Fool's Errand (51 page)

“This … this isn't a pit trap,” grunted Persephone as she groped for her dagger.

“No,” agreed Azriel, who was wriggling mightily.

“Careful!” cried Persephone as he accidentally elbowed her in the ribs, then accidentally smacked her in the nose. “Ouch! Quit
squirming!
”

Azriel quit squirming at once. “We need to cut ourselves loose but I can't reach my knife,” he panted. “Can you reach your dagger?”

“It's. in my hand,” replied Persephone, who was already sawing away.

Luckily, the net was so old and poorly maintained that it practically disintegrated beneath Persephone's blade. Azriel manoeuvred through the hole and jumped to the ground. As soon as he landed, he held out his arms and nodded up at her. After resheathing her dagger, she let herself drop.

“
Oof
” he said, pretending to stagger under the weight of her.

“Funny,” she said, giving him a light swat across the side of the head.

“Thank you,” he grinned.

Then, as if suddenly realizing that they were alone together at long,
long
last, Azriel's grin faded, his eyes drifted to her lips, and his arms tightened around her imperceptibly. Feeling considerably more breathless than she had a moment earlier when she'd had the wind knocked out of her, Persephone waited to see what he would do next.

What he did next was open his mouth extremely wide, bulge his eyes alarmingly and bellow, “Ow!”

He then spun around with her yet clutched tight in his arms. The wave of dizziness she felt when he did this was instantly replaced by shock when she saw four scowling, sneering little Gorgishmen standing next to a deep pit that she could have sworn had not been there the instant before. Three of the Gorgishmen were twirling loaded slingshots above their heads; one was busily reloading.

Slowly, Azriel set Persephone down onto her feet.

“Greetings, illustrious ones,” she intoned, folding her hands across her chest and bowing deeply.

In response to this—a perfectly executed version of the traditional greeting of his tribe—the Gorgishman on the far left let fly with his slingshot.

“
OUCH
!” cried Persephone as the walnut-sized rock smacked into her shin.

“Next time, I will take out your eye!” cried the Gorgishman shrilly. “Hand over your weapons immediately or die in agony, female!”

Though Persephone was fairly certain that between them, she and Azriel could take out all four Gorgishmen without losing an eye—let alone their lives—she also knew that such action would utterly ruin any chance they had of obtaining the map that would lead them to the healing pool.

So, resisting the urge to go over and give the one who'd let fly a good kick, she nodded at Azriel to hand over his knife and sword (which were visible), made no mention of her dagger (which was not), spread her hands wide in an exaggerated gesture of supplication and said, “We have handed over our weapons without a fight—”

“Because you fear us!” cried one of the two Gorgishmen who'd not yet pelted them, twirling his slingshot even harder.

“Uh, yes, and also because we come to this valley in peace—”

“And shall leave in pieces!” hooted the other one.

“To discuss a matter of vital import with the leader of your people,” continued Persephone with more patience than she felt.

“Will it make him rich?” inquired the hooter.

“Filthy rich,” said Azriel loudly, before Persephone could answer. “Do you think he'll grant us an audience?”

At this, all four Gorgishmen snickered and shared sly looks. Then the one who'd interrupted Persephone and Azriel's romantic interlude by pelting Azriel with a rock said, “Oh yes. I think Miter will grant you an audience. Indeed, I think Miter will wish to see you
immediately
.”

“Immediately?” said Persephone with a distinct sense of foreboding. “And why is that?”

“Because it is almost suppertime.”

FIFTY-ONE

Eleven white beans left in the jar

A
S IT TURNED OUT
, the hidden city of the Gorgish was surprisingly close at hand.

During the short hike there through the steaming jungle, Persephone and Azriel's surly escorts ignored them completely. All except for the very shortest one, that is, who kept leering at Persephone, licking his pale, cracked lips and chuckling in a most unpleasant manner. Hoping that he wanted to ravish her and not that he wanted to
eat
her, Persephone ignored him. Instead, she focused on trying to figure out what she was going to do about Azriel's lie that they'd come to the valley to discuss a matter that would make the Gorgish leader filthy rich. Though she recognized that the lie was probably (well,
hopefully)
the only reason they were being granted an audience so close to suppertime, she also recognized that when the lie was exposed it could spell her and Azriel's doom.

She'd just come up with a possible solution when the Gorgish city appeared before them with startling suddenness. Clearly an ancient ruin, many of the buildings were crumbling and the jungle had reclaimed much of it. Trees had taken root in the narrow spaces between the buildings and paving stones; vines had crept around weather-beaten pillars and up the sides of walls. That a city of stone had been built in the middle of a jungle was remarkable. Far more remarkable than this, however, was that the city was not just vast but literally
giant.
Everything about it was huge—the buildings, the fountains, the streets—everything! Indeed, it was so oversized that the many little Gorgishmen who were hurrying about their daily business looked like
ants
by comparison.

“Behold the magnificent ancestral city of the mighty Gorgish!” declared one of their escorts proudly, smacking his pygmy hand against his chest.

Knowing that there was no
possible
way the little man's ancestors were responsible for building the city, Persephone and Azriel exchanged a furtive glance.

Catching their shared look, the Gorgishman bared his crowded teeth at them and screeched, “What?
What?”

“Nothing,” said Persephone, resisting the urge to sneak another peek at Azriel.

Scowling and smacking his lips at her, the Gorgishman prodded the two of them forward into the city. As they made their way through the broad streets, surprisingly large crowds of sneering, booing Gorgishmen pelted them with rotting fruit, twigs and half-gnawed bones that Persephone dared not examine too closely.

