Mercadian Masques

Chapter 4

The long, dark ride in the lift ended in a narrow stone chamber, brightly lit from some undetectable source. Ahead was a set of arched double doors. These the guard swung open.

Gerrard passed through and found himself in a wide corridor filled with similar doors, from which flowed a steady stream of humanity. A moment later, Gerrard caught sight of the second contingent of Weatherlight crew. The soldiers reassembled the prison caravan. Chains chattered on stone as the crew marched up the wide passage. Even here in the nooks and crannies of the wall, there were merchants calling out to the crowd to come and sample their wares.

Hanna pushed up beside Gerrard and touched his shoulder. "Have you seen the looks we're getting?"

He nodded. "We cut a pretty ragged picture compared to these people." Indeed the people around them were far better dressed than the Weatherlight crew. They were clad in flowing silk robes that were brightly dyed, elaborately folded, and piled high despite the heat and grit. Gerrard whispered to Hanna, "We'll have to find a laundry line once we escape-help us blend in…"

"Escape?" Hanna whispered back.

"Atalla's tailing us-brave lad. He's the outside man. And the lifts have reduced our soldier escort from two hundred to twoscore. The time is right. Pass the word for the others to watch me and follow my lead."

Hanna nodded and fell back among the crew. The corridor widened farther and ascended a short flight of broad steps. The group emerged into bright daylight in the midst of Mercadia.

Gerrard's first impression was of incredible noise. At the foot of the mountain, the cries of the merchants had been nothing compared to the roar up here. It was omnipresent and almost deafening in its intensity.

"Hale nuts! Selling hale nuts! Brown roasted hale nuts!"

"Buying simsass for coldseason. Anyone have simsass for coldseason?"

"I have four bottles of raga wine. I'm looking for hale nuts. Any hale nuts for raga wine?"

On either side of the street were long stalls bursting with goods. In the center of the broad avenue was raised a circular set of stairs ending in a platform. On this platform sellers crowded, each waving a paper and yelling out the virtues of goods offered or wanted for purchase. Along the street at regular intervals were other such platforms, and beyond- more streets and platforms and noise.

Around the platforms the crowd ebbed and flowed, looking over the items in the booths, picking them up, putting them down, touching, tasting, squeezing, stroking, asking the price, arguing over the price, paying the price- all in that unpleasant accent!

The stalls themselves were little more than temporary creations of wood and canvas, stretching out from the fronts of buildings. Behind the stalls stood dun-colored buildings with square windows and arched doorways. Structures crowded against each other, shouldering for space and forming rankling canyons that mazed away through the city. The dizzy chaos of mud walls was accentuated by the tiles and elaborate mosaics that covered them. No street was straight, no block was level. The roads climbed and shambled, dipped and drifted. The sense of vertigo that Gerrard had felt at the base of the impossible mountain now redoubled.

Heedless, the guard pushed through the crowd, conducting the Weatherlight crew through. Squee, his short green form unmistakable among the tall Weatherlight sailors, was several files back from the Benalian. Gerrard noticed that any time a Mercadian caught a glimpse of the goblin, he bowed low and touched his forehead. The little creature was both puzzled and impressed by this behavior, and he began to strut a bit.

Tahngarth wrinkled his nose and frowned. "They smell," he growled, gesturing at the Mercadians. "The whole place smells."

Sisay nodded her agreement. "There's a lot of incense burning around here." She stopped a moment, breathing hard, and wiped sweat from her forehead. "I don't know about the rest of you, but this place is giving me a splitting headache."

Gerrard rubbed his eyes. The street seemed to oscillate. He glanced at his companions and saw they were having similarly dazed sensations. Some of the crew were staggering. Hanna looked ready to pass out.

Gerrard knew it was now or never. He fell to his knees, gasping, and vomited into the gutter-that much was not acting. "Water! I need some water!"

Takara's hands fidgeted on his shoulders as she relayed the message to the laughing guards.

"You, there, kid," Gerrard called, gesturing to a familiar lad with tousled black hair.

"I'm not a damned kid," Atalla spat back, though he gave a wink.

