by Paul Collins
‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘Welcome to my home.’
Daretor looked around. The room was like nothing he had ever seen. Certainly he did not recognise the function of much of the furniture and hangings. He also noted the light source. ‘You live here?’ he asked.
Hakat nodded. ‘Amuse yourselves for a moment,’ he said.
He fetched plates, cutlery and cups from a wall unit. He then placed a fresh loaf on the table, several aromatic cheeses, a side of jellied ham, a bowl of what looked like tomatoes, along with a jug of wine.
All the while Jelindel and Daretor watched, wondering what was going on. When Hakat had fully laid the table, he sat down and beckoned for them to join him. They did so, slowly, still suspicious. Hakat handed them a bowl of scented water and they washed their hands. Then their host set upon the food with gusto. Jelindel and Daretor watched for a moment then joined in, ravenous. They managed to keep enough wits about them, however, not to touch anything that Hakat did not sample first. There was no point in taking chances.
When he saw that they were eating heartily, Hakat poured wine, drained his in one gulp, then laughed, raising another in salutation. ‘To the captain,’ he said, ignoring Jelindel and Daretor’s surprise. ‘May he rot in a hell of our choice!’
He drank deeply, savouring the toast, then wiped a sleeve across his lips. ‘I see from the look in your eyes that you have questions,’ he said amiably.
‘Why?’ Jelindel asked.
Hakat laughed as if she had said something very funny. ‘Why?’ he repeated. ‘Well, I could give you many answers, Archmage. I could say that Captain Helnick is a brutal tyrant who deserves death far more than he deserves loyalty, and I think that would be enough. I could say that none who serve the interests of one so foul as Fa’red should be trusted, let alone obeyed. And I could even add that on a night long ago, when Fa’red’s forces killed your family and destroyed your home, there was one lowly stableboy who was taken away and made a slave, but who has never forgot the loyalty he swore to the Count Juram dek Mediesar.’
Jelindel stared at him, memories spilling out from the dark part of her mind that she had slammed the door on several years before, and even now had little wish to reopen. But suddenly the man before her seemed familiar. It was as if his face metamorphosed before her eyes. Slowly her mouth dropped open.
‘Hakat! It is you? It is truly you?’
He nodded, smiling, and Jelindel found herself hugging the former stableboy. Daretor relaxed, breathing out. He felt safer than he had in a long while.
Hakat and Jelindel sat back. Jelindel continued to stare at him. It seemed as if she had lost the power of speech. Hakat seemed embarrassed and looked at his feet several times.
Finally Jelindel said to him, ‘So many times we played together, racing through the stables or over the rooftops.’
‘Aye,’ said Hakat, ‘and many’s the time you got me into trouble, too.’
She placed her hands on his and said with an intensity that embarrassed Hakat further, ‘Please, I do apologise, Hakat –’
‘Enough, enough, that was only a joke, Countess. We was just children.’
Jelindel breathed out and a tiny shudder shook her. ‘Yes. Till that night. But tell me, how did you come here? And you’ve changed so much.’ She stopped short of mentioning the scars that crisscrossed his face, and the fact that he seemed to have aged ten years.
Hakat shrugged. ‘They grabbed me that night, along with one or two others. We was taken onto a ship in the harbour and locked up for a time. Then the others were taken away. I never saw ’em again. Me, I was kept on board as cabin boy and treated worse then a cockroach. Then, some time later, we was sank by pirates and I became the cabin boy for Captain Helnick. Eventually, I was made part of the crew.’
Daretor looked at Hakat’s well-established house. It looked as though the man spent more time here than on Q’zar. ‘Why didn’t you escape?’ he asked.
‘I did once.’ His eyes seemed to dim at some dark memory. ‘And swore I’d never try that again. They had some way of finding me, some sorcerer’s way, I think. Helnick’s been in league with Fa’red for years. Two of ’em are thicker than thieves. Only crueller.’
Daretor thought on that for a moment. ‘You must have been valuable to Helnick for him to enlist Fa’red’s help in finding you.’ Daretor felt Jelindel squeeze his hand for silence.
‘’Tis okay,’ Hakat said, noticing the admonishment. ‘I’ve never been wise to the ways and wiles of mages, but I daresay Fa’red knew where I was from. How he meant to use me, I suspect I’ll never know, and hope not to.’
