Gangs of Antares (6 page)

She wore a shamlak in the best fashion, not a tunic, and the cleavage down the front was wider than narrower, revealing glistening black skin. Her face was handsome, almost haughty, with dark eyes that must have slain many a poor fellow. Her hair was most tastefully done up into a pile upon that imperious little head. Her jewelry spoke eloquently of good taste. She was a Xuntalese, from the island off the southern tip of Balintol.

“You are Drajak known as the Sudden?”

“Yes.”

“I have a message. I will whisper it.” She stood up again.

Her breath was warm and sweetly scented in my ear.

“The Crystal Griffon. When the suns set. A man wearing a red eyepatch over his left eye.” She stepped back. She did not sit.

“I know the place. I will be there. Thank you.”

Those fine eyes widened at that. Then she smiled, a most charming smile that radiated personality. “I see why you are called what you are called.”

“And you will not tell me what you are called.”

She shook her head, still smiling.

“Then I bid you remberee.”

“Remberee, Drajak the Sudden.”

She walked with a seductive swaying movement towards the door and I opened it for her as was her due. Trust old Naghan the Barrel to find top class agents to employ in his schemes!

Tiri wanted to know who the mystery woman was and I told her the truth, adding that I had to meet a man later this evening. So, of course, I then had to convince her that she couldn’t come along.

She became most hoity-toity at that so I mentioned Dimpy and she reluctantly acknowledged that, yes, well, she supposed she’d better stay. Her bottom lip stuck out. Fweygo said not a word.

So, just before the twin suns set, off I sallied. I wore my decent dark blue shamlak with a narrow cleavage well belted up. The rapier, the left-hand dagger and my heavy knife — I habitually refer to that lethal weapon as my sailor knife — over my right hip for my companions.

Just the once I glanced back crossing an avenue to see if Tiri was impishly following me. I didn’t see her. I did see a fellow with golden hair just turning to look into a jewelry shop. Now Kildois can hold their lower pair of arms inside their clothes and wrap their tails around their waists under trousers or kilt and pass as apims. The golden color they share with numims would betray them so if they wish to pass completely that hair has to be dyed. Fweygo obviously hadn’t had time to dye his hair. All the same, he looked apim enough, something like those golden-haired folk from Villodrin over in the continent of Loh.

Had I been in the habit of smirking I’d have felt a good smirk right now fully justified. Good old Fweygo! He wasn’t following me out of idle curiosity. Oh, no, by Krun! He was on my tail because of what the Star Lords had told him; that I firmly believed. And my smirk would be because I’d spotted him.

Now the superior Xuntalese lady had not said those usual conspiratorial words so uniformly used in these situations. She had not in a dark and mysterious voice said: “Come alone!”

From that and my feelings that this was an effective way for Naghan to contact me I did not think I was walking into a trap.

Of course, on Kregen, that wonderful and terrifying world under Antares, all kinds of skullduggery — including traps — must routinely be expected. At the least, it made life interesting and kept the old blood pumping.

The last streamers of deep emerald and lustrous rose were fading and the first stars were pricking out when I entered The Crystal Griffon.

My hope clearly was that Naghan had turned up some information on the whereabouts of the young lord Byrom. Poor old Princess Nandisha and her daughter lady Nisha were in a dreadful state and I felt for them, by Zair. The unpleasant thought that Byrom was already dead had to be kept in perspective. Kidnappers are unpleasant people; until we knew to the contrary we had to assume they wanted something for the return of Byrom. Had they just wanted the young prince dead then they could have cut him down, there and then, finish.

The Crystal Griffon, as its name implied, was an upmarket establishment. They did quality meals here and the wines were of the first vintages, although, unfortunately, their cellars had no Jholaix. The red eye patch was easily identifiable. The man was a Gon, from whose head every vestige of white hair had been shaved and whose scalp gleamed with butter. He’d use the saponifying effects of the butter to shave religiously each day. Well, his race of diffs suffered from the mistaken belief that their white hair was unbecoming if not downright ugly. Thankfully, most of their women did not shave their hair and it glowed silvery white and splendid in the lights of the suns. He wore dark clothes and carried weapons. I sat down opposite him and the serving girl, a dainty Fristle fifi with impertinent eyes and roving tail, brought me a yellow Charwis, not too sweet and with a decent taste.

