Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (43 page)

“A horrid
thought, my dove!” Baus crooned. Her inviting ease was pleasant
enough, perhaps too sublime to believe. Perhaps too many sips of
brandy had made her lose all pretence of inhibition. ’Twas not
worth the effort of analyzing. “Lady Delizra, it would be clearly
impossible for me to avoid your illustrious presence!”

“I sense a
pandering in your words! Are you tipsy or something? Let me guess.
You are wishing to listen to my inane girlish stories for hours on
end? What would my future husband think if he were to learn of you
being here at my bedside like a gypsy with a head full of strange
ideas?”

Baus feigned
injury. “Would I be that crass?” He opened palms, staring deeply at
the luxurious spread of Delizra’s voluptuous figure. He wondered if
luck were yet teasing him another time with an unobtainable
trophy.

No, the timing
was right. He kissed her arm, her fingers, her cheek. His wandering
eyes, hot with desire, ran over her delectable body barely hid
under the diaphanous satin nightwear.

The noblewoman
cast him a coy look and pulled back her arm. “What of my fiancée?
Surely you know we are to be married in a few weeks under the
mistletoe at Banwar’s estate?”

“Is that so?”
inquired Baus carelessly. “No trouble. I shall marry some day too.”
He surprised himself at the notion.

“But in twelve
days it shall be I who is married!” she moaned. “How deplorable!
Now I feel a guilt that you are here—wooing me with your sweet
talk, but I feel an incessant drumming in my bosom. It is all very
queer!”

“Not really,”
Baus assured. “’Tis simply the ardent drum of affection.”

“And Hysgode?
Would he ponder this phenomenon as philosophically as you?”

“Perhaps. What
difference does it make? Twelve days to marry—twelve weeks—what
does it matter?”

Delizra curled
her arm about Baus’s waist, prompting him to lie suggestively on
the bed beside her. He stroked her neck and kissed her lips with
gentle affection.

Delizra
chuckled, a thrill in her voice. Baus had wasted no time in
arranging himself in a more convenient position, the quickness
which seemed to amuse Lady Delizra. She was already half naked, a
fact which didn’t seem to bother her. With a shrug and a bow, Baus
started to peel off the rest of her garments as well as his own.
The cloak and trousers seemed cumbersome right now.

Delizra cried
out in shock: “Wait—what is that noise?”

“I heard
nothing.”

“It strikes
again. Silly! A kind of dull moaning, as if coming from across the
hall.”

Baus
maintained a bland expression. “It could be any number of
things.”

Delizra
frowned. “Like what? It sounds like a man’s voice now—feverish and
gruff, as if forced. There now, a shrill cry!—Griselda’s, I
think!”

“She is most
notably having a bad dream.”

“She suffers
nightmares, true, but not with men’s voices in them.” Her voice
cracked with concern.

Baus proffered
a cool glance. “I must confess that I cognized Cedrek sneaking
earlier into her room.”

“Cedrek?”
Delizra jerked up in alarm. “What business would that lout have
skulking about her room—” She gave a sudden cry. “Well, I never
would—! The two of them—Griselda and Cedrek? ’Tis better to have
the butcher’s son than none, I suppose. Bully for her!—she has
found a mate—at last.” Secretly she confided to him: “As plain as
Griselda is, she hasn’t had any luck with a man that I know. She is
terribly jealous of me, every moment of the day, in fact.”

“I can’t begin
to guess why.”

Delizra
twisted his wrist playfully.

In order to
arrest further chatter, Baus applied an enduring kiss and Delizra’s
warm thighs loosened. The gesture was well-timed. Soon they were
entwined in each other’s arms in the throes of a very deep and
interesting passion, when a sudden rap came at the door.

Delizra froze
in her loose-hipped pose. There was no lock on the door . . . the
knob began to slowly turn. Delizra shut her eyes as if painfully
bracing herself for a scandal.

A figure
strode in.

Baus sprang
alert, wondering what new surprise was in store for the
evening.

Hysgode!—his
eyes were cold, as insensitive as an eel’s. Eyes adjusting to the
blackness, the nobleman stared in dumb fascination at the
philanderer who was slowly unwrapping himself from his fiancé’s
body. He cognized the full extent of the twosome’s engagement and
his jaw hung slack for several amazed seconds.

Hysgode’s cry
came late, gurgling from the throat of a broken man. “You! You
conniving little worm—you filthy, licentious cur!”

