Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I Page 16

  Baus was a member of this raking team. Significant hours of labour passed as he paused from his task only to peer wearily up into the rain. The umber-stained fields disappeared into a cobwebbed wash of forest; the road wound raggedly away into the distance. The sea spread to the east, barely a lime-blue mist.

  As the day dragged onwards, cool rain thudded hard into the evening; Flanks was cancelled for the night. The men huddled disconsolately around a lamplit table in the dormitory, trading miseries while the rain continued to drum morosely on the tin roof. Baus lay slouched in his pallet, pensive and withdrawn; nor was Weavil inclined to participate in any gaming. Half-bantering murmurs were all to be heard. Baus was concerned about how he was to escape before Nuzbek returned from the hive. Trimestrius’s gladius had been secured—an instrument whose cutting power was something of marvel, but the risk of using it against the guards outweighed any reward. With a sense of moody anguish, Baus abandoned any schemes related to unearthing the jars and dredging out more magic items.

  Baus humoured himself knowing that he had escaped the little prince’s fate. Under no circumstances must he fall prey to such vicissitude as had the heir to Desenion . . .

  Baus’s reverie was interrupted by shouts coming from the beehive. The prisoners swarmed over to the window. They saw lambent flashes, flickers and glows—it seemed a remarkable battle was transpiring in the hive. As to who was winning, it was difficult to determine, though someone had gained an advantage—or more specifically—a hold on the glow pyramid.

  * * *

  The following morn proceeded in fashion much similar to the last. Skarrow tramped to the hive to liberate Dighcan and Nuzbek, after which, the recently-released convicts joined the road gang like the others. The inmates reacted to the rain in predictable fashion; Dighcan and Nuzbek remained uncommunicative; neither was in the mood to offer anecdotes or witty memoirs about their incarceration; nor did anyone ply them for details. Dighcan seemed more taciturn, with his head a degree larger and redder, even rounder, to Baus’s memory, while Nuzbek seemed more pasty-faced and gaunt, guarding a near-blackened eye and bruises everywhere that were not unnoticeable. Dighcan had never achieved complete success in taming his cellmate’s glow-pyramid antics . . .

  Drizzle accompanied the workers on their extended labours. Graves surprised all by riding in on his pointy-horned wegmor to oversee the operation. The warden’s primary purpose was to stimulate the prisoners to maximum effect; secondly, to debrief Dighcan and Nuzbek about their return to the yard.

  That same afternoon, Nuzbek and Nolpin proved to be poor flake-haulers and were demoted to rake-duty alongside Baus. Nuzbek remained cool and discourteous, particularly when Baus queried him about the ferocity with which Dighcan had upbraided him a few days ago. “Imagine Dighcan grousing about butt-fondling,” chirped Baus. “He thought that you would grope his behind—what a concept! What could have come over the brute to think such an absurdity?”

  Nuzbek made no effort to craft a civil reply. “Dighcan is that name which is applied to ‘lout’ and ‘boor’ interchangeably.”

  Baus uttered an aspirated mutter. “Let us not disparage poor Dighcan. He has sharp ears.”

  Nuzbek ignored the advice. He pulled abstractedly at his sopping beard. “This whole scenario reeks of some peculiar double-crossing, as if treacherous forces were working behind my back.”

  Baus’s eyes grew large. “Skullduggery could never be at play in the yard!”

  “One would think not,” muttered Nuzbek.

  Baus scrutinized the magician. His rake-thin face and his spidery scowl were not becoming. He tried to imagine Nuzbek as being the indomitable ‘Aurimag’—the neomancer whom Trimestrius kept vilifying, but for the life of him he could not absorb the concept. He proposed an experiment and faked a cough and uttered the word ‘Aurimag’ under his breath.

  Nuzbek twisted about with surprising speed. “What was that?” he barked.

  Baus’s expression became ingenuous. “Nothing. I was just in the process of clearing my throat.”

  The magician’s eyes glimmered bloodshot menace. “You uttered a name—what was it?”

  Baus gave his head a fretful shake. “I think you have been imagining things. Is it odd that a man coughs while gripped in the crux of fever in these chill rains? You are a tiresome fellow!”

