Wielding a Red Sword

  He got her clear and hosed her down, getting the acids away. The salve combined with the acid, so that both were neutralized, but, as long as she remained inside the snake, more acids were forming, so it was important to get the refuse off. After the hosing, he set her up, took a clean cloth to her face, cleaned her closed eyes and mouth carefully, then did the same for her genital region. Then he snapped his fingers at her ear, waking her from her trance.

  She shuddered, then resumed her breathing. Her eyes opened. "You do such a good job," she said. "With you, there's never any smarting, no bad patches. I'm completely clean." She leaned forward and kissed him. She put her arms around his neck, set her face into his shoulder, and sobbed for a moment. Then she lifted her face. "Thank you. I am back from the abyss. This, too, is very fast with you."

  Mym nodded. The act, spectacular as it was, was not accomplished without cost. Pythia risked death, and the trance that stopped her breathing was halfway to death; though she had been through it many times, each time she knew it could be the last, and each successful recovery was a profound relief. Most others, even in the group, were not aware of the full nature of the experience she undertook.

  "Should you ever need me, you won't even need to ask," she said. "You are the best of men, Mym."

  Had his heart not already been committed, he would have taken her up on that. Yet Pythia's acceptance of him was only a manifestation of the acceptance of the group. He felt as good as he could remember.

  It was the monsoon season, and daily the winds and showers intensified. The master had a spell to ward off rain during the actual show, but it was too valuable to waste during travel, when there was no money to be reaped. The dragon did not like getting wet, but was too big to cover, so he was increasingly surly. Mym had a good way with the animals, so had to be out cajoling the monster forward, getting soaked himself.

  Then one of the wheels on the mermaid's wagon got mired in mud, and all other hands were committed, so Mym went to take care of that. He used a pole to lever it out, but got thoroughly muddied in the process. When the wagon was finally clear, the others were far ahead.

  The mermaid poked her head out of her tank. Naturally the rain didn't bother her. "Come, ride with me, Mym," she called.

  Startled, he looked at her. He hadn't realized that she spoke English. Normally she didn't speak at all, because it was difficult to do when her lungs were full of water. But she could drain it from her gills and breathe air when she chose, as she was an amphibian.

  She patted the side of the tank. "Here," she said, smiling. "You must be tired; you deserve a rest."

  He was tired, as well as being soaked and dirty. He climbed up on the wagon, holding onto the edge of the tank. The mermaid clicked to the mahout, and the mahout urged the elephant forward. The wagon began to gain on the others.

  Mym's hands were occupied, holding on as the wagon bumped along, but the mermaid's hands were free. She took hold of his head and turned it to please her. Then she kissed him. "My thanks for your service, sir," she said. "Should you ever require something novel—"

  He blushed, and she laughed. "I'm only teasing, maybe. But you are a good man."

  Finally the wagon caught up to the others, and he dropped off, for his help was needed elsewhere. But his mind was whirling, for this was the second time an attractive woman had made him an offer. He had no prejudice against halflings, and the mermaid had known this; had his situation been otherwise, he would have been interested. But what intrigued him most was the evident fact that he had sex appeal for these women. He had known many women before—more than he cared to count—but had never considered himself attractive in that sense. The others had been made available to him because of his position; he had assumed that they would not have offered so from their own personal choice. But here in the group, women were making themselves available by choice. True, he had done them favors of a sort; but he had not acted with the thought of such reward. Their interest had to be genuine, and that flattered him in a profound manner. Perhaps his stutter was not the barrier he had supposed. If so, this group had already given him more than refuge.

  They came into Ahmadabad, a sprawling city of more than a million inhabitants. Here they expected to have large and generous crowds, for the city folk were more sophisticated than the villagers and more interested in oddities. Indeed, their first show was a great success, and the master was so pleased that he issued bonus payments to the performers.

  Naturally Orb, typical other gender in certain respects, wanted to go shopping. The master could not deny her, but insisted that she have some protection. "Thieves are thick in cities," he muttered.

  "Mym can come with me," Orb said brightly.

  The master scowled, but evidently remembered the way Mym had juggled knives. "But stay out of trouble," he admonished. "I don't like risking two star performers together."

  So Mym went shopping with Orb, glad for the opportunity to be with her, however slight the occasion. He wore a nondescript tunic and an artificial beard that completely changed his appearance. Still, it was risky for him—but perhaps no more so than performing in this city as a mime.

  Orb was delighted with the wares set forth in the open market. She went from stall to stall, exclaiming at the bright woven materials and pretty baubles, choosing first one and then another.

  But Mym was nervous. He felt a motion in his inner pocket, so he quietly put his hand in, found the snakering, and put his finger through it. "T-t-t-trouble?" he murmured, as if to himself.

  The ring squeezed once.

  That was all he needed. He tried to draw Orb aside to warn her; but she was distracted by her shopping, and his effort to speak was inhibited by the stutter, so that he could not get through to her.

  He sighed to himself. His hand remained in the pocket, out of sight. Accident? he thought at the ring, but it squeezed twice. Malice? That brought a single squeeze. Robbery? Three squeezes. And rape? he thought, and got a single squeeze. And murder? One squeeze. The thuggees? One squeeze.

