The Hidden City (20 page)

They had erected their tent and were gathering leaves and moss for beds when Narstil stopped by. ‘I see you're getting set up, Ezek,' he said to Caalador. His tone was conciliatory, though not quite cordial.

‘A few finishing touches are about all that's left,' Caalador replied.

‘You men make a good camp,' Narstil noted. Tidy.'

‘A cluttered camp is the sign of a cluttered mind,' Caalador shrugged. ‘I'm glad you stopped by, Narstil. We hear that there's an army camped out not far from here. Do they cause you any problems?'

‘We've got an agreement with them,' Narstil replied. ‘We don't steal from them, and they leave us alone. That's not a real army in Natayos, though. It's more like a large band of rebels. They want to overthrow the government.'

‘Doesn't everybody?'

Narstil laughed. ‘Actually, having that mob in Natayos is very good for
my
business. The fact that they're all there keeps the police out of this part of the jungle, and one of the reasons they tolerate
us
is because we rob travelers, and that keeps people from snooping around Natayos. We do a fairly brisk business with
them. They're a ready market for just about everything we steal.'

‘How far is this Natayos place from here?'

‘About ten miles. It's an old ruin. Scarpa – he's the one in charge over there – moved in with his rebels a couple of years back. He's fortified it, and he's bringing in more of his followers every day. I don't care much for him, but business is business.'

‘What's he like?'

‘He's crazy. Some days he's so crazy that he bays at the moon. He's convinced that he'll be emperor one day, and I expect it won't be long until he marches his rabble out of those ruins. He's fairly safe in this jungle, but just as soon as he gets out into open country, the Atans will grind him into dog meat right on the spot.'

‘Are we supposed to care about that?' Bevier asked.

‘I personally couldn't care less,' Narstil assured the apparently one-eyed ruffian. ‘It's the loss of his business that concerns me.'

‘Can just anybody walk in and out of Natayos any time he feels like it?' Kalten asked as if only mildly curious.

‘If you're leading a mule loaded down with food or drink, they'll welcome you with open arms. I send an ox-cart loaded down with barrels of ale every few days. You know how soldiers like their ale.'

‘Oh, yes,' Kalten agreed. ‘I've known a few soldiers in my time, and their whole world stops when somebody opens an ale barrel.'

‘It doth derive from our ability to control the light which doth emanate from us,' Cedon explained. ‘What we call sight is profoundly influenced by light. The subterfuge is not perfect. Some faint shimmers do appear, and we must be wary lest our shadows reveal our presence, but with a certain care, we can be unobserved.'

‘Now
there
are some interesting contrasts,' Aphrael said. ‘The Troll-Gods tamper with time, you tamper with light, and I tamper with the attention of the people I want to hide from, but it's all an attempt to achieve some measure of invisibility.'

‘Knowest thou of any who can be
truly
invisible, Divine One?' Xanetia asked.

‘
I
don't. Do you, Cousin?'

Edaemus shook his head.

‘We can come close, though,' the Child Goddess said. The real thing would probably have drawbacks. It's a very good idea, Anari Cedon, but I don't want Xanetia to put herself in any kind of danger. I love her too much for that.'

Xanetia flushed slightly, and then she gave Edaemus an almost guilty look. Sephrenia laughed. ‘I must in honesty warn thee, Edaemus,' she said. ‘Guard well thy worshippers. My Goddess is a notorious thief.' She frowned thoughtfully. ‘If Xanetia could go unobserved into Sopal, it could be very useful. Her ability to reach into the thoughts of others would enable her to discover in short order whether Ehlana's there or not. If she is, we can take steps. If not, we'll know that Sopal's just another diversion.'

Cedon looked at Edaemus. ‘I think, Beloved One, that we must extend our involvement in the world around us further than we had earlier planned. Anakha's concern for the safety of his wife doth take precedence in his mind o'er all else, and his promise to us doth stand in peril until she be returned to him safe and whole.'

Edaemus sighed. ‘It may be e'en as thou sayest, my Anari. Though it doth make me unquiet, it would appear that we must set aside our repugnance and join in the search for Anakha's wife, lending such aid as is within our power.'

