Skeen's Return (16 page)

Skeen forced herself to keep chewing steadily. It was a while before she could trust herself to speak. “He is sure it's her?” She kept her voice as soft as his. “An hour?”

“He talked to her. Less than that now.”

Skeen swallowed, closed her eyes. For a moment she felt events rushing out of control and panic urging her to do something, anything, to release the tension that threatened to overwhelm her. She took a bite of the pie, chewed with careful stolidity and swallowed the mouthful before she tried to speak. “Did he tell her about this mess we're in? Give her the chance to back away?”

Domi wrapped both hands about the remnant of his pie, mischief sparking in his eyes, his whole body laughing at her.

She glared at him, wanting to throttle him, which he guessed and which amused him even more.

“She sent you a message,” he murmured. “She said, ‘Don't be an idiot, Skeen. Do what you have to, then get on board.'”

“Ah.”

“And she says she's sorry she's a day late, but the wind turned contrary and she couldn't start up the Slot till this morning.”

Skeen rubbed her hand across her mouth. “Less than an hour.” She frowned down at the ring chron, then looked round at Angelsin. The Funor woman was watching them; she had to know something important was happening. Maybe it was a good thing those Funor rites were going to absorb most of her attention. Still, I have to hold the lid on till after dark, or do I? She ran her hands through her hair, shook herself as if that would settle the uncertainty in her mind. “Um … less than an hour, yes … Domi, fetch Ders and the Boy, then you go upstairs and wake everyone and see our gear gets packed.” She looked over her shoulder at Hal and Hart, who'd stopped their game to watch her. “Um … we'd better stay here on guard, the three of us, until you get things ready … um … have a word with Chulji, tell him to warn us the moment the ship is tied up so we can clear out of here fast. Ti and me, we'll find a place to lie up until we can go after Tod's gold. We'll take that boat you and Ti decided on and follow after.”

“Will do, Skeen ka, but I'll wait with you.” Laughter in his eyes again, he said, “You need someone to sail the boat.”

“I've done a bit of that now and then here and there.”

“Here and there. Oh, sure you have, Skeen ka. How many of those boats went by wind alone?”

She wrinkled her nose. “You've got a point, my friend. Um … not Ders too, he's a lovely boy but … um … fidgety.”

“And I'd rather have him safe away from here. Yes. And you'll have to sit on Hal a bit. He'll want to be the one, he'll never admit I'm better than him with boats.”

“I hear. Stop by Hal and give them the news. And be careful, Domi; I've seen too many folk get killed a hair before they're safe. They relax too soon.”

“Yes.” He got to his feet, set the pie end on the table. A glance at Angelsin, a shudder, then he said, “She scares the stiffening out of my bones; I won't feel good again until we're out of the reach of her horns.”

Shadow crept toward the door. Angelsin began shifting position again, grunting, opening and shutting her hands. At first Skeen thought it was jumpiness like her own nervous fidgets, but as the show went on she began to wonder whether it was pain or plot. Though the grunts and grimaces got on her nerves, she ignored them and continued chipping at her block of wood.

After a half hour of this with no reaction from Skeen, Angelsin gave up. “Pass-Through,” she called out, a whine of pain in her voice, “I need to retire into my office to apply fomentations to my knees. If you'd call Hopflea to me, I think he must be in the kitchen.”

Skeen swung around, beckoned to Hal. When he reached her, she said, “Take a look outside and see if Chulji's somewhere about. If he is, I'd like to talk to him.”

Hal nodded and marched out. Hart sat at the table fingering the gamepieces, his eyes shifting from Angelsin to Skeen.

Angelsin clutched at the chair arms, her breath coming in hoarse pants as she fought to retain control of the rage in her. She'd slashed her pride raw to maneuver Skeen into what could have developed into a trap with a little luck. Now it seemed that scarifying exercise was useless.

Skeen sat with her hands clasped in front of her, watching the shift of Angelsin's features, wondering how far she could push the Funor before the situation turned irretrievable. Not much farther, from the look of her. Yes, yes, calm down, woman, Djabo! “Give me a minute, Adj Yagan. A little patience and,” she watched the door but slipped quick glances at Angelsin who had slid into a steady-state simmer, “we can ease apart, both sides still whole.” She kept talking in that vein, her voice quiet, soothing, but not so soothing Angelsin could mistake care for condescension.

