Scorpio Reborn

by Alan Burt Akers

  I said: “I understood that Diviners — and forgive me, san, when I say I’ve no idea what a Diviner is or what he or she divines — were most secret.”

  “Indeed,” said Mishuro. He leaned on the table, peeling a squonch with a small gold-handled knife. The rich juicy smell filled the small eating room. “Indeed.” He stared fixedly at Mevancy and then switched his gaze to me. But it was to and of Llodi that he spoke. “I sense here something strange. I ask you, Llodi the Voice, to take employment with me as a bodyguard. As for my secrets; yes, they are real. I am not called a Diviner, a dikaster, for nothing.”

  Mevancy opened her mouth to speak but he went on: “There is mischief here. Evil, that I can sense, and evil that fills me with foreboding.”

  “There is sorcery involved?” demanded Mevancy.

  “I — I am not sure—”

  “A damned Wizard of Loh!” I said. And added: “I mean a Wizard of Walfarg.”

  “No, I do not think so.” Mishuro stopped peeling the squonch and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “No. If it were, we were in far worse case. I have the strongest feeling evil is at work. I ask you to help me.”

  A scuffle and a breathy voice, more squeaky than hoarse, said: “I am here, master.”

  “Yes, yes, Lunky. You are a good fellow. But I think a strong arm is required now. Llodi—”

  “Strong arm!” burst out Lunky. “Why, Walfger Drajak is like a woflo—!”

  “Quite!” said Tuong Mishuro, dikaster, and Lunky subsided, chastened.

  Thinking that this man was the target the Star Lords wished us to protect, and therefore he was assisting us in our duty, I was happy to accept. I should have remembered that the Lady Mevancy headed up this team, by Vox!

  “We-ell,” she said, pursing up her lips. “We have heavy commitments, san.”

  He put that heavy Buddha-like head on one side, regarding her from under heavy lids. “Yes, I quite see that. I can offer you the hospitality of my house, as well as what protection that affords, as you assist me.”

  I said: “The san speaks good sense. There is evil about. This solution to some of our problems works for me.”

  “Yes, yes, cabbage. Do let me do the thinking.”

  Llodi was ungentlemanly enough to emit a snort through his nostrils. I, although no gentleman, remained silent, looking at this girl not in anger or in sorrow, rather in admiring wonder.

  “Yes, well, san,” she said at last in her brisk voice. “I would be happy to accept your kind offer.” She frowned at me. “As will Walfger Drajak.”

  Llodi was only too eager to join in, and he’d be paid! So the deal was concluded and the simple bokkertu made.

  Tuong Mishuro sent a parcel of slaves under a lesser majordomo to Mistress Lulli Quincy’s lodging house with a note to collect our belongings, scanty enough though they be. That, I felt, could not be helped. Anyway, if Hangol or Hargon decided to deal with us they’d very soon find out where we were. I found myself wondering if that great rast Hargon, the Ascetic, came from Hamal like his companion in crime Hangol.

  As for the evil involved, if it was not sorcerous in origin then we ought to deal with it adequately. If it was sorcerous, I harbored the gloomiest forebodings that San Tuong Mishuro, Diviner or no, was not your regular thaumaturgist who would go up in magic against a Wizard of Loh. Mishuro had suggested that if sorcery was involved it was not the work of a Wizard of Loh, or Wizard of Walfarg as he ought rightfully to be called here in Loh. There were many other cults and secret societies of sorcerers. Even if it turned out to be one of these lesser mages, I still doubted Mishuro’s competence to handle him.

  My two comrades who also happened to be Wizards of Loh ought to help from wherever they might be in Paz. Khe-Hi was in Valka and Deb-Lu had gone across to Vondium in Vallia over a matter for Drak, the emperor. And when I say ought to help, I mean, of course, ought to be able to help. Wizards of Loh, comrades or not, are highly touchy in the most odd ways about arcana the ordinary man or woman completely fails to grasp. As for Ling-Li, well, she’d be with Khe-Hi, and she was a comrade who had assisted us in our sorcerous struggles. Now I just devoutly hoped these three Mages of Loh would help again.

