The Patrimony (14 page)

“Now, yeah, I got me some Ehleen girls upstairs but none of the whining bitches what I can trust or would trust any further’n I can th’ow a warhorse. Ain’t none of them got the frigging sand to even spit, much less maim a man or kill him, like you done. I had plans when I got Hohp, but she’s too damn easygoing, she trusts dang near ever’body. But with you working the Ehleen trade, Neeka, I think I could really make something down here.

“And not just whorehouses, neither. I got gold, Neeka, lots and lots of gold, but the dang Ehleenee won’t take none of it, for all they always crying, I hear tell, for folks to invest in all the big, money-making schemes they all got going. Now, you’re a young girl and just as pretty as you can be. Anybody what sees you or hears you talk wouldn’t have them no doubts but you’re one of them
kath-ahrohs
Ehleenee. I thinks you just what I been a-Iooking and a-hoping for, for years.”

Djoy heaved her vast bulk onto her big feet and the chair squealed its gratitude. “I’m leaving the resta the brandy here. Help yourself. You may need it to get some sleep, ‘cause it gets kinda noisy upstairs some nights. But you can sleep tight and not worry ‘bout no mens a-pestering you. This here’s a corner of the winecellar and it’s always a man a-guarding the door down from the main cellar. Iktis’ll be there tonight, and he’s the fastest, bestest man with a shortsword or a hanger I ever seed, and I seed a heap of fighters in my time.

“You think on whatall I told you, Neeka. You do right by me and you can be a rich woman afore long. You need anything tonight, you yell for Iktis.”

Then she turned about and waddled out the door, closing it behind her but, Neeka quickly noticed, not bolting it.

Unfolding the bundle, Neeka found two undergowns of soft cotton, an overgown of bright-orange silk, a pair of gilded leather sandals, a hairband of beaten copper set with turquoise, a hairbrush, a horn comb and a handmirror of polished brass, all rolled in a quilted coverlet for the cot. She clothed herself immediately; the garments and sandals fitted as if they had been cut to her very measure.

Seating herself in the wide chair, she poured another thimbleful of the brandy and sipped at it thoughtfully. She had had no more contacts from Ratbane or any other fencat and was beginning to lose hope. Djordj had said that Master Lokos was an old man. Possibly such a man would be loath to take on so wealthy and ruthless a woman as Djoy Skriffen over a girl he had never even seen.

If escape was impossible, she must make do, make the best she could of a bad situation. She reflected that the fat woman’s offer was tempting. Neeka was certain that she would be well treated as long as Djoy had a use for her, and as long as she did not openly defy her owner. If the guards-man she had attacked had truly died, in fact, she might be safer here than in Master Lokos’ employ, for Djordj had been very harsh to those who had slain any of his men and she had no reason to believe that his successor would be less so.

A bare hint of sound from behind. She turned to see the sinister, ugly Iktis standing in the doorway. Laying a finger across his lips, he mindspoke powerfully.

“Say nothing aloud you don’t wish overheard, child. That hole in the stone is not for ventilation. There are few mind-speakers here, and no one knows that I am one, save you. I should be at my post. I come only to reassure you that steps are being taken to free you from this foul place. But Djoy Skriffen is a rich woman, and powerful in some quarters. And, since she obtained you illegally, it is felt that your freedom must be sought through legal channels. Such is the feeling of the Council. It will be a test of the power of our
Klirohnohmeea
.”

Neeka wrinkled her brow in puzzlement. “
Heritage?
” That was the meaning of the word.

Iktis smiled toothlessly. “I forgot, you are from the Northern Ehleenee, child. Your lucky folk have not been ground into the dirt by presumptuous barbarians, as have we. The group that will succor you is properly called the Society for the Preservation of Our Ehleenee Heritage, but that is a mouthful, so most of us just call it Heritage. So you need not entertain any thought of cooperation with Our Lady Monster’s devilish schemes.”

“But…” Neeka beamed. “Did I truly slay that guardsman? If so, I’ll surely be arrested, imprisoned if not hanged.”

Iktis nodded forcefully. “Aye, he’s dead, and he had long earned it child. But do not fear punishment. At the behest of certain Heritage people, his accomplices in this morning’s infamy are even now being put to the severe question, so the new commander will know that your attack on Loo Fahlkop was nothing less than self-defense. Besides, the judge who will hear the case is on our Council.” He grinned again at her stunned look, adding, “We Ehleenee must look out for each other, child.”

