“No, Lunky!” I yelped and used my own blade to flick Lunky’s captured sword from the assassin’s tenderest parts.
“I’ll have ’em!” he shouted. “Murdering shints! They were going to kill Mistress Telsi! Let me at him!”
“Hold on, hold on! Now listen. We want to find out who sent them, don’t we? Well, don’t we?”
As I spoke I rested my foot across the throat of the prostrate stikitche and if he wriggled I pressed down to emphasize my words.
Lunky’s young face twisted. I’d never seen him like this before, wrought up with blood lust. It was not a pretty sight. But then, of course, we were not dealing with pretty subjects.
“Well, I suppose so, Drajak.” He lowered the sword. “All the same—” His dark heavy face looked sullen and his lips, always very red and full, glistened as he licked them. Then he burst out: “These must be the shints who murdered San Tuong!”
“Probably. When did you hear?”
“Riders came in today.” He made a gesture across the sand. He still wore his brown robe tied up with string but on his feet he wore sandals against the hot bite of the sand. Suddenly he threw the bloodied sword down in disgust. He shook his head, said: “All right, Drajak. Do what you have to. Make him tell us,” and walked across to Mistress Telsi.
She put her arms about him in an unaffected gesture. I guessed she had had an almighty fright, a shock that she might take some time to get over. Her long curling lashes swept down over her cheek as she shut her eyes, holding Lunky. When I’d left them here it had seemed that Mistress Telsi, who after all was a lady of uncertain occupation, had determined to marry the merchant Olipen. He had followed her to the Springs of Benga Annorpha as had Lunky. No one fancied Lunky’s chances, an acolyte versus a rich merchant, and yet here Telsi was clearly concerned for Lunky.
The stikitche under my foot wriggled and I looked down at him. I used the tip of my sword to flick his black mask free. His face was brown and taut, marked with deep lines in which blue pigment traced patterns that must mean something to him. As I glowered down on him he flinched back. I suppose that old Dray Prescot look that people call the Devil’s Look must have flashed into my ugly old beakhead. I said in a neutral voice: “You heard. Just tell me.”
He swallowed and I eased my foot up to assist him. He said: “You know I may not do that.”
I sighed. They didn’t breed a quality class of stikitches in these parts, that was for sure. Why, some of the assassins I’d known — and seen off, by Krun! — would have tears in their eyes with contempt for this lot!
He ought to have said that, naturally, he had no idea who had set the contract. I’d probably have believed that. As it was, by saying he wasn’t allowed to tell me, he was admitting he knew.
He might have been a low class stikitche with a little sword skill; he was enough of a professional to handle himself after a fight. I heard a gasp and a little cry and swiveled to see Mistress Telsi trying to support Lunky. He was gradually slipping down out of her arms. He’d have the shakes and get over them, I rather fancied sooner than later. There was a great deal to this young fellow.
“Drajak!” called Telsi. “Help me!”
“Let him lie down, Telsi. He’ll get over it.”
“Why — you!”
“Are you going to keep an eye on this fellow, then?”
By this time Lunky was almost horizontal and Telsi was leaning down over him, her arms outstretched. She twisted her head to look up at me. “You have no heart, Drajak, no heart at all!”
No sensible answer being available to me, perforce I said nothing. Thinking this byplay was his chance to escape, the assassin gave my foot an almighty heave, twisted aside and leaped up. He started to run across the sand.
Now fear and panic lead people into strange actions. To escape pursuit until night he would need to run out into the desert away from the white buildings around the Springs, and then sneak back to retrieve his mount and make sure of his water and rations.
He ran straight towards the buildings.
His head was down and his black robes streamed out abaft his flying figure.
He ran headlong into a party of men walking out towards us. They recognized him for what he was. They saw Lunky lying on the sand and Telsi bending over him. So as this poor stikitche ran into them their swords flashed and they chopped him.
Lunky’s hoarse voice reached me. “Did he tell you?”
I did not think it necessary to mention his attack of the shakes and Telsi’s instinctive reaction. I was glad he was coming back to us.
