Servant: The Dark God Book One (Volume 1) (23 page)

“Look,” Nettle said and pointed. “The Kish.”

Talen looked and saw the black and white tent of the Kish bowmaster. He was surprised that merchant was here. In the last four years of Bone Face raids, many merchants had become wary of sending ships to the New Lands. And now with the sleth, it was a wonder those who did come would stay. Kish bows were the finest made. They were small and powerful, made of wood, sinew, and bone. And it came to him that one of those hatchlings would buy him the finest bow for sale along with a hundred bundles of arrows.

They passed by the lodger’s field, watching a merchant’s guard chase two boys away from a wagon, and then, with a bump, the road turned from a humped, dirt affair with weeds growing in the middle to a flat cobblestone street. What a fine arrangement for the rich to be able to step out of their houses in the middle of a rain and not muddy their boots.

Up ahead, people thronged the way. In front of them a man led an ass laden with bundles of dried hemp. To the side a young woman wearing a yellow hat pointed to a clay prayer disc lying on a holy man’s table. Each disc was engraved with some type of boon—the holy man would write your name on the disc in ink, then you could hang it on the wooden statue in front of the temple and let the fires carry your request to the ears of the Creators.

A young boy carrying a yoke of water across his shoulders cut in front of the wagon, followed by a girl in a pale blue dress selling candles that hung from a pole fitted with a double cross.

The sound of a woman singing to a lyre wafted down from a window one level up on the other side of the street. Talen turned and saw it wasn’t a woman at all, but a girl. A tall Mokaddian girl who watched him as she sang.

A few minutes later, Da turned off the busy street, following the lane that led to Master Farkin’s. Farkin’s house stood three stories high and had half-a-dozen smoking chimneys. Talen wondered how it would be to have a hearth in almost every room. One thing was sure: a lot of work or money in firewood. Perhaps the woodsman they’d seen earlier was on his way here.

A servant stood outside Farkin’s door. Da went inside to see what price he could get for the pelts they had brought. Talen waited on the back of the wagon and watched two carriages roll by, their curtains drawn. When Da came back out, he had Talen and Nettle help him carry the pelts down an alley to the back of the house.

Master Farkin was, according to Da, one of the few merchants who bargained a fair price with every man, regardless of clan.

While they were making the exchange, Master Farkin said, “Have you heard the news about the Envoy?”

“Mokad has sent an Envoy?”

“Not only an Envoy, but a Skir Master. The message just came today. We’re saved.”

“Is he here to stay?” asked Da.

“Nobody knows. There was no word of his coming until the birds arrived today. But it bodes well. We can, at the very least, hope for a hunt.”

“Creators be blessed,” Da said, smooth as cream. But Talen knew he didn’t mean a word of that.

“And look at this one,” Master Farkin said of Talen. “I would suspect that the girls would find much to admire there.”

“If they do,” said Talen, “they have a funny way of showing it.”

“Oh?”

“They tend to run away,” said Nettle.

Master Farkin chuckled. He asked after Captain Argoth, told them he needed more mink, suggested they avoid the Dog Street tailors, then bid them good-bye.

Back at the wagon, Da said, “Kindness, boys. It’s irresistible. Don’t you think?”

“Some people are immune to it,” said Nettle.

“I don’t know,” said Da. “I believe that a sufficient quantity of kindness can renew the hate-salted field of almost any man’s heart.”

“But people won’t see kindness if they don’t trust you,” said Talen. He was thinking of the lies they’d told the Bailiff. The small lie Da had just told Master Farkin. What if Master Farkin discovered Da’s treachery? And that’s what it was legally. How much kindness would he show then?

Da ignored his comment and asked, “How does your arm feel?”

Why did Da keep asking that question? “It feels fine,” he said. Then he realized it felt more than fine. His whole body felt rested and fresh, like he’d just woken up from a long and lovely sleep.

“Good,” said Da. “A little more patience, son. You’re almost ready.”

“You talk as if you’re waiting for a loaf of dough to rise before you put it in the oven.”

