Dragonsight (20 page)

Jelindel relaxed and took her seat again. She thought of something else. ‘How long before the
Sargasso
returns through the portal?’

‘She usually lays over five days, no more. But you can’t go back on her.’

‘Why?’ Daretor asked.

‘Because if they don’t find you here then they’ll be expectin’ that. They’ll wait till they’re out to sea then they’ll scour the ship stem to stern. Won’t be a single rathole they won’t poke their noses into, and make no mistake.’

Jelindel thought for a moment. ‘My magic powers are back,’ she said. ‘I could make us invisible again …’

‘Might do it,’ said Hakat, ‘an’ might not. If I was them and I figured you was aboard, why, I’d fetch along a nice nosy little mage with me
before
we set sail, and have him cast all manner of spells.’

Jelindel felt a profound weariness seep through her limbs. ‘Is there another way?’

‘There is,’ said Hakat, ‘but it ain’t easy.’

Daretor leaned forward, pouring himself another cup of wine. ‘It rarely is in our line of work,’ he said. ‘So you might as well just tell us.’

‘Like I said, the Farvenu are pirates. Paraworld pirates …’

Jelindel blinked. ‘Of course. They have some means of opening gates between the paraworlds.’

Hakat nodded. ‘That they do, Countess, only it ain’t magic. It’s more of that science stuff of theirs. A machine they snatched long ago from some other paraworld, when they was still using magic to get them through the paraplane.’

‘A machine?’ Jelindel asked doubtfully.

‘Aye. You won’t like it, is my guess,’ said Hakat. ‘And your magic may not work on it, one way or another. But it does work. And there ain’t nothin’ Fa’red can do to stop it, either.’

‘Where is this machine?’

‘There’s more than one. Each clan, and there’s dozens of ’em, has its own. They’re always fighting with each other, trying to outdo their rivals. They’re a bloodthirsty lot.’

‘So we pick a clan headquarters, break in, find the machine, then get back to Q’zar.’ Daretor looked around, waiting for objections.

‘Nah,’ said Hakat. ‘Lessin’ you don’t mind dyin’. But there is a way. Problem is, we can’t do nothing for a week, and your friend might be in hot water by then, along with some onions an’ ‘erbs.’

‘So we break him out first.’

‘We might. Then again, we might not,’ said Hakat. ‘Break ’im out and the hue and cry’ll be ten times as bad. Let’s just wait and see. I know a girl in the kitchens there. I’ll get word to her and we can find out when your friend gets ’imself on the menu, so to speak. After that, we’ll have about eight hours before they start cookin’ ’im.’

Zimak refused to eat. They had been stuffing him with food ever since he arrived. At first it was a welcome change from the meagre rations on board the
Sargasso
. But it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

He had reached his limit. He spat a mouthful of food back into his plate and pushed it away. The servitor frowned. He was a small dark man with odd-shaped pupils and eyebrows that met in the middle of his forehead. Zimak had gleaned from him that he was not native to this paraworld. The man spoke a form of Q’zaran, and only knew it well enough to get by in the market place. With a combination of words, signs and gestures, he had made Zimak understand that he was to eat. And eat a great deal.

In principle, Zimak had no problem with the concept of overeating, and he would never have believed he could fail to do so in practice. But now the old adage that one’s eyes were bigger than one’s stomach was beginning to ring true.

The jailer scowled and muttered as Zimak sat back. The man gestured at Zimak, then at the food. He then abused him roundly in several languages, none of which Zimak understood. Finally, he pressed a stud on a small metal box fastened to the wall and spoke into it. Zimak thought this was odd behaviour, but assumed that there was a spirit or djinn inside the box. Another adage on Q’zar was, when in the henhouse, act like a chicken. Zimak had no idea how prophetic that saying would prove to be.

A few moments later, clearly summoned by whatever messenger was in the box, the door swung open and three barrel-chested guards of an unknown race strode in. They were carrying things that looked like kitchen utensils designed for torture. The men were heavily muscled, and had no neck. Their shaved heads gleamed like helmets, and they had to stoop to get through the door.

Zimak got ready for a struggle, but the guards were expert at handling desperate, aggressive prisoners. Flinging his plate at the head of one guard, Zimak doubled him over with a kick to the stomach, then pushed him into his companion. As Zimak bolted for the door, the third guard dropped his load and slammed it shut. With the advantage of surprise gone, Zimak did not last long.

