Part 4 (1/2)

Groaning and retching, Pavek hauled himself to his knees. His last-ditch defiance, which had broken his nose so many times, sent disastrous words to his mouth: Elabon Escrissar can wait until I'm dead. But fortunately, his mouth was full of blood and he couldn't say anything. Dovanne yanked her one-time lover to his feet.

”Carry him,” she told the half-giant.

That was more indignity than a living man could endure. Pavek spat blood. ”I... can... walk.”

”Then start walking.” Dovanne pointed a slender sap at the open door.

Pavek took one unsteady step after another. He clung to the handrail and pretty much fell down the first flight of stairs. It got easier after that. Dovanne delivered a solid wallop, but she and her sap hadn't broken any bones. He wondered if that was an accident or the lingering scar of affection.

The pain was down to dull aches and he was moving fairly well by the time they got to the zarneeka corridor. The locked door was open. Dovanne gave him a shove between the shoulder blades.

A trestle table had been set up in the center of the storeroom. Rokka stood behind it, busily mixing tiny scoops of zarneeka powder with much larger dollops of plain flour from the half-giant's barrels. He dumped the combination onto sc.r.a.ps of crude paper. Escrissar himself folded the sc.r.a.ps into self-sealing Ral's Breath packets with elegant movements of his taloned fingers.

The mask tilted upward. Their arrival had been noticed. Sharp eyes appraised him coldly from the depths of the mask. He turned away.

There was a halfling in the storeroom as well; he must have been behind the half-giant earlier. A hideous scar in the form of the Escrissar family crest had been burned into the halfling's face. The slave worked alone in a corner, blending zarneeka powder in a bowl with what looked and smelled like golden wine. A similar bowl bubbled on a tripod set over a blue-flamed lamp.

The implication was clear enough, even to a punch-drunk regulator: zarneeka was the necessary ingredient in Ral's breath, but, contrary to Metica-and King Hamanu's a.s.sertion-it was also the necessary ingredient in something else. ”Pavek, Pavek, Pavek,” Escrissar chanted, sucking his teeth and shaking his head between each repet.i.tion of Pavek's name. ”Whatever are we going to do with you? You've made quite a nuisance of yourself. Too bad you weren't born in Tyr; there they might call you a hero, but here you're just a pathetic little man. A jozhal nipping at the Dragon's heel.”

The question was pure rhetoric. Pavek knew what they intended to do with him. He had nothing left to lose or defend. That realization made him reckless. ”Haven't you heard-the Dragon's dead-brought down by a pack of jozhals.”

Escrissar's enameled talons flashed in the lamplight. They were razor-sharp near the tips and opened Pavek's cheek despite his belated efforts to dodge them. He caught his balance dangerously close to the halfling's tripod. The scarred slave's eyes were dead-black and filled with contempt; that expression did not change when the slave looked past Pavek to his master. Pavek let the wall do the hard work of keeping him upright while he sorted through what he saw.

Slaves did not cherish their masters. Hatred, intense and justified, seethed just below the most obsequious smile. Insolence that fell just short of disobedience had to be tolerated, even in Urik, but no slave should have survived the look the halfling gave his master.

Yet, like Rokka with the druid woman, Escrissar didn't retaliate.

Through the aches and haze, Pavek slowly understood that Escrissar didn't know the secret of the simmering decoction. He stared at the tripod, envisioning his foot thrust through the tripod's legs, overturning the crucible, and blatantly daring Escrissar to pluck his thoughts. The mask chuckled.

”Try it, if it will make you feel better before you die, but heroics will buy you nothing. We already have enough Laq to delude all Urik. We have plans, plans, Pavek, plans for all Athas now that the Dragon, as you said, has been brought down by a pack of jozhals.” Pavek, plans for all Athas now that the Dragon, as you said, has been brought down by a pack of jozhals.”

Laq.

Pavek's foot stayed where it was. Ral's Breath took the ache out of a strained muscle or throbbing head. Laq made people crazy, then it killed them. It didn't add cleanly, but then, he wasn't an alchemist. That halfling undoubtedly was; and that halfling was making Laq in his crucible. With those hate-filled eyes, the slave was closer to pure evil than Elabon Escrissar could hope to be; closer, even, than the sorcerer-king, Hamanu.

Maybe death now, before Escrissar's alchemist spread his poison across the Tablelands, would be a blessing.

”King Hamanu will take you apart.” He spat out the words before he thought to censor them.

”Who will tell him? You? Our mighty king will never know-until it's too late. The rains have come; Athas will belong to us.” Escrissar's voice was tired; he'd grown bored with the game. ”Get rid of him!”

