The Icerigger Trilogy: Icerigger, Mission to Moulokin, and The Deluge Drivers (20 page)

It took little skill to skewer the killer through the middle.

The tran screamed like a girl, which added a satisfying note to the growing pandemonium. At one end of the hall, figures could be seen running toward them. Ethan started for them.

And tripped over the prone guard in the half-dark.

He rolled over on his back, stunned. Above him a tall, shadow-garbed figure raised a red saber over its head. Fangs glowed in the oil-light. The saber descended. He could hear the air it cut. The wielder grunted questioningly and Ethan heard the steel hit the stone floor at his side, so close that it cut his shirt and struck sparks from the rock. Something blunt hit him in the stomach.

It was the feathered end of the arrow that was buried in the other’s gut. Another millisecond and he was buried in an avalanche of blood and fur.

It might be lighter than it should, but it was dead weight. In a minute, though, there were hands to help him. He stared into the gloom. Hunnar was among the crowd. Feet ran past him. Shouts rang like bells from the hallway walls.

“Very close, Sir Ethan,” said the knight, giving him a muscular arm up. “Our thanks.”

“Mine to you,” he replied breathlessly. He fingered his middle where the back of the arrow had struck before snapping in half.

“Not to me. Hunnar pointed to another figure standing in the twilight beside them.

Suaxus-dal-Jagger was holding a bow half again as tall as himself, an arrow notched in the gut-string. He nodded curtly, turned, and started down the hall.

Hunnar knelt and rolled the body of the saber-holder over. He examined the silent face while Ethan tried to wipe some of the blood from his parka.

“Do you recognize him?” he asked curiously.

“No, but that is not surprising strange. Such men take care of their anonymity. What happened?”

Without replying, Ethan turned and led him into the room he’d seen so briefly. At least twenty armed tran were now clustered inside. Their faces were not pleasing to look upon. Right now they were giving the room a thorough search, even hunting for hollow places in the walls.

The du Kanes had been released. Colette was rubbing her wrists. In the freezing air Ethan could imagine how painful the ropes must have been. When she saw Ethan, she took a step in his direction, caught herself, and stared at the floor.

Crazy twit, he thought uneasily.

“You happened along at a propitious time, sir,” said du Kane. “Those blackguards rudely assaulted us in the midst of a sound sleep. Before we knew it we were trussed tighter than a good copyright. We—”

The Landgrave stepped roughly between them. He put a paw on each of Ethan’s shoulders, gently but firmly.

“This I do now promise you, Sir Ethan. We are bound to this fight that approaches and there is no help for it. But should Wannome triumph, I swear to you on my ancestor’s honor that all our abilities and wealth shall be bent to the task of taking you to wherever you should wish, be it halfway around the world. I owe you my life. Few in Sofold carry such a valuable curam.” He turned to greet his daughter, who had just arrived. She ran into his arms, her face twisted into an unreadable alien expression.

Ethan turned away. That ought to do as a lever for trade concessions, he thought, trying to push the sentimental scene from his mind.

“I’m not sure I understand, Sir Ethan,” said Hunnar, rubbing his own arm. Maybe he’d literally fallen out of bed. Ethan became aware for the first time that the knight was naked except for his sword. “Why did they take your two friends?”

“It’s obvious enough,” explained Ethan tiredly. “They were going to murder the Landgrave and make it appear as though the du Kanes had done it. Not only would that have finished your plans to fight this Horde, but it would put
us
in a pretty fix, wouldn’t it? C’mon, Hunnar, you know as well as I who’s behind this.”

Hunnar hesitated, then looked shocked.

“The prefect? But he wouldn’t dare!”

“Someone did. Why not him?”

“For one thing, my friend, you are mistaken in your thoughts. Should the Landgrave die it would have no effect on our decision to fight the Horde. The Landgrave’s daughter would inherit the throne and a new Landgrave would be chosen to serve beside her. Having been duly determined, the Council’s declaration would stand.”

“I see,” said Ethan reflectively. “Tell me. Does Elfa get to choose her own Landgrave?”

“Certainly not! Should the Landgrave leave naught but female offspring, then the eldest receives a suitor selected by the Council. Someone to perpetuate a strong line.”

