The Silk Map (16 page)

“Perhaps you should do as she says,” the threatened tall man added. “There comes a time at last, for the dying of the fire.” Bone noted the tall man and the bearded fellow were unarmed. He was regretting Snow Pine's absence.

Bone let a black seed fall from his lips. He did not want the treasure hunters killed. On the other hand, he did not want he and his wife to die. He glanced at Gaunt and felt a sinking feeling within his gut; there was a glint in her eyes he'd seen many a time, usually when there was an underdog to protect and death howling close at hand. If she was about to do something poetic and rash, he'd best do something thiefly and rash—and first.

There comes a time at last, for the dying of the fire
. That was an odd phrase, wasn't it? Bone squinted at the fire-gem flickering in the maw of a lacquer Eastern dragon coiling upon Geshou Pi and Long Bi's desk, illuminating many intriguing charts and scrolls, its light erratic as that of the gems Snow Pine had yesterday called
unreliable
.

“Okay,” Bone said, making sure his eyes looked wide and spooked.

He drew and threw the dagger whose wax he'd broken.

The steel hit the fire-gem. A small explosion shattered the lacquer dragon and set the documents ablaze.

Many things happened in the sudden wash of freakish firelight, only some of which Bone had anticipated.

Bone
had
expected the knife-wielding foe to try killing the bearded treasure hunter, and he had expected the bearded man to struggle.

He had
not
expected the assailant's dagger to strike sparks from the bearded man's neck before flying through the air and clattering to the floor.

Bone
had
expected the tall treasure hunter to either seek a weapon or flee.

He had
not
expected him to fling open the trunk, grab a dimly glowing saber secured to the lid, and then leap
into
the trunk, disappearing into darkness.

Bone
had
expected Gaunt to draw a weapon of her own.

He had
not
expected it to be a money belt.

He had certainly not expected her to bellow, “Lei Chao and brothers! Lei Chao and brothers! Easy money! Fight some bandits! Easy money!”

She whacked a sword-wielder with her loop of coins and scored a resounding hit against the enemy's forehead. That much showed the value of surprise.

However, the foe's quick recovery showed the danger Gaunt and Bone were in. This was the pale assailant, and she made blade-motions testifying to long training and a willingness to kill.

Bone had already concluded angry guards weren't the worst thing in his life, and he popped the seal on another dagger, holding it ready. “I have good aim,” he warned.

“I can see that,” said the pale foe.

Another sword-wielder snapped commands in a language Bone did not know. That one, and one other jumped into the improbably deep chest after the tall treasure hunter.

Meanwhile the bearded man proved himself a fellow student of Gaunt's school of tactics, for he snatched up a clutch of burning papers and flung them into his unlucky foe's face. With a power belying his portly frame, he kicked the desk over, jabbing the pale sword-wielder with the desk's legs.

“Run, fools!” the bearded man barked in Roil.

Bone immediately revised his estimation of the bearded man upward. To facilitate this wise suggestion, Bone flung his uncut watermelon at the wobbly sword-wielder's head.

With an angry flourish the sword-wielder ended the fruit's uncut status. Red melon-meat splashed the walls, but Bone and Gaunt were already backing out, the bearded man scrambling toward them.

They passed three burly-looking ruffians, the biggest of which said, “Money?” Under other circumstances, Bone would have considered them a serious threat.

Gaunt tossed him the coin-belt, pointed, turned, and ran. Bone and the bearded man were close on her heels. There was considerable shouting and hooting behind them, and much thudding against walls.

“Name's Quilldrake,” the bearded man said as they gasped their way into the Market square. “Much obliged.”

“Are you hurt?” exclaimed Gaunt, for Quilldrake was covered in gory-looking red pulp.

Quilldrake licked at his beard, smacked his lips. “Don't think so. Not bad. From Madzeu, I'd reckon.”

“I would reckon we should run like hell,” Bone said.

“Quite. Have you a hidey-hole? Ours is otherwise engaged.”

“Across the Market,” Gaunt said, “but only if we can shake them. Let's move!”

Luck was with them in that the boisterous throng accompanying Washing Day was still lively, and as they plunged into the square's heart there were many people to weave among.