  Nuzbek’s lips peeled back to reveal a wolfish grin. “Watch your remarks, comrade.” Rainwater had seeped through the gaps in his teeth and had made him look like a ghoul. “I thought that I had heard something I hadn’t for years. Also, I thought that I had established myself as a man of serious nature.” He reached meaningfully in his cloak as if to retrieve an object—possibly the glow pyramid.

  A barrow came teetering out of the drizzle and nearly sideswiped the magician. Baus pulled him out of the way just as the barrow passed. “Careful, Nuzbek. I seem to have saved you from a spill.”

  With cold dislike, Nuzbek shook off Baus’s hand and tottered over to the roadside.

  “Mind! Jorkoff is a bear when it comes to stone-dumping!” called Baus.

  Nuzbek struggled with his ball and chain. He was like a bedraggled bird and continued to cast Baus an evil glare.

  Baus hoisted his own weight and moved off to tend to other work on the opposite shoulder of the road.

  Reviewing his findings, Baus found no answers. His intuition was tingling—far better to avoid the magician. The notion that he was ‘Aurimag the enchanter’ was an imprint too sinister to fluff off. Under the black-billowy robe, this Nuzbek had stashed certain objects, including the glow pyramid—an adjunct whose puissances and dark emanations were of formidable potency. Even at a conservative guess, Baus thought the accessory contained a nexus of elder magic that caused pain and woe. Nuzbek, or whoever he was, would likely not risk jeopardizing the use of his fey power in broad daylight—but then again, who knew what the evil man was capable of . . .

  * * *

  What the prisoners did not know was that Graves had personally arranged a surprise that evening. The conflicting reports that the Captain had heard from Skarrow and Mulfax regarding the disturbances of the night had made him all the more suspicious. Mischief was afoot in the yard, that much he knew.

  Nuzbek awoke fumbling with his pillow, discovering, to his dismay, that the absence of his ganglestick was real, that his prized talisman was filched, furthermore, a rummaging which roused both Baus and Weavil.

  The two, peering shrewdly out of the corner of their eyes, saw the magician elbow his colleagues awake and foist the sinister glow-pyramid in their faces. He crept over to the iron-barred window where Dighcan snored in peaceful manner.

  Boulm and Nolpin alighted, rubbing bleary eyes. They followed their master dutifully on all fours, but on feet plainly ambivalent.

  Baus continued to suppress his ironic conviction that the magician was pushing his luck. He watched spellbound as the magician looked down on the fleshy face of Dighcan, whose lips fluttered with a wheezing sound. The coarse tangle of Dighcan’s yellow beard made him look like some abalone from the sea. Nuzbek seemed to desist the urge to perform some dastardly deed on his enemy. But he thrust the pyramid gingerly between the bars and uttered some unearthly sound that instantly had a maroon ray shafting out to strike the guard Skarrow squarely on the back. The ray was calculated to inflict maximum damage and here Baus cast Weavil a wry look.

  Weavil sensed an opportunity and withdrew an object of his own from his tattered jacket. Before Baus could stop him, the midget had tossed a pebble at Dighcan’s sleeping form. Baus watched as the rock skidded off Nuzbek’s outstretched arm and hit Dighcan’s chest, causing him to spring awake in foul mood. Cognizing the weirdness of Nuzbek poised overtop him like a crane, he jerked himself upright, seized the magician by the scruff of the neck and struck him. The pyramid clattered to the floor.

  Nuzbek howled in dismay and reeled back in an attempt to snatch back the pyramid but could not hold his balance. Dighcan and he hopped back and forth i
n a shadowy bird dance. Nolpin acquired enough wits to lash out at Dighcan and send him staggering back. But Dighcan kneed the magician in the groin. Nuzbek fell groaning but won temporarily free of the ruffian’s grip and the lethal beating that hung in the air—but not before Dighcan had delivered Nuzbek a bully fist to the chest that had him scrambling for air.

  The door burst open. Graves and his man Skarrow leapt in like stormcrows, cracking whips and waving torches. Dighcan was grimacing, rubbing his aching knuckles along Nuzbek’s skull. Skarrow was efforting to shake the haze out of his head, likely the aftereffect of Nuzbek’s eerie glow-ray.

  Graves studied the scene with a contemptuous fervency. “You idiotic villains! What have we here? A dancing duo?”

