A Man Of His Word - Perilous Seas Part 27

"Darad?"

"Not present." Probably Darad had called Thinal at the end, or possibly Andor, and he had then escaped in the confusion caused by the fire.

Again Gathmor groaned. He tried to sit up and thought better of it. "I can't see."

"There's not much light, and you wouldn't see too well, with those shiners you've got. We're in a cell. About gnome size, so it's a little snug. Three sides stone, one side timber."

"Smells like gnome, too." Gathmor smiled, or tried to. "Better than Blood Wave, anyway. This is becoming a habit, me waking up like this. But that was a very satisfactory b.u.mping. Do you happen to know the final score?"

"No!" Rap bit back some angry remarks.

The cell was two floors belowground, and one of a hundred or so similar cells, all overcrowded with men and chains. The air was a foul, dead brew that had not been changed in centuries.

Gathmor gritted his teeth and sat up noisily. He leaned back against the wall, wincing as he tried to straighten his legs.

"I think we've got a visitor coming," Rap said. Jailers went by outside all the time, but now an elf was being escorted down the stairs at the end of the corridor, and Rap was the only elf in the cells. In a moment light flickered in the judas hole, and bolts grated.

Rap moved his knees aside to make room as the newcomer ducked into the cell and stopped, blind. The door boomed shut behind him and he flinched. He was slight, yet he could not straighten under the roof, and overall he seemed so like an adolescent that he might even be one. His clothes had a very homemade look to them, his golden curls needed tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, but his fingernails were neat and clean.

"Rap'rian?" he said warily, peering straight ahead. "That's me," said Rap at his feet.

The visitor jumped and banged his head. "I'm Quip'rian." He choked and slapped a hand over his mouth. "I think I'm going to throw up."

"I shall certainly kill you if you do," said Gathmor. Another shock. "Who? There's more of you in here?"

"My a.s.sociate, Captain Gathmor."

"A jotunn? They locked you up with a jotunn? How can you stand this place?"

"I don't have much alternative," Rap said, beginning to feel better already. "Your namea"Quip'rian?a"we're related?"

"I doubt . . . I'm an Aliel, cadet branch of the penultimate Offiniol sept. You?"

"No." Rap was even further out of his depth than he'd thought.

For a moment the conversation failed. The youth reached out and felt for the walls. His face twisted in horror when he realized how small the kennel was.

"Master Rap'rian?" he whispered. "Are you crazy? Will you plead insanity?"

"No. Would I be any better off if I did?"

"They might just cut your head off."

That cla.s.sed as better off? "I did it right, didn't I?" Quip'rian shut his eyes and shuddered. "You can't believe that!"

"Well, it came unstuck later," Rap admitted. "But I said the formulaa"'I spit on Valdonilth!' That was right, wasn't it? And then I slapped his face. I didn't hit very hard. And the old boy said whatever it was he was supposed to say: 'Foul varlet' and so on. He did it rather well, I thought, as he couldn't have been expecting anything like that. And then I said, 'I kneel in the shadow of Lith'rian.' That was all that was supposed to happen, I thought."

The real elf wiped his streaming forehead. "How should I know? n.o.body does things like that nowadays! If you'd picked anyone but Lord Phiel', he probably wouldn't have had a clue what you were raving about. I know I wouldn't."

Rap grunted noncommittally. When the silence became oppressive, he said, "Who're you? How do you get involved."

"I was the nearest male kin when you challenged."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen. I'm a trainee waiter! I was clearing plates off the next table." He seemed ready to weep.

"And what does the nearest male kinsman have to do?"

"You mean you don't know all this? You utter the Sublime Defiance and you don't know how it works?"

Rap thought a few unkind thoughts about Sorcerer Ishist and his sense of humor. "Tell me."

Quip'rian's lip trembled. "You're really asking me? I only know what they've been babbling upstairs. I have to be your escort. I have to accompany you to Valdorian, if you get to go." Rap's insides lurched. "You mean there's some doubt?"

"Doubt?" the elf yelled. "The lictor himself has a broken arm! The hall was wrecked, utterly wrecked! No one's died yet, but eight legionaries were injured, and two or three dozen civilians. Poor Master Arth'quith had a fit. It was awful, just awful! There's an almighty argument going on upstairs. It's going to cost millions!"

