Under the Crimson Sun (the abyssal plague)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  “I’m worried,” Yarro said at one point the next afternoon, “that the raiders will return to avenge their comrades.” They were both riding in Yarro’s carriage, which was taking point-the slaver, where Rol currently was, bringing up the rear. It was being pulled by a large crodlu with a particularly bright carapace that reminded Gan of Forna, one of the crodlus that Hamno cheated him out of in the frolik game.

  In response to Yarro, Gan shook his head. “There are a lot of dangers out here, but I guarantee that won’t be one of them. Only four of them survived, and their leader, Zeburon-”

  Yarro’s eyes widened as he interrupted. “The Iron Rider?”

  No, Zeburon the tailor. Gan was barely able to restrain himself from saying that out loud. “He doesn’t take to failure very well. Honestly, they probably won’t even report back to Zeburon for fear of dying. It’ll be weeks before the other raiders even know that this bunch is mostly dead. By then, you’ll be long gone. Besides, they’re more than like to just stay away from this region for a while, if they lost this many people hereabouts. Zeburon’s more about profit than revenge.”

  “So we’re safe?” Yarro sounded very hopeful.

  Though it was tempting to agree just to assuage the man, Gan couldn’t bring himself to do so. “From the Black Sands, yeah, but there’s plenty more out here that’ll get you, believe me.”

  “Yeah.” Yarro suddenly had a faraway look.

  “If you don’t mind my asking,” Gan said, “how did you wind up being a caravan master?”

  “I’m not,” Yarro said. “Not in the guild, anyway. No, those bastards were charging ridiculous prices to lead us through the desert, but it’s a path I’ve traveled before in my youth. Besides, my brother used a caravan master to get to Urik once, and the man took them to Tyr instead, and then charged double to bring them to Urik. They’re charlatans, all of them.”

  In fact, most of them were good at what they did, or they didn’t stay in the guild. Too many people depended on caravan masters to survive for the guild to tolerate incompetence or criminal activity.

  Of course, Yarro’s brother’s caravan master might have forged his guild membership too. Either way, traveling without a proper caravan master was imbecilic. However, since Yarro was Gan’s and Rol’s client, he thought it would be impolitic to say so.

  Instead, he asked, “Why are you headed to Raam?”

  That faraway look got farther. “Let’s just say that my family’s health depended on us no longer remaining in Balic.”

  Gan knew that look, and knew that he’d get no more specifics out of Yarro.

  Not that he really cared all that much, he just wanted to talk about subjects other than the job at hand. That was the sort of thing that made the clients nervous, and it was easier to protect people who weren’t nervous.

  Generally talking about personal things distracted them enough not to worry about, say, the huge sand creatures that could easily jump up and eat them all alive. However, it was equally obvious that Yarro had no interest in discussing why he was traveling through the wastes.

  Luckily, he’d provided another topic. “I’m sorry, which ones are your family?”

  Yarro’s face brightened, and he proceeded to point out his wife, his son, both daughters, and his “no-good” son-in-law, whom he only took along because his daughter insisted, and the son-in-law’s brother, who was “a much nicer boy-I don’t know why Fatma didn’t marry him instead.”

  At the very least, Yarro wasn’t talking about how worried he was anymore. Gan just had to make sure he didn’t attempt that conversational gambit again before the journey ended, since the details Yarro provided were falling right out of his head. Gan had never had a good memory for such personal details …

  Eventually, it was time for the evening meal. The food wasn’t great-most of it was overcooked mush-but it was a feast after subsiding on jerky for the better part of a month.

  Rol, of course, didn’t bother. He loved jerky. Gan had been openly concerned-before the frolik game made it irrelevant-that Rol would have only provided jerky for the trip even if they’d had excess funds to spend on vittles.

  Afterward, Gan sought out Rol, who was gnawing on a piece of jerky and chatting up one of the girls in the caravan. Gan had no recollection of which group the girl belonged to-besides Yarro’s family, and the slave trader, there were three or four other sets of people traveling together-but she was young, short, slender, and had darker hair, all typical for one of Rol’s potential conquests.