Accustomed to a soldier’s bed and daily routine, Neeka woke before dawn, finished what food remained on the tray and drank some of the wine. Then, having too little water left to make even the skimpiest effort to wash, she dressed. It was well that she did for almost the moment she had finished, she heard voices, then Iktis was at the door.

Coldly, he snapped, “Come on upstairs with me, girl. Lady Djoy wants you.” Silently, he mindspoke, “Our people have come for you, child. Judge Oahbros himself came.
Komees
Pehtros Gahleenahnos of Esmith, the city governor, is with him. And Master Lokos, of course. Djoy Skriffen’s fat knees are rattling like dice in a cup, and the whale is white as curds.”

Neeka was ushered into a huge and garish parlor. Djoy, disheveled and puffy-eyed, sat in another of those padded, carven, overly wide chairs; the fat woman’s hands were tightly clasped in her broad lap, so tightly that the knuckles stood out prominently. And Iktis had been right, she did look pale, pale and ill.

Confronting the madam were three men. The most striking of them was a tall, stately, fine-featured old man, white-haired and richly but conservatively dressed. He was not armed; only a purse and a small, flat wallet rode at his belt, but in one manicured hand he held an ivory
lahbrees
set in a fluted golden shaft—the double axe of his office. His black eyes looked hard and cold and his face was set in grim lines.

The second man was not so richly dressed, though clearly as old as if not older than the jurist. He was almost bald; only a few skimpy strands of white adorned the top of his scarred scalp and but a bare fringe circled round the back of his head from temple to temple. His nose was as large as was Deris’ and, brooding over his thinner face, resembled the beak of a bird of prey. In addition to his purse and wallet, he had a sheaf of papers thrust under his belt.

The third man was much younger, no more than thirty, and was dressed for riding the hunt—suede-topped jackboots, leather breeches, canvas shirt and flat, velvet cap, with heavy hanger, dirk and sling at his belt. There was a dent across his high, scarred forehead—Djordj had had an identical mark and so Neeka knew that, since it was caused by long and regular wearing of a helm, the man must be or have been a soldier.

He turned his sloe-black eyes on her and smiled. “Very observant, little cheese,” he mindspoke. “In fact, Djordj Muh-kawlee was once an ensign in my company of infantry. It was through me that your apprenticeship-indenture was arranged.

“But enough for now. The judge will ask you questions. Answer them fully and truthfully.”

The tall man beckoned her forward and she halted before him, near the arm of Djoy’s chair.

“What is your name, my child?” he demanded. “And your age.”

“Neeka Mahreemahdees, sir,” she said softly. “I am seventeen.”

The other old man handed his sheaf of papers to the jurist, who unfolded and briefly scanned them, then he asked, “Did you sign an indenture contract of apprenticeship to Master Lokos Prahseenos of this city?”

“Yes sir.”

Then what are you doing in this pesthole? Why are you not laboring honestly in your employer’s shop?” His tone was stern and reproving.

Neeka was stunned. Did the old man think that she was here by choice?

The mindspeak of the hunter reassured her. “The questions are mere form, Neeka. Judge Gahbros knows most of the truth already. But the form of an inquiry must be observed, he feels. To simply march in here with a dozen spear-levymen or mercenaries, as I wanted to do when first I learned of this sorry business, and free you by main force would have been effective and personally satisfying, since I hate this sow and all she represents; but such a course would have been barely legal and detrimental to the aims of our group.”

Neeka recounted the tale of her abduction and told of awakening, nude, in a cellar cell, adding that a guardsman had told her that he had sold her to Djoy Skriffen for a whore.

The tall man nodded once, curtly. “Very well. It is my judgment that you, Neeka Mahreemahdees, indentured apprentice of Master Lokos Prahseenos of Esmithpolisport, were delivered against your will and choice to the woman Djoy Skriffen. I hereby order you to return to your lawful employer, to whose service you have admitted contracting yourself.”

He turned to the other old man, handed him back the papers, and said, “She is now yours, Master Lokos.”

