‘And so you do!’ someone growled from the mob behind the Factor. ‘Why else do we let you live here anyway?’
‘Well that’s a problem solved now, ain’t it?’ Arbat said, grinning. ‘Vrager burned me out, so I’m leaving.’ He hesitated, then asked, ‘What business was this of the Edur? It’s just done rained – the chances of the blaze moving much ain’t worth the worry. Didn’t you tell them my place is cleared back eighty, a hundred paces on all sides? And there’s the old settling pools – good as a moat.’
The Factor shrugged, then said, ‘They asked about you, then decided maybe someone had torched you out of spite – and that’s breaking the law and the Edur don’t like it when that happens—’
‘And they told you to do your job, did they?’ Arbat laughed at the man. ‘That’d be a first!’
‘Vrager, you said – is that a formal accusation, Arbat? If it is, you gotta dictate and make your mark and stay round for the convening and if Vrager hires an advocate—’
‘Vrager’s got a cousin in Letheras who’s just that,’ someone said.
The Factor nodded. ‘All this could take a damned while, Arbat, and ain’t none of us obliged to give you a roof overhead, neither—’
‘So best I don’t cause trouble, right? You can tell the Edur I wasn’t making no formal complaint, so that’s that. And what with the shacks pretty much burnt down by now and the chill seeping into your bones and no sign the fire’s jumped anywhere . . .’ Arbat slapped the Factor on the shoulder – a gesture that nearly drove the man to his knees – then stepped past. ‘Make way, the rest of you – could be I’m still contagious with all the sick you been dumping in my cart.’
That worked readily enough, and Arbat’s way was suddenly clear. And on he walked.
They’d give Vrager some trouble – not good calling down the Edur’s regard, after all – but it’d be nothing fatal. Pissing against a door don’t forfeit the fool’s life, now did it? Anyway, the Edur would ride on, to wherever it was they were going, and he’d leave them—
What now? Horses on the road, riders coming at the canter. Grumbling under his breath, Old Hunch Arbat worked his way to one verge, then waited.
Another damned troop. Letherii this time.
The lead rider, an officer, slowed her mount upon seeing Arbat, and the troop behind her did the same at her command. As she trotted her horse closer, she called out, ‘You, sir – is there a village ahead?’
‘There is,’ Arbat replied, ‘though you might have to fight for room at the inn.’
‘And why’s that?’ she asked as she rode opposite.
‘Some Edur staying the night there.’
At that the officer reined in, gesturing the rest to a halt. Twisting in her saddle, she eyed him from beneath the ridge of her iron helm. ‘Tiste Edur?’
‘That’s them all right.’
‘What are they doing there?’
Before he could answer, one of her soldiers said, ‘Atri-Preda, something’s blazing ahead – y’can see the glow and smell it.’
‘That’d be my homestead,’ Arbat replied. ‘Accident. It won’t spread, I’m sure of that as can be. Got nothing to do,’ he added, ‘with them Edur. They’re just passing through.’
The Atri-Preda swore under her breath. ‘Tarthenal, yes?’
‘Mostly.’
‘Can you think of anywhere we can camp for the night, then? Close by, but well off the trail.’
Arbat squinted at her. ‘Off the trail, eh? Far enough off so’s your privacy ain’t disturbed, you mean?’
She nodded.
Arbat rubbed at the bristly hair covering his prognathous jaw. ‘Forty or so paces up there’s a trail, right side of the road. Leads through a thicket, then an old orchard, and beyond that there’s an abandoned homestead – barn’s still got a roof, though I doubt it’s weatherproof. There’s a well too, which should be serviceable enough.’
‘This close by, and no-one’s occupied it or stripped it down?’
Arbat grinned. ‘Oh, they’ll get to that before long. It was downwind of my place, you see.’
‘No, I don’t.’
His grin broadened into a smile. ‘Local colour kinda pales when told to outsiders. It’s no matter, really. All you’ll be smelling is woodsmoke this night, and that’ll keep the bugs away.’
He watched as she thought about pressing the matter; then, as her horse tossed its head, she gathered the reins once more. ‘Thank you, Tarthenal. Be safe in your journey.’
