Paragaea (24 page)

“It was shortly afterwards, when I left the east behind and first traveled the Western Jungle, that I met you, Balam.” Hieronymus glanced at the jaguar man, a bittersweet smile playing across his lips. “I tried to look upon saving you as an act of penitence, but that didn't make the guilt any easier to bear.”

“And you never told me,” Balam said.

“Have you told me all the shameful secrets in your past, friend?” Hieronymus asked.

The jaguar man averted his eyes.

“Can you possibly be surprised that I would choose not to share the fact that my avarice and greed led an impressionable young man to a life of crime, eventuating in his death and that of a blameless girl? Having sunk to the level of a common criminal, I now had innocent blood on my hands.”

“And then you saved Balam's life,” Leena said, crossing the floor in long strides and standing before Hieronymus. “And then you saved my
life. How many more must you save before you feel you've atoned? That girl's death is an unfortunate tragedy, but you can't let it haunt you for the rest of your days.” Leena's eyes fluttered closed for the briefest instant, pain flashing across her face. “It is like I told you. We all have done things of which we're not proud”—she tried not to think back to Stalingrad, but could not escape the memory, the confused expression of the young soldier looking up at her, the Mauser still smoking in her hands—“but the fact that we live now should be sufficient. It is within us to improve ourselves—”

“'But that was in another country,'” Hieronymus interrupted, in a mocking singsong voice, “'and besides, the wench is dead.'”

Leena shook her head, exasperated, and stomped to the far side of the cell.

“All of this is beside the point,” Balam said, scratching behind his notched ear with an outstretched claw.

“And what is the point then?” Hieronymus glared at him from across the cell.

“The point is that we stand accused of murder,
Hero
, and will no doubt be executed in short order.”

“Is there any chance for appeal?” Leena asked.

“There is a definite finality to the judicial system of Masjid Empor,” Hieronymus said, shaking his head. “And besides, even if the magistrate was inclined to consider overturning the ruling, the man who recognized me in the restaurant was one of the locals whom Greenslade and I plied for information while planning the robbery. His testimony, given a decade ago or again today, would identify me as the accomplice of the dead man found with the calif's murdered daughter. So I feel quite certain any call for appeal would fall on deaf ears.”

“So all that remains is for your sentence and punishment to be pronounced,” Benu said, “which punishment will doubtless be execution?” The artificial man had remained silent since their arrest, speaking only to question Hieronymus's tears.

“Doubtless,” Hieronymus said.

“In that case,” Benu answered, climbing to his feet, “for your sakes, if not for my own, might I suggest that we make a hasty retreat?”

Hieronymus leaned over and, grabbing hold of the ironwood posts that barred their cell, rattled the gate. “And how are we to accomplish that?”

Benu walked calmly to the cell door, placed his hands on two bars, and ripped the door off its hinges, reducing the adamantine ironwood to splinters and kindling.

“My bodies are designed to last long centuries, remember,” Benu explained with a slight smile, “and this is not the first time I've been jailed for another man's crimes.”

“Why didn't you do that
before?”
Balam's eyes goggled.

“I wanted to see what eventuated.” Benu shrugged. “And besides, your behavior at the restaurant indicated a desire not to evade capture, and I thought it a prudent course to follow your example.”

“Your guilt will have to continue to be punishment enough, Hero,” Leena said, rushing to the corridor, “as I've no intention of watching any of us be executed in the public square.”

“And I want to remain alive to enjoy my constituent elements as long as I'm able.” Balam followed Leena into the passageway, his claws bared but with a leonine smile on his face.

“Very well,” Hieronymus said, leaping to his feet. He and Benu joined the other two in the corridor. “We must first retrieve our weapons and provisions.”

Before they could take another step, they were brought up short by an angry voice from the opposite cell.

“Attend!” shouted the fierce woman, rattling the bars of her cell. “Free me at once!”

“Why should we?” Balam asked.

“Because thou can.” Her brows narrowed, and her gaze burned into Benu.

“That hardly seems a compelling argument,” Balam answered with a shrug.

“Then mayhap thou will be compelled by the fact that I know the master of a ship currently riding at anchor in the harbor. He owes me a favor, and could bear us quickly away from the city.” She paused, sneering, as if daring Balam to dismiss her now. “Or wouldst thou prefer to flee into the deserts?”

“Free her.” Hieronymus snapped his fingers at Benu. “And hurry.”

The artificial man bowed slightly, miming a subservient attitude with a sardonic smile, and demolished the ironwood bars with a single swipe of his arm.

“Follow,” the woman barked, leaping through the gap and rushing past the company. “Our arms and effects are kept in a storage locker this way.”

Leena turned to her companions. “This does not appear the first time our new friend has run afoul of the authorities in Masjid Empor.”

“Are you coming, or do you wait for the guards to return you to your cell?” The woman paused at the end of the corner, shouting back at them, before racing around the curve and out of sight.

