Scorpio Assassin

by Alan Burt Akers

  “We are beaten.” Chandro leaned back and closed his eyes. “All we can do is hope to influence Leone.”

  “You were her mentor, san,” I pointed out.

  He waved a weak hand, his narrow face filled with pain. “All that is changed. Shang-Li-Po has the power now.”

  “A small group of us could break in,” protested Mevancy.

  Kuong shushed her. “That is not possible, if I know the kind of place San Lunky means. You’d need a small army to break in there.”

  “And the army would refuse to attack a Repositer,” said Lunky.

  “Well,” I said, my voice eerily cheerful in that room of doom and gloom. “If the paktuns and the army are useless we’ll just have to use a different sort of army.”

  Chapter seventeen

  The narrow door set in the re-entrant angle of the heavy walls gonged dully as I thumped it. They must have seen me walk up in the last of the radiance of the Suns. They kept a sharp lookout from the arrow slits. Nothing happened. Just as I lifted my fist to give the door another thump it opened. It did not creak. It swung open on well-oiled hinges. They needed to get in and out of here fast at times, I didn’t doubt.

  A mass of hair sprouting around a bald pate confronted me in the light of a lantern held aloft in one raggedy arm. A mouth opened among the hair. I gave the doorkeeper no time to speak.

  “Take me along to Kei-Wo the Dipensis right away, sunshine, or you’ll taste ol’ snake.”

  “By the snaggle-teeth of old Snorribunder Himself, dom! Easy! Kei-Wo is expecting you—”

  “So what are you hanging about doddering for?”

  He belched a tuneful belch, hitched up his gown, and started off along the brick-walled corridor. The effluvium rose ripely all around.

  “By Lohrhiang of the Five Palms,” he grumbled to himself, slouching along ahead with the lantern light striking weird shadows from the slimed walls. “I jes’ hope old Fing-Na an’ Naghan the Chik gitsaholt o’ yourn!”

  And he hawked up a noisy gob and spat, accurately if splashily at a scurrying little thing of eight spindly legs.

  He led me into the chamber in which I’d awoken to find myself tied in the chair with my head in a metal vice. The smells were much the same. A fellow now sat in the chair with his head fixed rigidly looking sorry for himself. Kei-Wo lolled back in his chair, picking his teeth. Most of his gang seemed to be there. I identified Sooey, Sindi-Wang, Naghan the Chik, Fing-Na and a few others whose faces I recognized.

  I didn’t want to give this Kei-Wo any chance of taking the initiative. I nodded to the man bound in the chair and said: “Unless his crimes are too heinous you’d better release him. You’re going to need everyone you’ve got for this night’s work.”

  He went on rocking himself back and forward with his foot on the floor. He wasn’t in the least discomposed. “You are anxious to die?”

  I fixed him with a stare. “If you do not do exactly as I say you will surely wish to die when Na-Si-Fantong starts on you.”

  He stopped rocking. Everyone stood stock-still. Utter silence fell.

  Oh, yes, make no mistake. Like any onker I was gambling. The first result was totally in my favor. The whole gang were petrified.

  At last Kei-Wo managed to get words out. “The sorcerer? You have talked to him — he was mighty wroth about the trick—”

  “He and I deal now, Kei-Wo. You obey the mage or—” I waved a hand. “He requires the Queen’s Necklace. We are going to get it for him tonight.”

  The smells in the chamber increased in ripeness. Young Valli was crouching by the door, fascinated by what was going on. I had the oddest conviction that if, by some evil chance, Na-Si-Fantong was spying on this savory gathering he might derive amusement from my ploy. All he wanted was the necklace. As far as I was concerned, the necklace was of no importance. In that, by Vox, as you will see, I was very far adrift from the realities of what went forward.

  Kei-Wo was a hardened hulu, no doubt of it. He bounced back. “We looked for you, Drajak the Sudden, so that Naghan the Chik might hurl at you. The wizard had difficulty restraining himself from turning us all into little green frogs.”

  Here in Loh, as a stranger, I spoke with all the pseudo-authority of the newly-informed. I said: “Some mages can do some things, and others others.”