Jelindel inscribed a sign in the air about Hakat. ‘If your recapture was due to Fa’red’s interference, he’ll not intervene again. Now, what of this paraworld we’ve come to?’
‘Thank you … Jelli.’
Ignoring Jelindel’s grip on his arm, Daretor said, ‘You’re a different man from the one I followed to the Sargasso in D’loom.’
Hakat laughed. ‘All the cussing an’ mess I made of the stalls, you’re meaning? You almost lost me twice, an’ I needed you to follow me to the ship. I couldn’t approach you in the tavern ‘cause Helnick’s eyes an’ ears are ev’where, if you’re understandin’ me.’
‘Enough, Daretor,’ Jelindel admonished. ‘I’d trust this man with my life. Where are we, Hakat?’
‘Farvane, an’ it’s a hellhole, make no mistake. Helnick’s been trading here for the last year and a half with Fa’red’s help. Seems the archmage covets some of the devices that the Farvenu … acquire.’
‘Like the light?’
‘Nah. That’s what they call science. It looks like magic but it ain’t. I don’t rightly understand it meself, but it makes a change from smelly old oil lamps an’ dripping candles. Better on the old eyes, too.’
Jelindel reached up to touch it, but drew back quickly. ‘It’s hot, yet there’s no flame. How does it work?’
Hakat sucked at his teeth. ‘Something called electricity. Don’t ask me what that is or how it works or where it comes from, ‘cause I ain’t got a clue. But the Farvenu are pirates, of a sort. Only they don’t raid ships. They raid paraworlds, and they’re packrats, ten times over. They steal anything they can, not knowing what most of it is, then sell it in a huge market that draws folks from fifty paraworlds.’
‘They’re dangerous?’ asked Daretor.
‘You wait till you see ‘em,’ said Hakat, his voice catching. ‘You’ll know ’em right off. Burned into your senses they are, already, only you don’t know it.’
‘Can we move about the city?’ Jelindel wanted to know. Hakat nodded. ‘You can, but you gotta be careful. They have a dozen different races livin’ here at any one time. Some of ’em look like us, and others don’t, including the Farvenu themselves. But they’ll be lookin’ for you two by morning so we gotta do something to change your looks.’
Jelindel frowned. ‘There’s something you’re not telling us,’ she said gently.
Hakat ducked his head then brought it back up. ‘This is an awful place, Countess. When I say it’s worse than hell I ain’t kidding. If they catch you, you’ll be for the kitchens. They won’t even put you up on the slave blocks. That’s Fa’red’s orders, where you two was destined to go. I heard Helnick say so himself.’
Jelindel shrugged. ‘I’ve just worked in the ship’s kitchen for the last week, Hakat, how much worse can it be here?’
Hakat swallowed. ‘You got me wrong, Countess. They don’t intend to work you in the kitchens. They intend to serve you up.’
Jelindel and Daretor stared mutely at Hakat.
‘They’re cannibals?’ Jelindel said at length. ‘They ain’t cannibals,’ said Hakat. ‘They don’t eat their own kind, just ours, if they can get us. That’s why you was sent here. I was planning to rescue you both from the ship tonight, along with the other fella. Then I seen you break out of the lockup, and then I didn’t see you, if you get my drift. I figured you’d have to come this way so I
circled round an’ waited in them bushes where you found me. An’ here we are.’
Jelindel said, ‘Thank you, Hakat. I wish my father and mother were still alive to know of your loyalty.’
Hakat looked both pleased and embarrassed. He started to say something when Daretor interrupted. ‘You said “that other fella”. Who do you mean?’
‘They had another prisoner on board. Fa’red’s men was guarding him. He’s for the kitchens, too, I’d say.’
‘Did you see him?’ Jelindel asked.
‘Aye, I did. Took him his food, same as you.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Zimat, I think. Something like that.’ Hakat scratched his chin. ‘Dark-haired fella, tall, strong, but gone to fat, like. Complained a lot, especially about the food.’
Daretor sighed. ‘That’s Zimak all right.’
‘He’s our friend, Hakat,’ said Jelindel.
‘That’s stretching the truth a bit,’ muttered Daretor.
