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Authors: Alan Dean Foster

Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #FIC009000

Into the Thinking Kingdoms (4 page)

BOOK: Into the Thinking Kingdoms
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It was agreed. They would remain in the cramped but cozy shop until their host returned with their four-legged friend.
“You are not afraid of this bin Grue?” Ehomba put the question to Moleshohn as he was about to depart.
“I know his reputation. Because of . . . certain goods . . . that he deals in, he is known to be more than a mere trader.” The oracle winked twice. “But I am the All-Knowing, and as such, I know how to deal with men like him. Do not fear for me, Cosigner of a Solemn Bargain. I can take care of myself.” He opened the door, his fingers rapping excitably on the jamb. “I will be back before the turn of midnight with your companion, and for the rest of my money.” He shut the door resoundingly behind him. Moleshohn the All-Knowing did everything resoundingly.
The two travelers were left to their own resources, perusing their host’s collections by the soft light of well-fueled oil lamps. Somewhat to Simna’s surprise, Ehomba revealed that he could read, though his learning was restricted to only the general language of men. Simna could boast of a knowledge of many tongues, though his fluency was frequently restricted to those words not usually to be found in the scholarly tomes of which their host was fond.
In this manner they passed a fair many hours, during which time the sun surrendered the day to the moon, and the noise of the waterfront, though never passing away completely, was much reduced from that of the busy day.
“I wonder if it is after midnight.” Ehomba looked up from the book of many pictures he was perusing. “It feels so.”
“There’s a clock on that shelf over there.” Simna pointed. “Can’t you see by its face that it’s after midnight?”
“A clock?” Closing the book, Ehomba rose to have a look at the strange device. “So that is what this is. I wondered.”
Simna gaped at him. “You mean you’ve never seen a clock before?”
“No, never.” Standing before the shelf, Ehomba gazed in fascination at the softly ticking mechanism. “What is a ‘clock’?”
“A device for the telling of time.” The swordsman studied his friend in disbelief. “It’s a peculiar sort of sorcerer you are, that doesn’t know the functioning of a clock. How do you tell time?”
“By the sun and the stars.” The herdsman was leaning toward the shelf, his nose nearly touching the carved wooden hands that told the hour and the minute. “This is a wonderful thing.”
“Hoy, sure.” A disappointed Simna found himself wondering if, perhaps, just perhaps, in spite of all they had seen and survived, Etjole Ehomba was in truth little more than what he claimed to be: a humble herder of food animals.
There was a noise at the door and both men turned to regard it expectantly. “Moleshohn!” Simna blurted. “About time. We were beginning to get a trifle concerned about—”
The door burst inward, thrown aside by a brace of Khorog. They were a large, beefy folk, with warty, unkind faces, who were much in demand in the municipalities and kingdoms of the Aboqua’s northern shore as mercenaries and bodyguards. They could also, it was abundantly and immediately evident, be employed for less noble purposes. Clad in light chain armor with heavy solid shoulder- and breastplates, they wielded weapons of little refinement, weighty war axes and ponderous maces being the manglers of choice.
Simna had his sword out and had leaped atop the table in a trice. “No wonder Moleshohn the Deceiver wasn’t afraid of bin Grue! He’s sold us out!” As he flailed madly with his sword, using his superior position to slow the first rush of assailants and keep them momentarily at bay, he shouted frantically. “Do something, bruther! Slaughter them where they stand! They’ll be too many through that door and all over us in a moment!”
In the surprise and confusion of the initial assault, Ehomba reached behind his back to grab for the sword of sky metal. Instead, his hand wrapped around his long spear. With no time in which to adjust for the mistake and with grunting, murderous Khorog swarming through the open door, he was forced to thrust with the weapon at hand instead of the one of choice. This despite knowing that the consequences could be as deadly for the spear holder as for those on the receiving end of its inherent inimical qualities.
He knew that the cramped chamber was too small to contain the spirit of the spearpoint, but he had no time in which to consider another action. The grunting, homicidal Khorog were right on top of them. What burst forth from the tooth that tipped the end of his spear expanded not simply to dominate the room, but to fill it.
