Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (42 page)

“There,
there.” Hysgode added his own view: “All true, but we must consider
patterns down philosophical lines, distancing ourselves from
profligate emotion. We must stay true to the pure and respectable
logic of facts. Withal, ladies are present, becoming overwrought
with gloomy recollections.” He cast Delizra a patronizing glance.
“Never fear, pumpkin! We shall be together shortly. I know you are
as eager as I to consummate our marriage, living together up the
hill at Nausvere amongst the purple felfoons and the windle-larch.
The wind blows freely as horns and will tousle our shiny locks with
favour!”

Delizra
clapped down her fork with scorn. “’Tis cold up there in Nausvere,
Hysgode, and I am likely to fall sick. I quite like it here at
Silsoor, and in fact, I think I shall stay. Your manse is distant.
Who shall take care of my mother? Her health is ailing, and if not
for Tulesio’s herbs which she imbibes twice a day, she may have
already died!”

“Hush, my
moffet!” soothed Hysgode, “we shall hire servants to take care of
the good Lady Boquk.”

Griselda’s
voice rang with heavy sarcasm. “And who will take care of you, dear
Hysgode? Olefe, the magic elf? An entire battery of servants could
hardly keep up with your incessant demands, let alone the insistent
wheedlings of my mother.”

Hysgode bared
his teeth. “Indeed! But not half as many beauticians could keep up
with your own repulsiveness, which as your father hints, is
‘insuperable’!”

Griselda
opened her mouth, but only could utter rasping croaks. The Vulde
seemed to have the last say in the matter and gave a brisk
reprimand to Hysgode: “Temper your opinions! I’ll not have my
daughter slandered while guests are present, even in light of her
deficiencies.”

Griselda
muttered outrage at both her father and Hysgode. Hysgode held out a
placating palm, “You misinterpret my remarks, Vulde. I was merely
speaking—”

“Whatever you
were speaking—I shan’t tolerate it!”

Stiff silence
pervaded the table, but it seemed easily managed by the Vulde and
Godol’s business-like chatter. The conversation resumed to topics
of lighter nature, including Baus and Valere.

The Vulde
inquired mannerly, “Are you not going to taste more of our goulash,
Baus? Seela’s touch is unique and I notice half a bowl which will
go to waste.”

“Your eye is
keen, Vulde—but—” he grimaced down at Cedrek’s erstwhile bowl “—I
have imbibed too much wine and it hardly begets me a proper
appetite—no offence to your cooks.”

“None taken.
But perhaps you shall indulge in some dessert? She has prepared
some decadent little puffy-cream tortes and morfosia balls in
blue-goose syrup.”

“Titillating!
You are so very kind, Vulde. And this profusion of delectations
makes my head swim!”

“Then,” cried
the Vulde, clapping his hands, “offer me a gift! Tell us more of
your exploits, of which we know little.”

Baus nodded
graciously. “I will.” He forced himself to assume an air of
valedictorian proficiency. He began to recite a perplexing
mythology of his background, involving a tale of intrigue,
adventure and altruism. He paused to cast Delizra a courteous
glance, and sensed the spark of attraction, and challenge there,
which impelled him to a flash of quixotry. Poetry and snippets were
injected into the narrative, reminiscent of Weavil’s finest, which
added to the overall effect. The names and details dropped from
anecdotes he had heard from Trimestrius and Ulisa didn’t hurt and
cast him in better stead.

Valere
listened with half-masked amusement while Cedrek and Hysgode
listened on with cold apathy. The Vulde laughed, and hearing
enough, banged a mallet on a tine, signalling the time for
after-dinner games.

Delizra jumped
to her feet. She smoothed her hands and prompted Baus to believe
something was coming more enjoyable than mealtime pleasantries.
Griselda, too, evinced some grunting interest.

All repaired
to the common room. Embracing the fire’s warmth, the guests waited
for the Vulde’s signal, upon which a space was cleared and Tulesio
explained the game of ‘Sloops’ to the Heagramers. It turned out
that it was a match of skill involving teams alternately pushing
coloured discs along the floor with ceremonial poles. “Discs are to
land in ‘zones’ only,” instructed Tulesio. “Points are allotted for
discs landing in deeper zones—fifteen for a length thrust, ten for
a mid, five for a shallow. Negative points are allotted for throws
that land outside the winning octagon.”

