The Bonemender's Choice Part 8

RHUS TURNED BACK to the girl-and stopped.

Heavy boots pounded up the stone stairway. Curse the G.o.ds and the G.o.ds' whelps...the string of disjointed curses came out in a thick mumble, along with another strand of spit. Something wrong with his tongue. He wiped at his lips, swallowed painfully and tried to think. There was no time for the girl-the mouthy little b.a.s.t.a.r.d had b.u.g.g.e.red that up. Now he would have to make up some excuse for killing him, and quick.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

TURGA STARED MOODILY into the purple depths of his goblet. The wine had not lifted his black spirits; it was hard to imagine anything that would.

Bad enough that his profits leaked away with each day the auction stayed closed. It could be weeks, even months that he had to keep those children. And they had to stay healthy and strong-he couldn't just toss them into a bas.e.m.e.nt dungeon and feed them sc.r.a.ps, not if he wanted a decent price at the end. Then that idiot Rhus had tipped the scales toward disaster by destroying a third of his merchandise. Turga could only pray he hadn't done worse.

He should never have hired the man, cousin or no. That was Turga's first mistake-letting family obligations outweigh good judgment. And they should have left Rhus behind in Baskir when he didn't promptly obey the callback. Second mistake. The man was worthless, a t.u.r.d on Turga's heart.

Through the narrow window, Turga could just see the crude outbuilding tucked against the wall where Rhus was locked in isolation. There he would live or die as the Veil decreed. Better for him he should die, thought Turga, than face my justice. He hoped the ravenous worm who devoured the unworthy dead made a particularly unpleasant end to all men who knowingly spread their sickness. The thought of Rhus tramping all over his compound with a burning head and raw throat goaded Turga into impotent fury.

Turga had been in the midst of lambasting Rhus for the death of the slave boy when he noticed the man was swaying on his feet. He eyed him sharply. Was that hangdog stance and slick pallor merely fear of the punishment to come, as Turga had a.s.sumed? As if in reply, Rhus slowly crumpled to his knees. His throat worked as he swallowed slowly. A string of saliva escaped his mouth and hung in a glistening thread.

"The Hewer take you, what is wrong with you?" Turga had taken three hasty steps backward before the words were out of his mouth.

Rhus shrugged, armed his mouth dry and offered a brief ghastly smile. "Guess the Veil caught up with me. Sorry, boss. I was hoping it was just a sore throat."

Turga would have the shed torched and Rhus inside it once he died. Maybe even if he didn't die. That was the first cheering thought he'd had all day.

MATTHIEU NEEDED HER, she knew that. She could feel him watching her now, knew his stricken worried eyes had hardly strayed from her huddled form in the two days since Luc's death. She needed to pull herself together for his sake.

But if she turned from the wall, she had nowhere to look that wasn't a reminder of what had happened. Luc's empty cot, the chain snaking away from its leg. Bloodstains where he had lain with the life gushing out of him. He had kissed her, and now he was dead. Madeleine wished she were dead as well.

"Maddy, please. You've got to eat." Matthieu's hand on her shoulder was steady, his voice gentle and coaxing. "C'mon now. This is really good-just have a little taste." He didn't sound scared, Madeleine realized. He sounded almost like a grown-up. And something about that-her little brother taking on the job of looking after her-touched her, so that she forced herself to roll over and sit up.

Her head throbbed behind her eyes as she moved. Too much crying, or too long without food, she guessed. Though in all honesty, she didn't feel hungry.

"Thanks, Matthieu," she whispered. She took the cup he offered her and sipped. Her throat hurt too. Justine's voice came back to her then, something she had said when Madeleine was little, carrying on over some childish hurt: "Hush, now, you'll make yourself sick with crying." I guess you really can, thought Madeleine. She turned her attention to the bread her brother was holding. She didn't really want it, and it hurt to swallow it, but she ate it anyway.

She and Matthieu were family-the only family they had left. If he could be strong for her, she could do the same. She would eat and try not to think about the stain on the floor, and maybe the pain that squeezed her heart so fiercely it made her whole body ache would loosen its grip.

