WARP world (26 page)

“Two to one, better odds than usual,” Viren called to Prow, who sidestepped to avoid a lunge and took a knife in the chest. He and his attacker both looked at the spot where blood should be pooling, the tip of the blade firmly wedged in the deck of cards.

Viren wasn’t so lucky, a wild slash opened up a cut on his shoulder and, as he backpedaled to avoid another attack, he tripped over Seg and crashed to the ground. “Be useful or get out of the way!” he barked at Seg’s hunched form.

As he righted himself, Seg grabbed one of the attacker’s ankles. There was a faint crackle. A moment later the man’s arms flew out, his head snapped back, and he tumbled sideways to the ground. Seg scuttled backwards, propelling himself to his feet in time to back into another of Hudish’s men, who raised a bottle and brought it down, grazing the side of Seg’s head. The hit sent the Damiar back to the ground.

The man with the broken bottle lunged forward to finish Seg off but Viren caught him by the back of the collar and swung him into the stone wall of the Port House. His head connected with the wall with a solid THUNK and the man fell sideways like a sack of laundry.

Viren spun around, stepped onto Hudish’s back, as he tried to raise himself off the ground, and ducked beneath the blade of another attacker as it arced toward him.

The tide was definitely turning in his favor, then someone in the crowd let out three shrill whistles.

“Constables!” Viren called out to Prow. Everyone stopped in place.

All except for Seg, who was on all fours, vomiting and coughing.

The crowd at the door shoved at one another to get back inside, Viren’s attackers fled down the darkened street, dragging their wounded with them.

Prow jogged away, then looked back and saw Viren wasn’t following him. “Viren, make wake!”

Viren looked down at Seg and shook his head. He was sure he had seen the man take down an attacker with no more than a touch. A trick of light most likely.

“Viren!” Prow called, more urgently.

If Lord Eraranat was what he claimed to be, he would be fine. The most the authorities would give a Dammie was a good
Tsk, tsk, tsk
. If he were lying, Correction for posing as one of his betters would be long and painful.

Out of my hands
. Trouble with the local Judiciary was a risk he couldn’t take.

“Cloud sniffers,” he muttered, then ran.

Ama considered running back to Brin’s but knew she would drop long before she reached him. And to wander around the streets of T’ueve was only to invite questions and problems with the patrolling constables.

But she had to find Seg. If he had woken early from the dose of furien, he wouldn’t be thinking clearly. He would be a target both for the authorities and for the criminals and petty thieves of Wharfinger Block.

But at least there, in the Block, among the lowlife of T’ueve, she might find help locating him.

She took off down the dock at a trot, knife secured in its usual hiding spot. Hopefully, even under the fog of the drug, he would have the good sense to stay low and out of trouble.

Seg flopped onto his back as the Outers made their escape. He groaned, the starless sky spun, his stomach ached, his throat burned. The stim dose he had taken before leaving the
Naida
had probably been enough to prevent him from succumbing completely to whatever narcotic the whore had used to try and knock him out, but his thoughts remained blurry. He wished that scoundrel Viren had taken a knife for the trouble he had caused him.

A group of six constables came around the corner, stopped and surveyed the scene. Seg made no effort to move.

“Go on,” one of the men gestured to the Port House doors with his weapon, some kind of black powder gun, “round up a few dock rats. Make a show of it.” Three of the men entered the Port House, two stayed close by their leader, who kicked the bottom of Seg’s boot. “They rob you?”

Seg laughed, which made him cough. “Those idiots couldn’t rob a blind man. Now, help me up.” He extended a shaking hand and marshaled what authoritative dignity he could in his condition.

The constable helped Seg to his feet. “You’ll have to come back with us, even so. We’ll need your signature and statement, the usual procedure.”

“It was dark and I couldn’t make out the faces,” Seg said. He parted his hair to show the bloody welt the bottle had left on his head. “And they got to me quite early in their melee, which was with each other and not myself. I was simply caught in the press of the brawl. I’d be much happier returning to my charter, if we could come to some understanding on this.”

The constable stared at Seg as if he was speaking another language. “I want faces, any faces. I want you to point out those faces and sign a declaration. Then I will let you clean up and go. Unless you have something to hide. Forgive me, I didn’t get your name…” he looked upon Seg with new interest.

“Lord. Segkel. Eraranat.” Seg said, biting off each word with emphasis. “I did not get yours, either.” He was tiring of bullies of all flavors tonight, but bureaucratic bullies with whom he had some false rank? Those he could push back at.

“Eraranat?” The constable gave Seg a closer inspection. “I’ve never heard of that Line.”

“I am from the south. Visiting for the Sky Ceremony.”

“Where in…the south?” the constable squinted and he glanced back at his partners.

“Am I being interrogated?” Seg stood as straight as he could manage, and tucked his chin indignantly.

“You will be if you don’t answer,” the constable said. “Could be you’re just a Kenda, dressed up. One of their tricks, in the Block.”

“You insulting little…” Seg raised an accusing finger.

“Take him,” the constable ordered his cohorts. They rounded on Seg, each grabbing an arm. Seg sputtered impotently, which the constable ignored. “Take him to Correction and find out who he really is.”

“Lord Eraranat?” A voice called from nearby. A woman’s voice.

