The Secular Wizard - Wis in Rhyme - 4 (32 page)

But they hadn't even heard the end of his sentenceboth gazing into each other's eyes, laughing, a little breathlessly, as they set out toward the road.

On the road, they passed small groups of young folk, with one or two of their elders, heading back north, looking wan and washedout, or grim and morose. For them, at least, the party had come to an end before they reached Venarra. Matt wondered if they might not turn out to be the lucky ones-especially when they passed by an acre or so of chewed-up ground that had obviously been the camping place of a group that had gone before them. off at the side, near the trees, were five rectangular mounds of earth with small pieces of board at one end of each. No crosses, not in a country that was only just beginning to think about bringing religion out into the open again-just pieces of board.

Matt took a quick detour from Pascal and Flaminia to see if there were any words carved on the improvised headstones. There wereall variations on, "Here lies the body of a youth who left home to seek fame and fortune in the king's town." just that-no injunction to pray for the soul, of course, and, thank Heaven, no stern moral lesson about their fates. But no names, either.

These kids-and maybe some midlife-crisis cases, too-had been buried by the local villagers, the few who had stayed at home. Their road companions hadn't even cared enough to stay around to give them a funeral.

Matt was very glad to catch up with Pascal and Flaminia again. With the resiliency of youth, the two were laughing at one another's jokes as they argued with mock earnestness over the comparative

merits of line dances and circle dances. Within minutes the topic had changed to the color of the stream they were passing over-whether it was grayish-blue or bluish-gray.

They debated the case with great seriousness, each one coming up with a reason that was more ludicrous than the other's for about three rounds, before Flaminia began to break up into giggles and Pascal burst into laughter. Matt followed along behind, letting the smile grow, and letting their humor and camaraderie warm the chilly spot within him.

The sun peeked over the horizon, the huge gates opened, and the crowd of runaways poured through into Venarra with a delighted shriek. It was echoed by a collective hum from the crowd waiting inside the gates; it sounded suspiciously like "Yum! I1

Each of the mature men was instantly visited by a

prosperous-looking, if flashy, city man or woman; each mature woman was accosted, too. If couples tried to stay together, the city folk wheedled and cajoled and showered them with flattery that gradually pulled them apart. That happened with the young folk, too, though much more quickly. Girls with shining eyes were listening, entranced, to the blandishments of older, motherly looking women-and if the paint on their faces was a little too thick or too flashy, well, wasn'that the way all city women looked? Matt picked up a few odd sentences as he hustled his two charges through the ring of human sharks, firmly keeping them in hand.

"Yes, dear, a place to stay till you've learned your way around Ve-narra," one grandmotherly sort was saying. "Clean sheets, and a way to earn some money-sisters to show you how things are done-and ever such handsome gentlemen to come calling!"

"But why are you willing to help us so?" a starry-eyed girl was asking another woman decked in costume jewelry.

"Why, bless you, child, welcoming newcomers is my pastime," the woman gushed. "It is my charity!/,

The clamor of promises of glamorous living even caught Flaminia's ear. She twisted about to try to watch the heldame who was professing altruism. "Why, how good of them! Why do I not go to her house, friend Matthew?"

"Because once you're in, she'll never let you out until you're well and truly corrupted," Matt said grimly. "The charity she has in mind is for you to give her every penny the handsome men give to you in return for your sexual favors-and most of them won't be terribly handsome, or very young, either. It's a business doing pleasure with her." Flaminia paled, but wasn't willing to admit her mistake so readily. "What are they telling the boys, then?"

"The same thing, for some of them-and their customers won't all be rich old women. For others-"

"It's an easy job, mate!" A flashy juvenile crowded up to Pascal.

"All you have to do is take this bundle across town to a house on

Fleet Street!"

Pascal looked tempted, lifting a hand, but Matt said, "And you'll be just fine, as long as nobody catches you-but if the Watch should happen to look in that bag, you'll spend the next couple of years in prison, and you won't even be able to tell them who hired you." "What business is it of yours, mate?"

the youth asked, turning say-agely on Matt.

"My friends are always my business," Matt said, "sometimes even my enemies are." He let his anger out in a wolfish grin.