Baus broke the
silence. “Nasty words for this time of night, and a surprise,
indeed, Hysgode . . . nothing like our game of ‘Spooks’, I daresay,
but so good of you to check in. In fact, Delizra and I were just
discussing—or rather, philosophizing about your wedding.”

Hysgode’s
teeth ground to the bone. “Shut it, you weasel!” His beet red face
was horrendous to witness. “Now prepare to die! A dead man you
are!”

“Tut, tut,”
admonished Baus.

From his side,
Hysgode drew a jewelled dagger—richly embossed with curled designs.
The nobleman wasted no time in leaping up on the bed and slashing a
downward strike. Baus twisted, barely avoiding a bludgeoning to his
chest. The blade nicked his thigh, drawing blood.

Baus cried
out. Delizra screamed. She thrust her plush blanket in Hysgode’s
face and rolled off the bed and began snatching the covers to cover
her naked breasts. Baus dove for his own clothes that lay limp in a
pile at the bedpost. He searched frantically for anything that
could deter his opponent, spare him a demise. There seemed little
time to grab anything. In berserk fury, Hysgode drew back the
dagger to jab again, but Baus kneed him in the groin and managed to
ram the ganglestick up into his face. Hysgode crouched there in the
bed for half a second, with a look of bewildered horror crawling
across his powdered visage.

Baus calmly
snatched up his garments while Delizra stood trembling in the
shadows.

“I trust, my
lady,” he whispered, “that you understand that I must leave.”

Recovering her
composure, she fumbled for words. “What have you done?” She
clenched her pale fists, drawing her nightgown tight. “Hysgode
looks . . . dead.”

“He’s never
been better—”

Scudding
across the bed, she made a grab for her fiancée’s arm, but Baus
caught the quivering wrist. “I caution you against that, Lady.
Hysgode will waken from his reverie in small time and I think it
better that we are not here. ’Tis better in fact that we be well
away before that unhappy moment comes to pass. I’d say in about ten
minutes.”

Regaining a
bit of her demeanour, Delizra snapped, “I don’t give a toss for
your forecasts or that fussy little hare. But I warn you,
trickster, if you leave this room without telling me what is going
on, I shall scream!” Her hands were clasped imperially on her
lovely hips.

Baus shrugged,
feigning a macabre grin. He spied the Vulde’s daughter begin
fitting a few pieces together and made a sound of regret. He
reached out with the ganglestick and tapped her on the throat.

Transfixed
like some sea seraph from another world, Delizra gazed sightlessly,
like a tragic figure.

Critically
Baus appraised the two figures hunched on the bed. ’Twas not a
placid scene—bloody sheets, strewn covers, naked Delizra and her
chosen popinjay poised with eager dagger clasped for the kill . . .
No, the Vulde would not like this diorama at all . . .

Baus paused to
depart. He scooped up Lolispar, his ganglestick and took his wits
with him out of Delizra’s boudoir.

As he was
about to close the door, he looked up to see Tulesio and the Vulde
striding ominously down the hall.

Baus jammed
the door shut, jerking into the corridor with apprehension. The
predicament could not be worse—glib responses would not exempt him.
What to do? Curse his luck! Had the two seen him ducking out of
Delizra’s bedchamber? He hoped not, yet, the inimical way that
Delizra’s sire now stared at him did not inspire any great
hope.

He forced
himself to act and cried out in pained relief: “Vulde—how reassured
I am to see you!”

“What’s this?”
croaked the Vulde sardonically. His voice was gruff and his blazing
eyes did not look sympathetic to a loiterer. He gazed from his
daughter’s door to Baus.

“There is a
certain matter which I must take up with you,” Baus insisted.
Draping his arm familiarly around the Vulde’s shoulders, he essayed
to propel him away from Delizra’s door and toward that of
Griselda’s.

The Vulde
studied him with displeasure, drawing back. “What are you doing?
Why are you loitering around my daughter’s chambers?” His gaze
fixed on the bloody patch oozing from Baus’s left thigh. He seemed
to automatically guess the nature of the wound as he glanced
inimically back to Delizra’s door.

Baus addressed
the gruffness of the query with carefully-placed explanation: “I
was making sure that your daughters were safe. It is a love story—I
mean a long story—” he laughed at the slip “—but before you draw
inappropriate conclusions, listen to what I have to say. I detected
sounds. Upon waking, I emerged out in the hall, spying Cedrek
sneaking into Griselda’s bedchamber.”