“Really.” Ethan was thinking furiously. “And who would the Council be likely to pick as a good match?”

“I had not given the matter any thought,” replied Hunnar. “I doubt anyone has. The Landgrave has many years before him yet. In such a case I might hope it could be myself.” He averted his gaze. “But ’twould probably not be.”

His head came up and his eyes widened. He looked thoughtful. “I understand you now, Sir Ethan. Yes, for the sake of seeing himself on the throne, or his children, he could do that.”

They stood quietly for a few moments. A soldier appeared at the doorway, his armor askew from the speed at which he’d donned it.

“Nothing is found of the other Unmentionables, sir,” he gasped out. “Tis feared they have eluded pursuit and left the castle.”

“Keep at it,” replied Hunnar angrily. “They may be hidden in a box somewhere, or in the kitchens. Search every corner, even the catacombs. Find them!” He turned back to Ethan.

“Did you see their faces?”

“Sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t see much of anything after sticking this one.” The thought of what he’d just done suddenly hit him. “I … sorry, Hunnar, I feel a little sick.”

“I did … see one,” said Colette. Ethan turned surprised eyes on her.

“I thought you didn’t understand the language.”

She looked at him pityingly. “Did you think I’d waste my time studying patterns in my quilts? I’ve been studying the language with our servants. So has father. His mind … wanders, sometimes. But when it’s all present, it’s a shockingly competent one. He has a photographic memory, I might add … I think I understand what this Hunnar said. He wanted to know if you could identify those who got away, didn’t he?”

“Yes. And you think you could?”

She nodded.

“What does the She say?” asked Hunnar interestedly.

“She believes she can recognize your two assassins if she sees them again.”

“That would be excellent!” The knight’s eyes sparkled. He showed his teeth. “Tis something, at least.”

“Look, why not pick up the prefect for questioning? It’s certainly the best lead you’ve got.”

“Lead? Oh, I see. Arrest the prefect?” Hunnar looked shocked. “On only personal supposition? It cannot be done! … No, not even the Landgrave would consent to it, though no love is lost between him and Brownoak.”

“Don’t you have protective custody?” Ethan asked.

“What?”

“Never mind. Well, that sticks it, then,” he said disgustedly.

“I am sorry, friend Ethan. I do not understand.”

“Forget it, Hunnar.” He patted the knight on one massive, hairy arm. “I hope you find your assassins. Would-be assassins.” On Terra, he mused, he’d be a prime suspect.

His reason for paying a nocturnal visit to the Landgrave was completely forgotten. Anyhow, this wasn’t the proper time to discuss it.

He looked around at a sound from the doorway. September was standing there, swaying slightly and looking a little bemused. Ethan didn’t find the big man’s drunkenness a bit funny just now.

“Now, what’s all the racket here?”

“The du Kanes were kidnapped by a bunch of local nasties. They intended to kill the Landgrave and frame the du Kanes for it.” He eyed September intently. “I broke it up.”

“Bravo, young feller-me-lad, bravo!” He belched loudly. “Wonder what they do for hangovers here. This damned racket’s given me a devil of a one—practically shook me out of bed.”

“Then why don’t you go back to it?” Ethan spun away in disgust.

September stared at him sharply for a moment, then sagged. “Yerse, young feller, I believe that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He turned and stumbled off down the hall.

It was much, much too soon when the servant woke Ethan politely and brought in his breakfast. A carton of their own emergency rations, thank Rama! Not that the local food last night hadn’t been edible. Even tasty in spots, but it was good to smell real terran food again, even if fast frozen.

He searched through the case and came up with a can of self-cooking bacon and eggs, a smaller cylinder of coffee, and a flat, two-sided slab that when keyed down the middle broke into two hot slices of buttered toast.

He wolfed it all down, rearranging the more persistent itches within the parka. Preparing to don his shoes, he found a pair of fur-lined boots next to them. They were a little large, but then the royal tailor no doubt had a hell of a time with their foot shapes. Not to mention the odd task, as the tran didn’t wear footgear.