“That’s not a bad analogy.”

What in the Six was Da up to? “I don’t know that I want to be a loaf of bread.”

“I could do with a loaf of bread,” Nettle proclaimed. “I’m starved. Add a bit of cheese and hog fat, och, that would be the summer’s breeze.”

“It would indeed,” said Da and motioned for them to join him on the wagon.

They climbed up onto the wagon seat next to him, then Da flicked the reins and directed Iron Boy to pull out into the road.

They threaded their way down the street. When they came to the intersection that ended the street they’d been traveling and started the one to the fortress, Da stopped the wagon.

Da looked up and down the Fortress road. It was a relatively noisy spot with a number of vendors bellowing about their wares a few houses down, but there wasn’t anybody close by here. Da turned to them and pitched his voice low. “I had planned a good meal for us as well as a good chat, but Master Farkin’s news of this Divine has changed things. I don’t want you to wait for me. You must not. Deliver the goods we have left and take a message back to River. Tell her the news. Then tell her to prepare the garden for a frost. Use those exact words.”

“But we’re weeks away from a turn in the seasons.”

“You want to be trusted?” asked Da. “Then do this thing.”

The way Da said that made Talen think there was more to the message than he supposed.

“We’re not going to the fortress?” Nettle asked.

“You’re leaving as quickly as you can without attracting any attention.”

Talen saw Da was serious. “I’ll take the message,” he said.

“Tell her not to delay,” he said then opened his purse, fetched out a number of coins, and gave them to Talen. “Do not wait for me. They might keep me for an hour or a day. So get the supplies and make the visit to the widow Lamborn. Now tell me the list.”

Talen recited all the things they needed. When he finished, Da said, “Don’t pay the smith one grain more than fifteen measures for the maul.”

Talen didn’t know how they’d fare without one of them wearing the token of the Council. “Are you sure you don’t want us to wait?”

“You’ll be all right,” said Da. “You’ve got Nettle with you.” Then he handed Talen five more coppers. “Purchase some honey; we’ll let your sister eat her own poison.”

“I’m just thinking that it’s not safe for you to travel back through the wood at night,” said Talen.

“I’ll be fine,” said Da. “Finish your business and go directly home. Remember: not everyone here is like the guard at the gate.” Then he climbed off the wagon seat turned and reached under the seat and retrieved the Hog. “Get moving,” he said.

Talen took the reins. “Are you sure?”

“Go,” he said. Then he swung the Hog up over one shoulder and walked up the road to the fortress.

Talen looked at Nettle.

“A bit ominous,” Nettle said.

“He took the Council’s sash,” said Talen. “We’re not getting through the gate we came in without it.”

“I’m sure we can fight our way through with our mighty whittling knives,” Nettle said in jest.

At that moment Talen realized that this was more serious than he thought. Which also meant that by giving him this task, Da was trying to tell him that he trusted him. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was of Da’s intentions.

Talen looked up at the sun. It was past noon. He would have to hurry to make it home before nightfall. He did not want to be out in the dark with Fir-Noy hunters and a monster running about.

And if he didn’t make it back home before dark?

Well, he would. So he didn’t even need the answer to that question.

20

Snake Games

TALEN FLICKED THE reins and drove the wagon away from the fortress. As he went, one fact pressed itself into his mind: sooner or later some over-vigilant Mokaddian would see Talen and decide he was sleth by association. Someone would decide he needed to be taught a lesson. It was common for such lessons to be delivered in the form of some thrown object—rotten food, dog turds, the ever-handy rock. But Talen didn’t think he’d get off so easy this time. So as the clattered down the lane he kept his attention on the corners of streets, on odd windows and sudden intersections.

Having Nettle along should dissuade some from molesting him. But while there were many even-headed Mokaddians like Master Farkin, there were others who were not.

