A patch of hemp grew just beyond the camp area. These plants seemed different from the hemp that grew in the fields between Tep’s Town and the Lordshills, taller and more lushly green. As the girl passed, Whandall saw the plants stir in a breeze he couldn’t feel. Wild plants would have done that too.
Whandall couldn’t make out what the kinless men were saying. He wriggled backward until he could turn around, then went back to Shastern and the others.
“Find something?” Shastern asked.
Whandall shook his head. He might have spoken, but Geravim and Tumbanton weren’t relatives. The rogue kinless wouldn’t have much worth gathering, but he’d keep this a secret for the family.
The gully had always been a no-man’s-land, used as a garbage dump by Serpent’s Walk and Bull Pizzle alike and serving as an easily recognized boundary. Dark Man’s Cup was the first street on the other side, about a hundred feet from the gully. Beyond it was a tangle of streets and thistle fields mixed together before the town proper started again.
There were nine houses on Dark Man’s Cup. Five had roofs. One of the roofless houses was stone and would be a good house if someone could make the kinless build a roof. Two of the roofless structures had been used as garbage dumps and outhouses, and only three of the houses with roofs seemed to be inhabited. Those stood apart, three houses together along a field partially cleared of weeds.
Every wall of every house, inhabited or not, had a Bull Pizzle mark. They watched a boy about Shastern’s age repainting the Bull Pizzle mark on his front wall.
Whandall left Shastern and the others at the edge of the gully and crept through the trash piles in the yards behind the houses. Each household had a small cleared patch in back where they built the cook fires and another small area where children played. Weeds grew everywhere, even in the cleared patches. Everything stank. One house had a dog, but it didn’t seem interested in anything outside its own yard.
There were snares in the animal paths behind the houses. Whandall automatically avoided them as he crept toward the inhabited area. He moved quickly but silently, and no one noticed him. Whandall grinned to himself. Watching the kinless woodsmen had been good practice.
Whandall saw only four men. Two were ancient and sat in toothless conversation near a cook fire in one of the yards. One was about twenty. The other was the boy who had repainted the Bull Pizzle sign.
Whandall watched to see if anyone else would come. Then he heard a rustling behind him.
He turned see Shastern coming. Shaz walked carelessly along a game path—
“Watch out! Traps,” Whandall said. He tried to keep his voice low, but one of the old men must have kept his hearing.
“Spies!” the old man shouted. “Spies! Bull Pizzle! Spies!”
And the warning had done no good. Shastern was entangled in a snare. When it tripped him another snare caught his arm.
There were shouts from somewhere to the east.
Whandall ran back to Shastern. When he reached him, there were more shouts, louder.
“Bull Pizzles coming,” Shastern said. “Cut me loose!”
It was hard to cut the leather thongs without hurting Shastern. Finally Whandall had his brother’s arm free. Together they freed his legs. Shastern stood and grinned feebly.
“Now what?” Whandall asked.
“Now we run like hell, big brother!” Shastern said. He ran for a few yards, then went down as another snare caught him. By the time Whandall had helped cut him free, the shouts of the Bull Pizzle warriors were much closer. They couldn’t see anyone, but it sounded like the warriors were just behind them. Shastern ran in bounding leaps, hoping to avoid the snares. Whandall ran behind him, watching for traps, as Shastern got farther and farther ahead.
Geravim and Tumbanton were gone. Shastern was far ahead, and Whandall heard shouts behind him. He was nearly winded. They would catch him soon. Better to stop while he could still fight.
He looked for a place to stop. A corner would be best, but there weren’t any. There weren’t even walls here. The best refuge he could see was a holly bush. It would be useless against a spear but it would protect his back from knives. He ran to the holly bush, scooped a handful of dirt, jacket over his left arm, turned. The big Lordkin knife felt good in his hand and he tried to grin as he’d seen big Lordkin men do when they were menacing kinless.
There were only three of the Bull Pizzles. All were bigger than Whandall, the oldest probably twenty. He had seen none of them before. Whoever lived on Dark Man’s Cup was content to let others defend it for them.
