“So we’ll hire a guide.”
“Good idea.” He got a stubborn look on his face. “But first I’m going to buy a map. In this bookshop.”
“No way.” She inspected the crowd until she located her quarry. “That guy sells maps. Maybe he know about guides, too.”
“You wouldn’t know a map if it bit you.”
Well, cranky, ain’t he. Maybe he didn’t get enough sleep. She’d put out the lamp earlier tonight. “Ahm-Layel taught me to read maps.”
That shut him up. He glared at her and settled his weight hard on his crutches.
Such a little noodle brain. She grabbed both crutches in one hand and scooped him up around the waist with her other arm.
He cussed in some foreign language and beat on her arm with his little fists.
She strolled toward the map seller. The crowd parted before her like magic.
The kid cussed louder and kicked at her knees.
She hoisted him higher.
He squirmed and kicked her in the thigh. And howled. “Lightning blast it!”
“You bang your bad foot, kid?” Served him right for carrying on like a toddler tantrumming over spilled tea.
His head thumped back against her shoulder, but the rest of his body went limp. He breathed really hard through his mouth. “I hate you some days,” he whispered.
Now that wasn’t none called for. She was just trying to take care of him. Definitely lights out much earlier tonight.
He moaned and scratched at her arm. “I can’t breathe.”
His ribs likely were feeling kinda mashed. She hitched him up higher, until his butt rested on her hip bone. “Better?”
“Yeah.” He straightened up a bit. “Hey, the view is great up here. Now I really hate you.”
She laughed.
The crinkly old map seller stared up at her. The whites of his eyes showed all the way around. He mumbled something and bowed.
“Put me down.” The kid wiggled like he needed to pee.
“Hold still.” She hitched him up higher. “Where’re we headed next?”
He wiggled harder. “Put me down.”
“No way, kid.” She glared at the silver-robed guy behind the map seller until the creep backed away. “Where’re we headed?”
The kid sighed and tried to bow to the crinkly old guy. Only his shoulders moved. “Moyara-Dur.”
Crinkles’ whole face lit up like a toddler’s on his birthday. He yanked a roll of cloth out of his basket and waved it.
The kid mumbled something.
Crinkles’ face fell.
Five guys in silver robes inched closer. The crowd of shoppers flowed away, leaving them in a noisy bubble of bodies.
Lorel leaned the crutches against Crinkles’ basket and grabbed the map out of the old guy’s hand. “Pay him, kid.”
“There’s no details on it, bahtdor bait. We’ll get lost.”
“Ask him where we can get a guide. And pay him.”
He sighed and squirmed some more. His fingers poked at her arm. “I can’t reach my pocket. Put me down.”
Two of the slavers strolled closer. The two she’d messed with yesterday?
She set the kid on his foot and handed him his crutches. One hand eased back and settled on her long sword.
The slavers paused, looked hard at her face, and backed away.
Them miswoven Loom-breakers weren’t gonna stay away long. She had to get the kid out of here.
The kid handed Crinkles a coin and yakked at him.
Crinkles shook his head and held out a hand.
The kid glared over his shoulder at her, but reached into his pocket again. He waved a coin at Crinkles and muttered something about Moyara-Dur.
Crinkles waved his hands, stomped his feet, and talked faster than a whore on Pleasure Street, but eventually accepted the coin.
“He says guides wait for clients near the fountain shaped like a seahorse.” The kid folded up the map like a tea towel and stuffed it inside his shirt. “Over that way.” He pointed north.
Seems like she’d seen a tavern over by the fraying seahorse. That’s probably where he meant.
A dozen silver-robed slavers watched them from a building to their left. What were those guys? Why didn’t nobody kick them out? None of the locals seemed to like them, but they didn’t bother the frayed threads either.
It was time to get the kid out of range of their grimy paws. “Lead the way, kid. I want outta town before noon.”
Chapter 21.