‘And you, Atri-Preda.’
They rode on, and Arbat waited on the verge for the troop to pass.
Safe in my journey. Yes, safe enough, I suppose. Nothing on the road I can’t handle.
No, it’s the destination that’s got my knees knocking together like two skulls in a sack.
Lying on his stomach, edging up to the trapdoor, peering down. A menagerie in the room below, yet comforting in its odd domesticity nonetheless. Why, he knew artists who would pay for such a scene. Ten hens wandering about, occasionally squawking from the path of a clumsily swung foot from Ublala Pung as the huge man paced back and forth. The scholar Janath sitting with her back to one wall, rolling chicken down or whatever it was called between the palms of her hands, prior to stuffing it into a burlap sack that was intended to serve as a pillow at some point – proving beyond all doubt that academics knew nothing about anything worth knowing about. Not to mention inserting a sliver of fear that Bugg’s healing of her mind had not been quite up to scratch. And finally, Bugg himself, crouched by the hearth, using a clawed hen foot to stir the steaming pot of chicken soup, a detail which, Tehol admitted, had a certain macabre undercurrent. As did the toneless humming coming from his stalwart manservant.
True enough, the household was blessed with food aplenty, marking the continuation of their good run of luck. Huge capabara fish beside the canal a couple of weeks back, and now retired hens being retired one by one, as inexorable as the growl of a stomach. Or two or three. Or four, assuming Ublala Pung had but one stomach which was not in any way certain. Selush might know, having dressed enough bodies from the inside out. Tarthenal had more organs in those enormous bodies than regular folk, after all. Alas, this trait did not extend to brains.
Yet another formless, ineffable worry was afflicting Ublala Pung. Could be lovestruck again, or struck to fear by love. The half-blood lived in a world of worry, which, all things considered, was rather surprising. Then again, that undeniable virtue between his legs garnered its share of worshippers, lighting feminine eyes with the gleam of possession, avarice, malicious competition – in short, all those traits most common to priesthoods. But it was worship for all the wrong reasons, as poor Ublala’s fretful state of mind made plain. His paltry brain wanted to be loved for itself.
Making him, alas, a complete idiot.
‘Ublala,’ Bugg said from where he hovered over the soup pot, ‘glance upward for me if you will to confirm that those beady eyes studying us belong to my master. If so, please be so kind as to invite him down for supper.’
Tall as he was, Ublala’s face, lifting into view to squint upwards at Tehol, was within reach. Smiling and patting him on the head, Tehol said, ‘My friend, if you could, step back from what serves as a ladder here – and given my manservant’s lacklustre efforts at repair I am using the description advisedly – so that I may descend in a manner befitting my station.’
‘What?’
‘Get out of the way, you oaf !’
Ducking, edging away, Ublala grunted. ‘Why is he so miserable?’ he asked, jerking a thumb up at Tehol. ‘The world is about to end but does he care about that? No. He doesn’t. Care about that. The world ending. Does he?’
Tehol shifted round to lead with his feet on the uppermost rung of the ladder. ‘Loquacious Ublala Pung, how ever will we follow the track of your thoughts? I despair.’ He wiggled over the edge then groped with his feet.
Bugg spoke. ‘Given the view you are presently providing us, master,
despair is indeed the word. Best look away, Janath.’
‘Too late,’ she replied. ‘To my horror.’
‘I live in the company of voyeurs!’ Tehol managed to find the rung with one foot and began making his way down.
‘I thought they were chickens,’ Ublala said.
A piercing avian cry, ending in a mangled crunch.
‘Oh.’
Cursing from Bugg. ‘Damn you, Pung! You’re eating that one! All by yourself! And you can cook it yourself, too!’
‘It just got in the way! If you built some more rooms, Bugg, it wouldn’t have happened.’
‘And if you did your damned pacing in the alley outside – better yet, if you just stopped worrying about things – or bringing those worries here – or always showing up around supper time – or—’
‘Now now,’ Tehol interjected, stepping free of the last rung and adjusting his blanket. ‘Nerves are frayed and quarters are cramped and Ublala’s cramped brain is fraying our nerves without quarter, so it would be best if we all—’
‘Master, he just flattened a hen!’
