Dunshandrin not stirred his resentment through low pay and calling up so many of his colleagues as part of his scheme to invade Barbareth.  So in a roundabout way, Dunshandrin had helped his own prisoner to escape.

She doubted that he would appreciate the irony.

Ponn and T'Sian had walked from the wash where they'd spent the night, following a dusty path that ran alongside the region of valleys and ravines.  Little more than a donkey trail, lined with saw grass and thistle and burst milkweed, it eventually joined with a much larger road that led to the gates of the city.  They stood open wide, letting through traffic that consisted largely of farmers' carts bearing the fruits of a late-season harvest.

They stopped inside the gates, in a wide dirt area that apparently served as a temporary market.  Many of the wagons that entered pulled off to the side and stopped, the drivers opening them to display their crops.  Bored-looking guards oversaw the activity.  Ponn noticed T'Sian eyeing them; he moved away from the area, hoping she would follow before taking some sort of action against them.  She had already concluded that Varmot must be her enemy, and might decide to try to throttle information out of those who served him.  To his relief, she came with him, moving farther into the town, but she continued to cast dark glances at the guards until they were out of sight.

"So who do you know in
this
town, Pyodor Ponn?"

"No one.  I rarely come farther north than Dyvversant."

"Why?"

"I'm too conspicuous.  Dyvversant is full of Enshenneans, but Astilan is lily-white.  When business needs to be done here, Parillon handles it.  Handled, I mean."

"Who did Parillon know here, then?"

"I cannot say.  His contacts here were his own.  I am a stranger to this city."

"Then it does not matter where we stay."  She pointed at a nearby inn.  "We will go there."

As T'Sian marched off to the place she had chosen, Ponn eyed the surroundings.  In his haste to get her away from the market, he had led her into an area of low, dirty houses, ramshackle buildings, shabby parlors.  T'Sian's destination looked like a flophouse, the sort of place he would never patronize were he traveling alone; the money that he carried in his pockets would probably be sufficient for a year's lodging there, if not to buy the place outright.  It would also be sufficient to get his throat cut if anyone realized just how much currency he had on him.  He hurried after T'Sian, suddenly conscious of the sound that the coins made as they clinked in his pockets.  He thrust his hands into them, muffling the sound.

By the time Ponn reached the front step, the dragon had already gone inside.  He paused a moment to look at the faded sign, which depicted a gaudily-dressed man carrying a sack over his shoulder.  It bulged open at the top, revealing a number of ugly little monsters with pointed ears, black eyes, and sharp teeth.  The name of the inn, painted beneath the picture, was
The Man with a Sack of Sorrows
.

Yes, Ponn thought, that was him; except that he didn't even have a sack in which to carry his sorrows.  He carried them in his arms, where they could scratch and bite.

He proceeded inside, and found T'Sian waiting for him near the door.  She had already attracted the attention of the breakfasting patrons, who were favoring her with oblique glances as Ponn entered.  They turned their gazes away as he moved to stand beside her; having a companion made her less vulnerable, less a target for mischief.  They could not know, of course, what would happen if they accosted her; the sack-bound troubles of the man on the sign would be rich rewards in comparison to what they would reap.

"What now, Pyodor Ponn?" the dragon said.

"We eat."  Having had little food in the last several days, Ponn knew he was in no state to judge; but still, the room smelled marvelous:  Frying bacon, sausage, eggs, pancakes, strong coffee.  He wondered what T'Sian smelled.  She would probably complain that the place reeked of body odor and stale drink.

"You may eat.  I have no need; I fed last night."

He didn't ask what T'Sian had fed on, certain that he didn't want to know.  Instead he guided her to a table near the hearth and sat.  She remained standing for a moment, then settled onto a sturdy chair, gingerly, as if afraid it might collapse beneath her.  He wondered how much she weighed.  "Perhaps we should get you a hooded cloak so you can conceal yourself a bit," Ponn said.  "Everyone is staring at you."

She leaned forward and said, softly, "They would stare even more if I assumed my true form and began leveling this city block by block."

"Yes, I suppose they would."