"Want to be my enemy, bucko?"

The youth stepped back, trepidation in his eyes.

"Yuh. I do," growled a basso behind Matt's shoulder. Matt turned and found himself facing an expanse of bulging, hairy chest with a row of buttons on one side and buttonholes on the other. He followed the breastbone up to an unshaven chin, a cauliflower nose, and two gleaming piggy eyes over a gap-toothed grin. Matt felt his stomach hit bottom and bounce back up, but he scowled his fiercest and said, "You know what you're getting into?"

"Yuh," the big beefy man said, and a huge fist came out of no-where and struck sparks inside Matt's head just before a wall came up and slammed into his back. He straightened his legs, pushing back against the wall to hold him up while the ringing in his ears faded to the point where he could hear the big man's guttural laughter while he held a furious, flailing Pascal six inches off the ground. Flaminia's mouth was wide open, but Matt couldn't hear anything over the big guy's hooting.

Except, maybe, the ringing of his lute strings when the instrument bumped into his side as he stepped away from the wall.

He caught it and held it up-miraculously, it was undamaged. It must have swung wide about him as he shot backward, and thus slapped into his stomach instead of the wall. Matt staggered up to the giant, slipping the strap off his shoulder and reminding himself that he was a belted knight. That meant, among other things, that in this universe he cou it a of ar er than anyone his size ought to be able to. He staggered up to the thug, holding out the lute. "Here-hold this. I1

The man blinked with surprise, dropped Pascal-Flaminia cried out and ran to pick him up-and took the lute. Matt nodded and slammed a right into his jaw.

The big man dropped the lute-fortunately, it landed on Pascal-and staggered back. His buddies shouted in anger and charged in. Matt ducked the first punch, kicked the legs out from under the other punk, then straightened up just in time for the first guy's left to smack into his chest.

Of course, the hoodlum had been aiming for his face, but the blow still knocked Matt back, staggering-and the big guy bellowed and waded in, slab fist winding up for a very final punch.

Matt knew when he was outnumbered. Knight or not, up against three seasoned street fighters he didn't stand a chance, unless he pulled his sword and started slicing-and he was reluctant to kill these guys without knowing why they deserved it. Also, there was the little problem of the local constabulary, who might take a very dim view of a tourist killing off three of the locals, even if they weren't paying taxes. That meant that there was no way out but magic. If it worked here.

But if he was going to run a spell, he had to do it fast-he ducked, and the big guy's first haymaker whizzed by overhead, but the next one would probably hit. Matt stepped inside and cracked another uppercut into his opponent's jaw. That would slow him down, but not for long-and Matt caught a jab in the short ribs on the way out. Wheezing, he nonetheless managed to chant,

'Neath my clenched-up fist, like diorite, he fell, And I left my views on Art hammered hard upon the heart Of this mammoth thug, whose friends all ran pell-mell."

The big guy snarled and came at him again. Matt gulped, hoping the spell would work right, feinted with his left and, as the big guy

lifted his right to block, bopped him soundly. The big guy stared at him for a second before he toppled.

The other two punks stared in surprise, too, at their buddy's inert body.

"So much for the main course." Matt pushed up his sleeves and started for the pair. "Now, about dessert . . ." They didn't even stay to curse him-they just ran.

Matt watched them go, almost trembling with relief. Either his magic had worked ever so slightly, or he really had managed to fake out the big guy, and seeing him beat the unbeatable had scared his sidekicks-all thanks to Matt being a knight.

Presumably having been knighted by a legendary emperor overcame even the antimagic field of Latruria.

But then, that was the way his magic had been working hereif it had been. There was every possibility that reciting verses was merely giving him an extra edge of self-confidence, by his believing he was working magic. If so, he intended to do nothing to puncture that illusion.

He turned back to his two young charges. Pascal was holding Flaminia, Flaminia was holding the lute, and they were both staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. "You are a more powerful fighter than I took you for, friend Matthew," Pascal said, but Flaminia blurted,

"How did you manage that?"

"Not as well as I could have," Matt said grimly, "or I wouldn't have had to start fighting. Come on, let's get away from here. The Watch will be swooping down any second now."