"Bring me something to drink! Wine would be good."

Nodding, Atalla darted away through the market. His cloak flashed tan beside a vintner's stall. His hands darted atop a pile of burgeoning wineskins, and he snatched one. Holding it high, he waved the skin overhead and darted back toward Gerrard.

A roar of protest rose behind him, and a morbidly obese wine seller trundled in fury after the thief.

Atalla arrived, sandals skidding on cobblestones.

"Great work, kid-sorry, Master Atalla," Gerrard said, his smile turned down into the gutter. "Quick, pull the cork, give me a sip, and dump the rest on the ground."

Atalla worked deftly.

"When the captain of the guard comes," Gerrard continued, "get his keys."

The merchant stomped up behind Atalla and caught him up by his collar. The wineskin lay empty on the pavement, and wine and vomit mingled in the gutter.

"Thief!" the wine seller roared. "I'll cut off your hand!"

Gerrard stood, towering over the merchant. "Let him go! He's no thief! I sent him to fetch some wine for my master."

"Your master?" the merchant asked.

Rattling the chains at his wrists, Gerrard said, "I am but a slave to the captain of the guard. He uses me to taste his food and wine, for he fears poisoning. Your wine tasted to me of poison, and I vomited it there, in the gutter." A wry light shone in his glinting eyes. "I know what to do with rubbish!"

"Rubbish? Poison?" the vintner shouted in a pique. He dropped Atalla like a rag doll. "Your master will pay for this poison!"

The captain of the guard arrived, barking questions in High Mercadian.

"Don't pay him, sir," Gerrard said, gesturing emphatically toward the gutter. His jangling chains helped to draw attention away from Atalla. "I've never tasted such putrid bile in all my life!"

"Putrid bile?" the merchant shouted. He quivered with rage. His burgundy-dyed robe swayed dangerously. "You'll pay! You'll pay!"

The captain glowered at the merchant, oblivious to the dangerous operation occurring even then at his own belt. He shouted an indecipherable warning.

"He wants to trade me for the wine," Gerrard proposed.

The merchant gasped, a breath like a huge hiccough. "I'd rather own a one-eyed syphilitic donkey than an idiot slave such as you!"

"A donkey might like your wine," Gerrard agreed.

More shouts indecipherable, more threats, more bluster…

Gerrard leaned conspiratorially toward the captain of the guard to whisper in his ear (in fact, he extended shackled hands to Atalla, who quickly tried key after key). "I think the vintner is calling you a syphilitic donkey."

Giving an inarticulate cry of rage, the captain raised his trident to skewer the merchant. Metal lanced downward.

The wine seller squealed and rolled back on his round haunch.

The shackles fell from Gerrard's wrists. He snatched the trident in the air before it could fall and brought its butt swinging about. The shaft struck the guard captain in the side of the face, sending up a cloud of dust.

The Mercadian tottered for a moment like a dizzy top and then went down.

Gerrard gave a whoop and whirled the trident again, bashing back the soldiers who swarmed him. Meanwhile, Atalla crawled among the other prisoners, fitting the master key to the shackles. Takara was free, and then Starke, Sisay, and Hanna…

Tahngarth was too impatient. He lunged toward a nearby stall, snatched up a striva, and brought the heavy blade smashing down on the chain. It clove the inferior metal easily. Tahngarth sloughed off the shackles and lifted the weapon high. Merchants, and soldiers, and even Squee fell fearfully back from him.

For his part, Squee scampered up a similarly imposing figure-Karn. Being a pacifist, Karn would probably be an island of calm in the sea of swords. Squee shinnied up the chains that wrapped Karn's torso and flung his arms around the silver man's massive neck.

Karn opened his mouth, apparently to console the goblin. Instead he bit down on the chain that held Squee. It severed in two places, and Karn spit out the shattered links.

"Return the favor?" he asked Squee. "Lift one of my chains into my mouth."

Squee did. In moments, the whole mass of chain-and the goblin clinging to it-cascaded down to the street. Karn lifted his arms. Dirt poured from the gritty joints. Sunlight gleamed off his massive figure, and the crowd fell back again.

