Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (50 page)

The loud voiced man she was soon able to identify as the ship’s Captain by the calls of his men, and she watched, amused, as he left his ship in the company of several of them, apparently heading for a night’s entertainment in the town. Their taunting shouts to their shipmates back on board rang around the harbor, as the princess leaned further down amongst the lobster pots so as not to attract their attention on their way past where she was sitting. Waiting several minutes, she rose to her feet and followed after them; not wanting to run into them, but needing to head in that general direction. A smile crossed her face as she was joined by two of Baran’s men: Hugo, the man who had brought her Ki-Nimh’s message earlier, and Karel, an evil looking man missing one eye but with a disposition gentle enough to rival Bernardo, and Jann Crevaux, Tessier’s artistically inclined Senior Lieutenant. The three men claimed to be looking for their commanding officers and refused to let her wander the harbor-side streets alone.

“Although, Captain, you do look as though you fit right in,” Jann Crevaux teased. Always immaculately turned out, he was totally perplexed by the princess’s comfort in ordinary, even scruffy clothing; and her current ensemble of battered trousers, scuffed muddy boots and a jacket at least two sizes too big held together by an old leather belt just baffled him. He’d seen her in her uniform and, while he wasn’t sure he approved even of that, at least it looked tidy. With her hair falling out around a rather grubby face, she looked like some young ruffian or pickpocket, not an Imperial Officer.

Skipping a few steps ahead of them and turning to walk backwards, facing them, she grinned. “I’m in disguise, Lieutenant. You’re not supposed to recognize me.”

“You don’t miss Salanova at all, do you, Captain? I mean, you really love all of … this.” Crevaux gestured around the harbor.

“I wouldn’t change a thing.” With another sudden skip, she darted to one side, into a small dark alleyway leading away from the harbor. Running as fast as she could along the narrow street she turned again and again, into a small warren of alleys where some of the poorest people in Virat lived. Despite the best efforts of the Virat Town Council and their efforts to keep the town safe, this was where all information in Virat ended up; bought, sold, traded, or given up at the point of a blade. This was where she needed to be. Small coins in a succession of hands brought her eventually to the man who knew what she wanted to know. Satisfied with her trade, the princess slipped swiftly along the streets again, just another slight shadow in the darkness among so many others. Emerging on the south side of the harbor, she looked across the bay to the hillside in the northern part of the city, and her next destination. Large houses lined the winding route leading from the harbor, brightly colored banners and lanterns giving the whole area a festive look. The last house consisted of many wooden terraces and balconies facing towards the sea; red banners fluttering in the strong breeze that came with the turn of the tide; large paper lanterns swinging wildly, throwing their light in flickering patches as befitted the name of the place—the House of Dancing Shadows.

Whistling to a young boy hanging around the harbor begging, she gave him a coin and a token, with instructions on where her message was to be delivered. The promise of another coin on his return ensured safe delivery; it was probably more than he could have hoped to earn the entire night. Turning to the tavern she knew was behind her, she was greeted by five men sitting around an outside table, beaming broadly at her, and Captain Tessier looking as if he’d just swallowed five-day-old fish.

“What are you doing down here?” Baran was lounging against a low wall, patting the bench next to him. He’d had enough beer by now to find her amusing again. “You really shouldn’t be wandering around on your own, you know. ‘S’ dangerous.”

“I think I’m probably safe enough, Baran,” she retorted, leaning back next to him, one leg up on the bench, her arm hooked comfortably around her knee. “At least I’m still sober enough to know where I am.” Turning to Tessier she tilted her head, frowning slightly at him. “You’re not still sulking about the pond are you?”

“Sulking? After being completely humiliated in front of your entire Flight? Oh, no, Your Highness, why on earth would I be sulking about that?” Tessier snapped. “And what exactly is so funny?”

Jenevra’s lips were folded tightly as she tried not to laugh, but it just slipped out. “You’ve been embarrassing me for days now, in front of everyone. It’s not my fault you can’t take it when it’s dished back to you.” Reaching across Baran, she tapped Tessier on the nose with the tip of her index finger. “Did you know that when you’re angry your moustache goes even straighter; and your nose goes pointier?”

