A World Without Heroes
Page 93
“I don’t know details. But Maldor did it.”
“Are the Amar Kabal seeking vengeance?”
“There was no hard evidence. Maldor claimed the killer was acting alone, and he delivered some displacer to them. A source who Jasher trusts knew the killer was acting under orders, but his people wouldn’t believe him. Your people have a treaty with Maldor. Jasher chose exile, and he’s out for revenge on his own.”
Drake leaned back and closed his eyes. His voice became mellow again. “The things one misses when one wallows in ecstasy. Are you working with Jasher now?”
“I better not say.”
“Understood, understood. Pleased to meet you. I need to sleep.”
“Have a good nap.”
Drake smiled faintly.
Jason suddenly recalled a detail Rachel had related about her visit to the middle of Whitelake. “Wait a minute. Drake. Did you know a displacer named Malar?”
Drake raised his eyebrows, but his eyes remained closed. “Sure, sure, the traitor, I knew him.” His voice was dreamy and distant. “Found him, did you? Clever lad. A regular Dinsrel. I need to rest.” His head sagged, and his breathing became regular.
Jason left the room feeling disgusted.
The next morning, after a light breakfast followed by a delicious massage, Jason headed for the bathhouse, determined to stay there until Kimp showed up. He had confirmed by talking to other guests that the large man seated near Duke Conrad at the welcoming feast had indeed been Kimp. Jason carried some fruit in a basket in preparation for his stakeout.
On his way to the facility he noticed Tark sitting on a stone bench beside a row of blossoming rosebushes. It was the first time Jason had seen Tark since the musician had walked out of the welcoming feast.
“Hello, Tark,” Jason said, coming alongside the bench.
Tark glanced at him with bloodshot eyes. He grunted a greeting.
“Mind if I sit here?” Jason asked.
The short, stocky man shrugged indifferently, then bowed his head, placing his face in his meaty hands.
“When did you get invited here?” Jason asked.
Tark looked up. “I suppose I need to face this,” he grumbled in his raspy voice. “I arrived just over a week ago. The temptation overcame me. I figured that since I had caused enough harm to Maldor to get invited to Harthenham, I would quit fighting and spend the rest of my miserable life surrounded by other deserters. Better to die a gluttonous failure than a hungry one. I almost believed the lies I told myself. Then you showed up. I know a sign when I see one. Once again I have betrayed my friends. Just like before, I started off right and then quit when the opportunity arose.”
He returned his face to his hands and shook with ragged sobs.
Jason waited politely.
Finally Tark lifted his tear-streaked face. “You must have been up to some mischief to get in here.” He wiped his leaking nostrils with the back of his hairy-knuckled hand.
“I do what I can.”
“Tell me.”
“I became chancellor of Trensicourt. I also helped kill a bunch of conscriptors, manglers, and a displacer.”
“I never got a displacer,” Tark said in admiration, sniffling. “Good work.”
“How did you end up here?”
Tark brightened a bit. “It all started the day I left you. I felt really good, full of resolve, ready for my penance. As it happened, on my way up the road out of town I was stopped by a conscriptor. He had questions about a fellow who fit your description, and a girl who sounded like Rachel. I acted very compliant, and then I put my knife through his back. His mangler friend came at me, blades whirling, and I was sure I had arrived at the brink of my waterfall, if you take my meaning. But I flung the knife, and it found a weak spot, slaying the monstrosity. I could hardly believe it.
“I retrieved my knife and raced off into the woods, leaving behind the corpses and the horse. From that day onward I have waged a private war against the minions of Maldor. I sank a barge, burned down some warehouses, even undermined a bridge. In a pass east of here I buried a whole column of conscriptors and manglers in a landslide. I’d wager that stunt was what finally earned me an invitation to the feast.”
Jason nodded. “Do you plan to remain here?”
