Liavek 1 (10 page)

He reached into his pocket and produced a vial of water. He carefully poured some on the ground, swallowed a mouthful, and handed the vial to her. Her face lit up, and she took the vial. One final countersign...Yes! She completed the gesture by pouring a small amount of the water onto the ground. Quivering with relief, he took the parcel from her now-relaxed hand and stepped back. His comrades, who had begun moving as soon as he had given her the vial, surrounded him as they sped down the street. He looked back and saw that the messenger was, indeed, in pursuit. She would drop back soon. Her expression, he noted with satisfaction, was quite genuine. She could have been a fine actress. Anyone who didn't know better would think the parcel had been stolen from her.

•

Narni came running up breathlessly to the two guards. The wiry, red-haired one with the blue sash over his gray vest saw her first.

"Narni!" he said as she reached him.

"Oh, Lieutenant," she sobbed, clutching him around the arm and pressing herself against him. "You have to help me!"

"What is it, Narni? What are you doing outside your temple?"

"Never mind that," she said. "Do you know Snake?"

"Huh? Of course."

The other guard, a large man with his dark hair tied back, who wore a corporal's badge, said, "Uh, Rusty, isn't Snake that nice lady who—"

"Shut up, Stone. What about her, Narni?"

"She's over at the Farmer's Market, and she's been robbed. Nine of them came and took something she was delivering. She's chasing them, and they're headed this way. I'm so glad I found you, Lieutenant. Ohhhhh, it was
horrible!
They...
There they are!"

And, in fact, nine men and women appeared in a group. The one in the middle did, in fact, seem to be carrying a parcel. And behind them, Snake—running, her whip uncoiled, her lips drawn back in a snarl.

The one called Stone said, "Uh...should we stop 'em, ay, Rusty?"

"Right, Stone," said the other, already drawing his short sword and moving to cut them off. Stone ambled after.

"Halt in the name of the Levar!" called the lieutenant from twenty feet away. His voice had the ring of power and authority; everyone around stopped at least long enough to see what was going on. Then they quickly moved out of the way. Neither of the guards noticed Narni duck behind a farmer's stall.

To the lieutenant's surprise, the nine of them actually did stop. But then one said, "We've been betrayed! Run, we'll hold them." Then he turned to the lieutenant and said, "We won't halt for murdering Red priests or their lackies, dog!" By the time he had finished speaking, his knife was in his hand. Five others had drawn weapons; the remaining three, also with their knives out, were running back up the street the way they'd come.

The lieutenant met the quickly-formed line of three men and three women. "Put down your weapons, please," he said.

The one who'd spoken before said, "And be handed over to your murdering masters? Never!"

From back up the street, the lieutenant heard what sounded like a crash, an oath, and a whip striking, followed by screams. His forehead was suddenly drenched with sweat.

"Please," he said. "Stand aside, or I'll have to force my way past you."

"Do your worst," said the man. On the faces before him, the lieutenant read determination and defiance, but no fear. He could still hear screams and oaths from up the street.

"Damn it," he said, and strode forward. A knife flashed toward him. He dodged it and struck the man's head with the flat of his sword. Then there was another knife, and he repeated the process. Then there were two more knives flashing and he had no time to be careful. Next to him he heard Stone saying plaintively, "Aw, nuts, Rusty," and felt rather than saw Stone going into action. Stone, peace-loving though he was, knew only one way of fighting.

A few seconds later the lieutenant stepped over four corpses and two stunned prisoners, yelling over his shoulder, "Hang onto them, Stone." He raced up the street after the three who had fled.

He saw the woman first, on her back, her head at an impossible angle. One of the men was also on his back. There was nothing odd about his position, but he wasn't breathing, and, in any case, the lieutenant had seen enough death to recognize the condition. Of the other man, there was no doubt. There was a gash across his throat and a deep cut in his chest. Next to him was a flat bundle of cloth. Bits of broken glass lay next to it, and he caught the glint of blue gems from an exposed corner. Snake still held her whip and her knife, but now looked drained and sad.

He considered the situation for a moment, and said, "Why is it, Snake, that I always find you...Never mind. I saw enough. If you can prove ownership of that...whatever it is, you won't be in any trouble. And we still have two of them."

And, in fact, Stone came up with them at that moment. The woman was moaning and leaning on the guard for support. The man was held by a tight grip around the neck.

The lieutenant glared at them. "Damn you, why didn't you surrender?" They looked back defiantly but didn't answer. "All right," he continued. "Let's all go...you!"

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant," said Dashif, appearing from nearby. "Hot, isn't it?"

•

Dashif walked up to the others. Snake was just beginning to put the pieces of the puzzle together when she realized that his hands were concealed under his cloak, and that his pistols weren't in his belt.

