“No,” Eurydice said, coming forward. “I am a Finder. You have the child. He is drugged and bound, hidden in a chest with a false bottom.”
“What?” the slaver shouted. “I do not believe you. I am an honest dealer. I do not steal children.”
The rage and hate in his eyes, fixed on Eurydice, told another tale. A warm hand fell on her shoulder. She had not needed the support—she had confronted the dishonest who blamed her for their exposure before—but she reveled in the feeling that there was someone who cared that she might be frightened and wished to offer comfort. She met the slaver’s eyes coldly, knowing that the form of denial he had used was well planned and assured his personal escape from the accusation. Doubtless he would charge one of his henchmen with the crime. That was not Eurydice’s business either. She was not a Truth Reader; indeed, she had used no part of her Gift, only her knowledge of people, in assessing the slaver’s guilt and that knowledge would be considered irrelevant.
“Nonetheless,” she said in answer to his denial, “the child is in the inner room, in an old, broken black wicker chest bound with cord.”
The slaver’s face flushed purple with fury. Most Finders were not so exact, and he had hoped to protest against a general search of his premises on the word of a charlatan who had a grudge against him. The leader of the guardsmen shrugged and gestured. Two of his men went into the back room and carried out the chest. The hiding place was clever. Had she not “known” he was there, Eurydice doubted the child would have been found. The chest was full of filthy rags, unwashed and stinking, plus a few parcels of herbs or other vegetation that had gone bad and oozed a fetid slime. If it had been one chest among many, without the driving force of her foreknowledge, it was unlikely that a searcher would examine the contents thoroughly or thrust arms into the chest to remove them. Under the mother’s fixed eyes and Eurydice’s icy stare, the filth was strewn on the merchant’s fine rug, the bottom of the chest lifted out, the boy, limp but alive, returned to his mother’s arms.
Eurydice held out her hand for her fee. The woman tore loose her purse from her belt and thrust it into Eurydice’s grip.
“Keep it. Keep it all,” she gasped, and ran out.
The leader of the guards gestured for two of his men to follow her—as much to be sure of where she went as to keep her safe. Eurydice grinned at him.
“What odds will you lay that it is all copper?” she asked, weighing the heavy purse in her hand.
He laughed. “The wager is not worth making,” he said, but then his expression grew hard and speculative. “Or perhaps it is.”
Orpheus bristled, but Eurydice shook her head at him and most willingly put the purse in the guardsman’s hand. She did not want him to wonder whether what she had done was arranged with the slaver to extract money and punishment from one who would not sell to him. In fact, the coins in the purse were not all copper. There was good silver in the mix, but the guardsman knew the full sum was nothing compared with what could be gained from selling so beautiful a child.
He returned the purse to her and said, “That was a true Finding, was it not?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “If you wish to have proof, ask for something of yours.”
He did, and she named the place where it was, hesitating a little, for he had not named a lost object but one he had himself hidden away for safekeeping. He looked at her hard for a moment.
“I have not seen your like before.”
She shrugged. “I am a good Finder.”
“I think the slaver knows that too,” the guardsman said, frowning, “and that you could find any other lost child—”
“Certainly,” Eurydice said. “Do you know a grieving parent? I would do it even without a fee.”
“I do not, but there will be more than a few to spread the word of your Finding and of how the child was returned. The news will come to every parent who has lost a child.” He looked away from Eurydice at Orpheus. “If you have a place to take her, get her off the street. I am not so clever that others will have any difficulty following the path of my thoughts. And the scia-Kyzikos will not be overjoyed about this, neither about harassing the slavers nor about interrogating them over any attack on the Finder.”
Orpheus gripped Eurydice firmly around the shoulders. “We have made enough trouble in Kyzikos,” he said. “Come.”
“Shall I send the troop to see you safe to your destination?” the guardsman asked.