  Dighcan muttered obscenities but the Captain silenced him. “Nuzbek has attempted an ignominy, well, what else is new?”

  Dighcan composed himself enough to speak with restraint. “This molester, Captain, reached for my chest. Perhaps to tickle my privates? Compose some ludicrous witchery? Whatever his lusty intention was, it was one of diseased quality and spurs me to wrath. I abhor sneak intimacies. As a prisoner of this institution, I demand remuneration. Assaults of this nature are insufferable. I shall sue the township if I must!—in this, I will ensure that my demands are met!”

  Graves gave a series of sympathetic grunts. “In some respect, Dighcan, your claim is justified; however, the matter remains open for debate. Other matters are of more urgency.” He turned to the magician and barked, “How do you explain this accusation, Nuzbek?”

  “There is nothing to explain, Captain,” Nuzbek snapped cynically.

  “Well, what is that weird curio you clutch in your hand?”

  “A glow orb, no more,” Nuzbek mumbled. “A bit of ornamentation which I won at the Killboar pub in Brislin. Nothing special. Now, please . . .” He attempted to sidle away, but could not get far before Skarrow had hauled him back roughly by the neck.

  Nuzbek loosed a painful cough. “Careful! The orb is rare and has provided inspiration and luck during my trying days in the yard.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” muttered Skarrow sarcastically.

  Dighcan protested: “Don’t heed the swine’s words! He has attempted a perversion on me! I feel it in my bones.”

  Nuzbek gave a low, dispirited protest. “The dolt is incurable. He is a paranoid hoodlum. Forgive me, Captain—but look to Leamoine for crimes of this kind . . .”

  “Do not attempt to blame Leamoine for your perversions!” growled Graves.

  Nuzbek attempted to enhance his argument, but was not allowed. He was in pain. He fell back wincing. “As for the trifling knick-knack that glows, ’tis merely a convenience of luminescence with which I was using to peer out the window.”

  “And why so?”

  “To gauge the upcoming storm. See how it will affect our labours on the morrow.”

  Graves gave an incredulous snort.

  Skarrow endorsed the Captain’s sentiment. “I have a hunch that this Nuzbek is a lying hound and that this ‘pyramid’ is somehow responsible for the stinging of my back!”

  “A vile imputation!” growled Nuzbek. “How could I be responsible for such mischief?”

  Dighcan cut in with a sardonic gleam: “Easily! In addition to your lascivious pussyfooting, you attempted to ram a Flank’s stone down my gullet.”

  “Balderdash!”

  “Oh? Here is proof! Regard the missile that struck my left breast!” Dighcan pointed at the rock which Weavil had flung.

  Nuzbek lifted an accusatory finger. “There are your culprits. Do not look to me!” Baus and Weavil blinked in innocence.

  Graves swept his eyes to the ceiling and missed Baus’s and Weavil’s grinning smirks. “Nuzbek, these irrelevant statements are tiresome and unnecessary. I am not far off in my conviction that you are a debaser, an incorrigible dandelion addicted to the fondling of Dighcan’s body. No less, I am convinced that you are a fabulist. Keep your hands to yourself and prepare yourself for a double demerit for disorderly conduct and prurient behaviour.”

  A strangled murmur constricted Nuzbek’s throat. “Entirely unfair!” he raved. “Even if I were this creature of debauched baseness you describe, I enacted nothing of the kind.”

  “Only because you were interrupted from the act, which is why I am charging you with an ‘intent of an ignominy’. Now, let matters be! I shall suffer no more disruptions. Your gasbagging has caused us all ill.” He glared at the others in the gathering who gawked shamelessly. “That applies to the lot of you idiot lumpkins!”

  The small diversion gave Nuzbek time to cache his glowing pyramid in his robe. Skarrow searched him but the device was never found. Nuzbek’s thinly-veiled sneer became ever more palpable as he gloated through his teeth. Peering about, Graves realized the object could have been snatched up by any of the convicts, and sourly he threw his hands in the air. He ordered his officers to depart.

  IX

  It was in a dream that illumination dawned in Baus. Escape was so simple!

  At half past three in the morning Baus slid out of his pallet. He woke Weavil, infused with a rich, exalted plan.

