The Secular Wizard - Wis in Rhyme - 4 (27 page)

You truly are a knight!"

"Yeah, well, just don't noise it around." Matt turned back to the pile of canvas. "You want to cut the sticks for the tent, or shall I?"

The low whistle brought Matt out of a light sleep. He looked around, but the campsite lay still in the pale light of a quarter moon. There were no trees, just the boulder and a copse across the road. Maybe a night bird? Then the whistle came again, and Matt was sure no bird really sounded like that. He was on his feet with his dagger in his hand in an instant, fumbling for his sword. "Pascal!

Visitors!"

His answer was a snore.

"Pascal!" Matt hissed. "Wake up!"

"Oh, do not trouble him," said a deep voice, and harness creaked as mounted figures loomed up out of the night. "it is yourself whom we have come for."

Well, that let out bandits. Matt brought his sword out slowly, turning it to make sure the moonlight gleamed off its twenty polished inches. "And who might you be?"

"I am Vanni, bailiff to the reeve of this shire-and these are my watchmen."

"Oh." Matt lowered his sword. "Well, that's a relief. What can I do for you?"

Pascal, awake now, stared at him as if he were crazy, but rose to stand at his side.

"You can come with us." Vanni sounded a bit surprised himself.

"We have come to arrest you in the king's name." Matt stood still for a few seconds, letting the news soak in-and, oddly, found that he had almost been expecting it. "On what charge?"

"For the murder of a man."

"I murdered no man." Matt frowned. "Who is my alleged victim?"

"We do not know his name," Vanni answered, irritated. "He was a stranger-the man with whom you fought."

"Oh." Matt shrugged, making sure the movement made the light gleam on his blade again. //No problem there-I wound up fighting in self-defense. He tried to kill me."

,i did see the stranger wielding a knife," one of the watchmen said. "And I saw the minstrel strike it out of his hand," Vanni snapped. "Innocent or guilty, it is not for us to say." His gaze stayed on Matt. "It is only for us to bring you to the reeve." Why did he have the feeling that the reeve was not going to give him an unbiased hearing? Matt wondered. Maybe the mention of the king? "The stranger just died all of a sudden. His heart stopped. I had nothing to do with it."

Vanni barked a laugh. "Died while fighting you, and you had nothing to do with it? Nay, surely!"

"We're in a land of sorcery," Matt countered, "and you doubt it?

Vanni frowned. "The young king is no sorcerer!"

"What kind of magic does he work, then? Even in Merovence we've heard that he's powerful enough to protect himself-and in a kingdom with a lot of unemployed and vengeful sorcerers running around, that's no mean skill!"

"The king's magic is not your affair," Vanni snapped.

"Obeying his law is!"

"I did." Matt decided it was time to call in reinforcements and raised his voice. "Didn't I, Manny?"

"Indubitably," the rich voice said out of the night. Vanni frowned, peering into the darkness beyond the circle of fire-light. "Who said that?"

"I did." The manticore stepped into the light, grinning and lashing his tail.

The horses screamed and tried to bolt. A few of them managed it, with riders shouting halfhearted protests. Most of the men fought their mounts to a standstill, though-and looked as if they wished they hadn't.

"The minstrel obeyed the king's law in every particular," the manticore said, giving Vanni the full double grin.

Vanni goggled at the monster, then managed to wrench his gaze back to Matt. "What manner of man are you, who keeps company with a manticore?

just a traveling companion, really," Matt answered. "Manny isn't so much with me as he is with my friend, here." He slapped Pascal on the shoulder. The young man gulped and managed a rather queasy grin. His nervous glance was ticking back and forth between the bailiff and the manticore so regularly that Matt found himself wondering if his eyes were run by clockwork.

"The youth?" Vanni stared down at Pascal. The young man's lips twitched in an attempt at a grin. "He is an old family, ah, friend."

A DNA-linked spell," Matt explained.

Vanni's stare snapped up to him. "Are you a sorcerer, too?"

"No," Matt said truthfully. After all, Vanni hadn't asked if he was a wizard. "But I've heard talk about it." Vanni forced himself to look the manticore straight in the eye again-a brave man indeed, Matt decided. "Is your name truly 'Manny'?"

