Servant of a Dark God (30 page)

The cookies were one of Talen’s favorites, but now wasn’t a time to think of food. He glanced back once more. The men had not dispersed nor turned back to talking among themselves.

“Lords and lice,” Talen said.

Nettle took a fat, moist bite of his pudding. “I don’t think they like you.”

“Really,” Talen said. “What gave you that idea? We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Act natural,” said Nettle. “Here, have a bite.” He held up his pudding. It had currants and cashews mixed in with a good helping of something green and shaggy. The whole thing was held together by a wiggling gelatin that reminded Talen of animal birthings.

“I think I’d like to focus on the matter at hand.”

“What you want to do is distract yourself because if you spook, those men will spook. Now take a bite.”

Nettle had a point. Talen waved off the bread pudding mess, took one of the ginger cookies, and bit into it. It was baked with sugar, and while it crunched on the outside, the inside was soft and just about melted in his mouth. Any other situation and he’d swear he’d visited the gardens of the righteous.

Talen glanced over at Nettle, who promptly showed him the contents of his mouth.

“I hope you gag,” said Talen. “And when folks ask how you died, I’ll tell them you did it eating pig food.”

Nettle laughed. “No, you won’t. You’ll remember I used it to save your life. And then you’ll eat it the rest of your days.”

“Being sickened by animal birthings is hardly a rescue,” said Talen.

“It’s a distraction,” said Nettle. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

It had, but Talen wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

They crossed a small bridge spanning a muddy canal and then turned onto Fuller’s Lane.

Down the lane two young men circled a large black rat snake. It was as long as Talen’s leg and as thick as his wrist.

Talen tensed. He didn’t have to see their faces to know who they were. It was Fabbis and that lazy-eyed Sabin with his head shaved and dyed with temple henna.

So much for disgusting mouthfuls of bread pudding. Suddenly Talen’s cookies didn’t taste so good anymore. He took a drink of water from a goat’s bladder to wash them down.

“Fancy pants,” Nettle said.

Fabbis wore a pair of finely woven scarlet-and-yellow trousers. The worth of the fabric covering that moron’s sweaty bum alone was more than everything Talen had put together.

Talen turned his head, not wanting to make eye contact with Fabbis.

“They’re going about it all wrong,” said Nettle. “Look at them.”

Sabin held a stick and kept heading the snake off. Every time he did, the snake coiled up and tried to strike him. If they wanted to catch it, they needed to let it slither and then snatch up the tail.

“Let’s just get to the fuller’s,” said Talen.

Sabin reached in to snatch the snake, but it struck at him.

As they rode closer, Talen could overheard their conversation.

“You’ve got to be faster than that,” said Fabbis.

“Okay, lord of the basket,” said Sabin, “you try.”

Fabbis snatched the stick from Sabin then flung the beast a few feet. When the snake landed, it tried to slither to the safety of some weeds, but Fabbis chased after it. He grabbed its tail and held it away from him. At that moment he glanced toward Nettle and Talen.

Talen purposely ignored Fabbis. He simply pulled up to the fuller’s and set the wagon brake, hoping Fabbis would decide, for once, not to torment him. Of course, Fabbis, being a horned bunion, was unlikely to do that.

Talen steeled himself and turned, knowing they must be close, but to his surpise the two pisspots disappeared behind a cluster of trees, Fabbis holding the snake out before him.

He let out a sigh of relief. Maybe his luck would hold out. “Quick.”

“I’m going,” said Nettle. “Be calm.”

“Fine for you to say with your Mokaddian wrist tattoo. But you weren’t beaten by a pack of village idiots a day ago. Or forced to strip at the gates.”

“This lane is full of people friendly to the Koramites,” said Nettle. “You’ll be fine.”

Talen waved him away. “Try to avoid offending the household this time.”

“Bah,” said Nettle.

Talen stepped from the wagon and tied the reins to the hitching post. Nettle walked to the porch and knocked at the fuller’s door.

The young foreign woman from Urz who Nettle had offended the last time they were there opened the door. She was beautiful, copper-skinned with eyes as blue and bright as the silks she sold. But she only narrowed those eyes in irritation at Nettle. Nettle had flirted with her, but he’d said something that by the customs of her people indicated Nettle wanted to hire her as a prostitute. By the time word reached Uncle Argoth of the incident it had been blown into a tale of unwanted pregnancy. Two families who had expressed interest in Nettle as a potential marriage candidate for their daughters had concerns. Nettle had been made to apologize to all of the parties involved.