“No.” Orpheus gestured with his head to the slaver’s compound behind them. “I do not think any will follow us or try to do us harm tonight. That would be like crying aloud who had committed the offense and we of the Argo have the king’s favor. I will keep her aboard the ship. She will be safe there.”
They went together to the end of the street, where the guardsmen turned left, Orpheus would have turned right, toward the eastern docks where the Argo lay, but Eurydice pulled him straight ahead toward the marketplace. All the wide avenues led to the marketplace and the slaver’s compound was no great distance from it. She told Orpheus that she must return her tent to her landlady and also warn the woman not to oppose the slaver’s men if they came to search for her. She expected a harder argument, but Orpheus agreed readily. He did not wish to leave any loose strings, he remarked, that might be used to pull Eurydice back into the town.
The watch that patrolled the marketplace came quickly when Eurydice began to remove her blanket and healing supplies from the tent. The headman recognized her, but inquired sharply why she was packing up in the middle of the night. She told him she was bonded and that her master—pointing her thumb over her shoulder to Orpheus—having found her was taking her back with him. The goods were hers and the watchman could not forbid her to take them, but he stood close with two of his men every moment while she packed them and Orpheus struck the tent to make sure that they took nothing that was not hers. And then a man followed them all the way to her landlady’s house.
“Now that was a piece of good fortune,” Orpheus said. “I would be happy enough if he waited and followed us to the ship.”
Eurydice nodded, but uncertainly. It was not that she would have objected to having an escort to the ship. She had not worried about being pursued by the slaver at first, but after they left the market, she wondered if she felt a different kind of animosity buried under the stronger, more overt, suspicion of the watchmen. She put the doubt aside while she explained to the woman from whom she rented her room what had happened.
The news was not welcome. Had Orpheus not been there and too strong for her, the woman would have tried to thrust Eurydice out into the street without letting her go up to her room. She would not have succeeded because Eurydice was quite determined not to leave the bundles of herbs and extra jars of unguents, the clothing she had bought, and, most importantly, in its own new leather bag, the red dress Orpheus had given her. However, she would have had to use a spell, and she was reluctant to do that. Orpheus’ glowering presence was much better.
They were somewhat heavily laden, and it had become so dark that Orpheus had insisted the woman give them a torch. By then, she was so frantic to be rid of them and so angry that Eurydice closed all her outer sensors to protect herself from the woman’s fear and animosity. And they were not very far from the ship. Orpheus would have returned to the marketplace, but Eurydice had covered the distance between her lodging and the Argo’s berth often enough while watching over Polyphemus’ and Koronus’ recovery that she knew a shorter route.
They almost made it to safety. They had entered a short, dark lane that intervened between a lively street of drinking houses and whorehouses and the wide, cobbled area from which the piers were extended. The torch was burning low, and Eurydice turned toward Orpheus to warn him to hold tight to both torch and bundles as the lane was a favorite with a cutpurse she knew well. She had taught that little thief a lesson once for trying to steal from her, and he was not dangerous. He simply grabbed what he could from anyone who looked unwary enough
not to fight back and fled to a tavern or a whorehouse.
“Watch—” she began and tripped over something soft just as Orpheus raised the guttering torch for better light.
Eurydice toppled forward, unable to move her feet, which seemed to be trapped by a large, inert object, or seek another way to balance, being hampered by the bag of unguent jars and the leather package containing her red dress. She fell soft, which saved the jars from breaking, but realized she had toppled onto a body, and shrieked aloud with shock. Meanwhile, Orpheus had promptly dropped the parcel of herbs he was carrying and bent to catch her. Instinct told him she would partially right herself and his hand grasped at the height where he expected to find her, but she had already fallen beyond his reach. As she cried out, he bent lower—and a club whistled through the air right where his head would have been.