Delizra
insisted that she partner with Baus, to which the Vulde agreed.
Hysgode was out of sorts. Valere teamed with Tulesio; the Vulde was
paired with the butcher Halfhan. Griselda took Halfhan’s wife as
partner and Hysgode was left with Cedrek. Many rounds were played,
of which victories were rendered in respectable count by the
manor’s lord—Delizra and Baus taking the most. Hysgode was hampered
by Cedrek’s lack of coordination and showed a keen frustration at
being paired with the lout. He continued to suffer more
embarrassing losses, much to Delizra’s merriment.

As the night
flew on, a flask of larch whiskey dropped several inches. Laughter
grew in force; tongues began to loosen in proportion to the
quantities of liquor imbibed. Even Cedrek, as vapid and cynical as
he was, seemed lighter of spirit. All enjoyed the playful
atmosphere—with the exception of Hysgode, who cast ever more
hateful glances at Baus, in whom his fiancée seemed to be taking an
ever-popular interest.

On one
particular pass, Delizra went so far as to sweep her breasts warmly
across Baus’s back, causing the hairs on the back of Baus’s neck to
flutter. The touch of the soft contours against his body was
revivifying, if not welcoming after a long stint of celibacy. To
flirt with him was a way of making Hysgode jealous, but caution and
reservation was a better foreplay than colourful advances. Heedful
of her every move, Hysgode became ever more inept at his own game.
He was reprimanded twice by the Vulde for improper conduct.
“Hysgode! Your sportsmanship has achieved an abysmal low! Not only
are your exceptions uncalled for but your drunken sulkiness leaves
much to be desired. I shall not stand for these repeated
vulgarities or proprietorial rages in my domicile!”

Whether it was
for pure fun or to make Hysgode dizzyingly spiteful, Baus fuelled
the occasion, causing the hours to pass by in provocative
procession.

Seela served
another round of dessert—an unctuous mash of shallot, goat cream
and woffle-berries drowned in baywolf syrup. A new game was
proposed: ‘Spooks’, a diversion entirely unique and more risqué
than ‘Sloops’. Straws were drawn and the loser blindfolded. The
others were gathered round a circle and bidden to remain quiet. If
the blindfolded could reach out, grab any one individual and name
him or her on the first guess, then he or she would exchange places
with the chosen and become the ‘guesser’. The rules of the game
were simple—the people around the ring were permitted to move at
will; when each person had been named, the game was over.

Lord Vulde and
Godol sat out this round, relaxed by the spirits they had drunk;
they busied themselves around the fire playing Sermaene, a board
game of strategic and ancient character, involving a hundred
pieces, inspiring each player to move his warriors alternately,
hoping to defeat the other’s army. Cedrek’s parents, not taken
particularly with ‘Spooks’, watched the game with focussed
attention.

Valere was up
first, immediately scouting out Baus. Baus confused Hysgode for
Cedrek and deliberately was forced to guess another quarry, at
which instant he spotted Delizra by means of her lavender perfume
and husky giggling. She keyed into Baus’s flirting and purposely
confused her fiancée with Griselda, an error which Hysgode found in
poor taste.

“Oh, you are
such a prig, Hysgode—lighten up!”

Hysgode did
not dignify the response and ground his teeth with fury.

At this
juncture Griselda was up and very lustily groped for Cedrek, whom
she mistook for Baus. Cedrek, nonplussed, issued a venomous snort,
bordering on affront. The slight nearly landed him into a fistfight
with Griselda and in short time he was up again, rather obtusely
essaying a similar trick upon Delizra. When the Vulde’s daughter
dashed lightly out of his scab-pocked reach and Cedrek found
himself pawing Valere, the trouble began. Cedrek, clouded by
spirits and the intensity of his lust, was soon convinced that
Valere was Delizra, and his prurient reaches reached unacceptable
standards, to which effect Cedrek remained sprawled on the planks
with an aching back, forced to sit out the next rounds suffering
pangs and bruises.

Hysgode was up
at ‘Spook’s’ next. Earlier reprimands had not discouraged his
attempts to trip Baus while he was blindfolded and his lunge,
delivered for maximum vengeance on his rival, was miscalculated and
he plunged headlong into the fire, sending the Vulde’s and Sir
Godol’s game clattering to the floor. The elders were dismayed.
Hysgode singed his own eyebrows and pale forelocks. The result was
a shambles, at which point the evening was called short for reasons
of fire hazard.