  With the aroma of squonch in our nostrils we went off to see about our gear and accommodation. I felt I’d unraveled a little of the conflicting threads in this business of Diviners and dikasters. The man or woman might not be secret; the secrets lay in how they performed their work. In violent societies it is always a surprise to find anyone willing to agree not to lay hands on anyone else. Yet Kregen shares this odd habit with parts of Earth — a parcel of priests can walk unharmed through a battlefield. All the same, sacrosanct or not, Mishuro feared for his life. That, I felt, was certain.

  Was that great rast Strom Hangol dead or not?

  A little reflection assured me that San Hargon was the greater menace.

  Yet he was not a sorcerer. At least, the few enquiries I’d been able to make and Mishuro’s own opinion suggested that. He could be hiding his light under a bushel, boxing clever as I was supposed to be doing. The outcome of this affair seemed to me murky, most murky indeed.

  Later that afternoon Mishuro was visited by a group of serious-faced people. They were closeted with him for an hour or so and when they had gone he told us that nothing had been discovered concerning the identities of the assassins. Well, that didn’t surprise anyone, by Krun! He went on: “I shall be extremely busy for the next week. All my time will be occupied.” His face expressed a concentration of effort, as though he strengthened himself for an ordeal ahead. “For all our sakes I believe it would be best if you accompanied me.”

  Without thinking, I started to say: “To do what—?”

  Mevancy cut in like a chisel. “Wait, cabbage!” She half turned to Mishuro. “This is for Leotes, san?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, of course, we will go with you.”

  And, still, I hadn’t grasped what the background to all this was! I suppose that knock on the head had addled my wits even further. Everything was now so obvious that a blind man ought to have seen it. Oh, well, as I thought then, I’ll just soldier on and see what happens.

  Of course, sometimes doing that, by Makki Grodno’s diseased disgusting dangling left eyeball, is just like sticking your fool head into a leem’s jaws!

  Chapter fifteen

  The woman said: “Lord, the baby died.”

  Mishuro studied the woman attentively. Her face showed tired lines and her hair draggled and her mouth, pale and weak, drooped in defeat. She stood at the open door of her house, a mud brick dwelling, one of many, between the edge of the cultivations and the desert. Her dress was a simple sack-like garment, once a cheerful yellow and now a washed-out ochre. She wore no jewelry. Her man was in the fields, laboring, and she would have been there but for the recent birth of this baby who had died.

  Hargon, brittle, cutting, said: “The woman lies.”

  Tuong Mishuro’s face expressed nothing. “Show us the grave.”

  She waved her hand over towards the river and the true desert beyond.

  “No,” said Hargon. “No, I do not think so. Stand aside.”

  The smell of the cultivations, mud, crops, the wetness of things, smoked from the earth. This family lived and worked here all their lives. I thought the death of a baby could be a serious set back, or a blessed relief. At the time I didn’t know. What I did know and should have thought was that each family would be different, anyway, whatever the circumstances.

  The woman made a pathetic gesture to prevent Hargon pushing into her hut. A mercenary, one of Leotes’s men, pulled her aside. I noticed he was not unnecessarily rough. Hargon went in, followed by Mishuro and Llodi. Mevancy looked across at me. I guessed her thoughts. What the blazes were we doing operating this close to that shint Hargon? We were those who could bear witness against him in the case of the murder of Vad Leotes. He had tried to have us put out of the way, and no doubt he’d go on trying to ki
ll us. This task was a most uneasy affair.

  The Suns of Scorpio slanted their mingled radiance across the fields and glittered from the irrigation ditches. The woman was crying now, shiny tears just silently rolling down her cheeks. Mishuro appeared at the door. His face had not changed expression.

  “Kling Koo,” he said, for that was the woman’s name. “This is not the one.”

  The woman fell to her knees, her hands raised. Her face was radiant.

  “All praise to Tsung-Tan!” she cried. “All praise and glory!”

  Hargon stepped out, looking mean. “The woman should be punished. She calls on Tsung-Tan, yet she defies Tsung-Tan. The college is given express powers to demand inspection without exception. She must be punished.”