I said: “No. It was not really necessary. Those two villains Caran and Hargon plotted to kill San Tuong Mishuro and now it seems you were included in the plot.”
He started to rise and Telsi helped him, not looking at me.
“I find it hard to accept that dikasters would order anyone murdered.” Lunky brushed sand from his brown robe. “But I do accept it. San Tuong Mishuro was a good and fair master. Now he is dead I joy for him that he has at last reached Gilium but I feel saddened at the way of it.”
As he spoke I decided human nature is so intractable a creature as to defy logical analysis. Already I’d established that if you suicided you would not be admitted to the paradise of Gilium. That would include paying a stikitche to kill you. What a weird and wonderful world it was, this planet of Kregen! Like any normal human being you’d struggle to stay alive and yet all the time, here in Tsungfaril, you were longing to go up to Gilium and live in paradise for ever!
Much of the country wore this apathetic air of caring only for the afterlife. This obsession was not really like the attitudes of religious folk here on Earth who believe they will go to heaven when they die. Oh, yes, there were similarities but they paled before the intensity of the obsession with Gilium.
I said: “San Tuong was a good man. But I think you will be just as good a man, and probably a better Diviner.”
“Oh, yes. That is generally accepted,” he said quite matter-of-factly.
“And you will take over?”
“The college will swear me in. Yes, I shall be San Lunky Mishuro.”
So that was it.
The Diviner’s Apprentice, the Acolyte, had been the target Mevancy and I had been sent by the Star Lords to protect.
In that case, then, where the hell was Mevancy?
That odd feeling I’d had when I’d been transited here through the Star Lord’s blue curtain of radiance had not been caused because of that very transference. Although different, it was enough like being shifted by the phantom Blue Scorpion as to be familiar. And I’d recognized the feeling when it happened. No — the oddness was that the time was now late afternoon. Between my leaving the queen’s bathing chamber and my arrival here time had elapsed. My leaving and arrival had been instantaneous, I believed most devoutly. So the Everoinye had deliberately done this.
Just as I reached this disturbing conclusion a hail brought my attention to the party from the town.
“Hai! We thought the San was dead.”
Lunky waved an arm and as the party came up he said: “I live, praise Tsung-Tan in his infinite wisdom.”
“The stikitches were observed,” said the bluff, red-faced fellow who stood as their leader. “And as sure as my name is Hung-do the Ron, we smelled out their mischief.”
“We came as fast as we could,” piped up the little fellow with a spear taller than himself, his buck-teeth protruding.
“I give you my thanks, walfgers.” Lunky spoke slowly, his voice deeper than I remembered. Already he was settling into the position of a Diviner, one whose task in life was to seek out and proclaim the spirits of the paol-ur-bliem in new born babies. He’d be good at it. No doubt of it. “I shall speak of you to the college.”
Whatever that meant, or, rather, whatever might come of it, the people showed their pleasure at the promise. Being a cynical old hare I surmised there would be money and rewards accruing.
Mistress Telsi, holding onto Lunky wi
th a possessive grip, said: “I would like to go back where I might lie down—”
“Of course!”
At once everybody sprang into action and they’d have carried her back if necessary — or if she let go that death grip on Lunky.
The situation here, crystal clear in itself, had no need of Lunky’s few words in explanation.
The news of Mishuro’s death had reached the Springs this morning. Arrangements for Lunky’s departure were made at once, the start back to begin on the morrow. This changed the romantic situation. Now, instead of a lowly acolyte serving and studying a man who would live for years, Lunky was himself the Diviner. Now he stood in a much better position than the merchant Olipen. And, clearly, Telsi really preferred Lunky. Olipen had received his marching orders, and the two lovebirds had taken a little stroll out from the Springs to discuss their future. The assassins had ridden in this morning, too, and chose this opportune moment to strike.
That was all easily understandable.
What puzzled me was the absence of Mevancy. She was here, at the Springs. Why hadn’t the Star Lords just hoicked her out of whatever she was up to and dumped her down here to protect Lunky?