Not all of the crowd. Though their captain lay in the middle of the road, feigning unconsciousness, other soldiers fought inward. Their tridents slashed and jabbed among canvas stalls.

Sisay, Takara, and Gerrard parried easily with the weapons they had snatched. Tahngarth's striva merely clove any haft that came nearby. Always ingenious, Hanna had retreated to a fruit cart and thrust vast purple melons onto the tridents. Inspired by her valor, Squee clambered behind the cart and pelted the soldiers with hale nuts and simsass fruits.

Karn found he need only bellow and wave his arms menacingly to keep the soldiers at bay.

"As soon as the rest are free," Gerrard hissed to Takara as he flung back a pair of attackers, "scatter and blend. We'll meet again tonight by that big tower. Pass the word."

She was telling Sisay and Hanna when a new threat arrived.

At the lower end of the road, a huge shadow appeared. The creature that cast it was larger still. The color, height, and general bulk of an adobe house, the giant lumbered up to survey the scene. Its black hair dripped grease across a rumpled forehead and squinting eyes. It blinked in indecision. Soldiers behind it prodded it forward with tridents. Muscles rippling across its broad chest, the giant strode toward the melee.

"Karn!" Gerrard shouted. "Engage that giant!"

"I will not fight!" the pacifist called back. It was a foolish announcement there and then. Soldiers approached the golem.

In exasperation, Gerrard flattened another guard and shouted. "If you won't fight him, detain him."

"How?"

"I don't know! Dance with him!"

"Dance?" Karn asked as the giant loomed up.

"Hold him tight! That's an order!"

With a deft move that belied his bulk, Karn reached out, grasped the giant about the waist, and flung him into a heady spin. Karn held on tightly. He whistled a hornpipe he'd heard aboard Weatherlight, and his feet pounded out a precise imitation of the reels he'd seen Sisay perform. However, the effect was somewhat different. The giant was not a good dancer. It did not even seem to be trying. When its feet were not stomping down atop Karn's, they were smashing bookstalls or overturning juice carts or caving walls. Its hand motions were also a bit abrupt, more roundhouse than rondo. Still, Karn did not give up on his student-as long as no one got hurt, what was the harm?

Laughing, Gerrard turned from that scene to one less funny.

On the high end of the road, Mercadian soldiers escorted another creature to the scene. This monster's eyes glowed orange within a skull that was molded in green muscle. Two pairs of buglike mandibles extended from its cheeks and jowls. They hungrily shivered beside its fangs. From its shoulders sprouted a pair of venous humanlike arms ending in claws. Another pair of arms emerged behind the first, these tipped in wicked barbs. The thing's muscular abdomen was perched atop legs worthy of a drake, complete with eviscerating talons.

"A cateran enforcer," hissed Atalla, scrambling up beside Gerrard. "They're the meanest mercenaries the Mercadians have. I'm getting out of here. You should too. Your folk are all free."

"Thanks ki-Atalla. I owe you one." Gerrard cupped his hands and shouted, "Scatter!"

Only too happily, most of the crew obliged. Only Karn remained, dancing with his giant, and Tahngarth, who strode up beside Gerrard.

"It has four arms, so I thought we should as well," the minotaur said.

Gerrard smiled grimly as the thing came on. "You could never resist a fight."

"Not when I have a good striva." Tahngarth lifted the curved blade overhead just as the cateran reached them.

It hurled itself hungrily atop the pair.

Tahngarth thrust the striva into the beast's belly. Metal clanged uselessly on the creature's hide. The blade that had severed iron could not penetrate that skin.

Gerrard meanwhile rammed his trident into the thing's fangs. It bit down, severing the prongs and swallowing them.

This was going badly.

In one clawed hand, the beast clutched Gerrard's head, and in the other, Tahngarth's. Its grip was implacably strong. Barbed arms entrapped them. There was no escape. Fangy jaws ratcheted wide. The beast shoved Gerrard's head toward its gullet as though his skull were a melon. It sank its teeth past the tough exterior and into red pulp and reared back. Its mouth was full of crimson chunks and seeds Seeds?