Hal came back with Chulji-Skirrik tick-tocking along behind him.

Skeen leaned forward, whispered, “It's getting late. Where's the ship?”

Chulji clicked his mouthparts; his antennas shivered. “My mistake, Skeen. I forgot about the current in the river. She took longer than I thought to make the distance. She's tying up now.”

Skeen sighed, gripped the edge of the table, fighting against the effect of the sudden rush of relief. She pushed the chair back and stood up. “Hal, get the others down here; make sure they've cleaned out the rooms, we don't want to leave anything behind.” She glanced at Angelsin, then at the door. “I'll keep the lid on until you're all out. Take Hart up with you. Chul, flit over to the ship, tell our friend we're on our way.”

Angelsin was panting again, her face working. She wanted to throw Skeen onto the floor and dance on her bones. Yes, she wanted to hook those horns into her flesh and worry them about; Skeen didn't have to mindread to know all that. She waited, tense and wary, to see what the Funor would do. If she had to, she'd lay Angelsin out right there, but she'd prefer to keep the precarious peace intact; this wasn't her homeplace but she had no wish to bring down a power struggle on it.

Angelsin sucked in a long breath, snorted it out as she gripped the chair arms harder, the muscles defining themselves in her arms when she put pressure on her hands. She grunted onto her feet and got down from the chair. Ignoring Skeen she circled to the door at the end of the bar and pulled a bulky key from her pocket.

Skeen moved closer, stopped just beyond the reach of the massive arms that had given Timka such a bad time. As Angelsin pulled the key from the lock and started to push the door open, Skeen said softly, “Move slow, my friend. Try shutting that door in my face and I'll put you out so fast and hard you won't move for a sennight.”

Angelsin stiffened; her broadfingers twitched, her slimfinger coiled into a knot. Saying nothing, she pushed the door wide and walked with difficulty toward her masterchair. She grasped the arms, muscled herself up and around, dropped heavily onto the seat. Skeen pulled the door shut, moved a few steps into the room.

“Call Hopflea,” she said. “I want him where I can see him.”

Angelsin smoothed her hands over her thighs. “You'll have to fetch him.”

“No, I don't think so. You have a way to reach him from here; don't try to tell me you don't.”

“What you think doesn't change what is. Do what you will, I can't call him.” She blinked slowly, stubby white lashes glinting. “Send the barman.”

Skeen frowned at her. Sounds logical, but I'd have to go out and leave you here alone; I don't think so. She moved closer, circled round the chair, looking it over as minutely as she could while staying beyond the woman's reach. She came round again, scanned Angelsin's face. The Funor had decided to be stubborn about this minor point. Well, so be it. One last thing. “How soon do you have to leave to be in time to make your duty uphill?”

Angelsin pressed her lips together. Her hands opened and closed, opened and closed. Nothing she could do about the situation as long as Skeen kept away from her; the ache in her bones that slowed her to a crawl denied her that satisfaction.

“Look, Adj Yagan,” Skeen tried to cram all the reasonableness she could into her voice, “I'm going out of my way for you. It's a long, long story why—so don't ask. Tell me. Sundown, moonrise, midnight, what?”

A sharp jerk of the big head, the ivorine horns jabbing, then Angelsin sighed, snapped out a single word. “Midnight.”

Skeen risked a glance at her ring chron; sixth hour from noon. If she put a single dart into the woman, Angelsin would wake with at least an hour clear. “See you never,” she murmured and touched the trigger sensor.

She slipped from the office, pulled the door shut, locked it with the key she'd taken from Angelsin's pocket. Domi and Timka were waiting for her “They are cleared out?”

“On their way.” Timka flicked fingers at the door. “The Yagan?”

“Out of it. Domi, stand watch here; Ti, come with me, we've got to find Hopflea.”

Moondark. Scuds of clouds obscured most of the stars, hanging low enough to be stained with pallid reds and golds from the bonefires burning in a ragged arc to the south of Fennakin. The streets were empty and silent except for the dank wind that wasn't especially cold but nonetheless bit to the bone. Timka-owl flew over the roofs, crossing and recrossing Skeen's path, a dark silent shadow lost in the fog beginning to thicken the already stygian air.