"YOUR PARDON, BOSS."

It was Zhirak, one of very few who would venture to interrupt Turga in his current state.

"What is it?"

"Traveling peddlers at the gate-new ones. Foreigners, most of 'em. I thought you might be interested."

"Why, who are they?" Though he had a pirate's dislike of paying for his comforts, Turga had the foresight to treat fairly those within his gates. As a result, Rath Turga enjoyed a steady trickle of traffic from merchants and craftsmen hoping to increase their trade.

"Dancing girl, blacksmith-he's a jewelcrafter too, some very fine, unusual pieces. You might be able to pick them up cheap if he's yet to make his name. The girl-she's the real thing, boss, and I don't mean just beautiful. Seems like she's dancing even with her feet planted on the ground, you know? Thought she might cheer you up..."

Turga grunted. He was hardly in the mood, but moods could change. "They a pair?"

Zhirak shook his bald head. "Don't think so. But there's another guy, husband or maybe just bodyguard. Keeps a close eye on 'er and his hand to his sword."

"Right. Quite the little crew. Any more?"

"Two. The dancing girl's musician-thin dreamy type. And a remedy woman." Zhirak hesitated, and then added cautiously, "Ain't my business, boss, but I wondered if she might have anything for..." He finished the sentence with a vague gesture toward the window.

"No." Turga was curt but not angry. It had crossed his own mind, if not for Rhus then for any, Axe-Wielder forfend, he might turn out to have poisoned. "You know as well as I-there are a hundred different so-called remedies for the Gray Veil, and not one is worth the time it takes to tell about it. Rhus is on his own."

Still, it was an intriguing group. If he could buy up some jewelry, turn it around at a profit in Baskir, that might begin to make up for some of his recent losses. And the girl, yes, she sounded very promising indeed. But not for tonight. Tonight he wanted a sleeping draught, and he would not risk it with strangers in the compound.

"Tell them to camp outside the walls for tonight. I will see them tomorrow."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

GABRIELLE WATCHED ANXIOUSLY as Yolenka made their case to the guard. Two days' dusty travel had only increased her sense of urgency. They were so close...and something was wrong, something beyond being held prisoner. She had to get to the children.

Dominic, beside her, shifted impatiently and glowered as the guard peered out at him from behind the heavy gate. It was almost more than he could endure, to stand outside politely knowing that his children were somewhere inside the clay-brick enclosure. His groan, when the guard's head abruptly withdrew and the gate thudded shut, carried to Yolenka.

"Shhh!" She frowned at him. "He gets bigger boss is all. Is stronghold here, not village market. Hard to get in. Is time now for patience."

Poor Dom, thought Gabrielle. His patience is already worn to a frazzle. Feolan must have sensed it as well, for he eased over and laid a steadying hand on Dominic's shoulder. Dominic blew out air and gave a curt nod.

Yolenka's sharp look softened. "Is hard, I know. Is good look, though, that frown. Like jealous husband." Her teasing smile lightened their mood.

"Yolenka." Derkh had kept his eyes trained on the gate. "He's back."

The man who came out to inspect them looked strong as a draft horse and only slightly smaller. His head, shaved or naturally bald, gleamed golden in the slanting rays of the sun. He examined each of them carefully as Yolenka gestured, evidently talking up their various and fantastic skills. Finally she gazed up from under her eyelids at him, flashed her teeth, raised her arms above her head and began to dance.

Only a few steps, a s.n.a.t.c.h of hummed song, a couple of languid undulations, but Gabrielle saw the effect it had. The man's interest ratcheted up immediately. More s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation, and the door was shut again.

"He ask Turga." Yolenka smiled. "We pa.s.s his main man. Is good."

MATTHIEU WATCHED HIS sister eat. He didn't need his aunt Gabrielle's skills to notice that she lacked gusto, and not just because grief and shock had taken away her appet.i.te.

He noted how she paused before swallowing and avoided the bread crusts and the meat. He had done exactly that just last year, when he had tonsillitis. He watched for the fleeting wince as the food went down-and didn't have to wait long.

"Maddy."