Squee hauled back the other half of the melon he had rammed in the thing's mouth. He shoved the ruined fruit in the cateran's eyes.

Enraged, the blinded beast dropped Gerrard and Tahngarth to rake pulp from its face. It roared, melon spewing in a red shower from its jaws.

"Squee!" Gerrard shouted, startled, "I thought I told you to scatter-"

"-I'm glad, for once, he didn't listen," Tahngarth panted, crouching to receive the beast's next attack.

The cateran scraped the last seeds from his face and lunged again.

"Squee shoulda listened," the little goblin shrieked as the thing launched at him. He closed his eyes, cringing back from death. Any moment, fangs and claws and barbs would descend and rip him to pieces. There would be nothing left of Squee but hunks of meat, which the merchants would probably skewer and cook and sell… Yes, once this beast fell on him, he'd be done for. That would be the end of the story for Squee. A short life, over too soon… he rather wished the beast would get on with the killing part. The suspense was getting monotonous.

Squee opened his eyes to see something altogether unexpected. The cateran had stopped midlunge and fallen to its scabby knees. It looked up beseechingly at Squee. The goblin's incredulity was mirrored on the faces of Gerrard and Tahngarth.

Through jagged fangs, the cateran pleaded, "Forgive me, Master."

Squee looked over his shoulder to see who the beast addressed.

"He's talking to you, Squee," Gerrard hissed nervously.

Squee splayed a hand on his chest and mouthed, "To… Squee?"

Gerrard only nodded.

"I did not realize a Kyren sponsored these… worthies. I did not realize these were your friends."

Squee considered, folding arms over his chest and frowning disapprovingly. "Well, dey are! How 'bout dat!"

"I was only following orders," the beast buzzed out, still kowtowing. "Of course, my master was not Kyren. Your rank exceeds his. What are your orders, Master?"

Gerrard nodded encouragement to the goblin, his eyebrows lifted. "Yes, Master Squee. What are your orders?"

Tahngarth released a groan. "Your orders… Master?"

A broad smile on his face, Squee took a deep breath. "Yes. Orders. Master Squee's orders…"

"Yes…"

"Dance with dat giant," Squee said. "Karn's bushed. We're gonna go get something ta drink."

"Yes, Master."

There was no difficulty sneaking away after that. Even the reinforcement troops that arrived seemed to see nothing except the dance stylings of the cateran and the giant.

For a day and a night, Weatherlight's crew hid out in the great city of Mercadia. All had procured Mercadian clothes, the better to blend with the crowd. Only Karn remained in his native garb of silver-though he kept to the back alleys, Squee running interference for him. As a Kyren-that is, a goblinSquee had special rights and privileges in the city, though Gerrard still did not understand why. In time, Squee secured discreet lodgings for him and the other bridge crew members.

The streets outside buzzed with talk of the foreign warriors who had marched into the city, defeated five hundredno, a thousand-of the city guards, fought off twenty giants, and killed a whole band of cateran enforcers. Tavern talk made them outlaw heroes, striking out against oppression. Garrison talk made them simply outlaws, but their names were mentioned only in tremulous whispers.

"Legendary Gerrard, giant killer!"

The legend of Gerrard and his band reached a fevered pitch by next afternoon. It was time to enact his plan.

Gerrard and Takara climbed the white limestone stairs of the Magistrate's Tower-the opulent building at the center of Mercadia. In this city of trade, Gerrard had heard that any citizen who had a worthwhile bargain could approach the chief magistrate. Of course, if the deal was found wanting, the citizen would probably not be found again at all. Gerrard and Takara would take that chance. The outlaws had in mind an impressive bargain.

They climbed the tower steps, which wound around the outside of the structure without a rail to guide them. Gerrard felt increasingly dizzy as the streets of Mercadia opened out below. Beyond the edge of the city, he could see forever. Far away, probably fifty miles distant, was a blurred line of yellow.

Gerrard called Takara's attention to it. "What is that?"

"The Outer Sea, I imagine," she said.

