"They tell
me you get used to it"
AUTHORS: Mel and
Christy, Pillaging Onnas Incorporated
WARNINGS: Yaoi, angst, sap, language,
some OOC, AU...
PAIRINGS: 1x2, 3x4, 5x?
DISCLAIMER: ‘Gundam Wing’ and the
‘Oath of Swords’ series, along with their characters, are not ours. Despite our
recent pillaging successes, we aren’t that good.
FEEDBACK: The more, the
merrier!
APOLOGY: We have no pictures of Shinee to attach, sorry. (You’ll
work out what we mean.)
NOTE: Mineshaft is a real store! Go to
http://mineshaft.com.au/ and
prepare to drool.
AUTHOR BABBLEMEL & CHRISTY:
A-viking we will go! A-viking we will go! Hi ho the merry-o, a-viking we will
go!
[They skip in the front door, wearing plastic horned helmets and
brandishing a plastic scythe (Christy) and trident (Mel). The Gundam pilots and
Krashnark stagger in after them, bowed down under the weight of many, MANY huge
bags of fabric, lace, pins, quilt batting, threads, and a box with a new sewing
machine in it. Post-Christmas sales rock, don’t they?]
WUFEI: If you
crazy onnas don’t find us somewhere to put this down
right now, I swear
we’re just going to dump it all on your writing couch and make you dig it
out!
CHRISTY: On the floor next to the sewing table is
fine.
WUFEI: ...I wasn’t aware you had a sewing table. Where is
it?
MEL: Otherwise known as the dining table. We’ve annexed
it.
CHRISTY: Yep! Taken it over!
MEL: Yep! Planted a
flag!
CHRISTY: Yep! Declared eminent domain!
HEERO: Yep, couldn’t
be bothered tidying up after yourselves.
MEL: Yep! Pirated--
oi!
QUATRE: I understand why you’ve bought all these quilting supplies,
Christy, but why the three mattress protectors and the bedspread?
CHRISTY
(glaring at Heero): Because we can cut them up to use as batting for lap quilts,
and they’re cheap. Even cheaper than the thick polyester batting that Mel always
whines about--
MEL (distracted from glaring at Heero): I do not whine! I
put forward logical, reasonable explanations of why it’s crap!
CHRISTY:
--and we can get three or four lap quilts out of each one. Plus, Mel doesn’t
whine about it.
MEL: Because it’s not
crap. If you’re going to be
making me pin quilts together for you, I’m going to tell you what I think about
the materials involved.
CHRISTY: I pay you to do it!
MEL: And I’m
entitled to decent working conditions. Watch out or I’ll join a union.
Nyah!
CHRISTY: Shaddap and write, or I’ll go back to buying the polyester
stuff.
MEL: ...Yes’m.
----------------
Demon of
Justice
Chapter 39
“They tell me you get used to
it”
----------------“Wanna bet?” Duo asked, eyes sparkling
dangerously.
Doctor Modi sighed. “Mister Maxwell--”
“C’mon, Doc,
you were calling me Duo before the op!”
“Very well. Duo. When I told you
that most patients do not manage to re-bend their knee on the first try, I did
not mean that as a challenge,” the doctor said, looking sternly at him
over his glasses. “I told you in the hope that you would not feel bad if you do
not succeed today. I am also
not going to bet that you cannot, as I am
quite sure you would do whatever it took to win the bet, up to and including
ripping the carbon fibre I implanted in your knee away from the fuse points and
having to start all over again.”
“You know him so well,” Heero muttered
under his breath.
“The only reason I am allowing you to try today,
instead of telling you to go home and come back in three or four days, is
because the incision has healed remarkably well,” the doctor continued, showing
no sign of having heard Heero. “Hopefully the inside of your knee is similarly
advanced in healing. However! I want you to promise me that if your knee starts
to hurt too much as you bend it, you will
stop.”
Duo grinned.
“Whatcha gonna do if I don’t promise?”
“Relock your brace,” Modi grinned
back, “and possibly call in Maintenance to weld it shut. By the time you manage
to get loose, your knee should have healed enough to take a little
abuse.”
Duo laughed out loud, and Heero relaxed as he saw that the
dangerous glitter in his eyes had softened to genuine amusement. “Oh man, that’s
low, Doc! And I bet Heero wouldn’t help me get out of it either.”
“I’d be
terrified of doing something wrong and hurting you,” Heero said
truthfully.
“Okay, okay, I’ll be good,” Duo sighed. “Just one more
question. What’s your definition of hurting ‘too much’? ‘Cause I think my level
of ‘too much’ is higher than yours.”
“Considering your opinion of
painkillers that you expressed so -- ah -- fluently a week ago, I’m quite sure
it is,” Modi agreed. “You should experience the sort of pain you would feel from
an overworked muscle, an ache rather than a sharp pain. If you feel a stabbing
sensation, or any sudden increase in the amount of pain, stop.”
“Yes Doc
sir,” Duo said, saluting. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
“Very
well,” the doctor nodded, moving to start unlatching the brace. “Bear in mind
that if you do manage to damage your knee further, I will tell Doctor Po and let
her deal with you.”
“Ooooh, now that’s a scary thought.”
Dr Modi
handed the brace to Heero, still supporting Duo’s ankle with one hand, then
slowly let go. “Carefully now...”
Duo frowned, concentrating. “Okay, here
we go.” Slowly, he bent his knee a few degrees. “Nothing bad so far,” he
muttered, pushing a little further.
“You are not just ignoring the pain?”
Modi asked, raising an eyebrow, and Duo snorted.
“I said I’d be good,
Doc,” he said, pausing for a moment to mock-glare. “It feels like I pulled a
couple of muscles in there, sure, but nothing too serious. Maybe sitting in the
spa with the jets on every day helped?”
“I suppose that is possible. Do
continue, then.”
Slowly, still frowning, Duo bent his knee until it
reached the full ninety degrees. “Awright! And I didn’t even cheat,” he laughed,
looking up to grin at Heero.
