The Lion of Senet (4 page)

Dirk was suddenly very sorry he’d volunteered to come along. This man needed Master Helgin’s skills, not his own rudimentary knowledge of healing.

He sat back on his heels and stared down at the man. “I wonder who he is?”

Ateway laughed humorlessly. “The luckiest sod on Ranadon, that’s who he is.”

Dirk didn’t reply. With a dislocated shoulder, at least three broken bones that he could see, a nasty head wound, and the Goddess alone knew how many internal injuries,
lucky
was a very relative term.

Tovin Rill arranged for a wagon to meet them at the base of the levee on the other side. The unconscious sailor was hauled up the sheer side on a makeshift stretcher, encased in the splints Dirk had fashioned from the shattered decking of the wrecked ship. Many of the townsfolk had stayed to watch the sailor’s rescue, while others had returned to their homes to get ready for the day.

Helgin was waiting at the top of the wall. Dirk breathed a sigh of relief as he handed the man over to the care of his master. The old physician examined the sailor’s wounds, then gasped suddenly when he saw the man’s face. Dirk wondered at his reaction, thinking that maybe the head wound was worse than it appeared. But he was given no chance to question Helgin about it. The physician hurriedly pulled a blanket over the man and had him bundled away before Dirk could ask him anything.

Rees had finally released Eryk and came to stand beside Dirk as he watched Tovin’s men lift the stretcher into the wagon under the critical gaze and impatient direction of the old physician. Master Helgin’s obvious nervousness concerned Dirk. He wondered if he had forgotten some procedure.

“Well, you can bet this will be the talk of the town for weeks to come,” Rees remarked.

“He’s badly hurt and I’m not certain I helped much.”

“You did plenty,” his brother assured him. “And you scaled the levee wall like a spider. I am actually impressed, little brother.”

Dirk smiled briefly, not really listening. Tovin Rill sat astride his stallion with Lanon at the base of the wall, watching the proceedings with interest. Eryk stayed on the top of the wall with them, standing beside Dirk, unconsciously mimicking his stance.

“You’ve got one problem though, Lord Dirk,” Eryk suggested sagely.

“What’s that, Eryk?”

“You’re gonna be in big trouble when your mother finds out.”

Chapter 4

Elcast!” Vonril shouted as he finished feeding the mules for the night, glancing up at the ash-laden clouds with a frown. They had finally begun to break up late in the afternoon, and small rays of sunlight pierced the gloom in the most unexpected places. It had been overcast and gloomy all day, and the nearby town was abuzz with talk of a giant tidal wave that had destroyed a ship and ruined the coming harvest. He moved toward the cooking fire and sat down beside his mother. “Why in the name of the Goddess did we come to Elcast?”

“Don’t swear,” Kalleen said, cuffing the young man absently. “We’re here on Elcast because I decided to come.”

“Then surely we could have found a better place to camp than here?”

“Here” was a small clearing in the Duke’s Forest, about two miles from the town of Elcast. They had come for the annual Landfall Festival, but it was still weeks away, and so far the takings had been lean. Elcastrans were notoriously tightfisted, Vonril was constantly complaining. They had been so close to Senet, too. A week, perhaps two, and they could have been on the mainland. But their mistress had decided that once they left Derex, they were headed in the opposite direction.

“Here is just fine,” Kalleen announced, her face shining with sweat. She was sitting too close to the fire for such a warm evening. “Besides, rumor has it that since Lord Tovin was appointed Governor, the Landfall Festival on Elcast will be much bigger than in previous years.”

“That was yesterday, when they actually had something to celebrate. If you believe the townsfolk, they’ll all be starving come winter.”

“Come winter, we’ll be long gone, so it makes no difference to us now, does it?”

“But why not Senet? Why not go to Senet?” Vonril sounded like a whining child.

“Because we’re Dhevynian, you moron. All foreigners need a permit for Senet,” Lanatyne told him, throwing another split log on the small campfire. “And a permit for Senet costs more than we make in a year.”

Inside the wagon, Marqel listened to the conversation thoughtfully. Normally, Kalleen would have taken Lanatyne to task for insulting her son, but she was distracted this evening. Things were looking grim for the troupe. Tonight was a chance to recoup at least some of their losses, but they couldn’t stay on Elcast indefinitely, and even arriving so many weeks before Landfall was a gamble. They might be asked to move on, perhaps even before the Festival. Nobody liked their kind hanging about.

“Marqel? Aren’t you ready yet?”