Every head turned at once. Seg felt a rush, first of relief, then of indignation. Ama stood a short distance away; one hand casually resting behind her back, where he knew her knife was sheathed. Aside from her usual wariness, she was unharmed and in no danger he could see. Unlike himself.

“Captain,” Seg said, the word clipped.

The constable turned to Ama, “Is he with you?”

“Yes,” Ama said and paused for a moment, then continued, “Yes…and he’s not well.”

“Thanks to you,” Seg snapped, as he strained against the men holding him.

The constable took a few steps closer, now sizing up Ama. “He’s your partner?”

“My passenger,” Ama answered, hand still behind her back.

The constable smirked, raised his weapon and pointed it at Ama’s chest, “You expect me to believe you’re a boat Captain?”

“I am,” Ama said.

“She is,” Seg added, a second behind her. “Among other things.” He steadied his head long enough to give her a disdainful glare.

“I think you’ll come with us too. We can all have a nice long chat.” With the gun, he motioned for Ama to start walking.

“Please!” Ama raised both her hands, looked to Seg, then back at the constable. “I wasn’t lying. Lord Eraranat isn’t well. He caught borefly fever while hunting at his uncle’s estate in M’eridia. He’s come here for the Sky Ceremony, for a miracle to cure him. His family hired me as his guide but he slipped away while I was registering with the Port Captain. He has these…delusions, hallucinations. He forgets where he is. Please don’t send him to Correction for my mistake. He’s the primary inheritor of the Eraranat Line and his family will be furious if anything…” she paused the breathless rant and turned to Seg, “if anything
terrible
happens to him.”

Seg didn’t miss the significance of the look or the emphasis on the word. His eyes darted between her and the constables as he gathered his thoughts. “Is my uncle here?” he looked left and right, with a giddy smile.

Ama pointed to Seg’s head. “Oh no, he’s been injured!” When the constable looked away, she rushed to Seg’s side. One hand raised to the swelling lump on his head, while the other discreetly tugged down on the sleeve of his coat that had risen up, exposing part of the stunner hidden below.

He picked up on her ruse. “It was nothing. You should see the others. A dozen of them, there were. They took your name for ill, but I took their honor and sent their manhood fleeing.” He waved his arm in a grand gesture for the benefit of the constable. “Fleeing!” He stopped and studied the man intently. “Who are you?”

“Shhh,” Ama said, smoothing her hand over Seg’s hair. “Has he done something wrong constable? He really needs to get back and rest.”

The constable frowned; it was clear he wasn’t completely convinced.

Just then a loud smash echoed from the Port House, followed by a scream and the retort of a gun. The men holding Seg gave their leader a questioning look. The constable hesitated a moment then gestured toward the Port House; the men released Seg and hurried inside.

“Keep him away from the Block. I see either of you here again, you’ll be locked up.” More screams drew away his threatening stare and he left Seg and Ama behind, to see to the trouble inside.

“I will, thank you. Blessings of the Shasir upon you!” Ama called to the constable’s back, then raised Seg’s arm, draped it over her shoulder and led him away. When they were a good distance from the Port House, she hissed, “What in the name of the gods were you thinking?”

“Trying to find you.”Accusation crept into his tone. “What did you do to me?”

“I just saved you from Correction, that’s what I did.”

“You drugged me.”

“You really are delirious. You were exhausted. One minute you were talking, the next you were asleep in my arms,” Ama said. Then she added, “You think I enjoyed carrying you below deck?”

“When I woke up, you were nowhere to be found.” Like the constable, Seg was not entirely convinced.

“I had to register with the Port Captain, as always, then I ran into my cousin, Brin, who invited me for dinner. He lives out of the city, on the river, which is why I’m so late. I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

Seg let out a small,
hmpf
, but the exhaustion Ama spoke of was real and was draining the fight from him. “All of this—brawls, con men, whores drugging me,” he waved his free arm wildly, “your people are barbarians.”

Ama’s step faltered. “Whores drugging you?”

“Old trick. She had it on her lips,” he mumbled as he ambled at her side. He waved a dismissive hand. “Let’s get back to the
Naida
before I fall on my face.”

“
Her lips
?” Ama said, her steps dragging as she shouldered Seg’s weight. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Just don’t wander off like that again, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

The pitch of her voice rose and Seg detected a genuine note of concern. As if Ama had realized this as well, she added hastily, “And we have a deal. So don’t expect me to help you if you’re going to go looking for trouble.”

They wandered through the maze of streets back to the dock, where the
Naida
beckoned, like an old friend.

“My girl,” Ama muttered, as they tottered down the ramp and along the dock.

“Water craft are not alive,” Seg said as they made their way up to the deck of the boat. “Wood and metal, there is no spirit within.”

Or was there? He rested a hand on the wood rail and wondered what small amounts of vita her dedication to the craft may have imbued it with. Interesting theoretical question for when he didn’t feel as though his head were coming apart at the seams.

“She’s more than wood and metal. She’s my home, and my companion,” Ama said, slowing her pace as they approached the hatch. “When I’m at the helm, guiding her, I become a part of her. In that way, she’s alive. You can learn the mechanics of sailing, you can learn about wind and tides and current, but you’ll never be a true sailor until you put yourself into your boat, until you love her. No matter what your science says.”

He grunted in dismissal of her romantic nonsense as he climbed down below. He was far more interested in his auto-med and his bed than her strange relationship with a large piece of wood.