“Nice,” Heero smiled back, unobtrusively
ticking off a mental checklist of ‘Signs Duo Is Hiding Something’.
His
colour’s fine, his eyes are steady, that’s a real grin not a forced one, his
hands are relaxed... hm. It really didn’t hurt that much.“I
must say that I am impressed, Duo,” Modi told him, smiling. “Now, I will adjust
the brace so that it allows a little movement, but you do still need to use the
crutches--”
“--if I’m moving more than a few steps, for three months or
so, until I’ve done enough therapy to switch to a lighter brace, yeah? I
was listening when you explained all that, Doc,” Duo said cheerfully.
“I’ve been good this long, I can survive being good some more.”
“My
goodness.” The doctor blinked behind his glasses, looking genuinely startled.
“Mister Maxwell -- Duo -- I can truthfully say that although very few of my
patients manage to re-bend their knee on the first try, even fewer actually
remember the instructions for more than five minutes.”
“Har
har.”
As Modi bent over the brace, adjusting the joint at the knee, Duo
frowned again. “Um... Doc, speaking of
instructions...”
“Yes?”
“...We might end up moving in a couple of
months,” Duo told him slowly, glancing in Heero’s direction. “I’m gonna need to
do physiotherapy for four or five months, right?”
“Approximately that,
yes. I can give you a referral to a therapist near your new home if necessary,”
Modi said, still concentrating on the brace.
“Yeah, we might end up kind
of out in the boondocks. Nowhere near a town, let alone a hospital. Any chance I
can get written instructions so I can finish the therapy
myself?”
That brought Modi’s head up to stare at him. “...I would
be much happier if you were under the supervision of a properly qualified
doctor,” he said eventually. “Can Doctor Po not make, ah, house
calls?”
“Proooobably not.”
“We’re likely to be completely out of
contact for a long time,” Heero put in bluntly.
’Forever’ is ‘a long time’,
after all... “Duo will need to be able to do exercises and so on by
himself.”
The long-haired pilot shot him a grateful look. “Yeah, what he
said. If I get detailed instructions I promise to follow them and everything,
honest.”
“...I see,” Modi said eventually, not sounding completely
convinced. “I will speak to your therapist,
and Doctor Po, and we shall
see what we can do, hm?”
----------
“Do you want to go straight
back and gloat, or can we do an errand on the way home?” Heero asked, holding
the car door open for Duo to negotiate his way into the seat.
“Depends.
Is it a fun errand?”
“Gem buying.”
“Yeah, that’s fun!” Duo told
him, buckling up. “Where to?”
“Mineshaft,” Heero told him, checking a
list with the first four or five entries ticked off. “They apparently do some
good deals on loose stones, opals, garnets, that sort of stuff.”
“Ooh,
definitely fun! Is that one of Q’s contacts?”
“Trowa’s, actually,” Heero
shrugged, sliding the list back into his pocket and starting the car. “I’ve been
saving this one for today because it’s near the hospital.”
“Sorry I
haven’t been able to help much,” Duo said, a little sheepishly. “We’ve got a ton
of stuff to do before I can even get ‘Fress to put me in touch with
Wufei...”
Heero shot him a wry sideways glance. “You and Quatre have been
doing all the planning, Duo -- and besides, we only have one car at the moment.
Even if you could take a turn out buying supplies, it wouldn’t speed things up
at all.”
“I still feel kinda lazy sitting on my ass.”
“You’re also
better than me at finding bargains online. I wouldn’t have spotted that
wholesale bead website as a good option. Exactly how many thousand pearls and
garnets did you get?”
“Okay, okay, you win, I’m helping,” Duo
grinned.
* * * * *
Wufei yawned, stretched as far as he could in
the limited space available, and then finished getting dressed after the sketchy
wash he could manage with a rag and a cupful of water.
Space missions
were good practice for spending ten days underwater, I suppose, he thought,
wrinkling his nose at his dirty clothes and stuffing them into a storage bin.
At least I’m not stuck in an atmosphere suit! I’ll have to do a full purge of
the environmental system as soon as we arrive at Belhadan to get things smelling
clean again, though.=*Good morning, Wufei,*= Krashnark’s voice said
out of thin air. =*Did you sleep well?*=
“Good morning, Krashnark,” he
said politely, glancing upwards. “Reasonably well, yes, though I’m looking
forward to a night in a real bed.” A mental ‘nudge’ at Nataku’s controls sent
the Gundam into motion, following the
Osprey north, and he reached for
another storage cabinet. “And actual cooked food,” he added wryly, pulling out a
ration bar and one of his dwindling supply of citrus fruits. The little green
not-quite-grapefruit were keeping well, and Wufei made a mental note to save one
to show Uthmar.
Since I don’t know what they’re called, I can’t just ask for
them by name...=*Belhadan has all the comforts a city can provide,*=
Krashnark chuckled, =*and I’m sure my uncle Torframos’s chapter house is-- what
are you
doing?!*=
Wufei blinked and nearly dropped his meal,
startled by the sudden panicked yelp. “Ah... having breakfast?”
=*Where
did you get that fruit?! It’s mindanwe! Wufei, that’s
poisonous!*=
“...Krashnark, I’ve been eating these for four days,”
he said slowly. “Exactly
how poisonous are
they?”
=*...*=
“
Krashnark?”
=*...Deadly,*= the god
said in a rather dazed voice. =*You should have collapsed while the first bite
was still in your mouth.*=
“Oh,” Wufei said, eyes wide. “Um. That’s...
very poisonous, yes.”
