Murder in Tarsis (9 page)

She gave him a sardonic look. “Aye, certainly not. A mighty warrior like you is equal to anything.”

“No need for sarcasm,” said Nistur. “I assure you, we appreciate your concern. This place, I take it, is familiar to you?”

“More than familiar,” she affirmed. “I’ve spent a good part of my life here.”

“Then you’re lucky,” said one of the merchants. “Most places, they cut off hands for repeated stealing.”

“I’m always good for a bribe,” she said. “Guards don’t mistreat a source of steady income.”

“Speaking of which,” said Nistur, “where did you conceal the coin with which you just bribed your way into this cell?”

“There are some things you shouldn’t ask,” she said primly.

The Lord of Tarsis dismounted at the base of the battlemented tower that flanked the northern side of the East Gate. From beyond the gate he could hear the rumble of drums that had been causing near panic in the city all day. During his ride through the city he had been exasperated at the terror in the eyes of the citizenry. People who, the day before, had shown nothing but contempt for the desert barbarians were now upset by a little noise. It was absurd.

As he climbed the winding stairway the thick walls of the tower provided a blessed silence, but it was not to last. When he stepped out onto the parapet that ran atop the gate, the sound roared forth with magnified intensity, seeming to shake the very stones of the wall. Parapet and towers were heavily manned with city guards and, more effectively, with elite mercenaries. They made a brave show, but he was all too aware that large sections of the

semiruinous walls were all but unmanned, and even over the thunder of the drums he could hear the higher-pitched hammering of the carpenters and blacksmiths who sought frantically to put the war engines mounted on the wall platforms back into fighting order after years of neglect.

He strode toward the speaking platform erected above the center of the gate, cursing the penny-pmching policies of the merchant-dominated senate that had allowed the defenses of the city to fall into such a state of decrepitude. That he himself had acquiesced in these policies did not in the least detract from his fury.

As he mounted the wooden platform the trumpeters ranged alongside it raised their gleaming instruments and blared out a shrill fanfare that cut through the bass beat of the drums.

Standing thus, in full view of the savage army below, and above the protection of the battlement, the Lord of Tarsis felt utterly exposed. But certain things were expected of one who would rule, and he showed no distress. Besides, certain sharp-eyed men were detailed to scan for incoming missiles, and his bodyguards were ready to yank him to safety at first sign of arrow, bolt, or stone directed toward his person.

Abruptly, the driving rhythm of the drums ceased. There was a stirring in the nomad army below. Flags and standards began to move, and as they did the lord studied the spectacle. There seemed to be at least twice as many warriors, beasts, and tents as there had been but two days before. He surmised that Kyaga had arrived with reinforcements. That was not good.

The nomads were a colorful lot, their animals draped with striped, checked, and particolored bardings in riotous hues. The warriors themselves wore bright robes, their helmets wreathed in scarves, their faces veiled to

the eyes as they waved their long, curved swords overhead. Pennons fluttered from their lance tips as well, but the lord was aware that this was but a brave show. Their real weapons, the bows, remained cased on their saddles. When those came out, the show would be over and war would begin in earnest.

Suddenly, as if on a signal, the middle of the nomad army split, men riding to one side or the other, leaving a long, straight corridor with a huge tent at its far end, striped scarlet and black. The riders lining the corridor faced inward and raised their lances high in salute.

The lord saw two figures, rendered tiny by distance, emerge from the tent. They mounted magnificently barded horses and rode toward the gate with the warriors roaring out their salute in a continuous din. As the two drew nearer, the lord recognized one of the riders as Shadespeaker, the shaman. The other, swathed in a fabulous robe of purple silk embroidered with golden thread, his head scarf and veil of the same precious fabric, could be only one man. Behind him rode an ominous figure who wore a full suit of scale armor, not even his eyes to be seen behind a bronze mask. He held a tall standard topped by the skull of a horned beast. Below this hung a banner flanked by white horsetails. The banner bore the figure of a bird of prey clutching a sword in its talons.