“Out the back way, quickly!” He could only shout and hope that the swordsman could respond rapidly enough as the dead spirit of the tyrannosaur ballooned to occupy the entire room. The massive, switching tail barely missed him as he grabbed for his backpack and dove through the rear portal.
Those Khorog who were not crushed instantly beneath the weight of the reconstituted carnivore suffocated themselves as they tried to squeeze back through the narrow front door. More were slain, devoured by the rampaging demon as, seeking space to move about and breathe, it burst through the storefront and the outer wall of the building. Its terrible roars and bellows resounded across the waterfront, sending hitherto placid pedestrians running for their lives or plunging into the harbor to escape. Surviving Khorog scattered in all directions, throwing down their cumbersome weapons in their haste to flee. The tyrannosaur’s spirit pursued them, snapping at would-be assassins and blameless citizens alike.
Simna had just avoided being stepped on and smashed to a pulp. Only his familiarity with his friend’s unexpected stratagems had enabled him to react with a minimum of shock and flee before it was too late. Now he let himself be led, following the herdsman as they stumbled out into the alley behind the shop and hurried back toward the harborfront.
“Wait a minute!” he yelled breathlessly. “Why are we going this way? The monster you let loose is out there!”
“I know.” Ehomba’s tone was as equable as ever, but the swordsman thought he might have detected just a hint of suppressed passion. “But I am hoping there may also be a smaller one slinking about.”
Sure enough, they found Moleshohn lying in a small pinnace tied to the main quay, cowering beneath loose canvas as he sought to hide from both the raging prehistoric spirit and the surviving angry Khorog. When the canvas was pulled back to expose his startled face, the All-Knowing appeared something less than omnipotent.
Simna shoved the point of his sword against the seer’s throat until he was forced to lean back over the side of the small sailing craft. Eyes wide, their erstwhile host found himself hanging inches from the dark water. Both hands clung to the rail to keep him from tumbling over into the depths, the fingers tapping out a panicked ostinato on the smooth wood.
Teeth clenched, Simna ibn Sind pushed harder with the sword. “I’ll give you a choice, oracle. That’s more than you gave us. Tell us where to find Haramos bin Grue, and I’ll only cut your face instead of your throat!”
“I don’t—” the failed prophet began, but Ehomba, looming behind the tense swordsman, silenced the incipient protest with his eyes.
“You betrayed us to him. I should have at least suspected, but I am used to dealings among the people of my country, where souls and manhood are not bartered for gold. Being the All-Knowing, you knew where he was, and what he would pay to be rid of us. Being the All-Knowing, you know that I speak the truth when I tell you that if you do not reveal his whereabouts to us within your next heart’s breath, it will be your last.”
Simna’s sword drew blood from the slim, wrinkled throat.
“Yes, yes, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you!” So loudly and hard were the smaller man’s fingertips rapping nervously on the gunwale of the pinnace that they had begun to bleed. “He—he has a place of business on Zintois Street. The house is behind. Are you going to kill me?”
Simna grinned wolfishly. “You mean you’re the All-Knowing and you don’t have the answer to that? Maybe you should change your title to the Maybe-Guessing.”
Leaning forward, Ehomba put a hand on the swordsman’s shoulder. “Let it go, Simna. If we are going to make the effort to free Ahlitah, we should hurry.”
Breathing hard, his friend hesitated. “There is the small matter of the money we paid. In good faith for information, not betrayal.” Palm up, he extended a demanding hand.
A trembling Moleshohn fumbled with a hidden pocket. Straightening, he passed the swordsman a fistful of coin. Counting it while Ehomba waited impatiently, Simna had a few choice final words for their betrayer. “If you’re lying to us, or have given us the wrong address, we’ll find you. My friend is a great sorcerer, a
true
sorcerer. Not a cheap storefront fake like yourself!”
