The Black Bouquet

by Richard Lee Byers

  Sefris shifted just inside Nicos’s field of vision, stepping so stealthily that the small man probably hadn’t even noticed. Her change of expression was just as subtle. Her calm, inscrutable expression was essentially just the same as ever, yet something in her steady gaze conveyed the promise of hideous retribution if he continued on his present course.

  It nearly intimidated him, but not quite. It felt too good to strike back at his tormentors, no matter what the eventual cost.

  “Kesk is conspiring with that woman there.” Nicos indicated Sefris with a nod and continued, “She’s a Shar worshiper, a monk … or nun … whatever you call the women … of the Dark Moon. I imagine you know your treasure was plunder taken from one of the cult’s hidden temples. They sent her to get it back.”

  “Liar,” said Kesk. “She’s just another Red Axe.”

  “Fair enough,” said the man in the green cloak. “I suppose, then, that she wears your brand?”

  “She just joined,” the tanarukk said. “We haven’t gotten around to it.”

  The stranger reached into one of the pockets of his mantle, produced a copper piece, and made it vanish and reappear like a mountebank performing on a street corner. He murmured an incantation behind his scarf, and magic sighed through the air.

  “Well, now,” the wizard muttered.

  “What?” Kesk asked.

  “I’m listening to other people’s thoughts. The prisoner’s. Hers. Yours.”

  The tanarukk jerked, as did his axe, and he said, “How dare you …”

  “Oh, calm down. I’m the one with a legitimate grievance, because it’s all true. Dark Sister Sefris is an agent of the Dark Moon, and you and she have been plotting behind my back. The only reason I’m not more upset is that you haven’t yet decided which of us you truly mean to betray. I’m afraid the time has come to choose. I can’t continue our arrangement until I’m sure I can trust you.”

  “If I decide against you, merchant, you won’t leave this house alive.”

  “I assumed as much. You could have killed me back in my study, and you were alone then. I’m certain you, your henchmen, and the Dark Sister working together can manage the job. But I’m still willing to press the issue to see it resolved.”

  “So be it,” Sefris said. “Kesk, I’ve told you what I offer. A fortune in gems, and the guarantee of future aid from a secret society feared the world over for its power and guile.”

  “Show me the jewels,” the tanarukk said. “Show me just one of them.”

  “I don’t have any of them on my person,” Sefris said, “but they’re real enough, I assure you.”

  “She’s lying,” the wizard said. “I can see it in her mind.”

  Kesk snorted, a nasty, porcine sound. Slobber, brown from the sausage, dripped down his chin.

  “What else would you say,” the tanarukk challenged, “when you’re trying to turn me against her?”

  “Well,” said the mage, “consider this, then. I may be a scoundrel by some people’s standards, but I’m not lunatic enough to worship the Dark Goddess. She is. Which of us is likely to prove more dependable?”

  “I sought power,” Sefris said to Kesk, “and took it where I found it. I don’t believe we’re so different in that regard.”

  “Maybe not,” the tanarukk admitted.

  “You differ in at least one way,” said the man with the cane. “She’s an outlander. She came to Oeble for The Black Bouquet, and when she has it, she’ll leave. At that point, what becomes of any promises she made you? Why should she keep them, or spare you another thought? I, on the other hand, am like you. I live in this city. I’ve built something here, and will bide here the rest of my days to enjoy and protect it. That means it’s in my best interests to deal fairly with you. If I don’t, you can always find me to retaliate.”

  “That makes sense,” said Kesk. “But this is twice you’ve tried to muck around inside my head with magic. I didn’t like it either time, and I do like emeralds and ghost stones.”

  Leering, he lifted his axe, then suddenly pivoted and struck at Sefris.

  She skipped back out of range, and the weapon whizzed harmlessly passed her. Her foot snapped out and caught Kesk in the chest. Despite the squat massiveness of him, the attack slammed him staggering backward.

  “Get her!” the tanarukk roared.

  The Red Axes snatched out their knives and swords and rushed in.