The Gon said: “Lahal, majister. I am—”

The look I shot him brought his backbone up. He was tall, as many Gons are, with smooth even features. A little flush seeped in over his cheekbones.

“Your pardon, Drajak.” He spoke in a soft voice and no one could overhear us in the noise of the tavern. All the same...!

I nodded my head and drank some Charwis.

He went on: “I am Nalgre ti Poventer. I was at the Battle of the Ruined Abbey. Third Phalanx. Bratchlin. I saw you there.”

“Lahal, Nalgre. Go on.”

He had recovered his composure and now drank a little wine and wiped his lips with a yellow kerchief. Very fussy, are Gons.

“The ambassador wishes to see you. By using me as an intermediary he hopes to avoid throwing suspicion upon you, maj — Drajak.”

That explained his elementary mistake. He didn’t work for Naghan at all. He was employed by the Vallian embassy here in Oxonium. Elten Larghos Invordun, the Vallian ambassador here, had helped me already and I knew him for a loyal and clever man.

“When?” I said.

“I have a room here. There is a disguise. Tonight.”

I finished off the Charwis and stood up. Instantly Nalgre ti Poventer slapped his unfinished drink onto the table and rose. I sighed to myself. He was no conspirator, that was for sure. So I sat down again and called for more wine. He sat down too, slowly, and gave me a most puzzled glance. I leaned forward.

“For the sweet sake of Opaz, Nalgre! Relax. You’re supposed not to attract any attention.”

He licked his lips. “I’m a brumbyte, a soldier more used to hefting my pike in the files. I’m used to showing respect.”

“If it hadn’t been for people like you, Nalgre, we’d never have won Vallia’s liberty. Now you have a new job that is different. We’ll just saunter up, casually.”

“Quida—” He checked himself, and said: “A good idea.”

I allowed a gargoylish old Dray Prescot smile to plaster itself all over the inside of my head. To Nalgre I just looked what I must have looked like to him back during the Battle of the Ruined Abbey. The Third Phalanx, I recalled, had suffered casualties that day of blood. To him, I was the Emperor, the Majister, to be shown the utmost respect and to be faithfully obeyed in all things. If only he knew how I spurned all these titles and ranks! I loved giving away titles and estates to those who deserved them, and I valued the way in which things could be done simply because I was who I was. But through all that I remained Dray Prescot, a simple sailorman.

Fweygo was sitting inconspicuously in a corner where he could keep an eye on me. I didn’t want him taking Nalgre to pieces. Nalgre had been a Bratchlin, a closer of the file, and was therefore well-used to issuing orders and keeping people up to the mark. But he’d be no match for the Kildoi — a redundant remark, that; very few fighting tricks were unknown to them.

As we were going up the stairs, Fweygo stood up and went out the front door. If I knew him he’d be looking for another way in. Nalgre’s room lay at the far end of the second floor corridor, and, indeed, in that far end wall was a door which must lead to stairs going down outside. Just how long would it take my kregoinye comrade to make his way in there?

In Nalgre’s room, furnished to a good state of inn comfort, he unwrapped a parcel. I did not feel surprise. I shrugged off my blue shamlak and donned the buff jacket with the wide wings, the buff breeches and tall boots and clapped on the wide-brimmed hat with the red and yellow feather. Then my weapons went about me again.

Nalgre also put on his Vallian clothes. He said: “I feel more comfortable in civilized clothes — Drajak.”

“Oh, they’re more or less decently civilized here in Tolindrin, Nalgre. Except for some cramphs I’ve met. As to the other countries to the north, that has to be tested.”

“I was up in Enderli recently.” He hitched his rapier forward. “I can’t say I cared overmuch for ’em. Nice zorcas, though.”

Ready, we moved out. He opened the door onto the stairs and held the key in his hand ready to lock up after us and there stood Fweygo on the top step, a dagger in one of his fists, just about to force the lock.

Instantly the dagger disappeared. Only a couple of Kregen’s smaller moons went scampering past so it was pretty dark. I kept the wide brim of the Vallian hat down over my face.

The Kildoi in his most pleasant voice said: “Your pardon, doms. I have a rendezvous and have lost my key—”

Whether or not he expected a couple of Vallians in a foreign country to believe him I couldn’t guess. Sensible people like to stay out of trouble. Nalgre simply said: “I will lock up after you, dom.”