They passed a number of landings with doors into the tower. A steady stream of people were also climbing up and down the stairs, passing in and out of the various openings. None paid the slightest attention to Gerrard and Takara. Surprisingly, there was little wind. Sweat beaded on both humans' faces as they climbed.

At last, at the very top of the tower, when only the endless sky beckoned above them, the stairs bent inward in a large landing. Its rail was inlaid with dark marble and polished stones in elaborate patterns. The side of the tower was pierced by a tall wooden door framed in elaborately wrought metal.

"This is it. The audience chamber."

Gerrard pushed hard. The door swung back to reveal a dark, narrow opening. Gerrard and Takara passed through. They traveled down a short hallway hung with tapestries and decorated with mosaics, and entered a large circular chamber.

The ceiling was an open skylight through which the bright morning sun shone. A circle of pillars lined the edges of the room. In the very center was a small platform. On it rested a chair, carved of ivory, where sat the Chief Magistrate of Mercadia.

He was short and fat, with dimpled cheeks and thinning blond hair plastered against his scalp. His robes were yellow, trimmed with scarlet. They clung closely to the rolls of fat that cascaded from his chin to his waist. Indeed, Gerrard could never remember having seen so fat a man. His flesh seemed to drip from his body, and his six chins quivered and shook. His fingers were thick and stubby, and Gerrard noticed with a flash of surprise that the nails were manifestly dirty. His mouth was a round, pursed splash of red, and his face was liberally coated with rouge and powder. A foul smell arose from him, as if he had not bathed in several weeks. It melded with the thick scent of incense that pervaded the chamber. About the magistrate's stout shoulders hung a heavy gold chain. Each of its links was a tiny casket. He rested his pudgy hands on his stomach and watched through small, piggish eyes as the visitors entered.

About the heavily perfumed room were courtiers. All were clad in shades of yellow. They lounged languidly around the chamber or relaxed on cushioned benches-on which many of them sprawled full-length-eating, drinking, and sleeping.

Something whizzed from the midst of one of these groups and struck Gerrard's foot. He leaped, startled.

There was a burst of laughter. A courtier lumbered toward him as quickly as his grotesquely fat body would permit. He bent with a grunt and retrieved a small, furry creature. Chuckling, he held it up for Gerrard's inspection. It appeared to be a species of rat, somewhat larger than Gerrard was used to seeing. Its tiny eyes glittered, and its whiskers moved back and forth as it twitched its nose. Its tail was at least a foot long and ended in a sharp cluster of spikes. Deftly, the Mercadian flipped the rat on its back and scratched its stomach. A small panel opened, showing a tangle of machinery and a tiny glowing stone.

Gerrard gasped and said to Takara, "It's a toy-with a powerstone."

"Yes." The Rathi woman stepped closer and stared intently at the mechanical creature.

Glancing around the room, Gerrard noticed a number of the other nobles were playing with toys. Many were in the shape of animals; others were fashioned in the likeness of engines and vehicles. All were small but animated by power stones. He looked at Takara and grinned. "Our terms have just gotten steeper."

Moving very little, the magistrate beckoned to Gerrard. His voice was high and strained, and Gerrard could barely hear it above the other noise in the room. The words were High Mercadian, but on the lips of the magistrate they sounded even more coarse and degenerate.

Takara translated. "The magistrate asks who you are and what you offer, to approach his exalted figure."

Lifting his eyes to the man, Gerrard said, "I am the legendary outlaw Gerrard, giant killer."

That caused a sensation. The courtiers paused in conversation and looked up. A few gathered their grapes, and cheese, and little mechanical toys, withdrawing along the wall. The guards in the room also tensed.

The magistrate's eyes darted nervously toward the door.

"Call them off, Magistrate. I have slain whole companies of your soldiers," Gerrard lied. "I will slay these and you, too, if you don't call them off."

With a pallid nod, the magistrate sent the soldiers back to their posts.

"Good," Gerrard said. "We have come to make a bargain."