They trussed Zimak and strapped him to a wooden trolley. At the creak of a lever the trolley hinged upwards like a chair. A metal helmet was rammed over Zimak’s head. It was completely enclosed, except for an opening at the front. The helmet was then fixed to the headboard of the trolley. By squinting down, Zimak could just see part of his lower body. His struggles tightened the bindings all the more.

A flexible hose was inserted through the mouth hole and forced between his lips; it did not stop there. The little man kept feeding the hose in until it hit the back of Zimak’s throat and he started to choke. Zimak clenched his teeth down on the tube, but a stabbing pain across his scalp made him scream. Again and again he tried biting the tube, and each time they made him scream before pushing it in further.

The hose pushed through the back of his throat and into his oesophagus. He kept gagging but, after a few moments, the sickening feeling of being strangled from the inside out dimmed and he found he could breathe. Zimak’s eyes watered. He tried to spit out the metallic taste in his mouth, but the bile kept sliding down his throat. He could hardly see anything now and his panic grew. It can’t get any worse, he assured himself. All the same, he had a feeling that he did not know the half of it.

There were sounds of lids being removed from containers, then stirring. Somebody grunted as though lifting something heavy, and suddenly warm liquid was pouring into Zimak’s stomach. He made a determined effort to resist, but he did not succeed.

‘Zimak’s probably fine,’ said Daretor, taking another bite of jellied ham and washing it down with mulled wine. ‘If they’re feeding him, he’ll be as happy as a pig in a turnip field.’

Hakat looked grim. Jelindel saw the brief unhappy look he gave Daretor. She guessed that Hakat knew more about the feeding methods than he was telling. Jelindel yawned, then rubbed her eyes.

‘I know we should start making plans,’ she said, ‘but I have to get some sleep.’

Hakat immediately jumped up, apologising profusely, and opened a panel in the wall. Behind it was a bed that slid out on rollers.

‘So clever!’ Jelindel exclaimed. ‘In a way that is more marvellous than a magical spell.’

‘They don’t put much store in magic here, Countess,’ said Hakat. ‘Except as something to trade to the paraworlds as value it. The Farvenu are too practical for magic, if you ask me. They like hard, solid, bright things made of metal and wire.’ He gestured idly at the ceiling light. ‘And fancy stuff. Speakin’ of which …’ He pulled out a square black box and held it to his eye. ‘Say some-thin’ nice. Oh, an’ this doesn’t hurt one bit.’

‘Is it more Farvenu science?’ Jelindel said. A bright light flashed and she smarted.

‘Daretor? Would you be so kind as to smile for me camera?’ Hakat asked.

Jelindel finished rubbing her eyes. ‘I hope that thing doesn’t steal anything …’

Daretor looked at Hakat suspiciously. The camera flashed and Daretor grunted.

Hakat put the camera down. ‘Steal something?’ he laughed. ‘Like your soul? No, Jelli. The thing makes an artistic likeness of whoever it’s aimed at. I’ll show you the paintings when they’re … what’s the word? Developed! Once they’re developed. I need ‘em for your papers.’

‘You have strange machines here, Hakat,’ Daretor said, finally looking away from the camera.

Jelindel climbed into bed, luxuriating in the softness of the quilt and the pillows. ‘They can keep their machines,’ she said sleepily, ‘as long as they let me do it my way with magic.’ Moments later, she was asleep.

Hakat lit a fire in the grate with a ‘match’ and placed a wire grille across the front. Daretor showed no sign of wanting to go to bed. He poured himself more wine and beckoned Hakat to do the same. The two men sat before the fire, talking into the night.

Jelindel woke with sunlight on her face. She had a feeling of wellbeing that was quite unfamiliar, given what had been happening over the past weeks. It was as if she had awakened from a long dark nightmare and had finally come into the light of a new day. She stretched, yawned and rubbed her eyes, then sat up and looked around.

Daretor snored softly beside her. They were in a strange bed in a strange room. A few feet away stood a table littered with the scraps of a late-night meal. She gazed up through a transparent skylight, and stared at the astounding cliff city of the Farvenu.

Memories flooded back, and the peace she had felt receded into mere relief at being free again. She got up carefully and went to the washbasin, where she washed her face and hands. For a time she played with the wonderful taps, which poured a seemingly endless stream of clean water, then she cleared the table. A search of the cupboards revealed that one was a pantry, with dried fruit, cheese, bread, small salted fish, and nuts. She had laid out breakfast by the time Daretor opened one eye and grunted something unintelligible.

