The Jaguar Knights (34 page)

Rojas was said to be discreet in what he skimmed off the army’s supplies, though, and the
Caudillo
was currently too engrossed in the war to pay much attention to the racketeer at his back. That situation
could not last very long. Even if Rojas was tolerated as a welcome control over inevitable corruption that might grow even worse without him, sooner or later King Diego and his general would move to establish the rule of law. Or the Tlixilians would win and no Distliard would be left breathing in Sigisa. Rojas must be amassing loot as fast as he could by any means he could. To the Chivians he was a monstrous looming threat. Why should he cut them in on the smuggling?

“Quin?”

Again Quin smiled and shrugged. “I won’t be staying, Sir Wolf. Doesn’t feel right for me to speak.”

“We can use anybody’s good ideas. Flicker?”

Flicker’s teeth shone in the starlight. “Why waste our prisoners just as messengers? Use them as guides. Ignore Rojas. Slip by him before he notices and head inland. Go straight to El Dorado.”

Wolf had expected this. “You are proposing a major change of plan.”

“The situation has changed. The bats didn’t know about the
Alcalde.
He’s more dangerous than the mainland would be. Can’t you see that?”

“It’s possible, but you can’t prove it yet and the only place to find out is Sigisa itself. Secondly, you’re assuming we
can
slip by Rojas. Efficient robber barons keep a very close watch on the road—or harbor, in this case. I’m sure his goons will go through the ship like a business of ferrets, and they’ll want to look in our baggage. Thirdly, eventually we hope to come back out. I don’t want to burn our bridges. Or boats. Let’s hear the others. Megan?”

Megan was just as predictable. “Stay away from him as much as we can. We have ways of being unobtrusive.”

Dolores said, “I agree we must try and avoid trouble, but I’d rather tell him what we’re planning than have him torture it out of us. His price will go up, but we have lots of gold.”

Flicker made a snorting noise. “Offer him a thousand pesos and he demands ten thousand? Give him ten and he demands a hundred? Give—”

“Point made,” Wolf said. “You want to bypass him, Megan wants to hide from him, and Dolores wants to cut him in. I have another idea.”
For several nights he had been dreaming of his stepfathers, especially the last one. Normally he paid little heed to dreams, but sometimes they offered warnings, and one should at least try to understand their advice. “You’re snoops. I’m a bully boy. I don’t think the way you do. I agree with Dolores that we’ll have to cut Rojas a slice of our imaginary goose. I’d like to have him as an ally, but I prefer to negotiate on my feet, not on my knees.”

“Meaning what?” Flicker sneered.

“Meaning I’d start by kicking his shins.”

They talked amicably. Megan stuck to her original position. In the end Dolores supported Wolf out of loyalty. Surprisingly, so did Flicker, either because he just enjoyed brawling or because he hoped to watch Wolf botch up the mission.

Quin had the last word. “Keep me out of it, Sir Wolf, so I can report on your funerals.” Another six months at sea might not be such a terrible prospect after all.

Captain Clonard had refused to hire a pilot in Mondon. Finding Sigisa, he had explained, was a feat of navigation within the abilities of the average spaniel. All you did was sail due west until you made landfall and then go north, keeping an eye out for Smoking-woman, one of the great volcanic peaks of Tlixilia. When you had passed that and were almost halfway to an even bigger one, Sky-is-frowning, you made a left turn and entered the river mouth.

Fortunately he was right, and one sunny morning
Glorious
was towed into the harbor. Wolf leaned on the rail beside a wildly excited Dolores, admiring the gateway to the mainland, of which they had heard so much. Baron Roland had described Sigisa as two miles of brothels and dens, but since his day it had grown longer and wickeder, until now it was a dull night when no bodies departed on the morning tide. Into this pestilential pit had poured Distlish soldiers, sailors, and adventurers by the thousand, plus all the human parasites that fed on them. Having seen how big the world was, Wolf had almost given up hope that Lynx would ever reach the Hence Lands, but if he did, his quest to find
his ward must lead him through Sigisa. The brothers would meet again here or nowhere.

