Merovingen - Fever Season Part 14

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Jones kicked the official from behind, right into the ca.n.a.l, jumped for the boat and started for the boathook, while Mondragon scrambled after the bow-tie and Denny for the side.

She fended off the bank with the hook, leaving the pursuers in midjump toward a boat that was suddenly moving away.

And poled with the long hook-pole, smooth and steady, around the corner of Ka.s.s by Bent, headed for Spellbridge. No hurry, no good thinking whether the bullyfads had a gun, whose they were, whether there was ambush set.

"We scatter," Denny panted, crouching low in the well, while Jones looked back. Not all of the pursuit had fallen in. Some of them were headed down the walk and up onto the bridges. "Gimme the papers. They ain't knowing who's got what."

"Jones!" Mondragon breathed, and coughed, leaning on the well. "Jones, use the d.a.m.n engine-"

"I can't pole and start 'er! Lord!" She leaped past her pa.s.sengers and fended off a wall, trick turn, around Spellbridge leftward. "Lead 'em off! Meet ye later!"

Denny took his measure and jumped for Ka.s.s. She laid the pole down and pulled the pin on the tiller-bar, to set it to use, while they lost Raj, where, she did not see.

She cranked the engine over. Once. Twice.

"d.a.m.n this thing!"

It caught, as the bow sc.r.a.ped the side of Spellbridge.

She made the Spellbridge comer and headed into Archangel under power, around by the Spur, then south again by North, through the tight ways-dodged a poleboat whose owner and fare screamed curses after her for the shakeup of the wake.

"We've lost them," Mondragon said in a faint smile. "Circle back, see if we can pick up the boys."

She thought about it. Hard. And kept going as she was, by Yesudian headed for West.

"Jones, -Raj's got the d.a.m.n papers."

"Lord and my Ancestors! Mondragon!"

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CJ. Ounyk "1 didn't want the d.a.m.n papers caught on your boat!"

She pulled out onto West, pulled the circle around a barge and in at Giro, and came back again, by Bent and French and Gantry. Made the run slow now, the engine popping and sputtering.

"d.a.m.n, cut that thing!" another poleboater yelled as she came up into traffic by Wex's side.

"Sorry," she yelled, and kept going.

No sight of them. No sight, on the most direct course that might lead to Moghi's, over on Ventani.

"Ain't no way they can find the boys," she said finally. "Ain't no way we can. We're going."

"d.a.m.n," Mondragon said, and leaned on the deck-rim and coughed. "Not a good week, Jones. Not a good week."

Home, she reckoned, home by way of Moghi's, where they could wait for the boys to report in. //they could.

NIGHT RIDE.

Nancy Asire

When Justice entered Hilda's tavern on the back side of Ka.s.s, it was to the hum of voices. The usual folk had gathered around noon for lunch: students, mostly, who sat cl.u.s.tered at the tables, some expounding on lectures they had attended (midterm exams being only days away); other men and women1 sat closer to the doorway-shopkeepers and the like.

The interior of the'tavern was only a bit less damp than the air outside and a good deal cooler. Justice saw his table standing empty save for the ubiquitous golden-furred Sunny who lay sprawled in feline ease on one of the chairs. Nodding to Hilda, who moved her considerable bulk lightly back and forth between the kitchen and the common room, Justice pa.s.sed the bar and threaded his way among the tables to his place.

"Ah, Justus! Back from playing the great artist, I see." Justice cringed and turned slightly toward the voice. Krishna Malenkov (youngest son of The Malenkovs of Rimmon Isle) sat at a table to the immediate right, two of his hightowner friends seated with him. Lately, Krishna had taken every opportunity to bait Justice, belittling his chosen study of an, calling to mind Justice's less than n.o.ble heritage . . . anything that might anger him. Justice was usually able to ignore 149.

150Nattcy Krishna's cutting remarks, but today had not been one of the best, and Justice had no desire to spend his lunch sitting next to his tormentor.

Today did not appear to be one of Krishna's better, either. The stocky hightowner's eyes were red, as was the tip of his nose. But if Krishna was feeling unwell, that fact had certainly not slowed down his tongue.

"Nice to see you, Krishna," Justice said and looked away, feigning total disinterest.

"You been back to see your aunt and uncle?" Krishna asked. He coughed-a raspy sound-and wiped his nose. "Can't see why you'd want to, what with that tiny place of theirs. Huhn. So tiny you can barely turn around, eh Justus?"

Krishna's two companions sn.i.g.g.e.red quietly, and Justice struggled to ignore them. Ever since he had placed Krishna in karmic debt to him, Justice had found his fellow student sour of mood and quick of temper. Krishna Malenkov was obviously not taking well to the fact he owed money and all the attendant karmic obligations to someone he considered his inferior.

"You've been busy lately," Krishna pushed on. "Haven't even see you babying Sunny."