  As Gan approached, Rol straightened and said, “Apologies, m’dear, but duty calls.”

  “That’s quite all right,” the girl said breathlessly as she gazed up at Rol. “I feel so much safer with you here to protect me.”

  She wandered off, and Gan just stared at her. “She does know that I’m part of the protection too, right?”

  Rol frowned at Gan. “Stop whining, will you? Did you even talk to any of the women here?”

  “No, because I prefer to take the job seriously.”

  Shrugging while popping the last of his jerky into his mouth, Rol said, “Long as you take it more seriously than you do frolik.”

  “Very funny.” Gan sighed. “Look, I think we should do night-guard duty. With the pyres last night, we didn’t really need to, but I don’t think the torches these people are using’ll be much use-”

  “I was gonna suggest the same thing, actually,” Rol said, which Gan figured was a lie, but he let it go. “You want first shift?”

  Gan was about to agree, then he looked over at the girl Rol had been flirting with. “No, you take it.”

  Putting his large hands on his hips, Rol asked, “Why did you look at Tirana before making that decision?”

  Impressed that Rol had actually gone to the trouble of learning her name, Gan asked, “Why do you think?”

  “You think that if you’re on first shift, that I’ll spend the time you’re on duty with her, and never actually get any sleep, so that I’ll be too tired to properly be on watch for the rest of the overnight. Whereas if I take first shift, I won’t be free to flirt with her until the middle of the night, when she’ll probably be asleep.”

  Nodding, Gan said, “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

  Rol grinned widely. “You’re not as dumb as you look. But then, you couldn’t be.”

  “That’s certainly true.” Gan chuckled. “I’m going to see which carriage is willing to put up with my snoring.”

  “Good luck with that,” Rol said with a chuckle of his own. “I’ll keep the place safe from anakores.”

  Gan wandered off, trying to see where Tirana was staying. For some reason, he thought it might be amusing to sleep in the same carriage as her for his first shift …

  CHAPTER THREE

  Karalith looked up from helping a rather stubborn dwarf and saw Vas Belrik return to the bazaar with only two of his bodyguards.

  She had been expecting that he’d bring the entire entourage when he returned that morning-especially that wizened old tutor of his. In terms of logistics, it was certainly better that he brought a smaller group, since there were half-a-dozen customers at the emporium already. His crodlu only made a minor impact on the foot traffic, as opposed to the near-stampede his team of mounts caused yesterday.

  Tricht’tha, of course, had arrived half an hour early, as was her wont. The thri-kreen was never late for a financial transaction. The rest of the time, she had a rather elastic relationship with punctuality, but she took the placement of coins into her pincers very seriously.

  Shira and Torthal were both dealing with an elf couple who were trying to decide on knickknacks for their kitchen, while Karalith’s twin brother Komir was struggling to help a mul pick some spices. She wondered where the hell Zabaj was-Komir’s Davek was never very good, and this mul spoke with an odd accent.

  Unfortunately, Zabaj was still off with Feena delivering that shipment. They should have returned half an hour ago-the delivery was to arrive right at sun
up-but they hadn’t gotten back yet.

  For her part, Karalith was trying to convince an insane dwarf woman that the silks really were from Tyr and really were worth a silver a foot.

  When Belrik came back, the dwarf finally decided to wander off to another vendor, having refused to accept that any silk could possibly cost that much, there was no silk in all of Athas that was worth more than ten coppers a foot. She almost crashed into one of Belrik’s bodyguards as she stomped off in a huff.

  Belrik stared after the dwarf as he dismounted. “They should really watch where they’re going.”

  Favoring Belrik with her seductive smile, Karalith said, “I’ll knock a copper a foot off the linens if you go back and have your crodlu step on that dwarf.”

  Braying a laugh, Belrik said, “Were it my crodlu, I would gladly do so, but sadly, this mount is merchandise. I can’t risk the dwarf’s filth lowering the crodlu’s value.”

  Karalith chuckled.

  “Enough!” Tricht’tha stepped forward. “Do you have the thousand gold?”