Languid and greasy, the river drifted northward along the coast, held captive on the east by Sigisa, which was a sand spit, not a true island. In the dry season the river shrank and the wells turned brackish, but at that time of year, with the rainy season just ended, the river was a safe harbor, and a dozen ships were anchored there, most of them surrounded by dugout canoes, loading or unloading cargo. The western bank was jungle and swamp, reputed to be full of poisonous snakes, spiders, insects, and even frogs, little scarlet blobs no bigger than a thumbnail whose touch burned a man’s skin.

“I don’t like the look of that side.” Dolores was pouting at the impenetrable green tangle. “Let’s not stay there.”

They turned to study the equally dense tangle of shacks and tents on the sandbar. Wolf said, “Do you think the town looks any better? I think I’ll sleep in plate mail.”

“Not in my bed you won’t.”

Their first requirement must be to find somewhere secure to live and store their valuable baggage. Real estate was reportedly volatile in Sigisa, with houses changing hands all the time on the roll of a die or twist of a knife. Anyone wishing to breathe the air there was expected to pay off the goons, from the mayor down to the junior assistant deputy harbormaster who would be the first aboard when
Glorious
dropped anchor. There were limits, though. If Rojas shaved his victims too close to the bone, ships would find another port. Estimating what could be plucked off
Glorious
would take hours of negotiation in that murderous heat, but that was Clonard’s business. Wolf planned to go right to the top.

Although Sigisa was the main port for the slave trade, he had been told in Mondon that there were no slaves in Sigisa itself, because they would escape too easily. As evidence that one should not believe all one heard, the dozen sweating brown rowers in the lighter that was towing
Glorious
to her anchorage were very obviously chained, and the man standing over them held a whip. Just as
Glorious
was moving slowly past a ship loading a fresh cargo of prisoners, Flicker and Quin emerged on
deck with the four Tlixilians, who recognized the place at once and glared around as if they would much enjoy burning it to the ground with all its inhabitants.

Wolf addressed the one who mattered, the youngest, a great-great-grandson of a former emperor. “I have kept my promise.”

Blood-mirror-walks studied him distrustfully, eyes black as coal. “And what must we do now, Wild-dog-
by-the-spring?”

“
Must?
I do not use that word to warriors. That way lies home.” Wolf pointed to the jungle and the snowy cone of Sky-is-frowning peering over it. “Swim now if you wish. Or wait for dark, and I will have you rowed across. I will give whatever you need for your journey—food, canoe, gourds, blankets.” Blankets seemed absurd in that tropical sweat house, but El Dorado lay beyond high ranges. “I ask only that you take word to the floating city that we will help its struggle if we can. I showed you the weapons we offer in trade. You are free to go at any time.”

The chunky jaguar warrior was still suspicious, sniffing the air for a hint of treachery. “And you remain here?”

“I hope to. You could help me in that, if you wished.”

Blood-mirror-walks curled his lip in an
I-knew-it
sneer. Here came the bargaining he had been expecting. “Help how?”

“It is possible that there will be some Distliards in need of dying.”

Heron-jade made a blood-curdling noise in his throat. “Is that a promise?”

Wolf laughed. “No, but I will arrange it if I can. Today I must challenge the lord of this town and he may send his warriors against me. I will fight, but I need friends. I freed you, I healed your wounds, and you have eaten my salt. Are not the best friendships sealed in battle? Within three days I will win a home here, or I will be dead. But the choice is entirely yours. Go now, or tarry three days and help me against the Distliards.”

The others just watched Blood-mirror-walks, and he did not consult them. He was young and assertive. To refuse a fight against the Hairy Ones was unthinkable. “We have eaten your salt,” he agreed. “We will stay and fight at your side, Wild-dog-by-the-spring.”

T
he anchor had barely splashed down before a gang of harbor officials came swarming over the side, looking at least as villainous as Wolf had expected. They closed in on Captain Clonard, who had an unlimited supply of impressive fake documents to flaunt on such occasions.

They were intercepted by a gentleman resplendent in fine linen tunic and silk hose, the garb of a wealthy planter or rancher in Mondon, topped off with a couple of glittering decorations. Dolores, on his arm, was even more impressive in bright brocade, twirling a silk parasol. Wolf announced in his haughtiest aristocratic Distlish that he had urgent business with the
Alcalde.

The chief ruffian said, “No one goes ashore until I am satisfied.”