Justice glanced down at the sleeping cat, and bit back a scathing retort. The sword that hung at Malenkov's side was not there for show: Krishna was one of the young rowdies (they liked to call themselves duelists) who hung around the bridges, picked fights, and generally made a nuisance of themselves. Unlike most of them, Krishna was an accomplished swordsman and, armed though he was with his own sword, Justice had no desire to let Krishna push him into a fight. Malenkov was too d.a.m.ned good.

But today it would not come to swords. Something had happened to Krishna recently, besides coming down with a cold . . . something that made the young hightowner less eager to physically bully other people. Justice smiled slightly. Perhaps Krishna had run into someone who had taken him down a notch or two.

Or, a situation that even his father's money could not handle.

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And, if the priests at the College heard that two students had been dueling, expulsion for one or both of the offenders loomed as a frightening possibility.

Rising to his feet, Justice left his table and headed toward the door.

"Something bothering you, Justus?" Krishna called. "You're leaving so soon."

"The air," Justice said over his shoulder. "It's getting rather foul in here and I don't like my lunch ruined."

Laughter came from behind, punctuated by Krishna's coughing. Justice nodded to Hilda again as he went out, answering her unvoiced question with a roll of his eyes toward the rear of the room and Krishna's table.

d.a.m.n. Now what? I've let Krishna chase me away from lunch. Don't have many choice places left. Justice walked to the edge of the wooden walkway, leaned on the railing and stared down at the foggy ca.n.a.l below. Lunch. Though he had a good allowance from his aunt and uncle, Justice was, in a word, frugal. Since he lived in Hilda's rooming house attached to the tavern, he and the other students got a discount on their meals. Now that Krishna had made eating in the tavern unbearable, Justice had few places left to get a wholesome meal he could afford.

He straightened and considered the alternatives. There was a small tavern called John's on Spellbridge ca.n.a.lside that students frequented. Somewhat dangerous, that tavern, but the food was good and cheap. He started down the outer walkway of Ka.s.s toward Spellbridge, sniffling a bit himself as he walked. Ancestors keep him from getting whatever Krishna had. Some kind of bug was loose in Merovingen, likely brought in by the Falkenaer ship.

When Justice reached the Ka.s.s Bridge, he was able to see workmen rebuilding the Signeury. He frowned and walked on, lost in the noontime crowd. The less he knew about dark goings on in town, the better he felt. As it was, rumors ran everywhere, including some tale of crazy Janists dropping something in the ca.n.a.ls at Festival time.

A steep set of steps led down to ca.n.a.lside from the second level of Spellbridge. Though it was high noon, visibility on 152.

Nancy Asire this cloudy day would be very low in the manmade twilight below. Justus kept his eyes moving over the crowd as he descended the stairway, alert for anyone who looked intent on causing trouble.

The stench of ca.n.a.lside hit him as he exited the steps. Taking care for his footing on the damp stone walkway, Justice turned leftward toward John's. The foot traffic ca.n.a.lside was less than on second level, most of the lower level denizens being at lunch. Justice stepped around a suspicious pile of something in his path, then angled back toward the buildings again, approaching the first of the Spellbridge cuts. John's sat right on the corner of that cut: Justice saw the tavern's gaily colored sign now, and heard the muted roar of its customers from within.

And from the cut that ran darkly off to his right, just beyond John's, the sound of taunting voices.

Justice stopped, cursing himself for a fool, edged to the corner of the cut, and peered into the deeper twilight. Five- no-six figures were backing a slighter figure farther into the cut. d.a.m.n! It's none of my business. Get back to John's . . . don't gel involved. Justice snorted. He no more could do that than jump in the ca.n.a.l and think to come out dry.

Unsure as he was of his footing, he hurriedly pulled off his shoes, clutched them both in his left hand, and with his right drew his sword. No duelist, Justice was still a capable swordsman and, if he played this right, surprise would be on his side.

After a quick took around to see if he was noticed. Justice carefully walked forward, testing the soggy walkway with his stockinged feet. The six figures resolved in the dusky light: shabbily dressed toughs, carrying knives and clubs. Facing them, white-faced in the gloom, stood a young boy of no more than thirteen.

Such odds made Justice's stomach turn.

And curse himself doubly as a fool.

Lifting his sword, Justice took a deep breath and ran toward the toughs. His stockinged feet made no sound as he NIGHT RIDE.

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rushed forward-the thugs' taunts and the boy's shrill cries would have drowned out his coming anyhow.

He took the first tough on the side of the head with the flat of his sword; the second he caught in the temple with a heavy shoe heel; and the third he shoved off toward the ca.n.a.l with a sharp kick to the kidney. Justice heard a startled yelp, immediately followed by the rewarding sound of a splash. Now the thugs turned, confused, their attention distracted from the youth they had cornered.

"Run, dammit!" Justice yelled. "Get us some help!"

