Jaws of Darkness

Since Bembo couldn’t very well take a bribe if Oraste wouldn’t, he grabbed Hestan by the arm and said, “Come along, you.” He’d intended to sound fierce. He suspected he sounded petulant instead.

Hestan said, “I never thought I would wish anything ill on my brother, in spite of what his son did to my family. But now…” He shook his head. “Powers below eat him, and may they crunch his bones doing it.”

“Aye, he’s a piece of work, all right,” Oraste agreed. “Somebody ought to give him a good kick in the bollocks.”

The Forthwegian gave him a curious look. “You’re arresting me, but you sound like you hate him.”

“Don’t let it worry you,” Bembo said. “Oraste hates everybody.” Oraste scowled but didn’t deny it; it was as near true as made no difference. Bembo felt that way himself a good deal of the time. It was an easy attitude for a constable to take. Constables saw the worst of people-when people were at their best, they didn’t need constables. And Algarvian constables in Gromheort not only saw the worst of people, they saw the worst of people who hated them as occupiers.

“I haven’t really done anything, you know.” Hestan, somehow, still managed to sound mild and thoughtful. “Even if your superiors decide that everything my dear brother says is true-which it isn’t-I haven’t done anything much.”

Bembo thought him likely to be right. But he said, “That’s for them to decide, not for us.”

“Well, I can’t tell you what to do, that’s certain,” the Forthwegian said. “But wouldn’t you rather have the silver I end up paying stick in your belt pouches? Otherwise, it will just end up with people who have too much already.”

That sort of argument made perfect sense to Bembo. He sent Oraste a look of appeal. Oraste said, “If Bembo here and me take you into that alley and beat you to death, you don’t pay anybody anything.”

Hestan licked his lips. Some constables made threats like that to run up the price. Oraste meant his. Hestan had the sense to realize as much. He spoke carefully: “I’ve never harmed Algarve. The most I’ve tried to do is keep my family safe.” His laugh was bitter. “Look how well that worked out. One son dead, one vanished off the face of the earth.”

“One son who’s a Kaunian-lover,” Oraste said. Odds were, he reckoned murder a lesser crime.

But Bembo said, “Come here.” He drew Oraste aside, all the while eyeing Hestan to make sure he didn’t take off. He spoke in a low but urgent voice: “We can’t just kill this fellow. He’s a big blaze. There’d be riots, maybe. Our heads could roll. And he’s got the loot to pay his way free once we hand him over. Don’t you want some?”

He didn’t usually have the nerve to argue with Oraste like that. Because he argued this time, his partner seemed more than usually impressed. “Oh, all right,” Oraste said gruffly. “But we’ll squeeze him till his eyes pop.”

“Well, of course,” Bembo said. After that, it was just a matter of haggling over the price.

Two

Every day the sun rose on Vanai, she thanked the powers above for one more day of life. After two Algarvian constables in Eoforwic seized her when the spell that let her look like a Forthwegian wore off before she could get back to her flat, she’d expected to be shipped west and slaughtered right away. The redheads saw the Kaunians of Forthweg as no more than a convenient source of life energy to fuel the sorceries they used to fight their evermore-desperate war against King Swemmel of Unkerlant.

But all they’d done so far was throw her into the Kaunian quarter in Eoforwic. It was as if they were saying, We don’t need you in particular right this minute. Now that we’ve got you, you’re not going to get away again.

Or maybe they were saying something worse. Maybe they were saying, We can wait till you have your baby. They we’ll slay you both, and get twice the life energy from you.

She walked out of the flat in which they’d stuck her-a flat, ironically, bigger and finer than the one she’d shared with Ealstan, and she had it all to herself-and went down to the street. Not too many people showed themselves in the Kaunian quarter these days. Some of those who did had hair like hers: formerly dyed black but now showing its blond roots. They’d been caught trying to live their lives like anyone else, too.

She walked toward the edge of the Kaunian district. It wasn’t far: only a couple of blocks. But it was clearly marked and strongly guarded. A constable pointed his stick at her and snarled, “Get away from me or you’re dead, you stinking blond whore.”

He wasn’t even one of Mezentio’s men. He was young, stocky, swarthy, black-bearded, big-nosed-a Forthwegian among Forthwegians. He even looked a little like Ealstan, whom she loved with all her heart. But this fellow didn’t love her. The Algarvians found plenty of Forthwegians ready, even eager, to help hold down the Kaunians. That let the redheads send more of their own soldiers off to fight the Unkerlanters. How convenient for them, Vanai thought.

“Go on, get away!” The Forthwegian was so young, his voice cracked. But he was easily old enough to blaze her down. “Or else keep coming.” He sounded as if he wanted her to.

“I’m leaving,” she said hastily, so as not to give him an excuse to do just that. She turned and retreated, letting out a sigh of relief as she put a building between her and the hothead. She’d had guards, Algarvian and Forthwegian, growl at her before, but never an encounter like this.

I could escape, she thought. I could. It would be easy, if… She still knew the spell that would let her look like a Forthwegian. She should have known it. She was the one who’d devised it, reconstructed a botched charm in a cheap, stupid book called You Too Can Be a Mage into sorcery that really did something. She always kept a bit of dark brown yarn and a bit of yellow with her, in case she got the chance.

But the guards wouldn’t growl and snarl and curse if she approached the edge of the Kaunian quarter while looking like a Forthwegian. They would blaze without warning. They’d done it before. No Forthwegians were supposed to be inside the district, and no Kaunians were supposed to go outside it unless they were ushered forth to go to their doom.

Since the redheads had stopped letting Kaunians out, Vanai had wondered what she would do inside the quarter. But the Algarvians didn’t bother with Kaunian-ma

A young Kaunian who’d never dyed his hair nodded to Vanai and said, “So you got caught on the outside, did you?”

“Aye.” She nodded, then rested a hand on her bulging belly. “I think carrying a baby made the spell wear off faster than it should have. Whatever it was, the spell gave out and I got nabbed.”

“Too bad for you,” the young blond man said. “Being a Kaunian these days isn’t much fun.”

“Being a Kaunian in Forthweg never was much fun,” Vanai answered. “But you’re right, of course-it’s worse now.” She paused in some surprise. “I’ll tell you one thing, though: speaking my own language again feels good.” She’d used Forthwegian, not classical Kaunian, whenever she talked with anyone but Ealstan out in Eoforwic, and more and more with him once she assumed her Forthwegian disguise.

“Sure enough.” The young man scowled. “We can even write in our own language in here. Why not? The penalty for writing in classical Kaunian is death, and the redheaded barbarians are going to kill us anyhow.” He laughed without any great mirth, but then scowled again. “Couldn’t you speak Kaunian with your man?” He pointed at her abdomen.