Thieves World1 (13 page)

'Hoosh, you missed your trade, I'm thinking,' said the Northerner as he rose and opened the way.

'No, burglary's too risky for my taste,' Cappen replied in feeble jest. The fact was that he had never stolen or cheated unless somebody deserved such treatment.

'Even burgling the house of a god?' Jamie's grin was wider than necessary. Cappen shivered. 'Don't remind me.'

They entered a storeroom, shut the door, and groped through murk to the exit. Beyond was a hall. Widely spaced lamps gave bare visibility. Otherwise the intruders saw emptiness and heard silence. The vestibule and nave of the temple were never closed; the guards watched over a priest always prepared to accept offerings. But elsewhere hierarchy and staff were asleep. Or so the two hoped.

Jamie had known that the holy of holies was in the dome, Ils being a sky god. Now he let Cappen take the lead, as having more familiarity with interiors and ability to reason out a route. The minstrel used half his mind for that and scarcely noticed the splendours through which he passed. The second half was busy recollecting legends of heroes who incurred the anger of a god, especially a major god, but won to happiness in the end because they had the blessing of another. He decided that future attempts to propitiate Ils would only draw the attention of that august personage; however, Savankala would be pleased, and, yes, as for native deities, he would by all means fervently cultivate Eshi.

A few times, which felt ghastly long, he took a wrong turning and must retrace his steps after he had discovered that. Presently, though, he found a staircase which seemed to zig-zag over the inside of an exterior wall. Landing after landing passed by The last was enclosed in a very small room, a booth, albeit richly ornamented He opened the door and stepped out Wind searched between the pillars that upheld the dome, through his clothes and in towards his bones. He saw stars. They were the brightest in heaven, for the entry booth was the pedestal of a gigantic lantern. Across a floor tiled in symbols unknown to him, he observed something large at each cardinal point - an altar, two statues, and the famous Thunderstone, he guessed; they were shrouded in cloth of gold. Before the eastern object was stretched a band, the far side of which seemed to be aglow.

He gathered his courage and approached. The thing was a parchment, about eight feet long and four wide, hung by cords from the upper corners to a supporting member of the dome. The cords appeared to be glued fast, as if to avoid making holes in the surface. The lower edge of the scroll, two feet above the floor, was likewise secured; but to a pair of anvils surely brought here for the purpose. Nevertheless the parchment flapped and rattled a bit in the wind. It was covered with cabalistic signs.

Cappen stepped around to the other side, and whistled low. That held a picture, within a narrow border. Past the edge of what might be a pergola, the scene went to a meadowland made stately by oak trees standing at random intervals. About a mile away - the perspective was marvellously executed - stood a building of manorial size in a style he had never seen before, twistily colon-aded, extravagantly sweeping of roof and eaves, blood-red. A formal garden surrounded it, whose paths and topiaries were of equally alien outline; fountains sprang in intricate patterns. Beyond the house, terrain rolled higher, and snow-peaks thrust above the horizon. The sky was deep blue.

'What the pox!' exploded from Jamie. 'Sunshine's coming out of that painting. I feel it.'

Cappen rallied his wits and paid heed. Yes,Warmth as well as light, and ... and odours? And were those fountains not actually at play?

An eerie thrilling took him. 'I ... believe ... we've ... found the gate,' he said.

He poked his spear cautiously at the scroll. The point met no resistance; it simply moved on. Jamie went behind. 'You've not pierced it,' he reported.

'Nothing sticks out on this side - which, by the way, is quite solid.'

'No,' Cappen answered faintly, 'the spear-head's in the next world.'

He drew the weapon back. He and Jamie stared at each other.

'Well?' said the Northerner.

'We'll never get a better chance,' Cappen's throat responded for him. 'It'd be blind foolishness to retreat now, unless we decide to give up the whole venture.'

'We, uh, we could go tell Molin, no, the Prince what we've found.'

'And be cast into a madhouse? If the Prince did send investigators anyway, the plotters need merely take this thing down and hide it till the squad has left. No.' Cappen squared his shoulders. 'Do what you like, Jamie, but I am going through.'

Underneath, he heartily wished he had less self-respect, or at least that he weren't in love with Danlis.

