"Can be. It's hard to say. It all depends on Maudrah really." He smiled beautifully at me. "Still, this Kruin doesn't seem to be worried. It will cause problems in another way though. The Natawni's route home can't possibly take him anywhere near Ferike. Surely, if he drags the merchants south with him, they're going to want to share the reward."
"God, Panthera, that's a minor point. Let's just get out of here intact before we start quibbling over details. That's Kruin's problem." Panthera looked at me archly, but said nothing.
"I suppose I'd better go and find out what's going on," I said.
"Not yet," Panthera decided. "Stay. Have some coffee."
"Lonely for company are you?"
"No. I'm used to not having any; you know that. I was about our plans and there won't be many opportunities to the fire and picked up a coffee pot. Only then did chains.
"Are those uncomfortable?" I asked him, pointing.
"Not as much as they were, no," he answered.
I asked him about Ferike. "It is beautiful," he said. "There are woods everywhere, hills and mountains. All I live for is to see it again. All the noble families live in great, stone castles. Jael, my father's domain, is quite near the Clerewater and the shoreside town of Clereness. Look, I'll show you."
He preceded me over to a low table where sheets of paper and colored pens were laid out. I picked up a drawing; dark and disturbing scribbles of torture. "Yours?" Panthera snatched it from my hand.
"Yes. Look, I will draw you a plan of Jaddayoth." I watched his slim, hard arm skim quickly over the paper. "Here is Natawni in the north, you see? Both Hadassah and Gimrah separate it from Ferike. The quickest route to Natawni is north from Fallsend, out of Thaine, into Fereng and from there to Jaddayoth. That's probably the way your friend Kruin would go home. Now, Jafit will expect us to go south toward Elhmen, so I think we should go north."
"It will be a much longer journey," I said, studying the map.
"Yes, but safer."
"OK what ever you say." Without thinking, I put my hand on his shoulder. Ah, such warmth, such strength, such softness and hardness! These are the most succulent sweetmeats in the market of life and often the ones most dear. Panthera shrugged me off and gave me a hard glance. I was reminded of Cobweb.
"You must not stay too long," Panthera said, and thus concluded our conversation.
Plans were beginning to formulate in my head. After I left Panthera, I paused to share a cigarette with the Mojag. He could offer me no information concerning the identity of the murder victim. If it wasn't Panthera, I decided I wasn't really bothered who it was. "Don't worry yourself with that," Outher said. "Stay here for a while. We could . . . talk."
"We could, but. . . . Do you get any time off from this job?"
"Tomorrow afternoon is free," he said, without a tremor.
"Fine. We'll talk tomorrow then." I had a feeling that friendship with Outher might prove useful.
I didn't know what action Jafit would take over the killing, but I was surprised when I found him still at home. I knocked on his office door and Astarth opened it to me (so it wasn't him lying dead somewhere). The room was full of smoke, opened bottles on the desk, Jafit sitting behind it withhis feet up. He didn't look exactly grief-stricken, although Astarth was a little green about the gills. The Mojags were sitting awkwardly in small chairs, clutching glasses of betica in their large fists.
"What's happened?" I asked.
"Come in. Sit down, if you can find a seat," Jafit replied.
just thinking we have to talk like this one." He stalked over I notice the long, silver
Astarth clutched my arm. "Lolotea is gone," he said.
"Lolotea?" I said softly. "No . . ." It stunned me. Of all the kanene Lolotea was the least deserving of such a sordid end. Over the years, I have become inured to the death of friends, but it still shocked me. Astarth sat me down. "How?" I asked "How, Jafit?" A full glass was pushed into my hand. Jafit was comfortably exhibiting unconcern. "Don't you care?" My voice was near to breaking.
"Of course I care," Jafit answered sharply. "It was a har named Arno Demell, from the town. Don't worry, it will be dealt with."
"Has this sort of thing happened before?" I asked. Jafit made a noncommittal gesture.
