Wolf Captured (80 page)

Truth’s paws darted and dashed, making crazy patterns all around her. It was as if she batted at moths or gnats—or at a dozen images, only one of which was real. Her frustration was growing, her growls and roars becoming bestial and incoherent.

Firekeeper seized up the pottery water jar from the floor and emptied its contents over the jaguar’s head. The jar was large and still mostly filled. The contents sluiced through Truth’s thick fur and onto the tiled floor. The jaguar snarled, reared to strike, and then, in midmotion, froze.

For a long moment, Firekeeper thought she had pressed too hard, that this final stimulus had been too much. Then she saw the last of the glazed look melt from the jaguar’s eyes, saw the burnt-orange light again with the translucent glow of gold, and saw Truth steady herself, holding still for an eternal moment of calculation before methodically shaking the wetness from her fur.

Firekeeper drew her arm across her face to wipe away the fine spray and noticed for the first time since it had happened the thin score where the jaguar’s claws had sliced her. The wound was bleeding cleanly, so she as immediately dismissed it.

“
Truth?
” she asked.
“Can you hear me?”

The jaguar turned a baleful gaze on her.

“I can and I do. The real question is whether you will be glad for it.”

XXXIII

“SO YOU’VE ALREADY SOLD THE MARE?” Poshtuvanu’s disappointment sounded genuine, even though he was quite aware the mare was no longer in the farmer’s keeping. “Oh, well …”

The farmer’s evident unhappiness at disappointing a representative of u-Bishinti was not without an element of self-defense.

“I notified u-Bishinti when the mare was foaled,” the farmer said in a voice as thin and reedy as his build. “I even asked if the name Freshwater Pearl met with the disdum’s approval. However, I never received any indication that I should hold on to her—and horses are expensive to keep, true white horses more than most, as I see it, what with their fair skin and the problems of dealing with stains.”

He didn’t so much stop speaking as trail off into a rather insect-like whine. Derian glanced at Poshtuvanu, and saw from the other’s slight nod that it was his turn to speak.

“Can you tell me to whom Freshwater Pearl was sold?” he said. “White horses are very greatly valued in my homeland. I would pay much for her.”

Zira had suggested this approach.

“If representatives of u-Bishinti ask too many questions,” she had said, “it may create suspicions—especially since we didn’t snatch up the mare when she was a foal. However, who knows what a foreigner will fasten on as important? Derian can press and pry. All that will do is make him seem different—and there’s nothing anyone can do about that.”

Remembering the grin Zira had given him, and how she’d leaned across to tug a trailing lock of red hair that had slipped from his queue, Derian had to suppress a grin.

Although Derian’s request had been rather more usual than not, the farmer seemed hesitant to reply. Although Derian found himself wondering if this meant the farmer had been told to keep silent about the transaction, he realized there was a much simpler motivation.

“And lest you suffer a loss for your kindness,” Derian went on, “I could arrange for you to be paid for your trouble. I realize you do not wish to annoy a valued client—even if it may be to his advantage.”

And especially since it would not be to your advantage at all. Who wants an associate bragging that they sold the beast you sold them for a hefty profit? It’s the type of thing that can rankle for years.

Poshtuvanu interjected smoothly. “I have some tokens here that can be redeemed for services at u-Bishinti. Medical care, divinations, a loan of skilled labor …”

The farmer’s hesitancy vanished at once. Apparently, what Poshtuvanu offered was more valuable than mere money. If he wondered why u-Bishinti should offer to pay for information given to a foreigner, he probably thought it was because the disdum stood to make a hefty profit when trade with the northern lands became more common.

“I can check my records,” the farmer said, accepting the three baked-clay tokens Poshtuvanu slipped into his hand. “Will you come inside? My wife was churning this morning, and her sweet butter is excellent. I believe we have berry muffins as well.”

The repast they were given was much more extensive than mere bread and butter. Indeed, Derian had the impression that the farmer was due for a tongue-lashing from his wife about the importance of treating representatives from u-Bishinti with more courtesy than one gave the usual buyer.