But the boy merely wiped at a trickle of blood running down into one eye and hefted the heavy stick he had been carrying. Justice cursed, and smashed his sword flat against the face of the tough who stood closest, spinning him off to one side. Blood spurting from his nose, the thug yowled and fell heavily to the damp pavement. The boy grinned, his teeth bared, and jabbed the stick he carried up into another tough's groin. Justice stopped being so concerned for the lad's safety: fighting like that was learned in the hardest of all schools- the ca.n.a.lside.

"Behind ye!" the boy yelled.

Justice spun in time to dodge the sixth man's knife stab. A cold chill ran through his gut: this was for real. Death stalked the slippery walkway, unconcerned who would wind up at the bottom of the Det.

"Lord and Ancestors!" Justice breathed. He had never killed anyone before and the prospect unnerved him. The fellow he faced was an accomplished knife fighter; his stance and the way he held himself showed that. But Justice stood at least four inches taller and wielded near three feet of gleaming steel.

Another thump and a groan came from behind, but Justice dared not take his eyes from his opponent. He circled to his right, away from the knife blade, all too aware of the murky waters of the ca.n.a.l at his back. The tough lunged, knife coming up in a disemboweling stroke, and Justice dodged to one side. His stockinged feet betrayed him: he lost his footing and slid to one knee. Instinct took over-he slashed out 154.

Nancy Asire where he thought the thug's legs were, trying to hamstring him. His opponent jumped back, then came in again, knife held low and aimed tor Justice's chin.

Lord! li's over now! Justice tried to scramble to his feet, but the walkway was too slick. In total desperation, he flung up his sword, his shoes held out as a shield, lurching to one side at what he sensed as being the last possible moment.

A sudden meaty whack. The thug wavered on his feet, then fell heavily onto his side. Justice blinked the sweat from his eyes and glanced over his shoulder. A youth near manhood, with distinct Oriental features, stood a few paces behind, a slingshot in his right hand.

"Ware!" the young boy cried, and Justice turned in time to see one of the men lurch to his feet and run toward him. He rolled to one side, saw the thug rush past and knock the newcomer with the slingshot right off his feet.

The youth yelped in pain, and the thug disappeared out of sight around the corner of the cut.

Justice stood up as the young boy ran to the newcomer.

"You all right?" the boy asked.

The young man nodded, his face tight with pain. "You, Denny?"

"Aye." Denny ran a hand through his curly hair. "Wouldn't be 'cept for this 'un. Saved my skin, he did."

"Get, Denny! Now! Get back!"

"But. . . ."

"I'll be fine. This fellow's all right. Look at his sash, Denny . . . he's a student. Now get!"

The boy glanced up at Justice, his eyes narrowed, then nodded, sprang to his feet, and bolted out of the cut.

Justice stared after the fleeing boy for a moment, then looked around and a.s.sessed the situation. He had knocked three of the attackers senseless with his swordblade and shoe heel (though one had revived in time to beat a hasty retreat), and kicked one into the ca.n.a.l; the boy had taken the fifth in the groin: the man now lay unconscious, more than likely put out by another application of the stick. Justice looked down at NIGHT RIDE.

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the unconscious thug at his feet, at the pool of blood that had formed under his head-a sling and rock had done that deed. . The newcomer youth rose to his knees, cradling a bandaged left hand to his chest; lines of pain scoring his face, he shoved his sling inside his shirt and stood. A few steps brought him to the still body of the man he had brought down with his sling; he stooped, reached out and touched the fellow's throat as if searching for a pulse. An expression of relief relaxed his face, and with a small sigh, he turned and faced Justice.

"For what you've done," he said, the hint of hightowner accent, mixed with some other speech pattern, odd coming from one so plainly dressed, "my thanks. Are you hurt?"

"No." Justice sheathed his sword and dropped his shoes at his feet. The next time he came ca.n.a.lside, he would definitely carry a dagger as well as his sword. Overheated in the clammy air, Justice stuffed his wet feet into the shoes and looked up at the young man who faced him. "I'll be fine. Just need some fresh air."

The fellow darted an anxious glance up and down the cut; his face tightened again. "d.a.m.n!" he muttered, holding his left hand with his right. He looked up at Justice. "Do you know somewhere we could go sit down?"

Justice started at tbe young man's hand: a faint trace of what must be blood had stained the bandage. "John's," he said. "A tavern. Right around the comer to the left."

"Busy?"

"At this time of day, yes."

The young man grimaced, either in pain or in response to Justice's answer. "I'm Raj Tai," he said, introducing himself.

"Justice Lee."

Something flickered behind the young man's black eyes. "Adventist?"

"No. Name's confusing. It's J-U-S-T-U-S."

"Huhn. Let's get out of here."

Justice let his companion lead the way back out of the cut. "You know the young boy?" he asked.

"My brother."