Interrupting Tessier’s response and the other four’s laughter, the innkeeper arrived with foaming pitchers of good dark ale, and a platter full of roasted meat, reminding them that women were available in the pleasure houses of the north shore. Remembering the princess’s presence at that point, the five men looked at her, torn between guilt and embarrassment: startled to find she was no longer there with them, but was on the far side of the street, swinging up onto a horse that had just arrived in the care of a tall young man with a flowing black pony tail tied high on his head. The princess was swathing herself in a deep blue, sleeved mantle with a cresting wave outlined in white on the shoulder, pulling the hood well down over her face.

“Where d’you think you’re going now?” Tessier bellowed.

Trotting across to them, Jenevra leaned her forearm on the saddle-horn, her face hidden in the hood, but wicked amusement in her voice. “I’ve noticed a distinct gap in my training, so I’m just going to go remedy that. Obviously I would have asked you to help Captain, but you don’t really seem to be in the mood.” Wheeling the horse around, she took off at a canter along the road to the pleasure district.

Unable to make his mind focus on anything else, Tessier pointed up the hill. “Where is that wretched girl going now? You know, I didn’t sign up to be a damn bodyguard.”

“I doubt you’ll be called on for that,” Baran said. “But the horse had the livery of the House of Dancing Shadows. One of the best pleasure houses in Virat, and that’s saying something.” A puzzled look crossed his face as if he’d suddenly realized what he was saying. He opened his mouth several times, but nothing came out.

“She’s gone to a
brothel
?” Captain Tessier’s voice raised by at least an octave, his mind having immediately put together his own offer of flirting lessons and the princess’s disappearing to this place to fill out her training. Making strangely unintelligible noises, he grabbed his sword from the bench, slammed a handful of coins onto the table, and hustled them all out onto the street. “Come on, come on,” he chivvied them along impatiently; trying not to hear echoes of Commander Rabenaldt’s voice tearing him apart for allowing an Imperial Princess into a brothel.

The owner of the Dancing Shadows welcomed the large group effusively, clapping immediately for enough girls to attend to all of them. Apologizing profusely, he asked them if they would mind waiting briefly while he prepared a room big enough for them, enquiring if they would all be requiring baths.

Baran, having sobered up slightly with shock, asked if the top floor suite was available as he’d heard the view of the bay was magnificent.

“Unparalleled, sir,” the owner had agreed. “But sadly, it is already occupied.” In an effort to appease his imperially connected guests as they waited, he offered iced juices or spirits, and a rarely offered opportunity to watch a private training session. “We have some fine warriors here, gentlemen, and a fine facility for training. Many join us here just for the chance to meet each other in training and competition. Two of our finest past students are practicing now. If you would care to, I can arrange for you to watch discreetly from a balcony?”

Intrigued, they had agreed. It was an unusual brothel indeed that was also a training ground for warriors. Leaning on the wooden railings around the balcony they looked down on a huge room, the height of the entire building. The floor was covered with matting, deadening the sound of the combatants’ feet. Large screens had been opened along one edge to let the cool night air in from the inner courtyard, with the soft sound of waterfalls rippling through the noise of combat.

Two figures, dressed identically in wide dark blue pants, dark visored helmets, and padded breastplates, were fighting with what seemed to be split bamboo poles: which was just as well given that they didn’t seem to be pulling any of their strokes. If they’d been using swords someone would be dead.

Watching them, Tessier thought he spotted some familiar moves: moves he’d seen Jenevra make against Mikhail Dhorani. Closing his eyes and breathing a prayer of thanks, he began to relax, realizing that, yet again, she’d baited him and he’d fallen for it. Revenge would have to be his, he decided.

The men watched the whole match, applauding quietly at the end of it as the two combatants removed their head guards and visors, bowing respectfully to each other.

“Oi, Captain Couressime!” Tessier shouted down at her. “Up here, when you’re finished.”