Late in the afternoon, five days later, they sat at a ferry crossing in a swampy, swarming jungle crossed by a sluggish, mile-wide river. Ferns taller than his so-called bodyguard grew at the edges of the dock. Glittering fish wiggled through the slimy, muddy water. The stench of rotted plants hovered around them, thicker than the bugs that buzzed around their ears.
Viper glanced up at Lorel. Did she blame him for the mess they were in? He hoped not. It definitely wasn’t his fault.
Toranan-Yiet’s seaport had been wonderful. Exotic, noisy, vital. It sang in the blood and roared in the ears. It was sensual, wonderful, chimerical.
Lorel was bored.
After three days in the city, she was passionately bored. “Ain’t nothing here but pickpockets and vegetable sellers, kid. And all you do is buy books and read. Or chatter at strangers and never tell me what they said.”
He’d planted his crutches on the tiled pavement and glared up at her. “I did so translate for you. It would help if you learned the language. The city’s more fun that way. If you’d let me teach you–”
“I got enough trouble with Zedisti. I wanna leave this smelly dump.”
She’d won the argument.
The decision to leave Toranan-Yiet without a guide seemed simple. They’d both been shocked by the extravagant rates the natives charged. He’d wanted to part with pride and hire a local guide, but she refused to part with the silver purchased with a few of Emil’s gems. She insisted that his hastily-acquired map was good enough to see them through.
He’d lost the argument.
Which was why they were sitting at a ferry crossing in a steamy, insect-infested jungle and staring at a sluggish, indecently wide river. For five days he’d limped through the jungle, fighting to keep his injured foot dry, and sinking up to his crutches’ cross braces. But Lorel hadn’t had to carrying him even once. There was a victory in that, somewhere.
If only he could announce the victory of reaching Moyara-Dur before Lorel jumped off her Shuttle.
They had a vague map, a distant goal, and no idea of where on that map they – or their goal – might currently be.
The village on the far side of the river was not marked on the map. The river was not marked on the map. He felt quite indignant about the oversight.
A cloud of gnats hovered around Lorel’s head and bare arms. They danced like tiny acrobats over her skin, alighting for one prickly instant before flitting away. Just what the stubborn mulehead deserved for tearing her sleeves out of her shirt.
Viper eased himself down to sit on the mossy, spongy dock, a couple of paces away from her. The insects ignored him entirely. Was that a side-effect of his magic? Or the fact that he was male? Or did the scorpion venom make him taste bad? He wished he could run a few experiments to find the answers.
“Them bugs are gonna fray my thread to tatters.” Lorel slapped her arms, her face, her neck. She did look rather bruised. “I can’t hardly breathe, but I’m sucking in bugs. Where’s that ferry?”
“It’ll get here. And it’s your own fault that we’re not some place comfortable.”
She reached out, grabbed his neck, and pretended to strangle him. Her arms were longer than he’d guessed, or he’d have sat farther away.
“All right, all right,” he squeaked. “I’ll try to get rid of the gnats, but you have to let me concentrate.”
Lorel groaned, let him go, and closed her eyes.
Viper smiled when he realized that she was counting. He h
adn’t managed to annoy her that much since … since the scorpion stung him. Maybe she’d finally start treating him like a normal person instead of a little kid who needed bullying.
Right now he’d better get rid of the gnats before she decided he was making fun of her.
“Pesten, geweggehe–
“Git ut af siht.
“Thy praesentia unwanted
“Put yn horied fliht.”
The clouds of insects drifted away as though they followed a walking body.
She sighed gustily. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure.” He rubbed the back of his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Make sure you don’t ask me to chant if anybody’s around to hear.”
“Ain’t nobody here.”
“Now there is.” He jerked his chin to the path behind them.
A swordsman strode down the path and joined them. He wore only a silk hip-wrap, like all local men, with his sword belted over it, but the fabric was woven in blue and gold diagonal stripes instead of flowers. His chest was crisscrossed with scars. His aura glimmered in diamond-bright intensity.
This wasn’t someone Viper wanted to annoy.
Lorel nodded to the man, but he ignored her.
Her face turned red.
