Treachery of Kings (9 page)

T
HE MOMENT THE SUN VANISHED UNDER
A purple haze, two frightening things occurred. First, the dark flowed in so quickly, Finn felt some heavenly scribe must have spilled his ink across the skies. And, with the coming of night, the breeze that had driven them steadily from morning's light suddenly disappeared.

Bucerius’ balloon began to sink like a stone. Finn drew in a desperate breath and held on tight, waiting for the dreadful impact with the ground.

Why hadn't the Bullie mentioned they'd never had a chance at all? That would have been the proper thing to do.

Instead, the fellow grabbed Finn's shoulders, bellowed out instructions that nearly left him deaf in one ear.

In an instant, he was tossing out sandbags as quickly as he could, watching the ground rise rapidly in the dark. Behind him, Bucerius was yanking at his infernal array of lines, shrouds, pulleys and vents, actions which seemed to have no effect at all.

Then, of a sudden, all was well again. They weren't moving fast, and they surely weren't sailing very high, but they were still in the air and not crushed upon the ground.

“Would you mind,” Finn asked, feeling as deflated as a capsized balloon, “telling me what that was all about? I thought we were doomed.”

“That isn't no word in the tongue of my folk. That's a human-person word, be what it is.”

Finn knew better than to argue the point. And, in time, Bucerius explained that surely Finn recalled that the Easterlies blew in the morning and the Westerlies in the night. It was night, as anyone could see, and now they would have to sail low, to catch what wind there might be, wind known, of course, to veteran pilots like himself.

Finn accepted the Bullie's answer, and wondered, not for the first time, if there might not be some better way to navigate the air than hanging below a bag of gas, hoping it would go where you wanted to be. He vowed, when he could, to give the matter more thought. There might be some way to craft a lizard for such a task. He would certainly take it up with Julia Jessica Slagg.

He quickly swept away those thoughts, determined not to bring them up again.

“And when will we reach Heldessia?” Finn wanted to know. “Sometime soon, I presume.”

“If the wind be willing. If it not, it be later than that.”

“Later than what?”

“Later than when we'd be if it wasn't. You wants to run this lovely device, let me be gettin’ some sleep?” “No, I wouldn't care to do that.”

“Wouldn't care for you to try. I got some good years left to be.”

So do I
, Finn thought,
and if I come home safe, I swear I'll not risk the time I've got on something as foolish as this….

He searched the sky for other balloons of the merchant fleet, but if they were there, it was too dark to see. The ground swept by perilously close below, and Finn could smell the foul stench of the swamp, the fetid odor of stagnant water and rotting vegetation, the scent of some loathsome, unknown creature of the night.

Either that, or the stupefying, deadly emanations from
Bucerius, who had eaten great quantities of turnips, whistle beans and mackerel cheese. Finn thought of the jelly sandwich and fatcake he'd left behind, the supper Letitia had packed. Even his favorite foods had no appeal now.

“Sweet Letitia, how I wish I was with you now. Though it's clear you're not as worried, not as anxious or disturbed as I feel you ought to be, I would overlook that if only you were near… “

“What's that? By damn, what you be a'mutterin’ now?”

“Not a thing, Bucerius. I was talking to myself. As you so kindly mentioned before, it's a thing that human persons do.”

“It be one of the things. Not all of ‘em, for sure. You wantin’ some of this cheese?”

“No,” Finn said, holding his breath as the Bullie loosed a ripper again, “but it's kind of you to ask.”

Up, GET UP, DAMN YOUR HIDE, ON YOUR FEET, NOW!”

Finn came awake at once, suddenly aware he'd been dozing, and wondered how he'd managed that.

“What is it? Nothing of great matter, I hope.”

“Just hold on to those lines. Don't be lettin’ ‘em go.”

“Something's amiss, I can tell. Whatever it is, I want to know.”

“We be landin’ soon, is what it is. Them lights down there? That's Heldessia. Just south there's the royal grounds.”