"Dashif,
no!"
she said, and he raised his hands. Barrels thundered, in a steady rhythm of chick-
crack
, chick-
crack
, chick-
crack
, chick-
crack
. Each of the prisoners gave two jerks and one scream; then the woman collapsed. The man would have done so had Stone not automatically prevented it by tightening his grip. Silence settled like a blanket over the market. Four distinct puffs of dark grey smoke rose above Dashif in the still air. An acrid smell filled the market area.

Dashif coolly replaced his pistols. "I had expected you to kill them all," he said.

Rusty, the first to recover, suddenly roared. "You sonofacamel! They
surrendered!
I'll have your bear-buggering arse for this! By the Levar's future tits, you're under arrest, you—"

He stopped. Dashif, who had made no move or gesture, was looking steadily at Rusty with no more expression than a blank wall. Rusty didn't complete his sentence. There was still another moment of silence, then Dashif turned away. As he passed in front of Snake, who was still too stunned to move, he dropped a purse on top of the remains of the mirror.

"Six hundred levars," he said. "As agreed."

Then he caught a footcab back to the Levar's palace. On the way, he reloaded his pistols, just as a matter of Course. Back at the Farmer's Market, nine bodies slowly stiffened on the street.

•

"His Scarlet Eminence will see you now, my lord."

Dashif entered and found the Regent studying a map hung on a wall of the office. The Count stood quietly for a moment. Without looking at him, the Regent said, "Is that your idea of not involving the Levar or the Priesthood?"

Dashif shrugged, and decided not to ask how His Eminence had heard the news in the quarter of an hour it had taken the footcab to arrive. Maybe he hadn't but was only guessing. It didn't matter. ''The way the lieutenant carried on, Your Eminence, everyone will know he wasn't involved. No one saw the Margrave of Narnitalo except the guards, who won't want to talk about it, I think."

The Regent made several marks on the map. Then he turned and faced Dashif fully. "I almost wish I couldn't protect you," he said. Then he sighed. "Very well. It is done; that's the important thing."

"I learned something else, Your Eminence," said Dashif. "The entire affair was set up by the Zhir."

"Yes," said His Scarlet Eminence. "That will be all."

Dashif stood for a moment, then bowed and left. As the door swung shut behind him, he said under his breath, "Someday, you son of a bitch, I'm going to make you admit that you're surprised about something." He was almost out of the palace before he realized that the map the Regent had been facing was of the area around Ka Zhir, and the marks had been plans for a naval blockade.

•

She was waiting for him right outside the palace. He approached her, stopping about eight feet away. His arms stayed at his sides, his rapier and his pistols stayed in his belt. There were, if not crowds, at least good numbers of passers-by in the area, who saw the two of them looking at each other and made a wide detour around them.

A pair of corporals in the City Guard approached them. One started to speak. Dashif spared them a look and they backed off. He turned his eyes back to her.

She spoke a single word.

He chuckled without mirth. "At least," he admitted.

Then the whip was in her hand. She cracked it once, and spoke a different word.

"Yes," he agreed. "That, too."

"You used me," she said, in a deadly, calm voice.

"Quite."

She stared at him a moment longer, then her great whip writhed out. A long welt appeared on Dashif's right cheek, just below the eye, blood flowing from it to blend with the red of his cloak. Still, he didn't move. The whip cracked once more. Another welt appeared, this one beginning just below his left eye. Still, they waited and looked at each other. Then Dashif gave an almost imperceptible nod, turned, and started back for the palace.

He stopped after five paces and looked back. The two Guards were advancing toward Snake. He caught them with his glance and said, "Don't." They froze, then backed away.

Dashif continued toward the palace, wondering, himself, just why he had done it that way. He hoped he'd still be able to use Snake. His pistols would need repair from time to time, and she managed to get things done efficiently and quickly.

Besides, she was pleasant to look at: so tall, so slim, her smooth dark skin, her long dark hair.

"The Inn of the Demon Camel" by Jane Yolen

IT WAS IN this very place, my lords, my ladies, during the reign of the Levar Ozle the Crooked Back, two hundred years to this very day (the year 3117 for those of you whose fingers limit the counting), that the great bull camel, afterwards known as The Demon, was born.

Oh, he was an unprepossessing calf, hardly humped, and with a wandering left eye. (You must remember that eye, Excellencies. )

The master of the calf was a bleak-spirited little man, an innkeeper the color of camel dung, who would have sold the little beast if he could. But who wanted such a burden? So instead of selling the calf, his master whipped him. It was meant to be training, my Magnificencies, but as any follower of the Way knows, the whip is a crooked teacher. What that little calf learned was not what his master taught.