Moleshohn managed to summon a sufficient reserve of inner strength to protest feebly, “I am not cheap!” before the swordsman fetched him a solid blow to the forehead with the hilt of his sword. The All-Knowing became the Wholly Unconscious and fell back onto the floor of the boat. Tossing the canvas over the body, Simna followed Ehomba back onto the quay. His blade made short work of the hawser that secured the pinnace to the dock. Nodding with satisfaction, he watched as the little boat began to drift slowly out into the harbor.
“When he wakes beneath that heavy cover, maybe he’ll think he’s dead. A good fright is the least the old scoundrel deserves.”
“Come.” In the distance, the sounds of destruction and screaming were beginning to fade. The spirit of the tooth could only stalk the earth for a finite amount of time. Meanwhile, a few small fires had erupted in the wake of the two-legged monster’s rampage. These would keep the locals occupied for a while, and the few surviving Khorog were in no condition to respond to questions. Content that they faced no pursuit, the two travelers hurried from the scene of confusion.
Zintois Street was situated away from the waterfront and deeper within the city proper. Neatly paved with cobblestones, it wound its way up a small hill, providing those fortunate enough to have their businesses located near the crest with a pleasant view of the harbor and the surrounding city. The storefronts here were large and impressive, bespeaking a wider commercial success than what had been achieved by the lowlier waterfront merchants.
The house of Haramos bin Grue clung like a he-crab to its mate, rising behind and above the street-facing offices. A high stone wall encircled and protected the compound. Its parapet was lined with large shards of broken glass, as beautiful as they were deadly, spiked into the rounded mortar. On the walls and within the compound, as well as on the dark street itself, all was quiet.
“I see no signs of life.” Ehomba frowned slightly. “Do not the wealthy folk of these foreign lands set someone to keep watch over their homes and possessions?”
Crouching as he ran, Simna was edging along the wall toward the front door. “If someone is powerful enough, or ruthless enough, their reputation can act as adequate protection. It’s cheaper, and can be just as effective. That seems to be the case with our friend bin Grue.”
Stretching to his full height, Ehomba tried to see over the wall. “I would expect the merchant to keep a property as valuable and difficult to manage as the litah somewhere in the back of his establishment, out of sight and hearing of random visitors.”
Simna nodded agreement. “I don’t like going in through the front door, but it might prove the easiest way. If ordinary thieves are afraid to enter, it may be protected by nothing more than a simple lock.”
The herdsman looked down at his friend. “Are there such things as simple locks?”
Simna grinned knowingly. “To someone who has made the aquaintance of many, yes.”
True to his word, the swordsman made short work of the keyed entrance while Ehomba kept watch on the street. No one was abroad in the much-esteemed neighborhood at that late hour save a few stray cats. Two of these lingered to enjoy Ehomba’s earnest attention, waltzing back and forth beneath his soothing palm as he stroked their backs and smoothed out their tails as if they were candle wicks.
“Will you stop that?” whispered Simna urgently as he finished with the lock.
“Why?” Ehomba wondered innocently. “I cannot help you in your work. I
can
help these cats.”
“Well, you’re wasting your energy. They’ll never be able to help
you
.”
Rising, the herdsman moved closer to the door. “You do not know that, my friend. You never know when something you meet may be able to do you a service. Better to show respect to all Nature’s creations.”
“I’ll remind you of that if we ever find ourselves lost in a cloud of mosquitoes.” At his gentle but firm push, the door gave inward, squeaking slightly. “There. We’re in.”
Ehomba followed him through the doorway. “Do you usually find yourself breaking into other people’s property?”
“No. Usually I find myself breaking out.” Simna squinted as they advanced inward. “Shit!” He jerked back sharply, then relaxed. Something small and fast skittered away into the shadows. “Just a rat.”
There was barely enough light to allow them to find their way between high desks and wooden cabinets. A back door led to a small storeroom that was piled high with exotic goods. It smelled wonderfully of fragrant spices and packages of incense, of fine silks and cloths brought from the far corners of the world. There were jars of aromatic liquids and wooden crates bound with hammered brass and copper. Clearly Haramos bin Grue was no dealer in baskets of fish or wagonloads of vegetables. If his tastes reflected his clientele, he would be likely to have powerful friends.
BOOK: Into the Thinking Kingdoms
7.22Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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