things are – like the rings with reservoirs for venom and razor-sharp blades to
simulate the fangs. They’ve told me the venom can’t be isolated, but I don’t
believe them now -‘
‘Who is this Terket Buger?’ Cythen inquired, her thoughts warming to the idea of
a name and face she could blame and take vengeance upon. ‘Would I recognize
him?’
‘Turghurt Burek,’ Walegrin corrected. ‘Yeah, you’ve probably seen him. He’s a
big man, a troublemaker. Taller than most of the Beysib men here by a head or
more. He’s a coward, I’m sure, because we can never find him alone. He’s always
got a handful of cronies around. We can’t lay a hand on him anyway – though this
time we’re talking about killing.’ He looked hopefully to the priest.
‘Not this time, either.’
They were once again interrupted by a hammering on the outside door and the
sounds of masculine voices shouting in the Beysib language. Molin left the
alcove to deal with the intrusion and fared worse this time than before. He was
roundly berated by two men who, it appeared, had made up their minds about
something. The priest returned to the alcove, visibly shaken.
‘It fits together now,’ he said slowly. ‘The boy has boxed us all. Another
Beysib woman has been found dead – and mutilated, I might add – down by the
wharf. Young Burek has played his hand masterfully. That was him, and his
father, to tell me that the populace must be controlled or wholesale slaughter
of the townsfolk will be on my conscience. The men of Bey will not see their
women defiled.’
‘Turghurt Burek was here?’ Cythen asked, her hands moving instinctively to her