The bench would easily hold seven or eight people, and from time to time others had approached as if intending to sit. After a glance at the tattered and battered young man sitting there, they had all just wandered on by.
Gathmor’s lack of interest in him as either labor or merchandise had been alarming and unexpected. To have been thought worthy of a punch party was quite a compliment, though—he must have grown. If he had been in a fit state to accept the invitation and had endured the ensuing battering well enough, he might perhaps have been considered worth hiring.
Or enslaving. Everyone knew that jotnar traded in slaves. Why should that not be true in Faerie?
Father, where are you now that I need you ?
He must find a way off the island soon. He could not survive in the town without Thinal, nor in the jungle without Little Chicken. He wondered if the Thinal gang had survived, and which of them was presently in being, but he had no intention of going in search of Emine’s statue. He was going in search of Inos.
Except he didn’t know how to swim, and now he couldn’t even walk. Failure! He was a failure.
He was very hungry and very thirsty and the sun was cooking him. He stared glumly at the line of ships moored along the dock. None resembled in the slightest the fat little cogs that plied to and fro between Krasnegar and the Impire. He wanted to study all the various craft in detail, but his farsight wasn’t working as wall as usual. It made his head hurt more.
Gathmor’s Storrndancer he should avoid. He would have to try all the others and hope to find one that needed an extra hand. He might be selling himself into slavery, but it seemed to be the only way he would ever reach the mainland. Staying here was going to result in slavery at best, with death a likely alternative.
What would a ship’s captain say to a man who crawled up the gangplank on his hands and knees and asked to be hired? How was he ever going to get to Zark to help Inos?
There had to be a way!
4
The courtyard was small and dusty. Camels were much bigger than Kadolan had realized, and she pressed back in a corner, half resigned to being knocked over and trampled before she left this place. High stone walls and a blazing sun made it very hot and bright; it was extremely full of camels. Their smell was overpowering, their continual bellowing intolerable.
Fiercely whiskered men in swishing robes were leading camels, loading camels, cursing and beating camels. The camels bellowed back at the men and displayed mouthfuls of large yellow teeth. When she had arrived, an hour or more ago, great heaps of merchandise had been scattered over the ground; now they had been attached somehow to the camels, making the beasts wider and even more threatening. Kadolan had been happy at first to sit in a shady nook and watch all this fascinating activity, for it was a most unusual experience, but now there was no shade left, and almost nothing to sit on or hide behind.
Except, of course, camels. Madness! Inosolan, dear Inosolan!
Midnight messages, disguises, secret underground passages! Still, although she would not admit it except to herself, Kade was rather enjoying all the nonsense. Undoubtedly Queen Rasha must be behind it all, but if it amused her and amused Inos, there could be no harm in playing along with whatever they thought they were doing.
Having had a day to think the matter over, Kadolan had now decided that the idea of forcing Inosolan to marry a goblin was quite absurd. The imperor would never agree to such an abomination. The wardens, surely, were cultivated, civilized people who must know that goblins were vicious savages. They would never condemn an innocent girl to such a fate. Rasha herself had suffered at the hands of uncaring men. No, it had all been some sort of a bargaining ploy, obviously, not intended to be taken seriously.
Hrunnh!
Kadolan shied at the roar and looked up into the thick lashed eyes of a very tall camel and into a mouth full of amber tusks. Feeling like a rowboat being molested by a galleon, she eased away along the wall. If the brute wanted the corner position, she would not argue.
The black bedsheet in which she had been wrapped was quite a comfortable garment. Although it made her feel conspicuous, in fact it must be having exactly the opposite effect, for all the women she could see were similarly garbed. But her ankles ached with all the standing, and the smell was making her nauseous. Moreover, her face and hands had been dyed with some sort of berry juice. It had left her with a nasty, sticky feeling, and it seemed to be attracting more than her share of the flies. There was no shortage of those.
“Aunt!”
Kadolan swung around and was surprised to see that the young woman beside her had green eyes, very unusual in . . . “Inos!” The green eyes twinkled. ”I fear you have made an error, ma’am. I am Mistress Hathark, the wife of Seventh Lionslayer.”
“Oh? Well, if you say so, dear.”
The newcomer peered around at the swirling mob of people and camels, having trouble because of the cloth hooding her face. Then, apparently reassured that no one was listening, she said quietly, “You are still my aunt, of course, but they are planning some other name for you. Did you have a pleasant journey?”
Nothing of Inosolan was visible except her eyes, but her voice gave her away. She was feeling guilty and wanted reassurance. “A most interesting experience, dear.”
“You always did want to visit Hub, didn’t you?”
Hub? That seemed very unlikely. “Certainly. Is that our destination?”
Inosolan bent close. “We are going to appeal to the Four!” she whispered dramatically. The words were barely audible over the roaring of the camels.
“That will be nice, dear.”
Green eyes registered relief. “I am sure a ride on a camel will be highly educational. You always did want a ride on a camel, didn’t you?”
“An appetite easily sated, I am sure.”
“Er, yes.”
“Inos,” Kadolan said gently, “you do not seriously believe that her Majesty is unaware of this escapade, do you?”
Her niece flinched. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that she is a sorceress, that’s all.”
“Oh!” Inosolan sighed with relief. “You didn’t discuss it with her, or see her as you left, or . . . or anything?”
“No, dear. I followed instructions, and had a most curious journey through several very evil-smelling tunnels with some very unlikely-looking guides . . . But, no. I was just wondering how you could possibly expect to outwit anyone with Sultana Rasha’s abilities. That’s all.”
“Well, we have help. I think we’ve escaped—will escape. I’m tired of being a prisoner! I am going to go and do something. Going to recover my kingdom! Aha!”
A very tall man had emerged from behind a camel at Inosolan’s side. He was almost as anonymous as she was, in dirty-looking robes. An enormous sword hung at his side.
“Aunt, may I present my husband? He is a lionslayer. I understand lionslayers have no names, only numbers. He is Seventh Lionslayer.”
“Fifth, now,” Azak growled. “I am looking for Fourth. He has a slight squint, I believe.” He stared all around, peering between the camels and over everyone else’s head.
“What will you do with him when you find him?” Kadolan inquired uneasily.
The big man’s red eyes fastened on her menacingly. “I shall persuade the poltroon to hasten at once to Sheik Elkarath and grovel before him, confessing the defects and shortcomings he has hitherto concealed.”
Nonplussed by that, Kadolan turned back to her niece. “Did you say `husband’, dear?”
A flush appeared around Inosolan’s green eyes, under the berry juice stain. ”We shall be sharing a tent, of course, but I can explain—”
“No one,” the sultan said loudly, “has ever complained that I snore!”
Inosolan glanced nervously at her aunt and sniggered. Kadolan sighed. Whatever nonsense they were planning, these youngsters were certainly convinced that they were outwitting the sorceress.
Then Azak said, “Ah!” triumphantly, and stalked off into the melee, shouldering smaller men aside.
“It’s all right, Aunt,” Inos said hastily. “Really, it is. I am quite safe with Azak! I’ll explain as soon as we get a moment alone. He really did slay a lion, too—on his thirteenth birthday! So he tells me.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“You can trust me.”
“I’m sure I can, dear.”
“I haven’t forgotten your eight-year-old Prince Whoever-he-is. I’m not making eyes at Azak, honestly I’m not!”
“No, dear, I’m sure you’re not.”
Obviously Inos had not yet noticed the way Azak looked at her.