Pavek glanced at the alchemist before Dovanne and Rokka seized his arms. The halfling's expression had not changed. A tiny thrill of victory beat against Pavek's ribs: slaves were still slaves. This one, he decided, would slit his master's throat when the moment was right and take Escrissar completely by surprise when he did.

Then Dovanne shoved him through the door. The half-giant gathered him into a death-hug.

”Sa.s.sel!” Dovanne shouted, treating the half-giant as if he were deaf as well as impressionable. ”Let go of him.”

So, she wasn't going to give anyone else the honor of getting rid of him.

”No, I need you here,” Escrissar countermanded. ”Sa.s.sel knows what do to-don't you, Sa.s.sel?”

The half-giant clamped his great hands on either side of Pavek's skull and began to squeeze.

”Not here!” the interrogator said quickly. ”Take him outside. Take him where no one will notice another corpse.”

Pavek wasn't as resigned to death as he thought. His mind was racing as Sa.s.sel carried him through the catacombs to the street. The problem with half-giants wasn't their lack of intelligence, but their single-mindedness. In Sa.s.sel's mind ”outside” might be outside the customhouse, or it might be outside the city walls. If it was the latter, there might still be hope for a battered and bleeding regulator.

”There's no need to get rid of me, Sa.s.sel. Take me outside the city walls, and I'll get rid of myself. You'll never see me again, and neither will anyone else in Urik.”

”Not going outside the walls. 'Take him where no one will notice another corpse.' Corpses get noticed outside the walls. Going to the boneyard. No one will notice another corpse in the boneyard.”

One failure: Sa.s.sel combined loyalty with his single-mindedness. Pavek tried another tack. ”You're not a templar, Sa.s.sel. Only templars can leave corpses at the boneyard without paying the knacker at the gate.”

Sa.s.sel scratched his beard, leaving only one arm wrapped around his captive's waist. Pavek held still, not wanting to disturb the half-giant while he thought his way through the complication.

”Sa.s.sel has money. Sa.s.sel pay. Lord Escrissar pay Sa.s.sel again, for obeying orders so well.”

”Does Elabon Escrissar always reward Sa.s.sel when Sa.s.sel obeys his orders?”

”Always. Sa.s.sel always obeys his orders, always gets a reward.”

”In gold, Sa.s.sel?” Pavek said, fighting to keep the desperation from his voice as Sa.s.sel started walking again, carrying him toward the boneyard, which was, in fact, a very good place to lose a corpse, and where the knacker accepted all donations, no questions asked or coins required. ”You've got to pay the knacker with gold, gold, Sa.s.sel, if you want him to keep his mouth shut.” Sa.s.sel, if you want him to keep his mouth shut.”

The half-giant stopped short. ”Gold? No gold. Sa.s.sel has silver, no gold.”

”Then Sa.s.sel can't obey Elabon Escrissar. Escrissar will be very angry. He'll punish Sa.s.sel instead of giving him a reward, Sa.s.sel should listen to Pavek. Sa.s.sel should put Pavek down and listen to him.”

Half-giants could change their most unswerving loyalty with alarming speed, but Pavek had overplayed his position.

”Pavek the templar should listen to Sa.s.sel. Templar talk nice to the knacker. Templar get Sa.s.sel into the boneyard for nothing.”

”Pavek the templar will do nothing of the kind.”

”Then Pavek the templar dies right here. Sa.s.sel tells a lie to nice Lord Escrissar; Sa.s.sel says Pavek's corpse is in the boneyard. Maybe Lord Escrissar learns the truth tomorrow. Maybe Elabon Escrissar never learns the truth. Sa.s.sel gets reward tonight anyway.”

Pavek conceded defeat. He'd never expected deceit worthy of any templar from the mouth of a half-giant. Athas truly was changing. ”But you can't carry me to the boneyard. I can't 'talk nice' to the knacker if I'm tucked under your arm. He won't listen to me.”

The half-giant changed his grip, setting Pavek gently on his feet. ”Sa.s.sel didn't think of that. Pavek walk now.”

Pavek didn't walk; he ran for the shelter of the nearest dark street. He had a twenty-step lead before Sa.s.sel collected his wits.

It wasn't enough time to hide: Sa.s.sel had the same low-light advantage over him that Rokka had, but there was enough time to look for a weapon. The little metal knife wouldn't damage a half-giant. He hoped for something he could use as a spear or a club, but Urik's scavengers were thorough. The best he saw was a chunk of glazed masonry large and heavy enough to crack a half-giant's skull if-a big big if-he could get close enough to use it effectively. Pavek hid the masonry behind his back. if-he could get close enough to use it effectively. Pavek hid the masonry behind his back.

Half-giants were too big for Urik's intersections. Sa.s.sel had to stop completely before he could enter Pavek's street.