=*Given that you’re fine, they must not be
poisonous to
you,*= Krashnark told him, recovering some of his usual
poise. =*Normally, everything about the plant is poisonous, to the point where
even picking the leaves is dangerous. The sap is used as an assassin’s
weapon.*=
“Well. That’s one advantage to technically being a ‘demon’ that
I hadn’t expected.” Eyeing the fruit a little warily, Wufei balanced it on one
of Nataku’s control panels and unwrapped his ration bar, taking a bite and
chewing as he thought. “That might explain the little group of trees where I got
these,” he said eventually. “They were out in the middle of nowhere, and someone
had cut into the bark and then scraped up some sap. I only found them because I
could smell it.”
=*That would have been in the Shipwood, yes?*=
Krashnark’s voice soured a little. =*Sharna has quite a presence among the
Purple Lords, and his dog brothers use mindanwe. It doesn’t grow well further
north, and usually gets ripped up and burned whenever it’s found.*=
“That
must be a dangerous undertaking,” Wufei said dryly.
=*Oh, yes. Farmers
usually tie ropes around it, drag it out of the ground with a team of horses,
and then burn it ropes and all.
Not on a windy day,
obviously.*=
“Ugh. You know, this is actually rather
worrying.”
=*How so?*=
Wufei grimaced. “If I can happily eat
something that's deadly poison to people from this world, what if it goes the
other way? Is there something
they eat that's deadly poison to
me?”
=*...I certainly hope not.*=
* * * * *
“Can I
help you with that?”
Rami looked up from the well to see the blond
guardsman smiling hopefully; after a moment she smiled back, and nodded. “If you
don’t mind?”
He took her place at the windlass and started cranking,
hauling the full well bucket upwards. “My name’s Kairic,” he said politely. “I
believe we met about three five-days ago, though I didn’t exactly get a chance
to be introduced...”
“You were a little busy,” she told him, looking back
down modestly. “My name’s Rami. Is it true, what I heard? Lord Yithar’s gone
mad?”
“I don’t know if he’s mad, exactly,” Kairic said, grimacing. The
hook reached the lip of the well and he set the brake, then reached over to
swing the bucket closer to her. “He’s gone over to the Dark Gods, that’s for
sure.”
She shivered theatrically, emptying the well bucket into one of
her own, bigger buckets, then passed it back, looking up at him through her
eyelashes. “You must be
very brave, getting away and bringing warning
like you did.”
He blushed slightly, ducking his head as he sent the rope
down again. “Not really; I was just running,” he shrugged. “It was pure luck
that I reached here and found someone official to tell.”
“Good luck for
us, then!” Rami smiled at him again, noting his reaction with a certain amount
of smugness. “You’ve been talking to the Sisterhood mostly, haven’t you? Aren’t
they wonderful?”
“And a little scary,” he confessed. “I nearly w-- er--
jumped out of my skin when they came up behind me yesterday.”
“Oh yes,
that was Dame Kaeritha’s patrol, wasn’t it?” Rami giggled. “She’s very
nice.”
“The, um, scarred lady knight?” Kairic looked uncomfortable.
“Er... nice? Really?”
“Of course! She’s been here for nearly ten days,
you know, so we’ve had time to get to know her. You’ll see. --Thank you, that’s
plenty of water,” Rami added, sliding the yoke onto her shoulders and hooking
the buckets onto it.
“Can I carry that for-- ah,” he trailed off as she
stood up effortlessly. “I guess not.”
“I can handle this just fine,” she
told him airily, inwardly stifling another giggle. “You can open the gate for me
if you like, though.”
“Certainly,” he told her, smile
recovering.
“That one there,” she told him, nodding towards the low fence
surrounding her mother’s kitchen garden.
And then I can ask you in for
tea, she thought, watching him hurry ahead,
and I don’t think you’ll
refuse... then it’ll be time for Papa and the others to come in for lunch, and I
can invite you to stay for that. And then we’ll see, she mused.
* * *
* *
“Hello Iria,” Quatre said, smiling at his oldest sister’s image on
the screen. “How have you been?”
< < Well, thank you, > > she
said with a subdued smile. < < And you? > >
“Quite well. I’m
enjoying a little peace and quiet,” he laughed, carefully not glancing sideways
at the diminishing piles of handwritten notes on the dining table.
Relative
peace and quiet, at least, compared to the last couple of years!<
< Ah. > > Iria’s smile thinned. < < That’s nice. >
>
Quatre frowned slightly, studying her expression. “Iria? What’s
wrong?”
< < Nothing. > >
“Really?” Quatre raised one
eyebrow at her. “When you start using your business poker face on me,
something’s wrong -- even if it’s just that I’ve called right when you were
hoping for a nap,” he added. “What is it?”
< < ...You’re far too
perceptive sometimes, > > she sighed, relaxing. < < Are you coming
home soon, brother? > >
“No, I’m not,” he said apologetically.
“That’s actually what I was calling about... why?”
< < You
are the heir, Quatre. Winner Enterprises needs you. > >
He
snorted indelicately, getting a startled blink in return. “Winner Enterprises
has you, Iria, and the rest of our sisters. It doesn’t need a seventeen-year-old
CEO who hasn’t been involved in the business for over two years!”
<
< Be that as it may, > > she said dryly, < < you are still the
heir. > >
“Because I’m the only male,” Quatre said, rolling his
eyes. “Sharing a Y chromosome with our father did not miraculously give me the
divine right to rule.”
< < Try telling that to every single
business contact we have on L4, brother, > > Iria said, voice completely
flat, < < and all the non-family board members.
Please. I’ve been
pretending to pass on your decisions ever since Father died, but it’s getting to
the point where they won’t take my word for it any more. You
need to come
home. > >
Quatre sat back in his chair, staring at the screen.
“...You really mean that,” he said finally. “Are you honestly telling me that
they’ll take an inexperienced teenager more seriously than you, the person who
was Father’s publicly acknowledged second-in-command for nearly
twenty
years?!”
< < Oh, they won’t take you seriously, > > Iria
told him, smiling bitterly. < < Several of our competitors are positively
drooling at the thought of taking you on; but as long as you exist, they won’t
take
me at all. > >
“They’re insane.”
