Part 44 (1/2)
”Do what you must,” she instructed. Turning from him, she went back to accost the number-one champion a second time.
She was hardly aware of what she said to him. She argued loudly, she gestured broadly, she waved fistfuls of Newrekkoes under his nose. She did everything short of handsprings to keep his attention fixed on her, and all the while, out of the corner of her eye, she watched the fhozhees standing in the rain. She saw old NaiZind's spry, drably draped figure steal near one of the vehicles and disappear beneath. After that she kept an ear c.o.c.ked for the thud of hatchet strokes, but the heavy pounding of the rain together with her own extravagant vociferation covered the sound, if such there was. Through it all the southside champion stood steadfastly virtuous. Presently NaiZind emerged into view and slunk away. Whatever he had done was done.
She could stop now. Luzelle let herself fall silent. Affecting an air of reluctant resignation, she took her leave of the undefeated champion. Feeling shabby, she walked away, and NaiZind was beside her at once.
”Allow this humble one the honor of bearing the Esteemed Madame's burdens,” he suggested, and she let him take her valise. The bag went into the fhozhee's box and Luzelle boarded the vehicle, settling herself uncomfortably upon the sopping seat.
As NaiZind placed himself between the shafts, Mesq'r Zavune exited the customhouse. Carpetbag in one hand, umbrella in the other, he hastened straight to the southside champion.
”Go-go!” Luzelle commanded her own hurrier.
”Madame need fear no rival,” NaiZind tossed back over his shoulder, and set off at an indifferent trot, probably his best speed.
She could hardly share his confidence. Luzelle looked back to behold the southside champion solidly positioned between the shafts and galloping like a racehorse. Mesq'r Zavune's fhozhee drew level with her own within a matter of seconds, and then it was past, the distance between the two vehicles lengthening by the moment. She suppressed an angry exclamation. It was happening just as she had feared. Mesq'r Zavune was taking the lead. He would beat her to the Khad-ji, he would secure the best yahdeeneer as he had already secured the best hurrier, he would be first into the city of ZuLaysa, and things would only get worse after that. She should, she realized belatedly, have investigated the alternate hurriers, but she had never even reached them, because the unspeakable NaiZind had managed to intercept, delay, and dupe her, and she had let let him. him.
”If that raincoat beats us to the Khad-ji”-Luzelle raised her voice to make herself heard above the pounding of the rain, the creak of wooden wheels, and the general hubbub of a crowded Aveshquian city-”you shall not have your ten Newrekkoes.”
”Aeh, but they are surely mine,” NaiZind returned cheerfully. ”This is written in the stars. Madame need not fear.”
”Madame wishes she'd never laid eyes on you,” Luzelle muttered under her breath. The old fraud had probably never so much as touched the rival vehicle's axle.
”Now, see-look there, Madame, look there!” NaiZind directed with an air of happy excitement.
Not far ahead the narrow street took a sharp bend. As the southside champion rounded the curve at a run, the sabotaged axle gave way. The fhozhee shuddered, the two big wheels tilted at crazy angles, then one of them released itself and spun away. The vehicle overturned, and Mesq'r Zavune was thrown from his seat.
Remarkable how slowly his body seemed to fly through the air. Luzelle had an un.o.bstructed view, and there was more than ample opportunity to study Zavune's arm-flailing trajectory. For one impossible moment he seemed to hang motionless in midair, his face frozen in an open-mouthed, wide-eyed gape of astonishment. Then he crashed to the ground and lay still. Pedestrians instantly converged on the spot.
”Aeh! So much for the famous southside champion!” crowed NaiZind.
”Stop-stop where you are!” Luzelle exclaimed.
”But Esteemed Madame-”
”I said stop!”
NaiZind obeyed. The fhozhee halted a few feet from the site of the accident, and Luzelle stood up on the seat for a better look. She could see that the southside champion hurrier was quite unharmed. But Mesq'r Zavune lay motionless in the churned-up mud of the roadway, and there was blood on his face, blood that renewed itself as fast as the rain washed it away. His stillness was dreadful. If he was dead, then she was his murderess.
She stood there watching as the crowd gathered and the rain poured down, and minutes pa.s.sed, centuries pa.s.sed. Eternity expired and Zavune stirred but did not open his eyes. He was still alive, at least for now. Luzelle closed her own eyes, but saw him clearly as ever. A singsong voice impinged on her remorse.
”Esteemed Madame-if you would be pleased to seat yourself, Madame-I shall hurry you now to the Khad-ji, as promised and agreed upon. Madame's triumph is certain.”
”Hold your tongue.” She glared down at him, hating him for what he had caused her to do, fully aware that the responsibility was her own. ”This is my fault, do you suppose I'll leave him lying there in the street?”
”What else is there for Madame to do?”
Good question. She thought. ”I can see to it that he's carried to the nearest doctor-”
”Aeh, but the Stick-fellows of the city watch will do that. They will be here within minutes.”
”Then I can at least remain to learn if he'll live.”
