"Later." He abruptly pulled back. "Perhaps when the light isn't so bright."
Jayk inclined her head, her eyelids lowered too far for the Thrasson to see whether her pupils were shaped like circles or diamonds.
"Whenever you are ready, Zoombee." She gave him a knowing smile. "I will be ready too."
The Amnesian Hero-Zoombee-swallowed nervously, then turned away. "You are beautiful, Jayk, but I do not think it is our destiny to… make kisses."
"But why not, Zoombee? Because I am tiefling?"
"You must not think that." The Thrasson looked back to Jayk and found her lips bowed into a coy grin. He felt himself flush, angry at being mocked. "Because you arc a murderess – and because I must think of other business. Remember the Lady of Pain?"
The tiefling's face drooped into an insincere sulk. "Soon, Zoombee. I think that is our ride coming now."
The Amnesian Hero looked through his viewing hole. He saw only the dead bounty hunters, but he did notice a foul odor building in the alley. At first, he thought the stink was coming from the githyanki corpses, hut as the fetor grew stronger, he realized that could not be so. Even in Sigil, seven bodies could not rot fast enough to emit such a stench so soon. The Thrasson rubbed his hand in the mordant dirt, then covered his mouth and nose to mask the awful reek.
Jayk yanked his hand away from his face. "It is better to grow accustomed to the smell now. If you retch later, someone will hear you, yes?"
A pattern of slow, rhythmic creaks began to echo off the tenement walls, underscored by the rising drone of an insect cloud. The Amnesian Hero did his best to breathe through his mouth and keep his nostrils closed, but the effort was doomed to failure. Every time he inhaled, he found himself fighting to hold his gorge down, and every time he exhaled, he begged Apollo to keep him from drawing another breath. His prayer went unanswered, for this is Sigil, and the gods have no power here. The Thrasson continued to breathe the rancid air. He began to feel hot and queasy; he grew sicker with every lungful, and soon his legs trembled with weakness.
A cloud of black flies drifted around the comer, swirling over what appeared to be a jumbled, floating mountain of corpses. The Amnesian Hero gasped at the sight and, gagging on the stench, wished he hadn't. Then he noticed a pair of high sideboards holding the pile in check and realized the bodies lay heaped on the bed of a mighty barrow. So enormous was the wagon that it brushed the tenements on both-sides of the alley, dragging long tangles of razorvine free of the mud brick walls.
Standing high atop the hill of rotting flesh, his shape blurred by the haze of flies whirling around him, was a single figure in a black cape similar to Jayk's. He glanced over his shoulder and called something to the driver. A huge, creaking wheel rolled into sight, and the wagon began to swing around. The back comer pushed through a tangle of razorvine and crunched against the building beneath, then the guide snapped a sharp command. The barrow lurched to a halt.
"This is our ride7" The Amnesian Hero did his best to sound more curious than repulsed; this simple errand was becoming something of a feat, and during feats, true men of renown accepted even the most loathsome events with good grace. "I notice the man wears a cape similar to yours."
"Yes, we are both Dustmen." Jayk leaned close and peered through the viewing hole as the guide and driver scrambled down to retrieve the githyanki. "But we must not let him see us when we climb aboard."
The Amnesian Hero scowled. "How will we do that? Won't he notice us… sitting on… the…" The Thrasson let the question trail off, barely managing to keep from retching as he realized where they would be riding. "We can find a disguise for me somewhere in that mess. I'd much rather ride in front."
"That is not possible, dear Zoombee. You must be strong and ride with me, yes?"
"Surely, they'll let you ride in front! Perhaps one of them is a friend of yours."
"Friendship is a delusion!" Jayk hissed the words, never taking her dark eyes off the two Dustmen, who were already dragging the second pair of githyanki back to the wagon. "Besides, we must think of the Mercykillers. If the driver does not know about us, it is easier for him to lie, yes?"
"Yes." The Amnesian Hero sighed, remembering how the Mercykiller guard at the Hall of Information had invaded his mind to verify his statements. "I trust I'll have a chance to wash the stink off before my audience with the Lady of Pain?"
"But why, Zoombee? She will like the smell of death!"
They watched the Dustmen throw the last of the githyanki onto the wagon. Then, as the pair climbed over the heap toward the front of the huge barrow, the Amnesian Hero used the amphora to push the razorvine out of their way. By the time he and Jayk had crawled from their hiding place, the crack of the driver's whip was echoing down the alley. The Thrasson threw the amphora onto bis shoulder, then, trying to ignore the indignity of what he was doing, ran for the death wagon. Rivergate
They had entered the Mortuary District, the Amnesian Hero could tell. He knew by the steady trundle of the death wagon, by how it no longer veered down every side street in search of unclaimed corpses, by the way its axles groaned under its burden of spent lives. The barrow was overloaded, bodies heaped higher than the side slats, and the driver was heading for home. Through a tangle of arms and necks and dead, bulging eyes, the Thrasson could see a long file of somber monuments drifting past the wagon: granite balls clutched in rusty iron claws, soaring obelisks of white marble, black walls etched with a thousand names, a hundred worthless stones erected to the memories of someone whom someone else had once thought worth remembering. Jayk lay next to him, breathing fast and shallow and hot; his own heart was beating like a sword against a shield. Soon, the wagon would enter the Mortuary proper, the true palace of the Lady of Pain, and he would present her with Poseidon's amphora.
The wagon lumbered past another dozen monuments, then the driver suddenly drew rein. The Amnesian Hero thought they were slowing to pass through the Mortuary's gate, until a gruff voice barked "Halt!"
As the barrow creaked to a stop, Jayk cursed softly and began to fumble through her pockets. The Amnesian Hero pushed his hand through the tangle of slimy bodies to clutch her arm, then squeezed until she stopped moving. Unless the unpredictable tiefling did something to attract attention, they would avoid detection. They were buried under several layers of corpses and had already escaped notice many times as the Dustmen clambered over the pile above.
The wagon rocked, and through the jumble of bodies, the Amnesian Hero glimpsed a stem-jawed man peering over the side slats. His helmet was orange instead of crimson, but his brown eyes were every bit as stony as those of the Mercykillers who had escorted the Thrasson to the Gatehouse. Jayk must have been able to see the man also, for she tried to twist her arm free. The Amnesian Hero held her fast. The guard could not see them buried so deeply in the shadowy tangle of bodies, and the Thrasson would not let the tiefling cause another bloodletting.
From the front of the wagon came a familiar voice. "We had an escape at the Gatehouse today." It was the elf, Tessali. "I assume you know Jayk the Snake?"
"Of course." The driver's tone was flat and uninterested. "Everyone in the Mortuary knows her."