Taking Flight loe-5

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  Kelder nodded, turning his whole attention back to Irith. The whole thing made sense, so far, except for one little detail.

  “That was more than two hundred years ago, though,” he said. “They must have sold it all off long ago!”

  “Well, of course they did, silly!” Irith agreed. “But they bought other stuff, or made it, and they’re all still buying and selling. And since this was the biggest cache of magical supplies in the entire World for so long, it’s still where magicians come to buy and sell, a lot of the time. Not just magicians, either. And the people here make things, too — they make glass here better than anywhere else, better even than Ethshar of the Sands. There are miners who bring in jewels from the desert to sell here, too. Let’s see...” She paused to think.

  Kelder waited.

  “Well, glass,” she said, “I said that. And sorcerers’ stuff, and supplies for wizards except you can get most of those in Ethshar just as well now, and medicines, I think — some of them — and perfumes, they make wonderful perfumes here, and there are dyes — all kinds of stuff.” She shrugged. “It used to be nicer, actually. Business has dropped off a lot since I first came here.”

  “They must be expensive,” Kelder said. “I mean, it’s a long way to come, all the way out here.” He remembered another unexplained detail, and asked, “So where did all the buyers come from, anyway? We didn’t see anywhere near this many people on the way...”

  “It’s the off season,” Irith said. “It’s much more crowded than this sometimes!”

  Kelder looked about at what must have been several hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people.

  “A lot of people don’t come by the highway,” Irith continued. “The wizards fly, or use some other kind of magic to get here. People from all over the eastern Small Kingdoms come overland to Dhwerra and get the highway from there, and they would all have gotten here hours ago, so we wouldn’t have seen them on the road. And there are other ways, magical ways, I think — I’ve heard stories about tunnels under the desert.”

  “Oh,” Kelder said. “But what do they all eat? Where do they stay?”

  “Oh, there are places to stay,” Irith said. “Inns for the customers, tenements for the natives. And they get their food by magic, mostly.”

  While this discussion had been taking place, Asha had rather blearily wandered over toward a nearby merchant’s stall.

  “Oooh!” she exclaimed, distracting Kelder and Irith. “Look!”

  The two looked.

  Asha had lifted the velvet cover from a glass sculpture of a dragon; the creature sparkled vivid gold in the yellow lamp-light. Its jaws were open in silent rage, crystal fangs glittering; it stood crouching on three taloned feet, the fourth raised to strike, claws outstretched. Its tail wound gracefully to a needle-sharp point, and its wings, like sheets of ice, swept up and back, ready to bear it instantly aloft.

  Kelder found himself drawn to it.

  Irith looked, but called, “It’s getting late, and I’m really hungry; can we get some dinner now? And find somewhere to sleep?”

  Kelder and Asha stared at the glass dragon.

  “Kelder?” Irith called. “Come on, let’s get something to eat!”

  Kelder reluctantly tore himself away. “Did you see this thing, Irith?” he called.

  She shrugged. “Not that one,” she said, “but I’ve seen others. I’ve been here before, Kelder, lots of times. You can make lots of nice things out of glass.”

  “Nice things” seemed a rather inadequate description, to Kelder — he thought the dragon was quite spectacular. He didn’t argue, though.

  He did hesitate.

  “It will still be there after we eat,” Irith pointed out, and Kelder tore himself away.

  “Come on, Asha,” he called. “Let’s get dinner.”

  The little girl hesitated, as Kelder had. He reached out and took her hand and led her away.

  Following Irith’s lead they headed out of the square to the northwest, pushing their way through the wall of traders under the first ring of columns.

  Once they had pierced that veil, Kelder suddenly saw what Irith had meant about the off season and a decline in business.

  The arcades and merchants’ stalls still continued as far as Kelder could make out, but now he could see that many of them were empty. Some of the merchants who were there were sitting alone and ignored, without a patron in sight.