"Yes it has," Astarth told me bitterly. I was satisfied to note that he looked quite ill.
"There are risks in every walk of life," Jafit said. Astarth sneered at that and I don't blame him.
"What are you going to do?"
Jafit smiled at my question. "Do, Calanthe? Why we're going to kill the fucking bastard, aren't we my dears?" The Mojags grunted uncomfortably in assent.
A voice sounded in the room. It said. "No, Jafit, you don't have to. I will." I was surprised to find it was mine.
"You?" Astarth said. "Why?"
Why indeed? I wasn't sure myself, but the feeling was there, gut-strong. Jafit didn't give a damn really; I did. They wanted reasons, so I gave them. "He was my friend. I liked him a lot. Let me deal with it. Don't you think I'm capable?"
Jafit smiled and poured himself another drink. "Capable? Oh my dear, you are obviously eminently capable. But you don't know Fallsend, do you? Think you could find Demell?"
"No he couldn't," Astarth said, and I turned around to protest, but before I spoke, he continued. "But I could. Calanthe is right in this, Jafit. It is our blood debt. It could have been any one of us up there." He looked at me. "Get your coat, Calanthe. I'll meet you in the hall."
"Astarth, do you know what you are doing?" Jafit asked, highly amused.
"Yes, give me some money. Twenty spinners should do it."
"OK, but you realize it will be too late to get help from us if you fail. Demell will be in hiding, I should think."
"We'll find him, Jafit." Astarth took the money that Jafit had taken from the drawer.
"Come on, Calanthe."
I went to fetch my coat, pausing in the corridor outside Lolotea's room.
If I'd been in there.... If I hadn't gone to see Kruin ... I shook my head. A life for a life for a life; never-ending. I opened the door and went inside. It was not ghoulish curiosity or even because I wanted to fuel the fire of the vengeance lust. I just went in. Someone had thrown a sheet over the body; a pathetic huddle on the floor. The light was on, the fire roaring away merrily in the grate. There was little sign of a struggle. I lifted the sheet. Whoever had done this was not on a blood and guts kick. Lolotea's neck was neatly broken with little other damage. He stared in surprise at the ceiling, his hands above his head. I squatted down and closed his eyes. Someone should have already done that. It was wrong that he should just be left lying there. I lifted the body in my arms and laid it on the bed. It was limp and cooling in my arms. The feeling of dead flesh is like no other; it is disorientating. The body of Lolotea was as empty as the clothes hanging in the cupboard. I opened the window, put a robe over the mirror and murmured a few soothing prayers to help the
spirit on its way, although strangely I could feel no inkling of its presence. Someone or something had come for it quickly. I shivered, suddenly cold with the sense of being watched. Of course, I am always watched. Perhaps to Lolotea's advantage in this case.
Astarth had scrubbed his face and dressed in dark, sober clothes. This was not the hard-bitten tart I knew. He looked very different; determined, competent. He paused, one hand on the door, looked at me hard. "Were you trying to shame me?" he said. I shook my head. "You know I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for what you said."
I shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"It should." He shook his head fiercely, swore under his breath, and opened the door. We went outside into the muffled snow-darkness and Astarth closed the door behind us, pulling on thick, woolen gloves in a manner that implied he meant business. We trudged down the hill toward the town. Tiahaar Arno Demell, I learned, was usually to be found draped over the bar and the pot-hara in the Red Hog Inn. Astarth suggested we go there first, although neither of us had much hope of finding Demell t
here.
"Jafit doesn't seem that upset about this," I said.
"No he doesn't," Astarth agreed in an uncommunicative tone.
"Would he have done anything?" I persisted.
Astarth stopped trudging. He turned to face me. "Oh Demell would've been banned from the establishment, but not much else, no. If Jafit persisted, he may have been able to get financial compensation from him. That, by the way, was what he meant by 'killing the bastard.' A momentary killing. Arno Demell is not a rich har. Don't you see, Calanthe, there is not that much of a difference between pelcia and murder. Sometimes a client will get carried away. Once they've paid their money to Jafit, he has little control over what goes on in those rooms."