‘A voyeur,’ Ublala insisted.
‘—got along,’ Tehol finished.
‘Time, I think,’ said Janath, ‘for some mitigation, Tehol. I seem to recall you having some talent for that, especially working your way around the many attempts at expelling you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Ublala, ‘where do we do that?’
‘Do what?’ Janath asked.
‘I gotta go.’
‘Over to the warehouse,’ Tehol said, pushing Ublala towards the door – without much success. ‘Ublala, do your expelling back of the warehouse, near the drain spout. Use the comfrey bush poking out of the rubbish heap then wash your hands in the tilted trough.’
Looking relieved, the huge man ducked his way out into the alley.
Turning, Tehol regarded Bugg. ‘All right, a moment of silence, then, for the retired hen.’
Rubbing his brow, Bugg leaned back and sighed. ‘Sorry. I’m not used to these . . . crowds.’
‘What amazes me,’ Tehol said, now studying the surviving hens, ‘is their eerie indifference. They just walk around their crushed sister—’
‘Wait a moment and they’ll start ripping it apart,’ Bugg said, shambling over to collect the carcass. ‘Between the two, I prefer indifference.’ He picked the limp form up, frowned at the dangling neck. ‘Quiet in death, as with all things. Almost all things, I mean . . .’ Abruptly he shook his head and tossed the dead creature onto the floor in front of Janath. ‘More feathers for you, Scholar.’
‘A most appropriate task,’ Tehol murmured, ‘plucking lovely plumage to reveal the pimpled nightmare beneath.’
‘Sort of like inadvertently looking up your tunic, Tehol Beddict.’
‘You are a cruel woman.’
She paused and looked up at him. ‘Assuming those were just pimples.’
‘Most cruel, leading me to suspect that you in fact fancy me.’
Janath shot Bugg a glance. ‘What kind of healing did you do on me, Bugg? My world seems . . . smaller.’ She tapped one temple. ‘In here. My thoughts travel any distance – any distance at all – and they vanish in a . . . in a white nothing. Blissful oblivion. So, I do remember what happened, but not even a whisper of emotion reaches me.’
‘Janath, most of those protections are of your own making. Things will . . . expand. But it will take time. In any case, it is not too surprising that you are developing an attachment to Tehol, seeing him as your protector—’
‘Now hold on, old man! Attachment? To Tehol? To an ex-student? That is, in every way imaginable, disgusting.’
‘I thought it was a common occurrence,’ Tehol said. ‘Why, some of the stories I’ve heard—’
‘Common for those fools who confuse love with worship – all to feed their paltry egos, I might add. Usually men, too. Married men. It’s pathetic—’
‘Janath, did— No, never mind.’ Rubbing his hands together, Tehol faced Bugg. ‘My, that soup smells wonderful.’
Ublala Pung returned, shouldering his way through the doorway. ‘That comfrey tasted awful,’ he said.
The three stared at him for a long moment.
Then Bugg spoke. ‘See those half-gourds, Ublala? Bring them over and get your voyeur soup.’
‘I could eat a whole one all by myself, I’m so hungry.’
Tehol pointed. ‘There’s one right there, Ublala.’
The huge man paused, glanced over at the bedraggled carcass. Then pushed the gourds into Tehol’s hands and said, ‘Okay.’
‘Leave me some feathers?’ Janath asked.
‘Okay.’
Tehol said, ‘Do you mind, Ublala, if the rest of us eat . . .
uh, up on the roof?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘After supper,’ Tehol continued as the half-blood lowered himself into a cross-legged position, reached for the carcass and tore off a leg. ‘After, I mean, Ublala, we can talk about what’s worrying you, all right?’
‘No point talking,’ Ublala said around a mouthful of feathers, skin and meat. ‘I got to take you to him.’
‘Who?’
‘A champion. The Toblakai.’
Tehol met Bugg’s eyes, and saw in them unfeigned alarm.
‘We got to break into the compound,’ Ublala continued.
‘Uh, right.’
‘Then make sure he doesn’t kill us.’
‘I thought you said there was no point in talking!’
‘I did. There isn’t.’
