“They ain’t exactly in a friendly line of business,” Lekmann reminded him.
There was the scrape of bolts being drawn inside and the door creaked open. Pushing Coilla in first, Lekmann and Blaan entered.
A goblin faced them. Another closed and re-bolted the door.
Their frames were skeletal, with knobbly green flesh stretched tight and resembling parchment. They had prominent shoulder-blades that gave the impression they were slightly hunchbacked. But what they lacked in excess fat was made up with sinew; these were strong, agile creatures.
Their heads were oval-shaped and hairless. Their ears were small and flapped, their mouths rubbery-lipped gashes. They had squashed noses with punch-hole nostrils and large tear-drop-shaped eyes with black orbs and jaundice-yellow surrounds. Both were armed with long, thick clubs topped with studded maces.
In the spacious room that spread out beyond them there were seven or eight more of their granite-faced comrades.
A wooden platform, level with a human’s chest, ran the length of the room’s far wall. It was scattered with rugs and cushions. At its centre stood an ornately carved, high-backed chair like a throne. A guard was positioned on either side.
Seated in it was another goblin. But where the rest wore martial leathers and chain mail, he was dressed more grandly in silk, and he was bedecked with jewellery. One of his languid talons held the mouthpiece of a tube that ran to a hookah, from which thin tendrils of white smoke drifted.
“I am Razatt-Kheage,” the slaver said. His voice was sibilant. “Your name has been made known to me.” He gave Coilla an appraising look. “I understand you have merchandise to offer.”
“That we do,” Lekmann replied in a tone seeping false bonhomie. “This is it.”
Razatt-Kheage made an imperious gesture with his hand. “Come.”
Lekmann shoved Coilla and the trio walked to a small staircase at one end of the dais. A pair of henchlins accompanied them. When they approached the throne, Lekmann nodded at Blaan and he put an armlock on Coilla. She was kept a safe distance from the slaver.
Razatt-Kheage offered Lekmann the hookah pipe.
“What is it, crystal?”
“No, my friend. I prefer more intense pleasures. This is pure lassh.”
Lekmann blanched. “Er, no, I won’t, thanks. I try to keep away from the more violent narcotics. And what with it being, uhm, habit forming and all . . .”
“Of course. It’s a little indulgence I can afford, however.” He inhaled deeply from the pipe. His eyes took on a more glazed sheen as he expelled the heady cloud. “To business. Let us examine the goods.” He waved lazily at one of his minions.
This goblin left his place by the throne and scuttled to Coilla. As Blaan held her firm, the goblin proceeded to paw her. He squeezed the muscles on her arms, patted her legs, stared into her eyes.
“You’ll find she’s fit as a flea,” Lekmann remarked, ladling the geniality some more.
The goblin roughly forced open Coilla’s mouth and inspected her teeth.
“I’m not a damn horse!” she spat.
“She’s a spunky one,” Lekmann said.
“Then she will be broken,” Razatt-Kheage replied. “It has been done before.”
His henchlin finished with Coilla and nodded to him.
“It seems your wares are acceptable, Micah Lekmann,” the slaver hissed. “Let us talk of payment.”
While they negotiated, Coilla took a good look around the chamber. Its sole door, barred windows and profusion of guards, not to mention Blaan’s hold on her, all quickly confirmed that she had no choice but to bide her time.
Lekmann and the slaver finally agreed a price. The amount was substantial. Coilla didn’t know whether to be flattered by it.
“It is agreed, then,” Razatt-Kheage said. “When will it be convenient for you to return for your money?”
That took Lekmann by surprise. “Return? What do you mean, return?”
“Do you think I would keep such a sum here?”
“Well, how quickly can you get it?”
“Shall we say four hours?”
“
Four hours?
That’s a hell of a —”
“Perhaps you would prefer dealing with another agent?”
The bounty hunter sighed. “All right, Razatt-Kheage, four hours. Not a minute longer.”
“You have my word. Do you wish to wait or return?”
“I have to meet somebody. We’ll come back.”
“It would make sense if you left the orc here in the meantime. She will be secure and you will not have the inconvenience of guarding her.”
Lekmann eyed him suspiciously. “How do I know she’s still going to be here when we get back?”
“Among my kind, Micah Lekmann, when a goblin gives his word it is a grievous insult to doubt it.”
