"Nikko of Kortoli, if it is any concern of yours. This young lady was with me, but she is her own woman. If she prefers you, I might question her taste but would not thwart her choice."
"Oh," grunted Boso, settling back in his corner once more. But Vanora burst out:
"He is not Nikko of Kortoli! He is Jorian son of Evor—"
"Wait!" said Boso, opening his eyes and jerking upright once more. "That makes me think of something. Let me see…" He peered up through narrowed lids. "Not Evor the clockmaker?"
"Aye; he's told me many a tale of his sire—"
With a roar, Boso heaved up out of his seat, stooping to fumble for the two-foot bludgeon that lay at his feet. "So you're the son of the man who cost me my livelihood!"
"What in the forty-nine Mulvanian hells do you mean?" said Jorian, stepping back and laying a hand on his hilt. When he tried to draw, he realized that he could not because of the peace wire threaded through the guard.
Boso bellowed: "I was chief gongringer of Othomae, and a damned good one! My helpers and I sounded the hours in the city hall tower and never missed a stroke. Twenty years ago—or was it ten? No matter— your perverted father sold a water clock to the town council, and there it stands in the tower, going bong, bong with its wheels and levers. Since then I've had to live by odd jobs, and life has been hell. I cannot beat your fornicating father to a pulp, but you'll do!"
"Boso!" said Rhuys sharply. "Behave yourself, you stupid lout, if you want your job!"
"Bugger you, boss," said Boso and went for Jorian with his club.
Unable to draw the sword Randir, Jorian had hoisted the baldric over his head and now gripped the hilt of the scabbarded blade in both hands. As Boso lumbered forward like an enraged behemoth on the banks of the Bharma, Jorian feinted at his head. As Boso raised the bludgeon to parry, Jorian poked him in the midriff with the chape on the end of the scabbard.
"Oof!" said Boso, doubling up and giving back a step.
Since Jorian and Boso were by far the two largest men in the room, the remaining customers crowded back to the walls to get out of the way. Cautiously, the two combatants advanced and retreated in the space between the two rows of tables, which was too narrow to permit them to circle. Every time Boso tried to close to bring his bludgeon into range, the threat of the scabbarded blade drove him back.
Boso made a determined lunge; Jorian whacked him above the ear. The blow knocked him sideways, but he recovered. His little eyes blazing with rage, he stepped forward and aimed a terrific forehand swing.
The bludgeon whispered through the air as Jorian jerked back; the end of the club missed his face by the thickness of a sheet of parchment. The force of the missed blow swung Boso halfway around. Before he could recover, Jorian stepped forward and to the left and brought his knee up hard against Boso's back, over his right kidney. As Boso staggered, clutching for support at a table top, Jorian, now behind him, slipped the loop of the baldric over Boso's head. He tightened the strap around the ejector's neck, twisting it with all the strength of his powerful hands.
Boso opened his mouth, but only a faint wheeze came forth. Eyes popping, he stamped and kicked and waved his arms, trying to reach the foe behind him. But his arms were too short and thick. He plunged and staggered about the confined space, dragging Jorian with him, but Jorian's grip never loosened.
Boso's struggles weakened as his face turned blue. He clutched the edge of a table, then slid to the floor.
The door flew open, and several people crowded in. One was Karadur, with his long, white beard and bulbous turban. With him was a tall, gray-haired woman in a shabby black gown. After them came a squad of the night watch: four men armed with halberds and an officer. The latter said, "Master Rhuys! We heard there was a disturbance. Who is that? What has befallen?"
"That is Boso, my ejector—my former ejector, that is. He picked a fight with this customer and got thrashed."
"Was he alone to blame?"
"As far as I could see, he was."
The officer turned to Jorian. "Are you fain to submit a complaint against this man?"
Vanora had pulled Boso's head up so that it lay in her lap, and she was trickling a little wine down his throat. Boso breathed in rasping gasps while his face returned to its normal hue. As Jorian hesitated, Karadur said:
"Do not—ah—send the fellow to prison, Jorian—"
"Nikko."
"Of course; how stupid of me! Do not send this poor fellow to prison. You have chastised him enough by strangling him nigh unto death."
"How do I know he'll not set upon me with that club as soon as he gets his breath back?"
"You must disarm him by your kindness. Remember, the best way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend."
"All very pretty. I suppose next you'll want me to find him another job."
"A splendid idea!" Karadur clapped his old hands together. To the officer he said: "I think, sir, you may leave us without a formal complaint." Then to Rhuys, "What is this man good for, save as an ejector?"
"For nought! He is too stupid," said the taverner. "If some big building construction were under way, he could carry a hod; but there is none just now."
The gray-haired woman spoke: "I can use one of thick thews but weak wits. Besides gardening and household tasks, he can protect me against those ignorant oafs who betimes raise the cry of 'witch!' against me, not withstanding that I am a fully licensed wizardess."
"I have not had the pleasure of meeting you, madam," said Jorian. "I am Nikko of Kortoli."
"And I, Goania daughter of Aristor." She leaned over and shook Boso's shoulder. "Get up, man!"
Boso and Vanora climbed unsteadily to their feet. Goania said sharply:
"Do you understand, Boso? You have lost your post here."
"Huh? You mean lost my job?" wheezed Boso.
"Certes. Will you work for me for what Master Rhuys paid you: sixpence a day and found?"
"Me work for you?"
"Aye. Must I repeat the terms?"
Boso ran a hand over his chin with a rasp of stubble. "Oh, I guess it's all right. But first, I'll just knock the pumpkin off this fornicating clockmaker, who goes around putting honest workmen out of their jobs."
"You shall do nothing of the sort! Sit down and calm yourself."
"Now, lady! I don't let no woman tell me—"
"I am not a lady; I am a wizardess who can turn you into a toad if you misbehave. And I say there shall be no more quarreling. We are all friends, henceforth."
"Him? Friend?"
"Verily. He could have sent you to prison but chose not to, thinking you more useful out than in."
Boso glowered at Jorian, spat on the floor, and mumbled under his breath. But he let Vanora lead him over to the far side of the room, where the girl soothed and comforted him while he drank beer and fingered his sore neck.
Jorian, Karadur, and Goania sat in the opposite corner. Jorian asked Karadur, "Where in the forty-nine Mulvanian hells have you been, man? We have been here for hours."
"I obtained access to the Grand Ducal library," said Karadur, "and became so—ah—absorbed in reading that I forgot about time. But you look as if you had had a hard time of it, lad. You have lost weight—not that you could not afford to lose a little."
"I have had a hard time; had to kill Rhithos—"
With sharp exclamations, the other two bent closer. "Keep your voice down, Master Nikko," said Goania. "I know your true name but think it unwise to utter it here, unless you wish the taverner to set the Xylarians on your trail. Tell us how this calamity came to pass."
Jorian told his tale. "So we hiked to Othomae on the trails Vanora knows, and here we are. The ass is stabled in the rear."
"What sort of traveling companion did the lass make?" asked Goania.