Taking Flight

Chapter Fifteen

“Maybe we shouldn’t try it tonight,” Kelder said, chewing on the steak. The meat here required considerable gnawing — not, as Irith had pointed out, like the food at the Crystal Skull.

“We should have found someplace better,” she had said.

“There may not be any place better any more,” Kelder had replied, “and I’m hungry.”

And now they were in Big Bredon’s Tavern, gnawing on meat that had probably come from some caravan’s superannuated draft animal. Little Asha was having trouble staying awake, her head constantly on the verge of falling forward into her fried potatoes.

“Why not?” Irith asked.

Kelder pointed his fork at Asha.

“I’m all right!” Asha protested. “I’m just tired.”

“We all are,” Kelder agreed. “So maybe we should just rest, and worry about it tomorrow night.”

Asha frowned, blinking. “What if the caravan leaves again?”

“Oh, it won’t do that,” Kelder said, not quite as confidently as he would have liked. “I’m sure they’ll be staying in Shan for several days yet. Right, Irith?”

“I don’t know,” Irith said, jabbing her fork viciously at her potatoes.

Kelder glared at her resentfully. “Well, anyway,” he said, “I think we’re all too tired tonight. We’d probably mess up somehow. Tomorrow night should be fine.”

“I don’t want to stay in Shan all day,” Irith said, resentfully. “This place has really gone downhill since I was here, you know that? It’s a dump, now — ruins everywhere, half the arcades deserted...”

“You’re just mad about the Crystal Skull,” Kelder said.

“Yes, well, so what?” Irith snapped. “What difference does it make why I don’t like it here? I don’t like it here; I want to go.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we at least try to get Abden’s head back,” Kelder told her.

“Fine, then let’s just get it over with, shall we?” Irith dropped her fork and turned to Asha, then stopped and giggled.

Kelder turned to see why Irith was laughing, and found Asha sound asleep, her cheek resting on the oily potato slices. He smiled, then carefully lifted her head from her plate and transferred it to a folded napkin on the table.

“All right,” Irith said, before Kelder could say anything, “we get some sleep. But we don’t need to wait all day — why don’t we get up really, really early, maybe two hours before dawn, and... and do it then? And then we can still get out of town before anyone from the caravan wakes up, and they’ll probably be too busy doing business to come after us right away even if they notice it’s gone and figure out where we went.”

Kelder considered that for a moment, wishing he weren’t quite so exhausted himself; his fatigue made thinking difficult.

“All right,” he said at last. “That will give us about four hours’ sleep, I guess, which is better than nothing.”

Irith smiled at him, her first real smile since that morning. “Oh, good!” The smile vanished. “It’s going to be really yucky, you know, pulling that head off that pike.”

Kelder grimaced. “I guess so,” he said. “You have to do it, though; you’re the only one who can fly.”

“I know.” She sighed. “Let’s go get some sleep.”

They went and got some sleep. They had to carry Asha to the room Irith had rented, Kelder taking her under the arms, Irith taking her feet.

It was only at the very last moment, the candle already extinguished, that Kelder realized they were not going to wake up until midday without outside help. He staggered back downstairs and promised the night watchman six bits in copper if he got them up on schedule.

The watchman agreed.

Kelder did not even remember returning to his bed; the next thing he knew was that someone was shaking him, none too gently, and someone with beery breath and a strange accent was telling him, in Trader’s Tongue, to wake up.

He was too tired to think in Trader’s Tongue at first, and in Shularan he advised whoever it was to go immediately to Hell, and to speak Shularan on the way.

The shaker said, in Ethsharitic this time, that he spoke no Quorulian. This completely inappropriate response brought Kelder awake, as he tried to figure it out.

He sat up, blinking, and recognized the night watchman.

“It’s not Quorulian,” Kelder said. “It’s Shularan.”

“I don’t speak that, either,” the watchman said in Trader’s Tongue, shrugging.

“Right,” Kelder said. “Thank you for waking me.”

“Eight bits,” the watchman said, holding out a palm.

“Six,” Kelder said, “when my friends are awake and we’ve checked the time.”

