Seeker (28 page)

Then, just when they had begun to doubt the patrolman's directions, they found themselves in the market. It was a long open space, down which ran lines of wooden stalls, all of which were bare. The ground between the stalls was littered with refuse from the day's trading, and here and there dark, crouching figures were at work scouring the droppings for anything that could be eaten or sold. A few lanterns hung from house eaves round the market perimeter, but in the center there was no light, and the scavengers were working by feel and smell.

"Now where?" said the Wildman.

"Now we ask."

Seeker accosted one of the scavengers.

"Can you help us, sir?"

The scavenger rose and stared. He was a very old man, and his face was disfigured by a broad scar that ran down one side, pulling his mouth into a perpetual snarl.

"No, sir," he said, and returned to his scavenging.

The Wildman seized him by the neck and jerked him back up.

"Yes, sir," he said.

The scavenger whimpered and went limp.

"We're looking for tribute traders," said Seeker.

At that, the scavenger grinned a knowing grin.

"Buying or selling?"

"Just looking."

"Just looking!" The old man cackled. "You keep on looking! You keep on looking!"

The Wildman shook him till he rattled. The scavenger squealed with terror.

"Help! Help! Murder!"

No one heard. No one came.

"Where should we look?"

"How would I know? Look where they go to spend their money. Tributes is a fine trade. Good money in tributes."

"Where do they go to spend their money?"

"Anywhere there's wine and women. Not that you'd know about that, seeing as you're a boy."

"You want your neck slit, chicken?"

"Let him go."

The Wildman released his grip. The old man tottered but did not fall. He rubbed at his neck.

"Tribute traders have got a friend of ours," said Seeker. "We want to find her."

"And if you do? You got money to buy her back?"

"No."

"Then save your legs. Next time you see her, she'll be playing birdies."

He flapped his arms and nodded up at the distant crag.

"Money's not the only persuader," said the Wildman, flexing his strong hands.

"You're new here, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Seeker.

"Lay a hand on anyone here, and you're in the tanks. No one gets what they want by violence here. All the violence happens in the evening, up on the big rock. That's enough violence for everyone. You hear what I'm saying?"

"Come on," said the Wildman to Seeker. "This old fool's no use to us."

"Wait," said Seeker. "He's telling us something."

"Oh, you're a quick one."

"Tell us where to look."

"Well, now. If you were to follow that lane over there, in the corner, all the way to the canal, and if you were to find a hostel there by the name of the Ham Bone, why, you might well come upon the fellows you're looking for. And if you did, and if you had words, and if your friend here came over with the violence—well, that would be a surprise to all concerned. A tremendous surprise. Quite a novelty."

Seeker looked closely at the old man.

"You'd like that, would you?"

"I'd like it well enough. You'll end up on the rock, of course. But me, I'd like to see some feathers plucked from them vultures. I'd like to hear them squawk."

"The Ham Bone. By the canal."

"You better have money. The Ham Bone likes money."

With that, he returned to his scavenging. Seeker and the Wildman crossed the dark marketplace and set off down yet another narrow lane in the direction he had indicated.

"You believe him?"

"We'll see soon enough."

The lane did indeed run to a canal, and here on one side, through a narrow arch, there was a brightly lit courtyard, loud with the sound of company. Tables crowded the yard, and between the tables ran sweating barmen carrying trays of brimming glasses high over their heads. Almost every chair was taken, and every customer was shouting to be served.

Seeker and the Wildman entered the courtyard and found a bench in the corner where they could sit undisturbed and study the company. The drinkers were all men, and all were drinking brandy. Seeker's eyes ranged from face to face, hunting for the two who had attacked them on the ferry.

"Will you know them?"

"I'll know them," said the Wildman. "And then, they'll know me."

"Remember. We want information, not revenge."

"First information. Then revenge."

Seeker checked every face. They weren't there. He was sure of it. He felt a chill form inside him. Where now?