  And many of them did not look at all prosperous; Kelder could see men and women who were dirty and unkempt and tired. Some were slouched against pillars, or curled up on the ground asleep, not even pretending to look for customers any more. All this had been hidden by the crowd in the central square.

  It struck him as odd that so many people should be clustered there, rather than spread more evenly throughout the market; he said as much to Irith.

  She shrugged. “Well, the galleries around the square are where those new caravans are — probably a lot of the people doing the buying are really the merchants from these other places.” She waved a hand at the largely-vacant inner arcades.

  “I didn’t see the...” Kelder began, and then he stopped.

  He had been about to say that the caravan they had followed should be there somewhere, if new caravans were what attracted customers, but before he could finish the sentence he spotted something.

  Far off to the right, to the northeast of the market, he could see a face impossibly high up, almost brushing against the stone arch overhead, torchlight from below lighting it unpleasantly. And it was only a face, with no body below.

  He blinked, and realized that he was looking at a head on a pike — a fairly fresh head. That presumably meant that the caravan they wanted was right there; in fact, the head he was looking at might well be Abden’s. Asha’s brother.

  He chewed on his lower lip for a second or two, considering.

  His stomach growled, deciding him; he wouldn’t point the caravan out just yet. Being Asha’s champion could wait a little.

  “You didn’t see what?” Irith asked.

  “Nothing,” he lied. “Do you know someplace good to get something to eat?”

  “Of course,” she said. “This way.”

  She pointed ahead, down a colonnade lined with crates and barrels. A table a few paces away displayed tall green bottles — wine, Kelder assumed. At least some of the barrels were presumably full of spirits, as well — this particular arcade would seem to specialize in strong drink. He glanced down at Asha, remembering what she had said about her father.

  She was staring ahead rather fixedly, not at the bottles or barrels, but at a man who lay sprawled against a pillar.

  Kelder grimaced, and looked ahead.

  That first drunk was not the last; others were sitting or lying here and there along the arcade. In fact, there were about as many drunks as there were vintners.

  Annoyed, Kelder wondered why the merchants didn’t shoo these sorry specimens away. He quickly reconsidered, however, when he realized that there were no sober customers in sight — why should the sellers chase away the only people who were actually buying, at the moment?

  He sighed. The World was not the pleasant place he would have wished for, had he been offered the job of creating it.

  “Come on,” Irith said, taking his hand.

  Asha had been holding the other hand, so Kelder found himself being dragged along as the central link in a three-part chain. Irith pulled vigorously — she must be very hungry indeed, he thought. Asha was too tired to move as quickly as Irith wanted, and was slowed further by shying away from an old man who lay mumbling in their path. She whimpered.

  Irith turned at the sound, and the drunk looked blearily upward at the trio.

  “Irith!”

  Kelder looked down in astonishment.

  The drunk was staring at Irith’s face. He dropped the empty bottle he had held clutched in one hand and reached up toward her.

  “Irith,” he said, “you’ve come back!”

&n
bsp; Chapter Fourteen

  Irith stared down at the weathered face, the red nose, the bloodshot eyes, the dirty, ragged beard, and the matted hair. She dropped Kelder’s hand and stepped back.

  “Eeeew,” she said.

  “Irith, it’s me,” the drunk said, scrabbling against the paving stones as he tried to get his feet under him.

  Asha dropped Kelder’s other hand and backed away.

  “Listen, old man...” Kelder began.

  “Irith,” the drunk called, ignoring him, “don’t you remember me?” With one hand on the pillar, he got to his knees. His foul breath reached Kelder’s nostrils.

  “Remember you? I never saw you before in my life!” Irith replied angrily.

  “Yes, you did,” he insisted. “It’s been years, the gods know, too many years, but you knew me, all right, don’t you remember?” He made it to his feet, panting, his hand still on the pillar. “Don’t you know me?”

  He stared at her blank face, no flicker of recognition showing, and suddenly shouted at her, “Don’t you know me?”