Luck was not with them in that two black-clad assailants, as Bone verified with a quick look back, had already emerged from between the literature god's shrine and the Inn of Infinite Options.

He hoped the stains on the leader's sword were all from melon.

Bone had expected anyone dressed head-to-toe in black would be loath to eviscerate them in public, but fresh doubts chilled his neck.

These doubts were confirmed as screams and shouts of outrage erupted behind them.

“They really want you,” Bone noted to Quilldrake.

“You too, by now.”

“Wonderful. Gaunt, I don't want to lead them to Snow Pine.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Do we leave a hot trail or cold?”

“Hot, I should think.”

“Agreed.”

“What do you mean, ‘hot trail . . . ?'” said Quilldrake, voice trailing off, as Bone grabbed his arm and dragged him into the midst of a group of entertainers.

They ran between the wooden legs of stilt-walkers and dove past a human pyramid, making those acts suddenly more challenging. Angry stage magicians threw knives, and angry sorcerers threw fire.

“I thought tricksters and true magi hated each other!” Bone protested under his breath as he dodged steel and flame.

The crowd cheered, especially when a swordsman caught up to Gaunt, Bone, and Quilldrake, waving the blade in a triumphant squiggle in the air.

Bone bowed, then shoved his companions beneath the stomach of the monstrously large camel who supported a batch of musicians, still bravely playing overhead.

Alas, the other assailant-in-black, now with sword drawn, was already on the other side.

Bone, Gaunt, and Quilldrake shifted and dodged and jostled beneath the camel, as the pair of flanking enemies jabbed at them. The camel snorted and stomped. The air went out of the flutes and voices, though the fiddlers played on, their tune growing ominously creaky.

Bone saw his chance, though the angle was poor. He threw his dagger at one sword-wielder.

The foe swatted his blade out of the air.

The dagger sank into the camel's flank.

With a bellow the beast abandoned its training, perhaps for good, and charged toward the Market gate.

“Grab on!” Bone's experience with the xiezhi had been instructive. He clutched the straps on the camel's underside, and Gaunt and Quilldrake did the same. Soon they left their foes behind. But while Bone and Gaunt were acrobatic enough to cling tight to the huge beast, Quilldrake was dragging.

“Oof—oof—oof,” Quilldrake said, or perhaps something more colorful, until he at last let go, and the camel left him behind on the stones of the square, their foes rushing toward him.

Bone responded first; he let go, dropped, rolled, and threw a dagger at the faster enemy. That one also deflected the attack, but it forced a halt, at least. Bone got Quilldrake to his feet with a yank.

“In here!” came the voice of Snow Pine.

Bone and Quilldrake ran to the doorway she'd peered from, and in his grateful rush Bone did not at first realize this wasn't the Inn of the Bright Future. Rather it was a temple of the Undetermined.

Bone didn't have the background to judge which of the three huge seated statues represented the Undetermined himself, as opposed to the Thresholders, though his bets were on the beatific gold-plated one in the middle. Left was a jolly-looking, big-bellied statue of lacquered wood that had Bone's immediate sympathy; right was a kindly looking figure of bronze, shown pouring out a libation. Candles and basins of water were everywhere. There was a thick smell of candle smoke and incense.

The washers and devotees were shouting at the newcomers, and emerging from amid the hundreds of candles and dozens of basins loomed a man of an ethnicity unknown to Bone. He boasted a wide face and black hair woven into braids sticking out like ox-horns. His clothing was bright blue, but the metal of his raised sword reflected orange in the candlelight. His teeth glinted, as he favored the newcomers with a battle-ready grin.

“A Karvak,” Quilldrake muttered. “They had to guard their temple with a Karvak.”

“I thought followers of the Undetermined were pacifists,” protested Bone.

“Karvaks aren't,” Snow Pine said. She sheathed her blade and raised her hands, palms out. “Sanctuary!” she called. “We're fleeing marauders.”

Bone sheathed his own blades. “They're coming fast,” he said.

“Very well,” said an elderly officiant in an orange robe. His body was stooped, but his voice rang through the candlelit temple. “Nine Thunderbolts, stand ready.”

At once the Karvak, with a last contemptuous look at the newcomers, strode to the door.

