Part 5 (1/2)
”So many _satch_,” murmured his counterpart Budjir.
”That can be to our advantage.” September hunched over the table. ”The other states we will visit will know nothing of Sofold, but it's possible they will have heard of Arsudun, and consequently, of the humanx station here.
”We've already seen indications that there're entirely too many local goods goin' offplanet to have come from Arsudun alone. That means the Arsudunites are trading with the surrounding states. What better way for them to make themselves look big and important than to constantly claim extratrannish wizards-that's us-for allies?
”So how are they likely to react, when we show up and tell them they'd better confederate for their own good?”
Ethan put down the tall goblet of liquor, used the oversized spoon at his wrist to dip up another helping of the heavily spiced soup in front of him. He sipped at it carefully, the end of the spoon being too wide for his small human mouth. Soup had never been a favor-ite of his. He preferred more solid food.
But Tran-ky-ky's climate could make anyone a lover of hot food in any form.
”I would rather,” Hunnar replied petulantly, after considering September's logic, ”begin in the neighborhood of Sofold.” He pushed back in his chair, bal-anced on the two hind legs. Ethan knew the knight wouldn't fall. He'd never seen a people with such per-fect, innate sense of balance.
”No. I think we'll have the better chance, Hunnar, here where we're all strangers to the folks we'll be tryin' to convert, and where humankind's dubious rep-utation has maybe preceded us.”
”Tahoding should have voice in this too.” Budjir put in a word for the _Slanderscree's_ captain. ”It will be he who will bear considerable responsibility for taking us safely across uncharted ice, and for maneuvering us to safety should trouble arise.”
”That's incidental,” September countered vigorously. ”I'll grant old Tahoding his piece, but it's more important that we?”
”I detect an odd smell in here, Baftem.” Conversation at the table ceased.
The speaker was a richly dressed Tran standing very close to their booth. His dan spines were lac-quered silvery chrome and pink, and he was nearly smothered beneath the impossibly thick fur of some slick white-striped and black-spotted creature. Next to him stood one of the largest Tran Ethan had seen, well over one and two-thirds meters tall and broad in proportion to a normal Tran physique.
The latter had one paw resting lightly on the b.u.t.t of some weapon banded to his left leg. It was dull white and gray and looked like the femur of some walking animal, possi-bly that of another Tran. Intricate bas-relief covered the club. Its k.n.o.bby bottom end had been shaped into points.
”An offensive odor-I smell it too,” said the giant, smiling unpleasantly. Ethan noted that conversation in the tavern had dropped to a steady, low susurration. Most eyes were on them.
The wealthy local performed an elaborate gesture through the air in front of his nose, accompanying it with much expressive grimacing. Continuing to s.h.i.+eld his muzzle from some imaginary olfactory offense, he made a show of searching the area around the booth, peering beneath chairs, sniffing the table, checking the floor. On all fours he approached Hunnar's seat, stopped sniffing, and stood. For effect, he sniffed once more, loudly enough for all the onlookers to hear.
”I believe I've found the source, Baftem,” he told his companion. ”Someone has had the bad manners to bring a castrated _bourf_ into the room.”
The quiet became total. When no one at the table reacted, the giant wrinkled his own muzzle distinc-tively, squinted at Hunnar and made a disgusted sound.
”You know how the enoglids drain once they've been neutered. Awful smell!” He looked around the table, exclaimed in mock surprise, ”Yet the source seems to be more than one.”
”Gentle, Baftem. It behooves a citizen to be polite, even to a fixed _bourf_.” He bent over the table, leaning between Ethan and Hunnar. ”Would you get out?”
Ethan admired Hunnar's control as the knight looked over his right shoulder, shouted. ”Innkeeper, whose tavern is this; yours or his?”
With admirable prescience the innkeeper had already retreated to the vicinity of the cook-room doorway. In response to Hunnar's query he made some incomprehensible gabbling noises and ducked inside before further elucidation could be requested.
”Perhaps you are the innkeeper after all.” Hunnar gazed nonchalantly up at the interloper. ”Yet you look more like a rockworm to me.” His gaze dropped to the other's feet. ”But the slime you trail behind you leads from the entrance, not the back rooms.”
Stepping back and pulling his sword in the same motion, the offended citizen slashed down. Hunnar was still balanced on the rear two legs of his chair. As the blade descended he shoved back. The st.u.r.dy back of the chair hit the attacker in the midsection, sending him stumbling away.
Ethan had managed to slide from behind the table and draw his own weapon. It weighed more than a cardmeter, but he'd been forced to learn how to use this new persuader in the past months. He didn't see the Tran who'd slipped up behind all of them, but dalJagger did. The would-be a.s.sa.s.sin threw Hunnar off-balance as he stumbled into him, clawing blindly at the squire's dirk which protruded between his eyes.