‘Are you
really
sure you want to become involved in
this, Edaemus?' Aphrael asked him. ‘Really,
really
sure?'

‘I have said it, Aphrael.'

‘Aren't you the least bit interested in why I'm so concerned with the fate of a pair of Elenes? Elenes
do
have their own God, you know. Why do you imagine that
I'd
be so interested in them?'

‘Why is it ever thy wont to speak circuitously, Aphrael?'

‘Because I love to surprise people,' she replied sweetly. ‘I really
do
want to thank you for your concern about the well-being of my mother and father, Cousin. You've touched me to the very heart.'

He stared at her in stunned astonishment.
‘Thou didst not!'
he gasped.

‘Somebody
had to do it.' She shrugged. ‘One of us had to keep an eye on Bhelliom. Anakha is Bhelliom's creature, but as long as I have my hand around his heart, I can more or less control the things he does.'

‘But they're
Elenes!'

‘Oh, grow up, Edaemus. Elene, Styric, Delphae – what difference does it make? You can love all of them if your heart's not closed.'

‘But they eat
pigs!'

‘I know,' she shuddered. ‘Believe me, I know. It's one of the things I've been working on.'

Senga was a good-natured brigand whose racial origins were so mixed that no one could really tell
what
he was. He grinned a great deal, and he was loud and boisterous and had an infectious laugh. Kalten liked him, and Senga appeared to have found a kindred spirit in the Elene outlaw he knew as Col. He was laughing as he came across Narstil's cluttered compound where furniture and other household goods were stacked in large, untidy heaps on the bare ground. ‘Ho, Col!' he shouted as he approached the tree where Kalten, Caalador, and Bevier had pitched their tent. ‘You should have come
along. An ox-cart load of ale opens every door in Natayos.'

‘Armies make me nervous, Senga,' Kalten replied. The officers are always trying to enlist you – usually at sword-point – and generals as a group tend to be overly moralistic for my taste. The term “martial law” makes my blood run cold for some reason.'

‘Scarpa grew up in a tavern, my friend,' Senga assured him, ‘and his mother was a whore, so he's accustomed to the seamier side of human nature.'

‘How did you make out?' Kalten asked.

Senga grinned, rolled his eyes and jingled a heavy purse. ‘Well enough to make me consider giving up crime and opening my own brewery. The only problem with that is the fact that our friends at Natayos probably won't be there all that much longer. If I set up shop as a brewer and my customers all marched off to get killed by the Atans, I'd probably have to drink all that ale by myself, and nobody's
that
thirsty.'

‘Oh? What makes you think those rebels are getting ready to leave?'

‘Nothing very specific,' Senga said, sprawling out on the ground and offering Kalten his wineskin. ‘Scarpa's been gone for the past several weeks. He and two or three Elenes left Natayos last month, and nobody I talked with knew where he was going or why.'

Kalten carefully kept his expression disinterested. ‘I hear that he's crazy. Crazy men don't need reasons for the things they do or the places they go.'

‘Scarpa's crazy enough, all right, but he can certainly whip those rebels of his into a frenzy. When he decides to make a speech, you'd better find a comfortable place to sit, because you're going to be there for six hours at least. Anyway, he went off a while back, and his army was getting settled in for the winter. That's all changed now that he's back.'

Kalten became very alert. ‘He's come back?'

‘That he has, my friend. Here, give us a drink.' Senga took the wineskin and tipped it up, squirting a long stream of wine into his mouth. Then he wiped his chin on the back of his hand. ‘He and those Elene friends of his came riding into Natayos not four days ago. They had a couple of women with them, I hear.'

Kalten sank down on the ground and made some show of adjusting his sword-belt to cover his sudden excitement. ‘I thought Scarpa hated women,' he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

‘Oh, that he does, my friend, but from what I hear, these two women weren't just some playthings he picked up along the way. They had their hands tied, for one thing, and the fellow I talked with said that they were a little bedraggled, but they didn't really look like tavern wenches. He didn't get a very good look at them, because Scarpa hustled them into a house that seems to have been fixed up for somebody a little special – fancy furniture and rugs on the floor and all that.'

