Kingdoms of the Night (The Far Kingdoms) (10 page)

I hadn’t told anyone who Janela really was nor our intent — other than Quatervals and one or two others — but I’d forgotten people make up their own stories when there’s an absence of fact and the most lascivious is generally the best-believed and the quickest to spread.

“Thank you, my friend,” I snarled. “Now I understand why you come from such a
very
small tribe.”

Quatervals snickered but took no injury. It was remarkable that unlike most people who pride themselves on the truth he was decidedly thick skinned.

Hesitantly I told Janela about the problem, fearing damage to her reputation. I was hoping she might produce an explanation for her presence that involved an area somewhere above the genitals.

She just laughed. “What do you think people said any time I put myself under the tutelage of a man?” She heard the echo of her words and laughed once more. “Yes, sometimes I did just that but it was at my desire, not my mentors’.”

I said I was amazed she’d found so many sensible and understanding people to study and live with. I knew too many masters who thought their power over their servants included the bedroom as a matter of course.

“It wasn’t they were understanding,” she said. “But words, sometimes magical, sometimes not, can change a man’s mind, if indeed he’s thinking at a time like that. It always surprised me how quickly a jest can turn a stiff tool into a limp cloth.”

I told her she needn’t go in search of the Kingdoms to gain riches — I could name a dozen households in Orissa where the maids would cheerfully pay a week’s wages to learn those jests.

She smiled and said in the current matter what people said didn’t bother her so we could let the problem lie as far as she was concerned. “If you say nay, you’ll be the first man I’ve ever met with gray in his beard who
does
object to people saying a young woman thinks he has something under his tunic she finds worth while.”

That ended
that
and I retired, a bit amazed I could still blush. Janela’s somewhat bawdy honesty would have made Janos proud.

None of this changed the sense of dread that haunted me. I even wondered if my mind might be weakening and soon I’d be one of those old loons who sit in parks, nodding in the sun and trying to remember the path back to where bread drenched in milk awaits their toothless pleasure.

Then I remembered. I’d had this feeling before. But the knowledge brought me scant comfort because I also remembered when and where. It was when Janos Greycloak and I sought the Far Kingdoms. There’d been wizards searching for us, trying to find and destroy us from several directions. First there’d been the Archons of Lycanth and I recoiled reflexively at their memory, hoping their dead souls were even now screaming in some demons’ embraces. Far worse was the watching by the one who controlled the two Archons, Prince Raveline, the sorcerer who’d seduced and then helped Janos destroy himself and whom I’d slain with the help of my brother’s ghost in that haunted city above Irayas.

Once again I felt I was being
watched,
or more correctly looked for, like a hunter scans a thicket for the stag he’s certain is hidden within. By whom I had no idea. So I tried not to think of him, for so I thought this entity, although it might as well have been her or it, which was foolish, much like telling an honest man you’ll fill his cloak pockets with gold if he can
not
think of a blue pig for the passage of a glass.

Fortunately there were other things to take care of, the most important being the finishing of the
Ibis
. I also sent word by fast courier boat for two of the vessels I kept ported in Redond across the Narrow Seas, to refit according to my instructions for an inshore trading expedition in an area where great storms could be expected. This way their captains would have no clue as to my intent yet would be ready for a deep water crossing and whatever lay at the voyage’s end.

Once the ships were ready I ordered them to anchor just off Orissa’s river mouth to await further orders. I would rather have had three ships identical to the
Ibis
but we hardly had the time. These two, sister ships named
Firefly
and
Glowworm
, were single-deck hoys, smaller than
Ibis
, less handy and luxurious but as close as I could come to ships that might meet any problem I could imagine.

All this was important but in the course of all these details of ships being here and there, Amalric’s gut shrinking from here to here, his ability to trot from there to there... something was ignored.

I discovered what it was one night not long after dusk. There’d been a chill wind blowing, a reminder of winter’s storms with brief spatters of rain, a night that made a man grateful when he saw his home loom up out of the blackness, its windows alight from a fire someone has thoughtfully laid for him and his mind turns toward a warm brandy and spiced roast fowl and perhaps a blanket across his knees. Such were my thoughts as I huddled in my cloak as Quatervals turned our carriage out of Orissa’s heart, where I’d spent an exhaustive afternoon at one of my banking houses making sure they understood our new currency exchange policies.

I felt something touch my spine. Not fear, not dread but... a warning, perhaps. It wasn’t of danger, but more like what a man feels when he’s ridden out and can’t remember whether he left his door unbarred and so turns back.

“Quatervals,” I said. “To the yards. I wish to see the
Ibis.
”

I was not telling him exactly what I did feel, since nine times of ten the man comes back to his house and finds to his embarrassment not only is the door securely barred, but bolts are slid and the latchstring pulled inside.

Janela should still be at the ship, since two days earlier I’d told her which cabin would be hers and against her not-very-sincere objections told her she could decorate as she pleased since she’d be spending long hours in it during our journey. Further, she should keep in mind she might well be entertaining important visitors there. Those guidelines had produced a flurry of yardage merchants, painters and chandlers, as well as a quickly-suppressed moan on my part as I realized what most of Orissa and not just my household must now be thinking about goatish old Amalric Antero, his trading ship being turned into a floating bedroom and his new-found obsession with the woman of short-bobbed dark hair and soul-staring eyes.

But I’m afraid I let my concern show as I asked him to put the horses to a trot. Quatervals looked at me sharply, tapped the reins on the horses’ backs and adjusted his sword belt so his blade was handy. I thought of telling him it wasn’t
that
bad, I was just being a cantankerous old man. The yard workers were gone and the docks deserted when we pulled up.

