Gypsies, tinkers, wandering metalworkers, musicians and . . . fortune-tellers?
Tear down the mountains, aye,’ Arlek answered her greeting now, speaking more slowly, thoughtfully. ‘You know the things to say, Zekintha, because you steal them from the minds of the Travellers! But we’ve been saying “tear down the mountains” as long as men remember, which is a very long time, and they’re still standing. And while the mountains are there the Wamphyri remain in their castles. And so we wander all our lives, because to remain in one place is to die. I have read the future, Zekintha, and if we shelter you you’ll bring down disaster on Lardis and his band. But if we give you into the hands of the Wamphyri -‘
‘Hah!’ her tone was scornful. ‘You’re brave with Lardis Lidesci away in the west, seeking a new camp for you where the Wamphyri won’t raid. And how will you explain this to him when he returns? How will you tell him you plotted to give me away? What, you’d give away a woman to appease your greatest enemies and make them stronger? The act of a coward, Arlek!’
Arlek took a deep breath. He drew himself up, took a pace toward her and raised his hand as if to strike. A dark flush had made his face darker yet. Jazz lowered the muzzle of his weapon until it touched Arlek’s shoulder, pointing into his left ear. ‘Don’t,’ he warned in the man’s own tongue. ‘From what I’ve seen of you I don’t much care for you, Arlek, but if you make me kill you I’ll die, too.’ He hoped the words he’d used made sense.
Apparently they did. Arlek backed off, called forward two of his men. They approached Jazz and he showed them his teeth in a cold grin, showed them the gun, too.
‘Let them have it,’ Zek said.
‘I was thinking about it,’ he answered out of the corner of his mouth.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Please give them the gun!’
‘Does your telepathy let you walk naked in lions’ dens?’ he asked her. One of the Gypsies had taken hold of the barrel of the SMG, the other’s hand closed on Jazz’s wrist. Their eyes were deep, dark, alert. Jazz was aware that crossbow bolts were trained on him, but still he asked: ‘Well? It’s your show, Zek.’
‘We can’t go back to Starside,’ she quickly answered him, ‘and the Travellers guard the way to Sunside. Even if we got out of this – got away from them – they’d find us again eventually. So give them the gun. We’re safe for now, at least.’
‘Against my better judgement,’ he growled. ‘But really I suppose there’s nothing else for it.’ He released the magazine and slipped it into his pocket, handed over the gun.
Arlek smiled crookedly. That, too,’ he pointed at Jazz’s pocket. ‘And the rest of your . . . belongings.’
Hearing the language spoken, using it, was inspirational. Jazz’s talent for tongues searched out and found him a few words. ‘You’re asking too much, Traveller,’ he said. ‘I’m a free man, like you. More free, for I make no deals with the Wamphyri so that I may live.’
Arlek was taken aback. To Zek he said: ‘Does he read the thoughts in men’s heads, too?’
‘I hear only my own thoughts,’ Jazz spoke first, ‘and I speak my own words. Don’t talk about me, talk to me.’
Arlek faced him squarely. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Give us your weapons, your various . . . things. We take them so that you may not use them against us. You are a stranger, from Zekintha’s world; so much is obvious from your dress and your weapons. Therefore, why should we trust you?’
‘Why should anyone trust you!?’ Zek cut in, as Arlek’s men began taking Jazz’s equipment. ‘You betray your own leader while he’s away seeking safe places!’
To give them their due, some of the Travellers shuffled their feet and looked a little shamefaced. But Arlek turned on Zek and snarled: ‘Betrayal? You speak to me of betrayal? The moment Lardis’s back’s turned you run off! Where to, Zekintha? Your own world, even though you’ve said there’s no way back there? To find yourself a champion, maybe – this man, perhaps? Or to give yourself to the Wamphyri and so become a power in the world? I would give you to them, aye – but only in trade for the safety of the Travellers – not for my own glory!’ ‘Glory!’ Zek scoffed. ‘Infamy, more like!’ ‘Why, you – !’ He was lost for words.