Skeen swung along covering ground without seeming to hurry, her senses at their widest outreach, though she kept her body relaxed and seldom looked behind her. The matte-black eddersil tunic and trousers absorbed what little light there was and with her black boots and black gloves and near black hair and leaving aside her pale face, she was close to invisible; a long black knit scarf was wrapped about her neck and over the lower part of her face, its presence amply justified by the temperature of the ambient air. She carried a large leather bag, one gloved hand holding it against her side, the shoulder strap taking most of its weight. Several times she met other Cuspers out on nocturnal errands (she suspected these were similar to her own), passing them without interference or interfering.

When she was within a few minutes of Tod's House, she moved off the Skak and plunged into the maze of narrow winding alleys and byways no wider than a deerpath through thick brush. Here near the river the fog was denser. She slowed, groped along, one hand brushing the walls of the warehouses and shuttered shops that backed onto these smelly lanes, stopped now and again to run over once more the route she and Timka had laid out in their planning sessions, to check on touchmarks. A brick wall, the bricks in an intricate pattern of verticals and horizontals. A plank with a hole in it half the size of Skeen's fist shaped like a pointed oval. A rickety fence of scavenged lumber. A dump of fish offal that never seemed to get larger or smaller; no need to touch that, it announced its presence a dozen meters away. And so on. Past shuttered windows and blank walls. No one about, not even a drunken derelict sleeping in a sheltered corner. Grope along and hope to get it right. She let herself sigh with relief when she saw the fuzzy reddish glow of the torches on Tod's watchtowers. Another interval of groping, mercifully brief, and she was standing in the mouth of a narrow alley looking across a broad cleared stretch at the tatty whitewashed walls that shut in Nochsyon Tod's house and business. She took the darter from its holster, unsnapped the lanyard from the loop in its butt and drew the ring across the stone wall at her side making a small grating sound. She repeated that twice more, then stood waiting.

Ti-owl dropped out of the fog, flew low over her head, swept up, circled and came round again. Skeen held out the darter. With a powerful delicacy the owl's talons closed on it and lifted it from her hand, then the bird powered up until it was an indistinct blur in the fog.

By straining her eyes and knowing where it was going, Skeen could follow the blur to the tower. It hovered a moment outside one of the high narrow unglazed windows, then drifted on out of sight around the bulk of the tower. She waited, tense, until the dark blotch appeared again and settled gently onto the wall where it shifted into a larger different shape and vanished into the tunnel walkway where the wall met the tower.

Skeen pulled up her tunic, unwrapped from around her waist a length of light rope knotted at intervals for quick climbing, an iron claw tied on one end, the metal warm where it had rested against her skin; she stripped the leather pads off the claws and dropped them into the lootbag, smoothed her tunic down, resettled the shoulder strap and waited.

A long shape eased out of the walkway and stood a moment at the wall's edge. Skeen held her breath, but there was no alarm. Timka was having trouble managing the darter; she went squat and broad into the owl shape, left the weapon lying on the wall and launched herself into the air; she swung round the watchtower, swept down, snatched up the darter and flew off, the fog closing about her as she moved deeper into the slaver's hold.

An eternity later the owl swooped down, hooted a warning and dropped the darter into Skeen's reaching hands. It landed in the alley mouth and shifted.

Shivering as the cold air hit her bare skin, Timka grinned at Skeen as the Pass-Through dug into the lootbag and found the fur cloak they'd lifted off Angelsin. Timka wrapped it round her and sighed with relief. She kicked the end under her to get her feet off the damp icy cobbles and managed to stop shivering.

“Well?”

Timka's grin widened. “So easy it was almost shameful. The wallguard and the towerwatch were wrapped in blankets snoring by a brazier; they'd split a jug of homebrew between them and wouldn't have noticed anything if I'd stepped on them. I put a couple of darts in each just to make sure and went for the pen tower. There was just one there, a Pallah with a royally juicy head cold; I was doing him a favor putting him out of his misery for a while.” She pulled the cloak tighter about her. “And I took a last swing around the grounds, the housetowers were empty like always, the woffits are out and prowling like always; maybe a handler somewhere about, but I didn't see anyone. I still think I should go in with you; if there are surprises anywhere it'll be in the house.”