From the light in the corridor at our backs which threw us into silhouette I could see Fweygo’s face clearly. His trick had rebounded on him. I was confident he did not suspect it was Dray Prescot who stood before him. Our Vallian attire was unmistakable even in silhouette with those wide shoulder wings and breeches and the broad-brimmed hats. He kept his composure remarkably.

“Thank you, dom. But — how do I get out afterward?”

“Why, dom, you must go with Cymbaro’s grace.”

Fweygo had been hoist, as they say in Clishdrin, by his own varter. His handsome face, smooth and polite in the lamplight, smiled. Oh, yes, by Krun! I was getting to know my new comrade better at each stroke of adventure. “Why, thank you again, dom. I am sure I shall find a way out.”

Well, and of course he would! If he didn’t knock the door out he’d knock over anyone who got in his way trompling down the inner staircase. That, of course, would be after he’d sorted me out, no doubt considering he’d once again rescued me from peril.

So, wishing not to attract attention to anyone of our party, I had to say something. What? Would it matter if Nalgre ti Poventer knew that Fweygo and I were acquainted? Perhaps I had become obsessed with secrecy, always plotting subterfuges, wearing disguises. But that must be in my scorpion nature. And, anyway, by Krun, it had saved my hide on innumerable occasions.

I said: “The lady became tired of waiting. She left.”

Nalgre half-turned to give me a quick puzzled glance, so he missed Fweygo’s reaction. The Kildoi shuffled his feet around on the top step, said: “Women! Thank you, dom,” and started off down.

Nalgre’s low laugh was only half amused. “He’s right, by Vox!”

By the time Nalgre had locked up and we reached the alley running past the foot of the stairs, Fweygo had vanished into the shadows. The Maiden with the Many Smiles would be up tonight, and the Twins would add their lustrous pink radiance later on. Nalgre led. He hadn’t sounded overly bitter in his remark about the ladies of Kregen so perhaps that was just a lover’s tiff. Well, and by Mother Diocaster, there are plenty of them on two worlds.

A couple of streets along in the pinkish moonlight we heard a hullabaloo and a rout of people came storming along, all tangled up and bashing away with cudgels and blatterers and dwablatters. Nalgre and I jumped into a conveniently shadowed doorway as the rout hacked and hewed past.

The light showed up the favors, the schturvals plain.

“Khon the Mak’s roughs fighting with Prince Ortyg’s toughs,” commented Nalgre. “For the benefit of Vallia they can break one another’s heads in and to the Ice Floes of Sicce with ’em.”

“Aye. King Tom or Hyr Kov Brannomar are the folk Vallia must deal with.”

The City Guard took its time about sorting out the riot and this made me uneasy. It could be that they’d been bribed. It could simply be that law and order were breaking down in Oxonium under the pressures of the strains between the nobles. When the street lay deserted under The Maiden with the Many Smiles we set off again.

Fweygo would be somewhere near keeping an obbo on us.

We reached the Vallian embassy and Nalgre led around the back to a wicket gate to which he had the key. Inside the archway four extremely efficient guards shone lights upon us and demanded credentials as their weapons glittered. The Deldar recognized Nalgre and stood his men at ease and marched us off. At sight of the brave old Vallian uniform I felt all the nostalgia of a fellow cast adrift in the world dwaburs from his home. So many and many a time have I said why can’t a simple sailorman like me be left on the beach in his home in Esser Rarioch with Delia? The Star Lords dictate otherwise, that’s why.

The fuming sense of injustice boiled up again. The Everoinye and their insane idea that I, a single man, could become the Emperor of Emperors, the Emperor of Paz! Even if I did have the yrium, the special even stronger power than mere charisma, to assist? Ludicrous!

The Elten of Thothsturboin stepped forward eagerly when we were ushered into his study. He was as I remembered him, efficient, now a skilled diplomat instead of a tough warrior of Vallia.

“Lahal — Drajak?”

I nodded. Even here I saw no need to have the majister this and majister that bandied about. We sat down, refreshments were served and the occasion for this nocturnal meeting was revealed.

“You remember when you discovered the secret of the old king’s sword, and your identity was discovered to Hyr Kov Brannomar, who Drajak the Sudden really is, we were overheard by Wocut.”

San Wocut was Khon the Mak’s personal wizard, that gaunt, gray-faced individual I’d seen next to Khonstanton. He was not a Wizard of Loh; he had powers. Elten Larghos said he had a remarkable approach from the sorcerer Wocut. “He has not revealed your secret to Khon the Mak and—”