A net landed on his head, sending him stumbling forward and tangling his limbs.

  15

  Buyer Beware

  Cursing, he managed to wrestle Hrym loose and sliced through the ropes holding him, but by the time he was free the smuggler was shouting, “He’s here, the assassin is here!” and there were men with torches and swords pouring from the ship to come after him. The man who’d flung the net over him took one look at Hrym and ran away, but the rest kept coming.

  The smuggler might have little respect for the thakur’s laws when it came to import/export dues, but she was apparently patriotic enough to report an assassin’s attempt to escape, or else she’d just been offered a reward. Possibly both. People were complicated, after all.

  Without being asked, Hrym produced another cloud of freezing fog, though it seemed less thick than it had been at the palace—was Hrym getting tired, or were there limits to how much he could gush forth in a day? The attackers—whether they were mercenaries, palace guards, or just good citizens, Rodrick didn’t know—went slipping and sliding wildly on the rime-slicked ground as the fog froze everything it touched, and he and Hrym fled.

  They emerged from the cloud of icy fog, but didn’t stop running. Rodrick’s cloak flapped around him, and he considered veering off and diving back into the water, but where would he go from there? He could try to steal a ship, but a craft small enough for him to handle himself would hardly be sufficient for crossing the ocean, and there was still the small matter of his total lack of navigation skills. Maybe he could get his hands on a flying carpet, somehow, or make his way to that haunted island off the coast and hope to find a less scrupulous smuggler there, or—

  “Bastard!” a woman shouted, and something struck him across the chest so hard his legs flew out from under him and he landed on his back, groaning. A boot hit him in the ribs, and he rolled over to get away, then scrambled to his feet.

  Grimschaw stood, all in black leather, holding a black-hafted spear. At least she hadn’t stabbed him. The point looked wicked.

  “I don’t have time for this,” Rodrick growled, swinging Hrym in her direction.

  She shoved the spearpoint under his chin. “Don’t point that thing at me, or I’ll spear your larynx. You stole from me, you scum. Give me the scroll. The real scroll.”

  Retaining his bluster with a mob after him and a spearpoint at his throat was challenging, but Rodrick managed. “Our business is done, woman, and if you don’t like what you bought, that’s hardly my fault. Get out of my way, I need to go—”

  “When I realized you’d robbed me, I started watching the palace, thinking you’d come out eventually, but then chaos broke loose there, and I heard rumors that the outlander with his icy sword had tried to kill the thakur. You maniac! I knew you’d come to the docks to escape the island, so I waited for you here. You can go on your way as soon as you give me what’s mine.”

  Rodrick could have thrown himself backward away from her spear and simultaneously blasted her with ice … but he was in such dire straits that an enemy who only threatened to kill him was the closest thing he currently had to a friend. “Grimschaw, let’s say I’ve got this parchment of yours. What’s it worth to you?”

  “You’ve already been paid.”

  “Yes, but my rate has changed. If you can get me safely off this island, I’ll give you the map.”

  “You’ll— Map. You said it’s a map.”

  “You weren’t expecting a map?”

  “I … expected a coded letter. A cipher. But a map … a map makes sense, if time was short … I could just kill you, and take the map.”

  “If you so much as nick him, I’ll fill your heart with spears of ice,” Hrym said. “Rodrick might die, true, but it won’t do you any good.”

  Grimschaw eased off on the spear a bit. “You … you impossible … I have no wish to get tangled in your crime. You’re a fugitive! What kind of lunatic attacks a king in his palace?”

  Why did she have to be so obstinate? “I have no incentive to help you, Grimschaw, so I suggest you provide one for me. If the thakur’s people take me, your map will end up back in their library again, only this time, they’ll know it’s there, and you won’t have such an easy time stealing it again.”

  She ground her teeth. “Fine. I may be able to help. Or know people who can.”

  “Marvelous. Where’s your ship?”

  She shook her head. “Not here. I don’t have a ship at the dock. My friends are camped elsewhere on the island.”

  “That’s fine. I don’t find Niswan particularly hospitable right now anyway. But we need to go.”