Tark stared at his feet. “I had intended to stay. Not a soul has ever left. They die wallowing in vices, all of them men and women who once bravely defied Maldor. Some expire choking on lumba pie. Others are so fat they can’t leave their beds. I stumbled across Bokar the Invincible my third day here—you know, the great hero from Kadara? Legendary swordsman. A placard beside the door proclaimed his identity. He was lying on his back on an enormous bed like a beached sea elephant, his face drowning in blubber. Attendants were cramming meat pies down his greedy throat. I asked if he was really Bokar the Invincible. He said he was, his mouth full of food. I asked why he gave up. He said he hadn’t. He said he was planning to leave in a couple of weeks. I almost laughed. The only way he was going anywhere was in a really big wagon pulled by a whole cavalry of horses. Strong ones.
“I decided some undignified end like that would be fitting for a coward like me. But now my mind is mending. I could be convinced to leave. What about you?”
Jason lowered his voice. “Wait a day or two, and we can leave together.”
Tark grinned. “My will is reviving. Fate has made you the guardian of my self-respect. Once again I will abandon self-pity. I will join you, Lord Jason.” He pulled out the same heavy saw-toothed knife he had wielded in the Tavern-Go-Round, holding it so the sun glinted on the polished blade. He scrunched his heavy eyebrows. “If you mean to leave so soon, why accept the invitation in the first place?”
“It’s a secret. But I had a legitimate reason.”
Tears pooled in Tark’s eyes. “You came to show me the way.” He spoke with amazed realization. He slid off the bench, dropping to his knees. “I knew it. Tell the truth, are you a mortal being or some heavenly apparition?”
Jason stifled a smile. “I’m a friend. I’ll warn you when I plan to leave. Try to stay out of trouble.”
Tark blushed, swiping a hand over his nose again. “As you say, Lord Jason. I’ll scout the perimeter. I’ve noticed they tend to keep the drawbridge shut. We’re never permitted beyond the castle wall. They may resist our attempt to depart.”
“We have to find a way,” Jason said.
“Aye, we’ll set a new precedent. Perhaps others will follow.”
“Are the Amar Kabal seeking vengeance?”
“There was no hard evidence. Maldor claimed the killer was acting alone, and he delivered some displacer to them. A source who Jasher trusts knew the killer was acting under orders, but his people wouldn’t believe him. Your people have a treaty with Maldor. Jasher chose exile, and he’s out for revenge on his own.”
Drake leaned back and closed his eyes. His voice became mellow again. “The things one misses when one wallows in ecstasy. Are you working with Jasher now?”
“I better not say.”
“Understood, understood. Pleased to meet you. I need to sleep.”
“Have a good nap.”
Drake smiled faintly.
Jason suddenly recalled a detail Rachel had related about her visit to the middle of Whitelake. “Wait a minute. Drake. Did you know a displacer named Malar?”
Drake raised his eyebrows, but his eyes remained closed. “Sure, sure, the traitor, I knew him.” His voice was dreamy and distant. “Found him, did you? Clever lad. A regular Dinsrel. I need to rest.” His head sagged, and his breathing became regular.
Jason left the room feeling disgusted.
The next morning, after a light breakfast followed by a delicious massage, Jason headed for the bathhouse, determined to stay there until Kimp showed up. He had confirmed by talking to other guests that the large man seated near Duke Conrad at the welcoming feast had indeed been Kimp. Jason carried some fruit in a basket in preparation for his stakeout.
On his way to the facility he noticed Tark sitting on a stone bench beside a row of blossoming rosebushes. It was the first time Jason had seen Tark since the musician had walked out of the welcoming feast.
“Hello, Tark,” Jason said, coming alongside the bench.
Tark glanced at him with bloodshot eyes. He grunted a greeting.
“Mind if I sit here?” Jason asked.
The short, stocky man shrugged indifferently, then bowed his head, placing his face in his meaty hands.
“When did you get invited here?” Jason asked.