Staring at him in disbelief, Wolf pointed to the ship’s standard, which was undoubtedly large and multicolored, but hung so limp that its heraldry was unreadable. Then he unwrapped a package to reveal a scroll bearing much scarlet wax and ribbon. “You would argue with the King’s seal?”

No, even a senior de Rojas minion would not do that. A lighter was brought alongside; Dolores was lowered into it in a sling. There was—
much apologies, señor!
no such thing as a lady’s carriage in town, but the distinguished visitors were assured that the walk to the
municipalidad
was not far. Leaving the rest of the team to guard the precious baggage, Don Lope and Dona Dolores set off to call upon the ill-famed de Rojas.

It was a very educational stroll. Baron Roland had explained that the business district lined the riverbank, the center of the spit was occupied by a residential squalor of tents and wattle shacks, while an avenue of large villas stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the seafront to divide the riffraff from the fresh air. He had not mentioned that there was almost no room left to move.

Every gap was packed with people. Most of the men were Distliards, almost all the women
naturales,
but there were exceptions—haughty Euranian ladies with trains of servants, even haughtier warriors in feathered
cloaks and body paint; child pimps, child hookers, child pickpockets. Unlike drab old Chivial, Sigisa shimmered with color: rainbow loincloths and fine gowns; gaudy half-naked prostitutes soliciting; hucksters thrusting fabrics, beads, or pottery at passersby; blinding sunlight and inky shade; foliage against the cloudless sky; flowered creepers; parrots, macaws, and toucans. The air was a potpourri of exotic scents of spices, flowers, and people. No one was hurrying, everyone going somewhere. Blank-faced servants, swaggering pirates, armor-plated men-at-arms blazing in the sunlight and close to heat stroke, enormous war dogs and their handlers…carts and wagons and horse-drawn drays.

The slim hand on Wolf’s arm was steady, but he knew Dolores well enough now to know that she was nervous. She would be crazy if she were not. The shore was lined with shipyards, marine chandlers, livestock pens, distilleries, lumber yards, and a dozen other enterprises. Behind them lurked lath-and-wattle shacks, houses mixed with grog-shops, stalls displaying fruits and fly-infested meat, leather workers’ shops, potteries, and certainly brothels. Every breath brought a new scent, every moment new peddlers shouting their wares. Dull it was not.

The visitors had leisure to admire the bustle, for their guide naturally took them by a roundabout route, so one of his boys could sprint more directly to their destination and warn of their coming. At last they came to the Rojas palace, a complex of fine wooden buildings on the seaward side of the town, enclosed by an impressive palisade and guarded by troops in shiny cuirasses and helmets. If there were many of those beauties around, Wolf decided, this hacienda would be a very tough nut to bite on. He was even more impressed by the interior, which had the same air of wealth and taste as Baron Roland’s Ivywalls, meaning it did not look as if it had been designed by King Athelgar. Some of the furniture might have been imported all the way from Distlain; the pottery and wall hangings were Tlixilian.

One side of the reception room looked out on a garden, and another was open to the spangling blue sea and its cooling breeze. The visitors were granted a few moments to admire it before the
Alcalde
strolled in, displaying remarkable grace for a man who must be puzzled to the marrow. An emissary sent by King Diego ought to arrive with a squad
of men-at-arms and a warrant for his arrest, not just a skinny girl dressed as a grand lady. Gang boss, vice lord, murderer, local tyrant, Ruiz de Rojas had been born on Mazal, his father one of the first settlers, his mother a
naturale.
Wolf had expected someone of villainous appearance like Captain Clonard, but Rojas was thirtyish, handsome, superbly dressed, and instantly charming. His mixed blood showed in his features. He wore his heritage proudly, letting it add to his hauteur:
You may claim conquest or inheritance, I have both. I rule here by right.

He was respectful to an envoy bearing a royal edict, but he did not fawn or grovel. Informed that the señor’s companion was in fact his wife, he bowed gracefully and kissed her bejeweled fingers in proper Distlish style. Then he turned to a waiting servant and nodded.

The man vanished and a moment later ushered in a striking young woman—almost as tall as Dolores, svelte, and the color of ripe chestnuts, as Lynx would have said. She wore a shimmering white silk gown, and her jet-black hair was wound in coils held by silver combs. She moved like gossamer on a summer dawn.