  Grimschaw turned on her heel and stalked off, away from the docks, toward a narrow red stone street. Rodrick hurried after her, sheathing his sword. Soon they reached a plain wooden cart, suitable for a humble farmer, with a deep-chested workhorse hitched to the front. A few crates were loaded in the back, but there was room for him to ride, maybe hunched down, if not entirely out of sight. “A carriage would be better,” he said. “Something where I wouldn’t be quite so visible.”

  She glared at him, then reached into the back of the cart and touched the floor. There was a click, and a board rose up on concealed hinges, revealing a space inside that Rodrick would probably fit into, if he contorted himself properly.

  “Oho,” he said. “You’re a bit of a smuggler yourself.”

  “A collector,” she said. “Some things just need to be collected more discreetly. Get inside. Hurry, before someone notices you.”

  It was possible she’d deliver him to the thakur for a reward, but she seemed to genuinely want the map more than anything else, so he climbed into the cart. She closed the lid over him, sealing him into the darkness, and something scraped above him. She was probably moving crates over the lid, to conceal the trapdoor … or prevent him from climbing out. Well, whatever made her feel better. He could always blast his way out with Hrym if need be, or use his cloak to transform into a devilfish—even seasoned wood would be no match for those mighty thrashing tentacles.

  “She’s not too fond of us, is she?” Hrym said. “It’s a shame she’s our only hope.”

  “You work with the resources you have.”

  “Fair enough, but it’s a bad situation when the only resource you have is a person who wants to murder you and loot your corpse.”

  Rodrick yawned. The flight from the palace and subsequent adventures had exhausted him, and he hadn’t been able to sleep while lurking in the harbor in devilfish form. “I’m going to sleep, Hrym. You take first watch.”

  “Oh, certainly. I’ll be sure to wake you if I see anything of note in the midst of this complete darkness. I’m sheathed, you idiot.”

  “It’s a bit tight in here for me to snuggle up with your bare blade, Hrym. You have ears. Or, if not ears, some kind of auditory sensory apparatuses. Use those.”

  Being cramped in the hidden compartment of a cart wasn’t as pleasant as sleeping in the guest quarters at the palace, but he’d suffered such precipitous changes in circumstances before and lived through them. Rodrick pulled his cloak around himself more tightly and went to sleep, exhaustion outpacing worry for once.

  * * *

  Rodrick woke, tried to roll over and stretch, and banged his knuckles and elbows on the cramped wooden confines of his box. His cramps had cramps. Things weren’t so black anymore, at least—there was sunlight filtering in through cracks in the trapdoor above him and on both sides. The cart bounced unpleasantly along some rough track—that jostling was what had awakened him—and there was no sound but the rumble of motion. “How long was I asleep?” he asked.

  “Some hours. We were stopped twice and the cart was searched, with soldiers standing right in the wagon bed, but they didn’t notice the hidden compartment. I think Grimschaw might have handed out a bribe or two. We left the city behind some time ago, I suspect. I heard birds singing recently. Have I mentioned I hate the countryside?”

  “Not since the last time we were in one.” He thumped his fist against the cart, making a loud knocking sound. “Grimschaw! Let me out of here!”

  The cart stopped, and someone climbed into the back of the cart. “Quiet, you fool.” She’d never been overly friendly or complimentary, but any vestige of civility she’d possessed was gone now. Ah, well. It was understandable. He didn’t usually spend time with people he’d duped after the duping was done.

  “I’m afraid I need to relieve myself, and I’d rather not do it in this box.”

  She hissed in frustration, but the crates moved away, and the lid creaked open. Rodrick climbed out in stages, stretching his arms overhead, rolling his head on his shoulders, and sitting on the floor of the cart with his legs still in the compartment, massaging his thighs to work out the pins and needles. “I know what it’s like to be buried in a coffin, now,” he said. “I think I’ll take cremation.”

  “I’d be happy to throw the first torch on your pyre,” Grimschaw said, and her expression gave him no doubt that she meant it.

