“Of course they found something. They could hardly help finding something.”
She turned back to the skink. “Get me out of here!”
“I can’t.” Umri frowned. “Well, I can’t!” it insisted. “I can’t chew through your ropes, and I…” Suddenly, it scurried under a leaf.
Imk’s voice startled Umri. “Talking to yourself?”
“I’m just…praying.”
Imk laughed, his pale, round face unpleasant. “Prayers are cheap. It’s blood the gods want.”
“Not just blood,” Umri said, remembering the skink’s words.
“Blood,” Imk repeated. “No god can resist it.” By sheer force of will, Umri didn’t look at the leaf she suspected the skink was hiding under. She said nothing, only looked away, and after a few moments Imk left.
“Skink,” she whispered, and it scurried out from under the leaf and up onto her leg.
“He dares!” it fumed in tiny rage. “I, Sursurra, who raised his thrice–misbegotten progenitors from the slime to the rulership of a great kingdom! I cannot resist his ridiculous bribes! I am to be so easily commanded!”
“Listen to yourself!” Umri admonished.
“I have done very little else for the past seven hundred years!”
“If I crossed my legs I would squish you into nothing,” she said.
“Get that hand! And destroy it!” squeaked the skink. “Do whatever you have to!”
“And in return?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
She looked up. Imk was returning, something in his hand, shining and wet. A tickle on her arm and neck—the skink returning to its favorite hiding place. She considered shaking her head to dislodge it, but didn’t.
Imk knelt and laid his burden across her shins. It was a band of finely worked gold links and red and yellow jewels, as wide as her palm and nearly a yard long. It glittered in the sun, stones catching the light, drops of water throwing tiny rainbows. “This is not a hundredth part of the treasure in the lake. It once belonged to the kings of Gnarr.”
“Gnarr?” She made her face as innocent as she could.
“It was a great kingdom!” Imk spread his arms. “Rich and powerful. The center of culture and civilization on the Nalendar! And seven hundred years ago, the prince of Gnarr set off down the river to visit Kalub, but the boat sank, and there have been no kings of Gnarr since then.”
“How interesting,” said Umri.
Imk gave his toothy grin again. “I have always known that I was different from most people. My ancestors must have been brave warriors, bold thinkers!” He put his hand on his chest. “So when I discovered that I was the heir to the throne of Gnarr, I was hardly surprised.”
“Ah!” said Umri, afraid to say more.
“I learned the location of this treasure from the same source,” he said, somewhat ponderously. “Along with what I would need to do to make myself king of Gnarr. So you see, you would be mistress to royalty.”
She knew she should say something like, well, now that you put it that way, or anything that would make him untie her so she’d have some chance to get away. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to do that. “What source was that?” She shifted her shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable position against the wagon wheel.
“I am—” he lifted a finger to his lips, “sworn to silence on the matter, but I will say that I and my family have always been favored by certain gods.”
“And whoever is ruling Gnarr now, they’ll just give it up to you?”
“The god Sursurra is obligated to make me king, once I perform a certain ceremony.”
“And this Sursurra is willing to help you?”
He shrugged and brushed a leaf off the shoulder of the red and blue coat. “He has no choice. Besides, I’ve spent a great deal sacrificing to him. No doubt I’ll have to spend more, but it will be well worth it.” He leered, apparently under the misapprehension that he was smiling pleasantly. “My men are back onshore, and I’m going out on the lake with them now.” He pushed himself to his feet.
“Can I come too?” she asked, as wide–eyed as she could manage.
Umri sat in the center of the raft, surrounded by gold. Cups, armlets, coins, pins, rings set with emeralds and sapphires. The sun, almost directly overhead, made the water and the gold so bright she had to squint to save her vision. Rilhat Imk sat beside her.
On the edge of the raft sat two of the slaves—the tall one from the Silver Isles with his feet hanging in the water and another man, not quite so tall, long black hair tied back, who had said nothing all afternoon.
The third broke the surface near them, and took a long breath. “There’s a box,” he said. His accent was odd, Umri hadn’t been able to place it. “About so large.” Briefly he measured off with his hands something a foot and a half long, perhaps eight inches wide.
“That’s it!” said Imk, and he started to his knees. Coins spilled from his lap, and a knife, its blade eight inches long, its haft gold and lapis.
“What’s in the box?” asked Umri with as much innocence as she could muster, her attention on the knife.
“A family heirloom,” Imk said, his nostrils flaring, the corners of his mouth showing early signs of a grin.
“There’s a big fish,” the slave said, still in the water. “A very big fish.”
“Fish…” Imk made a dismissive gesture.
“A lot of teeth,” said the slave, his hands on the edge of the raft. He hoisted himself up, tipping the raft forward. “Very sharp.”
Imk frowned. “It’s just a fish.”
By now the slave was on his knees, water running off his body. He said nothing.
“I’ll go,” said Umri’s unhelpful almost–cousin.
The recently returned slave, still kneeling and dripping on the end of the bobbing raft, looked up at him. “Big fish,” he said.
Umri’s cousin shrugged.“I have a knife.” Despite the bright sunlight Umri shivered.
“Go,”said Imk, and the slave dived, knife in hand.
They waited, Imk still half sitting. The man who had refused to go still knelt motionless and silent, staring somewhere in front of himself. Only the occasional bird’s cry and the sound of the water broke the silence.
After five minutes Imk moved cautiously to the edge and peered over. The long–haired man rose and moved aside for him, but the other stayed where he was. For a moment Umri wondered what would happen if she shoved Imk over the edge, but she didn’t trust the other two men.
After seven minutes she suspected her cousin would not return. She looked at the man who had refused to go, and saw him still expressionless. “Nalendar,” she said. He looked at her, one sharp glance, and then away again.
“What’s that?” cried the long–haired slave. Umri crawled to the edge to look. Something big rolled under the surface, rising, and then it broke the water, broad and scaled and greenish, and subsided again. The raft rocked madly in its wake. The long–haired slave stumbled a moment and then caught his balance, and Imk gripped the edge of the raft tighter, his pale knuckles whiter than normal.
“A tree maybe?” he suggested inanely.
“I’m leaving,” said the one who had refused to go, and he turned and went over the edge in one fluid motion and swam for shore.
Still half–leaning over the side, Imk looked at the remaining slave. “I want that box.” The slave looked at him without answering. Umri wondered if Imk could swim. “You can have their shares, too. I don’t care about the gold.” The slave frowned slightly, dubious. Umri wasn’t sure what she hoped for—that the man would dive and leave her alone with Imk, or that he would refuse and send them back to shore. “You’ve seen how much there is,” Imk continued. “Think of what… who you could buy with that.” An unreadable expression flashed across the slave’s face and then was gone.