“Yeah, you slavers are such an honourable bunch,” Coilla remarked sarcastically.
Blaan applied painful pressure to her arm. She gritted her teeth and didn’t give them the satisfaction of crying out.
“As you say . . .
spunky
,” Razatt-Kheage muttered unpleasantly. “What is your decision, human?”
“All right, she can stay. But my partner Blaan here stays with her. And if it ain’t considered an insult to you and your race, I’m telling him that if there’s any . . . problems, he’s to kill her. Got that, Jabeez?”
“Got it, Micah.” He tightened his hold on Coilla.
“I understand,” Razatt-Kheage said. “In four hours, then.”
“Right.” He headed for the door accompanied by a henchlin.
“Don’t hurry back,” Coilla called after him.
“It’s just not
natural
, Stryke. Giving up their weapons isn’t something orcs should be asked to do.”
It was the first definite thing Haskeer had said since being reunited with the band. He sounded almost like his old self.
“We don’t get into Hecklowe otherwise,” Stryke explained again. “Stop making a fuss.”
“Why don’t we conceal a few blades?” Jup suggested.
“Bet
everybody
does that,” Haskeer said.
Stryke noted how Haskeer even seemed to be making an effort to be reasonable with Jup. Maybe he really had changed. “They probably do. But stopping weapons going in isn’t the point. It’s using them in there that brings the death penalty. The Council knows that, everybody going in knows it. Even Unis and Manis know it, for the gods’ sake. It’s just that they don’t search all visitors thoroughly. Otherwise the place would grind to a halt.”
Jup interjected, “But get caught in a fight with weapons —”
“And they kill you, yes.”
“So we
don’t
hide some weapons?”
“Are you mad? An orc without a blade? Of course we smuggle some in. What we don’t do,
any
of us . . .” he gave Haskeer a pointed look “. . . is use them without my direct order. Any orc should be able to improvise. We’ve got fists, feet and heads. Right?”
The band nodded and began slipping knives into boots, sleeves and helmets. Stryke chose a favourite two-edged blade. Jup did the same. Haskeer went one better. Having concealed a knife, he also wrapped a length of chain around his waist and covered it with his jerkin.
Hecklowe by day was as impressive and strange a sight as Hecklowe by night. This day, rain had given its incredibly varied architecture an oily sheen. The tops of towers, the roofs of buildings, the sloping sides of mini pyramids glistened wetly and gave off a rainbow sheen.
The band made its way to the freeport’s main entrance. As usual, a multi-racial crowd was massed at the gates. Dismounting, the orcs got in line, leading their horses.
They had an interminable wait, during which Haskeer scowled menacingly at kobolds, dwarves, elves and any other species he had real or imagined grudges against. But eventually they reached the checkpoint and found themselves dealing with the silent Watchers.
Jup was first. An homunculus sentinel stood with arms outstretched waiting for his weapons. The dwarf handed over his sword, an axe, a hatchet, two daggers, a knife, a slingshot and ammo, a spiked knuckle-duster and four sharpened throwing stars.
“I’m travelling light,” he told the expressionless Watcher.
By the time the rest of the band had divested themselves of similar quantities of weapons the queue was much longer and shorter on patience.
Finally the band pocketed their wooden receipt tags and were waved in.
“The Watchers seem a lot more sluggish since I was last here,” Stryke observed.
Jup nodded. “The bleeding of the magic is affecting everything. Though it probably isn’t as bad here as further inland. I’ve noticed that the power’s always stronger near water. But if humans keep carrying on the way they have been, even places like this are going to be in trouble.”
“You’re right. Even so, I’d rather we didn’t have to tackle the Watchers. They might be less powerful than they were but they’re still designed to be killing machines.”
“I don’t reckon they’re so tough,” Haskeer boasted.
“Haskeer,
please
. Don’t get into any fights unless there’s no other way.”
“Right. You can rely on me, boss.”
Stryke wished he could believe that. “Come on,” he said, “let’s get these horses stabled.”
They managed that without too much bother, and Stryke made sure the caches of pellucid weren’t left in the saddlebags. Each member carried their portion about his person.