The two figures, backed by the standard-bearer, drew rein before the gate. For the space of a dozen heartbeats there was silence.

“I greet you in peace, Kyaga Strongbow,” said the lord, his trained voice carrying easily.

“I do not greet you in peace, Lord of Tarsis!” shouted the purple-robed nomad. “You have murdered my ambassador! This is an offense to me personally, to the nomads of the Plain of Dust, and to the immortal gods! There can be no peace between us until justice is done!”

This was not beginning well. “I am willing to overlook your discourtesy. The killing of an envoy is a serious matter. But I assure you that I had no part in it, and that I shall find the murderer or murderers. This misfortune need not interrupt the negotiations between us.”

“Misfortune? You do not yet know the meaning of the word, Lord of Tarsis, but you shall! For this insult, I will level your city to the ground, slay all its inhabitants, plow up the ground, and sow it with salt so that nothing will grow on this site for a hundred years!” At this a ferocious roar of approval went up from the nomad army.

He doesn’t mean it, mused the lord, or he would have attacked at once. Besides, these nomads don’t know how to plow. He is looking for a face-saving solution. It is time to bend a little.

“Such a thing, even if you could accomplish it, is far out of proportion to the matter at hand. What would you have of me, my fellow-sovereign?”

“I want the slayers! I want them delivered to me by sunrise five days hence, to be put to death as our customs deem fit.”

This was better. “Rest assured, they shall be found. I shall deliver them to you personally.”

“I will not be gulled!” Kyaga bellowed. “You’ll not hand over some corpses and say that these are the murderers, but they were killed upon arrest!”

“By no means. As many as were involved in the killing will be handed over to you whole and fully able to appreciate whatever means of justice you deal them.”

“Five days, then. After that, prepare for war! Until I have the killers in my hands, no one will leave Tarsis!”

“Very well, but I want safe conduct for my investigating officers to pass through the gates and enter your camp. There they are to have permission to question your people, regardless of rank.”

“Why should I allow that?”

“Because I am not at all convinced that your own people did not murder Yalmuk Bloodarrow! For many days your nomads have been wandering the streets of Tarsis as freely as its citizens. Any one of them might have slain the ambassador.”

“That is absurd!” Kyaga cried in an aggrieved voice. “Nonetheless, no one shall ever have cause to say that Kyaga Strongbow is not both just and gracious. Your officers may come forth, ask any question of anyone of whatever rank, and they will receive honest answers, this I pledge. See that they bear your seal. Any who try to leave the city without one will be slain forthwith.”

“Agreed!” shouted the Lord of Tarsis.

“Five days!” called Kyaga. He whirled his horse and rode back to his tent, closely followed by the shaman and the standard-bearer. Throughout the parley, the shaman had said not a single word.

Once again, the Lord of Tarsis sat with his Inner Council. Their masks annoyed him, because they made it difficult for him to read their expressions. Nevertheless, it did not occur to him to demand that they unmask. One did not trifle with tradition.

“I do not see that any real problem exists here, my lord,” said Councilor Rukh. “Our jails are full of rogues. Select two or three and turn them over to the savages. The simple barbarians will be satisfied, and the felons will not be missed.”

“I doubt Kyaga will be deceived that easily,” said the lord.

“Granted our acquaintance was brief, but he struck me as a shrewd man with the way he blustered for his troops but made it clear to me that he is ready to deal and negotiate.”

“My esteemed peer Rukh is entirely too brutal and unsubtle,” said Councilor Mede, the banker. “Among the populace of Tarsis are a number of quite respectable men who are ruined and deeply in debt to me. Some of them, were I to forgive the debt and in order to save their families, would be willing to confess to the murder. This would be far more convincing than trembling jailbirds.”

“Convincing only until the hot irons were applied,” said the lord. “Then they would break down and the ruse would be discovered.”

“My lord,” said Councilor Melkar, “instead of devising elaborate ruses, does it not make sense to simply find out who murdered the barbarian and turn him—or them— over to Kyaga?”