  Rodrick looked around. They were on a track in the woods, more or less, though the trees weren’t the sort he was used to—this was closer to jungle than the forests of the lands north of the Inner Sea. The path they traveled was largely overgrown, and it meandered away to the east. “Where are we?”

  “The outskirts of the Segang Jungle. It’s a sort of … nature preserve … adapted over the years by Vudrani druids. They filled it with plants and animals from the Impossible Kingdoms, a bit of wilderness from their homeland transplanted here.”

  “Perfectly safe, then?” Rodrick said. “Just one of the thakur’s gardens on a larger scale?”

  She shook her head. “Not at all. It’s full of wild things, and deadly things, and there are always rumors of various forbidden—or at least frowned-upon—cults operating from the depths of the jungle, in forgotten temples or hidden shrines.”

  The map in Rodrick’s pocket probably indicated one of those temples, unless he missed his guess. It would be very amusing if they marched right past the place marked on the map on their way to freedom. He’d have to enjoy the joke privately, though; he didn’t think Grimschaw would appreciate it. “Sounds like a charming place to visit.”

  “I’ve traversed it successfully before. We could travel around the jungle to reach our destination, but it would take longer, and I’m sure you’re as eager to be rid of me as I am to be rid of you. It’s not trackless waste inside. There are still druids tending the plants, maintaining the magics that let some of them grow in what would be an inhospitable climate, and there are several hunting lodges, too. Wealthy foreigners like to come here, and pay exorbitant fees to go on ‘traditional Vudrani hunts,’ stalking wild creatures that are exotic by their standards. They’re surrounded by armed guides, of course, so they’re in no danger. We’ll be in rather more peril, but that sword of yours should keep us safe.”

  “I’m ready when you are,” he said. “I think I’ll ride outside the box this time, though.”

  She shook her head. “We’d have to abandon the wagon and proceed on foot soon anyway. We might as well start now.” She took a pack from the driver’s seat and strapped it on her back, then unhooked the horse from the wagon. It stood patiently until she swatted it on the rear, and then it turned and trotted back along the track.

  “Think it’ll find its way home again?” Rodrick said.

  She shrugged. “The jungle can be awkward to traverse even on foot. With a horse it would be impossible. Someone will find the beast and consider it a gift from the gods. Unless it strays from the path. Then it will be eaten, I’m sure, and some predator will count its own blessings. There are always other horses. Come.”

  As they walked, the jungle grew deeper, and soon they were enclosed by stands of towering trees wrapped with vines. They moved through verdant ferns and around clumps of mushrooms in virulent greens and oranges, past fallen logs rapidly being turned to soil by rot, with the click and buzz of insects and the calls of strange birds providing music of a sort. The air was thick and moist and smelled of vegetation and the strange perfumes of alien flowers.

  Grimschaw had something more than a knife and less than a sword in her hand—she called it a machete—and she used it to slash a path when the vines and branches before them were too thick to proceed otherwise. Rodrick swung Hrym a few times in similar fashion until the sword complained of the feeling of sap on his blade, and after that, he settled for following in Grimschaw’s wake. The devilfish cloak was a bit warm, but he kept it on, because it protected him from being lashed by branches. He liked having a potential weapon Grimschaw didn’t know about, too.

  Something rustled in the trees off to the left, then subsided. “Ah.” Rodrick said. “You mentioned predators. What sort of predators?”

  She shrugged. “Dire tigers, big cats the size of ponies. Venomous plants, some of them capable of uprooting themselves and walking around. Lizards bigger than horses that spit acid. Birds so immense they can, and do, feed on those lizards. Snakes big enough to swallow you whole. Insects that would love nothing more than to burrow inside you and lay eggs. Other things, I’m sure.”

  “Perhaps we could invest in a few of those armed guards you mentioned.” Rodrick kept Hrym in his hand, though the weight made his wrist ache. Grimschaw had inspired a higher-than-usual level of vigilance in him.

  Grimschaw shook her head but didn’t stop walking. “You have the equivalent of an ancient white dragon in your hand. I think you’ll be fine.”