  I knew what I knew. Sorcerers spent a great deal of time learning their arts. They tended to specialize. If one mage was hell-on-wheels at turning people into little green frogs — which I doubted — then he would be less successful when he went into lupu to spy on people at a distance. This meant that any wizard who boasted of what he could do, and did it, might well be useless in the remainder of sorcery. Of course, that little word ‘remainder’ could embrace details of the thaumaturgical trade quite unknown to ordinary mortals. This was one reason why, as the one-time Emperor of Vallia, I welcomed having three mages actively working for Vallia. There were likely to be more in a few years’ time. Khe-Hi and Ling-Li were off in Whonban seeing about the proper rituals and ceremonies attendant upon the birth of their children.

  So, now, as the tough leader of a city gang, Kei-Wo could say: “That is true. But if a wizard commands, you do well to obey.”

  I nodded. “Exactly so. Prepare yourselves. We break into a private villa tonight. There are guards. We must use whatever force is necessary. Na-Si-Fantong expects our success.”

  The buzz of animated conversation in the chamber had to be allowed. I was confident that not one of these folk would go against a wizard. The only peril, and it was a real one despite my feelings, was that Na-Si-Fantong, assuming he watched us, would not go along with my plan.

  I wondered at what distance he could detect magic. There had been no time for me to see Leone — now Queen Leone — and have the court wizard, Chang-So, cast magic upon another fake necklace. That could have been a useful ploy; as it was, these villains would have to burst into Shang-Li-Po’s villa in furtherance of my schemes, and to the utter confusion of theirs and Na-Si-Fantong’s.

  If Fantong took an interest in the midst of all these proceedings, I fancied his reaction might well include little green frogs.

  The gang prepared in a mood not exactly sullen; but not eager, either.

  Because I have been a bit of a reiver in my time, a roamer, a fellow who has had to live hard in the face of enmity, I suppose the feeling that I was still Dray Prescot made me unwilling to use these gullibles too harshly. So, I said: “You will all search assiduously for the necklace. Anything else you find of interest—”

  Kei-Wo interrupted with a bitter laugh. “Oh, we understand. We must fetch out the necklace and nothing else—”

  “No.” I raised my voice. “Anything of loot you find is yours and you may bring out what you can carry.”

  At this their reactions took on an altogether different aspect. They made a fair old hullabaloo of gratified anticipation as they prepared.

  I even caught Fing-Na, in between fingering out his huge waxed moustaches, whistling a scrap of the old Lohvian song ‘Her Hair as Red as the Robin’s Breast’.

  There’s nothing like a spot of loot in the offing to perk up your true reiver, no, by Peetir the Sequestrator!

  There was no need for me to advise or instruct these villains in methods to be adopted of attacking and robbing a villa. True, they would not in the normal way even consider burglarizing a villa in the respectable quarters; in the matter of raids and assaults against other gangs they were past masters. They had all the equipment: ladders, ropes, scaling irons, axes. Their methods began with the subtle and if that failed ended with a straight bash-down and raid.

  When I say they wouldn’t normally consider burglarizing a respectable villa, I refer to the expedition we were on tonight. Of course, for a few cunning thieves to break in and steal what was lying about was a normal way of life. In truth, I had no need to feel tender about this pack of light-fingered gentry — or ladies, come to that.

  When the twin Suns of Scorpio were finally
gone and the sky lost the last of those ruby and emerald bands and the stars pricked out we set off.

  She of the Veils would shine down upon our enterprise later; I felt She would avert that rosy gaze from our proceedings. So we padded silently through the early evening streets, going in ones or twos, until we reached the riverside location of Shang-Li-Po’s secret villa. Here he kept his ladies.

  Kei-Wo hauled up sharply, his hand on my arm. “We are observed!”

  Two dark cloaked figures emerged from the shadows of the wall.

  “You did not, did you, cabbage, think we’d let you go off alone?”

  And Kuong said sturdily: “If it must be done it must be seemly done.”

  Smoothly I said to Kei-Wo: “These are friends who would not wish to see me in the river.”

  Hewing to his purpose at heart, Kei-Wo snapped out: “I suppose they want their share!”

  “There is enough to gladden the heart of the meanest man in Makilorn.”