"Of course not," the manticore spat. "What fool would let his true

name be known far and wide, so that any passing sorcerer might en-slave him? 'Twas one such incautious lip-slip that gave this youth's ancestor power over me, to bind me to himself and his family for all my days! Forbear, foolish man-I will not step into your trap." His toothy grin lolled wider. "Though you might step into mine."

"I asked only from curiosity, I assure you!" It was amazing how fast Vanni could backpedal, even on a horse.

"Say, Manny," Matt asked, "do you remember my telling you not to eat human flesh?"

"Aye," Manny said, his grin now so wide it was amazing his own head didn't disappear into it. "And bitter am I about it, for mortal folk have a most excellent flavor."

"I was thinking about taking it back."

"Were you indeed!" Manny looked at the reeve's men hungrily, and a slab of tongue drooled out of his lower pair of teeth to circle around his lips, slurping.

"I am convinced of your innocence!" Vanni said quickly. "I thank you for your testimony, minstrel-and friend! I shall return to my master the reeve and tell him of your arguments, so monstrously persuasive!

Or of my persuasive monster, Matt thought. "Why, thank you, bailiff. It would really be quite an inconvenience to have to go back to your village."

"But we shall." Vanni reined his horse around. "Ho, men of the Watch! Back to our quarters!"

"I am sorry to see you go," Manny pouted.

"Perhaps another time," Vanni said uneasily. "It has been fascinating to make your acquaintance! I shall tell my grandchildren about you." "You're too young," Matt protested, and Manny concurred.

"You cannot have grandchildren yet."

"No, but I intend to. Farewell!" And away they rode, barely managing to hold their horses in from blind flight. Matt caught a few mutters about, "Manticore for a friend! Can he be more fell than it, then?" "He seemed pleasant enough." "Aye, one you could pummel with impunity." " 'Tis quite unfair@the never knows who will have powerful friends."

As they disappeared into the night, Matt turned to the manticore.

"Thanks, Manny. You take a hint beautifully."

"Hint?" The monster stared. "I spoke in all earnestness, Wizard!

Did not you?"

I74 THE SECULAR WIZARD 0 " '.

The next day passed without incident. Matt and Pascal joined up with another group of roistering travelers, much larger than the first; a few discreet inquiries revealed that this crowd comprised three or four smaller groups that had all set out from different villages with the same purpose: living the good life in Venarra. There was constant laughter, constant singing, and the wineskins passed freely from hand to hand. Matt wondered where they found the money to buy them. He found out at the next wayside inn, where the landlord sold them provisions at what had to be cost or below. In fact, when a few of the peasants took the wine and forgot to pay, he made no mention of it-just looked tense and nervous until they had finished lunch and started on.

Looking back, Matt saw him wipe his forehead and collapse onto a bench with relief. Matt could sympathize-there were at least fifty men in the group, thirty of them young, and all of them strong and able enough so that together they could have torn that inn apart. No wonder the landlord had wanted to keep them in a good humor.

Matt had also noticed that the servers were all male, and all wound tight as springs, as if nerved up to expect trouble. There wasn't a one of them who wasn't carrying a small club hanging from his belt. At a guess, Matt decided, the landlord had told the serving girls to hide and called in his hostlers, plus men from the nearby village, to hurry this crowd along. They were probably having to go through this at least once a day. Matt was impressed-it would have been more in keeping with Latruria for the landlord to use his female personnel to try to keep the vagabonds satisfied enough not to cause trouble. Of course, there were more women than men in the group, but still ... Still, he proved to be wise, as Matt found when the crowd came upon a peasant girl working in the fields but sneaking covert glances at the wanderers. Matt could almost see her wondering whether or not she should join them-but she must have decided not, when the boys gave a shout of glee and started chasing her. They coursed as hounds chase a pretty doe, and brought her to bay the same way, then took her down, and what they tried to do to her was not pretty at all. Tried, because Matt muscled in, holding off the boys with wine, jokes, and occasional punches that everybody could pretend were all in good fellowship. He did all this while he was giving the girl a recruiting spiel about the joys of the capital, emphasizing all the fun she could have with boy after boy, then sent her home to pack with-out asking whether or not she wanted to. He turned back to face a

glaring semicircle of youths, but grinned easily and rested his hand on his sword hilt as he said, "Well, back to the road, eh, lads?