One had a knife. That didn’t worry Whandall, but another had a big club studded with obsidian blades. The third boy had a rock tied onto a long rawhide thong. He swung it around his head in a lazy circle, the rock still moving fast enough that if it hit Whandall it would brain him.
As the first Bull Pizzle came toward him Whandall threw dirt into his face, then lunged forward, slashing, before retreating to his bush. Blood flowed from the Bull Pizzle’s chest and the knifeman howled in pain.
The older boy had the club. He gestured to his companions to spread out. “He’s fast, but he can’t get us all.” The Bull Pizzle leader grinned. A tattoo marked his left eye. “What you doing here, boy? Looking to get killed? What band marks itself with a target?”
Target? Oh, he meant the scar around Whandall’s eye.
Whandall looked for a way out. There didn’t seem to be one. “We were following a kinless for shells,” Whandall said. “But we lost him, then my… friend was caught in a snare. We did you no harm.”
“You’re in Pizzle territory,” the older boy said, then glanced expertly at Whandall’s hand. “We don’t want Snakes here!” He gestured again, to spread the other two out farther. The boy with a knife had stopped snuffling when he found that his cut wasn’t serious. Now he tried to rub the dirt from his eyes. He moved over to Whandall’s left side, away from Whandall’s knife. His knife was held clumsily. A beginner, Whandall thought. He’d be no problem at all.
The club worried him. It was long enough to reach him before he could strike. Whandall had never faced a club before. “You scared to use a knife?” Whandall taunted.
“No, just careful,” the older boy said. “You want to give up?”
“What happens if I do?”
The club man shrugged. “Up to our chief,” he said. “Don’t know what Wulltid will want to do with you. Can’t be worse than what we’ll do if you don’t give up!”
The problem was, it could be. On the other hand, Pelzed might ransom him, since he’d been sent by Pelzed. There wasn’t an active war with Bull Pizzle. But Pelzed wouldn’t be happy…
“You going to give up?” the club wielder asked. “Running out of time—”
“I have lots of time,” Whandall said. He’d caught his breath now. The situation was bad. The boy with the bola had moved well off to Whandall’s right and was swinging it faster now.
The club man raised his weapon. “Last chance.”
“Yangin-Atep!” Whandall shouted. “Yangin-Atep!”
The Bull Pizzle leader was startled for a moment. He looked around as if expecting the fire god to appear. Then he laughed. “Yangin-Atep loves Bull Pizzle as much as Snake Shit!” he roared.
“Which is not at all,” the knifeman said. “Maddog, I don’t care if he gives up—I get to cut him!”
“Yeah, I think so. Yangin-Atep! Yangin-Atep isn’t going to wake for you.”
Whandall didn’t think so either, but it had been worth trying.
“Serpent’s Walk!” The shout came from the gully.
“Snake Feet!” Whandall answered.
“Coming!” It was Shastern’s voice. There was wild thrashing in the gully. “We’re coming!”
Maddog listened. It sounded like half a dozen Serpent’s Walk warriors, and he didn’t like the odds. “Stay out of Pizzle territory!” he shouted. He gestured to the others, and they withdrew toward the east.
As soon as they were
away, Whandall ran toward the gully and over the lip. Shastern was there alone. He had a tree branch and was bashing at the chaparral. “We’re coming!”
“Good to see you, Shaz,” Whandall said.
Shastern grinned. “Good to see you, big brother. Now let’s run before they find out it’s just me!”
“Geravim and Tumbanton?”
“Ran.”
CHAPTER
15
Pelzed listened carefully to Whandall’s account. “No one important living there,” he said. “None of the people who chased you live there. You’re sure?”
“Yes, Lord.” Whandall hesitated. “Lord, may I ask—”
Pelzed’s eyes narrowed. “Thinking of taking my place?”
“No, Lord. I couldn’t do it,” Whandall said.
Pelzed considered that. “I think you’re smart enough to believe that,” he said. “Whandall, what I’m looking for is territory we can claim.”
“But it’s not worth claiming!” Whandall exclaimed.
Pelzed smiled. “Glad you think so. If you think it’s worthless, Wulltid of Bull Pizzle will be sure of it.”
