I was not so sure. This lady, if she was not Hamalese, at least worked for my enemies. I felt drawn to her and she was, in truth, splendid. But she was an enemy. Well, poof to that. Were not Chido and Rees enemies, and were they not good friends, Bladesmen, comrades? In this, at least, we could work together.
I noticed that this Jaezila had an odd little habit of suddenly turning her head, and looking slightly to her side and rear, as though expecting to find someone there.
Now, in this enterprise going forward I had to think most carefully. We were a bunch of desperadoes, yes. But we purposed taking a voller from folk who were aligned against us in the political arena, and folk who were fighting against my enemies. It was a puzzle. In the end I did the only thing I could do, and went along and placed the outcome in the hands of Zair.
Barkindrar the Bullet would have to be figured into the calculations. Eventually we persuaded Nath Rathon to apprise us of the best location for picking up vollers, and he said that the bright sparks flew in from the outlying districts and parked on the roof of The Rokveil’s Head.
“They’ll be inspecting the undersides of tables with Beng Dikkane[3]long before the hour of midnight.”
And he laughed.
I forced myself to be polite to him.
“Then, good Nath Rathon, you will show us this place a few burs before that.”
“Me? Oh, no, dom. I will send Ornol-”
Jaezila and Tyfar looked questioningly at me.
“Oh, no, dom,” I said, “you will show us.”
He spluttered indignant protests. What my face looked like I do not know; but I do know I fought for control. I made myself relax. Just why I acted as I did, Zair forgive me, you may more readily perceive — now — than I did — then.
“I wish that you, Nath Rathon, should show us The Rokveil’s Head. I do not think you will argue.”
He blinked. His keys jangled. He opened his mouth, looked at me, closed his mouth. His face, fat and plump and merry, on a sudden looked amazingly long. He shut that glistening mouth. Then, weakly, he said, “As you wish. I shall lead you.”
“Good,” I said. And I smiled most genially.
Our preparations made, we ventured out when She of the Veils cast her rosy golden light over the nighted city. The way was not far. We walked as a party of roisterers, out for a good time, and we made no bones about singing a few ditties. There was no problem as to who was to fly the vollers. Retainers of nobles and adventurers as we were, flying air-boats was a mere matter of normal occupation. The Rokveil’s Head turned out to be an imposing place, lit up with many lanterns, pillared and porticoed, and doing a humming business. Tyfar and I, allowing our expensive cloaks to conceal our armor, had no difficulty in entering. That mark of the notor we now realized had brought us with the ease that had puzzled us into the city. The lords ran this city. And the common folk looked to Hamal for relief. Truly, that was a colossal and vile joke on innocent people, to be sure!
Nath Rathon had dressed himself in popinjay fashion, which we assumed to be normal for him. Jaezila had borrowed a demure but still devastating evening gown, all sheer peach-colored sensil. Rathon had taken it from one of the women of his establishment, and with the gown a display of gems. They were all fakes. And Kaldu wore a sober evening lounging robe of dark green. We all wore weapons — except Jaezila, outside our clothes — and this was a mere natural part of evening attire. The flunkeys wanted to bustle about and take our wraps and cloaks; but Rathon assured them that this was not necessary as he had just happened to meet this party and they were desirous of patronizing the best establishment in the city and so he had just gone out of his way to bring them here. No, they were not friends of his and he did not know them, and now he must take himself home to his house and family in the eastern suburbs.
The majordomo thanked Rathon for bringing him the custom; but Rathon, whose hand hovered now continually at his mouth, smiled and bobbed and went off very quickly. We did not know if his deception would pass muster.
As we went up the wide balustraded stairway with the carved statues of sylvies flanking the treads, Tyfar said, “I am not sure that was a clever move, Jak. It seems to be you may have placed Rathon in some jeopardy if he is recognized.”
“Oh,” I said, airily, “he will get away with it.”
Privately, I would have no sorrow if Rathon were discovered and thrown out of Khorundur. That would be one agent of Hamal the less. So we went on up. The halls were palatial. There were many slaves, all stupidly dressed in feathers and bangles and little else. Much wine was in evidence. The sounds of laughter and horseplay reached us from the various magnificent chambers. We passed a room in which Jikaida was in full swing, with great piles of gold wagered on the outcome. Jikalla too was being played, along with Vajikry. We saw no rooms devoted to the Game of Moons and that surprised no one. People were staggering about, this early already the worse for wear. And so, steadily, we passed on up the wide stairways until we reached the top floor.
Sometimes I have swift attacks of nostalgia for remembered struggles. Sometimes; usually I am too bound up with the struggle going on at the moment. We found the door leading to the roof and stepped out under the stars of Kregen.
“We take three if we can,” said Tyfar. “Is that agreed?”
He was brilliantly excited, keyed up. “We strike a blow for Hamal tonight! Do not forget that.”
“How can we forget it?” said Jaezila.
Tyfar colored up again, and then shook himself, dark in the starlight, and we padded off in search of a suitable voller for the first of us to fly away. Our first port of call would be to pick up Barkindrar and Nath, and then we’d make for the camp and pick up the others. Then it was Hamal… The airboats were parked neatly and the guards moved about, dim silhouettes against the stars. Tyfar crept forward with Kaldu at his elbow.
Jaezila and I, for the moment, waited in the shadows.
“That one, I think, Jak, for me.”
“Yes. A fleet craft. But you cannot trust a voller from Khorundur as you would trust one from Hamal.”
“No — yes. You are right. But, I am not sure if I should go to Hamal. My work here has been spoiled-”
“You’ll never obtain fliers now that the lords are against Hamal. Is there nowhere else you can try?”
“You mock me, of course. I find your manners — uncouth.” She used the word sturr. I laughed. Oh, yes, I laughed.
“You have the right of it, my lady. That is my name. Jak the Sturr.”
She gazed at me. And then she, too, laughed. The look of her, the way her head tilted, the star-gleam in her eyes. . I felt my stupid old heart give a leap. She was magnificent, and she worked for my enemies. Quietly, the laughter still bubbling away but held now within her poised manner, she said, “I shall not forget the way you dealt with that beastie that sought — it was quick.”
“No quicker than the way you loosed to save poor Tyfar.”
“Poor Tyfar! Indeed! He is a ninny, is he not?”
“No. . No. He is a gallant young man a little out of his depth.”
And, a ghost rising to torment me, I carried on the thought in my head — like Barty Vessler.
“Well, Jak the Sturr,” she said, and there was the bite of decision in her voice, “you are not out of your depth in this midnight murder and mayhem, that is very sure.”
“I hope there is no murder.”
“So do I.”
A low whistle cut the dimness. We moved forward. Kaldu stood over the unconscious body of a Khibil guard. A Fristle slumbered at his side. Kaldu held his sword very purposefully.
“There are two vollers, my lady. And the third for the hyr-paktun.”
She looked at me, swiftly. “Kaldu dubs you a hyr-paktun and he has an eye for these things. Do you wear the pakzhan at your throat, Jak the Sturr?”