The Cursed Page 9

  Now it was stuck again. The docks must lie farther downstream, for he had not seen them. A wall of houses stood at the water's edge, not three spans away from the bow. He could make out the darker shapes of windows and a few doors with steps leading down to the river, but they might as well all be a hundred leagues away for all the good they were to him. He was stuck on the hulk with Labranza and Ordur.

  Ordur was better today. His wits were still as rattled as before, but his appearance had improved. All his hair was blond now, and both his eyes were blue. He had grown a finger-length in height and stabilized as a large, rather flabby man.

  Jasbur himself, he suspected, had shrunk, although that might just be an illusion induced by the presence of Labranza. The twist in his spine was no more or less marked, just as painful as before. His monkey face in the mirror turned his stomach, so perhaps it was just as well Ordur had remained male. They had both been male when they left Raragash. They had turned female at the same time and two months later had both gone back to male again. They were long overdue for a little good fortune.

  The cabin door opened. He heard Ordur's shuffling tread at his back.

  "It's dark," Ordur said.

  "No it isn't! It's bright daylight. You've got your eyes closed, stupid!"

  After a moment... "I can't have. I can see the stars! What's happening?"

  "Nothing." Long might that continue!

  Heavy, manlike steps crossed the deck. "Well? No movement?"

  "No, Labranza Saj."

  "Bah! We cannot risk being still here in the morning. You will have to build a raft."

  That remark confirmed Jasbur's suspicion that she had no legal title to the barge. She had probably just taken refuge on it from the rain. They would all be hanged for piracy.

  "I haven't seen any tools anywhere, Saj."

  She made a snarling noise that made him think of cats. "There is rope. Improvise!"

  Ordur spoke up in his halting mumble. "Labranza Saj, can't you use influence?"

  "What do you think I've been doing this last hour? Nothing happens, so I am probably only making things worse."

  A hinge creaked. Jasbur said, "Sh!"

  No light showed, but there was a murmur of voices. The watchers stared breathlessly into the blank night. Then something splashed noisily into the river. The door slammed.

  "Putting out the garbage?" Jasbur said hopefully.

  "Nonsense! In the dark? That was a body. Rescue him!"

  "What? Why? It's almost certainly dead. None of our business."

  "It may be. Quick! Ordur, rescue that man—see? He's splashing!"

  Jasbur couldn't see any splashing, although he did think he could make out something floating in the black water.

  In his present condition, Ordur was ever-willing. "Yes, Saj!" He scrambled eagerly up onto the rail.

  "Wait!" Jasbur cried. Ordur was an excellent swimmer. Ordur as a limber maiden had made magnificently graceful swan dives into Green Lake.

  Too late. Ordur as a large, flabby man, made a magnificently graceful swan dive into the Flugoss. The water closed, bubbled, turned paler with stirred mud. Ordur emerged, rubbing his head and totally coated with repulsive ooze. The river was barely waist deep.

  "Here he comes!" Labranza said. "Catch him!"

  The body was floating face-down just a few ells away. Ordur only had to lurch a couple of strides to take hold of it. He swung it onto his shoulders with an impressive display of strength.

  Jasbur sighed and wished he felt more able to cope. There was trouble coming.

  #

  Labranza insisted on lighting a lantern in the cabin to see exactly what their catch was.

  It was male, aged about sixteen or so. He had wispy whiskers, a bleeding lump on the back of his head, and no clothes to hide his excessive skinniness. Jasbur laid a blanket over him as he sat up, retching and groaning and coughing. Both the boy and Ordur stank mightily of the sewage-laden Flugoss.

  "What happened? Where am I? Who are you?" He coughed and retched some more.

  "We pulled you out of the river," Labranza said imperiously. "You owe your life to us. Now, your name?"

  "Polion." He shivered and pulled the blanket tight.

  "Polion what?"

  "Polion Tharn. Who're you?" He peered up with unfocused eyes.

  "That is not important. Do you know Tibal Frainith?"

  "What? No. My money! I been mugged!"

  "Obviously. I want to know why you are important. Are you certain you have never met Tibal Frainith?"