< <
They’re
traditional. They would be quite happy to deal with and even
respect me if you didn’t exist, but the moment a male heir comes of age all his
female relatives lose their business acumen, > > she said scathingly. <
< It’s written in the Koran somewhere, I’m sure. > >
“My copy
must be missing that page,” he murmured, then shook his head. “Well. What if I
signed my interest in the business over to you and then vanished?”
<
< ...I beg your pardon? > >
“I was originally calling you to
discuss coming back... or
not coming back, to be precise,” Quatre said
calmly, leaning his chin on his folded hands. “You know what I’ve -- we’ve --
been doing for the last two years, Iria. So do quite a few other people, and the
word is going to spread. Do you think I’d be left alone if I came home and took
over from you?”
She cocked her head slightly to one side, considering.
< < No, probably not. > >
“Definitely not,” he agreed. “The
Winner fortune and political power could shelter me from quite a bit, but that
same fortune and power would make certain people wonder what someone with my
background might
do with them; and then there’s my friends. I won’t
abandon them.”
< < It wouldn’t be at all in character for you, no,
> > Iria said, showing her first genuine smile of the conversation. <
< How is Trowa, by the way? > >
Quatre coughed, blushing
slightly. “Very well, thank you. Well. We’re planning to pull a rather extreme
vanishing trick; possibly one that includes faking our deaths,” he added,
remembering the huge explosion that had accompanied Wufei’s disappearance out of
the world. “So. If I were missing, probably believed dead, and you had all the
legal paperwork necessary to show that I had handed full control over Winner
Enterprises back to you... would that work?”
< < ...Yes, > >
she told him, almost visibly working her way through all the ramifications. <
< Yes, that would work very well. Quatre... if you do this, you won’t be able
to stay in touch, will you? > >
“No,” he told her sadly. “Not at
all, but I really do think it’s the only way we’re going to be able to live
anything close to a normal life.”
In a different dimension, he added to
himself.
Talk about taking extreme measures!< < I’ll miss
you, > > she said softly. < < We all will, but if you’ll be happy,
then... it sounds like the right thing to do. > >
“Excellent,” he
said, and she sat up straight as he smiled like a happy shark. “Now, let’s
discuss exactly what you’re going to
pay me for my share of the company,
hmmmm?”
* * * * *
“We’ve gotta tell Trowa how well that contact of
his turned out,” Duo gloated, peering inside one of the white bags that filled
the footwell in front of his seat. “That place was the
motherlode.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t want to get more of the
carvings,” Heero said, glancing over. “Some of them were really
impressive.”
“Yeah, they were, but that sort of thing’s hard to sell
fast. The ones we got will make great presents if we ever need to
not-quite-bribe someone rich and powerful, but we’re mostly getting things we
can sell if we need funds, right? Or even trade directly for goods without
swapping them for cash first. Smaller, simpler things work better for
that.”
Heero shrugged, eyes back on the road. “You’d know better than me.
I mostly used cash, Krugerrands, and electronic funds when I needed to buy
something -- or Doctor J bought it, and had Howard get it to me.”
“Nice
anonymous gems are less traceable if you’re dealing with some of the shadier
traders,” Duo grinned. “Or mercenaries. Plus, you can carry them with you, don’t
need an ATM to cash them in, and the government can’t stop you spending them by
freezing your accounts. Study well, Grasshopper, and you too may reach financial
enlightenment!”
“I bow to the wisdom of the master,” Heero snickered. “At
least I was already sufficiently enlightened to stand back and let you empty out
half their display cases.”
“Damn straight!”
“What I really want to
know is how you got what looks like several kilos of loose gemstones and
jewellery so cheaply. Did you talk them into a bulk discount, or did they just
forget to add half of it up?” Heero asked, half-seriously. Duo looked at him
quizzically.
“You really were standing back, weren’t you? I bet you
didn’t hear half of what we were talking about, either.”
The dark-haired
pilot looked a little embarrassed. “I was, er, enjoying watching you,” he
confessed. “You seemed to be having fun.”
“Aheh. I was,” Duo said, then
coughed. “Anyway. If you’d been listening, I bet you wouldn’t have recognised
half the names of the gems I bought.”
“I’m not
that oblivious!”
Heero protested. “Just because I never used them as
currency--”
“Bronzeite? Unakite? Dendritic quartz? Lodestone? Chrome
diopside? Larimar? Labradorite? Maw-sit-sit?”
“--okay, is that last one
even a real name, or did you make it up?”
“It’s a rich green stone
mottled with black, made up of a blend of chromeite and jadeite,” Duo told him
smugly.
“You win.”
Licking one finger, Duo made an imaginary mark
in midair. “One to me! Seriously though, I trawled a bunch of gemmology websites
while Quatre and I were deciding the most cost-effective trade items to bring
along,” he admitted, relenting. “Five days ago I wouldn’t have known half of
those names either. The point is, they’re all fairly cheap semi-precious stones,
but because they’re pretty and well cut they’ll be worth more than diamonds and
rubies in a society that can only polish cabochons.”
“...Cabo-what?”
Heero asked plaintively.
“Smooth oval stones without facets. Nice enough
if that’s all you have the tools to do, but they don’t sparkle. --Unless they’re
opals. Opals sparkle no matter what shape they are,” Duo added.
“That
settles it,” Heero told him, turning into the driveway of their safehouse and
putting the car into park. “I’m going back to the shops I already visited, and
taking you with me this time. I didn’t know enough about what I was looking for,
but with you along we’ll be able to clean them out.”
* * * *
*
Holderman whistled, a low surprised tone instead of one of the signal
whistles that could cut through a gale. “If we were out at sea, I think we’d be
running for shelter about now. Is that anything we’re going to need to worry
about?”
“Shouldn’t be,” Kelov said, staring eastwards with a worried look
on his face. “We’ll be tied up at Derm well before the river rises and the docks
are built in a sheltered inlet, but you’re right; if we were any further away
from a safe mooring I’d be damn worried.” He paused, eyeing the lowering clouds,
and went on in a quieter voice. “I’ve never seen a storm look quite like
that.”