  Weavil sputtered an oath, deploring the callous treatment of being jarred unnecessarily from his dreams, but Baus quickly clamped fingers over his lips and cautioned him to silence. Weavil, in short time, understood the momentousness of the scheme. Nuzbek’s baton was gripped in Baus’s fist and they both crept to the door, quiet as church mice.

  Cautiously Baus dislodged the bar holding the door. With a careful nudge, he took the handle and had the portal shivering ajar. They slipped through the darkness, disappearing on noiseless feet. There was no sign of Graves—only Skarrow hulking several feet away with boots planted on the edge of the veranda. His back was sagging, head nodding and mouth yawning. In such a state of weariness, Baus felt him an easy victim, and he was soon frozen fast to the slats by a simple touch of the ganglestick. The two moved unhindered through the yard. Along the north wall they crept like weasels, unaware that Nuzbek and his cronies had followed them moments after, creeping like vines under the high stone rampart.

  Baus and Weavil skulked ever downward toward the east wall. The yard plunged dangerously into spikenard, while Weavil tossed ungrateful looks at Baus, which he ignored. In a petulant voice, Weavil complained that his urgency was wasted on inexplicable preoccupation with ‘ghostly treetops’ and ‘gigantic limbs’. Baus cast calculating glances at the beobar, as if his dreamy convictions were substantiated.

  Five minutes passed. The two came to the junction of the wall with the seaward side, neither of them none the wiser of Nuzbek’s tailing. Gloom hung in the air like dank cobwebs: the yard’s façade towered above them like slate cliffs. Cold bare flanks met their fingers—worn smooth and bathed in blue-black shadow. A brisk wind had picked up, swirling the enclosure with sea air, sending chills up their spines.

  Spongebush grew in clumps; prickly scrub elsewhere. Nevertheless, they stumbled under the looming trees, with Baus cursing and dragging Weavil along by the collar, heedless of the scrapes, itches and abrasions that came their way.

  Picking their way through the patchy scrub, they searched for the block that Baus had marked and obsessed over for the last weeks.

  A fifty foot hike ended; finally, the two saw the stone, gleaming in the moonlight. The absence of light was a hindrance that was unavoidable; several times they had tripped to fall nose to nose with an ever more irking stench. There was all too much fermented clam meat here while the watchtower flickered with a buttery glow and the cupola lay pricked with a glowering torchlight.

  Baus gouged at the stone with Trimestrius’s gladius and hacked out a grim outline around the rock. ’Twas a tense period, during which period Weavil’s scepticism grew to considerable degree. But when the stone was dislodged, his lips parted in an ‘o’ as Baus’s new blade hewed a lip around the stone, mortar and chip rock flying off like sawdust, as if crafted of putty.

  The escapist stoo
d back, exhilarated by the easy work. The stone gave way and revealed a head-sized opening for Weavil to crawl through. With the assistance of Nuzbek’s baton and Trimestrius’s blade, the exercise had become an elementary feat—liberation seemed near at hand!

  Weavil disputed the success of any escape. “And how are you to win free when only I am puny enough to pass through.”

  Baus exhibited unconcern. “I have thought this out, Weavil. I shall escape from the tangle of branches overhanging the north wall.” He motioned fervidly. The gently-swaying limbs were no more than ninety feet away.

  Weavil issued a chuckling response: “And are you to leap up to those limbs by magic or are they to suddenly bend over to your whim?”

  Baus flourished gruffly. “Neither. With your help, I shall breach the boughs—and please, if you don’t mind, get your torso through the hole.”

  Thoroughly irritated, Weavil refused to show any cooperation and Baus became fractious. “Listen!” he hissed. “The outer wall is rough enough for footholds for a tiny person as yourself. Climb the outer wall, gain the parapet; then crawl along the top to secure a bough pliable enough for me to swing down. Is this not simple? If you can bend it for me I can loft myself up.”

  Weavil gave an absurd laugh. “Nothing doing! You think I can do all this? I shall trip and slash my skin on the glass which spikes the parapet.”

  Baus’s eyes gleamed with irritation. “Are you going to be touchy? Why be such an infant while I bust my neck out here? Try this: scale the trunks near the wall and from there ride a bough. There are many to choose from—rich with twigs and knots and strong enough to support your weight. My height is only six feet; I have an additional two feet of arm’s length. If I can grab on to a branch, then I am free.”