The Sable City

by M. Edward McNally

  *

  The party had all understood the devil Balan’s voice as he promised them safe passage, and vowed that neither he nor his minions would do them any harm. Tilda did not believe the creature for a moment, and when Zeb relayed Nesha-tari’s assurances that the devil must adhere to the letter of all promises it made, she did not believe the Zant sorceress either.

  Nesha-tari was determined to go to the palace with the creature, and the Westerners would of course go with her. John Deskata said nothing, but plainly meant to go along as well. After exchanging several skeptical glances, Tilda, Zeb, and Brother Heggenauer joined the others rather than remain behind in the house.

  The party lit torches and followed Balan’s sparking hoof across the open ground around the palace, crossing an arching footbridge over a dry ditch along the way. As they approached the tall doors to the northernmost of the nine towers ringing the place, everyone but Nesha-tari readied their weapons. Tilda and Zeb moved to the front with their bows.

  The doors opened just as Balan approached them and the devil walked through to stand in the middle of a large open area, turning and beckoning to the party. Tilda glanced at Zeb, who met her eyes.

  “If this goes horribly wrong, will you do me a favor?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Shoot me first. Plumb in the head.”

  A single bark of laughter that sounded slightly hysterical snuck out of Tilda’s mouth before she pressed her lips together tightly.

  She and Zeb crept in, scanning the vast space all around which was mostly lost in shadows that reeked of ambush. Balan waited for them with a wide smile, and when they neared the edge of illumination from the torches on iron stands set around him, someone shouted Tilda’s name from across the room.

  Tilda drew her bow fully and sighted down the shaft on Balan’s forehead, as he was still the only target she could see. From the easy way the devil smiled back at Tilda she was sure a non-magical arrow would bounce off his head without leaving a scratch. Running footsteps against stone sounded from across the tower and behind the devil for the entire structure was hollow inside, and suddenly the Duchess Claudja Perforce of Chengdea was running past the torches, looking fresher and cleaner than she had any right to, and with her gray eyes open wide.

  Tilda could not bring herself to turn her bow on the Duchess, but Claudja must have seen the look of alarm in her eyes. The Duchess slid to a halt on the smooth flagstones while she was still several strides away.

  “Is this a trick?” Tilda barked. Claudja stared at her.

  “If it was, would I say so?”

  “Duchess Perforce,” Heggenauer said, his shield clanging against the back of his breastplate as he hurried forward, carrying a torch along with his mace.

  “Brother Heggenauer?” Claudja’s stunned eyes snapped between Tilda and the priest. “What are the two of you doing here?”

  “Um. It’s sort of a rescue,” Tilda said.

  Claudja kept staring at the two of them, and her narrow shoulders trembled one time.

  “That is the stupidest, kindest thing I’ve ever heard,” the Duchess said, then swept forward and hugged both Tilda and Heggenauer soundly. Tilda relaxed her drawn bow and Heggenauer held his torch away in time to avoid shooting the Duchess, or setting her on fire.

  “No trick,” Balan called from the center of the round chamber. “Consider it a gesture of good faith. Are anyone else’s eyes feeling misty?”

  “Where is the Wizard, Balan?” Nesha-tari demanded, and Tilda turned to look at her over Claudja’s arm.

  “Nesha-tari?” she asked.

  “What?” Nesha-tari said, still glaring at Balan.

  “I understand you.”

  Nesha-tari’s blue eyes turned to Tilda, and her fine brown eyebrows raised.

  “I understand you as well.”

  “That would also be my doing,” Balan called. “A simple enough spell, but one that greatly eases communication. In answer to your question, Madame Nesha-tari, the Circle Wizard is here. In my custody.”

  Claudja released Tilda and Heggenauer and spun on the devil, her clothes and face now dusty again from the hug.

  “He is upstairs, in this building. A room on the fifth floor.”

  “There you have it,” Balan held out a hand. “Your friend has seen him only moments ago, alive and well.”

  “Why do I doubt you will simply permit us to retrieve him, fiendish one?” Uriako Shikashe said grimly, causing everyone to stare at him.

  Balan nodded. “You are catching on, noble swordsman. First things first, we need to talk.”

  “What if we just want to go up and get him ourselves?” Deskata asked.

  “You won’t make it. Safe passage does not hold if you people attack us first.”

  “Tilda, what is going on? Who are these people?” Claudja asked. Tilda sighed.