“Come on,” Balam said, following after her. “The sooner we're away from here, the happier I'll be.”

Hieronymus glanced back at their former cell, his expression pained. Leena could see that, having come so close to being brought to account for his past misdeeds, there was a part of him that was reluctant again to escape punishment.

“Go on, Hero,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “There are many others out there in the world who need saving, if you've more atoning to do.”

Hieronymus looked back at her with a weary smile, and took to his heels, racing down the corridor after the jaguar man.

“Benu, are you coming?” Leena looked back at the artificial man, who still stood in the opened doorway of the opposite cell, his attention on the figure in damp robes huddled in the corner.

“Will you not accompany us?” Benu asked the indistinct figure. The figure shrugged, the movement mostly hidden beneath the folds of cloth, and climbed unsteadily to its feet.

From around the curve of the corridor came shouts of alarm, and the sickening thud of bone hitting flesh.

“Come on, then,” Leena urged, hurrying towards the tumult. “We've wasted enough time as it is.”

By the time Leena reached the locker room, Balam was already in the process of strapping on his harnesses and knives, and a pair of guards lay insensate and moaning on the floor.

“Did I miss the excitement, then?” Leena asked.

“I suspect there'll be enough to go around in a moment,” Hieronymus answered, strapping on his belt, arranging his sheathed saber on one side and his holstered pistol on the other.

Balam handed Leena her short sword and Makarov.

“Where's our new friend?” Leena asked.

Just then, the woman appeared at the doorway. “The guards must be changing shifts. There don't appear to be any more about. But it won't be long before more arrive.”

“Then we'd best be on our way, and quickly,” Leena said.

“Thou!” the woman shouted at Hieronymus, who stood by the weapons locker. She pointed to a short sword, hanging from a peg. “Hand me yon gladius.”

Hieronymus snatched the sword from the peg, and tossed it end over end across the room. He nodded with satisfaction when the woman snatched it handily out of midair by the hilt. Balam's eyes, too, widened fractionally at the display of martial prowess.

Benu and the figure in the robes joined them, both moving at a leisurely pace.

“Why didst thou bring the drunken fish along?” the woman asked, scowling with distaste. “It snores unpleasantly in its sleep, and smells of seaweed, cheap spirits, and week-dead eel.”

“It made little sense for five detainees to leave a sixth behind,” Benu answered, “who might be punished for their escape.”

Hieronymus handed Leena his pack, and slung his own onto his back. “What's your name?” he asked the woman, who had slid the gladius into a sheath of leather and brass and fixed it to a baldric slung across her chest.

“I am Spatha Sekundus,” the woman said.

“I am Hieronymus Bonaventure,” he answered. “These are my companions, Balam, prince of the Sinaa; Akilina Mikhailovna Chirikova; and Benu.”

The woman named Spatha Sekundus nodded curtly to each of them in turn.

“And you, friend?” Hieronymus said to the robed figure, checking the straps of his pack and making for the door.

“Kakere,” came the slurred, burbling voice from within the robes.

Whether that was the robed figure's name, or another response in some unknown tongue, Leena was not to learn for some time, as at that moment, shouts echoed down the corridor from the demolished cells.

“Time to go,” Spatha said, and raced out the doorway, heading towards the exit.

Balam shrugged, and turned to his companions. “Well, you heard what the lady said. Let's go!”

The company, now six, made it to the exit of the jailhouse without encountering the guards, but on reaching the street their luck ran out.

“You!” The captain of the constables, who had arrested them in the restaurant, stood now in the street before them, three guardsmen at his side. They were evidently returning to their headquarters after making their appointed round through the city, and were shocked to see prisoners at their liberty.

“I knew this was too easy,” Balam growled, drawing a pair of knives and baring his fangs.

Hieronymus whipped his sword from its sheath, and drew his Mauser.

The lead constable pointed his scimitar at Hieronymus's chest, his eyes narrowed. “I don't suppose you would just return to your cell, and avoid this unpleasantness, would you?”

Hieronymus smiled slightly. “And I don't suppose you could just step aside?”

The constable shook his head.

“Pity,” Hieronymus said, and lunged forward.

The constable deflected Hieronymus's thrust with an effective parry, and the two closed with a ringing clatter of steel on steel.

Leena drew her short sword just in time to swat aside a blow from the largest of the constables. A hulking, powerful brute, he swung his scimitar in a wide arc, treating it more like a club than a blade. Leena's teeth buzzed with the impact of his blow on her sword, but her grip on the sword's hilt didn't falter, and she kept to her feet.

On the other side of Hieronymus, Balam and Spatha each closed with the remaining constables.

“We would probably be best served to be on our way,” Benu calmly said, standing in the open doorway. “Reinforcements are sure to arrive quickly.”

“A fine idea,” Balam said through gritted teeth, his knives cutting red rills on the forearms of his opponent. “Why didn't
we
think of that?”