To the east and north-east, the distant escarpment that was the
western edge of the Wind Plain was invisible behind roiling black clouds and
grey sheets of rain. They were moving oddly, a slow clockwise swirl that seemed
perpetually on the verge of spreading out but never did.
“So that’s not
normal for the area?” Evark asked sharply.
“You get plenty of storms over
in that area all right,” the dwarf pilot told him. “When you get a damp wind
blowing up over the edge of the Wind Plain it can form ribbons of cloud that run
up the cliff like a waterfall going backwards, and if there’s rain or snow
anywhere you can guarantee some is going to fall there. That storm’s closer,
though, and normally I’d expect it to be moving away from us with the prevailing
winds. It blew up out of nowhere and it’s just sitting there, and frankly I
don’t like the look of it.”
Evark and Holderman exchanged wary glances.
“Aye, well, like you said we’ll be snug at Derm before anything reaches us,”
Evark said eventually, giving Holderman a half-shrug and a grimace that said
we can’t talk in front of him clearer than words.
“Aye,” Kelov
agreed, still worried. “This message you’re delivering, is it to Baroness
Ernos?”
“No.”
“Someone in Derm?”
“I’m thinking you don’t
need to know,” the halfling captain said calmly, looking up at the dwarf with
one eyebrow raised. “Meaning no insult and all, but you’re better off not
getting any more mixed into this than you are already.”
“It’s just that
if you need to keep travelling, that storm’s going to ruin all the roads
hereabout if it moves any closer,” Kelov shrugged. “Not to mention that if
you’re heading to Moretz or Esgfalas,” he went on, naming the nearest two human
baronies, “you’ll need to cross at least two fords, and they aren’t going to be
passable for days.”
Evark grimaced again. “Let’s just get to Derm first,
shall we? Time enough to worry about moving on then.”
True to his word,
Kelov brought them in to the docks at Derm less than a candlemark later. As the
Wind Dancer coasted smoothly through the calm inlet, all sails furled and
manoeuvring purely on momentum, her low hull and rakish lines drew curious
glances from dockworkers and sailors alike. It was a fair bet, Holderman
thought, snickering under his breath at the blatant double-take a man in a tiny
rowboat had just done, that no Marfanger ship had ever been this far up the
river before.
“You can tie up there,” Kelov told Evark, pointing out a
clear berth. “There’s no dock fee; Baroness Ernos figures she makes enough in
trade taxes without one, and it encourages return business.”
“Not
something we need to worry about right now,” Evark muttered under his breath,
turning the wheel with care. His crew were hanging fenders along the ship’s side
and coiling ropes ready to throw, leaving him free to give his full
concentration to his task. The
Wind Dancer eased into place, barely
kissing the wharf, and a couple of dockside loiterers nodded in admiration.
Mooring lines were made fast in seconds, and two dockworkers slid out a slatted
wooden ramp, sloping it steeply downwards to reach the low deck.
“Who’s
the jester?” Holderman asked almost absent-mindedly, jerking his chin towards a
human male who was hurrying along the docks towards them. He was carrying a
small bundle slung over one shoulder and dressed in a garish red and green robe,
brown hair and white beard flowing loose down it as if trying to conceal the
horrendous colour combination. “If that’s the dockmaster, I’ve never seen one
with worse taste in clothes.”
“Someone from the Baron’s College, I’d
say,” Kelov shrugged, scratching his beard. “They wear ceremonial robes that
look a bit like that on special occasions, though I’ll admit I’ve never seen ‘em
in those colours.”
Evark looked up and blinked, briefly horrified.
“...And I’ll wager you’d be happy not to see ‘em now,” he said eventually,
drawing a snicker from the dwarf.
“It’s about time you got here!” the
tall human snapped, reaching the top of the gangplank and shoving a dockworker
out of his way. “Cast off or untie or whatever it is you call it, we need to get
moving.”
Evark and Holderman exchanged speaking glances. “I think you
might have the wrong ship, whoever you might be,” Holderman drawled, one hand
resting on his swordhilt. “We’re on a private charter right now, not up for
hire.”
The human shook his head, starting to pick his way down the plank.
“This is the
Wind Dancer, yes? It’s not like we’re going to have two
halfling ships come into port on the same-- awk!” He windmilled his arms, almost
losing his balance as one foot skidded, and made it to the deck in an
undignified scramble. The bundle’s strap slid off his shoulder and it thumped to
the deck at his feet, nearly tripping him.
“Aye, you’re aboard
Wind
Dancer,” Evark told him suspiciously. “And what makes you think you have
business with us, whitebeard?”
Kelov looked around nervously as several
crewmembers drifted casually towards the conversation, carrying belaying pins or
loosening knives in their sheaths. The stranger didn’t seem to notice, drawing
himself up proudly and tugging his robes straight.
“I,” he said
portentously, “am a messenger of the Gods.”
Evark’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh
aye, are you then? And which gods would that be?”
“Korthrala and
Chemalka, of course,” the man sniffed. “Didn’t you see the storm? We need to
head upstream immediately or it’ll be wasted, and it shan’t be
my
fault.”
Opening his mouth to retort, Evark jerked as he felt the
now-familiar twinge from his trident pendant. It was a little different this
time, feeling somehow... embarrassed? “Even assuming I believe you,” he said
slowly, “I’m thinking I’d like a few more details before I set off up a shoaling
river on your say-so. For starters, who
are you?”
“Jothan
Tarlnasa, chairman of the philosophy department at Baron’s College,” came the
snappish answer. “You’re on a mission from Korthrala to deliver a warning
message to Hurgrum, yes?”
Kelov choked, wide-eyed.
“
Hurgrum?!”
Evark ignored that. “Aye,” he nodded. “And where do
you come in?”
