Gull wondered where the bodies of Chad and Oles lay.
Fully awake, the woodcutter cleared his raspy throat. Licking his lips, he found them so swollen he drooled. But he could still speak.
"Towser!" he bellowed. "You treacherous black dog! You yellow cur! You lousy dirt-grubbing shit-eating muck-wallowing son of a poxied whore! You slit-eyed bastard…" He went on and on, using every filthy phrase a muleskinner knows, for a long time, until he began to repeat himself and his voice gave out.
Towser took no notice. He pointed to the hills north of town, along the coast. Quietly, he gave Kem orders about laying in supplies, hiring more bodyguards, replenishing the livestock, finding a new freighter, moving out soon. The scarred man nodded at his mental list. Idly he scratched the bandage around his elbow.
Having caught his breath, Gull shouted, "Kem! You one-eared son of a bitch! You owe me your life! I went into a stinking swamp and fought off trolls who planned to eat you, you prick! I carried you on my shoulder when you blacked out and Chad gave up! Do you remember that, you miserable dog? Or are you less than a lousy garbage-eating mongrel, for even the ugliest ass-licking dog knows gratitude!"
Kem showed no concern, but did walk around the fire. Standing over Gull, he pitched ale into the woodcutter's face, followed with heavy slaps, across, back, across. He only stopped because his arm ached at the elbow.
Towser nodded. "He's become tiresome. We've got his sister, we don't need him anymore. Bury him in the scrub before the sun comes up. Deep, so the dogs don't dig him up."
Gull wanted to scream with rage. Towser's casual indifference to his death, as if Gull were a hog for slaughter, was the greatest evil he'd ever seen. Kem and Chad might be thugs, but they were honest men compared to this wizardly viper.
And for the first time, Kem showed emotion. Gull saw his brow cloud. Maybe the mercenary did feel gratitude after all, Gull thought wearily: he might make my death a quick one Something tugged at Gull's wrist. His hand flopped into his lap.
Kem growled, "Hey there! Stop!" He reached past Gull, whose other hand plopped in his lap. The woodcutter hissed at pins and needles.
Snarling, Kem dragged out Stiggur by the wrist. The boy had slipped under the wagon and cut Gull free with a kitchen knife. He yelped as Kem cuffed him.
His hands useless, Gull raised a clog and kicked Kem in the ankle. The bodyguard flipped forward and smashed face first into the iron rim of the wheel.
Things happened very fast.
Morven tossed his jack and grabbed Towser by his stiffened collar, hauled him to tiptoes, swung him broadside into his own wagon. Knoton, the soft-handed clerk, slapped at the sailor with the trace reins. With long red fingernails, Lily jabbed Jonquil's eyes, blinding her, and leaped from the wagon, bound for Greensleeves. But the old astrologer hooked a skinny foot and tripped her so the dancing girl crashed in the dust.
Gull rolled to his feet. He'd learned who was friend and foe, and there were no surprises. A shout turned him. Stiggur.
The boy swung both arms, lobbed something at the woodcutter. His mulewhip and axe. Hands unable to clasp, Gull let them thump his chest, bounce to the dirt. Kneeling, he cursed as he tried to pick them up, clumsy as a child. Finally he fumbled the whip in his belt, clasped the axe against his hip.
He turned for Towser. Morven struggled to hold him as Knoton slapped his face with the traces.
Up beside the clerk, Greensleeves was safe for the moment. Tingle-fingered, Gull leaped and bit the reins, jerked his neck to tug them from Knoton's grasp. He kneaded his fingers, felt them respond slowly Someone hit him from the side, and he banged against the wagon. Kem, angry froth on his lips. He slammed a forearm across Gull's throat to pin him. Gull kicked but couldn't connect. He didn't dare move his numb hands lest he drop his axe.
Rasping, the woodcutter croaked into the scarred face, "Less than a dog, is it?"
Kem spit back, "A dog obeys its master." Then he pulled back a fist and slugged Gull in the breadbasket, hard, three times.
But Gull was too furious to notice more pain. Bracing his back, he waited for the man to swing again, then lowered his head and rammed.
The crown of Gull's head smashed into Kern's mouth, making both bark, for Gull had been bashed unconscious earlier. Grappling, the groggy men stumbled toward the fire.
The camp was a riot. Gull shoved Kem so he tripped over the campfire. Sparks glittered, scattered light. Lily wrestled with the old astrologer, strong as rawhide. Felda flapped her fat hands, unsure what to do. Unnoticed, Stiggur latched onto Kem's ankle and made him stumble again. Morven gripped Towser's collar in two hands and banged his head against the wagon. Greensleeves was gone, down on her back behind the wagon. Gull saw slippered feet, red-nailed hands plucking her up. He wanted to hoist the wagon into the air, send it flying to the moon to rescue his sister, and felt he had the strength. He flexed his hands, found he could carry his axe.
Grabbing Towser was the key. He wouldn't kill him outright-not yet. But he'd break his arms and legs with an axe handle, then slowly twist out the truth…
Morven suddenly flopped backward, out cold. Slumped against the wagon, Towser poised both hands as if still pushing.
Spells. Magic. He had to be stopped.
Gull rushed the striped man, but suddenly his feet were floating above the ground. Or so it felt.
What was Ghostlike, Gull saw his legs twinkle blue, like early morning stars. His arms twinkled too. He could see the bright paints of Towser's wagon through his wrist.
His vision went twinkly, growing brighter as if stars exploded before his eyes.
Then everything went black.
Then bright, white, hot.
CHAPTER 16
Surf surged around Gull's ankles, slapped his knees.
For a second he thought he'd been cast over the town into the ocean.
But the sky was white, the sun straight overhead. Seconds ago had been midnight: now it was noon.
He was somewhere far, far away.
Before him lay a shoreline so green and verdant it hurt the eyes. White sand sprouted tall fleshy plants adorned with flowers like rainbows. Long-tailed birds in all colors squawked in tufted trees hung with strange fruits. Beyond rose a dull gray cone a hundred feet high.
Something twinkled beside him, lost its balance, and fell in the water, spluttering. Shifting his axe, Gull reached into the gushing surf and plucked out Stiggur. Another splash revealed Morven, facedown, unmoving, drowning. Shifting his axe again, Gull towed the sailor to the beach.
"Wh-where-are we?" gasped the boy. Skinny and streaming wet, he looked like a muskrat.
Gull knelt, hoicked Morven over his knee, jounced him. Dully, the sailor vomited seawater, waved his arms like a crab, growled to lay off. Gull dropped him.
Stiggur shucked his tunic to stand naked. He wrung it out, then donned it. "Where are we, Gull?"
"Hush. We're safe." The woodcutter scanned the horizon, empty but for heaving swells and dots of islands. He sighed. "Towser's safe too. We're as far away as he can send us, I'd guess."
Then he howled, a drawn-out scream of pain, and slammed his axe against the sand so hard it buried half its length. Screaming, shouting, cursing, Gull pounded his fists until they were raw and bloody. "All my fault! My fault! So thick and trusting! This-is-all-my- fault!"
A hand touched his shoulder and he froze.
Morven's forehead bled, his face was white from vomiting, his hands shook. But his eyes were steady. "It's not your fault, matie. The wizard gulled ye. They lie, cheat, and steal. It's their nature, like vipers bite babies."
Gull's anger returned with a rush. Hopping up, he banged both fists against Morven's breast, rocking him. "Then why, you know-it-all bastard, did you work for him? Why didn't you tell me he was rotten?"