Pelzed and Wulltid met in Peacegiven Square under the watchful eye of the patrolling Lordsmen. They had agreed to bring only four men each. Wulltid brought four great hulking bodyguards. Pelzed had two of his regular guards, but he also brought Whandall and Shastern.
“You raided my territory,” Wulltid began abruptly.
“Calm,” Pelzed said. “Have some tea.” He poured from a stone jug wrapped in straw to keep it hot. The cups had been kept warm the same way. Pelzed lifted his cup, sipped, and nodded. “So. Greetings, Chief Wulltid.”
Wulltid stared sourly at Pelzed, lifted his cup, and drank. “That’s pretty good,” he admitted. “Greetings, Lord Pelzed. But you still raided my territory.”
Pelzed swept his hand to indicate Whandall and Shastern. “I sent these two boys to see what you’ve made of Dark Man’s Cup,” Pelzed said. “Which is nothing at all. Two boys, to a street you don’t care about. Now how’s that a raid?”
“Still my territory,” Wulltid said.
“Let’s talk about that. What will you take for it? Hemp? How much hemp? Maybe some tar?”
“Hemp? Tar?” Wulltid glared at Whandall. “Boy, what did you find there? Gold?”
“Trash. It’s a trash heap, Chief Wulltid,” Whandall said. He turned to Pelzed and repeated, “A trash heap, Lord!”
“So why does your boss want that place?” Wulltid demanded.
Whandall’s perplexity was genuine.
“It’s simple enough,” Pelzed said. “I’ve got some relatives who need homes, and some kinless who’ll build for them. Need a place. Dark Man’s Cup won’t be too bad once all the trash is thrown in the gully.”
“That’s what I thought,” Wulltid said. “But the kinless I put in there wouldn’t stay. Yours won’t either.”
“That’s my problem,” Pelzed said. “Now just what do you want for the Cup? It’s not like it’s worth much.”
“What if I said I don’t believe you?” Wulltid said pleasantly. “There’s more to this.”
“They’re not close kin….” Pelzed smiled. “Lord Samorty asked me. The Lords want that area cleaned up.”
“Why?”
“Who knows why Lords want things? But they asked me.”
“What did they offer?”
Pelzed sighed. “Five bales of hemp.”
“Five! They only gave me three!”
“You took it? But you didn’t get it clean,” Pelzed said.
Wulltid scratched his head. “I tried. I could have kept that place clear for two years. Three, even. But that Gemwright wanted five years! I had to promise five! Gemwright—he’s one crazy kinless.”
“You didn’t even give him two years,” Pelzed said cheerfully. “Bull Pizzles were gathering in the Cup a year after the kinless moved in.”
Wulltid sipped tea without comment.
“So the work stopped. You couldn’t keep your people from gathering, the kinless moved out, and now you’re stuck protecting a place that nobody worth anything will live in! Chief, I’m doing you a favor taking that slum off your hands. But I’ll give you half a bale.”
“You’re getting five bales,” Wulltid said. “I want two for Dark Man’s Cup.”
“One,” Pelzed said. “You have three already.”
“Two.”
“All right. Two,” Pelzed said. “But we get a Lord’s Witness to this deal.”
Wulltid shrugged. “You’ll pay him, then. I won’t.”
The Lord’s Witness was accompanied by two Lordsmen guards and a kinless clerk no more than Whandall’s age. The clerk dressed like servants Whandall had seen in Lordshills. The Witness wore a tight-fitting cap that completely covered his ears, and dark robes of office.
The clerk spoke in a high-pitched voice. “You wish the attention of a Lord’s Witness? That will be ten shells in advance.”
Pelzed laid them in a row, one smooth motion, ten shells marked by a Lord’s Clerk. The clerk swept them into a leather pouch. He turned to the Witness. “They have paid, Honorable.”
The Witness sat down to listen.
“An agreement between Lord Pelzed of Serpent’s Walk and Chief Wulltid of Bull Pizzle,” the clerk said. “Speak, Wulltid of Bull Pizzle.”
“We give the street known as Dark Man’s Cup to Serpent’s Walk,” Wulltid said. “Serpent’s Walk will complete what’s left of the work Bull Pizzle was paid to do. We will remove all Bull Pizzle people within two days and never return. Serpent’s Walk has to repaint all the signs; we won’t do that.”
