Part 19 (1/2)
”How long've you been in Montfort?” the brute eyeing Luthien asked slyly, fis.h.i.+ng for clues.
Now Oliver stepped forward and wrapped his arm about Luthien's waist forcefully. ”Since the day my son was born,” the halfling proclaimed, to the wide-eyed stare of Luthien. ”Alas, for his poor mother. She could not accept the size of this one.”
The cyclopians looked at each other in confusion and disbelief. ”He's your father?” the one addressing Luthien asked.
Luthien draped his arm about Oliver's shoulders. ”My papa halfling,” he answered, imitating Oliver's thick accent.
”And what business-” the cyclopian began to ask, but a comrade of his grabbed his arm and interrupted, motioning for him to drop the matter.
The cyclopian's fierce scowl diminished as he glanced around the marketplace. Dozens of men, a couple of dwarves, and a handful of elves were watching intently-too intently-their faces grim and more than one of them wearing a dirk or short sword at his belt.
The cyclopian group was soon on its way.
”What happened?” Luthien asked.
”The cyclopians just met people who have found their hearts,” Oliver answered. ”Come along and be quick. The Cutter was right-we should not be about this day.”
”Kiss me.” Her melodic tones caught the young man off guard, and the unexpected request nearly buckled his knees.
Luthien froze in place, staring blankly at Siobhan, having no idea of what to do next.
”You want to.” She stated the obvious.
”I came because I was told that there was some news,” Luthien informed her. He wished that he hadn't said that as soon as the words left his mouth; what a stupid time to be changing the subject!
The half-elf seemed even more alluring to poor Luthien as she stood in the silver moonlight in the shadowy alley behind the Dwelf. She gave a coy smile and pushed her long tresses back from her fair face. Luthien glanced back over his shoulder, as though he expected Oliver to be standing nearby watching him. The halfling had gone into the Dwelf and told Luthien to meet him there when he finished his business with Siobhan.
Luthien looked back to see that Siobhan's smile had already disappeared without a trace.
”The dwarf-” she began grimly, but she stopped suddenly as Luthien leaped up to her and kissed her full on the lips. The embarra.s.sed young man hopped back immediately, searching Siobhan's expression for some hint of a reaction.
But it was Luthien, and not Siobhan, who seemed most ill at ease. The half-elf only smiled and shook the hair back from her face, seemingly composed. ”Why did you ask me to do that?” Luthien asked bluntly.
”Because you wanted to,” Siobhan replied.
Luthien's proud shoulders slumped visibly.
”And I wanted you to do it,” Siobhan admitted. ”But I thought we should be done with it.”
”Be done with it?” Luthien echoed. That did not sound promising.
Siobhan took a deep breath. ”I only thought that you and Oliver should know ...” she began to explain. She paused, as if the words were hard to come by.
Luthien was beginning to get more than a little alarmed. ”Know what?” he prompted, and stepped toward Siobhan, but she put up a defensive hand and took a step back.
”The dwarf,” she went on. ”The dwarf who helped you in Morkney Square. He has been taken by the Praetorian Guard and locked in a dungeon to await trial.”
Luthien's expression went perfectly grave, his hands clenched anxiously at his sides. ”Where?” he asked determinedly. Siobhan had no doubt that he meant to run off at that very moment and rescue the dwarf.
Her helpless shrug, accompanied by a sincere expression, thoroughly deflated him. ”The Praetorian Guards have many dungeons,” she said, shaking her head. ”Many dungeons. The dwarf will be tried in the Ministry on the morrow, along with so many others,” Siobhan quickly added. ”He will be sentenced to the mines, no doubt.”
Luthien didn't understand. He stood in quiet thought for a moment, trying to sort some things out, then looked curiously at Siobhan. How could she possibly know about the dwarf in Morkney Square? he wondered, and it seemed as if she was reading his thoughts, for that coy smile returned to her face.
”I told you there were benefits to being well connected,” she said, answering his unspoken question. ”And I thought that you should know.”
Luthien nodded.
Almost as an afterthought, Siobhan added, ”The dwarf, Shuglin by name, knew that he would be caught, of course.”
”Was he part of your band?”
Siobhan shook her head. ”He was a craftsman and no more.”
Luthien nodded knowingly, but he didn't know anything at all. Why would this craftsman dwarf help him, fully understanding that he would likely be captured and punished?
”I must be going,” Siobhan said, looking up at the position of the moon.
”When will I see you again?” Luthien asked anxiously.
”You will,” Siobhan promised, and started to fade into the shadows.
”Siobhan!” Luthien called, more loudly than he had intended, his desires getting the best of his judgment. The fair maiden stepped back near to him, an inquisitive look on her face.
Staring into the green glow of her eyes, Luthien could not find any words. His expression said it all.
”One more kiss?” she asked. She barely had the words out before Luthien was up against her, his lips soft against hers.
”You will see me again,” she teased again, pulling back. And then she was gone, a shadow among the shadows.
”It is all a game,” Oliver complained when he and Luthien were walking home later that night, the young man with a few too many ales in him. ”Surely you are not so stupid that you cannot understand that.”
”I do not care!” It was a determined statement, if a bit slurred.
”Dwarves are always being accused, tried and sentenced to hard work in the mines,” Oliver went on stubbornly. ”Legal and unarguable slavery. That is how Montfort has become so wealthy, can you not see?”
”I do not care.”
Oliver was afraid Luthien would say that.
Before the next dawn, the two companions were creeping along the city's dividing wall at the base of the Ministry. They got over the divider easily enough, and Oliver, knowing the routine, positioned them in the shadows of the cathedral's northern wing: a transept, one of two armlike sections of the long building that gave it the general shape of a cross. Few buildings were close to the cathedral on this side, forming an open plaza. ”We must go in the west end,” Oliver explained, peeking around the edge of the huge transept wall, and he told Luthien to put away the cape.
Luthien did as instructed, but he was hardly conscious of the act. This was the closest he had been to the Ministry, and how small the young Bedwyr felt! He looked straight up the side of the building's wall to the tremendous flying b.u.t.tresses and many gargoyles hanging out over the edge to look down upon puny humans such as he. Ominous and imposing was Montfort's Ministry in the growing light of predawn.
Soon after the sun came up, the plaza was buzzing with many people, merchants and craftsmen, and quite a few Praetorian Guards, as well. Luthien noted that many of the people had brought their children along with them.
”The last day of the week,” Oliver explained, and Luthien nodded, realizing that another week, and the whole month of September, had indeed pa.s.sed them by. ”Tax day. They bring their children in the hope of mercy.” Oliver's ensuing snicker showed that he did not think mercy a likely thing for any of them.
They waited inconspicuously behind the transept as the Ministry's tall and narrow oaken doors were unlocked and opened at the west end, and the procession made its way into the giant structure, one group at a time. Burly cyclopians stood to either side of the doors, asking questions, herding the men and their families as they would sheep.
Oliver pulled Luthien further back into the shadows of the wall as a caravan of ironbound wagons rolled up to the side door in the middle of the transept's north-facing wall, another impressive portal, though not as huge as the cathedral's towering western doors. Many Praetorian Guards came out of the cathedral to meet the transported prisoners-four men, three women, and two dwarves, all dressed in loose-fitting gray robes, mostly open at the front. Luthien recognized the one who had helped him and Oliver immediately, from the dwarf's bushy blue-black beard poking out under the cowl of his robe, and by his clothes, the same sleeveless leather tunic he had been wearing that morning in Morkney Square.