"Astarth, that's . . . that's ..." I could not think of a strong enough word.
"Yes, isn't it?" We carried on walking.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Why are you here, Astarth? What kind of life is this?"
"Don't ask! Don't ask!" He started running through the quickly deepening snow. I followed him and we did not speak of it again. We didn't have to. After all, it's no kind of life, is it?
We searched and we searched. From inn to musenda to inn. Astarth asked questions, paid for information. Every lead we gained led to a dead end. I was beginning to give up. Demell could be miles from Fallsend by now. Astarth was more persistent. At another musenda, we spoke with a kanene who had a stitched wound all across his face and neck. Luck was looking us right in the eye; he knew where Demell was. Apparently, our prey had turned up there some while ago, being a close friend of the owner of the place.
"He was obviously in a bit of a state about something," our informant told us. "OK, we weren't supposed to know what was going on, but, let's just say we're more resourceful than our keeper gave us credit for." He smiled and the scar wriggled horribly on his cheek. "87 Canalside Row. Remember that. It's where you'll find him." He pressed the handle of a long, barbed knife into my hand. "Give Demell one for me," he said, running a finger down his scar. "Tiahaar Demell's a regular customer here; you see?" I tucked the knife into my belt. Yes, I could see.
Outside, I laughed and brandished the knife in a threatening manner. Astarth put his hand over my wrist and shook his head at me. "No," he said. "The punishment has to fit the crime. Come on." I followed him up another narrow streetlet that was slippery with snow. We went into a large and noisy inn named The Stone. Astarth said that many of
the Jaddayoth traders frequented it; some even stayed there. The Stone did look more affluent than the majority of Fallsend establishments. I wouldn't have minded pausing for a mug of ale there myself. Astarth said we didn't have enough time. I watched him asking a few questions of people, wondering what he was up to. We knew where Demell was now. Someone directed him to a thin-faced har wearing dark, purple clothes. He was leaning on the bar, smoking a long-stemmed pipe, staring at the crowd as if deep in thought. He inclined his head toward Astarth semi-interestedly. A brief conversation took place, and then the pair of them went outside. Astarth motioned me to wait in the bar for him. Never a person to miss opportunities, I bought myself a drink and sat down. Astarth was only gone a few minutes. He rejoined me looking furtive and edgy, manifesting dire impatience as I finished my drink. Outside, the freezing cold was as welcome as a hangover and just as mind-numbing.
"Well Astarth," I said, "what shady business were you up to in there?"
"The har I talked to was the Garridan Liss-am-Caar," he replied with reverent tones of dread. "He sold me this." A twist of paper was held out for me to inspect. I had seen such things before and opened it cautiously, sniffed the contents. This was something the Uigenna had once been most famous for; poison. "The Garridan deal in toxins and venoms," Astarth explained, taking the twist of paper back. Shades of Uigenna, I thought. Yes, definitely. We hurried through the streets to the place where we'd been told Demell had secreted himself. It was an unimposing house, close to the canal that was one of the trade routes between Thaine and Jaddayoth.
"Well, what do we do now?" I asked Astarth who had appeared to have assumed command. "Go up and knock on the door?"
"We wait awhile." It was terribly cold and uncomfortable. I smoked four cigarettes and then the door to the house we were watching opened. A solitary figure stepped out into the street, glancing this way and that. I saw the flare of a match. "It's him," Astarth breathed.