Am I reading too much into his reluctance to talk to us?
Derian thought.
He did seem to clam up when Poshtuvanu mentioned Freshwater Pearl. No way of knowing—or even confirming suspicions—until we find out if Freshwater Pearl has indeed vanished or if she is happily eating her head off in some field somewhere. After all, this was not the only white mare Zira located. We’ve been disappointed already.

But confirmation that they were on the right track came as soon as the farmer brought out his records. The buyer’s name matched one on the list compiled by Meiyal’s clerk, that of a kidisdu specializing in water birds.

The excellent muffin went dry and hard in Derian’s throat as he realized the difficulties that could arise if the farmer decided to try and buy back Freshwater Pearl so that he could be the one who profited.

“You won’t tell your client we’ve been asking?” Derian said, balancing a friendly expression against a tone that said “I’ve been a horse trader since I could walk. I know the tricks and I won’t think kindly if you try them on me.”

“Of course he won’t,” snapped the farmer’s wife. The manner in which she glowered at her husband made Derian think he’d guessed right about the man’s character. “We understand you’ll want a fair deal, and telling the kidisdu in advance that you’re very eager to buy the horse might raise the price.”

I should have thought of that,
Derian thought ruefully,
and of course the farmer would get a cut of the sale price.

He grinned at the farmer’s wife.

“I’m sure you’re honest folk, a credit to your deities. We’ll burn incense for you in Heeranenahalm.”

That seemed to make even the farmer happy, and when Poshtuvanu and Derian took their leave it was with wishes of good fortune all around.

Poshtuvanu waited until they were out on the road and well out of sight of the farmer’s property before turning in his saddle to give Derian a triumphant grin.

“That’s the one,” he said. “I’d bet my best saddle on it.”

“You won’t find a taker here,” Derian said with a laugh. “Tell me, is it common for a kidisdu to own his own horse?”

“Not one assigned to u-Seeheera as this one is—not unless he was already horse-crazy, and then it’s quite likely we’d already know of his interest.”

“Because he’d stable his horses with you?”

“That’s right. Neither the Temple of Flyers nor the Temple of Sea Beasts maintain separate stables so close to u-Bishinti. It’s easier to let us do the work.”

Derian’s momentary glee faded slightly as a thought occurred to him.

“He could have bought the horse as a gift for someone.”

“Without coming to us first?” Poshtuvanu scoffed. “Oh, he wanted the mare as a gift, a gift to the deities, given in blood. If he just wanted to please a lover or someone in her family, he would have come to us.”

The mention of love gifts brought heat to Derian’s face. He’d been meaning to ask Poshtuvanu what was appropriate, but he didn’t quite know how to go about it. Part of his problem was that he didn’t quite know what the relationship between himself and Rahniseeta was.

Despite some interesting afternoons, they weren’t lovers—at least not yet. He wasn’t even sure if they were courting. What would his parents think if he brought home a foreign bride? He tried to imagine exotic and lovely Rahniseeta with her golden-brown skin and ink-black hair in the Carter family house. It wasn’t easy.

Oddly enough, it was easier to imagine her at court. She’d look lovely in a flowing gown of New Kelvinese silk, her hair twisted up in some elaborate fashion and interwoven with gems or, maybe, pearls … No, gems. Nothing large and gaudy. Topazes, perhaps, or garnets. He didn’t think he could afford rubies, though they would look fine, too.

He sighed and decided that for now he’d need to settle for flowers, probably wild ones gathered along the road, since he still went around rather short on pocket money and he’d feel the fool walking through u-Seeheera clutching a bouquet.

“Hey, Derian!”

Poshtuvanu leaned over in his saddle and poked Derian in the ribs. The action caused his deceptively understated bay to crowd Prahini and Derian found himself struggling to keep his seat.

“Why’d you do that?” Derian asked indignantly.

