Parasite Soul (5 page)

Niu glanced at him strangely from beneath her hood. “There are
many unsavory elements in Vingate,” she said in her oddly precise way.
“Not only the thieves and the cutthroats. This is including the rulers
themselves and the soldiers who guard the city. No one is truly safe
here.”

Simon thought about that. “And the people – they’re alright
with living like that?”

Niu offered a one-shouldered shrug. “What say do they have in
the matter? And there is no one here who is innocent. Many of them
would…” She made a throat-cutting motion with her hand. “…for personal
gain.”

“That’s horrible.” Simon, contrasting this conduct with the
neighborly camaraderie to which he was accustomed, shuddered. “Where I
come from, the people care for one another.”

“Don’t be fooled,” Niu warned. “People are much the same
anywhere. In the country, they simply find it easier to bury their
crimes.”

Simon didn’t think that could possibly be true, but he didn’t want
to argue with the handmaiden. He was, however, eager to learn more about
her. “Is it the same where you come from?”

Niu tilted her head, considering. “The people have greater
self-respect,” she said at length, “so that there is a pretense at civilized
behavior. But the emperor is nearly as cruel as your king.”

“The emperor who sent you to Cannevish.” Simon chose to turn onto a
broad stairway which spilled down a dark slope toward the broad ring of slums
which encircled Vingate’s more affluent core.

“Yes.” Niu couldn’t disguise the bitterness in her voice. She
pointed downhill. “We must be careful. These people can be
desperate. Keep your sword at hand.”

“My sword,” Simon repeated blankly, patting his traveling bag.
“Where is it?” He unslung the bag and set it down, rummaging through the
clothes and foodstuffs he’d brought along on his quest. The dragon-burned
sword was not there. “But I swear… I know I put it…”

Niu sighed theatrically. “Fine. Never mind. Just
move with confidence and… and remove that foolish thing.” She yanked his
false beard off.

Simon blinked as she threw the revolting mat of hair into the bushes
which accompanied the stairs in their descent. “But, the guards…”

“The guards are foolish enough to be deceived by such a
disguise. The brigands such as those that we will find in lower Vingate
are not. If you appear to them as though you are disguised, you will seem
valuable, perhaps someone for whom they can collect a reward.”

“But…” Simon repeated.

Niu cut him off impatiently. “These people do not know your
face. They are not looking for you. Even the guards will not be
looking for you, not yet. The disguise is no longer of value. It is
time to be bold, as you were when you slew the dragon.” She left
supposedly
slew
mercifully implied.

Simon said nothing, following her lead as she descended the
remaining stairs and began to wind her way through the shanty town. The change
in scenery and atmosphere was abrupt and dramatic; Simon felt as though he’d
stepped from one painting into another by a totally different artist. Tiny
ramshackle residences - some of which were little more than lean-tos - crowded
the crooked pathways which passed for streets. Pigs and chickens roamed
freely, unhealthily thin and extremely wary. Excrement was a continual
hazard. Simon locked gazes with a sad-eyed dog chained outside a
heavily-patched tent. It barely had enough lead to turn in a
circle. Fleas and lashes had both left their mark on this filthy,
whip-thin, deeply depressed creature. Simon felt profoundly sorry for it.

Occasionally cloaked figures slumped outside the dilapidated dwellings,
slumbering in the open air. Not all of the residents were asleep,
however, and Simon squirmed beneath the coolly appraising gaze of unfriendly
eyes, seen and unseen. He glimpsed a hirsute fellow glaring at him from
the shallow depths of his tumbledown shack, toying with a cleaver as though
deciding whether gutting the two strangers was worth the effort. An
unsavory trio of gaunt, pockmarked women hunched over a stewpot exchanged
glances which seemed to read:
Aha! The missing ingredient!
Even the hard-eyed local children seemed likely to carve him up. Simon
cursed himself for forgetting his sword.

