Part 67 (2/2)

For a startled instant no one said a word. Then Fiffengurt turned to Bolutu with an exasperated gesture. 'Speak, man, speak!' The dlomic man cupped his hands to his lips.

'Waelmed!' he shouted. ' he shouted. 'Peace te abbrun ye, en greetigs hrom ecros ke Nelroq!'

The four figures turned and ran. One of the women gave an odd, keening cry. Then all four vanished around one of the rootlike b.u.t.tresses of the tower.

The others in the party scowled in bewilderment. What Bolutu had shouted was almost almost Arquali, and yet unlike anything they had ever heard. Arquali, and yet unlike anything they had ever heard.

'What in the tar-bottomed Pits was that gibberish?' said Fiffengurt.

'That was their language, Quartermaster,' said Bolutu promptly, 'and my own. I'm happy to tell you that our Imperial Common Tongue, which we call dlomic, is first cousin to your Arquali, for the simple reason that your empire was founded by exiles from Bali Adro, many centuries ago. Didn't I say Pazel's Gift would not be needed? Give yourselves a week or two, and you'll understand almost anyone you meet. You speak a dialect of dlomic, my friends, and have done so all your lives.'

'Exiles?' said Thasha faintly.

'Human exiles,' said Bolutu, 'but in Bali Adro every child - human or dlomu or otherwise - learns Imperial Common. Your histories don't reach back that far, m'lady, but ours do, and they leave little doubt. Your great Empire began as a colony of our own.'

He spoke with humility, as if he knew his words would shock. They did, of course. But no one exclaimed, or asked questions. They had gone beyond shock in recent weeks, and thirst was making it hard to think or care about anything else.

Yet in some part of his mind Pazel was still fearful and confused. 'Why did they run off, if you were speaking their language?' he asked.

'They didn't understand a word!' said Alyash vehemently. 'They're savages, obviously.'

'In these parts? Nonsense!' said Bolutu. 'I expect they were swimming, and we startled them.' His silver eyes glanced at them sidelong. 'You should see yourselves. I might run too, if you popped suddenly out of the sea.'

They headed for sh.o.r.e, through the cool spray of the breakers striking the jetty's seaward face. The village was out of sight behind the wall along the sh.o.r.e, except for a few roofs and steeples in poor repair. Little sand-coloured crabs ran before them. Grey pelicans swept by overhead.

Pazel was frowning. 'It doesn't add up,' he whispered to Thasha. 'The way they just froze, staring at us. And then ran off without a word.'

Thasha blinked, as though struggling to focus on his words. 'Their hair was still dry,' she managed finally. 'They hadn't been swimming.'

Pazel squeezed her hand tighter. The behaviour of the humans was certainly strange, but Thasha's troubled him even more. Her awareness of him, and for that matter of all that surrounded her, came and went like the sun through drifting clouds. Often her gaze turned inwards, as though her body were forgotten, and she was living in some distant country of the mind. But at other times her eyes jumped and darted, chasing things invisible to his eyes. Was it the Nilstone at work? She had touched it with the hand he held now, the one she'd maimed years ago in the garden of the Lorg. He ran a finger over the scar. It was warm to the touch.

Her hand twitched as though he'd found a ticklish spot. She gave him a look that was briefly clear, and once more that hint of a smile played over her lips.

'Oggosk can't do much to us now,' she said.

Pazel nodded, avoiding her gaze. It was true: they were free. The ixchel were no secret; Oggosk had run out of blackmail. But the witch had had a reason for her threats, something she believed absolutely. What Thasha is to do, she must do alone. You can only get in her way What Thasha is to do, she must do alone. You can only get in her way.

They reached the jetty's end. Fiffengurt stepped ash.o.r.e, knelt, and kissed the sand at his feet.

'Hail Cora, proud and beautiful,' he said, and the others mumbled an affirming 'Hail.' It was a ritual never to be skipped: the commander's greeting to Cora, G.o.ddess of the earth, at the end of any particularly deadly voyage. Failure to do so, it was thought, could bring disasters ash.o.r.e to match those just avoided at sea.

As Fiffengurt rose, something caught his eye. He chuckled, pointing. Scattered on the earth were several piles of blue-black mussel sh.e.l.ls, still wet from the sea. A few had been cracked open. Pazel looked down, and saw the little sh.e.l.ls clinging thickly to base of the jetty, right at the water-line.