On any other occasion Talen would have relished the exchange playing out on the doorstep, but Fabbis and Sabin made him nervous. He eyed the clump of trees Fabbis had disappeared behind and hoped Nettle would have enough brains to know that the quicker they finished their business here the better.

Talen suspected Fabbis had caught the snake for a game of Fool’s Basket. The rules were very simple. You put a snake into a basket, irritated it until it was ready to strike, then you tried to catch it without being bit. You could use a short stick to draw the snake’s attention, but the only thing that could touch the snake was your hand.

Talen had played three times before with a small garden snake and had been bitten every time. He’d seen five dreadmen play it once. Their speed was shocking. They would catch the snake at the base of the head before it had time to strike. Futhermore, they had been playing with a lance of fire, not a simple rat snake. One bite would have killed them.

He hoped that Fabbis was slow and the snake’s fangs were long and bit deep.

Nettle began to explain to the copper-skinned beauty what they’d come for. When she let Nettle in to fetch the cloth River had ordered, someone in the clump of trees into which Fabbis had disappeared screamed like a river gut held him in its maw.

Talen glanced at Nettle, but he was already in the house, shutting the door behind him.

Whoever it was cried out again. The fear and pain in that scream could not be ignored.

“Please!” someone cried.

That wasn’t Fabbis or Sabin. Nettle was never around when he needed him! Talen glanced once more at the fuller’s.

“Stop! Help!”

If a Koramite sat around while a Mokaddian called for help, the Koramite would be punished for not lending a hand. Even if it was someone like Fabbis who deserved every misfortune that came to him.

Another scream. Surely someone in one of the houses heard that one and would shortly appear.

Talen waited, but nobody came.

He could just sit here. Nobody else seemed to have heard. But he wondered. That was Fabbis down there. The voice had been high-pitched like a girl’s.

Talen cursed. Then he left the wagon and ran to down the lane to the source of the commotion.

He didn’t need to get involved. He could just assess what was going on, and, if needed, run to one of the houses and raise the hue and cry.

Talen skirted rounded the clump of trees and immediately saw the situation. There on his hands and knees was a boy. Talen didn’t recognize him. He was scrawny and dressed in filthy rags. Obviously, out of place here on Fuller’s Lane.

The boy attempted to scrabble away from Fabbis and Sabin. When he tried to rise, Sabin kicked the boy’s legs out from underneath him. But that wasn’t what made this beggar boy cry out.

Fabbis still held the rat snake by the tail. He was laughing so hard he was almost doubled over. Talen thought that maybe they were simply threatening the boy with the snake. But Fabbis regained his composure enough to swing the snake’s head up against the boy’s buttocks. The snake’s head bumped the boy, once, twice. On the third bounce it opened its mouth wide and bit deeply.

The boy cried out again with his high-pitched squeal, terror written on his face. He tried to run off again, but Sabin kicked him in the gut so hard it knocked the boy over.

“Pull up his tunic,” said Fabbis. “We’ll see if Zu Snake wants a taste of walnuts and sausage.”

Leave it to Fabbis to think something like this up. Rat snakes carried no venom, but that didn’t lessen the pain of their bite. Fabbis and Sabin had both gotten their clan wrists, which only proved those tattoos meant nothing. These two weren’t men.

Talen turned to see if Nettle had followed, if anyone had come, but he was alone.

Talen did not know this boy; he could quietly step back around the trees and wait for Nettle. Step back and let the Mokaddians do what they pleased. That would be the smart thing, but this would only get worse. Besides, hadn’t he been that boy only yesterday?

“Surely,” said Talen, “you could get at the vital parts a bit better by making him stand.”

Fabbis looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Talen, his face broke into a wicked grin. “I was just saying to Sabin here, wouldn’t it be nice if Turd Soup joined us? Where’s the Koramite lover you came with?”

“At the fuller’s.”

“Well, we don’t need to wait for him. Come on over here, half-breed. You can help.”

At one of the musters last year Talen had momentarily left his lamb soup to fetch a load of arrows for Da from the wagon. When he returned, he took a spoonful and found someone had slipped rabbit turds into the bowl. When he looked around, he’d seen Fabbis and Sabin watching him, grinning with delight.

