The Jaguar Knights (37 page)

“Dawn can’t be far off,” Dolores said at last.

“I am ready for bed,” Megan agreed.

“Or should we simply slide to the floor in drunken stupors? This partying won’t be convincing if we fall asleep.” Dolores yawned and her husband’s jaw began to ache horribly.

“You’re right,” he said. “Perhaps the enemy is just waiting for us to retire so they can—”

A bird tweeted right behind him. He jumped and peered around. His companions were doing the same. There were no birds present.

“I think that was our sentry’s signal,” he said. “One quack means they are coming by land.”

“Spiritual ventriloquism?” Dolores was alert again. “How does he
do
that?”

“Ask him when Blood-mirror-walks isn’t around and he may tell you. A toast to victory!” Wolf poured wine. The bird tweeted twice more at his back, causing his hand to twitch and spill some, but this time he did not turn. “And they are also coming by sea.”

Then it cheeped three times.

He raised his glass and they drank to victory. “Tell us another of those funny stories of yours, Megan.”

She laughed tinnily. “I think my sense of humor just dried up.”

“Then tell about the first time you set eyes on Dolores. How old was she?”

“Not fair!” Dolores complained.

They were all trying not to watch the lawn. It was bathed in moonlight, and the isolated puddles of shadow did not seem large enough to hide a rabbit. The stockade was a saw-edge of darkness against the silver ocean. Surely nothing could creep up on them unseen from that direction? What was happening at the front? And what had three chirps meant?

“A few minutes old,” Megan said, “still bloody and crying. The midwife handed her to me in a blanket. I know nothing of her past.”

“As long as I still have a future,” Dona Dolores muttered.

“Well, as Grand Master always says—”

“If you mention that man just once more I will make myself a widow.”

So they babbled. Wolf managed not to stare, but he thought he was keeping a fair watch out of the corner of his eye, yet he saw nothing untoward before he heard a half-stifled cry, only one, seemingly from behind a tree in the middle of the lawn.

“What was that?” Now they were free to look openly, but there was still nothing to see.

“Probably a bat,” Megan said and stretched. “I did enjoy the party, Sir Wolf. We must do it again some time, but now I—”

Dolores said,
“Eeek!”

Blood-mirror-walks walked up the step to the veranda dragging two bodies, his fingers locked in their hair. He dropped them at Wolf’s feet like a cat offering mice.

“All done, Wild-dog-by-the-spring.” He did not even seem out of breath.

“Excellent work, Taker of Three Captives. Just two of them?”

“Eight this side. Four at the front. This one”—he kicked the larger, older man—“they called Pablo. I only throttled him, so he will wake soon. In case you want to torture him. What shall we do with the rest?”

Pablo, it turned out, had divided his force into three squads of four. One band had climbed over the stockade on the street side and the other two had cut across neighboring properties to come in on the flanks. The tops of the logs were all sharpened, of course, making for a tricky climb, and by the time the first man in each squad had finished helping his companions descend safely, a warrior had been waiting in the shadows beside them. When the intruders started moving toward the house, the defenders followed, stunning them all before they even knew they were under attack.

Wolf was impressed. He had been judging the Tlixilians by the mass assault on Quondam. With the advantage of numbers and surprise, the invaders should not have suffered the losses they did, but whatever their problem had been, he must revise his opinion of Tlixilian warriors in general. Blood-mirror-walks and his band were not even the legendary knights, yet they had stomped four times their number like a line of beetles. The Distliards’ problems in conquering El Dorado became more comprehensible.

Pablo was tied to a chair and left in a dark room to recover. The other eleven they spread on the lawn, trussing them securely also, although they had barely enough rope. It was then Wolf discovered that the Tlixilians’ success had not been quite perfect, for one man was dead. Head wounds were notoriously unpredictable and what barely dazed one man could kill another outright, but Tlixilians prided themselves on
their skill at taking prisoners. Pulse-obsidian hung his head in shame under his colleagues’ angry glares. It was not the death that troubled them, it was his clumsiness.

“A minor matter,” Wolf said, although he regretted it. “We may perhaps turn it to advantage.”

Having made certain his wife was not watching, he cut off the corpse’s left ear. Then he collected Dolores and went in to see the chief brigand.