Tarlnasa gave a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes. “The
rivers between here and Hurgrum aren’t normally navigable, so Korthrala asked
Chemalka to help. She’s caused a storm that will raise water levels in a couple
of the tributary branches of the Upper Saram high enough for your ship to pass.
They’ve sent me to guide you,
obviously.”
“Obvious once you
actually explain, maybe,” Evark snorted, eyeing the tall human with
disfavour.
“Well, get moving then!”
Holderman looked sideways at
his captain, who was starting to jut out his chin dangerously, and took one long
step back and to the side to separate himself from the
conversation.
“We’ll do that all right, just as soon as you tell me where
we’re supposed to move to,” Evark growled.
“Hurgrum, you blithering
idiot!” Tarlnasa snapped, lifting his eyes heavenwards in exasperation. “That
is where your message is needed, gods give me patience to deal with
fools!”
“
Which river?!”
The human blinked. “Oh. The
northernmost channel until you pass Esgan, then south-east, eastern channel past
Navahk, then the second north-pointing tributary. But I’ll be on board to guide
you, so--”
Evark looked at Kelov. “Got that?”
Kelov looked
surprised. “Ah, yes?”
“Know the channels?”
“Yes, though I’ll admit
I haven’t actually piloted a ship through those specific ones--”
“Willing
to try?”
Kelov swallowed, stiffening his spine. “Yes.”
Evark
grinned, eyes glittering. “Good. You, whitebeard! Off my ship!”
Tarlnasa
squawked, eyes bulging unattractively. “But-- you need me! The Gods--”
“I
need to know the safe channel. You’ve told me. Damned if I’ll tolerate you on my
decks any longer than I have to. Off, before I throw you off!”
The human
backed up the gangplank as Evark advanced on him, then yelped again. “My
luggage! I packed--”
Without pausing, Evark scooped the bundle up and
hurled it at Tarlnasa, who caught it, wobbled dangerously, staggered sideways...
and fell off the ramp, disappearing underneath the dock with a despairing cry
and a loud splash.
“Cast off!” Evark bellowed, and the dockworkers tossed
the mooring lines onto the deck and hauled up the gangplank. Evark nodded
politely to them. “I’m thinking yon philosophy chairman would appreciate a
rope,” he said, straight-faced. “Or perhaps a boathook.”
“Aye, we’ll take
care of that,” one nodded back, eyes alight with curiosity. “Good sailing -- and
good luck!”
* * * * *
“Captain Yurgazh,” Arsham sighed, cutting
the other hradani off mid-sentence. “Do me a
favour.”
“...Yes?”
“Stop beating around the bush and tell me what
you
want.”
Yurgazh’s mouth snapped shut, and he stared fixedly for
a moment, trying to judge Arsham’s mood.
Prince Arsham Churnazhson --
Arsham the Bastard, as he was often called by his father’s toadies -- was tall
for a Navahkian hradani, seven feet tall and as broad in the shoulder as some
Horse Stealers. He had light brown hair in a warrior’s braid, oddly pale eyes
that looked nearly yellow in some lights, and a near-permanent calm expression
that had fooled a lot of other hradani into thinking the Rage had ‘gone out of
him’... until he proved otherwise.
“I want to bring someone-- no,”
Yurgazh corrected himself. “No point getting her to talk to you if you want me
to come right out and say what we want now.”
“’We’?” Arsham asked, and
Yurgazh winced.
“Can we leave that bit for later?”
“This is
starting to sound like something you don’t actually want to ask me, Captain,”
the prince said quietly. “Would you like to think again?”
“...I want to
take you somewhere, to talk to someone,” Yurgazh said carefully, meeting
Arsham’s eyes. “I give you my word that this isn’t a trap of any sort, and that
we honestly believe this is something you need to hear.”
Arsham sat back
in his chair, twirling the quill pen he’d been using to make careful marks on a
map, and looked steadily at him. “Why can’t you just tell me whatever it is here
and now?”
“I’m not in charge, and I’m a lot less convincing than the--
person who wants to talk to you.”
“Why can’t they come
here?”
“It’s complicated,” Yurgazh said frankly, and Arsham
laughed.
“I have to admit that sounds more interesting than all
this,” he said ruefully, waving at the piles of parchment on his table.
“Never trust anyone who says you don’t need to read to run an army,” he sighed,
and Yurgazh stiffened. The last time he’d heard a comment like that, it had been
Churnazh saying it.
“So you’ll come?”
“This isn’t some plot by the
old noble families, is it?”
“Definitely not.”
“Do I bring a
bodyguard?”
“Er... I’d rather you didn’t,” Yurgazh admitted, “but I’m not
about to tell you you can’t.”
It was Arsham’s turn to stare, ears cocked
backwards in surprise; then he nodded sharply. “Fine. I’ll take
you as my
bodyguard, how’s that?”
“Um. Thank you?”
“Let’s go, then, before
somebody brings me some more damn work to do.”
----------
Arsham
walked beside Yurgazh through the main corridor of the underground temple,
staring around him in well-concealed surprise. All the worshippers had been
cleared out except for Akar and Mathel, as a precaution in case the prince
didn’t react well to finding out what exactly was going on, but it was clearly
designed to hide a lot of people.
“How in all of Krahana’s hells did you
build this?” he asked. “This stonework is new, so it’s not like it’s been down
here for years. Where’d you put all the stuff you dug out?”
Yurgazh
shrugged. “I wasn’t here to see it. I think a lot of it got used to re-gravel
roads, though.”
Arsham stopped short, staring at the carving above the
wide double doors they were approaching. It was stylised, and the lack of colour
made it harder to decipher, but it was the same rod-in-flames symbol Yurgazh had
seen on Mathel’s necklace. The prince’s ears went flat.
“This is a
temple,” he hissed, rounding on Yurgazh with one hand clenched on his
sword hilt. “You worship the Dark Gods?!”