Marqel clambered down from the wagon, tying the ribbons Kalleen insisted she wear into her long, fair hair. She crossed the small distance to the fire, still fiddling with the childish adornments. When she was finally done, she brushed down her little girl’s tunic and presented herself with a pout to the troupe leader for inspection. She wore a short tunic that fell to just below her knees, and her face was scrubbed clean as a milkmaid’s. Her hair was the color of ripened wheat and fell long and straight and heavy, without even a hint of a curl. Kalleen eyed her critically for a moment, then nodded.

“You’ll do, I suppose. Just keep that smart little mouth of yours shut. At least until after he’s handed over the money.”

Marqel pulled a face in reply. Kalleen had sold her as a virgin to one of the patrons who had attended their show in the town square yesterday. Kalleen had been selling her as a virgin all summer as they traveled around the islands of Dhevyn, eking out a living as acrobats, fortune-tellers and entertainers. Marqel was well rehearsed by now. She knew how to simper. She knew how to look wide-eyed and frightened. She had even mastered the art of breathlessly begging her patrons to “be gentle with me, sir . . .”

“And don’t you go doin’ nothin’ that’ll give us away,” Vonril added.

Generally, men who could afford to buy a healthy young virgin were in positions where, if they suspected cheating, they could make life very difficult for the troupe. Vonril was nervous of his mother’s scheme, and every time Marqel was sold he grew more anxious, certain their ruse would be discovered.

Marqel thought he worried unnecessarily. She saw the guilt in the eyes of the men who bought her. She knew they were paying for something they could never admit to. She had a hidden treasure trove gleaned from such men—coins, jewelry, even a tiny music box that tinkled a delightful tune whenever she secretly opened it. Those treasures were the only bright spot in an otherwise hopeless existence, with no future prospects other than the life of a whore or a performer with Kalleen and Vonril and Lanatyne in Mistress Kalleen’s Traveling Troupe of Amazing Acrobats.

“Now, you remember,” Kalleen warned. “You don’t do nothing till he’s paid the money. You pass it on to Murry and then act all innocent and dumb like...”

“I know what I’m doing, Kalleen,” she sighed impatiently. “This is the eighth time I’ve been deflowered in as many weeks.”

Marqel was safe from Kalleen’s fist. She always made sure she was out of range before she gave the fat old hag any lip. It was a hard-earned lesson. Besides, tonight at least, Kalleen would do nothing that might bruise her pale flesh. She would be delivered to Hauritz the Butcher unmarked.

“You just watch that mouth of yours,” Kalleen repeated with a frown. “Murry!”

Murry was a big, bearded man who claimed he came from Damita, even though he talked with a distinctly Senetian accent. He appeared from the other side of the blue-painted wagon he shared with Sooter, the troupe’s other roustabout. Marqel and Lanatyne shared the smallest wagon, while Kalleen shared the largest with her son, Vonril. Although Kalleen’s wagon was the most comfortable and in the best repair, nobody would have traded places with Vonril for a seat at the queen’s table.

“It’s time,” Kalleen informed him. “See she gets there and that she comes straight back. And make sure she gives you all the money.”

Murry nodded mutely and beckoned Marqel to follow him.

Once they were clear of the camp, walking the ash-dusted road that led into town, Murry began to talk, reminding her, as he always did, of the need to be careful; of signs to watch for that a man was turning violent. The evening was mild, the second sun just sinking below the horizon. Tall evergreens coated in a powdery layer of fine white ash shaded the road, and the distant squawking of gulls filled the still air as they fought over the fish washed up on the shore in the aftermath of the eruption.

Marqel pretended to listen attentively as Murry repeated the same advice he gave her each time they made a journey like this. She thought it bizarre. He was escorting her to a man who had purchased the use of her body because he thought she was a virgin, and Murry was lecturing her on how to ensure her own safety.

The lecture irked her. She stopped and stared up at the big Damitian. “Murry, if you care so much about what happens to me, why not stop Kalleen selling me like a side of lamb in every town we stop at, instead of instructing me on how to avoid getting beaten up?”

Murry looked shocked. “But you’re a whore, Marqel.”

“I’m an acrobat!” she corrected. “I’m not a whore. That’s Lanatyne’s job.”

“She was an acrobat once, too, you know, back before she broke her ankle.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to be a whore the rest of my life.”

“Then what are you, lass?” Murry asked, genuinely puzzled by her refusal to accept her fate. “You’ve not much choice that I can see.”