Pablo was fortyish, flabby, and greasy, with streaks of gray in his beard and an ugly scar half-hidden in his whiskers. He screwed up his eyes and moaned when his captors arrived with lanterns.

Wolf held up his bloodstained dagger. “Dog! Why should I not kill you also?”

Pablo made a croaking noise.

“Speak, scum of the cesspool. Who sent you to attack our house?”

His only reply was a silent glare. Admittedly Pablo had few good excuses available under the circumstances. Wolf grabbed the man’s beard and shaved one side of his jaw, removing some skin. He screamed.

“Who sent you?”

“No one!”

Wolf made the shave symmetrical, so he screamed again. The remaining goatee did not suit him. Dolores was not speaking and Wolf was not looking at her, but he could sense her disapproval burning hot. He hoped she knew he did not enjoy maltreating a helpless man, however despicable. He wiped his bloody hand on Pablo’s shirt.

“Then I must complain directly to the
Alcalde.
Take him this.” Wolf produced the ear. “You will bring Don Ruiz de Rojas here before sunrise, do you understand? So he can see the vermin who assaulted me—what is left of them.”

“It is not possible!” Pablo screamed, ashen under his tropic tan. The thought of reporting to Rojas upset him more than the previous rough treatment.

“Then I will send one of the others, with both your ears. And perhaps an eye?” Wolf took hold of the prisoner’s right ear and he howled in terror.

“I will go! I will go!”

“Before sunrise the
Alcalde
must be here, or I will start tossing pieces of your men over the wall. And I will not stop with ears.”

They untied the wretch and threw him out the gate with an ear in his pocket and his hands still tied behind his back. He took off at a staggering run, unaware that Flicker was lurking out there to make sure he arrived at the correct destination.

Sick and trembling with reaction, the ogreish Don Lope made his way to the kitchen, where half his forces were tucking into a meal prepared by Duff and Peterkin. The others had gone to catch some sleep. He perched on the butcher’s block, which was the only vacant seat in sight, and accepted a steaming cup of a local beverage he had taken to, called
chocolatl.

“Which way did he go?” Dolores asked.

“Looking for a fast horse-sleigh to Skyrria.” Wolf burned his mouth and swore. “He was last seen going north, anyway.”

His challenge to the tyrant was proceeding amazingly well, but it was still a terrible gamble. Many violent men understood nothing but violence, so Rojas might fly into a fury and send his militia to storm the fortress, whatever the cost in lost prestige. He would certainly guess that the impudent newcomers had troops he had not known of, but he must suspect spiritualism by now. There were no octograms in Sigisa and probably no conjurers, so he had no source of conjuration to offset it. Unless he had access to some of the local variety, in which case the battles might grow even bloodier.

“This is good,” Heron-jade announced. He was eating an entire ham, clutching it in his huge fists and tearing chunks out of it with his teeth. “What animal?”

“Distlish man-at-arms,” Wolf said.

“Wolf!” Dolores shouted. “No, it is pig, Taker of Four Captives. An animal about this big.” She gestured with a tortilla and a beaker.

The big man grunted and offered the ham to Serpent-night, who had been cramming beans into his mouth nearby but showed interest in the subject. He bit out a nugget, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. He ripped off a larger chunk and passed the rest back.

“What did you think it was?” Wolf asked uneasily.

“What you said.” Heron-jade grinned with his mouth full. “Definitely not local.”

Dolores shuddered. “Really? You do eat people?”

He nodded as if surprised by the question. “It is my right. I am a taker of four captives.”

Wolf said, “I thought captives were sacrificed so that their hearts could be used to summon the spirits.”

“But we do not waste the rest of them,” the giant said cheerfully. He flexed a bulging arm. “One day I will make a great feast for someone.”

“You chatter like a girl!” Blood-mirror-walks stood in the doorway, scowling.

Heron-jade dropped his eyes like a guilty child. “May my lord forgive!”

At the moment they were not eagle and jaguar but a great lord and a lesser. All four of the Tlixilians were nobly born to some extent. They had explained that commoners served in the army but rarely rose out of the ranks.

“Use your mouth for feeding in future!”