Janath collected her gourd of soup. ‘So we have to climb one-handed up that ladder? And I expect you want me to go first? Do you think me an idiot?’
Tehol scowled at her, then brightened. ‘You have a choice, Janath. You follow me and Bugg, at the risk of your appetite, or we follow you, lifting you skyward with our sighs of admiration.’
‘How about neither?’ With that, she headed out into the alley.
Horrible crunching sounds came from where Ublala sat. After a moment, both Tehol and Bugg followed in Janath’s wake.
Ormly, once Champion Rat Catcher, sat down opposite Rucket.
After a nod of greeting, she returned to her meal. ‘I’d offer you some of these crisped hog ears, but as you can see, there’s not many left and they are one of my favourites.’
‘You do it on purpose, don’t you?’
‘Men always assume beautiful women think of nothing but sex, or, rather, are obsessed with the potential thereof, at any and every moment. But I assure you, food poses a sensuality rarely achieved in clumsy gropings on some flea-bitten mattress with errant draughts sending chills through you at every change of position.’
Ormly’s withered face twisted into a scowl. ‘Change of position? What does that mean?’
‘Something tells me there is no legion of beleaguered women bemoaning the loss of one Ormly.’
‘I wouldn’t know nothing about that. Listen, I’m nervous.’
‘How do you think I feel? Care for some wine? Oh, I was hoping you’d decline. You know, hiding in this burial crypt has put a strain on select vintages. It’s all very well for you, skulking in the shadows every night, but as the new commander of our insurgent organization, I have to hide down here, receiving and despatching all day, doing endless paperwork—’
‘What paperwork?’
‘Well, the paperwork I do to convince the minions how busy I am, so they don’t come running to me every damned moment.’
‘Yes, but what are you writing down, Rucket?’
‘I record snatches of overheard conversations – the acoustics down here are impressive if a tad wayward. One can achieve sheer poetry on occasion, with judicial use of juxtaposition.’
‘If it’s random then it ain’t poetry,’ Ormly said, still scowling.
‘Clearly you don’t keep up with modern movements, then.’
‘Just one, Rucket, and that’s what I’m nervous about. It’s Tehol Beddict, you see.’
‘A most extraordinary juxtaposition there,’ she replied, reaching for another hog’s ear. ‘Idiocy and genius. In particular, his genius for creating idiotic moments. Why, the last time we made love—’
‘Rucket, please! Don’t you see what’s going on out there? Oh, sorry, I guess you don’t. But listen to me, then. He’s too successful! It’s going too fast! The Patriotists are stirred up something awful, and you can be sure the Liberty Consign is backing them with every resource at its disposal. In the Low Markets they’re starting to barter because there’s no coin.’
‘Well, that was the plan—’
‘But we’re not ready!’
‘Ormly, Scale House collapsed, didn’t it?’
He glared at her suspiciously, then grunted and looked away. ‘All right, so we knew that was coming. We’ve been ready for that, yes. True enough. Even though we’re no closer to knowing what’ll happen when whatever it is happens, assuming we’ll even know it’s happening when it does. Anyway, you’re just trying to confuse me, because you’ve lost all objectivity when it comes to Tehol.’
‘Oh now really, do you take me for a fool?’
‘Yes. Love, lust, whatever, it’s affected your ability to think straight when it comes to that madman.’
‘You’re the one not thinking straight. Tehol’s not the mystery here. Tehol’s easy – no, not that kind of – oh, very well, that kind, too. Anyway, like I said. Easy. The true mystery before us, Ormly, is his damned manservant.’
‘Bugg?’
‘Bugg.’
‘But he’s just the front man—’
‘You sure it’s not the other way round? What does he do with all that coin they’ve leveraged into their hands? Bury it in the back yard? They don’t even have a back yard. Ormly, we’re talking tons of coinage here.’ She waved a hand about. ‘Could fill this crypt twenty times over. Now, sure, there’re other crypts under the city, but we know them all. I’ve sent runners to every one of them, but they’re empty, the dust underfoot not disturbed in years. We’ve sent rats into every fissure, every crevasse, every crack. Nothing.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Gone. As if into thin air. And not just in this city, either.’