Talons of Scorpio (15 page)

“Why, the Alemaster, of course, master.”

“Lead on, for that is where I am going.”

She led me past the cellar door and through a curtained archway into a narrow room where on shelves along one wall row after row of crystal bottles caught the morning sunlight through a high window. Apple green and palely pink, that morning light of the twin suns, Zim and Genodras. They were called that quite often in North Pandahem, for the culture of the island is split between north and south. Down in South Pandahem Zim and Genodras were often called Far and Havil. One pair of the most common Pandahem names for the Suns is Panronium and Panigium; one heard them sometimes from the older folk.

Naghan Raerdu was carefully siphoning a deep orange liquid from one crystal flask into a retort. He looked up, nodded a cheerful good morning, and finished off his task.

Then he said: “Thank you, Saffi. Now run along and find me a nice loaf of bread and a piece of Loguetter. I am famished.”

The slave girl, Saffi, nodded and ran off instantly. She was an impish thing, with smoothly rounded shoulders, and a swing to her hips. I fancied Naghan would manumit her in Pandahem terms the moment this assignment was through.

He looked out of the door, closed it almost shut and stood so that he could see through the slit if anyone should come by. Over his shoulder, he said: “I have certain news that Strom Murgon Marsilus will reach the city today.”

I felt disappointment.

Then I said: “I was hoping Kov Pando would be here first.”

“My source was imprecise. She seemed to think the young kov was on his way. She said that the king was much displeased with him.”

“Now that is a disappointment. I had cherished a thought the king was dead, burned up in his palace.”

“That is why he bears so heavily on Kov Pando. He blames him for the fire.”

“As I said, Naghan, my comrades set that fire in the temple of Lem the Silver Leem that was underneath the king’s palace. When I find the temples here, we will burn those also.”

“Praise be to Opaz. There is no word on the Ifts.”

“If Pando is in trouble with the king,” I said, fretfully, I admit, “that will heap more problems on his shoulders. I just hope his mother Tilda is found before he arrives.”

“That ninny Trandor the Broad, who claims to have been an archer before his fingers were chopped off, is headed this way. He will gossip, mark me. Can you meet me in the Awkward Swod at the hour of mid? It is in the Kyro of the Sword. I have ale to deliver there.”

“Yes. Any reason?”

“I hope to have intelligence of Zankov by then— Hai, Trandor, you old soak! Come to cadge a few mouthfuls, have you?”

Trandor the Broad smiled and grimaced, a lowly servitor in the palace and not a slave. He possessed only the thumb and little finger of his right hand. A barbarous practice, that, reminiscent of the Hundred Years War on this Earth. Some nations fear bowmen above all else.

I walked off with a polite word to Trandor and a mock thank you to Naghan for wares I had not sampled, and so trundled off to find a decent breakfast. This accomplished at a little stall in one of the side streets off the main Avenue of Triumph, I thought that I had a few burs to go before meeting Naghan. In that time I might redeem myself in my own eyes.

Depressingly enough, there were plenty and to spare of folk walking about sporting the brown and silver favors.

With so many Leem Lovers openly flaunting their allegiance, even if only the cognoscenti — in their estimation — would recognize and understand, there shouldn’t be too much difficulty in finding one of their Opaz-forsaken temples. I followed a few Brown and Silvers, and the more I went about Pando’s Port Marsilus the more I was dismayed. The place seemed alive with the evil cult. At last I selected a place that had once been a theater of some kind and was now in ruins. The door looked solid enough and the loungers outside lounged with a purpose. All were armed. There were at least a dozen. I wondered if news that their temples were being burned had reached the cultists here.

Down a side street and around the back I went, and found three fellows talking on the corner. The back of the theater had been propped up at some time; but the walls looked perilous. These were just the sort of premises the cult might choose. I sauntered up to the three. All wore the little silver leem and the tuft of brown feathers.

They didn’t waste time.

“Shove off, dom. Move along!”

“But,” I said, in a high falsetto. “I only wanted—”

“You’ll get a smashed skull.
Schtump!
”

So I, instead of schtumping, leaped for them.