Orpheus immediately threw the torch in the direction from which the blow had come, drew his sword, and shouted for Eurydice to run. His voice mingled with and overrode hers, casting aloud the look-past-me spell; that had no effect on the spell and disguised it from their attackers. They kept their attention on Orpheus, since no one “wanted” to notice her getting to her feet. She reached toward Orpheus, intending to reinvoke the spell for him, but someone rushing forward collided heavily with her and she staggered back in the direction in which Orpheus had thrown the torch.
It was still guttering faintly and caught her attention. Realizing she was too far away to reach Orpheus, she seized the torch and struck out viciously at one of the shadows closing in on him. That man stumbled to his knees. Almost simultaneously, another screeched as a blow from Orpheus’ weapon landed. The man who had collided with her was groping around on the ground, trying to find her. He jumped to his feet to join the attack. Eurydice opened her mouth to cry a warning, but it was not necessary. Orpheus had backed and half turned, showing he was aware of the new threat and Eurydice realized she could better help him if she were silent and kept her presence secret from their attackers.
Accordingly, she surged forward to bring the dead torch down as hard as she could on the head of the man who had fallen. It was not heavy enough to stun him for long, but it dazed him sufficiently to permit her to wrench his heavier club from his hand. This she used to strike him again, grinning with satisfaction as he fell face forward into the dirt.
The man Orpheus had wounded had turned his head at the meaty thunk Eurydice’s club made when it landed. His eyes slid past her to fix on the club and remained fixed with such tenacity that the weapon seemed to rise into the air all on its own. He stared with bulging eyes and open mouth watching the club approach him. A thin cry of terror mewled from him when he saw it rise above his head, but he remained, eyes fixed, unable to dodge the blow, and Eurydice had the pleasure of felling another. That cry, high and unnatural, finished the battle. The third man was distracted just long enough for Orpheus to slice to the bone the arm holding the club. The weapon fell to the ground and its wielder turned and fled.
Orpheus stood, gasping with effort and staring around. One man he knew he had wounded, but he had not thought the wound would hold him for long. And there was a second man lying on the ground not far from him. Could they have struck each other in the dark? He shook himself. This was no time to worry about that. Where was Eurydice? A second glance around made him stiffen with fear. A third body lay on the ground, protruding just enough from the shadow of the wall to be seen. A single long step took him close enough to see bare knobby legs, a man’s legs protruding from a short tunic. It was not Eurydice. For once, she had obeyed him and run.
Orpheus breathed a long sigh of relief, wiped his sword on the tunic of the dead man—and stood staring down as he slowly sheathed it. This one was dead, and he knew he had killed no one. He had better think about it later, he told himself. He did not wish to have to explain a dead body to the watch. They had redeemed themselves for the death of the old Kyzikos, but the new king was less tolerant and good natured, Orpheus thought, and it would be best not to create any more problems.
Atop the body was a sack. That reminded Orpheus of Eurydice’s fierce insistence on gathering up her supplies for healing. He had a momentary doubt that she would run away and leave them, but he shook that off. An irate renter was one thing to withstand, a battle another. But she would be grateful if he brought her belongings. He took the bag of unguent jars, and peered into the dark until he saw another sack. He bent, sniffed, nodded. The bag of herbs. Sighing with weariness, he picked that up and started toward the end of the lane.
Shocked and deeply hurt because Orpheus did not call out for her or seem to seek her—she could have been lying dead—Eurydice hurriedly dispelled the look-past-me spell. “Are you not going to wait for me?” she called.
“Eurydice?”
He looked around wildly, saw her standing off to the side holding a club in one hand and the leather parcel that contained her red dress in the other. How could he have missed her?
“What are you doing here?” he cried. “I told you to run.”
Almost as shocked as when she thought him indifferent to her fate, although what he said explained why he had not searched for her, Eurydice said, “Run? Run and leave you to fight alone?”
Before Orpheus could answer one of the men on the ground groaned. Eurydice whirled toward him, lifted the club, and brought it down hard. He lay still. She hesitated a moment, during which Orpheus was too stunned to react, then walked over and served the second man a similar portion.