‘We will have to rescue him,’ said Jelindel.
Hakat nodded. ‘I already tried, before I saw you two breakin’ out. But he was gone by then. They’ll have him up at the palace, gettin’ him ready.’
‘Ready?’
‘Yeah, for eatin’.’
Jelindel paled and stood up. ‘Then we must hurry.’
‘No, no, sit down, Countess,’ said Hakat. ‘There’s no rush. They’ll fatten him up first. Force-feedin’ they call it. Be a week before they send him to the cook. Maybe more.’
Jelindel relaxed and took her seat again. She thought of something else. ‘How long before the Sargasso returns through the portal?’
‘She usually lays over five days, no more. But you can’t go back on her.’
‘Why?’ Daretor asked.
‘Because if they don’t find you here then they’ll be expectin’ that. They’ll wait till they’re out to sea then they’ll scour the ship stem to stern. Won’t be a single rathole they won’t poke their noses into, and make no mistake.’
Jelindel thought for a moment. ‘My magic powers are back,’ she said. ‘I could make us invisible again …’
‘Might do it,’ said Hakat, ‘an’ might not. If I was them and I figured you was aboard, why, I’d fetch along a nice nosy little mage with me before we set sail, and have him cast all manner of spells.’
Jelindel felt a profound weariness seep through her limbs. ‘Is there another way?’
‘There is,’ said Hakat, ‘but it ain’t easy.’
Daretor leaned forward, pouring himself another cup of wine. ‘It rarely is in our line of work,’ he said. ‘So you might as well just tell us.’
‘Like I said, the Farvenu are pirates. Paraworld pirates …’
Jelindel blinked. ‘Of course. They have some means of opening gates between the paraworlds.’
Hakat nodded. ‘That they do, Countess, only it ain’t magic. It’s more of that science stuff of theirs. A machine they snatched long ago from some other paraworld, when they was still using magic to get them through the paraplane.’
‘A machine?’ Jelindel asked doubtfully.
‘Aye. You won’t like it, is my guess,’ said Hakat. ‘And your magic may not work on it, one way or another. But it does work. And there ain’t nothin’ Fa’red can do to stop it, either.’
‘Where is this machine?’
‘There’s more than one. Each clan, and there’s dozens of ’em, has its own. They’re always fighting with each other, trying to outdo their rivals. They’re a bloodthirsty lot.’
‘So we pick a clan headquarters, break in, find the machine, then get back to Q’zar.’ Daretor looked around, waiting for objections.
‘Nah,’ said Hakat. ‘Lessin’ you don’t mind dyin’. But there is a way. Problem is, we can’t do nothing for a week, and your friend might be in hot water by then, along with some onions an’ ‘erbs.’
‘So we break him out first.’
‘We might. Then again, we might not,’ said Hakat. ‘Break ’im out and the hue and cry’ll be ten times as bad. Let’s just wait and see. I know a girl in the kitchens there. I’ll get word to her and we can find out when your friend gets ’imself on the menu, so to speak. After that, we’ll have about eight hours before they start cookin’ ’im.’
Zimak refused to eat. They had been stuffing him with food ever since he arrived. At first it was a welcome change from the meagre rations on board the Sargasso. But it was possible to have too much of a good thing.
He had reached his limit. He spat a mouthful of food back into his plate and pushed it away. The servitor frowned. He was a small dark man with odd-shaped pupils and eyebrows that met in the middle of his forehead. Zimak had gleaned from him that he was not native to this paraworld. The man spoke a form of Q’zaran, and only knew it well enough to get by in the market place. With a combination of words, signs and gestures, he had made Zimak understand that he was to eat. And eat a great deal.
In principle, Zimak had no problem with the concept of overeating, and he would never have believed he could fail to do so in practice. But now the old adage that one’s eyes were bigger than one’s stomach was beginning to ring true.
The jailer scowled and muttered as Zimak sat back. The man gestured at Zimak, then at the food. He then abused him roundly in several languages, none of which Zimak understood. Finally, he pressed a stud on a small metal box fastened to the wall and spoke into it. Zimak thought this was odd behaviour, but assumed that there was a spirit or djinn inside the box. Another adage on Q’zar was, when in the henhouse, act like a chicken. Zimak had no idea how prophetic that saying would prove to be.