  His eyes remaining on Karalith, Belrik held out a hand to one of his bodyguards, who removed a pouch from his belt.

  Taking the pouch, Belrik jingled its contents for apparent theatrical effect and then handed it to Tricht’tha.

  The thri-kreen voiced the same thought Karalith had when she heard the low number of clicks resulting from Belrik’s action: “That does not sound like one thousand coins.”

  “It isn’t.” Belrik smiled, showing off his annoyingly perfect teeth. “It’s one hundred coins-but they’re hundred-gold coins.”

  Tricht’tha muttered, “I’ll believe it when I see it” in Chachik, then tugged the ends of the drawstring pouch to peer inside it. Then she let loose with a Chachik curse. “Impressive,” she finally said in Common, indicating that they truly were coins worth one hundred gold each.

  Then, Tricht’tha handed the map over to Belrik, who again held out a hand to a bodyguard-the other one, that time. The guard provided a tube-shaped container, into which Belrik very gingerly placed the map.

  Handing the tube back to the guard, Belrik said, “Be careful-that map’s irreplaceable, unlike you.”

  “Yes, sir,” the bodyguard muttered.

  Then Belrik leaned forward on the textile table, his elbows distressing the silk. “So, Karalith, now that my business with the thri-kreen is concluded, may I interest you in breaking your fast with me?”

  Karalith looked nervously over at her parents. Her father was busy with a customer, but her mother shot as disapproving a look as Karalith ever saw at her.

  Belrik followed Karalith’s gaze over to the elderly human woman, and Karalith saw his crestfallen expression. “I suppose,” he said after a second, “that I have my answer. A mother’s silent disapproval is the loudest statement in the world, I’ve found.”

  Karalith looked away. “Thank you for understanding, Vizier Belrik.”

  “Since I cannot ask this over the meal as I’d hoped, let me ask you here. I will be mounting an expedition to find Sebic’s treasure-”

  “Sebowkan,” Tricht’tha said testily.

  Sparing a glower at the thri-kreen, Belrik said, “Whatever his name, it’ll be my treasure soon enough.” He stared right at Karalith. “Come with me. Help me find the treasure; it will be an amazing adventure.” Looking briefly behind him at the Raam city walls, he added: “And it will take me away for a time.”

  At first, Karalith stared back at his dark brown eyes, which were confused. Karalith suspected that he was not a man who had to ask for things-he simply demanded them, and they occurred.

  “I’m sure the adventure will be amazing,” she said after finally breaking eye contact. “But I cannot. I have obligations to the emporium that I cannot shirk, even for so tempting an offer as this.”

  Belrik sighed long and hard. “I cannot convince you otherwise?”

  “Convince me? Almost definitely.” She glanced over at Shira, who was back to the elf couple with Torthal. “Convince her? No chance.”

  “What about your father? He and I spoke for a bit yesterday, and I believe I could-”

  But Karalith was shaking her head. “It is not my father who makes those decisions, I’m afraid.”

  That prompted a frown. “What a pity. So rare anymore to find a man who can stand up to his wife.” Belrik sounded wistful when he said that.

  The conversation continued for a few more minutes, but eventually Belrik came to realize that Karalith was never going to be able to go with him on his treasure hunt.

  Karalith did her best to convey disappointment in her inability to do so until he finally got back on his crodlu and left the bazaar.

  The moment he was out of sight, Karalith turned to Tricht’tha and grinned broadly. “Well done.”

  The thri-kreen laughed, a lovely chittering noise. “I thought he’d never leave.”

  “Luckily, we heard about his shrew of a wife,” Karalith said. “Made it easier to convince him that Mother would never let me leave and Father couldn’t do anything about that.”

  “I’m just glad we were able to fleece that dungeater for Lyd’s sake.”