He stopped at two houses to purchase harness rings and forty feet of tight hemp rope, keeping an eye out the whole time, but the owners of neither house would let him in. Nor would they allow Nettle in his stead. At the third house Talen sat back at the wagon like a servant and sent Nettle to the door as his Master. Only then were they able to obtain the goods.

When Nettle came back, he asked, “What have I got to do to get something to eat?”

“People are giving me the eye, and all you can think about is your stomach?”

“What?” asked Nettle. “I can’t get hungry?”

Talen shook his head. But after stopping at the honeycrafter’s, Nettle walked over to the baker’s, one of Da’s old friends, to buy a small meal.

Talen waited again in the wagon. A group of men only a few yards down the road talked amongst themselves and kept looking up the lane at him.

He didn’t dare look at them directly, but it didn’t matter. They reached some conclusion and all turned to face his direction.

At that moment Nettle exited the baker’s, holding a number of items rolled up in the bottom of his tunic.

Talen was only too happy to release the brake and flick the reins and start Iron Boy. Nettle shouted, but Talen didn’t pull back.

Nettle caught up to the wagon, held his tunic between his teeth, then jumped in and sat beside Talen on the wagon seat.

“What are you doing?” asked Nettle.

Talen glanced back, knowing the men would be following. But they weren’t following; they stood watching him and Nettle go.

“One of these days,” said Talen, “your stomach is going to get me killed.”

Nettled followed Talen’s gaze. “Gah, those dogs weren’t about to do anything but bark. Besides, look what I got.” Nettle unrolled his tunic.

In it lay a disgusting half loaf of bread pudding next to some tempting, honeyed-almond small cakes. “Am I good to you or what?” asked Nettle.

The thin, almost wafer-like small cakes were one of Talen’s favorites—crunchy on the outside with a bit of honeyed almond paste in the middle—but now wasn’t a time to think of food. He glanced back once more. The men had not dispersed nor turned back to talking amongst themselves.

“Lords and lice,” Talen said.

Nettle took a fat, moist bite of his pudding. “I don’t think they like you.”

“Really,” Talen said. “What ever gave you that idea?”

“Act natural,” said Nettle. “Here, have a bite.” He held up his pudding. It had currants and nuts mixed in with a good helping of something green and shaggy. The whole thing was held together by some wiggling gelatin that reminded Talen of animal birthings.

“I think I’d like to focus on the matter at hand.”

“What you want to do is distract yourself, because if you spook, those men will think you’re guilty and asking for a chase. Now take a bite.”

Nettle had a point. Talen waved off the bread pudding mess, took one of the sweet almond small cakes instead, and bit into it. It was baked with sugar, and while it crunched on the outside, the inside was soft and just about melted in his mouth. Any other situation and he’d swear he’d visited the gardens of the righteous.

Talen glanced over at Nettle who promptly showed him the contents of his mouth.

“Sooner or later,” said Talen, “that stuff is going to gag you. And when folks ask how you died, I’ll tell them you did it eating pig food.”

Nettle laughed. “No, you won’t. You’ll remember I used it to save your life. And then you’ll eat it the rest of your days.”

“Being induced to vomit is hardly a rescue,” said Talen.

“It’s a distraction,” said Nettle. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

It had, but Talen wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

They crossed a small bridge spanning a muddy canal and then turned onto Fuller’s Lane.

Farther down the lane two boys circled a large black, rat snake. It was as long as Talen’s leg and as thick as his wrist.

Talen looked at the boys again and tensed. He didn’t have to see their faces to know who they were. It was Fabbis and that lazy-eyed Sabin with his head shaved and dyed with temple henna.

So much for disgusting mouthfuls of bread pudding. Suddenly Talen’s small cakes didn’t taste so good anymore. He took a drink of water from a goat’s bladder to wash them down.

“Fancy pants,” Nettle said.

Fabbis wore a pair of finely woven scarlet and yellow trousers. The worth of the fabric covering that moron’s sweaty bum alone was more than everything Talen had put together.

Talen turned his head, not wanting to make eye contact with Fabbis.

“They’re going about it all wrong,” said Nettle. “Look at them.”