I muttered, seeing that the yard lamplighter was amiss in his duties and hadn’t bothered to fire the torches that sat on posts along the wharf the
Isis
lay at. But there were two lanterns burning at the ship’s gangway and I could see another light flaring from the windows of Janela’s cabin. All was very peaceful. Feeling even more a fool I got out of the carriage and started toward the ship. Quatervals gave me a skeptical glance but followed.

We’d just gone through the gates when I heard a shout from the
Ibis
, a woman’s shout of anger and surprise.

“Janela!” I said, but Quatervals was already running, his blade whipping out of its sheath as he went. I went after him as fast as I could, cursing myself for being a fat comfortable fool.

Quatervals ran down the slight incline toward the finger-wharf and two men sprang out at him from behind some bales of cargo. I saw steel flash as Quatervals lunged at one and he screamed agony, but the second smashed at him with a club and sent my guard spinning off the quay into the water.

The man came at me, club high as I panted toward him. At one time when I’d been a bravo, I would’ve lugged out and spitted him like a cockerel as he charged. But not now, not carrying all these years. All I had time for was to slip out of my cloak and swirl it out like a bait net, waist high. Gods be blessed the wool was heavy and wet, with enough weight to send him stumbling to the side, clawing for his balance, then going to one knee.

Before he could recover I saw a long pole, a tool of some sort, and seized it. It had a heavy ball at its end, and I swung as hard as I could. The weight struck my attacker in the head and dropped him. He lay motionless but I had to be sure and stamped hard on his throat.

I could feel my heart thudding against my chest, trying to burst free. A few feet away lay the sprawled body of a man, the lamplighter, struck down before he could accomplish his task so the villains would have benefit of the dark. I held the pole he used to light the dock lanterns, a long stick with a heavy ball of tarred twine at the end.

On the deck of the
Ibis
I saw figures and again heard Janela shout with rage. I ran, staggering actually, down the dock, a buffoon armed with a match. As I went past, I saw Quatervals reach a piling and laboriously begin pulling himself out of the water.

The
Ibis
was beside me, her deck and bulwarks not much higher than the dock. On the ship were four struggling figures. One of them was Janela and I saw the glitter of her dagger as she cut at an attacker. The other three carried swords and wore dark clothes. I stood helpless, trying to determine what I could do. Then amazement hit as I watched Janela defend herself.

I had never...
have
never... seen
anyone
fight in such a manner and I’ve witnessed, in demonstration or for blood, a thousand ways of war. It’s possibly easiest to understand if I describe what I saw rather than try to explain: One man lunged at Janela, but even as his wrist straightened for the thrust she’d slipped inside his guard and slashed and I heard a shriek.

A second man was bringing his sword — a great two-handed blade up over his head but as he did she shifted sideways and the blade smashed into the wooden deck, bedding itself.

Before he could yank free, she drove the dagger into his chest.

The third man struck at her back but again she was not there for the blow to land. But she’d had to move in such a hurry her weapon was still bedded in the second man’s chest as he tumbled backward.

Now Janela was unarmed and the first man struck. His attack cut nothing but air.

It was if she could anticipate what her attackers were going to do and move accordingly. But no matter this strange skill, now she was doomed, facing two armed men empty-handed.

All of this I took in as I hurried up the gangway gasping, a roaring in my ears and looking at the scene as if I was staring from inside a cave.

I had presence of mind to touch the lamplighter’s pole to one of the gangway lanterns and it flared up. The flash made one of the men turn. He shouted something and dashed at me. I may have been old and feeling my years, but no one with a three-foot-spear, for so the man was trying to use his sword as, can successfully perforate another who’s carrying a ten foot lance.

As he came at me I shoved the burning ball of tar full in his face. His long hair caught fire and he howled agony and stumbled back.

The last man saw his mate dying and spotted Janela as she pulled her attacker’s sword from the deck and, holding the great blade as easily as she had her dagger, came at him. It was his turn to shout fear and he ran for the ship’s side, intending to leap over onto the dock.

Waiting, a long piece of wood in his hand, was Quatervals. The tough was trapped. He turned back and Janela was on him. I saw he was a trained swordsman because in spite of his fear he went on guard and lunged. Once more, neither she nor her blade were there... but a foot and a half of steel stuck out from the fellow’s shoulder blades and he gargled and was dead.

Quatervals jumped on deck and his face was a study of anger and shame at his failure to protect me. His mouth opened and I motioned savagely for silence.

“Janela! Are you hurt?”

“No. No,” she managed. “The bastards startled me when they burst into the cabin. But I’ve taken no harm.” She looked around the deck. “Three of them.”

“There were two more standing guard at the head of the dock,” I said. “Quatervals killed one and I stopped the other.”

Janela nodded, chest heaving as she recovered her breath. I realized I was still holding the lamplighter’s torch and tossed it over the side. It hissed as it struck the water and went out.

“A big gang for such slender pickings,” she said. “None but the first would have had pleasure from me.” She smiled, a tight grin without mirth. “And there’s little gold in my purse.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think they were thieves.”

Both Quatervals and Janela looked at me.

“Thieves, rapists, murderers... they’re cowards,” I explained. “I have yet to see one stand and fight, except when they’re trapped and then they can show the savagery of any cornered animal. These men stood their ground. By rights they should have run as soon as they saw Quatervals and me.”

Quatervals nodded. “I’ve never heard of robbers willing to stand away, on guard, when the others have found... gold,” he said uncomfortably, not wanting to say what he knew they’d intended for Janela.

Janela smiled. “Lord Antero,” she said, speaking formally in Quatervals’ presence, “I know you think yourself old and helpless. Yet you came down that dock as proudly as any warrior I’ve ever seen.”