  “No!” Irith screamed back. “I never saw you before!”

  “Listen, old man, you leave her...” Kelder began, trying to push between Irith and the drunk. He was uncomfortably aware that the confrontation was attracting attention; several of the wine merchants were staring, and assorted other people were turning to see what the disturbance was about.

  The old man, with strength truly astonishing in one so decrepit, shoved Kelder rudely aside and took a step toward Irith.

  She shrank back, and her wings appeared suddenly. She stretched them, as if to take flight, to escape this loathsome apparition, but the tips brushed against the arcade’s vaulted ceiling. She glanced up, startled, at the prisoning stone, then looked around, panicky, at the people, staring at her from all sides, watching her intently. Her wings vanished.

  “Get away from me!” she cried. “Everybody get away!”

  Kelder, recovering from his surprise, thrust himself at the old drunk, arms outstretched, and knocked him off-balance.

  “Irith!” the drunk cried. “Irith!”

  Irith turned and ran, down the shadowy arcade, her white tunic flashing brightly as she passed each lamp, then fading into the next patch of darkness.

  “Follow her!” Kelder barked to Asha. Tired as she was, the girl obeyed, scampering after the fleeing shapeshifter, while Kelder pushed the drunk up against the pillar.

  “Irith!” the drunk called again, looking after her, paying no attention to Kelder.

  “Listen,” Kelder began.

  The drunk burst into tears. “No,” he wailed, “I can’t lose you again! Irith, come back!” He tried to shove Kelder aside.

  “Damn it!” Kelder said, as he stumbled back against a stack of crates. He grabbed at the drunk’s tunic, and pulled the old man down with him.

  “Let me go!” the old man bellowed, trying to tear loose. “Let me go after her!”

  “No,” Kelder shouted back, holding on tight.

  Sobbing, the drunk swung a fist at his face; Kelder dodged easily.

  The drunk swung again, and this time Kelder had to loose his hold in order to avoid the blow. Cursing, he dodged. The drunk stumbled to his feet and began staggering in the direction Irith had gone.

  Kelder sprang up and charged after him, tackling him from behind and knocking him heavily to the stone pavement.

  The drunk’s words had become incoherent babbling by this point, but his actions were clear enough; he was trying to get up, get away from Kelder, and continue his pursuit of Irith. Gritting his teeth, Kelder hauled off and punched him squarely in the nose.

  The old man’s head snapped back against a heavy cask, making a sound like a slammed door — a very solid door. Blood trickled from his nose, and he slid to the ground, dazed.

  Kelder’s knuckles stung from the impact, and he was very worried indeed lest he had killed the old man — he’d heard somewhere that drunks had brittle bones.

  This particular drunk was made of sterner stuff than that, for he didn’t so much as lose consciousness completely. He did lie stunned for a moment, but then shook his head, trying to gather his muddled wits.

  By that time Kelder was back on his feet, and the instant he was sure that the old man had not been killed or crippled he spun on his heel and sprinted after his companions.

  A moment later the drunk was out of sight, and Kelder was as good as lost in the mercantile maze of columns and courtyards. He slowed to a stop and called quietly, “Irith?”

  Asha’s voice answered him.

  “This way, Kelder!”

  Following the sound, he made his way through another fifty yards or so of market and into an alley — he had finally left the Bazaar and entered the city proper. He found Asha crouched in the mouth of the alley, watching in all directions at once.

  “Are you all right?” he asked her.

  She nodded.

  “Where’s Irith?”

  Asha jerked a thumb in the direction of the alley’s gloomy depths. Hesitantly, Kelder crept into the darkness.

  “Irith?” he called.

  A cat meowed, somewhere ahead.

  Something touched Kelder on the back, and he started, then realized it was just Asha, following him.

  “She said there’s a tavern down the far end of this alley that she likes,” Asha whispered.