Sabin held a stick and kept heading the snake off. Every time he did, the snake coiled up and tried to strike him. But if they wanted to catch it, they needed to let it slither and then snatch up the tail.

“Let’s just get to the fuller’s,” said Talen.

Sabin reached in to snatch the snake, but it struck at him.

As they rode closer, Talen could overhear their conversation.

“You’ve got to be faster than that,” said Fabbis.

“Okay, Lord of the basket,” said Sabin, “you try.”

Fabbis snatched the stick from Sabin then used it to fling the beast a few feet. When the snake landed, it tried to slither to the safety of some weeds, but Fabbis chased after it. He grabbed it by the tail and picked it up. At that moment he glanced toward Nettle and Talen.

Talen purposely ignored Fabbis. He simply pulled up to the fuller’s and set the wagon brake, hoping Fabbis would decide, for once, not to torment him. Of course, Fabbis, being a horned bunion, was unlikely to do that.

Talen steeled himself and turned, knowing they must be close, but to his surprise the two pisspots disappeared behind a cluster of trees, Fabbis holding the snake out before him.

He let out a sigh of relief. Maybe his luck would hold out. “Be quick.”

“I’m going,” said Nettle. “Be calm.”

“Fine for you to say with your Mokaddian wrist tattoo. But you weren’t beaten by a pack of village idiots a day ago. Or forced to strip at the gates.”

“This lane is full of people friendly to the Koramites,” said Nettle. “You’ll be fine.”

Talen waved him away. “Try to avoid offending the household this time.”

“Bah,” said Nettle.

Talen stepped from the wagon and tied the reins to the hitching post while Nettle walked to the porch and knocked at the fuller’s door.

The young foreign woman from Urz who Nettle had offended the last time they were here opened the door. She was beautiful, copper-skinned with eyes as blue and bright the silks she sold. But she only narrowed those eyes in irritation at Nettle. Nettle had flirted with her, but he’d said something that by the customs of her people indicated Nettle wanted to hire her as a prostitute. By the time word reached Uncle Argoth of the incident it had been blown into a tale of unwanted pregnancy. Two families who had expressed interest in Nettle as a potential marriage candidate for their daughters had concerns. Nettle had been made to apologize to all of them.

On any other occasion Talen would have relished the exchange playing out on the doorstep, but Fabbis and Sabin made him nervous. He eyed the clump of trees Fabbis had disappeared behind and hoped Nettle would have enough brains to know that the quicker they finished their business here the better.

Talen suspected Fabbis had caught the snake for a game of Fool’s Basket. The rules were very simple. You put a snake into a basket, irritated it until it was ready to strike, then you tried to catch it without being bitten. You could use a short stick to draw the snake’s attention, but the only thing that could touch the snake was your hand.

Talen had played three times before with a small garden snake and had been bitten every time. You almost needed to be a dreadman to play the game. In fact, the game had started with them. He’d seen five dreadmen play it once. Their speed was shocking. They would catch the snake at the base of the head before it had time to strike. Furthermore, they had been playing with a lance of fire, not a simple rat snake. One bite would have killed them.

He hoped that Fabbis was slow and the snake’s fangs were long and bit deep.

Nettle began to explain to the copper-skinned beauty what they’d come for. When she let Nettle in to fetch the cloth River had ordered, someone in the clump of trees into which Fabbis had disappeared screamed like a river gut held him in its maw.

Talen glanced at Nettle, but he was already in the house, shutting the door behind him.

Whoever it was cried out again. The fear and pain in that scream turned his blood cold.

“Please!” someone cried.

Nettle was never around when he needed him! Talen glanced once more at the fuller’s, willing someone to come out.

If a Koramite sat around while a Mokaddian called for help, the Koramite would be punished for not lending a hand. Even if it was someone like Fabbis who deserved every misfortune that came to him.

Another scream. Surely, someone in one of the houses heard that one and would shortly appear.

Talen waited, but nobody came.