"But why?" Pascal protested. "The fight is over!"

"Safest time for them," Matt assured him. Besides, he knew that if any sorcerer had been paying attention, they would have picked up the traces from the spell he had just worked and know there was a rival magic worker in town. He was very sure that King Boncorro main-tamed a twenty-four-hour magic sentry-he must, since he was still alive and on his throne.

Not that it really mattered, of course. Boncorro, or one of his advisers, seemed to have known where Matt was every step of the way. In fact, it was a good possibility that the trio Matt had just chased off was one more group sent out to kill him.

He didn't really think so, though. They hadn't come close enough to success. No, this was just the same kind of reception that greeted any new arrival in Venarra.

As they entered one of the streets that led away from the plaza around the gate, they passed one of the more mature couples who had been with them. The woman, with her hands on her hips, was accusing, "You said you had gold in your purse!"

"I did." The man held up the ragged stumps of two thongs tied to his belt. "The louse cut them through, and I never even knew!" A fine guardian you are," the woman said with withering sarcasm. Flaminia plucked Matt's sleeve and pointed. "Yonder goes one of the heldames who greeted us, with three of the girls in our party in tow! Let us follow them-mayhap she will give us lodging for the night!

So she didn't share Matt's skepticism. He waged a brief struggle within himself, then decided that she couldn't come to too much harm with himself and Pascal near. "Okay. Let's go look." They followed the quartet down a broad concourse, keeping their distance. The madame was pointing out the sights. "Yonder coach, with the team and the footmen, is that of the Contessa of Mopona-see you her crest on the door? And yonder is the Theater of the Co-media." But the girls were still watching the coach with great, huge eyes, waiting for a peek at the grand lady within.

They went on down the boulevard until the girls were dizzy with the sights-then the older lady led them into a side street that very quickly turned into a maze of lanes.

"This city is grown much less grand of a sudden," Flaminia said, staring about them, Laundry was pegged to ropes that ran across the street.

Peddlers hawked their wares, and grimy children played on the cobbles. The procuress wound her way adroitly between them. Matt slowed the pace, keeping the party just barely in sight.

"We will lose them!" Flaminia said impatiently.

"No," Matt said, "but we don't want them to know we're following. They passed another mature couple they knew from the road, being guided by an enthusiastic young city man. "Only a little farther, and you shall see the bridge for yourself!"

"Then we can truly buy it, and charge toll to everyone who would pass?" The man fairly licked his chops at the prospect of riches.

"Indeed you can! I shall give you a lawyer's deed to it!" "But it must cost a fortune," the woman said anxiously.

"Not a bit! It will cost you only ... How much did you say you had in your purse?"

Matt hurried his charges ahead.

"Can they truly buy a bridge?" Pascal asked, eyes round.

"No," Matt said, "but they can lose every penny they have, trying." "We must stop them!" Flaminia protested.

"If we do, we'll lose the madame and her flock of gullible little geese," Matt told her, "and I think they're about to lose something more than cash."

Flaminia blanched and hurried on.

They turned three more corners, then came out into a narrow street of tottering houses. It was dusk, and lean, wasted-looking men were coming out to hang red lanterns over every other doorway. "Here is my house!" The heldame waved at a doorwayand waved harder. The ferret-faced man in the doorway whisked his lantern behind his back, then pasted on a smile and bowed. "Welcome, mistress, And have you brought us guests, then?"

"Aye, Smirkin-three lonely girls, fresh from the country!"

"Fresh meat for the grinder, you mean." Matt came up right behind her.

"Away, rogue!" The woman turned on him sharply. "Get you hence, or I'll call the Watch!"

"Why, 'tis the minstrel!" one of the girls said in surprise.

"Ask her what she sells in there," Matt told them.

"I sell nothing!" The woman drew herself up indignantly.

"Don't you really?" Matt climbed the steps. "That's funny. Half the houses on this street have red lanterns, and - - ." Suddenly, he yanked Smirkin through the doorway. The man squalled, bringing up his hands to ward off a blow-and one of them held a red lantern. Un-lit, but his other hand held a tinderbox.