Talen knew exactly what kind of help Fabbis meant. Usually Fabbis also had Cat with him, a boy who kept his dark hair oiled and shining and painted his eyes with kohl as many of the sons of the clan lords had begun to do. Talen looked about, but it appeared Fabbis and Sabin were alone. “Actually,” said Talen, “you’ve done me a great service. The fuller asked that I find his stable boy. And there he is. I’m sure the fuller would be interested to know how you’ve corrected him.” Talen held his hand out. “Now, come along, boy.”

The boy’s eyes were red. His face covered with dirt and tears.

Sabin began to let go his grip, but Fabbis put a hand out to stop him.

“This, a fuller’s boy?” Fabbis shook his head. “I don’t think so. Besides, the thief was sneaking into that house when we came along. We only thought to wring a confession from him. Maybe identify the members of his cabal. There’s never just one, you know.”

“I wasn’t stealing,” said the boy.

“Shut up,” said Sabin and clopped the boy on the head.

Talen knew what that felt like as well. He was positive the boy hadn’t been doing anything close to breaking and entering. He’d probably been walking along, minding his own business, and Fabbis had spied him and seen an opportunity for yet another small-minded torture. “I’m sure the street boss would commend your vigilance,” said Talen. “Not to mention the fuller. Think what it would cost him were his servant to be caught stealing. Let’s take him to the fuller; I’m sure he’ll reward you just to keep your mouth shut.”

Talen glanced about. Nobody had come to investigate the cries. His best bet was to leave now and get some help.

Fabbis looked at Sabin. “Maybe he’s right. What were we thinking? Deliver the boy to Master Half-breed.”

Sabin approached, malevolence in his lazy eye. But Talen knew exactly what he was going to do, and he wasn’t going to let Sabin within a dozen feet. “Just let him go,” said Talen, taking a step back. “I’m sure he’s seen the error of his ways.”

“Of course,” said Sabin, but just then Talen heard something behind him. He turned and saw Cat, painted eyes and shining hair, with a rope. Talen dodged out of the way, but he wasn’t fast enough and the rope fell about his shoulders.

Talen grabbed at the rope, but Cat gave it a yank, and the rope tightened about his neck. Cat yanked again and Talen stumbled to his knees, the rope choking him.

Talen pulled at the noose with one hand and grabbed the rope with the other.

“It looks like we’ve rolled double pleasure with today’s dice,” said Fabbis. He kicked Talen in the side. “Get his feet.”

Panic rose in him, and Talen yanked at the rope with all his might. He didn’t expect to wrest it free from Cat so easily. But Cat could not keep his grip. He yelled and opened his hands as if they’d been burned. Talen loosened the noose and rolled to his feet.

Fabbis pulled back the snake to swing it into him. But Fabbis hadn’t taken a good stance, and Talen delivered a sweeping kick that knocked Fabbis’s feet from underneath him.

He fell, arms wheeling, the snake flying wide.

Talen saw his chance. He snatched the snake as it flew. And before it could coil about his arm and bite him, he grasped it by the base of the head.

Fabbis landed with a thump, and Talen fell upon him, driving his knee into Fabbis’s gut.

Fabbis grunted. He tried to roll, but Talen stuck the serpent in his face.

“Should we see if Zu Snake wants a taste of walnuts and sausage?” asked Talen. “No? How about a kiss?” Talen shoved the mouth of the snake against Fabbis’s cheek.

Fabbis turned his head away.

“No kiss?”

Fabbis tried to struggle away, but Talen found he could hold him.

He couldn’t explain it. This shouldn’t be happening. Da forced Talen to wrestle Fabbis in the musters. He said the best practice for fighting someone bent on your death was to fight someone bent on your death. And since they didn’t have a large supply of young Bone Faces about, he found the next best thing—a Fir-Noy. Fabbis always beat him. Once he’d broken Talen’s nose just to spite him. But perhaps Talen had finally begun to get his speed and size. He glanced over at Sabin to make sure he didn’t get blindsided, but Sabin just stood there with his mouth hanging slack like some great fish.

Cat had not moved. He still stood in the same spot, his hands held out in front of him.

Then Talen noticed Nettle just beyond Cat, a look of surprise on his face.