'So that's what they were up to,' he said. 'But why didn't they bring a basket? How were they going to carry them home?'

'No clothes, no baskets, no tools,' said Alyash, frowning. 'Right free spirits, ain't they?'

'It is is strange - I confess it,' said Bolutu sharply. 'But there are strange folk everywhere. Come, let us go and clear this matter up.' strange - I confess it,' said Bolutu sharply. 'But there are strange folk everywhere. Come, let us go and clear this matter up.'

Suddenly a cry, faint but urgent, reached them from the Chathrand Chathrand. They turned and looked at her, but could see nothing amiss. The sound did not come again.

'We must find that water,' said Hercol. 'The crew's patience is at an end.'

The tower doors were shut; a bolt as thick as Pazel's upper arm lay across them, with locks at either end the size of dinner plates. Sand buried the foot of the ramp leading up to the doors. 'This makes no sense at all,' said Bolutu, 'unless the tower became unsafe while I was gone. But what am I saying? It has stood for a thousand years! Why should it weaken in the last twenty?'

The path to the village ran along the outside of the sea-wall, and was overgrown with trefoil and gorse. A mile ahead, near the quay with its crumbling docks and outbuildings, it pa.s.sed through a stone archway. 'There should be a common well,' said Bolutu, but the confidence was gone from his voice.

They made for the village. But they had not gone twenty paces when one of the Turachs grunted, 'Look there!'

A man had stepped from the archway. He was naked like the other four, and like them strangely crouched and shuffling. He darted back through the gate before Bolutu could call to him.

Bolutu rushed along the track, no longer able to hide his concern. Fiffengurt shouted after him: 'Wait for us, d.a.m.n it, don't you dare--'

Bolutu did not wait. He broke into a run, sandals slapping along the dusty track. The others followed him in some confusion, not certain whether more haste or less was called for. Hercol drew Ildraquin from its sheath.

A sudden shout came from their left, echoing off the stones. It was a man's voice, but it uttered no words. It was simply a hoot, challenging and somehow derisive.

'Where are you, blast it?' cried Fiffengurt, turning in place.

'There, sir!' said a Turach, pointing upwards. A child's face, wild of hair and eye, ducked quickly behind the sea-wall.

'We should double back,' said Alyash. 'I don't fancy walkin' alongside that wall. They could rain stones down on us, or worse.'

While the others stood undecided, Thasha pulled Pazel forwards, towards the gate. There was an urgency in the way she tugged him, as though she both needed and feared what lay ahead. Hercol came after them. Despite the others' protests the three were soon running after Bolutu, who was by now a good distance ahead.

Long before they could reach him he gained the archway. There he paused, and spread his hands as if in delight. He turned and flashed them a smile, the white teeth very bright in the black face, and then he vanished through the archway.

They were a hundred yards from the opening when they heard him scream. It was a sound of horror, or of pain. Hercol redoubled his speed, his black sword held aloft. Pazel and Thasha followed as fast as their legs would carry them.

An ambush, thought Pazel. Aya Rin, we're probably too late. Aya Rin, we're probably too late.

They reached the archway and skidded to a halt. They were not too late: there at twenty paces stood Bolutu, in a little square formed by dilapidated structures of stone. There was a round stone basin at the centre - a basin with water a basin with water, Pazel saw with a flash of pure longing. And before Bolutu stood two of his own kind - two dlomu, blacker than black, their eyes four bright silver coins. An old man and a young. They wore tattered work clothes, wool caps pulled low over their silver hair, boots of sunbleached leather. They held no weapons, and showed no sign of threat.

Bolutu stood by the basin, gazing at them. His mouth was open, and his face was clenched like that of a man told something so ghastly that he was struggling to spit it from his mind. The other two were speaking to him gently, insisting that there was nothing to fear. 'Don't worry,' they said, again and again. 'Don't worry, they obey us, they're tame.'

'Tame?' cried Bolutu, his voice almost unrecognisable.

'Of course,' said the younger dlomu. 'We knew they could be--'

He broke off with a frightened shout. He had spotted the three newcomers in the archway. 'G.o.ds unseen!' he shouted. 'Look at them, Father, look!'

Bolutu gestured desperately: Don't come in here, stay back Don't come in here, stay back. But Hercol marched boldly through the gate and into the village, and Pazel and Thasha followed. The dlomu backed away from them.

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