He immediately found himself in combat with one of the swordsmen in black. Metal clashed in the interface of sunlight and candlelight. The Karvak, Nine Thunderbolts, found himself pushed back, knocking over a basin of ceremonial water that smelled of incense and sandalwood.

Sword-swipes chopped candles in twain. Far from looking worried, Bone thought he saw a look of wild joy on Nine Thunderbolts' face. He reminded himself never to tangle with Karvaks. His hand strayed to a sheathed dagger.

“No,” Snow Pine cautioned him. “If you draw your weapon again we lose our right of sanctuary.”

Nine Thunderbolts heard her. Though he never looked away from his enemy, the Karvak boomed, “This one is mine! Not since I crossed the Desert of Wise Vultures have I had such a worthy foe!”

“He's got a friend,” Snow Pine called out.

“Excellent.”

Not excellent
, Bone thought, looking this way and that.
That is surely translation trouble. Where is he? Or she.
. . . The devotees had cleared out, which suggested another doorway. Bone asked the old priest, “Is there a way out through the roof?”

“I've offered you sanctuary,” said the priest, “not the deed to the temple.”

Quilldrake broke in. “Do you not recognize me, Yuan Da? Geshou Pi and I have donated to your temple.”

“Long Bi,” the priest said, eyes narrowing. “Yes, I remember you. You donate to everyone from whom you might need favors.”

“But we are very generous about it.”

“Come,” snapped the priest, not exactly agreeing, but leading them upstairs nonetheless.

The temple was a three-level pagoda, the third level capped with a bell loft. Bone, Snow Pine, and Quilldrake scrambled out onto the third-story roof. From here Bone had a good view of the Market and, because the temple rose beside the Market wall, of the neighboring ward with its peony garden.

He also saw guards on that wall, and guards in the Market square, all shouting and waving weapons. Persimmon Gaunt was with the Market group.
Good idea, that
, he thought,
summoning guards
. He wasn't used to that approach. Her response to his jaunty wave was to aim her bow at the roof.

“Wait!” Bone said, holding up his hands, “wait! It's us!”

Gaunt fired.

A shape Bone had been unaware of leapt from beneath the bell. The arrow hit the bell instead of the shape, raising sparks and a deep hum.

Embarrassed to be caught flat-footed, Bone saluted Gaunt and faced the black-clad foe. The enemy had fallen hard in escaping Gaunt's shot, and a sword lay fallen nearby. Bone tossed it to Snow Pine, who yelped with surprise—but caught it.

“I did it!” she said, drawing her own sword so that now she waved two. “Don't ever do that again,” she added.

“Ah, you lack confidence—urk—”

The foe was demonstrating an indifference to disarmament by grabbing Bone's throat with a grip that would shame a blacksmith. The world began turning purple around the edges. He grabbed at the arm, but it was like trying to uproot bamboo. He kicked wickedly between the foe's legs, but the enemy merely grunted.

Snow Pine was suddenly there, threatening Crazy Grip with two swords. Bone found himself dragged around the roof like a potato sack as the maniac-in-black dodged. Snow Pine managed to draw blood from an arm; it was the wrong arm, naturally, but Bone still approved. He would approve even more of air.

Suddenly Snow Pine had other problems. Another black-clad lunatic burst from the bell-loft. It was all Snow Pine could do to maintain her guard against the newcomer.
Where is a Karvak horde when you need one?
Bone imagined nomadic archers on horseback; they were colored purple-black and were filled with shimmering multicolored stars . . .

His opponent shrieked and let go.

The arm in front of Bone now had an arrow stuck through its biceps.

Bless you, Persimmon Gaunt
, were the words of his mind; “
Hhhhhgggggglllllllaaaa
. . .” was the word of his mouth. He and air wanted to strike up a passionate new relationship, but at that moment the foe's other fist connected with his nose. “
Gllrrk!
” was the new word of his mouth. It occurred to him Quilldrake had yet to engage, which annoyed Bone, given their efforts to protect the man. And one would think a fellow with a neck that repelled sword-strokes might find ways to be useful.

As if hearing Bone's thoughts, Quilldrake acted. He grabbed a roof-tile loosened in the battle and chucked it at Bone's opponent.