  “I don’t believe that really is necessary in this instance.” Mishuro spoke firmly; I sensed he knew he was on shaky theological grounds. “No harm has been done. You can quite see why the woman lied.”

  Hargon’s fist descended to his dagger. I’d have the cramph’s head off before he had time to get the point within an inch of Mishuro.

  “Yes, some do, some do not. There is shame in it, they think.” He had a flush along his cheekbones. “I shall report this to the college.”

  “That is your privilege.” Mishuro half turned to Lunky. “Where is the next?”

  “A house on the north wall, master. The son of a watchman.”

  “Very well. Let us get on, then.”

  We all moved off, walking sedately after the two sans. I’d noticed Hargon appeared to have no apprentice; the reasons for that I didn’t know. If you imagine that walking like this with a murdering cramph gave me an itch up my back — then, by Vox, you are right!

  The whole situation was, to me, highly strange and charged with emotions and passions, desires and demands. These people were like kettles coming to the boil. Anybody who got in their way was like to be scalded.

  Thinking these confused thoughts and trudging after the others I wondered: Could Mishuro be the target the Star Lords wished protected? Mevancy did not think so. She was, reluctantly, coming around to the idea that the target was one of those unpleasant people, lord Nanji or lady Floria.

  As we went off something made me turn to look back at the woman who was so ecstatic that Mishuro and Hargon had not chosen her baby. As I have said, the soldier who had served in Leotes’s retinue had dealt with the woman as kindly as one might expect; more kindly, given the nature of these things. As I turned I saw a soldier, newly engaged by Hargon, walk past the woman as she knelt by her doorway. What he did seemed natural to him, I suppose. She was not really in his way as he marched past with his strangdja over his shoulder.

  In his way or not, he gave her a thumping great kick as he went by, knocking her over with a crash against the doorpost. He laughed.

  I stopped. I just stood there. I waited as the others walked past me and this woman-kicker approached.

  He lifted his head and gave me a quizzical look.

  “What’s up with you, dom?”

  I didn’t bother to speak; at least, not at first. I hit him clean on the chin and knocked him down. He was still conscious. His strangdja clattered off his shoulder. He stared up at me, his face a blot of anger.

  I said: “You kicked that woman. This is what it feels like.”

  And I kicked him, hard, where it hurt.

  He was messily sick.

  I just walked on after Mevancy and the others.

  There was no feeling of self-righteousness in me, or, Opaz forfend, of pleasure in kicking a nasty specimen. Anyway, the poor slob had no doubt been kicked many times in his life and knew exactly what it felt like. All the same, I’d given him that experience to chew over afresh.

  The incident had occurred at the tail of the procession and no one had noticed. Moving on casually I caught up Mishuro’s tame slaves carrying gilded boxes filled with papers and books. Lunky was punctilious in supervising these ancient tomes. Mishuro appeared to have little need of them to refresh his memory; he did beckon Lunky over and had him produce a book bound in risslaca scale when we reached the watchman’s hut on the wall. He studied for a moment, then went inside with Hargon. Lunky, holding the book, followed with Llodi. We waited outside. The suns shone. Presently Llodi came out and made a flat gesture with his hand, so we knew that whatever it was we sought had not been found here.

  The next port of call, Lunky told Mishuro, was a timber merchant down by the wharves. Hargon had been receiving and sending messages by slave runners most of the time, rather like a bookie taking bets and laying-off. Now he took the lead and bustled off towards the river. Following along, Mishuro fell into conversation with Mevancy and I was content to trudge along a little in rear. Soldiers tramped in their harness and nailed sandals, their weapons slanted over shoulders, their faces sweaty and dusty and blank.

  The fellow I’d kicked gave me a look; he said nothing.

  “Now why is he going this way?” enquired Mishuro of no one in particular.

  Going down to the river whichever way made no difference to me. We walked on in the mingled light of the suns. The street Hargon chose to approach the wharfside led past tall buildings, blinding white in the light, dedicated to the pleasures of life.