Half-carried, Telsi was being taken off and Lunky trotted alongside. He turned to me, his heavy flushed face not really smiling but shining with benevolence, to say: “We owe you a great deal, Draj—”
Startled into speech, I burst out, drowning what he was saying. “My debt is to you, san.” Then, quickly and low enough so that only Lunky could hear: “You remember once you saw me with what you called a funny face? So that I was disguised? I would esteem it a favor if you would not call me Drajak—”
“What should be your name, then?” He was amused at the conceit.
“Oh — Nath the Twist will do.”
“Very well, Nath the Twist, so be it.”
“And Telsi also.”
“As you wish.”
I offered no explanation. People on Kregen are often under the necessity of sailing under false colors. Names are important, and more than one lame brain has lost his head because a name was not remembered. If Lunky would not grasp the necessity for this stratagem, Mevancy most certainly would. By Vox, yes! She would see at once that I would have to explain how it was that I was in the palace one moment and across to the west at the Springs of Benga Annorpha the next. How, the question would be asked, how was that possible? Black magic? Sorcery?
Some explanation would have to be concocted for Lunky and Telsi if they asked. Otherwise I’d stay mum.
Once we reached the cluster of white buildings, Telsi could lie down and recover. The bodies of the assassins were brought in and they would be disposed of. The attitude to assassins hereabouts was ambivalent. It was accepted that these fellows earned a living doing what they did, and the nature of their occupation would not necessarily bar them from Gilium. All the same, a very natural and understandable revulsion towards stikitches was apparent. In general — not always — they received short shrift from me.
The excitement died down and Lunky and I found some refreshments. The Suns would soon be gone and the multitude of Kregan stars would burst across the desert sands. I wondered if I ought to play a trick on Mevancy when she at last put in an appearance. Still, she would have to know what I’d been up to, as I most certainly wanted to know what she’d been getting into lately. So I decided to let my own old Dray Prescot face show when she arrived. And — I knew what her first word to me would be! Oh, yes!
When the door opened on a gust of sand and she stomped in, I lifted my jug to her in friendly greeting. She stopped, put her fists on her hips and glared at me from under down drawn brows. She said:
“Cabbage!”
Just as I’d known she would!
Chapter ten
As far as Mevancy nal Chardaz knew, I was still a weakling not fully recovered from injury, or recovered but without strength.
This state of affairs had just happened; admittedly I’d done nothing to disabuse her of the notion. It wasn’t really important. This was why she continued to call me cabbage.
Now she stood glaring balefully as Lunky said: “You are welcome, Mevancy. Come and sit down and take a glass. You have heard the news?”
She had to force herself to regain her composure and be polite to Lunky, who was, after all, now an important personage.
“Yes, and I must call you san now—”
“When the college so decree.”
“There will be no problem over that. I am sorry that San Mishuro — I mean, he has gone up to Gilium; but—”
“I know. Here.” Lunky handed her a glass of the clear straw-yellow wine as she sat down. She wore a new outfit rather after the fashion of the near-universal men’s fawn gown and cloak, except that it was unmistakably styled for the female figure. Her arms were covered by sleeves gathered in a series of loops and the oval shapes of skin already showed that her deadly arsenal of needles — her bindles — were well grown back. Anybody who tried to attack Mevancy would get a shower of needles in the eyes and face.
She gave me a look. “Well, cabbage?”
Carefully, I said: “The plot was cleverly managed. It was — ah — fortunate that I was on hand to help Lunky defeat the stikitches.”
She took my meaning at once.
She sipped her wine delicately and glowered on me from under her eyebrows. Her dark hair had been caught up in a web of brilliants — all artificial, as I well knew from the state of our treasury. She wanted to ask me all about it; and could not because San Lunky sat there between us.
