Part 6 (1/2)
She could well imagine who was on it.
The Whistler Whistler reached Ila around noon, some twelve hours behind schedule. Exiting the train with relief, Luzelle hurried along the platform, into the station house and out the other side without a glance to spare for her surroundings. Snagging a miskin-drawn cab, she tossed her luggage in and ordered the driver to head for the docks. The man stared blankly, and she realized that he spoke no Vonahrish. She tried Hetzian without success, and then broken Grewzian, which drew results. He nodded, she entered, and off they went at a stolid miskin pace. reached Ila around noon, some twelve hours behind schedule. Exiting the train with relief, Luzelle hurried along the platform, into the station house and out the other side without a glance to spare for her surroundings. Snagging a miskin-drawn cab, she tossed her luggage in and ordered the driver to head for the docks. The man stared blankly, and she realized that he spoke no Vonahrish. She tried Hetzian without success, and then broken Grewzian, which drew results. He nodded, she entered, and off they went at a stolid miskin pace.
No use telling him to hurry-the woolly-headed double-tailed beast that he drove was not to be bullied. On they plodded through the streets of Ila, and Luzelle gazed out the open window at old wooden architecture weathered by water and salt spray to a pleasing shade of grey. The cobbles of the narrow streets echoed the muted monotone of the buildings, and the cool, tangy air spoke of fish, seaweed, salt water, and prolonged human habitation. The gulls wheeled and screeched overhead, but Luzelle hardly heard them.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Neither driver nor miskin complied. To the left rose the s.h.i.+pwreck Inn, its timbers black with age and tar. Inside-soft feather bed, clean sheets, hot water, and soap....
Not today.
On they went at the same infuriating plod through the sea-smelling streets and down to the docks, where modern steamers loomed alongside the old-fas.h.i.+oned sailing vessels, and the wharves were crowded with the booths of the ticketing agents and the sheds of the freight brokers. Now, if only some of them spoke Vonahrish.
Alighting from the cab, Luzelle paid the driver and turned her attention toward the agents, three of whom she tried in quick succession. All of them spoke Vonahrish, and all of them relayed identical information. The next pa.s.senger liner bound for Dalyon would not depart Ila before tomorrow morning.
With the freight brokers, she had better luck. The big steamer Karavise Karavise was scheduled to embark for the city-state of Lanthi Ume in just one hour's time. was scheduled to embark for the city-state of Lanthi Ume in just one hour's time.
”Pa.s.senger s.p.a.ce?” Luzelle demanded.
”Some. Not what you'd call luxurious, it's a cargo s.h.i.+p. Not what you'd really call private, either. Four berths per slot. And no other women aboard.” The broker couldn't suppress a smile. ”Maybe you want to wait for the Keldhaam Gnuxia. Keldhaam Gnuxia. Pa.s.senger liner, pleasant quarters, good chef. Leaves for Gard Lammis tomorrow morning. Now, you see that booth over there with the blue lettering on it? Just go on over there and tell the agent that you'd like a nice, clean, first-cla.s.s stateroom aboard the Pa.s.senger liner, pleasant quarters, good chef. Leaves for Gard Lammis tomorrow morning. Now, you see that booth over there with the blue lettering on it? Just go on over there and tell the agent that you'd like a nice, clean, first-cla.s.s stateroom aboard the Keldhaam- Keldhaam-”
”No, I want the next s.h.i.+p out.”
”Better think it over, little lady. It's not like you were the same as the last. At least she she could shut herself up in that contraption of hers, for decency's sake.” could shut herself up in that contraption of hers, for decency's sake.”
”She? Contraption?”
”Turned up yesterday at the break of dawn, just in time to catch the Rhelish Mercenary. Rhelish Mercenary. Perfect scarecrow of a woman-northerner, I bet-driving this outlandish fire hazard of a carriage. Wanted the carriage s.h.i.+pped to Dalyon, so it made sense that she'd have real need of a cargo vessel. Whereas you-” Perfect scarecrow of a woman-northerner, I bet-driving this outlandish fire hazard of a carriage. Wanted the carriage s.h.i.+pped to Dalyon, so it made sense that she'd have real need of a cargo vessel. Whereas you-”
”Whereas I am not prepared to wait.” Luzelle found that her foot was tapping, her sense of urgency mounting. Szett Urrazole had come through yesterday morning, and must be over halfway to Lanthi Ume by now. I wish I could blow that Miracle Self-Propelling Monstrosity of hers to bits. I swear I'd do it, if I could. I wish I could blow that Miracle Self-Propelling Monstrosity of hers to bits. I swear I'd do it, if I could. ”May I have a slot to myself?” ”May I have a slot to myself?”
”At the price of four berths.”
”Agreed.” Why not? The Ministry of Foreign Affairs was paying for it.
Money changed hands, the broker presented her with a ridiculous quartet of tickets, and Luzelle boarded the Karavise Karavise, a vessel clean and grimly utilitarian. One of the crew conducted her belowdecks to her slot, which proved windowless, low ceilinged, and only just large enough to accommodate a pair of narrow, steel-framed bunk beds, all hers for the duration of the trip. She might, if she chose, spend the next two nights flitting from bunk to bunk, just to make sure that the ministry got its money's worth.
The ba.s.s hoot of the whistle and the deep-throated cough of the engine recalled her to the present. Karavise Karavise throbbed on the verge of departure. Luzelle glanced about her. Already the walls of her slot were closing in. The s.p.a.ce was too small for one pa.s.senger, much less four. Thrusting her bag beneath one of the beds, she made her way back to the deck, sensing the pressure of eyes on her as she went. Of course the sailors would look, no harm in that, but these fellows were decent- throbbed on the verge of departure. Luzelle glanced about her. Already the walls of her slot were closing in. The s.p.a.ce was too small for one pa.s.senger, much less four. Thrusting her bag beneath one of the beds, she made her way back to the deck, sensing the pressure of eyes on her as she went. Of course the sailors would look, no harm in that, but these fellows were decent-at least as decent as those Grewzian soldiers back in Glozh-and anyway, the door of her slot bolted from the inside.
