Then the slave, amazingly, straightened up and raised its head, reaching within its jerkin. Janni levered his bow, but the hand came out with a crumpled paper in it, and this he held forth, saying: 'She
freed me. She said this says so. Please ... I know nothing, but that she's freed me ...'
Crit snatched the feathered parchment from him, held it squinting in the torch's light. 'That's right, that's what it says here.' He rubbed his jaw; then stepped forward. The slave flinched, his handsome face turned away. Crit pulled out the bolts that held him pinned, grunting; no blood followed; Straton's quarrels penetrated clothing only; the slave crouched down, unscathed but incapacitated by his fear. 'Come as a free man, then, and talk to us. We won't hurt you, boy. Talk and you can go.'
Niko, then, intruded, his prisoner beside him, his horse following close behind. 'Let them go, Crit.'
' What? Niko, forget the game, tonight. They'll not live to tell you helped us. We've been needing this advantage too long -'
'Let them go, Crit.' Beside him his prisoner cursed or hissed or intoned a spell, but did not break to run. Niko stepped close to his task force leader, whispering: 'This one's an ex-commando, a fighter from Wizardwall come upon hard times. Do him a service, as I must, for services done.'
'Nisibisi? More's the reason, then, to take them and break them-'
'No. He's on the other side from warlocks; he'll do us more good free in the streets. Won't you. Vis?'
The foreign-looking ruffian agreed, his voice thick with an accent detectable even in his three clipped syllables.
Niko nodded. 'See, Crit? This is Vis. Vis, this is Crit. I'll be the contact for his reports. Go on, now. You, too, freedman, go. Run!'
And the two, taking Niko at his word, dashed away before Crit could object.
The third, in Straton's grasp, writhed wildly. This was a failed hawkmask, very likely, in Straton's estimation the prize of the three and one no word from Niko could make the mercenary loose.
Niko agreed that he'd not try to save any ofJubal's minions, and that was that... almost. They had to keep their meeting brief; any could be peeking out from windowsill or shadowed door; but as they mounted up to ride away, Janni saw a cowled figure rising from a pool of darkness occluding the intersection. It stood, full up, momentarily, and moonrays struck its face. Janni shuddered; it was a face with hellish eyes, too far to be so big or so frightening, yet their met glance shocked him like icy water and made his limbs to shake.
'Stealth! Did you see that?'
'What?' Niko snapped, defensive over interfering in Crit's operation. 'See what?'
'That - thing ...'Nothing was there, where he had seen it. 'Nothing... I'm seeing things.' Crit and Straton had reached their horses; they heard hoof beats receding in the night.
'Show me where, and tell me what.'
Janni swung up on his mount and led the way; when they got there they found a crumpled body, a youth with bloated tongue outstuck and rolled up eyes as if a fit had taken him, dead as Abarsis in the street. 'Oh, no ..." Niko, dismounted, rolled the corpse. 'It's one of Tamzen's friends.' The silk-and-linened body came clearer as Janni's eyes accustomed themselves to moonlight after the glare of the torch. They heaved the corpse up upon Janni's horse who snorted to bear a dead thing but forbore to refuse outright. 'Let's take it somewhere. Stealth. We can't carry it about all night.' Only then did Janni remember they'd failed to report to Crit their evening's plan.
At his insistence, Niko agreed to ride by the Shambles Cross safe haven, caulked and shuttered in iron, where Stepsons and street men and IIsig/Rankan garrison personnel, engaged in chasing hawkmasks and other covert enterprises, made their slum reports in situ.
They managed to leave the body there, but not to alert the task force leader; Crit had taken the hawkmask wherever he thought the catch would serve them best; nothing was in the room but the interrogation wheel and bags of lime to tie on unlucky noses and truncheons of sailcloth filled with gravel and iron filings to change the most steadfast heart. They left a note, carefully coded, and hurried back on to the street. Niko's brow was furrowed, and Janni, too, was in a hurry to see if they might find Tamzen and her friends asa living group, not one by one, cold corpses in the gutter.
The witch Roxane had house snakes, a pair brought down from Nisibis, green and six feet long, each one. She brought them into her study and set their baskets by the hearth. Then, bowl of water by her side, she spoke the words that turned them into men. The facsimiles aped a pair of Stepsons; she got them clothes and sent them off. Then she took the water bowl and stirred it with her finger until a whirlpool sucked and writhed. This she spoke over, and out to sea beyond the harbour a like disturbance began to rage. She took from her table six carven ships with Beysib sails, small and filled with wax miniatures of men. These she launched into the basin with its whirlpool and spun and spun her finger round until the flagships of the fleet foundered, then were sunk and sucked to lie, at last, upon the bottom of the bowl. Even after she withdrew her finger the water raged awhile. The witch looked calmly into her maelstrom and nodded once, content. The diversion would be timely; the moon, outside her window, was nearly high, scant hours from its zenith.
Then it was time to take Jagat's report and send the death squads - or dead squads, for none of those who served in them had life of their own to lead into town.
Tamzen's heart was pounding, her mouth dry and her lungs burning. They had run a long way. They were lost and all six knew it, Phryne was weeping and her sister was shaking and crying she couldn't run, her knees wouldn't hold her; the three boys left were talking loud and telling all how they'd get home if they just stayed in a group - the girls had no need to fear. More krrf was shared, though it made things worse, not better, so that a toothless crone who tapped her stick and smacked her gums sent them flying through the streets.
No one talked about Mehta's fate; they'd seen him with the dark-clad whore, seen him mesmerized, seen him take her hand. They'd hid until the pair walked on, then followed - the group had sworn to stay together, wicked adventure on their minds; all were officially adults now; none could keep them from the forbidden pleasures of men and women - to see if Mehta would really lay the whore, thinking they'd regroup right after, and find out what fun he'd had.
They'd seen him fall, and gag, and die once he'd raised her skirts and had her, his buttocks thrusting hard as he pinned her to the alley wall. They'd seen her bend down over him and raise her head and the glowing twin hells there had sent them pell-mell, fleeing what they knew was no human whore.
Now they'd calmed, but they were deep in the Shambles, near its end where Caravan Square began. There was light there, from midnight merchants engaged in double-dealing; it was not safe there, one of the boys said: slaves were made this way: children taken, sold north and never seen again.
'It's safe here, then?' Tamzen blurted, her teeth chattering but the krrf making her bold and angry. She strode ahead, not waiting to see them follow; they would; she knew this bunch better than their mothers. The thing to do, she was sure, was to stride bravely on until they came upon the Square and found the streets home, or came upon some Hell Hounds, palace soldiers, or Stepsons. Niko's friends would ride them home on horseback if they found some; Tamzen's acquaintance among the men of steel was her fondest prize.