  Now he tried again to warn Orb. He caught her arm and squeezed, somewhat harder than would ordinarily have been necessary. She paused, looking at him, realizing that something was amiss. He made a motion with his head, signaling toward the region from which they had come.

  "Time to go home?" she asked, and he nodded affirmatively.

  "Very well," she said. "Just let me find one more thing."

  He tried to signal no, but she didn't understand. Rather than make a scene, he waited, though the ring was pulsing warning.

  Orb completed her purchase, and they started back. Mym guided her along a route they had not taken before, hoping to give the thuggees the slip, but soon he saw the subtle pursuit developing. They were watching, closing in—three, four, five of them. They wanted the money the woman evidently had to spend and her body, and they were not the type to leave witnesses behind. The Kingdom had made an effort to eliminate the criminal class, now called the thuggees, though these were not actually connected to the original guild of assassins. They were just common cutthroats, always on the prowl for vulnerable wealth, not trained killers but dangerous when they banded together.

  Mym's teeth bared in an unconscious snarl. He hated the thuggees, of whatever stripe! But he had not brought a weapon, for complex reasons that now seemed invalid, and the fact that Orb was the obvious target made it worse. Alone, he could have given them the slip, but there was no way she could do that. This was going to be ugly.

  What way? he demanded of the ring in his pocket. Then he ran through a mental list of alternatives, beginning with straight flight and ending with mayhem. The ring squeezed at mayhem.

  Where? he thought next.

  The ring signaled as they passed a deserted alley. This was the best place to meet the thuggees.

  Mym did not question this; he trusted the ring. He took Orb by the elbow and guided her into it.

  The thuggees were jubilant at this break. This was exactly what they wanted—the prey s
ecluded, so that the dirty work could be done without witnesses. Killing could be accomplished quickly, but it took longer to rape a living woman—and it wasn't any fun when she was dead—because they had to take turns. Here in the alley, setting two of their number as guards for the occasion—

  They closed, one of them blocking off the far exit, the other four advancing from behind.

  Mym took Orb to a niche between buildings, where some dilapidated crates were piled. "Hide!" he directed, his stutter not manifesting during his distraction. Seeing the tough-looking men, she obeyed, frightened.

  Now Mym stood before the crates, holding a board with a nail protruding, facing the thuggees.

  The five closed in. As one, they laughed, pointing at his inadequate weapon. They were armed with knives of various descriptions, and their leader had a short sword.

  Mym bit his tongue, deliberately. In a moment he tasted the blood. His eyes glazed, his breathing quickened, and his dark skin paled.

  "Hey, he's freezing!" one of the thuggees exclaimed in the native tongue.

  "Trying to imitate a berserker," another said, unconcerned.

  The blood in Mym's mouth continued to flow. His body began to shake. The breath whistled out through drawn lips.

  "Well, I'll berserk him!" the leader said, stepping forward and raising his sword. "He's shaking in his boots!" A thin line of reddish froth appeared at Mym's mouth.

  "Hey, I don't know—" another thuggee began, worried.

  Then Mym moved. The board dropped.

  The leader saw no more than a blur, before his sword was expertly wrenched from his grasp. Then that sword whirled demonically, slicing at the thuggee to the right. A line appeared at his neck, below the left ear, and he collapsed. The sword lifted and came down on the head of the thuggee farthest to the left, splitting his face open from forehead to nose.

  The leader, disarmed, gaped. "He is—" he began. Then the sword whistled across with such force that his head lifted from his neck and tumbled to the ground before the body fell.

  The two remaining thuggees tried to turn and run, but one was caught by a thrust to the bowel, and the other, starting away, got the point of the sword through his skull from the rear. The tip of the point showed through at the front as he fell.

  Mym glanced back at the crates, where Orb still hid. He pondered a moment, then reached for his ring again. Can she handle this?

  The ring squeezed twice.

  Best way to get her through? He ran through several notions in his mind and stopped when the ring squeezed once. He had his plan.

  Mym drew out a silk handkerchief he normally used in his mime act. He went to the woman. Orb's head was ducked down, and she was shivering, evidently afraid of the violence and of what was about to happen to him and to her.

  "V-v-v-v-veil," he got out, giving her the handkerchief. She glanced up. "You mean—to hide my face? That won't fool the robbers!"

  She did not know they were dead. "Qu-qu-quickly," he said. "Ey-ey-eyes too."

  Frightened and mystified, she tied the handkerchief across her face, covering even her eyes. Then he urged her up and out of the crates and guided her from the alley.

  Once they were clear of it, he removed the veil. "But why didn't they follow?" she asked, perplexed anew.

  He shrugged, allowing her to think that the matter was too complicated for an immediate stuttering explanation. They hurried on back to the group's camp.

  There was an ugly taste in Mym's mouth, and not from the blood he had invoked. He had deceived Orb, and he did not like that one bit. But he believed the ring; she was not ready for the truth. He had done what was necessary to save her life; that knowledge had to suffice.

