Aftermath

A MERCY WORSE THAN NONE by John Bru

By lamplight, by firelight, on a winter evening, Jarveena of Forgotten Holt sat at di

In the years since she had served him merely as a scribe-interpreter, Master Melilot had changed but little He was portlier, admittedly-the satin robe he splashed with grease as he gnawed at the carcass of his third wild duck stretched smooth across his ample paunch-but his suety face was equally i

Most certainly of all, his i

Besides, here in Sanctuary, what guards were available were as likely as anyone else to rob their employers if they felt they could get away with their loot.

Despite his visibly good appetite, Melilot was uneasy. As well as Jarveena, another guest sat at his table. It was not his custom to admit strangers to his private quarters. Had the fellow not been vouched for by Jarveena personally, he would never have set foot outside the public areas below.

Yet he had been vouched for in a most disturbing fashion. Had he somehow ensnared the girl-woman, Melilot corrected himself, remem- bering how much time had elapsed-perhaps by magic? Was their pres- ence part of some secret plot against him? It was second nature to all in Sanctuary to think in such terms, from lifelong habit.

Keeping up, between mouthfuls, a flow of gossip as entertaining as might be heard anywhere in the city and a sight more trustworthy than most, given that it was based on what he daily gleaned from the docu- ments given him to transcribe or translate, Melilot studied Jarveena from the corner of his eye. She had changed more than he had in the past decade-and small wonder, given the difference in their age and bodily condition-but she still affected ma

Under his care, the lash marks on her hands and arms had faded until they were no more than a tracery beneath her tawny skin-and no doubt elsewhere on her body, for her once unequal bosom swelled identically now on left and right, signifying that the old brown keloid had been spirited away and left her form as shapely as that of anyone her age not yet a mother, and more than most thanks to her active way of life. Oddly, though, she had not begun where most young women would have, with her face as being most exposed to public view. Still, when she tossed her head in laughter at some especially extravagant yam recounted by her host, one might glimpse the hideous cicatrix she could reveal by drawing down her eyebrows, that mark which in the days when she resided here she had used to such effect in cowing disobedient junior apprentices ...

Oh, she had always been a strange one, this Jarveena! He had been positively glad when she decided to take ship away from Sanctuary after that unpleasant episode involving an enchanted scroll, treachery on the part of a trusted officer, and an attempt to assassinate the Prince.*

Yes, indeed. Life was a great deal more comfortable knowing that this unpredictable person, half loyal employee and half explosive spitfire, was safe at sea or bargaining on his behalf in distant ports. The times when she came back to claim her pay, and spend the greater part of it again in a single day, were far from the happiest of Melilot's existence ...

And now she had arrived, for the first time ever, with a companion. Male, at that. Discarding the third duck, belching unrestrainedly and calling for more wine, he shifted his attention to this stranger even as he launched into the best and fu

Her companion, however, made no pretense even of smiling. His glum face remained as impassive as a stone idol's except at reference to the S'danzo curse, whereupon he favored Jarveena with a scowl.

What, Melilot asked himself, could have persuaded her to bring this boorish fellow here? So far he knew nothing about him save his name, and that was outlandish and nearly unpronounceable, something like "Klikitak" except that it ended with a rasp: Klikitagh?

Of course, a few hints could be deduced from his appearance. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep, his hands large and sinewy: the figure of a man of action. Moreover he was of a striking color, for be- tween his fair beard and bushy fair hair his cheeks and forehead were windburned to a pale clear red after so many days at sea.

But never in all his life, not even when dealing with some nobleman's illiterate wife desperate to know whether letters brought secretly to her husband and intercepted described her infidelities, had Melilot seen such unalloyed misery on a human countenance Why, even Enas Yorl, sport of a thousand mindless spells that changed his shape, his sex, and now and then his species, contrived to extract a certain wry and resigned humor from his predicament . .

He ended his story, and Jarveena, hooting with laughter, clapped her hands. The pretty ten-year-old girl who stood silently m one corner be- side the wine jug mistook her applause for a signal to replenish their mugs, and made haste to obey Melilot did not correct her He had hopes of loosening the stranger's tongue, and in that project liquor was his chiefest ally

"I note, sir," he said with disapproval that was only partly feigned, "you were not amused by the plight of Captain Stong Is one to take it that it was because you are unfamiliar with crucial references therein, as to the S'danzo curse and legendary Mizraith's skill as an enchanter^ You have the air of a far-traveled man, not acquainted with the ways and notables of Sanctuary."

Klikitagh stirred, and for the first time uttered more than a discourte- ous grunt; he had not even expressed thanks for the generous repast that had been set before him

"No, sir," he returned "Is because in part I can not well to understand your saying "

Hmm' That aroused Melilot's professional instincts What could this fellow's native language be7 The accent was none that he recognized, nor was the curious turn of phrasing Mayhap Klikitagh was literate in some language lacking from the list posted at the door of his scriptorium, though that was longer by three, possibly four, than the best his rivals had to oner If only to learn how to recognize a script he hadn't run across before, it would be worth his while to pick the stranger's brains

Before Melilot could formulate any proposal, however, the other had gone on

"And in other bigger part because is not a matter for make jest, a curse Speak as pitiably victim knowing well from agony anti-justice, cruelness, of making curse against mnocency man, me, self"

That emphatic addition occurs in Yemzed, but never at the end of a sentence . . Oh, I'm really on to something here' Excited, Melilot beck- oned the girl back from her corner to pour still more wine

But Klikitagh refused, covering his mug with a broad palm

"Tired I to sleep Must go, we "

As though taking Jarveena's consent for granted, he gathered the sword belt he had hung on the back of his chair and rose, extending his hand to help her up also.

She ignored it

A sudden angry flush deepened the color of Klikitagh's cheeks He said, "You not-"

"I have business to discuss with Melilot," she cut m "One of the kids will show you to the guest apartment I'll join you later "

Hastily, for fear of Klikitagh provoking a quarrel that. as surely with Jarveena as with any haughty bladesman of the city, might become a fight, Melilot forced his immense bulk out of his chair.

"That is so, sir," he confirmed. "But I assure you I shall keep our conversation as brief as may be " He hesitated, trying to gauge the depth and cause of Klikitagh's ill temper "If perchance you fear I may trespass on some right of intimacy the lady has, for the time being, granted to yourself, I pray you consider the-ah-visible signs of my incompetence m that regard "

Klikitagh's face remained blank Melilot realized he was so nervous that out of habit he had used formal, high-flown terms, incomprehensible to this foreigner He made hasty amends

"It is as Jarveena has said My guest apartment is at your disposal During your stay at Sanctuary I look forward to chatting with you about your native country and its script and language, it would be most inter- esting, indeed a positive pleasure, to hear you on the subject Accord- ingly, rather than dismiss you to some flea-ridden tavern like the Vulgar Unicorn, I suggest you make my home your base until you have com- pleted whatever business brings you here Feel free to come and go ..."