A few moments later, clearly summoned by whatever messenger was in the box, the door swung open and three barrel-chested guards of an unknown race strode in. They were carrying things that looked like kitchen utensils designed for torture. The men were heavily muscled, and had no neck. Their shaved heads gleamed like helmets, and they had to stoop to get through the door.
Zimak got ready for a struggle, but the guards were expert at handling desperate, aggressive prisoners. Flinging his plate at the head of one guard, Zimak doubled him over with a kick to the stomach, then pushed him into his companion. As Zimak bolted for the door, the third guard dropped his load and slammed it shut. With the advantage of surprise gone, Zimak did not last long.
They trussed Zimak and strapped him to a wooden trolley. At the creak of a lever the trolley hinged upwards like a chair. A metal helmet was rammed over Zimak’s head. It was completely enclosed, except for an opening at the front. The helmet was then fixed to the headboard of the trolley. By squinting down, Zimak could just see part of his lower body. His struggles tightened the bindings all the more.
A flexible hose was inserted through the mouth hole and forced between his lips; it did not stop there. The little man kept feeding the hose in until it hit the back of Zimak’s throat and he started to choke. Zimak clenched his teeth down on the tube, but a stabbing pain across his scalp made him scream. Again and again he tried biting the tube, and each time they made him scream before pushing it in further.
The hose pushed through the back of his throat and into his oesophagus. He kept gagging but, after a few moments, the sickening feeling of being strangled from the inside out dimmed and he found he could breathe. Zimak’s eyes watered. He tried to spit out the metallic taste in his mouth, but the bile kept sliding down his throat. He could hardly see anything now and his panic grew. It can’t get any worse, he assured himself. All the same, he had a feeling that he did not know the half of it.
There were sounds of lids being removed from containers, then stirring. Somebody grunted as though lifting something heavy, and suddenly warm liquid was pouring into Zimak’s stomach. He made a determined effort to resist, but he did not succeed.
‘Zimak’s probably fine,’ said Daretor, taking another bite of jellied ham and washing it down with mulled wine. ‘If they’re feeding him, he’ll be as happy as a pig in a turnip field.’
Hakat looked grim. Jelindel saw the brief unhappy look he gave Daretor. She guessed that Hakat knew more about the feeding methods than he was telling. Jelindel yawned, then rubbed her eyes.
‘I know we should start making plans,’ she said, ‘but I have to get some sleep.’
Hakat immediately jumped up, apologising profusely, and opened a panel in the wall. Behind it was a bed that slid out on rollers.
‘So clever!’ Jelindel exclaimed. ‘In a way that is more marvellous than a magical spell.’
‘They don’t put much store in magic here, Countess,’ said Hakat. ‘Except as something to trade to the paraworlds as value it. The Farvenu are too practical for magic, if you ask me. They like hard, solid, bright things made of metal and wire.’ He gestured idly at the ceiling light. ‘And fancy stuff. Speakin’ of which …’ He pulled out a square black box and held it to his eye. ‘Say some-thin’ nice. Oh, an’ this doesn’t hurt one bit.’
‘Is it more Farvenu science?’ Jelindel said. A bright light flashed and she smarted.
‘Daretor? Would you be so kind as to smile for me camera?’ Hakat asked.
Jelindel finished rubbing her eyes. ‘I hope that thing doesn’t steal anything …’
Daretor looked at Hakat suspiciously. The camera flashed and Daretor grunted.
Hakat put the camera down. ‘Steal something?’ he laughed. ‘Like your soul? No, Jelli. The thing makes an artistic likeness of whoever it’s aimed at. I’ll show you the paintings when they’re … what’s the word? Developed! Once they’re developed. I need ‘em for your papers.’
‘You have strange machines here, Hakat,’ Daretor said, finally looking away from the camera.
Jelindel climbed into bed, luxuriating in the softness of the quilt and the pillows. ‘They can keep their machines,’ she said sleepily, ‘as long as they let me do it my way with magic.’ Moments later, she was asleep.
Hakat lit a fire in the grate with a ‘match’ and placed a wire grille across the front. Daretor showed no sign of wanting to go to bed. He poured himself more wine and beckoned Hakat to do the same. The two men sat before the fire, talking into the night.