"To make a bargain you came?" echoed a mocking little voice-a Kyren. He emerged from beside the ivory throne, where others of his kind stood. They were garbed in fine silks and shadows. This one walked very erect, its eyes pinning Gerrard's insolently as it approached. "Most respected Magistrate of Mercadia, may the gods bless and keep your name," observed the Kyren, "does not your ineffable wisdom truly spread wherever the name of Mercadia is known? Might a humble servant of your divine mightiness presume to offer some small tidbit of advice on the matter of this stranger?"

The magistrate gestured meaninglessly.

The goblin continued. "Would it not be proper and advisable to determine why we should give any audience to a' brigand? Would it not be advisable to call the city wizards, or failing them, the city guard, or failing them, the city waste managers?"

The insouciant Kyren had ventured a little too close. Takara lunged, grabbed the beast by the throat, and hoisted it in one hand.

Guards who had not rushed to the magistrate's aid now ran toward Takara. Gerrard turned and drew a sword to ward them away.

Takara meanwhile stared into the goblin's bugging eyes. Her own eyes narrowed, and her mouth was a toothy gash across her face. "Look at me, you little bug. Look at me. Really look, and you will see why you must listen to us!"

Gerrard busily circled the pair, keeping guards at bay. Over his shoulder, he glimpsed the goblin's face. At first, there was only angry umbrage and the panic of suffocation. Then suddenly, there was something else-abject terror.

The Kyren waved the guards back.

Takara nodded, lowering the beast to the ground. She released him, and the Kyren staggered away slowly, clutching his neck.

Gerrard hissed to her, "What did you do?"

Through a humorless smile, Takara whispered, "Just let him see my hate. It is a powerful thing."

Coughing raggedly, the creature retreated toward the chief magistrate. "Might I suggest… the chief to treat these folk

… as privileged citizens… instead of outlaws?"

The fat man's chins quivered like the wattle of a chicken. "Very well. The magistrate accepts your advice." He nodded to Gerrard.

Gerrard said, "I am the legendary Gerrard, giant killer. I would triumph no matter what forces you sent against me. My folk are as powerful as an army. Our prowess is not diminished by the fact that your troops are pathetic, listless, and hopeless. Are you satisfied with the state of your army?"

One of the goblins replied, his voice oily and unpleasant. "Is Mercadia not still threatened by enemies from abroad, and yet our armies are untrained? Is not their skill with arms poor? Are not the weapons they possess badly maintained? Have you weapons you can trade? Have you sufficient soldiers to fill our ranks?"

"Better. The legendary Gerrard will make a bargain with you," Gerrard said. "I will train your troops in the use of weaponry. I will train them how to train others. I will turn your army into a fighting machine that will be, itself, legendary."

"You will train our armies in return for what?" the Kyren asked.

"Freedom for my folk, first of all," Gerrard said. "I want them to walk the streets as citizens."

"Is there nothing more we can offer?"

"There is plenty more. When I have finished training a division of your troops, I will be granted them to march into the Rushwood to fight the Cho-Arrim. I seek to regain the airship I was falsely arrested for trading to them."

Avarice flared in the goblin's eyes. "Why would we refuse the offer of legendary Gerrard to lead our armies against our enemies?"

"Once I retrieve my ship, I want facilities here to repair it-"

"Why would we refuse to grant facil-"

"And assistance in gathering power stones to repair the ship."

"Do we not know legends of power stone troves?"

"And last, but certainly not least, I want a thousand gold coins given to the farm family of Tavoot, in payment for damages incurred."

"A thousand gold?"

"Are the terms of this bargain accepted?" Gerrard asked. "Think twice before you answer with another question!"

The Kyren's eyes grew wide.

The magistrate himself answered. "The bargain is accepted, I legendary Gerrard, giant killer. Train our troops, and your folk will be treated as citizens and honored guests. You will be granted the right to lead a division to regain your ship. If you regain your ship, you will be allowed to use our facilities to repair it and benefit from our assistance in obtaining power stones to complete the job. And a thousand gold pieces will be granted to the farm family you mentioned. Agreed."

Legendary Gerrard nodded, smiling with satisfaction. "Good."

Beside him, Takara whispered, "Good for now, but that was too easy. Nothing here is as it seems. We must proceed cautiously."