The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (44 page)

“Now for the final touch.” He picked up a spray bottle, and misted its contents over me. I curled my nostrils — now I smelled like a soldier who’d not been bathed in a month.

“A dirty, smelly warrant from a line unit who’s probably in trouble with his superiors,” Kutulu approved. “Exactly what we want. Just the sort who’d be skulking around the docks looking for trouble. And with your size, they’ll never notice the small mouse who’s creeping beside you.”

So I was going to be Kutulu’s “apron.” I grinned, then remembered my dream of Thak.

“We may need more than physical disguise,” I said. “I’ll bet there’ll be magic about.”

“Probably not a concern,” Kutulu said. “Wizards are as prone to let their eyes fool them as any common man. However … I take your point. I think we’ll drop by the Seer Tenedos and see if he can’t provide a bit of a foggy counterspell. There is no gain in being overconfident.

“Now, for arms,” he said, “although if we need to use much force it’s likely we’re doomed.”

“I have my sword.”

“Where we are going will not call for gentlemen’s tools, but those of a footpad or worse. Can you use a knife?”

“I can.”

“Here.” He passed me a flat-handled blade in a sheath. “Strap this to your forearm. You can shave with it — I had it sharpened this morning. What else? Ah. It’s chilly down by the water, so no one will question these.”

He handed me a pair of rather shabby gloves. I almost dropped them because of their unexpected weight.

“There’s a quarter-weight of sand sewn across the knuckles and an eighth in the palm,” he said briskly. “Slap someone and they shall stay slapped.”

He picked up a murderous-looking double-edged dagger whose sheath hung down the back of his neck along his spine, and we went looking for Elias Malebranche.

• • •

This time I was ready for Seer Tenedos when he said he wished to accompany us. Kutulu looked horrified, not yet familiar with the seer’s admirable habit of leading from the front.

“You are
not
going,” I said firmly. “You are not expendable, especially when all we intend to do is peer about. Don’t you think your face is well known to most of Nicias by now? Don’t you imagine Malebranche would be delighted to meet you in some dark alleyway? Don’t you think Chardin Sher would reward him well to have your pelt in front of his fire, sir?”

“You pick amazingly picturesque imagery, Damastes,” Tenedos grumbled. “Very well. I see your point. But can you tell me one reason why I shouldn’t try to use sorcery to spy out where the Kallian goes and what his business is?”

“Thak,” was all I said, and Tenedos’s shoulders tensed involuntarily as he remembered how the demon had almost risen out of the mercury pool to take both of us.

“Very well.” Tenedos sighed. “As Captain Mellet once said, I’ll stay and tend the home fires. But as for some sort of spell to protect you. Hmm. I’ll give you that, and something for emergencies.”

He dusted us with a powder, said unfamiliar words, while his hands moved in strange figures in the air.

“You don’t want to show up reeking of magic, but this is a simple spell that will encourage a sorcerous sentry to overlook you, without ever quite realizing why. Now for the other device.”

He went to one of his trunks and fished through it until he found a rather ornately carved box made of several different-colored woods. Inside I saw what appeared to be tiny, perfectly sculptured animals, animals such as I’d never dreamed of.

“Here,” he said, handing me one. It was like a tortoise, but with the edges of its shell spiked, and it stood clear of the ground on four stocky, clawed legs. Its tail was an armored mace, and its head was fanged and malevolent looking.

“What is it, a model of some sort of demon?” Kutulu asked.

“It’s not a model at all, but rather the creature itself, perhaps a demon, I was able to fetch from another world and then shrink and put into a suspended state. I think I’m the only sorcerer who’s come up with a series of spells that can do this. I call it, and the others I made, animunculi I’d never found a use for them until now, although I suppose it would be possible to shrink a guard dog, carry it as a charm on a woman’s bracelet, and she would be quite safe from any attack. So too with your small creature. In its normal state it is about ten feet long, plus the tail, and it has the temperament of a rabid bear.

“It will be activated by the slightest contact with water, so I’d suggest you keep it in this.” He handed me a bottle with a stopper, and I gingerly inserted the tiny figurine in it. “Please try to return it to me undamaged,” he said wistfully. “A great deal of probably wasted time went into creating it.”