Gathmor sighed happily.

Rap scanned and eventually discovered a meeting in progress on the third floor. He could not hear the words, but the ten or so men up there were doing a lot of arm-waving.

"Well, I admit the fight wasn't part of the plan," he said sadly. "I was tolda"I mean, I intendeda"to find an important elf with other elf witnesses. I didn't realize that imp witnesses might not understand what was going on. I should have chosen a time when there were only elves present. I'm truly sorry, because of course no elf would have spoiled a solemn ceremony like that by trying to hit me with a bottle." It had been a sorry blow, and Rap had dodged easily, but . . . "My friends thought I was in danger, you see."

Gathmor and Darad had come to his rescue like twin avalanches.

Quip'rian sniffled. "Well, the lictor himself was there. He was hurt, and his wife went into labor, and half his guests are still hospitalized."

Now Rap began to grasp the enormity of the problem. "And he doesn't recognize ancient elvish customs?"

"They don't apply within the Impire."

"No. I see."

"He says he'll bypa.s.s normal procedure with a summary edicta"to save time, because you're so obviously guilty."

"And then?"

The boy moaned. "You're going to be flogged to death in Emshandar Plaza at noon. The notices are being posted." Rap recalled Kalkor's odious cat-o'-nine-tails and his throat felt as if it were being squeezed. "And my friend here?"

"Him first, you second."

"Then what's the argument about?"

"Lord Phiel'nilth says his clan honor is involved. He's delighted! No one's uttered the Sublime Defiance in three hundred years, he says. He wants to go through with the whole ritual."

Nothing was ever simple where elves were concerned, Rap remembered. "Can he swing that?" he asked hopefully.

For a moment the kid just wrung his hands. Then he whispered, "If they can find the lictor's price." He was looking sicker by the minute. What sort of a fifteen-year-old was he?

"I'd have thought," Rap said, "that the chance of a free trip to IIrane would appeal to you. Better than dirty dishes, surely?" Quip'rian shuddered convulsively. "Go on a ship?"

"No? Well, cheer up! They may flay me yet, and then you can polish all the gla.s.ses in Noom in celebration."

"Don't mock me!" the elf snapped, showing a little spark at last. "I didn't ask for this."

"True! I'm sorry," Rap said, and meant it. "I suppose I'm just trying to whistle up some courage. Will the lictor blink?"

"How should I know? I'm a nothing . . . But that way the damage would be paid for. I think some important people like that idea."

In Milflor Rap had cost Gathmor forty-six imperials. He was going to be considerably more expensive this time. "Who pays for all this?"

"Lith'rian, of course. You knelt in his shadow."

Well, a warlock could create gold to order. If he wanted to. "I get taken to Lith'rian for judgment?"

The elf nodded, looking sorely puzzled again. "Then what?"

"Then he judges, of course. If he decides you were wrong to spit on the Nilths, then he sends your head to Valdonilth."

"Literally?"

"In a gold bucket is the tradition."

"And if he doesn't? If he thinks I was right?" Quip'rian sniffled loudly. "Then you've started a war."

6.

Either the execution scheduled for noon was postponed or there was a last-minute change of cast, because arguments over the elvish affair continued all day in the lictor's office. Rap watched the crowd there grow, but for information on what was being said he had to rely on Quip'rian.

The young elf was a loose ball in the game. The ancient rituals gave Nearest Kinsman a major role in all proceedings, but senior Imperial officials preferred not to discuss confidential financial matters in the presence of a trainee waiter, so they sent him off to attend Rap.

A short time in the cell was enough to make him nauseated, palsied, and likely to faint. At that point Rap would suggest he go and gatecrash the meetings again, and after some shouting for the jailers, he would be released. In an hour or so, someone would notice him in the lictor's office and toss him out again. Then he would force himself back down to the dungeon to report to Rap, for he had an elf's compulsion to perform duties conscientiously.