He could just sit here. Nobody else seemed to have heard. But he wondered. That was Fabbis down there, and the voice had been high-pitched like a girl’s.

Talen cursed. Then he left the wagon and walked down the lane to the source of the commotion.

He told himself he didn’t need to get involved. He could just assess what was going on, and, if needed, run to one of the houses and alert the inhabitants.

Talen skirted rounded the clump of trees and immediately saw the situation. There on his hands and knees was a boy. Talen didn’t recognize him. He was scrawny and dressed in filthy rags. Obviously, out of place here on Fuller’s Lane.

The boy attempted to scrabble away from Fabbis and Sabin. When he tried to rise, Sabin kicked the boy’s legs out from underneath him. But that wasn’t what made this beggar boy cry out.

Fabbis still held the rat snake by the tail. He was laughing so hard he almost doubled over. Talen thought that maybe they were simply threatening the boy with the snake. But Fabbis regained his composure enough to swing the snake’s head up against the boy’s buttocks. The snake’s head bumped the boy, once, twice. On the third bounce it opened its mouth wide and bit deeply.

The boy cried out again with his high-pitched squeal, terror written on his face. He tried to run off again, but Sabin kicked him in the gut so hard it knocked the boy over.

“Pull up his tunic,” said Fabbis. “We’ll see if Zu Snake wants a taste of walnuts and sausage.”

Leave it to Fabbis to think something like this up. Rat snakes carried no venom, but that didn’t lessen the pain of their bite. Fabbis and Sabin had both gotten their clan wrists, signifying they were men, which only proved those tattoos meant nothing. These two were nothing more than cruel children.

Talen turned to see if anyone else had come, but he was alone.

Talen did not know this boy; he could quietly step back around the trees and let the Mokaddians do what they pleased. That would be the smart thing: he had a serious message to get to River and his own beating to avoid, but this would only get worse.

Furthermore, Talen had been that boy only yesterday. He signed, then raised his voice. “Surely,” he said, “you could get at the vital parts a bit better by making him stand.”

Fabbis looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Talen, his face broke into a wicked grin. “I was just saying to Sabin here, wouldn’t it be nice if Turd Soup joined us? Where’s the Koramite-lover you came with?”

“At the fuller’s.”

“Well, we don’t need to wait for him. Come on over here, Half Breed. You can help.”

At one of the musters last year Talen had momentarily left his lamb soup to fetch a load of arrows for Da from the wagon. When he returned, he took a spoonful and found someone had slipped rabbit turds into the bowl. When he looked around, he’d seen Fabbis and Sabin watching him, grinning with delight.

Talen knew exactly what kind of help Fabbis meant. Usually, Fabbis also had Cat with him, a boy that kept his dark hair oiled and shining and painted his eyes with kohl as many of the sons of the clan lords had begun to do. Talen looked about, but Fabbis and Sabin were alone. “It appears,” said Talen, “that you’ve done me a great service. The fuller asked that I find his stable boy. And there he is. I’m sure the fuller would be interested to know how you’ve corrected him.” Talen held his hand out. “Now, come along, boy.”

The boy’s eyes were red. His face covered with dirt and tears.

Sabin began to let go his grip, but Fabbis put a hand out to stop him.

“This, a fuller’s boy?” Fabbis shook his head. “I don’t think so. Besides, the thief was sneaking into that house when we came along. We only thought to wring a confession from him. Maybe identify the members of his cabal. There’s never just one, you know.”

“I wasn’t stealing,” said the boy.

“Shut up,” said Sabin and clopped the boy on the head.

Talen knew what that felt like as well. He was also positive the boy hadn’t been doing anything close to breaking and entering. He’d probably been walking along, minding his own business, and Fabbis had spied him and seen an opportunity for yet another small-minded torture. “I’m sure the street boss would commend your vigilance,” said Talen. “Not to mention the fuller. Think what it would cost him were his servant to be caught stealing. Let’s take him to his master; I’m sure he’ll reward you just to keep your mouth shut.”