  Kelder nodded an acknowledgement. “Irith?” he called again.

  “Here,” she answered, stepping out of the darkest shadows ahead. Kelder could still only see a dim outline, but he was sure it was Irith. “Is he gone?”

  “He’s back there somewhere,” Kelder said. “Um... I hit him.”

  “Good!”

  Kelder was surprised at the heat in Irith’s response. “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Horsebone Alley, it used to be called,” Irith said. “I haven’t been here in years. There’s a real nice tavern around the corner at the far end, called the Crystal Skull — that’s where we’re going.”

  “The Crystal Skull?” Kelder asked, glancing back at Asha and seeing only a small, dark shape.

  Irith nodded, then realized that that was probably not visible. “Yes,” she said. “The owner had this big chunk of quartz that looked sort of like a skull. He kept it on the mantel.”

  “Oh,” Kelder replied. That sounded harmless enough. In general he didn’t like the idea of patronizing businesses with morbid names, but in this case he decided to trust Irith’s judgment. Holding Asha’s hand he followed the dim outline of the shapeshifter down the alley and around the corner.

  “No torch,” Irith remarked, startled, when they were out of Horsebone Alley and into a broader but equally unlit thoroughfare. The shadows here were not as deep or threatening; the faint glow of the lesser moon and the stars poured down, and some of the light of the marketplace slopped over the rooftops and into the street. She pointed to an unlit doorway. “Over there,” she said, leading the way.

  Kelder followed, an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling stirring in his belly.

  The doorway was broad and deep; above it an iron bracket projected straight out from the rough stone, with empty rings where a signboard had once hung. To either side of the doorway were black iron sconces, also empty; there were no signs of torch or ash, and even the smokestains on the wall appeared to be weathered, rather than fresh. It was plain to Kelder that this place was not open for business, but Irith ignored the signs and marched straight into the gloom of the entryway.

  Kelder followed, and found her standing in the open archway.

  At first he thought the door was open, but then he realized that there was no door. Nor, looking through the opening, was there any roof; the same faint illumination that filled the street filled the building’s interior, as well. Dusty chunks of stone and wood lay strewn about, colorless in the dim light.

  “It’s gone,” Irith said, in a tone of dull surprise.

  Kelder stepped up beside her and glanced about.
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  “It certainly is,” he agreed.

  “What happened to it?” Asha asked curiously.

  “How should I know?” Irith snapped, turning angrily on her young companion.

  Asha cowered back against the wall of the entry, and Kelder thrust a restraining hand between the two.

  “She’s just a kid,” he said.

  “I wasn’t going to touch her!” Irith protested.

  Asha burst out crying, sliding down the wall until she sat sprawled on the ground.

  Kelder and Irith looked at one another.

  “Now what?” Kelder asked.

  “I don’t know,” Irith replied.

  “We can’t eat here,” Kelder said, waving his arm at the dusty ruins. “It’s been gone for years, by the look of it.”

  That statement was simple truth, but something about it bothered him.

  “Well, I haven’t been in Shan for years,” Irith said. “I usually turn around at Dhwerra when I travel the highway — if I even get that far. Sometimes I turn back at the Angarossa border.”

  “Do you know of any other good taverns or inns here?” Kelder asked. “Ones that might still be in business?”

  “No,” Irith replied, “I haven’t come anywhere but here in ages.”

  “Well, where did you go before you found this place?” Kelder asked, in his most reasonable tone.

  “One that’s been gone even longer,” Irith retorted.

  Kelder sighed and looked around.

  “Well,” he said, “we’ll just have to find someplace new, then. Come on.”

  Irith peered apprehensively at the street. “What about that old man?” she asked.

  “What about him?” Kelder asked.

  “What if he finds me?”

  Kelder considered that.

  Two things suddenly fell into place in his thoughts.

  When had Irith last been here? He looked into the ruin; it had not been abandoned yesterday, or the day before.