“You spoke of revolution,” said Jaezila. “Now, I see-”
I interrupted, swiftly but courteously: “My lady Jaezila, do not misunderstand me.” Zair knew, I’d taken long enough getting myself accepted as a Hamalese, and this girl quite clearly was more than she appeared. She could go running back to Hamal with a tale that would destroy my plans. I had to dissimulate. “I spoke figuratively. We all serve the empress, do we not? Hamal is set on the road of conquest, is not this so?”
“By Jehamnet! Hamal is set on the road to conquest!”
Her voice contained emotions I couldn’t fathom. She swore by Jehamnet, a spirit of harvest time associated with crop failures and similar disasters, and who is known as Jevalnet in Vallia, and Jegrodnet and Jezarnet in the Eye of the World. But she had said Jehamnet, which is Hamalian. He is known as Jehavnet in most of Havilfar. I fancied she was Hamalese and therefore, down here, out doing skullduggery for Thyllis. I held my tongue.
We gathered by the boat, a little skiff that would just about take us all and give us a hand’s-breadth freeboard. The river rippled gently in a small breeze. On the opposite bank the walls and roofs of the jumbled Aracloins offered shelter. We pushed off and Kaldu and I pulled the oars, taking it gently. There were a sizeable number of other boats on the river. A low pontoon bridge spanned the river lower down, and this impediment assisted in the formation and continuance of the boggy area upstream. So, moving cautiously but with purpose, we successfully reached the safety of Horter Rathon’s questionable establishment.
Chapter nine
“By Havil! I don’t intend to sit here mewed up like a blind bird!”
“I agree. And I’ll tell you something else, Tyfar. If we’re not back at the camp before very soon, the Pachaks will come in after us. Or even, Krun forfend, Hunch might-”
“What!” And Tyfar lay back on the pallet and roared.
Horter Nath Rathon joined in the laughter, although he wasn’t at all sure what the jest might be. He was like that. He was a jolly, fat, smiling, hand-washing little man, clad in a long green and red gown with a silver chain around his neck and depending from it a bunch of keys reposing on the proud jut of his belly. He had sent one of his servants out to spy the land.
This fellow, Ornol — a massive Gon whose shaven head gleamed brilliantly from the application of unguents, a fashion some of the Gons have — came back to report not the hair or hide of a Havil-forsaken mercenary to be seen.
Nath Rathon burbled and jingled his keys.
“Excellent, Ornol. Now go and keep watch.”
Ornol went off, his pate glistening, and I looked carefully at Tyfar. Young Prince Tyfar was high of color, and a trifle breathless, and given to wider gestures than usual. He was not drunk. The nearness of his escape from death in the little swamp was beginning to work on him, and he was going through the shakes like a true horter. Also, I fancy the idea that he had been saved and his life preserved to him by the quick and skillful actions of a girl came as a novel surprise.
“You will assuredly have to wait until the suns set,” cautioned Nath Rathon.
“That is a pesky long way off,” grumbled Tyfar.
“I think,” I said, “our friends will wait until nightfall.” I did not add that I felt it highly unlikely they would venture into Khorunlad before Quienyin had sussed the city in lupu for us. There might well be a period of fraught explanation if his apparition appeared, ghostlike, to scare the others half to death.
But, then, I had come to the conclusion that it would take a lot more than that, a very great deal more than that, to scare this mysterious young lady Jaezila witless.
She had tended to Barkindrar’s wound, and the Bullet had declared stoutly that he was fit to walk out with us. The situation was complicated — some situations are and some are not and most times they are resolved by death but not always — and we understood that while the official policy of Khorundur toward Hamal was neutrality, factions inevitably arose. The common folk labored under the delusion that if the Empress Thylliss took over their country they would miraculously inherit a better life, with free food and rivers of wine and not a day’s work in a sennight. If this is pitching the stories they believed too high, think only of the slaves that would come onto the market after a successful invasion and conquest. Hamalian gold was in this.
Rathon clinched that for me when he said to Jaezila when she walked in, smiling, “I fear, my lady, you will buy no vollers now.”
She frowned, quickly, losing that smile on the instant, whereat I surmised her mission to buy vollers for Hamal was a secret one. Thyllis had been prodigal with her treasure and had given patents of nobility for gold. She had lost many fliers. Clearly, she was desirous of purchasing what she could not make.
“Why so, Horter Rathon?”
“You were seen when — these two Hamalese — It were best you left the city, my lady. It is hard enough work as it is.”
He might smile and jingle his keys; but he was a man for Hamal, and if the common folk welcomed invasion, the better-off did not. That was obvious. They had hired bands of mercenaries, and because paktuns were hard to come by had had to hire men who were not of the top quality, or even of the second or third quality. I did not think the paktuns who had chased us were as low as masichieri; but I was told that masichieri, mere bandits masquerading as mercenaries when it suited them, were in the city in large numbers to keep order.
This, as you will readily perceive, placed me in a quandary.
I was opposed to Hamal, although pretending to be Hamalese. The poor folk were deluded. But those who were opposed to Hamal employed means I did not much relish. I would not strike a blow willingly against folk who stood up in opposition to mad Empress Thyllis. So, as I listened to the others debating what best to do, I felt myself to be shoved nose-first into a dilemma.
“My work must be completed,” Jaezila was saying, and her composure remained. There was the hint, the merest hint, of her true feelings boiling away.
“How, my lady?” Rathon spread his hands. “You will be taken up by the watch. These mercenaries the nobles have hired, they are little better than drikingers, bandits who will slit your throat for a copper ob.”
“And, my lady,” put in Kaldu, “the voller manufacturers here are all rich.” His brown beard tufted.
“Well, that follows, by Krun, does it not? They will not welcome you.”
“And it was all arranged!” said Jaezila. Her face — what a wonderful face she had! Broad-browed, subtle, perfect of curve of cheek and lip, illuminated by a passionate desire to esteem well of life — I felt myself drawn to her. As for Tyfar, he was goggling away. “Everything was going splendidly,” she said. Some lesser girl would have been crying by now. “And then these people against Hamal seized the power, and the vaunted neutrality of Khorundur — where is it now?”
“I and my associates will get the common folk out into the streets,” said Rathon. “But that is going to take time. And there will be a great deal of blood spilled.” He lifted his keys and then let them jingle against his gut. “Well, they are common folk and so ’tis of no matter.”
I turned away from him, and took my ugly, hating old beakhead of a face off out of the way. By Vox!
But wasn’t that the way of your maniacal, empire-puggled Hamalese bastard?
Tyfar followed me.
“What ails you, Jak? Your face — you look as though you have fallen among stampeding calsanys.”
“No matter,” I said. Control returned to me, and with it common sense. “I think it would be a good plan to take a few vollers for ourselves.” I did not add that I would fly mine to South Pandahem and then Vallia.
“Capital!” Tyfar brisked up. “Let us make a plan.”
Rathon began at once to put all manner of obstacles in the way — the sentries were alert, we had no chance of reaching a landing platform, didn’t we have gold to buy a voller, it was madness. Jaezila looked fierce. “The plan is good!”