And he grew. How he grew. From Buds to Flowers, he developed a hump the size of a wine grape. From Flowers to Meadows, the grape became a gourd. It took from Meadows all the way till Fog and Frost, but the hump became a heap and he had legs and feet—and teeth—to match. And that wandering left eye. (You
must
remember that eye, my Eminences.)

Without a hump he was simply a small camel with a tendency to balk. With the grape hump he was a medium-sized camel who loved to grind his teeth. With the gourd hump, he was a large camel with a vicious spitting range. But with the heap—O my Graces—and the wandering eye (you
must
remember that eye) the camel was a veritable demon and so Demon became his name.

And is it not written in
The Book of the Twin Forces
that one may be born with a fitting name or one may grow to fit the name one is born with? You may, yourselves, puzzle out the way of The Demon's name, for I touch upon that no more.

It came to pass, therefore, that the innkeeper owned a great bull camel of intolerably nasty disposition: too stringy to eat, too temperamental to drive, too infamous to sell, too ugly to breed. But since it was a camel, and a man's worth is measured in the number of camels he owns and oxen he pastures and horses he rides, the innkeeper would not kill the beast outright.

There happened one day, this very day in fact, 195 years to this very day during the reign of Levar Tinzli the Cleft Chinned (3122 for those of you whose toes limit the counting), that three unrelated strangers came to stay at the inn. One was a bald ship's captain who had lost his ship (and consequently his hair) upon the Eel Island rocks. One was a broken-nosed young farmer come south to join the Levar's Guard. And one was an overfed mendicant priest who wore a white turban in which was set a jewel as black and shiny and ripe as a grape.

Was not the innkeeper abustle then in the oily manner of his tribe! He bowed a hundred obeisances to the priest, for the black jewel promised a high gratuity. He bowed half a hundred obeisances to the farmer, for his letter of introduction to the Guards promised compensations to come. And he bowed a quarter-hundred obeisances to the ship's captain because riches in the past can sometimes be a guarantee of riches later on. Thus did the innkeeper count his profits, not into the palm but into the future. As you know, Graciousnesses, it is not always a safe method of tabulation.

They ignored the innkeeper's flatteries and demanded rooms, which he managed to turn up at once, his inn being neither on Rose Row nor favored by such worthies as yourselves. He served his guests an execrable meal of fishless stew and an excellent mountain wine, the one canceling the other, and so they passed the night, their new-forged friendships made agreeable by the inn's well-stocked cellar. Thus lullabied by strong drink, the three slept until nearly noon.

Now perhaps all that followed would not have, had it not occurred on the seventeenth day of Buds, for it was the very day on which four of the five mentioned in our story had been born, though they recognized it not.

The captain, who had been birthed that day forty years in the past, did not believe in such birth luck, trusting only to his own skill—which is perhaps why he had fetched up so promptly on the shoals of the Eel.

The young farmer was an orphan who had been found on a doorstep some twenty years past, and so had never really known his true birth day. His foster parents counted it five days after the seventeenth, the morning they had tripped over his basket and thus smashed the infant's nose.

And the priest, who had been born some sixty years in the past, had been given a new birth date by the master of his faith who had tried, in this way, to twist luck to his own ends.

So that was three. But I
did
say four. And it is not of the innkeeper I now speak, for he knew full well his luck day was the twenty-seventh of Wind. But he had forgot that the bull camel, The Demon, humped and with the wandering eye (you must remember that eye, Exultancies) had emerged head first and spitting five years ago to that very day.

An animal casts no luck, neither good nor bad, you say, my Supremacies? And where is that bit of wisdom writ? Believe me when I tell you that the seventeenth day of Buds was the source of the problem. I have no reason to lie.

So there they were, three birth days sequestered and snoring under the one inn roof and the fourth feeding on straw in the stable. Together they invented the rest of my small tale and invested it with the worst of ill luck, which led to the haunting of the place from that day on.

It happened in this manner, Preeminencies and, pray, you
must
remember that wandering eye.

The sun glinting on the roof of the Levar's palace pierced the gloom of the inn and woke our five on that fateful day in Buds. The camel was up first, stretching, spitting, chewing loudly, and complaining. But as he was tucked away in the stable, no one heard him. Next up was the innkeeper, stretching, grimacing, creaking loudly, and complaining to himself. Then in order of descending age, the three guests arose—first the priest, then the captain, and last the farmer. All stretching, sighing, scratching loudly, and complaining to the innkeeper about the fleas.

They gathered for a desultory breakfast and, as it was a lovely day, one of the lambent mornings in Buds when the air is soft and full of bright promise, that meal was served outdoors under a red-striped awning next to the stable.

The camel, ignoring the presence of ox and ass, chose to stick his head into the human conversation, and so the concatenation began.