“Cedrek?”
snorted Tulesio. “Why would that oaf be sidling around here?”

Baus opened
his palms in bafflement. “I can hardly guess—barring that which
would seem indelicate.”

“What of the
blood on your garments?” demanded the Vulde. “It has stained your
costly outfit that I gave you.”

“’Tis true,
and for that I feel sadness.” Baus pointed downward. “Cedrek has
gone mad. He inflicted this wound upon me when he saw me ready to
expose his private ploy.”

“Private ploy?
What ploy?” fumed the Vulde. Quaking with fury, he turned to his
manservant, “We shall investigate this matter and throw the churl
Cedrek out of the house.”

“A good plan,
my Lord. I don’t know why you admitted him in the first place. He
has been a constant source of agitation ever since he arrived at
Krintz.”

Jaw clenched,
the Vulde agreed and burst into Griselda’s room. Stalking inside,
he met dumbstruck wonder full in the face when he saw Griselda,
hips on top of Cedrek, interlocked in what could only be construed
as an intimate embrace. The bedcovers were disarranged. In a tumble
of sweaty folds, the maid was making vulgar sounds in similitude to
a wegmor and Baus, poking his head in from behind, marvelled that
Cedrek, slack-limbed and red eyed, looked the worse for wear. The
Vulde instantly raised his voice to a strangled roar. “Dawcocks!
Licentious smuts! Unprise your scandalous flesh from my daughter
this instant, you lout!”

There was a
thump and a bang. A spent, withdrawn figure released itself from
beneath Griselda and rolled off the bed, landing in a heap on the
floor. The butcher’s son, much paler than he was in the Dakkaw’s
vat, gasped with an apathetic shudder. He lolled his eyes under
black heavy lids and held himself in deathly stead, palms open in
wretched appeal. “Sir, I can explain. Baus—he tried to—”

“Tried to
what?” the Vulde blared. “You are a liar, a salacious villain—a
sorrowful scoundrel—not to mention a blackguard. Do not pin more on
Baus. ’Tis you, you rascal, who I see wrapped in scandalous embrace
with my daughter.”

Griselda now
stood with massive hips squared. “Father, you prude, you bore me
with your sanctimony. Be off with you and leave us to our sport!
Cedrek is a fine lamb, a newborn babe perhaps, but just the same,
beginning to warm to his calling, aren’t you Cedrey?”

Cedrek made a
nebulous, mewling sound.

“I must say,”
she jested, “his talent for entertainment is budding, yet truth be
told his endurance is substandard. What of that? Everyone is in
need of a good teacher, is he not?”

The Vulde’s
throat congested with rage. “Silence, you wench! I shall not
tolerate this damnable foolishness. You are an impudent
slattern!”

As was his
original project, Baus retreated in earnest. He took to his heels,
stumbling down the hall, leaving an enraged Vulde in dispute with
Cedrek while his oldest daughter screeched at him as he
frog-marched Cedrek to the wall for punishment. Baus skipped
straight on through the parlour. He beetled to the heavy brassbound
door whose bolt he slipped back and heaved open the door with a
brief flurry.

He slipped out
into the moonless night and felt a moderate relief. It was good to
be out of that snakes’ pen, he thought. But time was not on his
side. What of Valere? The sea captain he could only hope would
escape in time.

The cobbles
were slick, dusted with a patina of frost. Inopportune for
sprinting, Baus realized, but sprint he must!

He had gained
no more than a hundred yards, when the massive front door of the
manor crashed open and a huddle of figures burst out, followed by a
peal of ringing bells and furious orders. Baus spied Tulesio and
Hysgode, and three of the red- and green-liveried watch-members
pounding pell-mell after him. From the threshold came the Vulde’s
obscene shrieks.

Baus winced.
He skidded across Voydram’s square, his heart a hammer in his ears.
“Fly, you egg-headed fool, fly!” He urged his feet on to new
speeds. How such a pleasant evening had turned poisonous! That he
could outdistance a pack of frenzied attackers was unlikely, but
how else could he outwit these oafs? The obelisk shone like a spire
of death in his path. He hurtled closer to it, with worn face
creased and his breath rasping. He could discern the fateful grin
on the Dakkaw’s visage.

Would it be
beside this sorrowful wretch that he too would burn?