Then they walked the crowded streets, attracting a certain amount of attention and turned heads, which was no mean feat in a place like Hecklowe. Though it was noticeable that nobody lingered in their path. At length they found a small plaza where it was a little easier to talk without being jostled. There were trees in the square, but even here, with strong flows of magic, they looked frail and mean-leafed.
Stryke’s troops bunched around him. “Ten orcs and a dwarf hanging around together isn’t tactful,” he told them. “We’re best splitting into two groups.”
“Makes sense,” Jup said.
“My group will be Haskeer, Toche, Reafdaw and Seafe. Jup, you’ll take Talag, Gant, Calthmon, Breggin and Finje.”
“Why ain’t I leading a group?” Haskeer complained.
“There are six in Jup’s group, only five in mine,” Stryke explained. “So of course I want you with me.”
It worked. Haskeer’s chest swelled. Jup caught Stryke’s eye, grinned and gave him an exaggerated wink. Stryke smiled thinly in return.
“We’ll meet back here in . . . let’s say three hours,” he decided. “If either group comes across Coilla in a situation it can handle, we’ll go for it. If that means not making the rendezvous here, we’ll meet one mile west of Hecklowe’s gates. If you find Coilla and the odds are too long, leave somebody watching and we’ll go in with both groups.”
“Any ideas about where we should look in particular?” Jup asked.
“Anywhere buying and selling takes place.”
“That’s the whole of Hecklowe, isn’t it?”
“Right.”
“Should be a piece of piss, then.”
“Look, you cover the north and west sectors, we’ll do south and east.” He addressed all of them. “We know, or think we know, that Coilla’s with three humans, probably bounty hunters. Don’t undervalue them. Take no chances. And go steady on those concealed weapons. Like I said, we don’t want the Watchers down on our necks. Now get going.”
Jup gave a thumbs-up and led off his group.
Watching them go, Haskeer said, “We get smaller and smaller . . .”
Stryke’s party searched fruitlessly for over two hours.
As they moved from the south to the east of the city, Stryke said, “The trouble is we don’t know
how
to look.”
“What?” Haskeer responded.
“We don’t know anybody in Hecklowe, we’ve no contacts to help us, and slavers don’t do business on the streets. The gods alone know what could be going on inside any of these buildings.”
“So what we going to do?”
“Just keep looking and hope we catch a glimpse of Coilla, I suppose. It’s not as though we can ask the Watchers where the local slavers live.”
“Well, what’s the point, then? I mean, what the hell are we doing here if we haven’t got a hope of finding her?”
“Just a minute,”
Stryke seethed, barely containing his anger. “We’re here because of
you!
If you hadn’t gone AWOL with the stars in the first place we wouldn’t
be
here. And Coilla wouldn’t be in the mess she’s in.”
“That’s not fair!” Haskeer protested. “I didn’t know what I was doing. You can’t blame me for —”
“Captain!”
“What is it, Toche?” Stryke replied irritably.
The grunt pointed to the intersection they were approaching. “There, sir!”
They all looked the way he indicated. A mass of beings swarmed where four streets met.
“What is it?” Stryke demanded. “What are we supposed to be seeing?”
“That human!” Toche exclaimed. “The one we saw in the snow.
There!
”
This time Stryke spotted him. Serapheim, the wordsmith who sent them to Hecklowe, and who disappeared so completely. Taller than most around him, he was an unmistakable figure with his flowing locks and long, blue cloak. He was walking away from them.
“Reckon he’s one of the bounty hunters?” Haskeer wondered, the argument forgotten.
“No more than I did when we first saw him,” Stryke said. “And why send us here if he was? Come to that, what’s he doing here?”
“He’s moving off.”
“It’s too much of a coincidence that he should be here. Come on, we’re going to follow. But take it easy, we don’t want him seeing us.”
They pushed through the crowd, careful to keep a safe distance. Serapheim didn’t appear to know he was being trailed and acted naturally, though he walked purposefully. The orcs followed him to the core of the eastern quarter, where the streets became winding alleys and every cloak seemed to hide a dagger.
In due course he turned a corner, and when they got to it and peered round they found themselves looking into an empty culde-sac. At the far end and to the side was a decaying, once white building. It had a single door. Indeed it was the only door in the street.
They made the obvious assumption that he must have gone through it and crept that way. The door was slightly ajar. The orcs flattened themselves against the wall on either side.