The liquor was
spent; the coals had burned down to dull embers. Lord Vulde,
gentled by drink, enjoined Tulesio to return Baus his gladius,
doubtlessly convinced of his genuineness.

The sisters
took their leave of the parlour; Cedrek and his parents were
ushered to the guest quarters; Hysgode had already retired to nurse
his scorched brow while the Vulde was quick to follow his lead to
bed. Baus and Valere repaired to their own chambers alongside
Cedrek’s parents, in moods most cheerful.

IV

In the quiet
hours after midnight all were asleep—except Baus. He awoke beaded
in a sweat. He slipped out of his night covers and wrapped his
limbs leanly about his chest, sensing an unusual thumping of his
heart. The awareness of Delizra so nearby, and for easy pickings,
was almost too much to bear.

Moving
carefully, he wrapped himself in his doublet and took pains not to
awaken Valere, who snored like a hound two arms’ lengths away.
Unlatching the door, he slipped out into the hallway, surprising
himself at his daring. Was it a fool’s errand? Puerile desire could
get one skewered . . .

Baus looked
left and right. Not a soul in the hallway. The incidence was not
irregular at this hour. A single lamp only glowered from the wall
sconces.

Crouching at
the landing, Baus saw the fire’s rich embers burned below, casting
a navigable glow.

He tiptoed
down the oaken stairs and felt his feet padding like cats’ paws on
the wood. He advanced through the parlour.

A sound had
him freezing . . .

He caught a
glimpse of an armed manservant slipping into the scullery. He
ducked back into the parlour, cursing his miserable luck. Obviously
the Vulde was taking no chances with house security after the
fiasco of last night.

Baus poised
breathlessly for several moments hidden between the settee and
tabouret.

There came no
subsequent intrusions; cognizing no further hindrances, he resumed
his journey. In the hall of the two sisters, he contemplated
several gambits of approaching Delizra—then he caught another flash
of movement. Atop the stairs crouched a figure—one garbed in an
outlandish grey cloak and baggy breeches. He ducked awkwardly back
into the shadows.

Cedrek! Baus’s
mind worked in a whirl. His enemy knew he was here. How had he
known?—unless, he was contemplating a similar deed as himself?

Baus softly
cursed. He was about to turn back and feign passage back to the
pantry when a shrewder idea gripped him. Perhaps it was not so
crazy to include Cedrek in his scheme—better than claiming midnight
hunger as a weak excuse.

Pretending not
to have noticed Cedrek, he sidled over to Griselda’s door and made
a clumsy attempt of trying to will himself to open the door. At
last he could not go through with the deed, so he playacted, and
knocked softly once, twice, and called out Delizra’s name. He put
an ear to the wood and hearing a muted murmur, withdrew while
Cedrek slunk furtively down the steps with lusty curiosity. He
heard a flutter of sheets. He riveted his eyes to the portal while
Cedrek watched him with jealous interest. Baus wrenched Griselda’s
door handle just as Cedrek wilfully advanced, cocking his head. The
butcher’s son crouched low, peered at Baus now from the edge of the
common room and Baus, dramatizing caution, closed the door and
ducked back, slipping down the hall toward the parlour, pretending
to have lost interest in the affair.

Cedrek
quivered with delight. He advanced to plant himself at Griselda’s
door. Quickly he seized the knob and pushed the door ajar. Between
the rungs of the balustrade, Baus saw a pair of swift arms reach
out and pull him inside. The door clicked shut.

Baus tilted
brows in interest.

Seconds
passed. There came sounds of dismay, a struggle, whimpers, a crash.
A minute later Cedrek still had not appeared. A wide grin split
Baus’s face. Griselda, living up to her reputation, would exhort
Cedrek to various ‘provocative’ activities.

Baus
congratulated himself on his artifice. A most profitable outcome
had occurred as a result of applied spontaneity!

With increased
confidence Baus slipped down the hall. He advanced to Delizra’s
door, and knocked softly. He heard a stir of motion within. He
deigned to enter. A tiny lamp flickered to life. In a trice he was
over to her bedside.

The Vulde’s
daughter stirred, stretched arms languorously over her head,
arching her back over her pillow with a small sigh. “I should have
known!” she murmured languorously. “I thought you would never come!
In fact, when I heard that tap-tapping on the door at so late an
hour, I was given to despair, believing a robber had come to invade
my home.”