  On that we went forward. The gang’s locksmiths went to work as others squirmed over the walls. Kuong said fiercely to me: “I scarce credit what goes forward here! But if we must, then—”

  “You have already said, Kuong, that by his actions Shang-Li-Po has forfeited all right to the status of a dikaster.”

  “That I believe to be so. Ah!” He pointed. “They open the doors.”

  “Lunky,” said Mevancy, “was concerned about the Kaour’s guards. Apparently they are formidable. Vankaris, he said they were.”

  Vankaris I knew about, a race of diffs of powerful physique, of practically no forehead, of spatulate nose, of wide gap-jawed mouth, of a stooped posture that emphasized their brooding hunched menacing aspect. Like many a member of the poorer folk they chewed Cham all the time. They were reputed to be fond of Fristles, and the Fristles did not reciprocate, which amused everyone except the Fristles.

  “Tough,” I said, as casually as I could manage. “Kei-Wo’s ruffians are tough, too. They’ll handle ’em.”

  “If only we could have brought in the army,” said Kuong, and his voice was not altogether steady. “This is all so — so—”

  “So underhand and horrible,” I said for him. “Brassud! We’re going in!”

  “Hold on!” came a breathy voice from the shadows to our rear. “Wait for me. I’m not so fast right now, what with my wound an’ all.”

  Mevancy swung about at once. “Who said you could get out of bed?”

  “Well, now, my lady.” Llodi the Voice marched up, and I swear his splendid nose had grown in size and number of fissures. He had been stabbed in the side on the same occasion I’d had a chunk of my left arm ripped off. Because Llodi had not bathed in the Sacred Pool of Baptism in far Aphrasöe he did not mend with the magical speed I did. I didn’t know if I was pleased or not to see him here.

  Kuong was already running fleetly towards the opening door. Llodi gave his strangdja a heft and, as it were, sidled past Mevancy and trotted off after Kuong. She stared after him and then turned on me.

  “He’s not fit yet. You knew about this?” She was all set to accuse me and pronounce judgment.

  “No. We’ll just have to keep an eye on him, that’s all.”

  “Well, come on, cabbage. Stop lollygagging about there like a movong waiting for an offoce!” With that she turned and ran across to the door.

  Kei-Wo’s villains knew their job. Directly inside the door the body of the guard slumped against the wall. Lamplight lit the corridor. The raiders flitted through like shadows. I ran along with them, wishing Lunky had had more information about the layout of this villa. San Nalgre Hien-Mi could be kept prisoner anywhere. My guess was the cellar complex.

  So far no sound had betrayed us. Just as I reached the head of the cellar steps a clang of metal on metal and then a frightful shriek told us all that we had been discovered. Now the raid would begin in earnest.

  As I clattered down the brick steps I wondered how long each one of the gang would search for the necklace before cupidity overcame Kei-Wo’s orders and the fear of the sorcerer. There was precious little light down here. I reckoned the gang would search patiently for a considerable time judging by their terrified reaction to the name of Na-Si-Fantong.

  My first impression of the darkness down in the cellars was swiftly succeeded by an awareness of the edge of each tread below me, of the grimed and greasy walls, of the brick floor cumbered by rubbish. I was concentrating on listening for hostile Vankaris or for a possible cry for help, so I just padded silently down the stairs and cautiously ventured across the floor to the opposite door. This was of flimsy reed construction, reeds forming a common building material considering the scarcity and price of wood. I gave it a gentle push, ready for an immense guard to rush roaring at me.

  Nothing happened save dust floating from between the reeds. The cellar beyond was empty of anything except more rubbish and a pervasive smell of river mud.

  Philosophically I went silently on, searching in all the cellars to find them uniformly the same. The longer I looked the more clearly I could see. Eventually I climbed back up the stairs hoping the others had had better fortune.

  From the head of the stairs I could hear a tremendous racket above with the clash of metal mingled with shouts and shrieks and the screaming of women. The light from the lanterns hurt my eyes and I blinked.

  Nalgre had to be somewhere in here. Lunky had said so. Most of the noise crashed down from the next floor and the stairs here were covered by carpet. Up I went to burst out into a wide hall. Here the Vankaris had made a stand. Kei-Wo’s gang must have fought like leems, for there were more dead and dying guards than ruffians.