  The boy shook his head and groaned. He extricated a ropy arm from the blanket to finger the lump on his skull. "Gotta get back to the hostel!" He was less than fully conscious.

  "Why?" Labranza demanded.

  "Got an Ivielscath. Fix my head."

  "Ah!" She turned in triumph to Jasbur. "It worked!"

  "It did?"

  "Obviously. Ordur, put on a dry smock. You will carry me ashore."

  14

  Polion felt sick. How much of that came from drinking sewage and how much from the bloody thumping in his head, he could not tell or care. Nausea and a steady blinding throb of pain made thinking impossible. All he knew was that he was reeling along a dark road in bare feet and borrowed breeches. He kept stubbing toes on cobblestones. He staggered a lot and would not have been able to walk at all had he not been supported by the big fair-haired man.

  He had lost the boots that had been his birthday gift. He had lost his clothes, all his money. Worst of all, he knew he had lost his dignity. He had gone off to prove his manhood and let himself be suckered like a baby. The family would never let him forget that. He could not face the family, not ever again. He ought to go off and enlist as a mercenary soldier, except no troop would want him, in his condition. Or with his history. Pockets chinking, he had walked cock-up into the oldest trap in the world, a dark doorway, fallen for the oldest bait. Idiot! Cretin! Moron!

  He could never go home. He could never face Jukion, Hosion, Merion, Tholion...

  "Do you know where you're going?" the little dark man said.

  Polion thought he would throw up if he tried to speak, so he didn't try. No, he didn't know where he was going. Just walking. Did these people think he was guiding them? He'd thought they were taking him somewhere. He didn't know who they were. He barely recalled what they'd looked like on the boat. A pudgy, stupid man. A little, apelike, ugly man. A big, domineering woman rather like his childhood nightmares of Grandmother Nadim.

  Find Phoenix Street? The Phoenix Street Hostel. But he wouldn't recognize Phoenix Street in the dark. He had come out the back way with Jukion, along another street. They had turned... one corner? Two? And he had been unconscious for the last bit. No, he had no idea where he was going. He wondered if these people were going to make him walk all the rest of the night. Barefoot.

  Oh, his head!

  Shouldn't have told them about the Ivielscath! Jukion had whispered when he mentioned the Ivielscath. Stupid kid goes and blows a secret. Stupid kid gets thumped on the head. Stupid kid gets dragged out of the river by strangers. They probably expected a reward. They'd be surprised how little he was worth to anyone now—nothing. Absolutely good for nothing! Pocket full of gold and couldn't even get himself laid.

  Up ahead, a bell jangled, a door flew open, slamming against the wall and releasing a shaft of light. A man fell down the steps as if he had been thrown at the door and that was why it had opened. Something metal rang on the ground at his side. He lay there. Distant sounds of shouting... banging.

  "That looks promising!" the woman exclaimed. "Come along!"

  She began to run, with a clumsy in-toed gait. Easy for her—she had shoes on. The big man urged Polion to a stumbling rush.

  "Promising!" the little man moaned behind them. "Promising, she says!"

  The man in the doorway pushed himself up his knees. Then he struggled to his feet, picking up a sword that flashed in the light. He went stumbling back inside. Now Polion was close
enough to recognize Grandfather's bull roar amid the racket. He pulled free of his companion and flogged himself into a wildly unsteady gallop. Every step hurt his feet and sent spurts of pain through his skull too.

  The shouting was growing louder. What was going on?

  The big woman had reached the doorway and was peering in. Her silvery gown showed up in the light. She stepped aside as Polion arrived, grabbing the jamb for support. He stared into the courtyard of the Phoenix Street Hostel.

  Torches still flamed and smoked all around, as they had when he had caught a glimpse of a party in progress there... how long ago? There was another sort of party in progress now, a battle, a melee among the statues and the trees and furniture and pillars, a confused brawl of vague shadow people. Some of the combatants were Tharns. The rest he did not recognize. They mostly had their backs to him, advancing with clubs and swords and driving the defenders back. The Tharns were retreating, dodging around trees and fountains, using stools as weapons, mostly.