"We might as well get something to eat. You still have money left?"

"As much as you want."

They ordered wine and water and bread and cold beef By the time it came, they had both begun to realize how hungry they were. Then, as they started to eat, the two tribute traders came swaggering into the courtyard. Their appearance was greeted with a small cheer from one of the tables.

"Look who's back! The dogs return to their vomit!"

"Ho, barman! Brandy for this band of villains!"

"What was that? Did I hear Sol offer to pay for our refreshments? Pinch me! I must be asleep."

"Found a buyer for your one-legged spiker, Sol?"

"Laugh all you want, friends. And drink your brandy on us. We're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?"

"Call it a sweet little trade. Call it a satisfactory price."

"Satisfactory? If Ease calls it satisfactory, it must be fat enough to choke a priest."

"Don't you believe it. He strapped a wooden leg on the crippled spiker and passed him off in the dark for a hundred shillings."

"If you say so," smiled Ease, patting his money pouch. They all heard the sound of that pat.

"He's got over a thousand shillings in there."

"A thousand shillings is well enough. But nobody comes swaggering into the Ham Bone over a thousand shillings. Look at the fellow smirking! You'd think he'd broken the record."

"You'd think that, would you?" said Solace, smirking some more.

"By the Sun, he has! He's broken the record!"

"Have you? What did you get? Four thousand?"

Solace looked at Ease and Ease looked at Solace, and they just raised their eyebrows and smirked.

"More? Impossible!"

"If you say it's impossible, then it must be impossible," said Ease.

"Not—five thousand!"

"No figures, friends. No figures."

"By the steaming Sun, they've got five thousand!"

Seeker and the Wildman ate and drank and kept their heads down and listened.

"It's them," murmured Seeker.

"Oh, yes. It's them."

The Wildman had hold of the knife that had come with the loaf of bread, and he was stabbing with it at the crust, chopping the bread into ever smaller pieces.

"Not yet," said Seeker.

It was another hour before either of the two tribute traders rose from the table. Then it was the one called Solace, who announced he must attend an urgent summons.

"If I don't piss now, I shall—I shall—I shall piss now!"

"Go! Go! Spare us!"

So Solace tottered out of the courtyard, heading for the open lane, where it was the custom for the hostel's patrons to empty their bladders into the canal. Seeker and the Wildman watched him pass close by them, and then they rose and followed.

After the glare of the courtyard, the lane was blind dark. As far as they could tell, it was empty but for Solace. He stood by the canal railing, one hand taking his weight as he leaned forward, and with many a sigh of pleasure, he proceeded to enjoy a long copious release.

"Let's do it!" hissed the Wildman.

"No. Wait."

The Wildman wanted fear. Seeker wanted cooperation. For all the Wildman's superiority in age and strength, Seeker had become the one who made the decisions.

Now the tribute trader was done, and was hitching his clothing back into place.

"Go, Wildman!"

The Wildman loped across the dark lane, hissing with the intensity of his rage. The tribute trader heard his approach and turned towards him.

"That you, Ease?"

He quickly discovered his mistake.

The Wildman seized him by the throat, half throttling him with one hand, and with the other he drove three sharp blows into the trader's belly. Solace closed his eyes and folded like scythed corn. The Wildman jumped onto his prostrate body, seized his head by the hair, and banged it on the stones, in the splash of his own urine, until the trader opened his eyes again. Seeing that he had his attention, the Wildman whispered to him,

"I'm going to tear the flesh off your face with my own teeth! I'm going to hurt you so bad you're going to beg to die!"

The trader was so paralyzed with terror that he couldn't even frame a reply. He just choked and moaned in the darkness. Seeker now moved in. He knelt down by the trader and spoke close to his ear.

"Listen very carefully. This morning you took a girl. She is our friend. We don't want your money. We don't want to hurt you any more. We just want to know where she is."

Solace heard him and rolled his eyes and gurgled.

"Let go of his throat, Wildman."