Her eyes when she looked up to him were dull. Well, she'd been crying for a long time, so that might be why. But he didn't like how white her face looked.

"Does your throat hurt?"

She nodded. "And my head." She attempted a smile. "I probably just wore myself out."

Matthieu reached over and touched her forehead gingerly. It was warm and a bit damp.

"I think you have a fever."

Madeleine took another careful sip of soup and set the cup on the floor. Her fingers trembled against the side of the cup.

"Don't worry, Matthieu." She slumped back into her blanket. "I just need to sleep. I'm sure I'll be fine by morning."

He watched her for a long time, wishing Gabrielle were there, wishing he knew what to do. Wondering if there was anyone in the fortress who would help, and if he could even make them understand what was needed. I'll wait until tomorrow, he thought. If Maddy's any worse tomorrow, I'll holler and try to make them help her.

YOLENKA WAS UNPERTURBED at being shut out for the night. Dominic, frantic for his children and unused to taking orders, was livid.

Derkh, who had said very little since Rath Turga had loomed into sight, spoke up now.

"This is what it's like all over Greffier. You don't enter towns at night. You don't see important people without going through channels. This guy is a warlord-he has a lot of enemies; he has to be careful. Honestly, Dominic, I think if we get in tomorrow, we're doing pretty well."

"What are we supposed to do then-just sit here and mumble our tongues?" Dominic's hand clenched again around the hilt of his sword.

"You are joking, yes?" Yolenka was already halfway inside the wagon, rummaging in the storage bins. She grunted as she hauled out Derkh's anvil and let it thud to the ground. She unhooked the portable brazier hanging on the outside of the wagon and flipped down the horizontal wooden shutter at the back and propped it up with a board to make a little table.

She straightened and swept her eyes around the little group like a general about to address his troops.

"We are open for business."

Gabrielle stared at her. They all did. Yolenka didn't actually expect her to peddle remedies and charms when her niece and nephew were in who knew what straits?

Yolenka huffed and flapped her hands at them. "Is work time! You think I am not real? We do good trade tonight, or Turga will know it."

She clambered over the propped shutter and into the wagon. Untying the canvas curtain, she addressed them once more. "I put on costume. Derkh starts up fire. Then we set up remedies on table here. You-she pointed at Feolan-start playing, let people know we are here."

The curtain flapped shut.

DERKH HAMMERED THE last ring closed, doused it in his bucket and gave all the fittings a final check before handing the ox-yoke back to the silent farmer who stood waiting beside him. Yolenka, dazzling in her bright silks and paint, had already negotiated the price of Derkh's repair and insisted on payment in advance.

She was tireless, everywhere at once: translating, haggling, changing money. Whenever a cl.u.s.ter of men appeared at their camp through the fortress gates or from the surrounding countryside, she summoned Feolan to play and mesmerized them with the sultry undulating dance that made Derkh feel as though the coals in his smith's brazier had fanned into sudden flame deep within his own body. He hated that she did this for strangers, hated to see his own feelings mirrored in their rough faces. But she only laughed as she collected their coins and tucked them provocatively into her waist or between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She bent down to whisper in Derkh's ear as she pa.s.sed. "This is just fool playing. I save real dancing for boss-man, tomorrow."

For me! Derkh wanted to shout. Save the real dancing for me! But he said nothing, bent his arm to his task and brought his mind back to their purpose. His feelings for Yolenka would have to wait.

Amazing, it was, how customers had appeared out of nowhere once they had set up shop. Word must have spread that day as they traveled through villages and farms, the people just waiting for them to set down. Their first visitor had slipped from within the gates of Rath Turga minutes after Feolan began to play-not the rough pirate Derkh had expected, but a worried mother with a coughing child. Gabrielle had had a steady trickle of patients ever since. Derkh hoped she wouldn't have any serious cases-he knew how hard she would find it to turn anyone away, but they couldn't afford to let her exhaust herself now. That thought had barely been formed when his memory protested: She exhausted herself for you, when you were an enemy soldier. Derkh snorted, impatient with his own thoughts, and turned to the leaky bucket his next customer presented. Just as well I'm a tradesman, not a judge, he thought.