”And if he does not?”
No satisfactory answer presented itself.
”The Esteemed Madame must know that the fate of the raincoat lies in the hands of the G.o.ds,” NaiZind observed matter-of-factly. ”He lives or dies according to Their will. Should he perish this day, it is only because his appointed hour has come. There is nothing Madame or I can do to hasten or delay that hour by so much as a single second.”
She stifled a bitter contradiction. No point in arguing philosophy with a devout fatalist.
”I want you to hurry that man to the nearest doctor-” she began, but even as she spoke, a trio of uniformed natives arrived, bearing a stretcher. Their identical rain cloaks displayed the insignia of the UlFoudh city watch, and the crowd made way for them at once.
”Stick-fellows,” NaiZind explained.
Hurrying straight to the injured man's side, the Stick-fellows knelt, performed a swift examination, then transferred Mesq'r Zavune to the stretcher. While two of them carried him off, the third remained to question the witnesses, commencing with the southside champion. Who might have guessed by now that his fhozhee had been tampered with. Who might have a pretty good idea who had done it.
”There, you see?” NaiZind's good cheer never faltered. ”Everything all right now.”
”Is it?”
”The G.o.ds have smiled upon the Esteemed Madame, her troubles are ended. The Khad-ji and victory await.”
A word from her would set the fhozhee in motion. Luzelle hesitated. Her conscience ached like a wound. She should follow Mesq'r Zavune; see to it that he received the best care, pay his medical bills or his funeral expenses as the case might be, pen a letter to his wife back in Aennorve, do what she could to help, inadequate though her efforts might be. On the other hand, she could not afford to linger in UlFoudh-not if she wanted to win the Grand Ellipse. She could not afford the luxury of rect.i.tude, it was bound to slow her down, and she most a.s.suredly could not afford a touchy conscience. She had known from the start that certain sacrifices would be necessary.
Luzelle sat down.
”The Khad-ji,” she commanded. ”Go.”
19.
”THE BEST, ESTEEMED MADAME,” promised the yahdeeneer. ”The best in UlFoudh, the best in all of Aveshq. The finest barge, the most scientifically advanced luxurious accommodations. Would Madame care to inspect the cabin? It is bone dry, Madame, it is most perfectly waterproof.”
”That's very nice, but it's the quality of the beasts that concerns me,” Luzelle told him. ”I need the fastest possible transportation, and-”
”Look upon my beautiful BuBuuj,” the yahdeeneer invited. ”Feast your eyes upon my magnificent MoomYahl. Have you ever seen the like? Esteemed Madame, these are princesses among yahdeeni, they are without equal for loveliness, strength, endurance, swiftness, intelligence, and sweetness.”
”Well-” Luzelle surveyed the princesses in question. She could credit the claims for strength and endurance, as the two yahdeeni floating half submerged beside the river pier were indeed enormous, well fed, and powerfully muscled creatures, built like living fortresses. But loveliness? In the fond eye of their master, perhaps, but she herself could see little beauty in the ma.s.sive ungainly forms colored yellow-brown as the river water, and even less in the broad-snouted visages. As for intelligence-that was difficult to gauge. And sweetness? She gazed down into a pair of porcine yahdeeni eyes and saw no sweetness there. The small yellow orbs seemed to reflect a certain sullen malevolence, but perhaps it was her imagination. In any case she was clearly no judge of yahdeeni-flesh. This was the third team she had inspected, and they all seemed much the same to her. But the afternoon was advancing, she needed to make a quick decision if she hoped for significant upstream progress before nightfall, and this lot seemed as good as any.
”How much?” she asked.
The yahdeeneer named a figure. It was high, but did not seem unreasonably so.
”Agreed,” she returned, and the flame of incredulous joy briefly lighting the other's dark Aveshquian eyes told her at once that she should have haggled, that she had probably just consented to pay three or four times the appropriate fare. Well, she didn't have time to haggle. And it wasn't her money, anyway. Let the ministry worry about it.
a.s.sisting her aboard, the yahdeeneer placed her valise in the tiny cabin, which was horribly daubed in magenta and gold, but well caulked and dry as promised. He then set about fastening and adjusting the huge harnesses, while Luzelle watched from the shelter of the painted awning overhanging the cabin door. For a while all went well until one of the princesses, patience overtaxed, gave a pettish shake of her huge head and turned within the traces to face her keeper. The yahdeen's cavernous jaws gaped. Luzelle caught a glimpse of big yellow teeth and a blast of foul fishy breath. The yahdeeneer, accustomed to his charges' idiosyncrasies, stepped back just in time to avoid a powerfully projected vomitous stream stinking of fish and decayed vegetation. The hot green tide surged across the deck, missing her new shoes by inches. Luzelle gagged and turned her face away, while the yahdeen loosed a hoa.r.s.e cry of triumph blending the bray of a jacka.s.s with the scream of an eagle.
”MoomYahl-MoomYahl!” A burst of reproachful Aveshquian dialect followed.