The Shanese shrugged again. “Six,” he agreed. “I wait.”

Kelder glared at him for a moment, then reached over and shook Irith awake.

Five minutes later the three of them were making their way, rather blearily, through the streets of Shan. The watchman, richer by six bits of Irith’s money, was back in his regular post at the inn.

“So I just fly up and take the head off the pike, and then we go, right?” Irith asked, stumbling over an empty bottle and narrowly avoiding whacking her head against a stone pillar.

Kelder nodded. “That’s right,” he said.

“And what are you two going to be doing?”

“Standing watch, I guess,” Kelder replied. Then he corrected himself, “No, they’ve probably got guards. We’ll be distracting the guards.”

“Oh,” Irith said. “All right.”

“There!” Asha said, pointing. “There it is!”

“Shh!” Kelder and Irith both hushed her.

She looked up at them, startled, but said no more.

“Do you see any guards?” Kelder asked.

Irith shook her head. “They must be there, though.” She sighed. “Tell me again why I’m doing this.”

“Because,” Kelder told her, “you promised Asha.”

Irith looked unconvinced.

“Because I asked you to,” Kelder suggested.

Irith sighed again, nodded, and spread wings that had not been there an instant before. She flapped them once.

Kelder started to shush her, then caught himself.

“Just testing,” she said. “They’re a little stiff; I haven’t flown much these last few days.”

He nodded. “Look,” he said, “we’ll meet you at the city gate, all right?”

“Fine.” Her wings stretched gracefully upward, flapped, and she rose toward the night sky.

Below her, the youth and the child watched for a moment. Then Kelder shook himself out of his momentary daze and said, “Come on.” Asha followed obediently as he crept toward the caravan, moving as silently as he could and trying to keep to the shadows as much as possible.

The wagons were in a line along one side of an arcade that was significantly higher and wider than most, and open on both sides. Torches were mounted on each vehicle, but most had burned out, and those that remained were little more than stubs. What little light they cast mingled with the orange glow of the greater moon, and with light spilling over from the central square, but even so, the arcade was shadowy and dim, the caravan’s bright colors reduced to scarcely more than flame-yellow and shadow-gray.

Most of the wagons were closed, their shutters latched and doors barred, awnings and banners furled and stowed. Steps and benches were folded away, brakes set, wheels blocked. The draft animals and outriders’ mounts had all been unhitched and taken elsewhere for stabling, the yokes and traces and other gear all neatly tucked out of sight. Each one had a pike held to one corner by iron loops, and atop each pike was a bandit’s head.

At first glance, Kelder saw nothing moving but the flickering shadows. Then something yawned loudly.

Kelder felt Asha tugging at the back of his tunic, but he ignored it as he looked for the source of the sound.

He found it; a big, burly man in a dark tunic and kilt was leaning against a pillar, whittling. A sword hung from his belt, and a long spear stood within easy reach, propped against a stone upright. There could be no doubt whatsoever that he was standing guard.

The knife he was carving with glinted in the torchlight for a moment, and a curl of wood-shaving spiraled to the pavement. He was awake, but not exactly intent on his job.

The mere fact of his presence, and wakefulness, was enough to make the whole job more worrisome, though. “Damn,” Kelder muttered to himself.

“Kelder!” Asha whispered urgently.

He turned, finger to lips, and hissed, “What is it?”

“Where’s Abden?”

Kelder looked at her blankly for a moment.

“I mean, where’s Abden’s head?”

Annoyed, Kelder turned to point. “The head’s right...”

He stopped.

Slowly, he turned back to Asha.

“I don’t know,” he said. “What does... what did your brother look like?”

“I don’t know,” Asha said.

“That one,” Kelder said, pointing to the nearest pike, “is that him?”

“No,” Asha said, “that’s Kelder — I mean, the other Kelder, Kelder the Lesser, they called him.”

“Well, I knew it wasn’t me,” Kelder snarled sarcastically. “What about the others? Which one is he?”

Asha took a minute to peer up at those heads that were visible from where they stood. “I don’t see Abden,” she said at last.

The head was not right there, Kelder realized.

“Damn!” he said again.