The clerk wrote on what looked like a sheet of thin white leather. When Pelzed tried to speak, the clerk held up a hand until he had finished writing. “Now. Speak, Pelzed of Serpent’s Walk.”
“We will complete the work offered by Lord Samorty’s clerk. The Lords will pay us five bales of hemp and two buckets of tar. We will pay two bales of hemp to Bull Pizzle.
“In return, all trash will be removed from the street and yards, five houses of kinless will be established, and no one will gather in Dark Man’s Cup for five years.”
The clerk wrote again. “Do both of you accept this?” he demanded. “Then mark this vellum. Thank you. That will be twenty more shells.”
Afterward, Pelzed was talkative and amused. “It was easy!” he crowed. “Wulltid never suspected a thing!”
Whandall didn’t ask, but he looked. Pelzed laughed. “We had no way to expand in that area because of the gully,” he said. “I’ve always wanted something on the other side. The gully may be worth something. Clean it up and a kinless could grow hemp there, I think.”
Whandall remembered the hidden kinless camp.
“So I wanted it,” Pelzed said. “I could have bought it, maybe, but this way is better. Look, Whandall—now the Lords know Bull Pizzle took their three bales, and two more of mine, and did nothing for it. Five bales for nothing. I’m getting the three Bull Pizzle got, and I’ll get it cleaned up.”
Whandall waited a respectful moment. “How, Lord?”
“My kinless believe me when I tell them they’ll have five years with no gathering,” Pelzed said. “Do you believe me, Whandall?”
Whandall didn’t answer instantly. Pelzed asked, “You know Fawlith?”
“The beggar who babbles all the time?”
“That’s him. We caught him and his brother gathering on a street where I promised the kinless we’d leave them alone.”
“I didn’t know he had a brother.”
Pelzed just grinned. “Want to live in a house of your own?” he asked. “I’ll need two Lordkin families in the Cup. To watch over the kinless there. Ready to start a family?”
Whandall thought about it for a moment. “Thank you, no, Lord, I have a home.” He shrugged. “I don’t have a woman.”
“Fine house will get you a woman,” Pelzed said. “Even with that eye. But you’re young. Ask me when you’re read
y. I owe you for this.”
“Three of them,” Shastern said, much later. “And you held them off until I scared them away. Tell me how to do that.”
Whandall tried to explain. He told Shastern how he’d practiced each move, thinking about that and nothing else, and how it had taken months.
Shastern didn’t believe him. There had to be a secret that Whandall wasn’t telling him. Shastern left in disgust, leaving Whandall more alone than ever.
CHAPTER
16
As the scars of Burning faded, the lookers dwindled. They never went away entirely. Though Tras Preetror was gone, other tellers remained.
A teller gave Shastern a handful of fruit to torch Carver’s lumberyard. At a dead run and with a blood-curdling whoop, Shastern hurled paired torches past a heap of beam ends and into the work shed. The fires went out, of course. Shastern shared the fruit around afterward.
They never told the lookers what happened to fires outside the shed.
Whandall liked lookers. Like most kinless, they made little trouble when their things disappeared. A looker who made a fuss would be returned to the docks in bruised condition, and who would complain? Many—not just tellers—carried little flasks of wine as gifts in return for stories or guidance. Some carried preserved fruit for children. And, of course, they told stories.
In spring again, three years after the beating, Pelzed summoned Whandall to his roofless hall.
Tumbanton wasn’t about. It came to Whandall that he hadn’t seen Tumbanton or Geravim the last few times Pelzed summoned him. Tumbanton and his son might be avoiding Whandall, after leaving Whandall and Wanshig to the mercy of the Bull Pizzles.
These days Whandall had the status of a man, even though he had not selected his tattoo. Tentatively he opened conversation with some of Pelzed’s men and found them speaking openly, treating him as an equal. But when he asked after Tumbanton, nobody wanted to hear that question. Whandall hid his amusement and, naively, asked after Geravim too.
Talk died. Whandall meandered casually toward Pelzed’s rooms. He’d best not name those names again until he knew more.
The Burning City Page 12