  Just then, Zabaj and Feena finally came back to the emporium, holding hands. They made an entertaining contrast, the towering, dark mul and the petite, blond human. Torthal hadn’t been thrilled when they started their relationship. “You don’t dip into your own sand,” he always said. Karalith wasn’t even sure what that meant, but Feena and Zabaj seemed happy, so she didn’t see what the problem was. Occasionally, someone would look askance, but most people didn’t care. It was a hard world-most people figured that if you found love, you should hang onto it. There wasn’t much chance of long-term happiness there-muls were generally sterile and Zabaj was no exception-but when you lived your life wandering through the desert from place to place, you didn’t have the luxury of thinking long term.

  Komir gave Zabaj a pleading look, and the latter came over to help Karalith’s brother deal with his customer in a language he would understand. Feena gave him a quick kiss on his meaty hand before letting go of it and joining Karalith and Tricht’tha behind the table.

  Having finished with the elf couple, Torthal and Shira also came over. “Well done on the stern-mother expression, my love,” Torthal said.

  “Flatterer,” Shira replied with a mock-demure look.

  “Oh, and well done you,” Torthal said to Karalith. “Good enough that we took that pampered idiot for a thousand gold, but getting him to pay two coppers a foot for the linens without him even blinking was genius.”

  Feena pouted. “I missed all of it?”

  “Afraid so,” Karalith said. “He just left, having received a gentle turn-down to my accompanying him on his ‘adventure.’ ”

  Tricht’tha made several appreciative clicks. “She was brilliant.”

  “So were you,” Karalith said. “You play the frantic customer quite well.”

  “What’s this about the linens?” Feena asked.

  “He was fondling the silk so eagerly,” Karalith said, “that he barely registered when I said the linens were two coppers a foot instead of one, especially since the silk was so much more expensive. I was worried that that old tutor of his would say something.”

  “Perhaps Cristophe didn’t know any better,” Tricht’tha said. “Or perhaps he deliberately kept quiet as to their worth to annoy him for making him carry his ancient carapace to the bazaar all day. Probably that, honestly. He spoke Chachik better than any non-thri-kreen I’ve ever heard.”

  Karalith regarded Tricht’tha. “He must’ve created an impression-I didn’t even remember his name.”

  In Chachik, Tricht’tha said, “He speaks my language a lot better than you.”

  Feena laughed. “I’m glad you managed to finish it. Wish I’d seen-how much linen did the idiot buy?”

  With a grin, Karalith said, “A hundred feet.”

  Shira smiled. “I never object to a one-hundred-copper profit.” />
  Tricht’tha started rummaging through the pouch Belrik had handed over. “Now, we take out three hundred for Gash for forging the map-”

  “No,” Karalith said quickly, “only two hundred. He screwed up the first forgery, remember?”

  “Huh?” Feena asked.

  “Because Belrik drags Tricht’tha’s dear friend Cristophe with him to the bazaar, we had to make sure that there was a particular impurity in the parchment. That was the only way we’d sell it to him. Gash forgot that on the first treasure map he made for us, so he had to make another one and take a hundred off the price.”

  “Or,” Tricht’tha added, “have his reputation permanently soiled. If word got out that he forgot so simple a characteristic, he’d never get any forgery work again.”

  “Certainly not from us,” Torthal said, “and we’re his best customer.”

  Feena nodded. “So we can still give Lyd five hundred?”

  “Of course,” Karalith said. “That was what we promised her to get back at dear, sweet Vizier Belrik for blacklisting her.”

  Turning to Tricht’tha, Feena asked, “May I please go with you to give Lyd the five hundred? I couldn’t participate in the game, the least I can do is present her prize.”

  Tricht’tha turned her large red eyes onto Torthal and Shira. “I have no objection, if you don’t.”

  “Why couldn’t you participate in the game?” Shira asked. “The delivery was at sunup.”

  Torthal added, “You didn’t stop to fornicate along the way, did you?”

  Punching Torthal in the arm, Shira said, “Torthal, stop that.”

  “It’s a reasonable question.”

  Feena glared at Shira. “No, it isn’t. Zabaj and I wouldn’t do that.” She sighed. “No, when we arrived, we discovered that the boy who bought the merchandise did so without the consent of his parents. It took a great deal of arguing before they were finally convinced to actually accept delivery.” She smiled. “I used a bit of persuasion. But it still took some time.”