  Where the fates were all their swords? In Wosion's room, probably. The pastor had collected all the weapons at the city gate. Had anyone gone for the swords?

  A statue fell and shattered; the noise hurt Polion's aching eyes and thumped the soles of his feet. Sore head forgotten, he tottered forward to do his bit. Take the bastards from the rear! There were women in the battle too, not just the Tharn women but others who were probably the hostel servants. That was not right! Fighting was men's work. Closest was Aneim, swinging a bottle and yelling. Polion went that way.

  Her opponent was a huge, hairy brute, twice her size. She swung the bottle. He caught it, twisting it out contemptuously out of her grip, then grabbing her in a bear hug. She screamed. They staggered, steadied. Polion came up behind the man. He snatched up a stool and swung it as hard as he could overhead, the way he swung an ax on the woodpile. It impacted with a sickening noise. The man went down, taking Aneim with him. She was cursing blue thunder, so she must be all right. Wondering if he had just killed someone and deciding to worry about that later, Polion peered around to find another victim.

  If everyone would just stop shouting, he might be able to think. Two men had broken free of the mob and were moving his way, heading for the door, one of them carrying a woman over his shoulder. She was struggling and yelling, but making no impression on the big brute. Abduction! Polion moved to intercept, reeling around a potted tree, then past a table. He guessed from the white dress that she was Gwin Saj, the owner. The man in front flashed a sword. He was very big, too, and this time Polion wasn't sneaking up from behind.

  He reversed his stool. Lowering it before him, he charged like a three-horned bull, howling at the top of his lungs. The man raised his sword. Polion extended his arms, still coming. The stool was shield and weapon in one. The man tried to dodge, backed into a pillar, parried the stool with a slash of his sword. Even so, one leg rammed into his belly. He doubled over and fell on his knees. The stool shattered, but the impact winded Polion too. He staggered sideways into a marble table. His opponent began to straighten. Polion swung a straight-legged kick. Just in time he remembered he had no boots on and curled his toes out of the way. As the man's face came up, a very muddy foot slammed into his chin and cracked his head back, hard against the pillar. He crumpled over in a heap.

  Polion clutched the table behind him, suddenly giddy, seeing everything going up and down like reflections in black water.

  The other man went round the other side of the table. His burden slowed him, but he had a clear run for the door now. Gwin Saj struggled and shouted, "No!" and pummeled at his back, but there wasn't much else she could do while upside down like that. Polion pushed free of the table and reeled in pursuit, looking around for a weapon. His legs buckled and wobbled, he was having more and more trouble ignoring the thumping in his head. Where was the family? Where was everybody? He needed a weapon.

  The man was almost at the street door. Polion lunged forward to grab Gwin Solith and all three of them went down together. Polion rolled free and banged his head on the tiled floor. With a great rushing noise, the world tilted up on end and tipped him off.

  15

  Gwin fought free of her assailant and would-be rescuer. She was hoisted bodily to her feet, and found herself surrounded by a squad of protective Tharns, armed with swords. Bulion himself was in charge, his face suffused with fury, his white beard bristling. "Is this the way men behave in this city of yours?"

  "The night watch is never around when you need it," she said, as if that was some age-old wisdom. Idiot! She was shaking like a frightened child.

  The old man spluttered outrage. "They were trying to kidnap you!"

  She had already decided that. The invaders had made a beeline for her, aiming at her white mourning, probably. They had tried to carry her off. Had it been Liam Gurshith's work? Or Kolo's? Or someone else's? Why couldn't the world leave her alone to live her own life?

  Now that the Tharns had their weapons, the tide of battle had begun to flow the way it should. The surviving goons were quickly driven out to the kitchens and then fled out into the night, taking as many of their wounded as could walk.

  Gwin soon found herself in command of her own domain again, but surrounded by yattering, hysterical servants. In amongst them was Niad, her blue eyes wide and her creamy complexion pale in the torchlight. One of her bunches had come untied, making her absurdly lopsided, like a bird with an injured wing, but she seemed surprisingly calm. Obviously she did not realize what she had done—or what Gwin suspected she had done, at least.

  "All right?"