“Only Krashnark,” the captain
told him, keeping his ears up and his hands away from his own sword with an
effort. “The rest of ‘em can stew in their own black juice as far as I’m
concerned,” he added emphatically. “Krashnark’s different.”
“Different
how?! Damned if I’ll--”
He cut himself off as a sudden sense of
presence filled the temple, something deep and strong. “If you’ll come in
here so I don’t have to yell at you,” a calm voice called from the chamber
ahead, “I’ll explain.”
“That would be Himself,” Yurgazh said dryly,
jerking one thumb in that direction. “They tell me you get used to it
eventually, but I’m not so sure.”
Slowly, eyes wide, Arsham edged along
the corridor until he could see through the doorway. Krashnark was standing at
the back of the huge chamber, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and
a sardonic look on his face. Beside him, Akar and Mathel were looking
respectively embarrassed and exasperated.
“M’lord,” Akar said
tentatively, “sooner or later you’re going to appear at someone like that and
they’re going to fall down in a fit.”
“I don’t do it to people who can’t
take it,” Krashnark shrugged. “It’s worked so far, hasn’t it?”
Mathel
shot the god an irritated look, then stepped forward and curtseyed slightly.
“Welcome to the Temple of Krashnark, Prince Arsham,” she said, a little curtly.
“Please excuse Himself, he gets like this sometimes.”
One of Krashnark’s
eyebrows shot up at that. “Why do I seem to be collecting followers who refuse
to give me the respect due to my station?”
“Because we’re the ones who
don’t fall down in fits in your presence,” she snapped. “You’re the one who told
Akar you didn’t want us grovelling, aren’t you?”
“True,” he admitted,
shrugging again. “That gets annoying very quickly. Well, Prince Arsham? Are you
willing to hear me out?”
Arsham’s ears, that had been slowly inching
upright during this exchange, snapped down flat again. “Do I have a choice?” he
asked suspiciously.
“Yes.” Krashnark’s dark eyes were perfectly sincere.
“You may turn around and walk out of here at any moment, and I-- we-- will not
bother you again. You might discover that you couldn’t find your way back here,”
he added, “possibly disappointing Akar, who I think is just waiting for a reason
to abandon this place, but we’d let you go and leave you alone. My word on
it.”
----------
Behind Arsham’s wary expression, he was thinking
furiously.
He’s not like anything I’d expect of a Dark god, he told
himself, studying the faces of the other hradani present.
His followers talk
back to him and he doesn’t mind? Unless this is all an act, he added,
natural suspicions coming to the fore.
They’d have to be damn good actors, of
course, but then any high Dark worshipper would have to be to
survive.And yet...He couldn't make himself believe
it. He couldn’t look at Krashnark, at the ten-foot-tall Dark God of War casually
leaning on the wall and shedding crimson light through the chamber, chaffering
lightly with his followers, and believe it was all a lie.
So if it wasn’t
a lie...
“All right,” he said abruptly, walking forward. “I’m listening.
So what does Krashnark Phrofro want with me?”
He might have imagined it,
but he thought Krashnark winced slightly at the patronymic.
“There’s war
coming,” the god said, and Arsham surprised himself by snorting.
“There
always is,” he said dryly, and Krashnark smiled thinly.
“This time will
be different.”
The priest -- and priestess? She wasn’t in robes, but she
acted like she belonged -- were looking up at the god, frowning slightly, and
Arsham realised that they were waiting for an explanation, too.
“Aye,
Bahnak of Hurgrum’s going to lead all the Horse Stealers against us again just
as soon as we give him a reason, and this time a bunch of Bloody Sword cities
are like to join in on his side instead of ours. I don’t see why that has you
turning up to chat with me, though.”
“As I told these three yesterday,
Hurgrum isn’t your only concern,” Krashnark said, shaking his head. “There are
other forces moving, and other wars to be fought soon, and Navahk can’t even
survive to face them unless the Prince of Navahk is very, very smart and very,
very cautious. Do you think your father fits that description,
Arsham?”
The god was serious now, straightening up, and there was nothing
funny in his tone. Arsham swallowed.
“...No,” he admitted, voice
thin.
Krashnark nodded. “He doesn’t. So. Do you think
you fit that
description...
Prince Arsham?”
* * * * *
“Oh, there you
are, Heero dear! How’s the car?”
Heero stiffened, staying hunched over
the engine of the pseudo-junker the pilots drove as part of their cover for a
couple of breaths; then he straightened up, pushing hair out of his eyes, and
nodded at the two elderly women who were beaming at him from the end of the
driveway.
“Miss Immy. Miss Neppy. It’s doing okay.”
“That’s nice,”
Miss Neppy said happily. “It certainly sounded better when we saw you heading
off this morning. You were taking Duo to the hospital, weren’t
you?”
“Yes.” He struggled with himself for a moment before producing
something resembling a smile and summoning up his minimal reserves of ‘small
talk’. “His knee’s healing nicely. The doctor says he can start physiotherapy
now.”
“Oh, how lovely! He’ll be so happy about that, I’m
sure.”
Heero’s smile widened, relaxing into a genuine expression. “He
is.”
“Well don’t let us interrupt you dear, we can talk just as well
without you stopping work,” Miss Immy told him, flapping one hand at him. “It’s
so nice to see young men like you, willing to do something with your hands and
make a proper job of it...”
The two old ladies continued their stream of
chatter, trading the thread of their gossip back and forth as one put in a
detail or reminded the other of a date, and Heero bent back to his task, making
a vaguely affirmative noise whenever they seemed to be expecting a
response.
“...though it’s surprising the number of cars we’ve been having
drive down the road today, considering it’s a cul-de-sac,” Immy said vaguely,
fussing with the strap of her oversized handbag.
“I know! Really, I quite
wondered if somebody was having a party, but none of them stopped, just drove up
to the end of the street and then out again,” Neppy nodded.
“Perhaps the
party was somewhere nearby and they had bad directions to follow?”
“I
suppose. Or faulty GPS units, you know there was that article in the paper
recently.”