I doubt not she'll catch up with us when she wishes." The looks they gave him made him determined not to turn his back on a single one of them-but they glanced at his sword, noticed that he didn't have his lute on his back, and let themselves be moved by his jolly slaps on the back off toward the roadway again. Matt sang them Kipling's "Smuggler Song," with its refrain, "Turn your faces to the wall, my dear, as the gentlemen pass by," and they took the excuse to start grinning and feigning good spirits, though every glance said its owner would delight in seeing Matt spitted upon his own rapier, if he'd had one.

Of course, Matt was so intent on trying to calm them down that he temporarily forgot the power of verse in this world-and that melody strengthened the impact of the words. When they caught up with the crowd again, they found everyone reveling in the goodies that had magically appeared among them. The girls oohed and aahed as they fingered the laces, the men got drunk on the brandy, and Matt was quite content to let them give King Boncorro credit for long-distance generosity. Somehow, he wasn't eager for fame at the moment. As twilight drew in, they came to a large open meadow where an-other couple of groups their size were already encamped, more or less. Local peasants were bringing in pigs, and the travelers were gleefully spitting them over slow fires. More wineskins appeared, again courtesy of the localsanything to keep the strangers from foraging. The vagabonds proceeded to eat, drink, and make merry, and the locals faded away into the dusk-but several of them cast envious looks back over their shoulders as they went. Matt gave them two days before they hit the road themselves.

It was the wildest party he had ever been to, even including his one visit to Mardi Gras in New Orleans. There was a carnival atmosphere over the whole throng, a hundred fifty strong; inhibitions were thrown to the winds, along with random articles of clothing. No, not random-the more cloth that went sailing on the breeze, the more purposeful the selection became. Matt was shocked to see couples tumbling to the ground right out in the open, without the slightest attempt at concealment or seeking of privacy, eagerly stripping one an-other with laughter and lewd comments.

Of course, he was a little more shocked to discover that he was shocked. Was there still a Puritan lurking deep within him?

Or just a romantic who held the quaint old notion that sex should some how be linked to love? Of course, he supposed love didn't have to be private-but if love there was, then lovemaking grew out of intimacy, which cannot by its nature be public, for if it is, it is no longer intimate.

He didn't seem to be completely wrong, judging from the young lass sobbing on the shoulder of another girl, who was leading her toward the outer edges of the crowd, her face a study in compassion and anger.

"He told me last night that he loved me!" the teenager sobbed.

"And here he is, stroking that hussy who just joined us today!"

"There, there, Lucia. Perhaps it is only the wine." But the look of hatred the older girl threw at a callow fellow who was unbuttoning a giggling young woman's garments said that she didn't believe her own lie for a second.

"He was the first man I ever let bed me! He told me he loved me!" They passed beyond Matt's hearing, to his relief; he felt a pang of sympathetic hurt for poor little Lucia. Her dreams had already crumbled, after only a day or two. Maybe now she would go home, though

... But no, she couldn't, could she? Not in this culture, not without the man who had taken her to bed-if you could call a patch of grass a bed. He looked around for Pascal, to remind him to be a gentleman, but he was gone. A moment's panic ended with concern as he saw his traveling companion drinking and laughing with a group of five other young people. One of the girls was making eyes at him; another was stroking his arm.

Pascal? Homely Pascal?

Matt began to suspect there was something going on here besides mere lust. Of course, maybe he was being unfair-Pascal might be attractive in ways Matt couldn't see; after all, he couldn't look through a woman's eyes.

The older folk were looking on with indulgent smiles, then glancing at each other with knowing looks that turned lustful as, slowly, they kissed, decided they liked the flavor, and kissed again, deeper and longer. Work-worn hands began to loosen ties and buttons-but the middle-aged did seek some kind of covereven if it was only a bush-before they took anything off. A bit more decorum? Or only an unwillingness to display flesh that was no longer in its prime?