Perilous Seas (31 page)

Inos
felt cold fingers of suspicion stroke the nape of her neck. What was the mage
up to now? “His hospitality brings honor on his house. Are there by
chance some conditions attached to such bounty?”

The
impudent smile on Skarash’s face did not fade or flicker by one eyelash. “He
did mention that he would enjoy a word with your gracious self before we set
out. Possibly you might put that question to him in person?”

So
there were to be strings. Unbreakable strings, most likely. Would Inos feel
bound if she gave her parole? A promise made under duress might not be as
binding as one freely made, but then she would likely be given the option of
staying in a cell ... and that thought reminded her of Azak.

“First
Lionslayer is still in the dungeons?”

“One
dungeon. Actually, it’s only a subcellar, but it’s too damp to
store anything of value. “

“May
I visit him?”

“Certainly!
Mistress, I assure you again that your slightest whim is my life’s
desire. “ Skarash opened the door and held it. Inos rose. Kade cast an indecisive
look at the puffy rolls and the peach preserve. “I don’t much care
for dungeons. I think I’ll wait here for you, dear.”

“Shall
I have more tea sent in?”

“No,
that’s not necessary,” Kade said, “I’ve certainly
finished eating.” She sat well back in her chair and tried to look
innocent.

The
corridor outside was narrow and twisting and uneven. The whole edifice was like
that, a maze of low ceilings, peeling plaster walls, and uneven floors-a
conglomeration of umpteen buildings, altered and connected and rearranged. “To
the left, Inos,” Skarash said softly.

Inos
stopped and met his eye. “You know who I am? Why I’m here?”

He
smirked, stepping close to avoid a woman passing with a load of laundry. He
stayed close, looking down at Inos with a twinkle and a scent of rosewater.

“Of
course! I’ll call you Hathark if you wish, but it’s almost as bad
as Phattas.” His voice had lost the djinn harshness, and his gestures
were impish. Could this be sorcery?

“You
are strangely changed from the surly young man I knew in the desert. “

“Here
we are in the Impire. When in Hub...”

“...do
as the Hubbans tell you?”

“Correct.”
He took her arm, holding it tight. “This way. And remember also, I am a
merchant. I always try to please, especially beautiful ladies. I give whatever
you want to receive.”

Was
a flirtation what she wanted? Skarash seemed to be heading that way like a
stampede of camels. But it would be fun to try a little banter again.

“The
alteration is an improvement, I think. Which do you prefer being-imp or djinn?”

He
grinned, and slid his arm around her. “With you, an imp. “ Again
they had to make way for passing baggage, and this time he contrived to crush
Inos into a corner. “Djinns can’t peek down a girl’s cleavage
very often,” he added, doing so and licking his lips.

Inos
placed a heel threateningly on his instep. Her borrowed dress was admittedly
tight across the bosom, the neckline strained. She recalled that not so very
long ago she had worried about putting padding in her clothes.

And
then-but only then-she remembered the pixies. Her heart leaped into her throat.
Sudden tremor. Man, too close. Hands. Eyes.

“Something
wrong?” Skarash said.

“No!”
Mouth dry, skin damp. She struggled to control her breathing. Flirt was not
rape! She must not give in to this now or it would haunt her all her days.
Could she remember how to flutter an eyelash? “Not at all. I expect I am
merely overcome by the sight of a shapely male calf, after being deprived so
long.”

He
gulped, and was djinn enough to need a moment on that one. Inos raced ahead,
sternly not thinking of pixies. “I could almost believe that the change
in you was due to sorcery.”

“Sorcery?
I know nothing about sorcery,” Skarash said solemnly. But the rosy eyes
seemed to change color slightly, and what they said was, Nobody else knows
anything about that, and if the mage chose me to be your guide it was to make
sure that there is no loose talk about sorcery.

Elkarath
had mentioned that Skarash was the one entrusted with laying out the first
magic carpet. He had been standing guard outside the door when the second
arrived with its passengers. He was very likely the Chosen One, the heir who
would receive the words of power when the sheik died.

“Just
a joke,” Inos said.