At this, Djoy broke her long silence, speaking out in her fractured Ehleeneekos, “Now just a dang minrt, Jedge Gahbros. I’m out a hunderd silver
thrahkmehs
for her, not to mention what them clothes she’s wearing costed. It ain’ right I be robbed thisaway.”

The hunter growled audibly and grasped the hilt of his hanger, but the tall jurist waved him to keep his place.

Glowering at the fat woman, Gahbros snapped, “Mistress, you were well advised to hold your peace. I have a statement here that you
bought a
free woman. That statement is witnessed by the
Komees
Pehtros and by a respected craftsman, Master Lokos. Now, before those witnesses,
you
have just admitted to that crime.

“Mistress, do you know the penalties for buying or selling free men and women within this Confederation? The very minimum sentence you might expect on such charges would be ten years of hard labor—in the mines, perhaps, or building fortresses in the mountains on the frontier—plus forfeiture of all lands and possessions. If you are guilty, as I suspect, of more than one purchase of free women, then the sentence would be death by impalement… on a short, thick stake, at that.”

Djoy shuddered, her gross rolls of flesh rippling with the involuntary movement. She was unable to wrest her eyes from the piercing black ones of the grave, old judge, but it was not those eyes her mind saw. She had seen impalements before. The long stake—sometimes of a tough hardwood, sometimes of iron, dully pointed, five or six feet long and usually about two inches wide below the point—was a gruesome death, with the point jammed forcefully into the rectum and the body’s own weight pulling it down the tapering, blood-slimy shaft until the point burst the screaming victim’s heart; sometimes the point missed the heart and the suffering wretch choked to death on the blood gushing up from torn lungs.

The more bloodthirsty Middle Kingdoms burklords occasionally used the long stake to execute rebellious peasants or bandits. But the short stake was reserved for only the most heinous of crimes—high treason or crimes against the Sword Council. Short stakes were invariably of wood and were made to order, no higher than the victim’s navel, and the point was rounded and sanded smooth so as to slowly rend and tear rather than quickly pierce guts and organs; from the usual two inches below the tip, short stakes tapered to six inches or more at ground level. Sometimes the victim’s wrists were chained to a ring about his neck or waist, his legs wrenched apart and he was jammed down onto the stake. Djoy had seen strong men live for an hour or more in shrieking torment, first on their tiptoes, then on their heels, before agony and loss of blood made them too weak to stand, and even then, immediate death and surcease from pain were not certain, for the falling body might tip backward and the point of the stake tear up through the belly and out below the ribs.

At a brief hearing a few days later, Neeka was officially declared blameless in the death of Guardsman Loo Fahlkop, since the deceased had kidnapped her, robbed her and injured her and was attempting to ravish her when his fatal injuries were sustained. Her Ehleen attorney immediately demanded return of her silver ring, the value of her clothing and the sum of five hundred silver
thrahkmehee
as suffering-price, the last to be collected from the estate of the dead guardsman and from his two living accomplices.

“That will be, counselor, from
two
estates and one living guardsman,” remarked Judge Gahbros, dryly. “Guards Corporal Lyl Ahnyel showed the discourtesy of dying while being… ahhh,
questioned
about his part in the incident. But this court feels that it is unreasonable to expect that all the worldly possessions of any six guardsmen, much less a mere three, would total a value of five hundred
thrahkmehee
. So let us be realistic and set suffering-price at half that figure, eh?”

Eventually, Neeka received one hundred and eighty-seven
thrahkmehee
and her silver ring.

At her worktable, Neeka chose a stone mortar and began to compound an herbal decoction to relieve the cramps and usual discomforts of Treena Sanderz’s moon-sickness. Since she habitually kept her equipment and ingredients in meticulous order, she moved quickly and surely.

“Order,” dear Lokos had told her so many times. “Order and neatness are the elements of success in our craft, and they are the salvation of those sufferers for whom we labor.”

She recalled how the quick, spry old man would take a pinch of crushed, dried herbs between thumb and forefinger of each hand and extend them for inspection by a new apprentice, prospective client or casual visitor. “Observe, two pinches of herbs. They appear identical, eh? If you steep this pinch in a brandy-cup measure of boiling water until the water colors, then strain it, stir in a dollop of honey and drink it down, it will cure your headache. Yet do the same thing with this other pinch… and you’ll be dead in an hour!”