  The girl nodded, and then reached up and pulled the other bow from her hair, shaking it all out equally. She smiled a wan smile. "Yes, Saj."

  "Good! Then let's see what we can do to help, shall we?" Gwin headed back to the doorway, with everyone else following like geese. They would help screen what was about to happen... what she hoped was about to happen. Her abductor and rescuer lay sprawled side-by-side. Polion was groaning, but not conscious.

  Elim Tharn was inspecting them. She rose heavily to her feet, as Gwin arrived—fat, forty, pregnant, and looking infinitely more poised than Gwin felt. Nevertheless, there was a very odd expression in her eye, as well there should be.

  "Polion seems to have banged his head. From the smell of him, he's been in the river. The other man... is beyond help, Gwin Saj!"

  "Never mind him, then. We'll deal with friends first. Niad, this young man rescued me. Without him, I'd have been carried off. Will you see if you cure his head?"

  "I'll try." The Ivielscath knelt to attempt her magic.

  Gwin ignored Elim's questioning stare. Elim had observed that the dead man bore no visible wounds. If she wanted an explanation, she was not going to get one, and she could probably invent as good a theory as any. Gwin herself had no clear recollection of those few frantic seconds. The Polion boy had thrown himself on her, trying to haul her free of her kidnapper. The three of them had gone down together—but she was almost certain that the man had been falling before Polion intervened. She strongly suspected that he had been dead on his feet.

  The Ivielscath had knelt beside the unconscious boy. Tentatively, she laid a hand on his wet, matted hair. Gwin held her breath.

  Nothing happened. Niad looked up, frightened. "It's not working!"

  "Don't be so impatient! Take your time. Relax!"

  "But I'm not doing anything! I can't feel anything."

  "How do you know you're supposed to feel anything? That's all you did for Bulion Saj, isn't it? It worked for him."

  It worked again. Polion's eyes opened. He blinked and then stared hard at the golden-haired girl leaning over him. His mouth opened and closed a few times in silence.

  "All right?" she asked nervously.

  He beamed. "Fine! I'm Polion Tharn."

  "I'm Niad Kodi Bilith."

  She took her hand away. He grabbed it and held it.

  "That's a beautiful name!"

  Elim uttered a snort
of relief. "He's better! Get up, Polion!"

  Polion sat up without releasing Niad's hand. "You cured me! I'm ever so grateful! You're very beautiful!"

  "Polion!" his aunt barked. "Not now, Polion!"

  Niad began to rise. By the time she had done so, Polion was on his feet also, and he still had not released her hand.

  "Excuse us," Gwin said, gently detaching him. "Niad has some other casualties to attend to."

  "She's wonderful!" Polion said, not taking his eyes off her.

  Niad smiled back at him, barely seeming to notice Farion Tharn arriving with a gashed arm streaming blood.

  "Niad?" Gwin said patiently. "Can you try another?"

  Niad flinched, then laid her hands on the cut. Her eyes stole back to Polion. He smiled. She smiled. She did not seem to notice that the blood had stopped oozing through her fingers.

  "Thank you!" Farion said.

  She jumped. "What?"

  "It's stopped hurting. I think you did it."

  "Oh!" She took her hands away. Farion wiped his arm and peered at it. "There's a bit of a scar, I think. But that doesn't matter. Thank you!"

  Niad blushed, and then stole another glance at Polion. He told her she was marvelous and she beamed.

  Bulion brought in the rest of the wounded: two broken arms, two nasty cuts, a few bruises and scrapes. Niad was full of confidence now. She hardly looked at the wounds as she cured them; she seemed to be giving Polion a private demonstration of miracle working. He put an arm around her. If she noticed the stench of river in his vicinity, it did not bother her.

  Gwin glanced at Elim and they both rolled their eyes.

  It was almost morning. The air had taken on the damp smell of dawn. Iviel herself shone bright above the eastern roof. Reaction struck Gwin like a physical blow. She staggered to a bench and sat down. The night seemed to have been going on for ever, and it was far from over yet. There were dead men here. The authorities were going to be asking questions. How could the Ivielscath secret be kept now? And who had sent the marauders? Liam? Why?