  Now I do not think it is a sixth sense in the general understanding of that mysterious power. I am an old fighting man and apart from keeping alert and having my wits about me, it is habitual to keep everything going on about me, as it were, under constant review. The pattern of activity about me is registered, updated, and the information filed, dealt with or ignored.

  I did not ignore the statue of the strangdjim standing on the parapet of the next building. Many statues adorned the walls: dancing girls, musicians, clowns, soldiers. Mevancy and Mishuro, talking, walked close beneath and the statue of the soldier rocked, toppled, fell full towards them.

  I didn’t bother to yell.

  I just leaped forward, got an arm around each waist and rushed on against the wall.

  And the damned fool soldier marching along at the side just marched on, and by the time he’d started to react it was far too late. He ought to have jumped very smartly away. As it was Mishuro and Mevancy slammed into the wall, the statue smashed down with an awful crashing noise, and the soldier walked straight on under it.

  When we turned to look there was the stone soldier and an arm and a leg of the flesh and blood soldier sticking out underneath. There was, of course, a quantity of blood dribbling across the stones. Well, maybe I should have yelled. My decision had been not to shout and thus not to run the risk of startling Mishuro or Mevancy and making them do something stupid so that it would be much more difficult to grab them. Maybe I was wrong.

  There was quite a lot of shocked gabbling as what had happened penetrated.

  “Thank Tsung-Tan you are safe, master!”

  “Yes, Lunky, and thank also Walfger Drajak.”

  “You were quick, cabbage.”

  Thinking to be cunning, I rubbed my arms and said: “I thought my arms were coming out by their roots.”

  They’d had a shock, all right. Also, Mishuro, slowly, said: “So this is why he chose to go down to the river this way.”

  “The shint!” spat Mevancy with great feeling.

  I said no more. I had made up my mind on a course of action.

  As it turned out, the timber merchant’s son was not right either, and, this weird business apparently being concluded for the day, we all trooped off. Mishuro shook his head as we watched Hargon and his retinue walking off.

  “I find it impossible to believe that he would raise a hand against a Diviner. Particularly as he is a Repositer. No, he tried to kill you, my dear.”

  I wasn’t at all sure about that. Hargon had tried to catch two birds with one stone there. But I said nothing of that.

  So, having made the necessary enquiries with a casual air of mere idle curiosity, and learning what I wanted to know, I waited for Mishuro’s household to quieten down for the nig
ht. Eluding his watchmen was easy enough and I went over the wall like an eel. I wore the old scarlet breechclout under a plain gray tunic, and I carried the lynxter and rapier. I was, I confess, in a somewhat ugly mood. I could imagine with horrible clarity the arm and leg sticking out from under the statue belonging to Mevancy instead of that soldier. Mind you, if he hadn’t kicked the woman, and been kicked, he might not have had his mind on thinking evil of me, and so been more alert.

  She of the Veils was up and shedding her rosy golden light upon the city. With the directions clear in my head I went quickly along, passing without notice among the few people about in this residential quarter. A watchman at the gate could safely be ignored. I went around the wall to the rear and as I’d exited from Mishuro’s property, so I entered Leotes’s. Hargon lived here.

  He had no idea in the world he stood in any physical danger from me. In any judgment it would be his word against Mevancy’s, for I had not witnessed the crime, and who would believe some strange foreign woman against the word of a respected san, and a Repositer into the bargain? The law was all on Hargon’s side.

  A soldier standing guard by a gate went to sleep standing up and I eased him to the ground. I knew him from the caravan. Prowling on I found a door into the rear quarters of the villa. The place, as befitted a vad, was splendid. A deep silence hung over the halls and corridors and the explanation for that I found in the third or fourth room I looked into. This was an antechamber to a bedroom, and thinking Hargon might be beyond, I entered warily.

  A woman slumped half asleep in a chair. She did not stir as I passed. In the bed in the room beyond lay Strom Hangol.

  His face had the color and sheen of a moldy candle. It shone with sweat, the skin translucent, the closed eyelids heavy with shadows. He barely breathed. I stood looking down on him for a space, then I heaved up a sigh and took myself off. Even in that state he still wore his silver half-mask.