He
nodded as if satisfied, and they continued along the bustling corridor, then
down yet another winding staircase, the sixth or seventh Inos had met already.
The noises that infected the whole house were growing louder. “We have to
go through here anyway, and Grandsire wants that word with you.” Skarash
opened a door and ushered Inos into the largest open space she had yet seen in
Ullacarn.

Obviously
it was the business area of the House of Elkarath, and with the annual caravan
having arrived only the previous day, disorder and tumult were rampant. Light
poured in through three open doorways, each large enough to admit a six-horse
wagon, but the air was so thick with dust that Inos began to sneeze at once,
and her eyes to water-so Skarash considerately put his arm around her again,
guiding her between the highpiled clutter of barrels and bales and boxes. The
odor of cloves and cinnamon and caraway was intoxicating, but the whiff of
camel and horse was undeniable also. Porters and wagoneers and customers milled
to and fro, arguing and shouting over the din, loading and unloading, taking
and bringing.

The
legionaries standing by the doors were a surprise. Outside in the fiery
sunshine the busy street was thronged with people, all of them apparently imps:
ladies in bright gowns, with unveiled faces; many men, and even woman, with
their heads uncovered-although persons of quality wore fancy hats, of course.
Sudden nostalgia snatched Inos’s breath away.

With
eyes streaming and nose tingling, she found herself arriving at a short flight
of steps, leading up to a platform. There, in a large chair behind a long
table, sat Elkarath, writing with one hand, fingering his beard with the other,
an oasis of calm amid the hubbub, quietness within the racket. No sheik now,
within the Impire, he was merely Master Elkarath the merchant, yet imposing
enough in a bulky scarlet robe and a gold skullcap. Great ledgers stood stacked
beside him; clerks rushed in and out through other doors, or merely hovered,
waiting for his attention. Here the master could oversee the loading and
unloading, the trading and tabulating.

Grateful
that she need not raise skirts, for her hem was well above her ankles, Inos
climbed the worn wooden treads, assisted of course by the willing hand of
Skarash.

“You
may have to wait a moment, Mistress,” he muttered in her ear. “That
one looks important.”

Elkarath
was rising stiffly to greet a visitor, a legionary. The white horsehair crest
on his helmet denoted a centurion. “Why soldiers?” Inos murmured,
stepping back to where she would not impede the swarming clerks. “What
has the army to do with merchants?” There were at least a dozen helmets
in sight, all with black or brown crests.

“Guards,”
Skarash said, moving close. “This stuff is worth a fortune. “

“And
who would steal it?”

“The
army might.” He chuckled at her glance of surprise. “Watch
Grandsire closely. There!”

A
leather bag passed unobtrusively from merchant to centurion.

“Graft?”

“Of
course.”

Hands
were being shaken across the table now, and the centurion saluted.

Inos
let her attention wander over the bustling throng on the lower level. “Red
hair? Obviously most of these men are djinns?”

“At
least half of them are relatives.”

“Then
why dress like imps?”

Skarash
showed his teeth in a snarl. “Believe me, having red hair is bad enough.
Dressing like a barbarian is asking for trouble. “

“Is
Ullacarn part of the Impire, then? I thought it was an independent city-state.”

“Only
on paper. An Imperial protectorate, allied by treaty. But there are legionaries
here. Lots of them. “

Oh!
Like that, was it? There were legionaries in Krasnegar now, or there had been
the last time Inos had heard.

Skarash
said, “You’ve been noticed.”

Elkarath
had resumed his seat and was beckoning. Inos picked her way across the
platform, between the dodging, hovering flunkies. The centurion was still
standing there, but as she approached he removed his helmet to show that his
visit was now social. He was inspecting her with brazen approval, but she had
been away from imps long enough to notice the swarthy, pocky complexion, the
thick waist and narrow shoulders. Short by djinn standards ... but handsome
enough in his shiny bronze. More muscle than fat, dark wavy hair. Not bad.

“Mistress
Hathark!” Elkarath boomed. His voice and manner had changed dramatically
also, although not as much as his grandson’s. “You slept well,
lady?”