Leena's opponent roared, and swung his scimitar again in a wide arc, with redoubled ferocity. She danced out of the way, spinning to the side, but the tip of the brute's blade nicked her shoulder, blood streaming out in a red ribbon.

From behind them, voices shouted from within the jailhouse, the guards inside evidently having located them.

“I'll take care of this,” Benu said.

Leena chanced a glance over her shoulder as she brought her sword into ready position, and watched as Benu dispassionately knocked the heads of two armed guards together, making a comical noise like coconuts striking one another.

Leena's opponent, too, had been momentarily distracted by the sight, and his attention was diverted from her for a split second. Leena seized the opportunity, diving forward towards her opponent's unprotected abdomen. Her sword's sharp point pierced his chest just below the sternum, the blade thrusting into him up to the hilt.

“Urm?” her opponent said, looking down in confusion at the red bloom blossoming on his shirtfront as Leena pulled her blade free. His scimitar slipped from his fingers into the sand, and he tottered for a moment on his feet, unsteadily, before falling backwards lengthwise like a felled tree.

Leena had not blinked or breathed in long seconds, and now as she caught her breath she turned to see how the rest of the company was faring.

Balam had made relatively short work of his opponent, who moaned in the dust at his feet, red gashes running in parallel lines across his cheek and arms. The woman Spatha Sekundus stood with one foot resting on the chest of her fallen foe, who now seemed to have fewer fingers on each hand than he'd had a moment before.

Only the captain of the constables remained on his feet, his lithe form darting back and forth as his blade danced with Hieronymus's saber.

“You're a fine swordsman,” Hieronymus said admiringly, his breath ragged. “It'd be a shame to kill you. Like spoiling a piece of art.”

“I appreciate your concern,” the constable replied through a tight smile, thrusting towards Hieronymus's head, his scimitar knocked away by Hieronymus's saber at the final instant. “When you are dead, I will speak fondly of your skill with the blade.”

Without warning, Balam struck the constable a thunderous blow to the back of his head, and the constable collapsed in a heap, insensate.

“Whatever did you do
that
for?” Hieronymus asked, eyes wide. “I was very nearly about to deliver the final blow.”

The jaguar man shrugged. “You'd have killed him, he'd have killed you, or the two of you would have settled down in a cottage somewhere and raised a family. I was getting bored with your reciprocal flattery, and, besides, we're in a hurry, remember?”

“Hey!” came a shouted voice from a short distance away. Another contingent of constables had just rounded the corner, more than half-a-dozen strong. Seeing their fallen comrades, they drew their scimitars and rushed forward.

The company raced through the streets of Masjid Empor, the scimitar-wielding constables following at their heels.

“This way!” Spatha shouted, and dove down an alleyway. The rest followed close behind.

The alley emptied out onto a bazaar crowded with market stalls and thronged with shoppers and vendors raising their voices in a confusing babel of tongues.

“Sheathe your weapons,” Hieronymus ordered before stepping out of the sheltering shadows of the alleyway. He glanced behind and saw
that the constables had just rounded the corner into the alley. “If we mix in with the crowds, we'll be harder to find.”

“Make for the southwestern corner,” Spatha said to Hieronymus, sheathing her gladius in her baldric and slipping into the crowd without another word.

“Separate, and make for that corner,” Hieronymus relayed to the others in a harsh whisper, and then plunged into the throng.

Leena nodded, sliding her sword into its scabbard and walking briskly away from the alley's mouth. At her side, Balam, Benu, and the robed figure hurried into the crowd, trying to rush without drawing attention.

Leena was a few dozen strides into the throng when the constables reached the end of the alley, raising their voices in calls of alarm. But the crowd was too closely packed and noisy for their calls to have much effect, and her heart pounding in her chest, she continued to swim through the masses of men, women, and metamen to the far corner.

Having regrouped at the market's edge, the company reached the waterfront without incident.

“There,” Spatha said, pointing to a dhow riding at anchor at the dock. “That's the ship of which I spoke.” She raced across the boardwalk and up the gangplank, vaulting onto the ship's deck.

The rest of the company followed close behind, with Leena and Hieronymus setting foot on the deck just as the shipmaster came up from the hold.

“What's the meaning of this?” the man barked. His head was shaved clean, and he had waxed mustaches over his full lips, with a large hoop earring in one ear, the other cropped off at the lobe. He wore silk pantaloons over leather boots, a sash around his ample
midriff, and a loose-fitting blouse open to the waist. “Spatha Sekundus! What do you mean by this intrusion? And who is this motley band of reprobates?!”

“List, Tyrel.” Spatha strode up to the well-fed shipmaster and snapped her fingers under his bulbous nose. “If thou would sail immediately, with me and my companions on board, I will consider thy debt to me repaid in full.”

The man named Tyrel drew up short, his eyes widening. “Repaid in full?” he repeated, scratching his chin.

“In full,” Spatha answered with a curt nod.