"Why do you fret so?" T'Sian said, reclining once more.  "Do you suppose these villeins will scurry off to your King Varmot and tell him a strange woman is sitting by the fire?"

"He's not
my
king
.  And I doubt the people who come here are likely to scurry off and tell Varmot anything."  He smiled.  "More likely they would scurry away from him, back into the shadows where they hide."

"Then stop worrying."

"I've done nothing but worry these past few days."  He held his hands out toward the fireplace.  "I should get some heavier clothes myself.  What I have on is too thin for these northern chills.  Perhaps we can do that after I eat?"

She grunted in what he took to be consent, then said:  "How will they know what to bring you?"

"Someone will come to the table and ask."

T'Sian made a great show of looking around the room.  Aside from the other diners, the room was deserted; no serving staff circulated among the columns of dark wood, no host monitored the needs of the guests.  Turning back to Ponn, she said:  "I am not convinced that you really know how these places operate."

"At my own inn, we are more attentive than this.  I suppose we'll have to call for service."

"Very well."  She turned her head and bellowed:  "Service!"  Her voice approached the level of a roar; Ponn was quite sure she had rattled the shutters.  The other patrons now stared quite openly, but dropped their gazes when T'Sian gave them her toothy smile.  When she turned it on Ponn, he understood why; it was an unhinged sort of grin, as one might see on a madwoman or a pit-fiend in the night.

A side door opened and a thin, white-haired woman peered out, spotted them, withdrew.  A moment later a younger woman emerged and came to their table.  "What will you have?" she said, looking bored and sounding irritated.

"Food," Ponn said.  "Whatever you have ready in the kitchen.  And a room for the night."  She gave him a price, one no doubt double what they charged regular patrons.  He paid her with a fraction of the coins he carried, and tipped her generously, resulting in a noticeable improvement in her demeanor.  On her way back to the kitchen, she visited the other tables and collected more money, joking with the patrons.  After she returned to the kitchen, the other breakfasters began to disperse, some leaving the inn, others going up the stairs to the rooms on the floor above.

As the room slowly emptied, T'Sian said:  "So, Pyodor Ponn, tell me about this so-called king.  Why would he send men to the islands?  What would he want with my crystals?"

"We still don't know for sure that Gelt works for Varmot."

"Why would he betray you to the tax collectors otherwise?"

"I don't know," Ponn said.  "Perhaps it amused him.  I think there's a reward, too, for turning in smugglers and tax cheats."

"A reward?  You think he did it for money?"

"He
is
a mercenary."

The kitchen door opened again and the wench came out, carrying a tray with Ponn's meal.  She brought it over and set it down on the table.  Ponn slipped her another coin, which she put into a pouch at her waist.  "If you need anything else, just ask," she said, her tone of voice leaving Ponn little doubt that she did not just mean food and drink.

After the woman had gone, Ponn poked at his meal with his knife, inspecting the sausage, the ham, the eggs.  The meat was left over from earlier, he decided, judging by the way the fat had congealed around it and the slightly tough texture, and the bread was not at all fresh.  Well, he had asked for whatever they had ready, and he was hungry enough to eat anything they put in front of him.

"What are you doing?" T'Sian said.

"Checking the food."

"Why?  Do you think they would poison you?"

"No, I'm just making sure it's cooked through."

"Oh."  She showed him that grin again.  "If
that
is your concern, I could make certain of it for you."

"Cooked," he said.  "Not incinerated."  He cut off a piece of sausage, speared it with the knife, tucked it into his mouth.  "Anyway, it's fine."

T'Sian watched him eat for a little while, then pointed at his plate and said, "What is that?"

"Sausage," he said, pointing at it with his knife.  "That's meat in a casing.  And this is ham, which is pig.  Eggs.  Bread.  Potatoes."

"May I try it?"

Surprised, Ponn said:  "Yes, of course."  He cut off a bit of sausage and held it out to her; she carelessly plucked it off his knife and put it into her mouth.  She didn't appear to chew, but merely swallowed.  "I didn't know you could eat human food.  While you look like that, I mean."

"I can," she said.  "I hardly make a practice of it."