The three guests were sitting at the table, a round table, with a basket of sweet bread between them, a small crock of butter imprinted with the insignia of the inn to one side, and to the other a steaming urn of kaf, dark and heady, and a small pitcher of milk.

The talk turned to magic.

"I do not believe in it," spake the captain.

"I am not sure," said the farmer.

"Believe me, I know," the mendicant priest put in and at that same moment turned his head toward the right to look at a plate of fresh raw shellfish that had been deposited there.

Now that placed his head—and atop it the turban with the jewel, black and shiny and ripe as a grape—slightly below the camel's nose, and it, great protuberance that it was, sensitive to every movement and smell carried by the soft air of Buds.

Well the turban tickled the nose; the camel, insulted, spat; the priest slapped the beast who snapped back at the priest's hand.

But you did not—I hope, Ascendencies—forget that wandering eye?

For the camel's eye caused him to miss the offending hand and snap up the black jewel instead.

At which the priest fainted. Then rallied. Then fainted again, clutching his chest and emitting a scream rather like that of a Tichenese woman in labor:
"Ee-eah, ee-eah, ee-eee-ehai."

The captain leaped to his feet, upsetting the table, bread, butter, shellfish, milk, and kaf, and drawing his knife. The farmer simultaneously unsheathed his sword, a farewell gift from his parents. The innkeeper hovered over the priest, fanning him with a dirty apron. And the camel gulped and rolled his wandering eye.

At that, the priest sat up. "The jewel," he gasped. "It contains the magic of my master."

To which sentence the captain responded by knifing the camel in the front. This so startled the farmer, he sunk his sword into the camel up to its hilt from behind. The priest fell back, screamlessly, into his faint. The innkeeper began to weep over his bleeding beast. And the camel closed his wandering eye and died. Of course by his death the luck—such as it was—was freed.

And do you think, Extremities, by this the tale is now done? It is only halfway finished for, in the course of the telling, I have told you only what seemed to have happened, not that which, in actuality, occurred.

The priest at last revived and offered this explanation. The master of his faith, a magician of great power but little ambition, had invested his luck in a necklace of ten black jewels which he distributed to his nine followers (it was a very small sect). He kept but one jewel for himself. Then each year, the nine members of the faith traveled the roads of Liavek letting the master's magic reach out and touch someone. But now, with a tenth of his master's luck swallowed and—with the camel's death—freed, there was no knowing what might happen.

On hearing this, the innkeeper began to scrabble through the remains of his camel like a soothsayer through entrails. But all he could find in the stomach was a compote of nuts, grains, olives, grape seeds, and a damp and bedraggled feather off the hat of a whore who had recently plied her trade at his hostelry.

"No jewel," he said at last with a sigh.

"Probably crushed to powder when the luck was freed," said the farmer.

"Then if there is no jewel," said the captain, "where is this supposed luck? I told you I did not believe in it."

At which very moment, the severed remains of the camel began to shimmer and reattach themselves, ligament to limb, muscle to bone; and with a final snap as loud as a thunderclap, the reanimation stood and opened its eyes. The one eye was sane. But the wandering eye, Benevolencies, was as black and shiny and ripe as a grape and orbited like a malevolent star 'round elliptic and uncharted galaxies.

The four men departed the premises at once in a tangle of arms, legs, and screams. The innkeeper, not an hour later, sold his inn to a developer, sight unseen, who desired to level it for an even larger hostelry. The priest converted within the day to the Red Faith where he rose quickly through the ranks to a minor, minor functionary. The farmer joined the Levar's Guard where he was given a far better sword with which he wounded himself serving the Levar Modzi of the Flat Dome. And the captain—well, he sold the jewel, black and shiny and ripe as a grape, which he had stolen from the turban the night before and replaced with an olive because he did not believe in magic but he certainly believed in money. He bought himself a new ship which he sailed quite carefully around the shoals of the Eel. There had been no luck in the jewel after all, for the priest's master had had as little skill as ambition, no luck except that which a sly man could convert to coin.

Then what of the camel? Had his revival been a trick? Oh, there had been luck there, freed by his death which had occurred at the exact day and hour and minute five years after his birth. But the luck had been in the whore's feather which she had taken from a drunken mage who had bound his magic in it, creating a talisman of great sexual potency. So the demon camel, that walking boneyard, ravaged the inn site and impregnated a hundred and twenty local camels—and one very surprised mare—before the magic dwindled and the ghostly demon fell apart into a collection of rotted parts. But those camels sired by him still haunt this particular place; spitting, chomping, reproducing, and getting into one kind of mischief after another.

And each and every one of those little demons. Tremendousies, is marked by a wandering eye.