“That would be desirable,” the lord admitted, “but it presents difficulties. For one, 1 have no officers who are experienced in investigating such a crime. All they know about is customs-dodgers, tax-withholders, and embezzling officials. If tax rolls and bills are not involved, they are hopeless. Also, high personages may be involved, and such are not usually inclined to answer to anyone, much less a low-ranking official.”

“I would be most pleased to serve in this capacity,” said Rukh smoothly. “Save for yourself, none is higher in rank, and I am quite capable.”

You may also be the killer, thought the lord. “I thank you, but if I were to appoint you as investigator it might be said that we are trying to cover up nefarious doings in the council. I do not wish our reputation for fairness, honesty, and justice to be compromised. No, my lords, I shall find an investigator, someone neutral, without ties of

blood or fortune to the great houses of Tarsis. Someone eminently capable.”

These were fine-sounding words, he thought as the councilors departed. But where was he to find such a person? He glanced at the great hourglass that stood at one end of the room. Already a noticeable portion of his five days had trickled through it.

Copter Łit>e

“What day is it?” Ironwood asked.

Nistur studied his companion’s face. “Either you have a slow-growing beard, or we haven’t been here very long at all,” he replied irritably.

“Relax,” Shellring advised. “You haven’t been here half a day yet.” She lay on her back with her head resting on interlaced fingers, one knee drawn up and the other leg resting across it. “It’s just that time feels different in jail.”

“It is not the only thing that feels different,” said Nistur, his hand darting beneath his tunic. “The two-legged inhabitants of this place are tolerable. Even the four-legged ones are at least avoidable. The six-legged sort are another matter entirely.”

When feeding time came again, Ironwood and Nistur declined to partake. Shellring, far more experienced than they, ate their rations while she chatted with the guards. When she returned to their corner, she wore a thoughtful expression.

“Is there news?” Nistur asked.

“Something funny from the palace,” she said.

“Oh, I see,” said Ironwood skeptically. “You are privy to the secrets of the palace?”

“You two really don’t know how the world works, do you?” she said.

“I once thought I did,” said Nistur. “However, I begin to have second thoughts.” “Go on,” Ironwood said.

“Well, all right,” Shellring said, mollified. “You see, the big people like the lord and his councilors and the rich folks talk to each other and they think they’re keeping things private, but there are other people all around them. The higher-ups never pay attention to the servants and guards everywhere.”

“Remarkable,” said Nistur. “And what have the humble ears of the palace heard?”

“That murdered nomad our cellmates found is causing big trouble. The nomad chief is outside the gates with blood in his eyes, demanding vengeance. He gave the lord five days to cough up the killers or he’ll invade. I guess it’s more like four and a half by now.”

“The whole city would have heard that,” said Ironwood. “It must have been going on while we were looking for a band to join. What’s this palace gossip?”

“The lord’s got a problem,” Shellring said, preening with this inside information. “He has to appoint investigators, and he can’t trust anybody. His constables are good enough to find a pot of ale within arm’s reach, but that’s about all. The other members of the Great Council are likely to do something underhanded just to topple him.”

“What about the other officials?” Nistur asked. “The judges? Surely there must be efficient persons within the government, else the city would collapse.”

“Every one of them got his job through patronage,” Shellring said. “They’re all in the pocket of one councilor or another.”

“This bears pondering,” Nistur said, stroking his beard.

“How is that?” asked Ironwood. “It’s a palace matter, and we’re here in the dungeon.”

“Just a passing thought. Shellring, does this grapevine of yours work both ways? Can you transmit a report through the guards and servants and so forth all the way to the palace?”

She thought about it. “I never tried, but I guess it could be done. The problem is, humble folk are always eager to hear what the great ones are doing. The rich never care what happens to the rest of us.”

“That presents a difficulty,” said Nistur, “but it should not prove to be insurmountable. There must be reward involved. If, each step along the chain of information transmission, each person were to be promised a consideration, our message should reach the lord’s ear in short order.”

“Message?” Ironwood said. “What are you thinking?”

“I am trying to think of a way out of our predicament. A predicament, I might add, to which your unconsidered actions brought us.”