“Say, that's fine.” Finn peered over for a better look.

“Isn't fine a'tall.”

“It's not?”

“You listenin’, human person?
Not
bein’ fine, there's Bowsers everywhere. Place be swarming down there. They already snaggered a balloon, or I'd never spotted ‘em at all.”

“What? Why would they—”

Finn's words were lost as a volley of musket fire rang out in the night. A lead ball thunked into the wicker basket, close to Finn's head. Another whined overhead and snapped a line.

“What do they want? What's going
on
here!”

“I shoulda remembered, damn me,” the Bullie said. “It's Thursday again. Tuesdays and Thursdays, they be try an’ kill the King…”

F
INN HAD A GREAT MANY QUESTIONS, QUES
tions he felt called for answers at once. Panic, chills, fear of urination, gastric irritation, swept all thought from his head.

Shouts, howls, bellows and barks reached them from below. Discord, clamor, and harsh resonation filled the night. The flare of muskets, the smell of powder, the din of leaden shot stung his eyes, split his ears and burned his nose.

Then, with a terrifying, sound, a sound more fearsome than the rest, the fat sphere above ripped asunder, from the bottom to the top, burst its vaporous innards with a great unearthly fart.

Bucerius roared in anger as the basket gave a sickening lurch, tipped on one side and nearly tossed the pair to the ground.

Finn hung on for dear life. From the corner of his eye, something big, something dark, something more solid than the night rose up at him in a blur. The basket jerked to a stop, snapping wicker, shredding cords, slamming the Bullie into Finn, squeezing him nearly flat.

As he struggled for a breath, Finn saw a chimney rush by, saw the shattered basket fill with brick and soot, felt the clatter and the rattle as they slid down the steep-sided roof.

For another awful moment, they were airborne again.
Then, wicker, brick, lines, an avalanche of slate, came to a wrenching halt on the ground. A shroud of fabric settled gently over the Bullie and Finn.

Finn rubbed his stinging eyes, spat a mouthful of soot. Wondered how he could possibly be alive.

“It is no way short of a miracle,” he said to himself. “And even then, I have my doubts”

“Don't be a'gabbin’, keep still,” Bucerius muttered, lifting him easily out of the mess. “You not be entirely livin’ yet, lest we hauling out of here.”

“Thank you, friend. I'm terribly grateful for your help.”

“Take a care, watch it where you step.”

“What? Pots and Pans, what am I stepping on?”

“I fear we be smushin’ a fair lot of chickens. More like a herd. Somethin’ bigger than a flock. Doubt anyone be thanking us for that.”

As if in answer, a florid face, round as a moon, appeared in a window overhead. The fellow shouted and flailed his arms about, cursing in a gruff, unknown tongue, a language that seemed to greatly rely upon spit.

Before the man's wife could join him, wide-eyed in a tasseled nightcap, Finn and Bucerius were out of the yard and into the dark, Bucerius stepping ahead, Finn doing his best to keep up, clutching the carefully bundled clock against his chest.

E
VEN AS THE FAIR REACHED AN ALLEY SOME DIS
tance from the scene of their imperfect descent, it was clear there were deadly pursuers still about, determined to track them down.

Barks and yelps resounded from the street just ahead; Finn and Bucerius crouched in the dark and watched them pass by.

They were, indeed, Bowsers, as Bucerius had noted before their craft struck the ground. They were short, tall, bony, stout and lean, as Bowsers tended to be. Some had oversize noses, some had puglike features, perfectly flat. Most had tufted ears, and all had sad and droopy eyes.

Finn, though certainly no bigot where Newlies were concerned, didn't care for Bowsers at all. He found them irritating at best. Some were quite friendly by themselves, but the moment they came together in a group, in a horde, in a pack, they seemed to become mean of spirit and intense.

He had crossed their path before in a misadventure across the Misty Sea, and didn't care to meet them again.