Jamie scowled and sighed. 'Aye, right you are, I suppose. I'd not looked for matters to take so headlong a course. I awaited that we'd simply scout around. Had I foreseen this, I'd have roused the lassies to bid them, well, good night.'

He hefted his spear and drew his sword. Abruptly he laughed. 'Whatever comes,

'twill not be dull!'

Stepping high over the threshold, Cappen went forward. It felt like walking through any door, save that he entered a mild summer's day. After Jamie had followed, he saw that the vista in the parchment was that on which he had just turned his back: a veiled mass, a pillar, stars above a nighted city. He checked the opposite side of the strip, and met the same designs as had been painted on its mate.

No, he thought, not its mate. If he had understood Enas Yorl aright, and rightly remembered what his tutor in mathematics had told him about esoteric geometry, there could be but a single scroll. One side of it gave on this universe, the other side on his, and a spell had twisted dimensions until matter could pass straight between.

Here too the parchment was suspended by cords, though in a pergola of yellow marble, whose circular stairs led down to the meadow. He imagined a sikkintair would find the passage tricky, especially if it was burdened with two women in its claws. The monster had probably hugged them close to it, come in at high speed, folded its wings, and glided between the pillars of the dome and the margins of the gate. On the outbound trip, it must have crawled through into Sanctuary.

All this Cappen did and thought in half a dozen heartbeats. A shout yanked his attention back. Three men who had been idling on the stairs had noticed the advent and were on their way up. Large and hard-featured, they bore the shaven visages, high-crested morions, gilt cuirasses, black tunics and boots, short swords, and halberds of temple guards. 'Who in the Unholy's name are you?'

called the first. 'What're you doing here?'

Jamie's qualms vanished under a tide of boyish glee. 'I doubt they'll believe any words of ours,' he said. 'We'll have to convince them a different way. If you can handle him on our left, I'll take his feres.' Cappen felt less confident. But he lacked time to be afraid; shuddering would have to be done in a more convenient hour. Besides, he was quite a good fencer. He dashed across the floor and down the stair.

The trouble was, he had no experience with spears. He jabbed. The halberdier held his weapon, both hands close together, near the middle of the shaft. He snapped it against Cappen's, deflected the thrust, and nearly tore the minstrel's out of his grasp. The watchman's return would have skewered his enemy, had the minstrel not flopped straight to the marble. The guard guffawed, braced his legs wide, swung the halberd back for an axe-head blow. As it descended, his hands shifted towards the end of the helve. Chips flew. Cappen had rolled downstairs. He twirled the whole way to the ground and sprang erect. He still clutched his spear, which had bruised him whenever he crossed above it. The sentry bellowed and hopped in pursuit. Cappen ran. Behind them, a second guard sprawled and flopped, diminuendo, in what seemed an impossibly copious and bright amount of blood. Jamie had hurled his own spear as he charged and taken the man in the neck. The third was giving the Northerner a brisk fight, halberd against claymore. He had longer reach, but the redhead had more brawn. Thump and clatter rang across the daisies. Cappen's adversary was bigger than he was. This had the drawback that the former could not change speed or direction as readily. When the guard was pounding along at his best clip, ten or twelve feet in the rear, Cappen stopped within a coin's breadth, whirled about, and threw his shaft. He did not do that as his comrade had done. He pitched it between the guard's legs. The man crashed to the grass. Cappen plunged in. He didn't risk trying for a stab. That would let the armoured combatant grapple him. He wrenched the halberd loose and skipped off. The sentinel rose. Cappen reached an oak and tossed the halberd. It lodged among boughs. He drew blade. His foe did the same.

Shortsword versus rapier - much better, though Cappen must have a care. The torso opposing him was protected. Still, the human anatomy has more vulnerable points than that. 'Shall we dance?' Cappen asked. As he and Jamie approached the house, a shadow slid across them. They glanced aloft and saw the gaunt black form of a sikkintair. For an instant, they nerved themselves for the worst. However, the Flying Knife simply caught an updraught, planed high, and hovered in sinister magnificence. 'Belike they don't hunt men unless commanded to,' the Northerner speculated. 'Bear and buffalo are meatier.'

Cappen frowned at the scarlet walls before him. 'The next question,' he said,

'is why nobody has come out against us.'