‘If that’s good morning, then the same to you,’ said Jelindel, smiling impishly.

‘Could I have some bread and cheese in bed?’ he asked.

‘No. This is on the table as incentive for you to get up.’

Daretor sat up, clutching his head, then lay back again.

‘Five bottles of wine. No wonder you are feeling like that,’ Jelindel pointed out.

‘I was establishing a bond of male comradeship with Hakat,’ mumbled Daretor.

‘I knew there were advantages in being female,’ replied Jelindel. ‘Get up, drink some water from the spigot at the washbasin in the corner, then get yourself into the privy. It’s behind that door that looks like a cupboard.’

‘Everything in here is so small and compact.’

‘But a lot less so than your cell. Come now, move.’

Daretor got up and meandered to the corner to wash his face. He entered the little room beside it, and Jelindel heard clattering and curses for a short time. Daretor returned to the washbasin next, turned a spigot and cursed as he unexpectedly got hot water instead of cold.

Hakat was nowhere to be seen but Jelindel was not worried by his absence. He turned up halfway through the meal with several packages, one of which contained fresh-baked bread and a thick chunky fish soup.

‘I’ve been higher up in the city,’ Hakat said in answer to their queries. ‘Getting supplies and finding out stuff.’

‘And what have you found out about us?’ Jelindel asked.

Hakat frowned. ‘I don’t understand it meself,’ he said. ‘No alarm’s been sounded. They gotta know by now you escaped. I wonder what their game is.’

‘If we were caught, would we be turned over straight away?’

‘No. Not unless there’s a reward, and maybe that’s all there is to it. The bigger the hue and cry the larger the reward would have to be. Maybe they’ll just stick you on the list of escaped slaves and leave it at that. It’s not like you can go anywhere.’

‘Why do you have a house here, Hakat?’ Daretor asked. ‘You said the
Sargasso
usually lays over only five days.’

‘Aye, that it does,’ said Hakat. ‘I’m a kind of quartermaster, you see, and they often leave me here between trips to get the best price for the cargo and set up deals for when they come back. They can’t stay more than five days; I dunno why, something to do with the magic that opens the sea portal.’

‘Don’t you mind staying here?’

‘I do and I don’t. Mostly I hate it, but more than that, I hate being on board the
Sargasso
and under Helnick. I know what’s likely to happen to me. One day the
Sargasso
won’t come back and I’ll be left here. It could be worse. There’s some things here … there’s a girl, you know …’ He shrugged.

Jelindel leaned forward. ‘If we find a way back, do you wish to come with us?’

Hakat gazed at her, as if she was offering him something he could not comprehend. ‘Go back? To Q’zar?’

‘And be free,’ said Daretor, glancing perplexedly at Jelindel.

Still puzzling over the idea, Hakat said, ‘I’m sort of free here, mostly. Where would I go? What could I do?’

‘We need all the help we can get,’ said Jelindel.

Hakat looked out the window. ‘Could I bring someone?’

‘Someone, as in a female someone?’

‘Aye.’

‘Someone who can cope with hardship, and who only screams when it is absolutely necessary?’

‘Er, I s’pose so.’

‘Then why not?’

Hakat sat back, laughing to himself. ‘Well, imagine that,’ he said. ‘Imagine that. Me, free as a bird, away from all these devils.’ Then doubt passed across his features. ‘Dreams are good an’ I’ll keep that one to meself for now, if you don’t mind. Makin’ it come real is the trick.’

‘Good,’ said Jelindel. ‘What do we do now?’

‘First, you gotta know what this place is like.’ He told them as much about Farvane as he could. Although he spoke for more than two hours, there was something he left out. He never described the Farvenu themselves. Eventually Daretor raised the point.

‘I was comin’ to that,’ Hakat said with strange reluctance. ‘You gotta see ’em for yerselves. The truth is, you already seen ’em, in your nightmares.’

He would not elaborate. Instead he unpacked the bags he had brought from his visit to the city. He gave them local clothes and the necessary papers they might require. These were fairly crude identification documents, each one bearing a strangely sharp and accurate sketch of Jelindel and Daretor, which Hakat called a ‘photograph’.

‘The likeness on these papers is uncanny,’ Jelindel said.