Not a beautiful girl, our Mevancy; but alive and quick and passionate. Her mouth was too wide and generous and her chin strong and her ways abrupt, and because she was the leader of our team and was a trifle insecure and anxious not to go wrong, somewhat arrogant, imperious and a lady for whom I cherished a lively affection that caused me not to chop her down to size. Given the inscrutable ways of the Star Lords there was a good chance that one day Mevancy might be honored to meet Delia, ex-Empress of Vallia. In that case, I fancied Delia would act with such graciousness that Mevancy would blossom into real womanhood.
“Cabbage? Are you ill? Your face has all gone like putty.”
“You really do look — strange,” put in Lunky.
I roused myself. “I was thinking of a lady.”
“Oh,” Mevancy sniffed. “That one.”
I gave her a look and she flushed up. Poor Mevancy! Because she was a Sinnalix she could shoot deadly darts from her arms into the eyes of enemies. This was done by blood pressure. As I said, poor Mevancy — she flushed all too easily.
Lunky’s skill as a Diviner, one who could find the spirit of a person in a new born baby, was easily equal to smoothing over little difficulties of this nature. He lifted his glass. “If we are to start for Makilorn in the morning, it is bed for me.” He drained the glass and Mevancy and I stood up as with wishes for a good night’s sleep he went out.
When we were alone she took a deep breath, plunked herself down and in a menacing voice said: “Well?”
“We were both wrong. The target was Lunky all along.”
“The Everoinye brought you here to save him?”
“Yes.”
She put a finger to her lips, pressing, thinking.
“I had to deal with a thief who tried those two unpleasant nobles, Nanji and Floria. He’d have slit their throats as they lay in each other’s arms.” She gestured. “When that happened I was certain they were the targets.”
“So if you’d been brought here by the Star Lords to defend Lunky those two would have died?”
“Oh, yes, certainly.”
I felt anger and suppressed it. Nanji and Floria were unpleasant people, that was true. They were nobles, a lord and lady, and they acted in the worst traditions of nobility. All the same, they were people and Mevancy had done right in saving their lives. All the same, when I thought of what had gone on here, of the transaction, the balance, the weighing in the scales, i
t was all I could do to stop myself jumping up and rushing blindly out into the night, swearing at the top of my voice and swishing my sword about in violence and savage baffled fury.
“You look...” she said, and then: “You’d better tell me.”
“Aye,” I fairly snarled. “Aye, I’ll tell you. Stikitches attacked Lunky all right. I was dragged here just as I was about to prevent another pack of assassins from doing their murderous work—”
“Oh? Who was their target?”
I breathed in and out. “The queen.”
Mevancy put her glass on the table. She lost some of that high color. “She is all right?”
“I do not know. No, Mevancy, no. I am sure she is not all right.”
“The queen is dead? But — if you were there—?”
“Oh, aye, I was there. And a blue curtain dropped before me, a part of that damned Scorpion, and brought me here. If the queen is murdered then the responsibility rests squarely with the Everoinye.”
“I suppose—”
“Suppose nothing! The damned Star Lords don’t care about ordinary individual people. I wouldn’t put it past them!”
“Cabbage, have a care!” She was agitated, squirming on her chair. She looked about the room almost as though she expected to see a Star Lord walk in, or, more probably, fly in. “Drajak, you mustn’t say such dreadful things about the Everoinye!”
I fumed away, and, truth to tell, I thought myself a pretty poor kind of fellow. I was letting off steam like this, and poor Mevancy was taking the brunt of my ill humor, because a fine woman had been so wantonly killed. That she and everyone else believed she’d come back as a new born baby made not the slightest difference. Did I believe it?
I looked across at Mevancy. I could feel for her, no doubt of it, feel compassion and affection and a little remorse. I wanted her to succeed as a kregoinya, an agent of the Star Lords. She shared the same fanaticism as Pompino, my kregoinye comrade. She believed — and I did not want her to fail. I knew what my Delia would say if I was unkind to Mevancy.
By the Black Chunkrah! My Delia would go through hell and high water to avoid being unkind! And she had a way with her of making sure I acted likewise. By Vox, hadn’t I climbed down a damned great hole at her command to bring out a Wizard of Loh who was now our comrade?
Scorpio Assassin Page 8