“If we have to, er, activate it,” Kutulu wondered, “how do we render it safe?”

“You don’t. You can’t. Run like demons are after you, which they may well be. It will return to its own world after a few moments.” Tenedos thought about what he’d said and smiled a bit sheepishly. “It might be well to provide you with a weapon against your weapon, I just realized. Put the creature away safely first, since I am giving you a spell of water.”

He found herbs, and added them to a beaker of water. He took an oddly carved wand that more resembled a twisted bit of driftwood from a shelf, and stirred the mixture. He began chanting in another tongue, then his words became understandable:

“Water, guard

Water, help

Seek water

Find safety.

Varum take heed

These are now yours

Guard them

Help them

Now they are thine.”

As he spoke, he sprinkled the mixture on us. Then, in a normal tone, he said, “this should be a bit of help, I should think. Again, it’s a simple spell, and requires a bit of work on your part. If this creature, animal, demon, or whatever it is, does come after you, cross water. Any water will stop it. If the spell works as it should, you should be momentarily safe.”

“Momentarily,” I said. “That’s a fairly imprecise time.”

“You’re both in good health. As I said, run like you’ve never run before, and you’ll escape handily. I’m fairly sure of that.”

Kutulu was looking rather skeptically at Tenedos. I suspected this was the first time he’d ever realized his hero might not be able to do all things perfectly. I took the warden by the arm.

“Come on,” I said. “That’s but his way of making sure the hayseed can’t complain about the philter he purchased if it doesn’t work. Thank you, Seer.”

“Captain,” Tenedos said, “has anyone ever suggested you’re impertinent?”

“Frequently, sir. And they’re always right. We’ll report back to you as soon as possible.”

Tenedos turned serious. “Please do that, regardless of the hour. Be most careful. I do not know what you might encounter.”

• • •

“This is another trick of the police,” Kutulu explained. “If you are following someone, someone who seems to have a regular route, and you lose him or he becomes suspicious, go to the last point you were able to track him, wait for his next appearance, then continue following.”

We were hidden behind barrels on the very edge of a wharf. About twenty yards away was the end of the alley I’d followed Malebranche down to find nothing.

The night was quiet, no sound except the splash of small waves as the river flowed past behind and below us, and the occasional hoot of a ship’s horn.

How much, I mused, of a soldier’s time is spent waiting in perfect silence, from peacetime formations to wartime ambushes, yet no one ever considers it a part of his lot.

I heard muffled hoofbeats, and crouched lower.

A dark figure rode swiftly out of the alley, and I thought for a moment that it was about to ride straight off into the water. But the rider dismounted, knelt, and suddenly, noiselessly, part of the pier lifted, a hatch, and the rider, who must be Malebranche, led his horse down an unseen ramp. As rapidly as it had opened the trapdoor closed, and all was as before.

“Interesting,” Kutulu said. “Shall we follow?”

It took a few minutes of close examination to find the round metal-lined socket in the wooden pier. It was made to accommodate some sort of tool, which we did not have, but I pried carefully with the haft of my dagger and suddenly the portal yawned open.

Kutulu took a tiny dark lantern from his cloak, lit it, and opened one shutter enough to illuminate the ramp. I spotted the closing lever not far along. He latched the shutter and we crept down the incline, closing the hatch, and darkness closed around us.

I started onward, but Kutulu felt my movement, and held me still. I obeyed. I thought my eyes were already night-familiar, and we would be forced to move by feel, but in a few moments realized they weren’t. We weren’t in total blackness, but there was enough light from the end of the tunnel to see dimly.

Kutulu tugged me onward. I made sure my knife was loose in its sheath and we went down the tunnel. About twenty yards along, we found an alcove, and here the rider’s horse was tethered. The tunnel leveled, and turned, away from the river, back under the hill.

I wondered how the conspirators had been able to dig such an elaborate work without being seen, but when I brushed against the tunnel’s walls, which were heavily nitered brick, I realized they’d merely happened on it. Perhaps this had been a smuggler or pirate’s lair in the distant past, abandoned or forgotten.

I heard a rat chitter, then we came around a curve, and saw light. At the same time, we heard a voice booming, for all the world like that of a priest in a temple.