  Chapter 2 - PRINCE

  They returned safely, and Orb secluded herself in her wagon to recover from the shock of the near escape. Mym got busy on routine tasks, helping organize for the evening's show.

  They had several shows at different sites in Ahmadabad, because in this city a few blocks put them into an entirely new neighborhood, generating a fresh audience. The take was excellent, and news of Orb's singing spread so that the master received an invitation to do a private showing for a noble. Stunned, the master accepted.

  All were delighted—except Mym. He went privately to the master. "Sir, I cannot perform before nobility," he said, though not nearly as smoothly as rendered.

  The master heaved his paunch about and focused directly on Mym. "Do you know, I had a visit from the police," he said. "There has been a particularly bad bunch of thuggees operating in this region, leaving a messy trail of dead. Some officers even checked this group, a while back, but of course we harbored no thuggees."

  Mym nodded, knowing what was coming. How much had the master pieced together?

  "It seems that a beautiful woman had an encounter with them recently, but she managed to escape," the master continued. "The police realized from the description that she was from our group, so they came to inquire. Indeed it was our Orb, and she confirmed that the encounter had taken place. Five brutish men, armed with knives and a sword. But it seems that you managed to dissuade them and escape unharmed."

  Mym nodded again, for once glad that he was unable to speak with facility.

  "The five were found slaughtered in an alley. The pattern of their bodies is typical of that left by a berserker warrior. You know—the kind who tastes blood and goes crazy."

  Mym shrugged.

  "But something doesn't match," the master said. "A true berserker would have slaughtered the woman too, then gone out through the city and killed and killed until overwhelmed by a force of twenty armed, trained men. This did not happen."

  Mym waited.

  "Orb reports that you had her don your handkerchief to hide her face and that you led her out of that alley. She doesn't know how you persuaded the thuggees not to follow. There was no one else—just you."

  Again Mym shrugged.

  "Now I never heard of a temporary berserker," the master said. "Obviously you are not one; you weren't even armed. So I must assume that either a berserker happened upon the premises at that moment, destroyed the thuggees, and expired from a lucky return-thrust before he got to you—which makes no sense, as no other body was found—or that a highly trained warrior who hated thuggees did the deed."

  He had obviously caught on. Mym's hand went to his inner pocket, and his finger found the ring. Lost? he thought.

  The ring squeezed twice.

  "You are very handy with knives," the master was saying. "But I have never seen you juggle anything except weapons. This suggests that you were never an entertainer before. You merely have learned to handle weapons with an extraordinary facility. I can think of only one class of person who would have access to training like that—a noble."

  Still Mym waited.

  "And now you tell me you cannot perform before a noble. Because you would be recognized?"

  Mym nodded.

  "Well, let me tell you something about concealment," the master said briskly. "The best concealment is that which the observer never suspects. That is the secret of the legerdemain I practice. Misdirection. The very last place any noble would expect a noble to be hiding would be onstage before other nobles. I want you to do your act; I guarantee you will be secure from discovery."

  Mym shook his head negatively.

  "Ah, but there is the stutter," the master said, as if just remembering it. "Now it occurs to me that that might indeed be an identifying trait. I have no deep knowledge of the nobility here; I travel too much to keep current. I have heard of no stuttering noble, but that may be just my ignorance. Suppose we were to add some words to your mime act? Under your mask and makeup, no one can see your mouth move. If at key points a voice-mimic behind the stage were to throw his voice, so that it seemed to emanate from you...?"

  Mym, vastly relieved, reached out and clasped his hand.

  "But though there is no need for me to know details that do not concern me," the matter concluded, "I think t
here is one who must be advised. I would not have her hurt for all the world, and nobles are notoriously casual about romantic liaisons. I think, before things proceed further—"

  Mym nodded affirmatively. It was indeed time.

  They talked, as the caravan waited out one of the monsoon downpours north of Ahmadabad. It was pleasant in Orb's wagon as the sound of the rain beat loud, for her covering did not leak the way some of the others did. First she told him her history, for she wanted him to know about her. She had been born in Ireland twenty years before and raised with a kind of sister she called Luna. Mym wasn't quite clear on the relationship, but it seemed that Orb's parents were Luna's grandparents, and that the two girls seemed very like twins. Luna painted with a magical brush she had received from the Mountain King, and Orb sang with the harp from the same source. It was the golden harp that extended her power, so that the audience could experience it. Her father had had the same talent, but it only manifested when he was touching the person to whom he sang.

  But what was she doing here in India? Mym wanted to know. For it was obvious that she could enchant audiences anywhere in the world and had no need to wander in such uncivilized reaches as these.

  Well, she was looking for a song, she explained. It was titled the Llano, and it was the most marvelous song ever to be sung on Earth, but it was highly elusive. For one thing, it was very challenging to sing, so that only a few people in each generation could perform it successfully. She thought she might be able to sing it well enough and wanted to try. For another thing, it was said to be the most compellingly lovely song that the human voice was capable of rendering, and that intrigued her too. But mainly, she believed that her destiny lay with the song, for whoever traced it to its source would discover the avenue to a wholly new fulfillment. Orb, dissatisfied with her mundane existence, sought that fulfillment.