  Well, I have had my fill of stepping delicately over the human debris of a battlefield. Some of the gang were crawling out of it, trailing blood, and I had to hope they’d make it safely outside. Time was running out for us. Quickly I ran through the hall looking past open doors into the rooms beyond. Kei-Wo’s people were busily ransacking everything that looked as though it might contain treasure.

  The next flight of stairs led past a pile of mingled corpses.

  A quick glance up showed me Naghan the Chik snatching a knife from his belt and hurling it clean at a Vankari guard who screeched and fell away with the knife through his throat. Another guard screamed incoherently and clawed at the ruin of his face. Amongst the red pudding many little needles stood out like porcupine quills.

  Mevancy swung to face me, her forearms extended.

  “Pigeon!”

  “Oh, you!” she shouted, annoyed. “He’s not here anywhere!”

  “Next floor.”

  “Right.”

  Naghan went lumbering across to the nearest door. So far he had not stopped to loot. Mevancy and I raced for the next stairway as Fing-Na tumbled down it, swearing horribly, his sword a red bar and a great gash across the side of his face.

  “My moustaches!” he shrieked.

  And, indeed, it was so. Now he had a magnificent single whisker sprouting from the uninjured side of his face.

  Mevancy and I pushed him aside as he stumbled back. We went haring up the treads. The ceiling here was painted in a representation of one of the more obscure legends of Kregen; Mevancy pointedly ignored the pictured scenes. Three guards leaped on us. Mevancy splattered the first with a shower of her deadly bindles and as he clawed his shattered face I sliced up the next one and whirled to catch the blade of the last on my edge. A quick turn of the wrist and a thrust and he went down.

  Below us the noise of combat died down. No one screamed any more.

  “If we don’t find him soon,” panted Mevancy, “the whole city will be up.”

  These rooms formed a suite, well furnished, and we rushed through door after door. In the lamplight a man sat with his back to the wall, holding his guts. He was the fellow who’d been imprisoned in the chair with his head in the metal vice. A single look convinced me he had been better off then than now.

  Just beyond him a Vankari guard was trying to sta
nd up, and failing because of the blood pouring from his right leg. Mevancy gave him a kick as we ran past and into the last room.

  The place looked like a shambles. Bodies lay everywhere. I saw the sinewy form of Sooey sprawled out, her lank black hair dabbled with blood, her single bright eye closed for ever. Kei-Wo was just finishing off his opponent. Llodi stood sweeping his strangdja about him and two Vankari guards tumbled back. Kuong slid his blade deftly and took his man. The noise that a moment ago had racketed to the ceiling ceased. The raw tang of blood smoked on the close air. Kei-Wo swung about to glare at me.

  Before he could say whatever he was thinking, Kuong shouted: “Too late! Too late!”

  Mevancy rushed across to the outside wall. Here a round opening with its covering panel swung back told the whole grisly story.

  “Just shoved him through,” said Llodi, slamming his strangdja down and leaning on it, breathing hard. “Like an old sack of rubbish. Dumped him down the chute and into the river, and him a dikaster an’ all.”

  Chapter eighteen

  Queen Leone queened it in Makilorn.

  With the disappearance of San Nalgre Hien-Mi there was no chance the adjudication could be overturned. Queen Leone was queen of all Tsungfaril.

  A new Repositer would take Nalgre’s place and continuity would be maintained. The incoming dikaster, man or woman, could have no influence on past decisions.

  Queen Leone, a bright, outgoing personality, a beautiful young girl, was welcomed ecstatically wherever she went. She was popular. Everyone wholeheartedly supported her — except for us few ingrates.

  “So that’s it, then.” San Chandro sounded so despondent. If it were not for his automatic exclusion from Gilium he’d have slit his throat, there and then.

  “I can say goodbye to my lands of Taranik.” Kuong heaved up a sigh. “And it isn’t just for that I supported Kirsty.”

  “Surely,” snapped Mevancy as she slammed her cup down, for we were at the second breakfast. “Surely the people of Tsungfaril will not allow those awful diffs of Tarankar to attack them and steal their lands without fighting back?”