The tunnel mouth was a low arch, and I saw the outline of a figure, a man with a sword in one hand. But his back was turned to us, and he was intent on whatever was going on in the chamber inside.

I looked at Kutulu, and he gestured me back around the bend.

“So there’s more than one entrance,” he whispered. “That isn’t Malebranche’s voice, so whoever’s speaking must have come in some other way. Either that, or people live down here. I think we should see more.” I was impressed with the little man. There was not the slightest sign of fear in his voice.

“Now,” he went on calmly, “I think a bit of your soldierly skills are needed. Can you take out that guard without raising the alarm?”

I thought so, and also thought that Kutulu was talking too much. I touched my finger to my lips, pointed to the ground — stay here. Stay silent. I considered various possibilities, then crept around the corner. I held close to the wall, and moved forward. I was relatively unworried. Unless I stumbled over something, there would be no way the sentry could be alerted — he would be night-blind and unable to see me.

I kept my eyes on the cobbles in front of me, and never looked directly at the man in front of me. I refuse to accept any senses beyond the normal, except those seers might develop, but it’s a fact that if you stare at the back of someone’s head long and hard enough, he will turn.

I’d thought of taking him down with my knife, but in spite of my assurances to Kutulu I was not really an artist with the small blade. The leaded gloves were a better solution. A few feet from the guard I went into a crouch, then went forward, not fast, but very smoothly, rising to my full height, and smashing the back of my fisted hand against his neck. His body contorted, I grabbed his sword before it could fall and clatter on the cobbles, and I eased him to the ground. I don’t know if he was dead, but if he was not he’d be out for a very long time and very sick if he came to.

I went back to Kutulu, and we slipped to the mouth of the tunnel.

The chamber inside was rectangular, fairly large, with an arching brick roof. I saw two other entrances, both with large wooden doors. It did, indeed, resemble a temple, since there were benches from front to back and a low dais in the front.

The man speaking did have the rolling, sonorous speech of a priest, but he certainly didn’t look imposing. Rather, he looked like the jolly fat grover in the market, complete with a small fringe of a beard.

And his words were anything but religious:

“… but it isn’t the gold which we must be thinking of at this most important time, Brother.”

There were about sixty men and women sitting on the benches, all cleanly dressed and sober-appearing, paying no attention to anything but the speaker. Among them I saw the Marchioness Fenelon and some other noblemen and -women I’d seen around Nicias. I spotted Count — or rather former Count — Komroff, whom I’d seen holding forth the evening I first met Marán. But nobles were in the minority — most of the people in the audience were poor or working class in their desperately scrubbed best outfits.

I saw Kutulu’s head swiveling from man to woman to man, creating new entries for his file.

The man whom the priest, for so I kept thinking him to be, had been addressing frowned, not satisfied.

“I know, Brother. But when a loyal Sister tells me she must have food for her babies, it’s hard to tell her not to reap the spoils she’s entitled, the spoils Thak promised us.”

A man sitting with his back to me rose, and I recognized Malebranche.

“Sir … since I’m not a member of your order, I cannot call you Brother … let me repeat what I’ve said before. My master has more than enough gold to provide for all.”

Son of a bitch! Quite suddenly it was obvious why Elias Malebranche had been in Sayana. It wasn’t merely to stir up trouble and attempt to make an alliance with Achim Baber Fergana, but also to work with the Tovieti. Now, from what Malebranche was saying, the Kallian was bankrolling them as well. It was apparent we’d come on the Inner council, or whatever they called it, of the stranglers.

Kutulu’s eyes widened briefly, probably as much surprise as the lawman could show.

The fat “priest” nodded.

“Thank you, sir. Brother, tell that woman in your band what our friend said, and tell her also to have faith in our coming victory. We cannot name who our friend’s master is, although I’m sure many of you know. Also tell your woman why we must not linger over our kills.

“We have the wardens in a frenzy, the commoners quaking, nobility fleeing their estates for safe havens that don’t exist, and even the Rule of Ten must be beginning to tremble. Think what it must be, when you do not know your enemy, nor where the silken cord may come from at any time, day or night, but know it is coming, as inexorably as the Wheel turns.