“I am justly accused,” the big man said.

Abruptly the youngster switched back to military forms. “Will you honor us blind ones by keeping watch until noon, sky traveler?”

“Until sunset,” Heron-jade said. “I will keep the day. The night is yours, dread shadow.” He raised his head and peered around. “The emissary went to a large house north of here and was admitted. The servant Flicker is returning.”

Blood-mirror-walks bowed. “We are indebted to you for this lore.”

Dolores’s eyes shone. If she could smuggle
that
spell home to Chivial, the snoops would be able to snoop on anyone anytime. Even Wolf could hear the sound of gold clinking then.

W
olf did not seriously expect Rojas to come running before sunrise as instructed. He was prepared for more violence, or a conciliatory letter, or almost anything except what did happen, which was nothing. The sun rose and kept on rising. Rojas had called his bluff.

Having no intention of chopping more pieces off the corpse or vivisecting the ten prisoners, Wolf did nothing also. The jaguars had gone to sleep—curled up in corners, to his amusement. Will and Peterkin slept also. Big Heron-jade was working his way through the larder, eating indiscriminately, as if to redress weeks of slaves’ diet and ship rations. He insisted that he was also keeping watch, but just leered when Dolores tried to charm him into discussing the conjuration he was using. His childlike amiability hid warrior flint. Eventually she gave up and went off to rest. Hick and Duff tended the captives, giving them water, untying each in turn for brief exercise, and making sure the three still unconscious were as comfortable as possible. Flicker reverted to his manservant personation and unpacked his master’s clothes. Wolf just paced around, waiting for something to happen.

He was in the kitchen preparing a beaker of
chocolatl
when Heron-jade looked up from his stool and remarked through a mouthful of onion, “You have visitors.”

The gate bell jangled.

“Who?”

He shrugged. “A Hairy man and a Real People woman.”

“Is she wearing jewels?” Wolf asked, wondering how well an eagle warrior could see through several walls and trees.

He nodded, grinning to show he saw through the subterfuge.

“No snakes hanging on branches?”

“None.”

With such spying ability available, it was no wonder that El Dorado was holding off the Distliards. On his way to the front door, Wolf met Flicker.

“Rojas and his wife. Tell Dolores.”

Wolf opened the gate himself, expressing delight and honor at the visit.

Rojas returned his bow. “The pleasure is ours, Don Lope.” He wore a sword and a gentleman’s finery. Fortunata curtseyed demurely. She sparkled with gems and her gown would have passed at Court.

“The villa is to your satisfaction?” Rojas inquired blandly as they strolled along the path.

“The villa, yes. The servants, no. The neighbors, definitely not.”

“You wish to lay charges?”

“What else can I do?”

The mayor shrugged. “Do anything you like with them,
señor.
” Incompetent henchmen were of no more use to a gang boss than, say, a conscience.

“Our mutual friend Pablo?” Wolf inquired as he opened the front door.

“Pablo?” Rojas murmured, entering with his wife on his arm. “Pablo? I know many men by that name. I cannot be expected to remember them all.”

Dolores appeared—miraculously relaxed, coiffed, and groomed, with only faint shadows under her eyes to hint at a sleepless, stressful night. The guests were made comfortable on the veranda. Flicker served fruit juices and cakes, then departed. With sailors and warriors safely out of sight, the villa might have been deserted. Conversation flitted like a forest butterfly, never touching on murder, torture, home invasion, or any such sordid topics. For a while.

Then Wolf found himself being studied by the coldest pair of eyes he had ever seen. The Blades’ greatest killer had never faced such eyes in a mirror. Rojas had dropped his charm.

“Let us talk business, Don Lope.”

“By all means, Don Ruiz.”

“What do you want?”

“Knowledge, the secrets of Tlixilian conjuration.”

“You would rip beating hearts out of men?”

“Never. My wife is the expert on spiritualism. She believes that the
jaguar and eagle knights have skills we could apply without resorting to their murderous ways.” Without looking at her, Wolf could sense Dolores disapproving of his candor, but Rojas was not the sort of man she could have studied in lecture halls, and he trusted his instincts. Rojas would never accept Wolf as an equal, but now he must take him seriously.