  Nicos wouldn’t have imagined that anyone could survive such an onslaught, but Sefris dodged and sidestepped unpredictably. When the Red Axes veered to compensate, they stumbled into one another’s way. Somehow her hands and forearms deflected sharp steel without being cut, while her punches, elbow strikes, and kicks thudded home to stun or injure one orc, bugbear, or human assailant after another. As she fought, she gradually retreated toward the row of windows. In her place, Nicos would have done the same. It was the best escape route available.

  She was nearly there when the small man reached inside his mantle, produced a silver dirk, brandished it, and chanted words of power. Another knife, this one made of blue light, shimmered into existence, floating in the air before him. At first it was so vague and ghostly that Nicos could hardly make out what it was supposed to be, but it became more clearly defined, somehow more real, by the second. Nicos surmised that in another instant, when it was substantial enough, it would fly at Sefris and attack her.

  The monastic simultaneously ducked the swing of a scimitar, rattled off a rhyme, and swirled her hand through a mystic pass. The floating knife blinked out of existence like a puffed-out candle flame.

  She then shifted in close to the Red Axe with the scimitar, grabbed him by the sword arm, pivoted, and flung him at the row of windows. The outlaw crashed through one of the panes and plummeted out of sight.

  Kesk had been maneuvering frantically, trying to bull his way past his own men and get at Sefris. When she tossed the swordsman through the glass, she finally cleared a path. The tanarukk charged in and swung his axe. Nicos was sure that if the weapon connected, it would kill her, her sorcerous and combat skills notwithstanding. Even a warrior in plate armor couldn’t have withstood that mighty chop.

  Her expression as calm as ever, Sefris swayed backward like a reed in a breeze, and the stroke missed. She hooked Kesk’s ankle with her foot and jerked his leg out from under him, staggering him for a moment. She used the time to scurry to the broken window, where a few triangular shards of glass still hung around the frame. She dived through the opening headfirst. Nicos assumed that, agile as she was, she managed a safe plunge into the river below.

  For a second, the Red Axes and the wizard in green simply stared at the shattered window as if unable to believe Sefris had truly succeeded in escaping.

  Kesk roared, “Useless! Useless, the lot of you!”

  Spit flew from his mouth. His men quailed before his anger—or rather, most of them did. Sefris had kicked one skinny fellow in the head early on, after which he’d lain insensible on the floor. That one lifted himself up on one elbow and rubbed his temple.

  “What?” he mumbled, drooling a little. “What happened?”

  “You let her get away!” Kesk replied. “Just like Aeron! Just like everybody!”

  He charged. The battle-axe hurtled down and split the human’s pinched, petulant-looking face from scalp to chin.

  The tanarukk wrenched the weapon free, spattering blood and brains in the process.

  “Find them!” the tanarukk commanded. “Aeron sar Randal and that monk-bitch, too!”

  Most of the Red Axes, even those still dazed or in pain from Sefris’s attacks, hastily exited the room.

  “It’s unfortunate the monastic escaped,” said the man in green, “but the important thing is that we kept our partnership from foundering.”

  Kesk spun around to face him and grumbled, “You miserable … You’re supposed to be a wizard, but you were just as worthless as the rest of them.”

  “I’m sorry about that, but I’m not a
battle mage. Just a dilettante, when you get right down to it. I don’t have any experience fighting other spellcasters, whereas Sefris manifestly does. She dispelled my sending before I could, ah, send it. If need be, I’ll do better next time. Meanwhile, we mustn’t lose sight of the fact that our objective is still to lay hands on the Bouquet, not chase a Shar worshiper around town.”

  “I wish I’d never heard of the cursed book. Or you.”

  “You won’t say that when it makes you the richest, most powerful outlaw in the Border Kingdoms. Sefris’s gems were just a fantasy, but the joyous tomorrow you and I are going to share is quite real.”

  “It had better be.” Short and burly as he was, the tanarukk only had to stoop a little to stick his wild-boar face close to Nicos’s. “Now, old man, you’re going to learn a lesson about speaking out of turn. What Sefris put you through is nothing compared to what I’m going to do.”