Probably September had slipped him instructions and a rough sketch or two. So they were ill-fitting and awkwardly stitched, but they were warm and that was all that counted. The soles were even studded with tiny metal shards, to give them some grip on the slick ice.

Unfortunately, he was still stuck with the too-large survival suit. He might do better with a native coat like September’s.

The castle that morning was a carnival of conversation and gossip. It centered around the attempted assassination and the role played by the visitors from the sky. September went off somewhere with Balavere and Hunnar to inspect the city and harbor defenses and make pertinent suggestions. Ethan wondered about the big man’s profession for the nth time and finally gave it up. An admitted criminal …

No, he cautioned himself. Being wanted on several worlds did not automatically convict him. Church and Commonwealth notwithstanding, the legal tenets of planets varied hugely from system to system. They had to. Monolithic law would make the gigantic humanx Commonwealth unworkable.

So the same act that might condemn a man to death on one world could make him hero on another.

A servant told Ethan that on awakening Williams had been visited by no less a personage than the great wizard himself. So those two were off again somewhere trading anecdotes and information.

The du Kanes were keeping to their room. As for Walther, he was allowed out under guard for exercise only.

That left him alone to explore the town and the castle.

Several days of comparative freedom from official dinners and such gave him time to examine Wannome in more depth. In many ways it resembled a host of small ancient terran walled towns. Especially those few that had been preserved as historical monuments. Ethan knew a little of them from school and the traveldees.

Personally, he’d never been able to afford a trip to the home world. Nor had the company found it fit or necessary to send him. Someday, perhaps …

But there were endless differences.

For example, there were none of the fountains that decorated so many human and thranx towns. Naturally not. Not when it would require constant heating to keep the water flowing.

Alternatively, many of the houses sported fantastic roof decorations carved in ice, often by very young cubs. The inhabitants were gruff, but friendly. By the second day they’d gotten over their fear/uncertainty and had grown positively effusive. Clearly the word had been passed that the humans were not only guests but special favorites of the Landgrave. And he who favors one favored by the Landgrave favors himself—a universal tenet, if differently expressed, he reflected.

The cubs were a total and unexpected delight, rolling, bouncing, chivaning balls of fur that surrounded him wherever he went and threatened to get all tangled up in his clumsy legs. The blatantly displayed fact that he possessed neither chiv nor dan both astounded and delighted them. No doubt they looked on him as a new variety of friendly freak, a silly goblin called up just to please and delight them.

He visualized them lying in the street, running blood, impaled on pikes, and decided that if he’d been in Hunnar’s place he would have fought for this chance to resist as soon as he’d grown old enough to articulate his position.

Or would you, my good salesman? Sure you wouldn’t have found it more expedient to buy another two or three years of safety, of good business? Eh? So certain of your conscience?

The thought bothered him and he shook it off without resolving it. Of course it was tough to get out of the habit of buying peace. But it could grow too comforting, too degrading. A dedicated pacifist, he found himself shocked at what a few days on this backward world had done to his comfortable picture of the universe. Weren’t the commercial practices of some of the great companies just as bloodthirsty and ruthless, if more discreet? Didn’t Sagyanak have his counterparts in polished boardrooms and his spirit back of major stock manipulations?

By the end of the first week he’d already grown a little bored with Wannome. Even the harbor, with its ever-shifting panorama of rafts and cargoes, was growing stale. Heart and soul he was a big-city boy. While he could trade, and trade well, on the most primitive worlds, it was the thought of mechanized comfort and sybaritic civilization awaiting his return that pushed him along. His was most definitely not the soul of an outdoorsman.

None of the captains he talked with, nor any of their crewmembers, had ever heard of Arsudun Island or Brass Monkey. Nor had they visited The-Place-Where-The-Earth’s-Blood-Burns.

It was a fine, sunny day—meaning that the temperature was within cozy distance of freezing and some tran were going without coats. And you didn’t have to lean into the wind to stay in one place. He met Colette in the hall. When she finally confessed to boredom exceeding his, he proposed that they explore some more of the island.

Hunnar took a few minutes away from his frantic preparations to provide them with instructions on how to get around. Certain sections of the island would be easier for them to see than for a tran, while others would be just the reverse.