Everyone in the tavern, it seemed, charged them then. Ice swords and axes of bone and metal flailed wildly at the newcomers. Ethan found himself on the floor, trying to avoid the lance a husky customer was thrusting at him. He rolled, and the lance point struck sparks from the stone paving. The lance wielder tried raising his weapon for another strike when a table hit him in the face.
After throwing the table, September found himself wrestling with the giant Tran who'd backed up the wealthy insultmonger. The enormous bone club thrummed through the air. September skipped agilely out of its path. It took a head-sized chunk out of the wooden wall of the booth.
September moved in, hitting his feline opponent hard in the midsection. The giant grunted in surprise but didn't fall. He raised the club over his head, his expression turning from furious to foolish. September lifted the lightly-boned colossus into the air and threw him halfway across the tavern.
Knowing full well his own limitations where physi-cal combat was concerned, Milliken Williams crouched low in the booth and did his utmost not to draw atten-tion to his presence.
Ethan ducked a sword swing, grabbed the Tran by the neck and wrenched him off his feet. He struck the wall hard, went limp, and collapsed. Between the unexpected strength of the heavy-bodied humans and the professional fighting skill of Sir Hunnar and his squires, the large but undisciplined group of attackers was having a difficult time.
The aroma of blood began to be overpowering.
Ethan blocked a wide saber swing with his arm, felt the impact reverberate up to his shoulder muscles. Trying to bring as much of his weight to bear as pos-sible, he swung his own sword over and down. His op-ponent parried, but the force of the blow knocked his blade from his hand. He knelt and recovered it before Ethan could strike again. But instead of resuming his a.s.sault, he backed away and hunted for help.
The most effective combatant of all proved to be not September, Sir Hunnar, or any of the rampaging citizens, but the innkeeper.
A ma.s.sive circular band of black wrought iron hung from the rafters. It supported eight large oil-burning lamps. When September pulled it out of the ceiling and began to swing it as a weapon, the proprietor decided the time had come to make a stand for fiscal sanity. Being metal, the chandelier was the most valuable single furnis.h.i.+ng in the tavern. It wouldn't do to have it broken and bent. Risking his life, he charged across the battlefield and emerged on the other side unscathed.
The fight continued only a few minutes more, until, with admirable speed the innkeeper had located a group of constables. One of the combatants near the door announced their impending arrival and the inter-locked fighters instantly separated and began searching out unorthodox exists.
”The kitchen!” Hunnar shouted.
”Why?” Ethan wanted to know. ”We didn't start anything.”
A hand shoved him forward. ”Police are usually the same everywhere, feller-me-lad. Best to avoid them when you can.”
They raced through the malodorous cook-room, emerging into a back alley lightly carpeted with snow. Following Hunnar's lead they ran a short distance to the left, then slowed.
”Why are we slowing down?” Ethan looked back expectantly. But there was no sign of pursuit in the narrow pa.s.sageway. ”We're still fairly close to the tav-ern.”
”They will not come looking for us this way, friend Ethan.” Hunnar was panting steadily, his breaths much shorter and faster than that of the three humans.
”Why not?”
Hunnar indicated the surface they were traversing. With a clawed foot he kicked away the pale white ve-neer of snow to reveal stone blocks beneath. ”There is no icepath here. No Tran in a hurry to go anywhere would leave a fast icepath. This idea I take from you.” His breath condensed, vanis.h.i.+ng with mathematical regularity in front of him.
”We do not think of 'running,' as you are naturally wont to do,” he added. ”Tran do not walk or run where they can chivan. The local authorities will not think of this, and will pursue those who chose the icepaths.”
They continued to follow the stone-paving until they came to a wider road. There they blended into the daily traffic. Only their troubled thoughts distinguished them from the Tran moving busily around them, and they kept those as well concealed as their stained weapons.
Back on board the _Slanderscree_ the other sailors and soldiers crowded quickly around dalJagger and Budjir, inspecting their slight wounds critically, all the while questioning them about the fight. Hunnar and the three humans moved off to the railing, staring back at the innocent harbor scene. ”They attacked us.”
”That's pretty obvious, Milliken.” The school-teacher shook his head impatiently.
”No, no-I'm not restating the obvious. I mean they attacked _us_ - humans.”
”What's so signif-” Ethan stopped, thoughtful. ”I see. Ever since we've been here the locals have treated us with courtesy, even deference.” He glanced up at September excitedly. ”Skua, remember that incident a few days ago when we first went to visit the portmaster? The crowd that confronted Hunnar outside but backed off when we looked ready to intervene? What happened to that protection today?”
”I can only think of one thing, lad.” September con-tinued to stare at the town, one newly survival-suited hand picking at the ice on the wooden railing. ”It was a preplanned attack. We were deliberately provoked. Or rather, Hunnar and his boys were, in the hope that you and I and Milliken would be drawn in-as we were. Somebody wants us dead, as well as Hunnar. I thought some of the customers fought awfully well for a bunch of spontaneously irritated townsfolk.”
”But why?” Ethan's thoughts were as steady as the wind, which is to say, not at all.