Tark looked up. “I suppose I need to face this,” he grumbled in his raspy voice. “I arrived just over a week ago. The temptation overcame me. I figured that since I had caused enough harm to Maldor to get invited to Harthenham, I would quit fighting and spend the rest of my miserable life surrounded by other deserters. Better to die a gluttonous failure than a hungry one. I almost believed the lies I told myself. Then you showed up. I know a sign when I see one. Once again I have betrayed my friends. Just like before, I started off right and then quit when the opportunity arose.”
He returned his face to his hands and shook with ragged sobs.
Jason waited politely.
Finally Tark lifted his tear-streaked face. “You must have been up to some mischief to get in here.” He wiped his leaking nostrils with the back of his hairy-knuckled hand.
“I do what I can.”
“Tell me.”
“I became chancellor of Trensicourt. I also helped kill a bunch of conscriptors, manglers, and a displacer.”
“I never got a displacer,” Tark said in admiration, sniffling. “Good work.”
“How did you end up here?”
Tark brightened a bit. “It all started the day I left you. I felt really good, full of resolve, ready for my penance. As it happened, on my way up the road out of town I was stopped by a conscriptor. He had questions about a fellow who fit your description, and a girl who sounded like Rachel. I acted very compliant, and then I put my knife through his back. His mangler friend came at me, blades whirling, and I was sure I had arrived at the brink of my waterfall, if you take my meaning. But I flung the knife, and it found a weak spot, slaying the monstrosity. I could hardly believe it.
“I retrieved my knife and raced off into the woods, leaving behind the corpses and the horse. From that day onward I have waged a private war against the minions of Maldor. I sank a barge, burned down some warehouses, even undermined a bridge. In a pass east of here I buried a whole column of conscriptors and manglers in a landslide. I’d wager that stunt was what finally earned me an invitation to the feast.”
Jason nodded. “Do you plan to remain here?”
Tark stared at his feet. “I had intended to stay. Not a soul has ever left. They die wallowing in vices, all of them men and women who once bravely defied Maldor. Some expire choking on lumba pie. Others are so fat they can’t leave their beds. I stumbled across Bokar the Invincible my third day here—you know, the great hero from Kadara? Legendary swordsman. A placard beside the door proclaimed his identity. He was lying on his back on an enormous bed like a beached sea elephant, his face drowning in blubber. Attendants were cramming meat pies down his greedy throat. I asked if he was really Bokar the Invincible. He said he was, his mouth full of food. I asked why he gave up. He said he hadn’t. He said he was planning to leave in a couple of weeks. I almost laughed. The only way he was going anywhere was in a really big wagon pulled by a whole cavalry of horses. Strong ones.
“I decided some undignified end like that would be fitting for a coward like me. But now my mind is mending. I could be convinced to leave. What about you?”
Jason lowered his voice. “Wait a day or two, and we can leave together.”
Tark grinned. “My will is reviving. Fate has made you the guardian of my self-respect. Once again I will abandon self-pity. I will join you, Lord Jason.” He pulled out the same heavy saw-toothed knife he had wielded in the Tavern-Go-Round, holding it so the sun glinted on the polished blade. He scrunched his heavy eyebrows. “If you mean to leave so soon, why accept the invitation in the first place?”
“It’s a secret. But I had a legitimate reason.”
Tears pooled in Tark’s eyes. “You came to show me the way.” He spoke with amazed realization. He slid off the bench, dropping to his knees. “I knew it. Tell the truth, are you a mortal being or some heavenly apparition?”
Jason stifled a smile. “I’m a friend. I’ll warn you when I plan to leave. Try to stay out of trouble.”
Tark blushed, swiping a hand over his nose again. “As you say, Lord Jason. I’ll scout the perimeter. I’ve noticed they tend to keep the drawbridge shut. We’re never permitted beyond the castle wall. They may resist our attempt to depart.”
“We have to find a way,” Jason said.
“Aye, we’ll set a new precedent. Perhaps others will follow.”