'Um, I'd deem those wights we left scattered around were the only fighting men here. What task was theirs? Why, to keep the ladies from escaping, if those are allowed to walk outdoors by day. As for yon manse, while it's plenty big, I suspect it's on loan from its owner. Naught but a few servants need be on hand and the women, let's hope. 1 don't suppose anybody happened to see our little brawl.'

The thought that they might effect the rescue - soon, safely, easily - went through Cappen in a wave of dizziness. Afterwards - he and Jamie had discussed that. If the temple hierophants, from Hazroah on down, were put under immediate arrest, that ought to dispose of the vengeance problem. Gravel scrunched underfoot. Rose, jasmine, honeysuckle sweetened the air. Fountains leaped and chimed. The partners reached the main door. It was oaken, with many glass eyes inset; the knocker had the shape of a sikkintair. Jamie leaned his spear, unsheathed his sword, turned the knob left-handed, and swung the door open. A maroon sumptuousness of carpet, hangings, upholstery brooded beyond. He and Cappen entered. Inside were quietness and an odour like that just before a thunderstorm.

A man in a deacon's black robe came through an archway, his tonsure agleam in the dimness*'Did I hear - Oh!' he gasped, and scuttled backwards. Jamie made a long arm and collared him. 'Not so fast, friend,' the warrior said genially. 'We've a request, and if you oblige, we won't get stains on this pretty rug. Where are your guests?'

'What, what, what,' the deacon gobbled.

Jamie shook him, in leisured wise lest he quite dislocate the shoulder. 'Lady Rosanda, wife to Molin Torchholder, and her assistant Danlis. Take us to them. Oh, and we'd liefer not meet folk along the way. It might get messy if we did.'

The deacon fainted.

'Ah, well,' Jamie said. 'I hate the idea of cutting down unarmed men, but chances are they won't be foolhardy.' He filled his lungs. 'Rosanda!' he bawled.

'Danlis! Jamie and Cappen Varra are here! Come on home!'

The volume almost bowled his companion over. 'Are you mad?' the minstrel exclaimed. 'You'll warn the whole staff -' A flash lit his mind: if they had seen no further guards, surely there were none, and nothing corporeal remained to fear. Yet every minute's delay heightened the danger of something else going wrong. Somebody might find signs of invasion back in the temple; the gods alone knew what lurked in this realm ... Yes, Jamie's judgement might prove mistaken, but it was the best he could have made.

Servitors appeared, and recoiled from naked steel. And then, and then Through a doorway strode Danlis. She led by the hand, or dragged, a half hysterical Rosanda. Both were decently attired and neither looked abused, but pallor in cheeks and smudges under eyes bespoke what they must have suffered. Cappen came nigh dropping his spear. 'Beloved!' he cried. 'Are you hale?'

'We've not been ill-treated in the flesh, aside from the snatching itself,' she answered efficiently. 'The threats, should Hazroah not get his way, have been cruel. Can we leave now?'

'Aye, the soonest, the best,' Jamie growled. 'Lead them on ahead, Cappen.' His sword covered the rear. On his way out, he retrieved the spear he had left. They started back over the garden paths. Danlis and Cappen between them must help Rosanda along. That woman's plump prettiness was lost in tears, moans, whimpers, and occasional screams. He paid scant attention. His gaze kept seeking the clear profile of his darling. When her grey eyes turned towards him, his heart became a lyre.

She parted her lips. He waited for her to ask in dazzlement, 'How did you ever do this, you unbelievable, wonderful men?'

'What have we ahead of us?' she wanted to know.

Well, it was an intelligent query. Cappen swallowed disappointment and sketched the immediate past. Now, he said, they'd return via the gate to the dome and make their stealthy way from the temple, thence to Molin's dwelling for a joyous reunion. But then they must act promptly - yes, roust the Prince out of bed for authorization - and occupy the temple and arrest everybody in sight before new trouble got fetched from this world.

Rosanda gained some self-control as he talked. 'Oh, my, oh, my,' she wheezed,

'you unbelievable, wonderful men.'

An ear-piercing trill slashed across her voice. The escapers looked behind them. At the entrance to the house stood a thickset middle-aged person in the scarlet robe of a ranking priest of Ils. He held a pipe to his mouth and blew.