Arno Demell walked toward the canal. He exhibited no signs of worry, or fear that he was being watched. An average kind of har, unremarkable in appearance. He stood at the water's edge and threw something into the shifting, oily blackness. I'll never know what. For a moment, he continued to stare into the water. Then we jumped him. It would have been easy just to have thrown him into the canal; the freezing cold would have finished him off pretty quickly, but Astarth wanted to shake that packet of crystals into the poor fool's mouth. It was his moment of glory and I wasn't going to deprive him of it. I don't know whether he was genuinely grieved by what had happened to Lolotea, it was difficult to tell, but he certainly enjoyed making Demell suffer for it. The victim didn't ask who we were; he knew. Of course, he may have seen our faces before in Piristil, but I saw that resigned acceptance of doom as he witnessed Astarth's bared teeth and patient execution of vengeance. Demell knew what he had done and now accepted he had to pay the forfeit; in this case, death. The law of the jungle, the law of the world. Few poisons can affect a harish frame. We are a resilient race. We left Demell gasping and writhing at the edge of the water. I expect he eventually did fall in, but we didn't stay to watch.
We walked back to Piristil in silence, both of us wrapped in our own thoughts. Perhaps Astarth was thinking that one death can't pay for years of degradation, I don't know, but I was thinking of the Garridan. It was possible that they were derived from Uigenna stock. Suddenly, my mind was alight with ideas. This was it. Panthera's liberation was suddenly so much nearer.
The following day, a predictable pall of gloom and despondency hung heavily in the air in Piristil. The air smelled greasy; the air was cold. The kanene passed each other on the stairs with barely a greeting. We dressed in black and bound up our hair. There is a hill about half a mile away from the house. It is reached by a steep, muddy path. That is where Lolotea lies buried. There are no hienama in the town of Fallsend, no priests. Jafit, who had made no mention of Arno Demell and his fate, spoke a few hackneyed words over the open grave as Orpah and Wuwa lowered the rough, unadorned wooden box containing the remains of the murdered one into the ground. The rest of us
stood around, numb from cold and, in some cases, shock. Some of them wept. Flounah veiled himself in gray and stood withhis back to the grave. Ezhno held onto my arm, looking aggressive. There was no-one of Lolotea's blood to mourn him there. No-one would ever even know he was dead; a group of desperate whores the only thing he had close to a family. It was pathetic really, but me, I felt detached. I've experienced worse things.
After a dreary lunch, shared with Jafit and the others in Jafit's personal dining room, I went to find Outher. "I have to go into Fallsend," I said. "Want to come with me?" I think this rather disappointed him as he'd been | planning to spend the afternoon with me in a more secluded place. "We can eat in my room tonight, if you like," I added. That convinced him.
As we walked down the hill into the town, snow seeping through my boots, I was deep in thought. My mind was racing, but I strove not to show it. I remember forcing some inane chatter onto Outher. He must have thought me as empty-headed as the rest. Once the streets leveled off, I mentioned that I would like to go for a drink in The Stone. "It seems it's the best this lousy town has to offer," I said, and Outher agreed. He took my arm. "It will make me proud to walk in there with you," he said. How gallant.
Unlike the previous evening, The Stone was relatively quiet when we got there. A sumptuously painted har was draped over the bar waiting for custom. Outher offered to buy me a drink. I must not move too soon. I smiled and nodded and asked for a beer. As he str
olled up to the bar, I reflected that it was almost a pity that I would have to leave Piristil this way. I'd made good friends whose company I would miss, not the least of which, Lolotea. That resolved me. The sooner I left the better. I scanned the room. Being large, it appeared emptier than it actually was. I could see no face that I recognized. Outher came over to the table I had chosen with the drinks. I smiled. He sat down.
"Panthera seems to have taken to you," he said. "I've never seen that before."
"Oh, I don't know about that," I said. "I just get on well with anybody."
"I don't think I've ever heard him speak to any of the others."
"Have you heard us speak then?"
"No, but. . ."
I inclined my head. "Well then!"
"You know what I mean, Calanthe," he laughed. "By Aghama, you're a cagey creature—just like Panthera."
"Cagey are the beasts kept in cages," I replied lightly, while surreptitiously glancing over Outher's shoulder. I drained my glass. "My round, I believe."
The Wraeththu Chronicles Page 84