Fortunately, Captain Tessier couldn’t see the blazing fury that lit Jenevra’s eyes at this interruption. Ignoring him totally, she removed the heavy glove from her left hand, and ran to the back of the room with her opponent, both of them selecting long, bladed poles from a rack of weapons.

“Oi!”

“Someone appears to be trying to attract your attention, Nimh’a.” Raiden’s head jerked briefly towards the balcony, his black hair swinging, as he raised the pole above his head.

“Ignore him,” she muttered, hoisting her bladed pole in response.

Beginning a series of moves laid down by centuries of trained warriors, they traveled swiftly around the matted floor, blades passing close to legs, necks and heads, but never making contact. Each form they followed was marginally faster than the one preceding it, until the poles were swinging almost too quickly for the men on the balcony to follow. The final move involved both combatants pulling their blades from one side of them to another with the poles swinging in huge circles, almost like figure eights. The circles grew faster and faster, drawing the watching men to hang over the balcony’s edge breathless; unable to see how either of them hadn’t lost a hand or foot with the spinning deadly weapons. With a loud sharp cry the poles suddenly hit the ground, both warriors finishing low. Jenevra’s pole was on top. Barely hesitating, they moved swiftly back to face each other, bowing briefly in respect for the contest. Turning to face under the balcony, they both bowed again, this time more deeply.

Still amazed by what they’d just seen, the men on the balcony muttered among themselves, intrigued to see an old man shuffle out onto the floor, walking with the aid of a cane: utterly astounded when they saw Jenevra sink to one knee in front of him, her arm laid across her right knee and head bowed.

Oran-Nimh passed in front of her, silently; pacing slowly behind them both.

Risking a glance under her lashes, Jenevra peeked across at Raiden, in an identical position, catching his glance to her. He shrugged slightly, the barest flicker of movement, but not small enough to escape Oran’s ancient eyes. Years of training acolytes on the Island had given him almost a sixth sense when it came to disrespect; and Raiden, although never trained on the Island, just here in Virat, found Oran’s cane descending across his back in short order. Jenevra winced. She remembered that feeling all too well.

“You are dismissed,” Oran leaned over Raiden. “Do not come into my presence again until you have perfected your flaws.”

Jumping to his feet, bowing deeply again, Raiden left the floor at a run, turning as he reached the screens with a sympathetic look back at the young girl still waiting for Oran’s judgment.

“On your feet, Nimh’a,” Oran nudged her with his cane. “Have you forgotten everything I taught you?” He shouted as she stood silently, the bladed pole held at her side. “The footwork, Nimh’a; what happened to it?” He slapped at her calves with his cane. “And this …” His voice rose again as he tapped at her right hand, still encased in its heavy gauntlet. “How can you expect to control the naginata without being able to feel it?” Shaking his head, with its wisps of white hair pulled back into a thin braid, he faced her, nose to nose. Deflating marginally, he took a pace backwards, holding the cane behind his back with both hands. “Ki-Nimh sent word of what happened. He says you had to execute Mikhail?”

Biting her lip, Jenevra nodded confirmation.

Oran turned towards the open screens, facing the courtyard. “Put your weapon up, Nimh’a. There is something we must talk about. And let me see that hand.”

Confident that the display was over, the owner of the Dancing Shadows, a tall, pug-nosed man called Gethin, advised the Imperial Officers, Baran and his men, that their baths, rooms and women were all ready. The men were leaving the balcony when a clear voice halted them in their tracks, pulling them back to hang over the balcony in disbelief.

“Captain Couressime,” Tessier’s voice called out loudly. “Don’t you think it time you matched another Imperial Officer?”

“Tore’s balls and beard!” Baran flung himself through the door, hurtling down the stairs as fast as he could to try to halt his brother-in-law’s utter stupidity. Concerned by his reaction to Tessier’s challenge, Hugo, Karl and Crevaux followed him.

Tessier was walking out onto the floor below, having left his boots and jacket at the door. He drew his sword as he reached the center. “Well, Captain?”