And so the strange night pa.s.sed, all of them busy except for Dominic, who was relegated to security and smith's helper. The poor guy, Derkh thought, watching him pace the perimeter of their little camp yet again. He had never seen a man more in need of action.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

TURGA SLEPT LATE AND TOOK HIS TIME with his food and his toilet. He was much restored, the gloom of the previous night dispelled by his usual alert confidence. By early afternoon, when he called for an audience with the peddlers, he was ready to relish both profitable trade and a beautiful woman.

Zhirak had not exaggerated about the woman. She was glorious, pacing into his chamber like a tawny panther.

The others paled by comparison, but still he observed them closely as they were introduced. The husband seemed rather on edge-one would be, he supposed, married to a woman who made men pant over her like dogs for a living. He didn't envy the fellow his role. It was the musician who caught his eye-Zhirak's description had not prepared him for the man's unusual presence. Brightness, you could almost call it. Burning with an artist's vision, no doubt, Turga thought with dry amus.e.m.e.nt. Well, he wasn't here to admire pretty eyes, not on a man at least.

"I'm told you are a fine dancer," he said. To his surprise, the woman who had introduced herself as Yolenka laughed scornfully.

"Your men said that?" Her golden eyes flashed at him from under dark eyelashes, teasing and intimate. Like he was an old friend, not a feared warlord. Her voice lowered.

"I gave them garbage-dance you can see in any cheap tavern. Just a sniff from the wine bottle, yes?"

She had come closer to him as she spoke, floated maybe for he hadn't noticed her take a step. He could smell the scent on her hair, see the black paint that accentuated the line of her eyes. She flashed white teeth at him.

"The wine I saved for you. I wanted to offer you a personal performance-just you in the audience, or you and your invited guests. Both, if you like. Your choice, of course."

As though just noticing her own forwardness, Yolenka offered an apologetic smile and returned to the others-giving him the opportunity to watch her shoulders and hips as she glided away. Mother of all, she was good. Her every breath was a performance. She spoke over her shoulder as she took her place with the others.

"It's not home brew I offer. I was first dancer with Riko's troupe. Perhaps you have heard of him?"

Turga had heard-he had seen the troupe perform. The dancers had been stunning, all of them.

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious of this new claim.

"Why did you leave?"

Yolenka shrugged, a languid ripple that was worlds away from any man's version of the same gesture.

"I hurt my knee touring in the north of the Krylian lands. That's where I met this lot. So I'll admit right now-I can't do a series of backflips and land on one leg. But,"-and again the eyes and teeth flashed at him-"everything else works just fine, I promise you."

That business was soon concluded. Turga didn't even haggle much over the price, or demand that she end her performance in his bed. Like all Tarzines, he held true artistry in high respect.

FeOLAN FOUND IT HARD to follow Turga's unfamiliar voice, but he was able to understand much of Yolenka's end of the negotiation. He too saw the skill in her performance, but he also felt a twinge on Derkh's behalf. He hoped he wouldn't be asked to translate.

When they moved on to Derkh's jewelry, however, Yolenka became all business. Turga noticed this with, Feolan thought, amused respect. Yolenka had kept the jewelry under wraps the night before, wanting to offer Turga the chance of an exclusive purchase. "Also, you don't have so much," she pointed out. "We save until we get inside." Turga clearly liked the pieces, though Feolan gathered he was disappointed there weren't more in gold. Rather heated negotiations followed, before Yolenka announced that Turga had commissioned gold ear pendants and bracelets like the ones Derkh was displaying in silver, as well as two neck-plates in the same style as hers, and that she had agreed on condition that he purchase their entire existing stock.

"Yolenka," Derkh protested, "I can't-" And was cut off with a hissed admonition: "You are trader. Traders always have time to fill rich orders." Derkh gulped and nodded meekly.

More followed-talk of lodging, meals, free pa.s.sage to offer trade outside the walls or shipside. Soon they were unloading their clothes from the caravan into a large communal room beside the scullery at the back of the fortress and setting Derkh and Gabrielle up for business in its treeless courtyard.