  “Claudja…it’s such a long story. I don’t even know where to start.”

  They had spoken quietly, but Balan plainly heard them.

  “Take a minute and work it out. In fact, I think you all could use a little time before we get down to brass tacks.”

  The devil waved a hand and across the tower a smaller pair of double doors opened beneath a balcony, revealing a brightly-lit room with a table and chairs in the center. Several open doors lined the walls.

  “There are drawn baths waiting in the side rooms, enough for everyone unless you feel like doubling-up with a buddy. Help yourselves to the beverages and nibbles. Your friend can assure you that all of it is safe, as of course do I.”

  “I do not need a bath, Balan,” Nesha-tari sneered. The devil clutched its lapels and looked solemn.

  “Madame Nesha-tari, you know that I am unable to speak an untrue word. That being said, you do need a bath, Madame. The whole lot of you smell like a fire in a junkyard. No offense.”

  The party glanced around at each other, but no one raised a word of denial.

  “So there it is,” Balan clapped his hands. “Make use of our hospitality, or do not. I will leave you to your own devices for the time being, and return in an hour or so.”

  The devil turned and strode for the stairs. Tilda did not know if she should try to stop him, and looking around it did not appear anyone else did either. Balan halted himself at the foot of the stairs.

  “I should probably add that the various demons and daemons hereabouts are technically not my minions, nor are they under my control. Please do not go wandering around, for if you encounter any of them they will surely attack you out of hand.”

  Balan bowed again, then put a hand on the end of the banister, spun around it, and disappeared with a rustle of his coat tails.

  The party entered the rooms the devil had indicated, and though some of them may have had no intention of touching the food on the table nor of trying the waters, the temptation of it all was too much. Nesha-tari headed for a tub immediately and slammed the door shut behind her, and Zeb did not keel over after bolting several strips of salted venison. Everyone bathed and ate after that, and did what they could to beat the dust out of their clothes.

  After she had washed, Tilda sat at the table with Claudja and the two hurriedly covered what had happened to them both over the last several days. Tilda said she was sorry about Sir Towsan, and assured the Duchess that the Jobians in Camp Town had taken the knight to their temple in honor.

  “The men who killed him met justice,” Claudja said with her eyes hard, though she did not elaborate.

  “John will no doubt be pleased,” Tilda muttered.

  “Who is John?” Claudja asked, looking around the room. Zeb was trying to strike up a conversation with Shikashe, but the samurai was no less taciturn now that he could have communicated had he wanted to do so.

  “Oh. That is…Dugan,” Tilda said. She looked around, but the man in question was not in sight at the moment.

  “His first name is John?” Claudja blinked. “All that time on the Shugak raft, and I never knew that.”
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br />   “No, it is, but…his name…his name isn’t Dugan. He is not who I thought he was.”

  “Where is John Deskata?” Nesha-tari asked from where she sat in a chair against the wall, showing little interest in the food. Tilda still heard her words as they were spoken, in Zantish, and it was a very strange feeling to be able to understand them.

  “Is he not in there?” Heggenauer asked from further down the table, pointing at a closed door.

  “That’s Amatesu,” Zeb said, then gave up on talking to Uriako Shikashe and knocked on the only other closed door.

  “John,” he called. “The girls all want to wash your back.”

  Tilda lowered her eyes and smiled, and Claudja noticed. The Duchess raised an eyebrow at her and gave Zeb a more appraising look than she had when Tilda had introduced them. Zeb Baj Nif looked scarcely less scruffy than he had before washing.

  When there was no answer Zeb knocked harder, then pushed open the door.

  “Empty,” he said, and Tilda felt a sudden disquiet.

  Shikashe must have felt the same thing, for the samurai stood and barked Amatesu’s name at the one door that remained closed. The shukenja opened it and stepped out, looking embarrassed. Her long black hair hung straight to her waist, shining and clean, more lustrous and gorgeous than Tilda would have thought possible of the typically tangled mess.

  “There were herbs and soaps,” Amatesu said, sounding more guilty than she had when talking about her past as a ninja. “I did not mean to, I meant only…”

  “Is John in there with you?” Zebulon asked. Amatesu raised her eyes from the floor and frowned.

  “What? Of course not.”

  Tilda jumped up from the table, knocking over her chair. She called John Deskata’s name and rushed around to look in the other side rooms, but the man was nowhere to be found.