“I’d asked you three times if you thought it would be a good idea if one of us went straight to u-Bishinti and the other to Heeranenahalm. As it is, we won’t be able to arrive at either place until evening, but I thought this might be important enough to report without delay.”

“Sorry,” Derian said. “I was thinking.”

“About the importance of our news, no doubt,” Poshtuvanu said with a twinkle in his eye that reminded Derian rather too much of Zira.

“That,” Derian said, “certainly. Why don’t I go to Heeranenahalm? I’m the one who’s supposed to be interested in buying this horse, and the kidisdu the farmer mentioned is posted there. Do you think I’ll find him at the Temple of Flyers or the Temple of Sea Beasts?”

“Flyers, probably,” Poshtuvanu said. “You can ask someone to check a listing, though. The temples offer courtesy accommodations when the boundaries between types of animals aren’t clear.”

“I think I’d heard that,” Derian said. “So, will you take u-Bishinti?”

“Most certainly,” Poshtuvanu agreed, “and when you go to Heeranenahalm don’t forget to tell Rahniseeta what we’ve learned.”

This time his twinkle spread into a broad grin that Derian could not pretend to ignore.

“Is there anything wrong with my liking Rahniseeta?” he said, his own snappishness reminding him of the farmer’s wife. He immediately softened. “I mean, Rahniseeta doesn’t seem to mind, but I don’t know if I’m doing anything wrong.”

Poshtuvanu looked instantly serious.

“I don’t think anything is wrong unless you’re misleading Rahniseeta in some way. She doesn’t exactly run screaming when you come into sight. However, if you’ve promised her something you can’t give … or you have a wife at home or something …”

“No wife,” Derian said promptly. “The girl I was walking out with a few years ago unceremoniously dumped me when Earl Kestrel assigned me to Firekeeper.”

Derian had already explained something of how he’d come into his current position and responsibilities, so now Poshtuvanu nodded that he understood.

“How about Lady Blysse?” he said. “Does she have any claim on you?”

“Friendship,” Derian said. “I’d do just about anything for her, but I don’t love her like you should love a wife, and she certainly doesn’t love me that way. I once thought she might be starting to, but I think I was wrong.”

“Yet she was willing to let herself be taken prisoner rather than see you harmed,” Poshtuvanu said.

“And I’d do the same for her,” Derian replied. “I might even die if my death would assure her life, but I can’t imagine marrying her.”

Derian frowned.

“But we’re talking about marriage awfully fast here. What constitutes a promise among you people? If holding hands and a bit of kissing …” Derian felt himself growing red but forged on determinedly, “If that constitutes a promise of marriage, then I’m in over my head.”

Poshtuvanu’s words were only somewhat reassuring.

“If a girl lets you close because she thought you were promising marriage—and could provide some proof …”

“Proof?”

“Like an expensive gift or taking her to some function where you’d normally only escort a member of your family—a religious ceremony, for example.”

Derian sagged a little in relief.

“Go on.”

“Anyhow, if Rahniseeta could give proof that you led her on, then you might be in trouble. Her brother, as her closest family member, could extract some penalty from you—even force a marriage if she were carrying a child. Otherwise, it’s fair game, and the only thing on the line are broken hearts.”

“I’d hate to hurt Rahniseeta even that way,” Derian admitted, “but it’s a big jump from a bit of playing around in the woods to bringing home a bride.”

“I understand,” Poshtuvanu said. “The important thing is making sure that Rahniseeta understands, too.”

“HOW ARE YOU DOING with Wain Endbrook?” asked Dantarahma.

“Very well,” replied Shivadtmon, with an almost piratical grin. “I have him, and have him convinced he has me.”

“Good. The time has come to let our bird fly.”

Shivadtmon’s grin lost some of its boldness.

“So soon?”

“Rather,” Dantarahma replied, “let us pray we are not too late. Moreover, the chief reason for my wishing for you to delay him is taken care of. Report has come to me that Lady Blysse has returned from Misheemnekuru to the mainland.”