I drew two-handed and used the hilts on them. They went to sleep peaceably enough, one, two, three, ob, dwa, so.

Their limp forms had to be dragged into the rubble out of sight. This I did. I confess I was drawn on. I’d intended merely to scout this place; but one thing led to another, and, well, I penetrated past the outer ruined wall and so came across a fine new wall, built of baked brick, with a new door of lenk, bronze bound. This opened to a touch. All beyond lay swathed in darkness but for a distant ruby wink of light. So, in I went. There was no excuse. I chafed for something to do after the days of relative inaction. What Pompino would say I didn’t care to dwell on.

The ruby light from a lantern illuminated a turn in the corridor. At the far end another door tempted me. I tried to tell myself to turn around. Quite clearly, this
was
a temple to the Silver Leem. Ergo, return, fetch up Pompino and a gang of our lads, and deal with the foul place. But, on I went, like any onker.

The door led into a maze of alleyways and storerooms, mostly disused, at the back of the building. As I cautiously worked my way forward I was sorting out the combustibles in my mind, seeing what would burn easily and what might need a little encouragement.

The sound of crying drew me to a small door with a single opening, iron-barred. Very quietly, I looked in.

The room was jam-packed with little girls. Children, not above six years old, I’d guess, most of them naked but a few with dingy scraps of cloth around their waists, they lay supine or huddled in fetal positions, they ran about screaming, they fought each other, they added to the filth of the room. They were all gargoyles of mud and dirt, as though just dragged in from the gutters. You could carve a slice of the smell and serve it out on a plate.

Down at the far end of the room an opening door made me duck down until only my eyes showed above the iron-barred grille. A woman wearing a yellow smock and gloves walked in. She just hoicked up the nearest child, swung her over her hip in a most professional fashion, and walked out.

The door was solid, iron-studded, and I wasn’t going to break it down in a month of the Maiden with the Many Smiles. That child had been taken off — for sacrifice, for torture, perhaps just for experiments, training in how to chop up a baby girl. There had to be a way around to the back through the maze of corridors. I started off, hurrying...

For the sake of the person concerned, it was fortunate that I bumped into no one on that crazy rushing progress through the dusty ill-smelling rooms and corridors.

Evidently, the front of the abandoned theater had been turned into the temple, and all these backstage areas used only occasionally or never. Keeping my bearings and twisting through the twisting corridors I hurried on and so came into a small foyer-like place with double-doors to my right. These were bolted on the inside. Faintly — very faintly — from outside came the sound of animals’ hooves and the grinding rattle of wheels. Ahead a door with a glass panel gave ingress to a chamber I felt reasonably confident must lie at the opposite end of the room of children. Only a fellow in a yellow apron tried to stop me and I put him to sleep, with some care, and looked around.

An opening to the side glowed with orange light. From there came the sound of cries, and splashings, and the tinkle of running water. I stuck my head around the edge of bricks framing the opening.

The woman I’d seen take the child out was bending over a bathtub. The child in the tub, yelling blue murder, was being given a thorough, a rough, a very hard bath. There was soap in the girl’s eyes; that was for sure.

Rows of white dresses hung from a line of pegs. On a side table stood an open box bulging with candies.

I knew this set-up of old.

There was even a cabinet full of pretty satin ribbons.

I took the woman by her yellow clad shoulder and turned her around. She did not hesitate. She tried to hit me with the soaped scrubbing brush.

That powerful instrument went flying. I looked at her.

“You are a dead woman if you make a commotion.”

She stared back, flushed, her brown hair in rat-tails over her sweaty forehead, her forearms hot-water pink. She had that hard, institutional look about her, perennially harassed, suspicious, always on the lookout for number one and ways to beat the system.

The child was rubbing her eyes and bawling.

Soap flew. I shook the woman. “You have stolen these children from their mothers. Is that any work for a woman?”

She spat back at me. “They are not stolen! Each one has been paid for—”

“Aye,” I said. “Aye, paid for by a silken dress and gold coin.”

“The bargain was just. The guards will cut you into very small pieces—”

“As small as you would cut these girls into?”