Niu’s pace was brisk but unhurried; the perfect balance between a
woman going purposefully about her business but without fear. Simon
attempted to emulate her, and they made good progress. Strangely, they
spotted more of the city guard in this den of ill repute than they had in the
more affluent quarter of the city, but these soldiers were never about official
business. They passed two guardsmen in royal colors gambling by
torchlight with several disreputable-looking rogues under a battered old
awning; the men speared Simon with a granite stare, and one of their friends
whistled at Niu, who cut an impressive figure even beneath her shapeless traveling
robes. Simon had the sense to keep his eyes fixed on some imaginary
destination and to stride past with purpose.

It was more difficult for him to mind his own business when he and
Niu had to edge past a grunting soldier servicing an unresponsive woman whom
he’d crushed up against the walls of a protesting shack. Red-faced from
his exertions, the jowly guardsman shouted at Simon to move along. The
woman, her worn dress hitched up to her waist, was staring into the darkness of
the void above, her eyes vacant and unfocused. A cigarette dangled from
between two acid-splashed fingers. A strange red mark, a V within an O,
discolored her forehead. Niu had to tug at Simon’s arm to stop him
staring.

“Come,” she hissed as they picked their way over a jumble of toppled
barrels. “Do not attract attention to yourself.”

Simon made no response, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the flat
lifelessness of the woman’s expression. He’d heard tell of the
prostitutes of Vingate, and how they were marked, but he hadn’t expected the
sight to disturb him.

Of course, he hadn’t anticipated much of what had transpired since
that fateful moment when he’d shouldered the mantle of hopeful
dragonslayer. Less than a week had passed since that moment, yet it might
have been a decade. Simon himself couldn’t read the posters which the
king’s men had plastered across the common board outside the pub in Brand, but
his friend Jeb had translated them for him. Jeb had understandably
thought him mad when he’d announced his desire to participate, but Simon could
be stubborn; besides which, the rusted sword had bolstered his courage.
Little as he knew about the kingdom beyond Brand’s insular bubble, he’d always
longed to experience it. How hard, he’d reasoned, could a dragon be to
kill? He’d faced down an angry bull on more than one occasion, after
all.

As for the princess, he hadn’t foreseen any complications. The
village girls fancied him enough; that had been his simplistic rationale.
Traveler’s tales spoke of Tiera being a difficult young woman, but in Simon’s
imaginings he’d likened her to Bess, Brand’s no-nonsense publican, who would
box her customers about the ears if they got out of line. Until he’d set
foot on the palace grounds and seen that unnerving pathway of skulls, he hadn’t
given much thought to the possibility of any manner of life-threatening
unpleasantness.

All in all, Simon was learning that he had a lot to learn about the
world.

The nearer they drew to the lake, the sketchier the inhabitants of
the slum became; desperate, reckless men and women. As ragged shadows
shifted around him, Simon truly began to fear for his skin. Stumbling
across several fresh corpses, tossed unceremoniously in a gutter, didn’t
bolster his confidence. How could people live like this, in such violent
disharmony with their neighbors? Did no one here ever sleep?

A tattered old beggar, reeking of stale urine and sweat, began to
paw and clutch at him, demanding alms. Simon pushed the man away as gently as
he could, but the toothless old relic grew ever more insistent, pawing at
Simon’s pockets, plucking at his bag, his voice rising shrilly as his demands
intensified. Moonlight glinted off disturbingly pale, misted eyes.

Horrified by the intensity of the beggar’s insistence – to say
nothing of his stench – Simon retreated, hands raised. This proved to be
the wrong decision, as the decrepit old creature, sensing weakness, slipped a
vulture’s claw beneath his filthy rags and produced a knife. Lunging with
surprising swiftness, he pressed against Simon’s throat, hissing epithets while
his victim stood paralyzed. Niu kicked the beggar violently in the shins,
eliciting a howl of pain and distracting him from his quarry. Her second
target was his groin, which dropped him, and finally, as he rolled around
moaning and clutching his jewels, her boot connected twice with his face.