‘Was there anything unusual about them?' Kalten almost held his breath.

Senga shrugged and took another drink. ‘Just the fact that they weren't treated like ordinary camp followers, I suppose.' He scratched his head. ‘There
was
something else the fellow told me,' he said. ‘What was it now?'

Kalten
did
hold his breath this time.

‘Oh, yes,' Senga said, ‘now I remember. The fellow said that these two women Scarpa took all the trouble to invite to Natayos were Elenes. Isn't
that
odd?'

The town of Beresa on the southeastern Arjuni coast was a low, unlovely place squatting toadlike on the beach lying between the South Tamul Sea and the swampy green jungle behind it. The major industry of the region was the production of charcoal, and acrid smoke hung in the humid air over Beresa like a curse.

Captain Sorgi dropped his anchor some distance out from the wharves and went ashore to consult with the harbor master.

Sparhawk, Stragen, and Talen, wearing their canvas smocks, leaned on the port rail staring across the smelly water toward their destination. I have an absolutely splendid idea, Fron,' Stragen said to Sparhawk.

‘Oh?' Sparhawk replied.

‘Why don't we jump ship?'

‘Nice try, Vymer,' Talen laughed. They were all more or less at ease with the assumed names by now.

Sparhawk looked around carefully to make sure that none of the rest of the crew was near. ‘An ordinary sailor wouldn't leave without collecting his pay. Let's not do anything to attract attention. All that's really left to do is the unloading of the cargo.'

‘Under the threat of the bo'sun's whip,' Stragen added glumly. ‘That man
really
tests my self-control. Just the sight of him makes me want to kill him.'

‘We can endure him this one last time,' Sparhawk told him. ‘This town's going to be full of unfriendly eyes. Krager's note told me to come here, and he'll have people here to make sure I'm not trying to sneak in reinforcements behind his back.'

‘That might just be the flaw in this whole plan, Fron,' Stragen said. ‘Sorgi knows that we're not ordinary sailors. Is he the kind to let things slip?'

Sparhawk shook his head. ‘Sorgi knows how to keep his mouth shut. He was paid to get us to Beresa unnoticed, and Sorgi always does what he's paid to do.'

The captain returned late that afternoon, and they raised anchor and eased up to one of the long wharves protruding out into the harbor. They unloaded the cargo the next morning. The bo'sun cracked his whip only sparingly, and the unloading proceeded rapidly.

Then, when the cargo holds were all emptied, the sailors lined up and filed along the quarterdeck where Sorgi sat at a small table with his account book and his stacks of coins. The captain gave each sailor a little speech as he paid him. The speeches varied slightly, but the general message was the same: ‘Stay out of trouble, and get back to the ship on time. I won't wait for you when the time comes to sail.' He did not alter the speech when he paid Sparhawk and his friends, and his face did not in any way betray the fact they were anything other than ordinary crew members.

Sparhawk and his two friends went down the gangway with their sea-bags on their shoulders and with a certain amount of anticipation. ‘Now I see why sailors are so rowdy when they reach port,' Sparhawk said. ‘That wasn't really much of a voyage, and I still feel a powerful urge to kick over the traces.'

‘Where to?' Talen asked when they reached the street.

‘There's an inn called the Seaman's Rest,' Stragen replied. ‘It's supposed to be a clean, quiet place out beyond the main battle zone here along the waterfront. It should give us a base of operations to work from.'

The sun was just going down as they passed through the noisy, reeking streets of Beresa. The buildings were
constructed for the most part of squared-off logs, since stone was rare here on the vast, soggy delta of the Arjun River, and the logs appeared to have been attacked by damp rot almost before they were in place. Moss and fungus grew everywhere, and the air was thick with the chill damp and the acrid wood smoke from the charcoal yards outside of town. The Arjunis in the streets were noticeably more swarthy than their Tamul cousins of the north; their eyes were shifty; and even their most casual gait through the muddy streets of their unlovely town seemed somehow furtive.

Sparhawk muttered the spell under his breath as they passed along the shabby street, and he released it carefully to avoid alerting the watchers he was sure were there.