The Wildman released his grip.

"I want to rip his face off!"

"I know you do. But let's see if he's going to help us first."

The trader was gulping air.

"Don't kill me!" he said. "Don't let him kill me!"

"So where's the girl?"

"The oil merchant. We sold her to the oil merchant."

"Where's his house?"

"I don't know."

Seeker looked down at Solace with a sad gaze.

"We've already broken the law. We can be thrown off the high rock just for assaulting you. Then we're as good as dead. So we might as well kill you. The punishment doesn't get any worse."

"No! Please! His house is in the street leading to the temple. There's a sun sign over the gates."

"Let him go."

"Why?" said the Wildman.

"He's done as we asked."

"So? We don't need him any more. We kill him."

"No. We made a deal."

"I never made a deal. I don't do deals."

"I made a deal. I honor my deals."

Reluctantly, the Wildman released the shivering trader from his powerful grip. Solace stumbled to his feet.

"Remember," said Seeker, "you don't know who we are, but we know who you are. If you give us any trouble, we'll come looking for you, and I'll take your five thousand shillings, and my friend will tear your face off. But if you say nothing, we'll say nothing, and you keep your money, and what happens between us and the oil merchant is none of your business."

The trader nodded. His eyes flicked nervously back to the lights and safety of the hostel.

"You can go now."

Solace hurried away. The Wildman watched him go with burning eyes.

"I don't see why I couldn't kill him."

"I'll explain later. Come on."

They crossed the dark city, taking care not to run, and after some searching they found the street that led to the temple. In this street was a house that was more substantial than the others, and over its arched gateway was set the sign of the sun. They stood in the street, in the greater darkness of a doorway facing the house, and studied it carefully. Its windows were small, high, and shuttered. The tops of mature trees rising above the walls indicated that there was an inner courtyard. The only entrance was the arched gateway, and its gates were heavy and studded with iron bolts. There was no hope of breaking into a house as well-built as this.

They walked up and down the night street, examining the house from every angle. A narrow alley ran down one side, leading along the high house wall to the back. They found the wall was unbroken and impenetrable on every side.

"How do we know she's in there?"

"We don't."

"So what do we do?"

"Come back in the daylight. Wait for the gates to open."

"Then what?"

"Then we see what we see."

Seeker had no plan. He was responding with nothing but instinct to each new development. But he sensed that the Wildman wanted to believe he had a plan. Already he was learning that all that is necessary to get others to follow you is to lead. There was something else too, which he was sure the Wildman sensed in him. He was no longer afraid. This was more than strange. He was in a place of great danger and was about to risk greater danger still. He had never thought of himself as having natural courage in the way that his brother Blaze had. And yet he was sustained by a powerful inner conviction, which was like an act of trust. He believed—not that he was protected, nor that he would be spared pain or harm—but that his journey was only just begun. It would not, could not, end here. Therefore, however many terrors lay before him, he would survive them.

He had no external evidence for this belief; perhaps it was no more than the product of his imagination; but it made him strong.

S
EEKER AND THE
W
ILDMAN SPENT WHAT WAS LEFT OF
the night in the open, sleeping on the worn grass of a lakeside park. They were not alone. Many other migrant workers were to be found curled up here, some with blankets, but most uncovered. In the chill small hours, Seeker rolled towards the Wildman in his sleep, and they huddled close together to share warmth.

Sunrise woke them, its dazzling rays skating over the waters of the lake. All over the city they could hear the greeting calls with which the people of Radiance welcomed the return of their life-giving god.

"The Lord is come again! Light of light, glory of glories!"

Seeker was fully awake first. He stood and stretched and shook the sleep wrinkles out of his clothes. Then he went to the lakeside and splashed cold water over his face, and returned to his friend.

"Wake up, Wildman. We don't have much time."

The Wildman groaned and turned his face away from the rising sun. A priest passed by on the shore road nearby, his train bearer scuttling after him.