“Eurydice!” Orpheus exclaimed.
“I am angry,” she said, and her voice shook. “They killed the little cutpurse.” She gestured at the knobby-kneed body Orpheus had seen. “He was a poor, timid little creature—harmless. He stole, but he did not injure. This was his place. Why should anyone kill him? Who are they?”
“I do not know,” Orpheus said, “but I think we should find out. They killed the thief to keep him quiet, I think. Perhaps I was wrong in my guess that the slaver would not try to punish you at once. Let us see if we can bind one of these men so I can drag him along with—”
He stopped abruptly, his head turning toward the mouth of the lane. Eurydice’s head was also turned as both became aware of a confused and steadily rising noise along the street of taverns. Orpheus seized Eurydice by the arm and began to run toward the dock area. She did not hold back, well aware that the frequenters of those places could be easily roused to attack a foreigner who had harmed one of their own. Both guessed that the man Orpheus had wounded had not fled for healing or to hide. He had run to the taverns where he doubtless had showed his wound and said that he had come upon Orpheus in the act of killing the thief. It was unlikely that the drunken denizens of the taverns, many themselves thieves, would question him. They would go out to revenge their own or for the sheer sport of hunting another man. They would not stay to listen to explanations.
The Argo was no great distance and Eurydice and Orpheus boarded her before anyone came out of the lane in which the thief lay dead and the two other unconscious. But they were still panting with their run when the mob erupted onto the docking area, making enough noise to rouse all the guards on the berthed ships. Eurydice was frightened, but the mob did not make directly for the Argo; it seemed that whoever had collected it either did not know to which ship she was bound or had thought better of leading an attack against what was virtually sacred in Kyzikos, the ships of traders.
Undirected, the mob soon broke apart without doing much damage. A few barrels were knocked over, a few coils of rope tangled. The watch arrived in strength before any organized group could break into any of the buildings. They cracked a few heads and drove the others off. Still, the disturbance was reported to Kyzikos, and Jason, a guest in the palace, heard. He returned to the Argo at once, to learn from the guards left aboard the ship whether there had been any attempt on her and Orpheus told him of Eurydice’s involvement with the slaver and his fight in the lane.
Jason cast up his eyes to heaven. “
I swear,” he said to Eurydice, “you should be made to carry a rattle and cry aloud that you carry contagion.” But he was grinning broadly and went on, “However, you have given me the excuse I needed to leave at once. This Kyzikos is a far different man from the last. He seeks, I think, to enlarge his kingdom and sees us as a welcome addition to his army. He was complaining to me about the insults he has received from his neighbor to the south and telling me how rich that kingdom is—a prelude, I suspect, to asking us to join him in overwhelming them. Since I have no desire to win another kingdom for Kyzikos and I have my own quest, you have made trouble at exactly the right time—unless you have another Seeing?”
“No,” Eurydice said. “Nor do I expect it. I have told you that I am not a Seer.”
“Then I will go make my explanations and farewells to King Kyzikos.” Jason smiled wryly. “I am sure he will be grateful for my willingness to leave to save him from conflict with the slavers. We may sail tomorrow afternoon or at the latest with the early tide the next morning. Eurydice, stay on the ship, and you too, Orpheus. And try not to get into any more trouble.”
Chapter Eleven
The trouble, when it came, had nothing whatsoever to do with either Eurydice or King Kyzikos. It started simply enough with a minor fracas instigated by Hylas, who had been particularly unwilling to come back to the ship. He and Heracles had been invited to be guests in the household of a high nobleman, who had been equally stricken by Hylas’ beauty and Heracles’ nearly superhuman feats during the fighting against the Gegeneis. He had loaded them with gifts and favors. Thus, when Polyphemus had come with a message from Jason summoning them back to the Argo to set sail at once, Hylas refused to go and appealed to his host to offer them an extended guest right.
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