  Nicos was pleasantly surprised to discover that, for whatever reason, he wasn’t frightened.

  He sneered back at his captor, “Go ahead. It’s like the Shar cultist told you. I won’t have to endure it for long. My heart will give out under the strain.”

  Kesk backhanded Nicos across the face. But only once, then he wrenched himself away.

  I keep worrying about the hobgoblin,” Miri said.

  Aeron asked, “How’s that?”

  He scanned the crowd in the street ahead. Many folk had covered up their heads against the drizzle, which made the task of spotting Kesk’s henchmen more difficult. Still, it appeared that all the people in the immediate vicinity were law-abiding sorts scurrying off to their jobs, and that made sense. Most of Oeble’s outlaws slept in the morning. In fact, Aeron looked forward to doing the same, but he and Miri had one more stop to make first.

  “Will the creature really help the other slaves run away,” she said, “or will it betray them? It is goblin-kin, after all. I’m sure it has no love for the civilized races.”

  Miri had stayed awake as long and worked as hard as Aeron, but she still seemed relatively fresh. It was as if the rising of the sun, which generally made him yawn, had infused her with fresh vitality.

  He snorted and said, “Goblin-kin. Of course. I bet your fingers were just itching to shoot the creature, and never mind that it risked its neck to help me fight the mantis.”

  “I didn’t say it was inconceivable that it would keep its word. Nor do I relish killing, whatever you think. I certainly took no joy in shooting your friends.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” he said sardonically.

  They swung around a mule-drawn wagon heaped with bags of flour, the product of one of the mills upriver.

  “I didn’t,” she insisted, “and … I’m sorry I didn’t try to rescue your father when the Red Axes were kidnapping him. I shouldn’t have let Sefris talk me out of it. It’s this place. It makes me doubt my instincts. It even makes it hard to know right from wrong.”

  He shook his head in puzzlement and asked, “Is Oeble truly so much fouler than other towns?”

  “You’ve never visited another?”

  “Not a big one, just little villages hereabouts.”

  Miri took a long stride to avoid stepping in a puddle.

  “Well,” she said, “Oeble is the worst I’ve seen. I’ll admit, though, I’ve never visited a city that didn’t make my skin crawl. They all have their dirt, crowds, and stenches. That’s why I’m a scout.”

  “Because cities spook you?”

  “Because as a ranger, you spend most of your time in the parts of the world that are worth living in: forests, mountains, rivers, the prairies, and the sea.”

  He grinned and said, “Without a soft bed or a mug of beer to be had for leagues in any direction.”

  She smiled back.

  “You don’t miss easy living once you lose the habit,” she said. “Not that I ever had it much, growing up on a little farm on the edge of the wilderness. Haven’t you ever wanted to roam, and see wonders you could never even have imagined?”

  “Everything I want is right here in Oeble.”

  It was true, but just for a moment, Aeron wondered whether he might discover something more to desire if only he opened up his eyes.

  Ombert Blackdale’s thick-built brownstone drum of a tower came into view around the next bend, and the sight banished the peculiar, wistful thought from his mind.

  “That’s it,” he said, pointing.

  Miri peered at it and said, “I don’t see any sentries.”

  “I don’t either, yet, but Ombert will have somebody keeping an eye out. He always does. Not that it matters.”

  “True, considering that we’re proposing to serve ourselves up to him on a platter.”

  “You know,” Aeron said, “you don’t need to come inside. I can do this by myself.”

  “I’ll stick with you.”

  “To help me fight my way out again if necessary?”

  “That, and to keep you from deciding our alliance is a mistake, and skipping out the back door.”

  He chuckled and said, “You’re finally learning to think like somebody who belongs in Oeble.”

  “That’s an insult, but I’ll let it pass.”

  They headed for the tower and climbed the three steps to the entrance, a high, arched oaken panel with a smaller door, scarcely taller than waist high, inset in the larger one. Aeron clanked the wrought iron knocker up and down, and they waited.

  After a time, Miri said, “Maybe they decided they don’t want any part of our problems.”