All of these fellows, he noted, wore varicolored pantaloons, natty striped jackets, red bow ties and straw boaters tipped at a rakish angle atop their heads. Wherever Bowsers seemed to settle, one nation or the next, they all preferred this ridiculous attire. And, if Bucerius was right, and they were after the Heldessian King, Finn thought their clothes seemed improper for assassination wear.

“Why do they seek to do in the King?” Finn asked quietly, when the noisome bunch had passed. “And why, in all reason, on Tuesday and Thursday night? That seems peculiar to me.”

“They be doin’ it ‘cause someone paid ‘em to,” Bucerius explained. “Bowsers don't have lots of goals of their own. They be inclined to strong drink, filling their bellies an’ gettin’ lots of sleep. Someone'll give ‘em all that, why, they'll hire their ugly selves out to whoever comes along.”

“And who do you imagine is behind these louts now?”

Bucerius looked astonished at Finn's remark.

“Now how'd I know such a thing? Don't no one care for kings, I thought you be knowin’ that.”

“I suppose so,” Finn said. “That sort of thing goes on, wherever one happens to be.”

Bucerius didn't answer. He listened in silence for a moment, then led Finn down the darkened street. Far ahead, Finn could see a few pale, flickering lights above the high battlements of the palace of King Llowenkeef-Grymm.

Before they had gone too far, Bucerius discovered the shattered remains of a balloon in a small public square. The square was silent as a tomb. Shutters in every house were closed tight. No one, it seemed, dared to risk the streets with the Bowsers about.

Finn waited while the Bullie walked through the wreckage. His clenched fists, the rage barely suppressed upon his stocky features, told Finn what the giant had found.

“Sysconditi. He dealt in gems, which mostly be fakes. Never cared for the fellow, but he be a merchant, same as me.”

Bucerius stared past the crowded block of structures to his right, where a fire glowed against the sky.

“There be another one down over there. It'll take some doing to get to it from here. Not that anyone'll be alive. These louts'll pay dear for this night's work. They know we be traders, an’ not ships of the King. We got no part in the royals’ fight.”

“Could some be bandits, and not assassins as you say? Intent on loot from the goods merchants bring?”

“Could, I reckon. Bowsers, they got to eat regular, eat till they throwin’ up they guts. They need to, I guess they'd be turnin’ to this.”

“I don't know why the King's troops haven't shown up before now,” Finn said. “Or at least the city
guards. Why, lawlessness seems to be unchecked in this land.”

Bucerius showed Finn his second curious grin of the night.

“You be new here, human person. There be a lot you don't know ‘bout Heldessia. Things you maybe wish you didn't know ‘fore you get home… “

Finn was near certain it was on the tip of the Bullie's tongue to add
if
he got home, but he'd kindly held the words back. …

B
EST WE BE CROSSIN’ HERE. WE GOING ANY FAR-
ther, they'll likely spot us for sure.”

Finn could see his companion was correct. They were closer to the center of the city, now, near a deserted market square, the close-packed houses and shops that hugged the walls of the palace itself. Bucerius wanted to reach the spot where the merchant balloon had burned, but knew they had to take the long way around.

“I be crossing first. Wait till I gets there, you hear? Count a couple times. No Bowsers seem about, you be coming too.”

“Good luck, then.”

Bucerius showed him a scowl. “We be talking ‘bout that before. Human persons not even hearin’ what anybody says. Luck's got nothin’ to do with me running over there. I be getting there or not.”

“Fine. Just in case—”

The Bullie was gone. For a giant, for a creature that easily made three of Finn, he seemed to move remarkably well, swiftly and silently across the cobbled street, vanishing into the dark.

Finn waited. Looked, listened, and counted as well. Taking a breath, he crouched low, staying in shadow as
best he could, running quickly toward the spot where the Bullie waited in the narrow alleyway.

You can toss Fortune aside if you will, my fine enormous friend, but I wouldn't mind the Fates looking down and lending me a hand. I wouldn't mind if someone tossed me an amulet now, or cast a simple spell—