“Yes, but would they all have the same fault? I saw half a
dozen cars that I
know don’t belong here before tea, and I wasn’t
watching all the time,” Immy objected.
Heero stiffened, hands tightening
on his tools. “What sort of cars?” he asked cautiously, trying not to sound as
if he cared about the answer.
“Oh, all medium-sized sedans, darkish
colours, local plates,” Neppy shrugged, waving one hand as if to brush the
question away. “Nothing at all memorable.”
Surveillance cars,
Heero thought automatically.
Something that doesn’t stand out, something that
could belong anywhere -- except on a dead end street with a couple of nosy women
who have all the residents’ cars memorised, thank Quatre for picking this
house--“Funny, though,” Immy mused, sounding a little puzzled. “I
could have sworn the same person drove down the street twice, a man with a very
unfortunate set of sideburns that really didn’t suit him, only it couldn’t have
been the same person after all because it was different cars. So that means it
must have been
two men with the same type of horrible sideburns, isn’t
that strange?”
Heero looked up at that, and for one split second he
caught the two women looking straight at him, eyes sharp and calculating. Then
Immy blinked and they both smiled, just two elderly ladies in hand-knitted
cardigans sprinkled with cat hair, and he nearly thought he’d imagined
it.
Only nearly. He knew better.
“Well, we won’t keep you, dear,
we can see you’re nearly finished and will be wanting to get on with your day,”
Miss Neppy said cheerfully, ignoring the tools laid out all along the edge of
the engine bay. “
So nice to hear that Duo’s knee is going well, do give
him our love when you get the chance.”
He nodded slowly, straightening up
and wiping his hands on a rag. “I will. I might do that now, in
fact.”
Their smiles deepened a fraction, curling into a more knowing
expression for just a moment before they smoothed out again. “What a good idea,”
Immy chirped. “You boys be good now, and look after each other!”
Heero’s
own smile returned, a little sardonic. “We always
do.”
----------
“We’re under surveillance, or at least the area
is,” Heero announced tersely as the front door closed behind him. “I don’t know
if they’ve actually pinpointed us yet.”
“Any idea who?” Duo asked,
twisting around in his seat and picking up one crutch as if to get up
immediately. “OZ? Government?”
Heero shook his head. “I didn’t see them
myself; the gossip ladies warned me. They send their love,” he added, unable to
stifle a smirk.
“Miss Immy and Miss Neppy
warned you?” Quatre
asked incredulously. “But--”
“They’re just a couple of chatty old
ladies?” Heero finished the sentence. “That’s what I thought until now. They
didn’t come right out and say it, but they were very careful to give me all the
details I needed to recognise a surveillance patrol being run on the street. I’d
bet my beam cannon that they’ve worked out exactly who we are.”
“Are you
sure they’re on our side?” Trowa asked. “Or could they be testing to see if
we’ll spook and run?”
Heero opened his mouth, closed his mouth, thought
for a moment, then pointed at Duo and Quatre. “You two are the interpersonal
experts,” he shrugged. “Opinions?”
“Dude, I thought they were oblivious,”
Duo snorted. “I
like them, but that doesn’t necessarily mean
dick.”
Quatre shot him an annoyed look at that choice of words, then
turned back to Heero. “They’ve never felt hostile. Curious and interested, of
course, but... hm... benevolent? Sometimes they’ve felt worried, but not afraid;
more like they were worried
for us than
about us. I put it down to
them worrying about Duo’s knee. They’re on our side, I think. --Besides, even if
they were some kind of covert intelligence agents they’ve been living here long
enough that they’d have to be sleepers, and probably planted here before we were
born.”
“Right,” Heero nodded. “So we’re going to trust them and
their info, at least for now. Plans?”
Duo grimaced. “If whoever it is
haven’t pinpointed us yet and we book it out of here, that’ll just confirm we’re
the right targets. If they’ve already picked us out, though, there could be a
catch team coming through the windows tonight.”
“I don’t know if I’d
expect a catch team,” Quatre said slowly, frowning. “This isn’t likely to be an
OZ operation; they’re in the middle of disbanding, Lady Une isn’t going to
authorise anything of the sort, and a group of disgruntled vets coming after us
for revenge would almost certainly take longer to get
organised.”
“Government, then,” Trowa shrugged.
“Yes. Which means
someone needs to call Relena on a secure line and tell her not to
visit.”
“That might be what the surveillance team is doing,” Duo
snickered. “Hoping they’ll cruise past when there’s a pink limo in the driveway
pinpointing our location!”
“And that’s also probably how they worked out
what area to look in,” Heero sighed.
“So we’re sitting tight?” Trowa
asked.
Heero glanced at each of the other pilots in turn, collecting nods
and shrugs, and nodded. “But we’d better move up the
timetable.”
--------------
End chapter
39
--------------CHRISTY: So, Mel! As a reward to us for
finishing this chapter, do you want to watch the Shinee boys again?
DUO:
Ooh! Ooh! I want in!
HEERO: Don’t tell me you
want to be drooled
at by those crazy women.
DUO: No, Christy was watching early morning SBS
and discovered Shinee. They’re a Korean boy band--
CHRISTY: And MAN are
they fine!
MEL: Mee-YOW.
DUO: It doesn’t hurt that the music is
catchy, either.
WUFEI: You two would drool even if the music was
awful.
MEL: Yeah, but we’d turn the sound off.
CHRISTY: Besides,
you’ve gotta love a band that does a song called Lucifer!
WUFEI: No I
don’t.
CHRISTY: Okay, you don’t, but we do. ...Hmmm. Maybe it’s time we
sent you on a mission again.
MEL: We’ve never sent them after anyone
real before!
CHRISTY: Time to find out if it’ll work, then. It’d
be nice to have our own boy band serving us tea!
MEL: Excellent point,
Christy old bean. Heero! Mission!
HEERO: ...*sigh* Ryoukai.