  “Or maybe,” Aeron replied, “they need a couple minutes to ready their trap.”

  She scowled and said, “If you actually think th—”

  The full door swung open, and a stocky man with waxed, upturned mustachios frowned out.

  “Get inside,” he grunted

  Aeron stepped through, and Miri followed. Beyond the threshold was a gloomy, windowless anteroom.

  “Now give me your weapons,” the stocky man said.

  “I’m here to see Ombert Blackdale,” Aeron replied. “He knows me. We’ve pulled jobs together.”

  “He knows who’s come calling,” said the tough, “and he told me either to collect your blades or send you on your way.”

  Aeron sighed. He hadn’t expected to win that particular argument, but it had been worth a try. He handed over all his Arthyn fangs except for one throwing knife he was currently carrying strapped to his forearm beneath his sleeve. By itself, it was a slim defense, but better than nothing.

  Glowering, plainly not liking it one little bit, Miri surrendered her sword, bow, quiver, and dirk. The ruffian hung everything on a pegboard, then led the visitors deeper into the tower. His heart pounding, Aeron waited for other outlaws to rush out at them.

  They didn’t.

  The inhabitants of the well-kept, lavishly furnished spire eyed the newcomers speculatively, but made no effort to interfere with them. Most of the folk who were still awake were smaller even than gnomes like Burgell, smaller than many human children, and that was as Aeron expected. The Lynxes were notorious for being Oeble’s preeminent halfling gang, though they did occasionally recruit a representative of another race. Like Kesk, they’d invited Aeron once upon a time, but unlike the tanarukk, hadn’t taken offense when he declined.

  The stocky ruffian led the visitors up a flight of stairs. The climb felt awkward, because the risers were too low and shallow for long human legs and feet. Still, Aeron managed the ascent without stumbling. At the top, they found the leader of the Lynxes seated at a halfling-sized table tucking into a breakfast substantial enough for a giant.

  Ombert Blackdale had the straight, shiny raven hair, luxuriant sideburns, and pleasant features characteristic of his kind. In his case, a round face and a sprinkle of freckles contributed to the general appearance of amiability. Despite the short sword lying ready to hand among his silverware and fine porcelain crockery, he scarcely looked the part of an outlaw chieftain, but anyone familiar with O
eble’s criminal element could attest to the fact that he was almost as dangerous a felon as Kesk, though he lacked the latter’s instinct for sheer viciousness.

  “Good morning, Aeron!” the halfling called. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Miri Buckman of the Red Hart Guild,” the ranger replied.

  Ombert frowned and asked, “The same guide who killed Kerridi and the others?”

  “Yes,” Aeron said, “but I can’t afford to care about that right now.”

  “If you say so,” Ombert said with a shrug. “They were your friends. Welcome to the both of you, then. Will you join me? I like a good breakfast before I turn in, and I think Cook made enough for a couple more plates.”

  The twinkle in his blue eyes said he understood very well that the kitchen had prepared enough eggs, toast, ham, bacon, and slices of apple and melon to feed a dozen.

  Aeron hadn’t eaten since the start of the previous night, and the steaming food both looked and smelled appetizing. He opened his mouth to accept the invitation, and it occurred to him: What if something was drugged? That would explain why the Lynxes hadn’t tried to overwhelm him and Miri by force of arms. They knew an easier way to take them prisoner.

  Yet he’d decided to gamble on Ombert. Otherwise, he and Miri wouldn’t be there at all. It made no sense to go that far, then risk offending the halfling by declining his hospitality.

  Accordingly, Aeron said, “Thanks, we could use a meal. I’m afraid these cloaks are wet …”

  “Toss them anywhere,” Ombert said. “Someone will come around to clean up after us.”

  The little chairs were hopeless for full-grown humans. Aeron realized that he and Miri would do better sitting or kneeling on the floor. She looked entirely comfortable in that attitude. He supposed scouts were used to taking their meals without the benefit of any sort of furniture.

  The food was delicious, and nourishment seemed to push back his weariness a little. That was good. He wanted his wits sharp for the conversation to come.