Had
he been spying on her insomnia? Inos donned one of Kade’s witless social
smiles. “Never better, thank you, sir! I was weary from the journey.”
She wondered if a curtsy was appropriate, and compromised with a dainty bob.
The centurion’s eyes were still peeling her, and she wished her dress
were just a little more Zarkian, or not quite so stretched in places.

Elkarath
nodded to her bob, without rising. “Skarash will see you have everything
you need, Mistress. May I present Centurion Imopopi?”

She
bobbed agan, the imp saluted.

“Your
first visit to beautiful Ullacarn, ma’am?”

Inos
felt an odd twinge of indecision. She was not sure what she was supposed to
say. Elkarath would hardly have explained that she was a refugee queen from a
kingdom at the other end of the world. On the other hand, his deceits were his
own problem, and she needed information as a fish needs water.

“Yes,
it is. Indeed I am a newcomer to this part of the world. “ That should
have led the conversation toward Krasnegar, but Elkarath moved to block it. “Mistress
Hathark and her party will not be staying long. They are merely passing
through, on their way back to Hub.”

They
were? Why would Rasha . . . had Inos then been sold already? Was she to be
delivered to Olybino in Hub? What use trying to escape if she was bound for Hub
anyway, or was this a trick?

Before
she could question, Centurion Imopopi laughed harshly, and Inos felt her skin
prickle as if in premonition of something wrong, but she had no time to
analyze, for he was speaking to her.

“I
shall not venture to praise Ullacarn if you are familiar with the city of the
Gods, ma’am. You had best not linger long, though. The season is late.
The passes will be closing soon. “

“Passes?”
Inos fished frantically for geography that had momentarily slid down behind the
back of her mind.

“The
Qoble Range, of course.” Why did his voice bother her? “You are not
from Hub originally, though?”

He
himself was, or from somewhere close to it. Perhaps it was merely his accent
jangling her alarms, and yet she had heard tones like that often enough at
Kinvale.

“Not
by a long way.”

“You
have traveled far, then?” A small frown showed that the soldier’s
carnal inspection had become tinged with more intellectual interest. He was
wondering what she was, as she did not quite fit any of the standard races.
Golden hair meant either elf or jotunn in the family tree-plus what? What she
was would be defined by her homeland.

“Oh,
very far!” Inos said. “So far that-much as I regret to say so-we
had never heard of Ullacarn where I come from. “ A gentleman dandy might
have prolonged the verbal sparring; a soldier went straight to the point. “And
where is that? “ Again his voice rasped a nerve. It was not the voice of
a common swordbanger, she decided. He spoke like an upper-class Hubban. But
rich families’ sons were not thrown in with the common herd to work their
way up through the ranks.

“I’m
sure you won’t ever have heard of it,” Inos said, with her best
two-sugar-lump simper. “A faraway kingdom called Krasnegar? It-”

Centurion
Imopopi dropped his smile. Color flooded his face, giving it a hard, dangerous
look. He paced forward menacingly, ostentatiously replacing his helmet. “Whatever
rumors you may have heard, miss, were malicious falsehoods. When we apprehend
persons spreading such slanders, we deal with them in appropriate fashion. “

Despite
herself, Inos backed up a step. The centurion followed her, dark eyes blazing. “The
men are flogged for acting against the public good. Women are punished as
common scolds. Is that not fair?”

She
was off balance. She was taken by surprise. It was too soon after the pixies,
and this man was potentially just as dangerous, albeit in other ways. He could
tie her behind his horse and drag her to the jail if he chose. Skarash had
warned her, and obviously an Imperial legionary on street duty was not the same
thing as a tribune or a proconsul sipping tea in a Kinvale parlor. Suddenly she
thought of pixies again, and began to shake again, and could find absolutely
nothing to say. Her mouth was too dry to say anything, anyway.

“On
the second offense we tear out their tongues. “

Inos
tried to say, “But, Centurion,” and produced a croak. She backed
another step.

The
collapse of her conversational efforts had been amusing Elkarath, but now he
came to her rescue. “Centurion, I think there must be a misunderstanding.
I’m sure that Mistress Hathark intended no harm to the public good. She
meant no slight to the imperor or his army. Indeed, I think that you may have
misheard her. She hails from a small island state named Har Nogar, located near
Uthle. “