“You do not understand.” She wasn’t afraid. She was just impatient that some boorish buffoon had happened along to interfere with her work. No doubt she had to get a certain number of the children ready in time.

Now I faced a quandary of some magnitude. Just how many girl children there were I could only guess; certainly no less than twenty-five and probably as many as forty. By Krun! What a mess!

“What do you want?” The lines around her mouth showed a pinched look. “I must bathe ten girls—”

“You will not be bathing anymore, I think, for what you intend. They will be bathed, in love and care; but not by you or any of your-harridan crew.”

She sneered, and — despite all — you had to acknowledge her courage. “What can you do? Let them all go into the street? Don’t you think the guards will be here soon?”

So, feeling the idiocy of the bravado, I had to say: “Let them come. They can all die if they choose.”

Tired of this fruitless wrangling I hoisted her upside down and shook, and among a cascade of oddments out fell the keys. I upended her and dumped her down, hoicked the child out of the bath, not without a soapy chubby finger whistling perilously close to my eye, and heaved the woman in.

Her knees stuck up past her nose.

“Stay there. If you cry out, or try to run off, you are most certainly a dead woman.”

“There is no need to call or run for the guards.”

With those ominous words floating behind me I ran to the door, opened it and then surveyed the appalling sight within. If you imagine an ant’s nest, disturbed... Well...

Not having a pipe handy I’d not be able to play the Pied Piper. But some device had to be discovered to organize the girls, just for the time it would take to get them out — of course! I scuttled back, ripped out the box of candies and nipped back to the door. I held up a sweet and threw it to the nearest girl. The one I’d taken from the bath hung onto my legs, and bellowed: “Banje! Banje!”

“Here,” I said, and gave her a sweet.

The others caught on quickly. I backed off. By Zair! What an unnerving sight! A host of unwashed naked girl children, all screaming and howling and rushing down on me demanding candies! I just fled.

I did not drop a single sweet until we were at the bolted double doors leading outside. Here I gulped a breath, said a prayer to Zair, and unbolted.

In those few seconds the girls reached me and were all over me, clawing at the candy box. I put my foot against the door, closing it. I seized up the girl from the bath, who was chewing her sweet with dedication and demanding more.

“What is your name?”

At last, she mumbled out something that sounded like: Lobbi.”

“Look, Lobbi — over there. Wouldn’t you like a nice new dress? And a pretty ribbon?”

She was off like a woflo after cheese.

The other girls saw, and between grabbing candies from the spilled box and plundering the dresses, they resembled the ladies — and gents — on opening day of the January sales.

By the time each girl, grubby as she was, had struggled into a dress — and, by Krun, half of them didn’t fit — I felt it was past time for the guards to appear.

The double-doors opened easily enough. The Suns said it was almost to the hour of mid. Naghan Raerdu would have to wait. We trooped outside, and I went last, and then, late but deadly with their swords and spears, the guards rushed after us.

The woman bath attendant led them, the soap suds still glistening on her yellow smock.

“There he is!” she screeched. “The vile Lem defiler! Kill him!”

Chapter thirteen

The Little Sisters of Impurity

There were only six guards, and I felt I could handle them, allowing always for my caveat that one day, apart from Mefto the Kazzur, I’ll meet a better swordsman. There was no time for fancy work. The children were out on the street, gawping, some still crying and huddling, but enough of them wandering off. Those loungers on the corner, who lounged with purpose, should not be allowed to see their sacrifices wandering off...

So it was a case of skip and jump, of duck and bash.

“Take that, you tapo!” screeched the first, a fine big Rapa with bright yellow feathers around his beak. I took the flung spear from the air and almost in the instant he cast it it returned embedded in his chest. The woman screamed and urged them on, getting in the way. The next two, Rapas both, seeing what had happened to the first bore in with their spears at the port and a few quick and meaty thwunks had to be dealt to see them off. One fell awkwardly, breaking his spear which jammed in alongside his body, point up.

The next three, the final three, came on together. They wielded swords. Two foined — a waste of time in a bashing match of this description — and went down and the last faced me, his thraxter held in a professional fighting man’s grip.