“Well, whatever happens, I’m not going to piss my life away in this pathetic traveling circus.”

“You’re a fool, girl,” he sighed. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

Marqel defied him for a moment or two, scuffing at the ground with her sandals as Murry walked on ahead. Once again, she would have to lay beneath some sweaty, sausagefingered old man with bad breath, who would paw at her body clumsily, pounding his manhood into her until he collapsed from exhaustion. It would be unpleasant, but probably blessedly short. That was one thing about these men to be grateful for. Most of them were so guilt-ridden, so aroused at the thought of possessing her, that they barely lasted long enough to cause her any real discomfort.

With a heavy sigh, Marqel followed Murry down the road into town.

There really wasn’t much else she could do.

Hauritz the Butcher let her in the back of his store, glancing up and down the alley furtively to make sure nobody had seen them. Marqel stepped into the kitchen with Murry close behind, and glanced around with interest. The room was dominated by a long polished table, and softly gleaming pots hung from hooks in the ceiling. There was a white lace cloth draped over the table and the stove was meticulously clean.

“Where’s your wife?” Marqel asked curiously. No man kept house like this.

“My wife? Why do you want to know about my wife?” he demanded anxiously.

“We don’t care about your wife,” Murry told him. “Where’s the money?”

The butcher dug into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a small leather purse that clinked with the familiar dull sound of coins rubbing together. He handed it to Murry with a scowl. “You disgust me! Selling your own child.”

That must have been the story Kalleen had given the butcher. Sometimes Marqel was an orphan, sometimes a sister, and sometimes a daughter. Kalleen was very good at reading people and using whatever lie would bring the highest price.

Murry took the purse and opened it. He couldn’t read, but he could tell how much was in the purse, just by looking at it. He nodded, satisfied that the amount was correct, then looked down on the sweaty little butcher.

“You disgust me,” he retorted. “You’re buying her.”

This is all I need,
Marqel sighed impatiently to herself. She wanted this over quickly, although glancing at the nervous butcher, she doubted he’d even be up to the job. Certainly not with Murry standing over him like that.

“Daddy?” she interrupted in her best little-girl voice. “I’ll be all right. You take the money home.” Then she added with a dramatic sigh, “At least the others will get a decent meal tonight.”

Murry took the hint. “I’ll be back for you later.” He turned and grabbed the butcher by the front of his shirt. “You hurt her, and you’ll be sorry.”

The big Damitian released the butcher with a shove and let himself out of the kitchen. Hauritz sputtered in outrage for a moment, at least until the door closed behind Murry, then he took a deep breath and turned to look at Marqel. She smiled tentatively.

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” she said in a small, tremulous voice. “I’ve never done this before.”

The butcher wiped his hands on his trousers and moved around the table toward her. Marqel dropped her eyes coyly and began to unlace her shift. With luck, and a bit of judicious teasing, it would be over almost before it began.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” she lied smoothly. It didn’t matter that she was almost seventeen. It was what the butcher believed that counted.

“Thirteen,” the butcher repeated, his voice husky, as if he couldn’t believe what stood before him. “So young. So innocent.”

So gullible,
Marqel added with silent scorn as she let the shift fall to the floor.

The man gasped in appreciation. They always did. Her body was toned from long hours practicing acrobatics, and she’d learned long ago that confronted with a naked female body, most men would agree to anything.

“Sir?” she ventured cautiously, taking a step back from him.

“What?”

“May I ask a favor?”

“Anything . . .” He moved closer, reaching for her, but not touching her yet, as if he was afraid she would disappear if he laid his hands upon her.

“This is my first time.”

“I know.”

“Would you give me something? Something to remember it by?”

The butcher looked up sharply and Marqel wondered if she’d misjudged him. “I just gave your damn father a fortune in silver.”

Sudden unshed tears glistened in her sapphire eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have asked. It was wrong of me, I know. It’s just that... well, I’ll not ever have this moment again. And you seem such a... nice man. I wanted it to be special.”

Hauritz the Butcher stared at her for a moment, then walked across to the sideboard. He opened a carved trinket box and withdrew a gold coin. He held it up in front of her face. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you have this when we’re done.”

She nodded and wiped her tears away. Lanatyne had shown her how to cry like that. It worked every time.

“I’ll be a good girl,” she promised shyly.

The butcher grinned, and pulled her to him.

Marqel closed her eyes, keeping the image of that gold coin in her mind.