  “Your confidence is—”

  Something as big as a man blurred out of the trees and smashed into Grimschaw, driving her to the ground. At the first impression of orange fur and black stripes, Rodrick thought it was a tiger—he’d seen pictures and heard them described, though he’d never seen one in the flesh—but this thing crouched over Grimschaw’s fallen form like a person, and when it lifted its head to look at Rodrick, its eyes were intelligent.

  Rodrick was also fairly sure ordinary tigers didn’t wear pants.

  16

  Jungle Manners

  Rodrick pointed Hrym at the beast. “Can we kill this cat-man without hurting Grimschaw?”

  “Precision,” Hrym muttered, and a single arrow of ice shot forth from the end of the blade.

  The creature somersaulted away smoothly, the icicle embedding itself harmlessly in a tree beyond. The thing bounced to its feet and lifted hands made monstrous by claws. Its eyes flickered past Rodrick, and something like a smile twitched across its bestial face. Rodrick spun, slashing out with Hrym, sending forth a fan of icicles that caught an approaching tiger in the throat, dropping it in a heap of blood and meat mere feet from where Rodrick stood.

  The cat-man—it must be some kind of weretiger—howled as the big cat died.

  Rodrick turned back to face his enemy, putting his back to the nearest tree so he couldn’t be taken from behind. Except tigers were just big cats, and cats liked to climb trees, didn’t they? What was to stop him from being taken from above? He raised the sword again, but the weretiger dove into the trees and vanished.

  “You can’t hide from us,” the creature said, voice full of catlike hiss but still intelligible. Rodrick swung Hrym to point in the direction of the voice, but when it spoke again, it came from a different direction. “The archaka will have you. He hopes to kill you himself, but we are permitted to take your legs, your arms, your eyes. The rest of you will be food for a rakshasa. It is a great honor.”

  What was an archaka? Rodrick didn’t know. But that mention of a rakshasa—the creature must have been sent to hunt him by Nagesh.

  Grimschaw groaned and started to sit up, and in the moment Rodrick glanced at her, the weretiger struck, leaping from concealment to take him from his blind side.

  Just because Rodrick wasn’t looking didn’t mean Hrym wasn’t, though, and the sword sent forth a spiraling cone of ice that caught the weretiger’s midsection and sent it flying backward. By then Rodrick was looking in the right direction, so he had a good view of Hrym conjuring bands of ice to pin the creature to the ground. It writhed and struggled against the shackles, but couldn’t break the magical ice. “Good,” Rodrick said. “Now we can ask it—”

  Grimschaw howled, leaping upon the weretiger much as it had leapt on her, slashing with her machete until the beast’s throat was a ruin. She remained crouched atop the corpse, breathing hard, staring down at it.

  “—a few questions, I was going to say.” Rodrick sighed. “That was intemperate, Grimschaw.”

  She turned her head and stared at him with such hatred that he took a step back. “What questions could this abomination possibly answer?”

  Ah. She hadn’t heard it speak to him, apparently. Maybe it was better to let her think this was an attack of opportunity, and not someone sent to pursue a fugitive.

  Grimschaw was still talking. “The jungle is full of dangers, and there’s no need to interrogate those dangers. As for this thing … It attacked me. It dared. And after it knocked me down, it didn’t even kill me! It ignored me. Me!”

  “It didn’t kill you because I pinned it with ice,” Rodrick said. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “Technically, I was the one who sprayed the ice,” Hrym said. “Give any thanks and financial gratitude directly to me, please.”

  “It treated me like I wasn’t a threat at all,” Grimschaw said. “Such an insult could not be borne!”

  What a baffling woman. “Of course,” Rodrick said. “You can’t go around letting people slight you. No one has manners anymore. Do you murder people at dinner parties if they use the wrong fork?”

  “This is no dinner party.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Rodrick froze Hrym to the sheath on his back, then knelt by the tiger. There was a medallion around its neck, etched black metal on a dark chain. The symbol inscribed on it was unfamiliar to him: a circle, its inner circumference lined with many triangles pointing toward the center. It looked like the stylized representation of a leech’s mouthparts. Rodrick shuddered.