“I told you,” she panted as they left the groaning man to nurse his
ruined, spurting nose. “Show some spine.” The look she threw him
was not flattering. “I had hoped you could help me out of the city to
safety. It seems I must continue to help you, instead.”

“Sorry,” Simon muttered inadequately.

“The lake is just ahead,” Niu pointed between two crazily-leaning
structures at the stretch of slick darkness beyond. “We will follow the
shoreline to the road. Then we will decide where to go before pursuit can
begin.”

Pursuit,
Simon thought.
I’m a
fugitive now
. The thought clenched unpleasantly in his gut.
What
will father say
? He imagined how proud Veter would have been if he’d
returned home with the new family appellation
Dragonslayer
and a wave of
misery washed over him.

“We will have to be off the road by daylight,” Niu continued,
shoving a tottering, hooded drunk to one side as she picked her way down a
garbage-choked alley. Simon scrambled after her, stumbling over some
unidentifiable refuse, and found himself standing on the shore of Lake
Undinell.

Abandoned rowboats and wreckage littered the shoreline. Debris
bobbed in the oily water. These city folk, Simon thought, with a spike of
distaste, were a careless, filthy lot. They cared nothing for one another
or their environs. He couldn’t wait to be away from Vingate.

“There!” a man shouted behind them. “That’s them, there!”

Simon whirled. Niu followed suit. Struggling down the
alley they’d just left behind them, puffing madly, the ruddy-faced guard Simon
had seen with the prostitute earlier was jabbing one grimy finger in their
direction. Two men followed him, torches held aloft. Both were
soldiers of the city guard. It took Simon only a moment to identify them:
Brannock and Rowland.

Niu spat something in a language Simon did not comprehend, but he
understood its message clearly enough.

“Do we run?” he asked.

Niu shook her head. “They will take us if we try. Can
you swim?”

Simon stared at the uninviting lake and tried not to imagine what
might lurk beneath that dark surface. “Yes. Not well.”

“Not well will have to do.” Niu dropped her bag, kicked off
her boots, and waded into the waters.

Shuddering, Simon followed suit. There was no time to
hesitate; the guards were almost upon them, running as though demons were
nipping at their heels.

“Halt!” Rowland yelled. “Halt in the name of the King!”
His sword was drawn. Simon plunged into the icy clutches of the lake. The
chill stole his breath, but he struggled after Niu, who was already nearly lost
from sight, a faint shadow in black water.

“Stop them!” Brannock howled, a tremor of desperation coloring his
voice. “Stop them, or it’s our heads for certain!”

Simon, recalling the path of skulls, didn’t doubt that. These
men had already allowed him to escape once. Sympathy for their plight
caused him to hesitate, but only fleetingly. He heard the men splashing
into the lake behind him. They wouldn’t be able to follow him in their
armor, so long as Simon made the open water.

“A bow!” Rowland shouted, his voice an octave higher than
normal. “A bow, does anyone have a bow?”

Someone just behind Simon made a grab for him. Gloved fingers
brushed his shoulder blades. Yelping, he dove forward, surrendering to
the inky blackness, churning the water with his scissoring legs. Even
through the rush of liquid in his ears, he could hear the roar of frustration
behind him. Someone was shouting orders, distorted beyond comprehension
by the water. Simon just hoped none of the old boats rotting on the shore
were still serviceable.

Surfacing, he looked for Niu. He couldn’t see her anywhere,
and the chill of the lake was already seeping into his bones. It would be
a poor showing if he survived all that he had and died of pneumonia, but at
that moment it seemed to him to be a very real possibility. Scanning the
beach as he clumsily trod water, he saw the figures of the three guards racing
along the shoreline. He wondered whether they planned to launch a patrol
boat and how long that would take to organize. Perhaps they would instead
post watchmen at various points about the perimeter of the lake. Either
way, Undinell was an expansive body of water, and they would find it difficult
to stop two people slipping through any net they chose to cast.