He told all he could, but young Quip', while he was sensitive and willing, was clearly neither well educated nor especially intelligent, and he had no inklings of finance or politics. He did report that the entire elf community of Noom was involved now, rallied around Lord Phiel'nilth. If the distinguished visitor chose to regard the insult paid him as an honor, then he must be given every a.s.sistance. Arcane rites had an undeniable appeal for elves.

The imps were seemingly divided between those who saw the practical advantages of accepting compensation, and those who insisted that the law must be uphelda"meaning that the two culprits should be disa.s.sembled as soon as possible, in public. Rap began to suspect that the contest was unfair, that the elves were outmatched in the bargaining, caught between two grindstones that opposed each other to a common purpose. As the day wore on, Quip' was gasping out numbers even Gathmor could not comprehend.

And certainly the negotiations were only possible at all because the patron lord whose name Rap had invoked was a sorcerer. Lith'rian's credit was infinite.

Of course Lith'rian himself must be still unaware of all the good things being done on his behalf. The imps proposed leaving the felons to marinate in jail for a few weeks while a message went to Hub. The elves insisted that the rituals must be followed exactly, and Rap should be sent immediately to Lith'rian's enclave, the sky trees of Valdorian.

And the warlock was not available to sign and seal. Bankers could advance the necessary funds upon suitable security, but all bankers were imps, more or less by definition. Few elves were wealthy, and Quip' reported that every elf in the city was having to mortgage all he owned to provide the necessary bond. Rap glumly concluded that an agreement might be attainable when the last groat was pledged, and that did seem to be what happened.

Just after sunset, Quip'rian and a jurist came down to the cells and joyfully informed Rap that he was to be sent to Ilrane, to be judged by the ancient ceremony he had invoked.

Rap stayed on the floor. "How about my friend?"

"Noon tomorrow, I'm afraid."

Rap used some nautical expressions that neither Quip' nor jurist would have met before. "Both of us or neither," he added, in case of misunderstanding.

The exhausted negotiators upstairs were just starting to leave when a horrified Quip'rian came rushing up to break the news. The bargaining started all over again.

It went all night and most of the next day. Rap would not leave his cell voluntarily, so he was hauled out bodily and dragged before the lictor. He was warned that this was his last chance to avoid a terrible death. He refused to accept better treatment than his fellow felon. As he had spent a whole day and night in the dungeons, his mere presence could contaminate even the largest of rooms. He was quickly returned whence he came and thereafter the visitors came to call on him, speaking through the judas hole.

Elves came, pleading both the impossibility of fitting a jotunn into the traditional ceremonies and their inability to raise any more money. The jurists came, muttering that the procedure was highly improper and if word got out then it would have to be stopped. The lictor himself, the families of the injured, representatives of the city . . . all came to argue and beg and be turned down. He was denied food and water. Two stalwart jailers came with boots and other hard things. Still Rap refused. He wasn't certain just what leverage he had, but apparently he must travel voluntarily, and both ancient ritual and underhand dealing had now gone so far that they had taken on a life of their own and could not be reversed. So he did have leverage, somehow. The graft seeped steadily upward until it reached the praetor himself, and then the cost rose enormously. By now, of course, the imps knew that they had stumbled into a gold mine, and the elves were hopelessly trapped.

When the first round of appeals failed, they all came back and tried again, including the two jailers.

Rap stopped talking altogether.

He knew he was being crazy. He was tormented by the thought that he was breaking his word to Ishist, but he could not bring himself to desert Gathmor.

He could have used mastery to convert the visitors to his cause, but that use of power might alert any sorcerer in town and the goodwill would evaporate soon after they left his presence; so he tried not to, although he did ease the beatings a bit. Even Gathmor started telling him he was crazy.

Rap told him to shut up, he wasn't helping much.

One elvish worthy called him a stupid troll, and another a brutish jotunn. The imps said he was being as stubborn as a faun. Quip'rian broke down and wept, then explained apologetically that he always reacted to the smell of blood like that. And he had not slept the last two nights. None of them had.

When the second round of visits failed, everyone came round a third time.

In the end they all just succ.u.mbed to exhaustion, and Rap had won.

They also serve: . . .thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve who only stand and wait.

a" Milton, On His Blindness

TEN.

Moaning of the bar