The sea breeze was sharply bracing, and her spirits lifted. For a couple of minutes she strolled the deck, then went to the railing and stood there gazing down at the pier. The gangplank had not yet been removed, and a few last-minute pa.s.sengers were still coming aboard. She studied them and her breath caught, for she spied a pair of youthful slim figures impossible to mistake, identically clad in cream frock coats and fawn trousers. The Festinette twins, playfully elbowing one another as they advanced, followed by porters bearing mountains of luggage. And behind the twins, a towering black-bearded man, carrying his own valise; Bav Tchornoi, the former Ice Kings champion.
Three of her compet.i.tors; and doubtless others already aboard. Luzelle expelled her breath slowly, torn between disappointment and an odd excitement. She'd thought she'd left Girays and most of the others behind in Toltz, but the Ilavian Whistler's Ilavian Whistler's protracted delay had altered matters, and the race was still very much on. protracted delay had altered matters, and the race was still very much on.
The gangplank vanished, the whistle sounded, and the Karavise Karavise embarked. For a time Luzelle stood watching the docks recede, the grey-blue seawater rus.h.i.+ng beneath the hull, the raucous gulls trailing the boat, until these sights palled and she resumed her promenade along the deck. Presently she encountered Bav Tchornoi, who nodded at her with an air of guarded civility as she approached. She returned the nod but did not pause to speak, for his aspect was forbiddingly morose. His face, behind its black thatching of beard, was flushed, and he clasped a silvery flask in one huge hand. She caught a potent alcoholic reek as she pa.s.sed him, and mentally registered, embarked. For a time Luzelle stood watching the docks recede, the grey-blue seawater rus.h.i.+ng beneath the hull, the raucous gulls trailing the boat, until these sights palled and she resumed her promenade along the deck. Presently she encountered Bav Tchornoi, who nodded at her with an air of guarded civility as she approached. She returned the nod but did not pause to speak, for his aspect was forbiddingly morose. His face, behind its black thatching of beard, was flushed, and he clasped a silvery flask in one huge hand. She caught a potent alcoholic reek as she pa.s.sed him, and mentally registered, vouvrak. vouvrak.
On she wandered toward the bow, eyes scanning the deck as she went, lighting at length on the object of her unconscious search-a lean upright figure, dark hair, careless pose.
Luzelle stopped. Girays v'Alisante stood at the rail gazing out over the Sea of Silence, quite unaware of her presence. He had obviously escaped the smoky fracas in Irstreister Square uninjured, and the rush of relief that surged through her was followed at once by an acute sense of awkwardness. She had nothing pleasant to say to him, and no desire to quarrel, which left little room for conversation. Best to retire quietly, avoiding his notice altogether.
Then Girays turned and saw her. The smile that so enlivened his habitually weary expression glinted, and he observed, ”Ah, I wondered if I should find you here.”
Too late for retreat, and she wasn't about to let him see her uncertainty. Luzelle's chin came up and she advanced.
”I'm sorry I can't return the compliment,” she replied. ”Nor can I fathom your interest in my whereabouts.”
”Then the years have surely dulled your wits. A pity,” he opined in that gilt-edged, own-the-world accent of his. ”The smoke a.s.sault at the start of the race furnished you a substantial lead, which I perceived as temporary. But I've overtaken you even sooner than I expected, thus affording myself the simultaneous pleasures of success and your company.”
”Enjoy them both while you can,” Luzelle advised. He was insufferable as ever, but he would eat dust before the end of the race. ”Neither is likely to last beyond the term of this pa.s.sage.”
”You wrong yourself, Miss Devaire. I admire you, and truly credit your ability to keep pace with me a little while longer.”
”I always thought you gifted with a sense of irony, but now perceive your sense of humor veering toward the farcical. Perhaps it is the effect of advancing age.”
”Cranky little Luzelle, you are still so entertaining.”
”If only the same could be said of you, how we might lighten the tedium of one another's voyage. As it is...” Her voice trailed sadly. She held her temper strenuously in check. ”Despite the ravages of time, however, you still possess the power to satisfy my curiosity.”
”I live to do so, but how shall I dare address the question to which Miss Devaire does not already possess an answer?”
”Direct observation has its advantages. Tell me what happened in Irstreister Square.”
”Ah.” Girays's smile faded. ”Several separate small explosions, loosing quant.i.ties of smoke. n.o.body burned, dismembered, or hit by flying debris that I know of. Great confusion, fear, uproar, and blind activity, though. I myself had to stumble and grope my way from the square, but managed to find my way out intact. Plenty of others, half blinded or half suffocated by the smoke, weren't so fortunate.”
”What happened to them?” She wasn't sure she really wanted to know.
”Hospital in Toltz, I believe. I've heard that one of the Grand Ellipse racers-liZendorf, that Hetzian horse-breeder-was incapacitated. No fatalities, though.”
”What exploded?”
”Are you requesting a recipe? You might better ask who engineered the explosions.”
”Well?”
”Only a few profited by the diversion, and you are one of them.”
”You think I I-”
”Certainly not. But there are those Grewzians, and we know what they are. That flashy, synthesized hero of theirs-”
”Stornzof?”
”The demiG.o.d.”
”I can't believe him responsible.”
”No?” Girays's dark brows arched. ”You seem certain. Do you know this Grewzian so well, then?”
”I don't know him at all, but-”
”But?”