Thunderer, don’t let the turybird cause a scene. At least the ferry had finally left the far bank. Maybe that would calm her down.
She leaned back and stared at the approaching flatboat. Her face was purple by the time it arrived.
Viper felt the blood drain out of his own face. What had put her in such a temper? They weren’t that lost.
The swordsman jumped on the ferry before it was fully docked, calling, “Ike, Isoge.”
That must be Duremen-Lor, but he didn’t recognize either word.
The ferryman glanced at them, hesitant but preparing to push off from the bank.
Lorel hustled their gear on board before the frightened ferryman could make a decision.
Viper crutched along as fast as he could on the slippery dock. He handed the ferryman their fare and thumped to the nearest bench. “Please, turybird, sit down and be quiet.”
Not a chance of that. His gyrfalcon marched up to the newcomer, who was only as tall as her shoulder. “You must think you’re fraying important. As rude as you are, you gotta be mighty high.”
The swordsman ignored her.
“I challenge you to a duel!” she bellowed.
He finally looked up at her. “You must be all of fifteen,” he said in thickly accented Zedisti. “Why are you determined to die at the hands of a stranger?”
Lorel spat into the water. “I’m seventeen and I will not die. Will you?”
Who was she kidding? She was only fourteen. Did she have to lie to show off these days?
The swordsman shrugged. He barked instructions to the ferryman and pointed to an island in the middle of the river.
“Hai, tomodachi.” The ferryman poled the boat toward the island.
Hai meant yes. He thought the other word meant sir or lord, but he wasn’t sure. Had he forgotten all his Duremen-Lor? Trevor would be ashamed of him.
He hadn’t really forgotten, surely. Lorel had frazzled his wits clear out of his head. Viper reached out one crutch and swatted her shins. “Have you been chewing blue-mantle mushrooms, turybird? When did you get so stupid?”
Lorel stepped out of reach, all her attention on the swordsman. “Somebody gotta teach that frayed thread a lesson, kid. It’ll only take a minute.”
He rolled his eyes and tried to resurrect a forgotten chant to the Thunderer, but couldn’t remember the beginning. What had he done to be stuck with a stinking chunk of bahtdor bait as a bodyguard? Once the swordsman was done with her, he’d be lucky if there was enough of her left to scoop into a slops bucket.
The ferryman poled up to the island. Frogs skittered away from the flatboat and plopped into the river.
The swordsman flexed his wrists, loosening his muscles. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his back.
Lorel kicked her pack closer to Viper and jumped off the ferry. She strutted to the center of the muddy lump of brush and rock. “Come on, I’m ready,” she shouted.
“That’s nice.” The swordsman took the pole away from the ferryman and pushed away from shore. “Goodbye.” He handed the pole back to its owner.
Lorel shouted obscenities at the departing boat.
The ferryman did not look back. Viper couldn’t blame the poor man. He wouldn’t go back for her himself right now.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do without your friend tonight.” The swordsman gestured at the deck. “This is the last ferry until morning.”
“I was afraid you’d slice the turybird into jerky. She’s got no more fear than a rock.” He leaned back and laughed. Of all the silly stunts she’d pulled, this one rode the bahtdor. She was lucky the bahtdor-swordsman hadn’t killed her. Actually, he was lucky. How could he travel onward without her?
“What did you call her, a turybird?” The man glanced back at the island. “What exactly is a turybird?”
“A tall, fearless, brainless, comical lump of feathers. With long, sharp claws.”
“Good name for her. She is unique.” The swordsman leaned against the rail and chuckled. “I hate to think there could be two like her.”
Viper laughed.
The boat was nearing the shore when it occurred to him he had a problem. How was he going to get Lorel off that island?
The swordsman jumped off the ferry before it stopped moving and strode off into the village.
The ferryman hopped to the dock and grabbed a thick rope.
“Your pardon, sir,” Viper said in Duremen-Lor. “What will you charge to go back to the island?”
“To get crazy girl?” The old man shook his head vehemently. “I not that stupid, not me.”