At length, they came to a building so tall that Persephone could not believe she'd not been able to see it from the field of flowers and butterflies. After ordering her and Azriel up the almost comically tall stone steps, the Gorgishman who wanted to ravish (or eat) her trotted off to request an audience with the Gorgish leader.

It was granted at once.

The circular chamber in which the Gorgish leader held court seemed more like a massive indoor arena than a chamber. With a ceiling so high that it was lost in the darkness above and a stone floor strewn with sand, the chamber was ringed by banks of stone benches crammed with jeering little Gorgishmen.

And every single one of them seemed to be demanding that she and Azriel be stoned to death on the spot.

Though it was clear to Persephone that she and Azriel were in grave danger, the longer she conversed with the Gorgish leader, the harder she found it to maintain any feelings of mortal terror. Like the other members of his tribe, Miter was short and completely hairless. He had yellow-tinged skin, fingernails as thick as claws and a habit of hissing and baring his teeth when displeased. Even upon short acquaintance, this seemed to be practically all the time. These things, together with his habit of referring to himself in the third person and the fact that his little feet barely stuck out past the edge of the seat of the enormous stone throne upon which he sat, made it rather difficult to take him seriously.

For the third time, now, Persephone tried to explain to Miter why she and Azriel had come to the Valley of Gorg. As she did so, she took pains to emphasize that he'd be exceedingly well paid for whatever information he could give them. She thought this prudent not only because Azriel had promised riches (
filthy
riches), but also because she did not think the Gorgish leader would give a fig for helping to set things to right for all people.

In response to her efforts, Miter laughed loudly and threw twigs at her.

“YOU ARE A VERY FOOLISH FEMALE TO THINK THAT THE GREAT MITER WOULD BELIEVE YOUR LIES!”
he screeched to the renewed jeers of his tribesmen.

“They're not
lies,”
said Persephone. “Look at the ring I gave you.”

Miter lifted up his stubby hand and gazed greedily at the ruby ring she'd presented to him upon entering the throne room.

Persephone watched him admire his ill-fitting new ring for a long, silent moment before clearing her throat and continuing. “That ring and the scar I bear are proof that I am sister to the Erok king, Finnius,” she said. “It is he who will pay you for whatever information you have about the healing pool”—not a lie, for she was sure that Finn would honour such a bargain—”and he who will die if you do not give us the information.”

Abruptly curling his stubby hand into a fist, Miter pounded it against the armrest of his stone throne. “So?” he cried. “The great Miter cares nothing for the Erok king!”

“Well, he … that is to say
you
should—” “You know, Miter could kill you,” said Miter, baring his crowded teeth at her. “Perhaps Miter
will
kill you.” When this elicited a frenzy of hoots and cheers from the mob in the stands, he added, “Perhaps Miter will have you stoned to death!”

The crowd went wild.

“Listen, Miter—”

But Miter wasn't listening. “Yes,” he mused in a tone that suggested he was talking to himself despite the fact that he could probably be heard in the farthest corners of the echoing chamber. “Yes, Miter thinks he will
definitely
have them stoned to death. He will then send their battered bodies to the imperial capital that they might be laid before the throne of the Erok king who dared to steal the Mines of Torodania from its rightful lords.”

“It was the Regent who stole the mines from your people,” said Persephone. “And it is he who will murder my brother and steal his throne if my husband and I do not find the healing pool.”

“MITER CARES NOTHING FOR YOUR BROTHER
OR
HIS THRONE!”
screeched Miter.

“Well, you
should
care,” said Azriel bluntly, speaking for the first time, “for it is my wife's brother who will make you filthy rich, and he cannot do that if he is
dead.
So if Balthazar told your ambassador anything about the Pool of Genezing—”

“What makes you think that our illustrious ambassador would have stooped to involve himself in such drivel?” sneered Miter, throwing a twig at him.

Ducking the twig, Azriel said, “We've been told that your ambassador made claims to another that Balthazar entrusted him with a map showing the location of the pool. Apparently, Balthazar believed your ambassador to be the cleverest and most trustworthy person in all of Parthania.”

Preening as though these lofty compliments had been directed toward him, Miter said, “Yes, it is true.”

“What is true?” asked Persephone, leaning forward a little.

Puffing out his chest, Miter said, “Our illustrious ambassador
was
the cleverest and most trustworthy person in all of Parthania.”

His skepticism plain upon his handsome face, Azriel folded his arms across his broad chest and said, “Even so, Balthazar never gave him any map, did he?”

Miter cast a few furtive glances around the room at his listening tribesmen. Then, glaring down his long, hooked nose at Azriel, he said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, he did.”

“He did?” said Persephone in surprise.

“Yes,” sniffed Miter, examining his thick, yellow fingernails.

“If that was true—” began Azriel.

“MITER HAS ALREADY SAID THAT IT IS TRUE!”

“Then you'd long ago have found some way to use the knowledge of the location of the pool to your advantage,” finished Azriel.

“Ha! That shows what
you
know!” jeered Miter, jabbing a finger at Azriel. “Are you so stupid that it doesn't occur to you that perhaps the pool is located where none are able to get to it?”

“Balthazar was able to get to it—”

“MUCH HAS CHANGED SINCE THAT GYPSY FOOL RUINED EVERYTHING FOR
EVERYONE!”
shrieked Miter, flinging a whole handful of twigs at Azriel.

Seeing that the Gorgish leader seemed genuinely upset for the first time—and thankful that he didn't know she and Azriel were kin to the Gypsy fool who'd ruined everything—Persephone hurriedly tried to calm him. “You're right,” she said soothingly. “You're right—much has changed. Help my husband and me save my brother so that he can make you rich beyond your wildest dreams and right the wrongs that have been done to your people. Please, Miter—tell us where the healing pool is.”