After her temper tantrum, he didn’t blame the poor man. But someone in the village must be willing to go fetch his turybird. If he paid them enough.
Viper waited until the boat was tied down, but it was moored a solid two feet from the dock. All he needed was to fall in without Lorel there to fish him out again.
“Your pardon, sir.” He hobbled as close to the edge of the boat as he could. “Could you assist me?”
The old man glanced at his crutches, nodded, and reached out his hand. A surprisingly strong hand. He grabbed Viper’s belt and swung him across the gap like a bag of dried seaweed.
Before Viper could catch his breath, the old man hopped back on his ferry and tossed their gear at him, the mandolin first, Lorel’s harp case, and his own pack.
Viper hastily set each at his feet.
The old man hoisted Lorel’s pack and weighed it in his hands. “What you got in here? Bag of gold?”
“No gold, I’m sad to say.” Many of the gems in that pack were worth more than gold. “Just tools of the trade.”
The old man sighed and lobbed the pack at him.
It thudded against his chest and knocked him flat on his back. His heels banged against the dock.
Agony shot up from his injured foot. Screaming red pain burst up his leg, through his groin, out his shoulders. He didn’t even feel his head hit the ground.
When he could see again, he found the ferryman sitting next to him.
“You one tough little cuss.” The old man grinned and patted his shoulder. “Never made sound. You awake now?”
More or less. He forced himself to sit up and take account. All their gear was still there. How amazing.
The pain was still there, too, but he could breathe again. And he was only seeing double. It would do. He grabbed a crutch and tried to lever himself upright.
The old man patted his shoulder again, stood, and hauled Viper to his feet. He handed him his other crutch and loaded both instrument cases on his back, plus the knapsack, but he shook his head at Lorel’s pack. “I see why you keep crazy girl. Need water buffalo to carry this.”
“I’ll look into getting one.”
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The old man nodded and walked away before Viper could offer him a tip. Or ask him for more help. How was he going to get Lorel off that island?
Nearby, a woman knelt in a fishing boat, glancing at him and grinning. Her lavender wrap was scantier than those worn in Toranan-Yiet, and it displayed her hard-muscled arms and midriff. By Zedisti standards her clothing was so indecent she’d be jailed. She was short and slender, but the pulsing vitality of her aura made her seem far larger. Her gray-streaked hair was cut short, but there was no chance of mistaking her for a man.
She was both intriguing and terrifying. And she was the only person in a boat in sight. She might be scary, but she was his best bet to rescue Lorel.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” He bowed formally, or as formally as he could while standing on one foot and balanced on a pair of slime-coated crutches. “Could I rent your boat for an hour?” He shouldn’t need more than that. How hard could it be to row a little boat? Lorel could row it on the way back.
The fisherwoman looked up from scrubbing the deck of her skiff and eyed him critically. “Why?”
“My friend is stranded on the island.”
She raised one eyebrow.
He writhed in embarrassment. Why did Lorel keep putting him in these situations? He’d think of some way to get even with the turybird. “I need to go and get her.”
“What she do to make Bai’kal dump her out there?”
“Oh, the ferryman didn’t. The swordsman did it.”
The fisherwoman laughed. “This is one story I need to hear. My name is Olgi’naifu. You are …?”
“I’m called Viper.” He said the word in Zedisti, and she didn’t react, praise the Thunderer. No point in muddying the pool any more than he had to. “Please, will you help me?”
“Be patient, man-child.”
How could he be patient when Lorel was stranded? And while his foot was sticking acid-coated swords up his leg. He must have reopened the wound when he fell, though he couldn’t tell through his boot. He didn’t feel any blood on his sock. That was good, right?
The blasted thing had to heal sooner or later. How much bigger could a little scorpion sting get?
Olgi’naifu put away her cleaning tools and rechecked the skiff. She tugged on the ropes and the nets. Finally she climbed onto the dock and scooped up Lorel’s pack. Her eyebrows rose. “Foolish girl good for carrying big loads, anyway. You sure you want her?”
Sorcery's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 2) Page 22
