The Last Protector (24 page)

In the last room on the left he found Tremmlowe, fully clothed and sitting in a chair with the same vacant expression worn by everyone else. Then he saw Nalia.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit,
shee-yit!"
he said. She knelt on the floor next to a big black basket, her hands gripping its top edge as she stared vacantly into space. Tongues of violet-white energy slithered out of the basket and licked up her arms, reaching most of the way to her shoulders; the same stuff he'd seen a week earlier in the courtyard of the ruined Palace, but brighter, louder, and more electric.

He edged closer and looked into the basket. The purple ball had doubled in size and seemed to be growing before his eyes as its crackling tendrils engulfed more of Nalia's arms and shoulders. The white light at the ball's center flickered brightly, and the fluid within churned vigorously. For a moment he glimpsed something that looked like a good-sized fish in the violet murk. The fish paused as if looking back at him, flicked its tail and vanished.

I'd rather be knee-deep in rattlesnakes, he thought, planting his feet on either side of Nalia's and holding his hands a few inches from her wrists. Electricity crackled from the tongues of violet light, making the hairs on his arms tingle.

Muttering “no pain, no gain,” he grabbed Nalia's arms. He instantly forgot the soreness in his side as violet-white fire shot up his arms and chased about his shoulders, filling the air with sparks and smoke, sending his muscles into tremors and spasms. He struggled to pull her away, but his body refused to cooperate, and it seemed as though the glowing ball was trying to drag him closer.

More by luck than by plan, his legs gave way and he tumbled backward, dragging Nalia with him. Tongues of energy flashed from every opening in the basket as he rolled and kicked to get away. Thing hates me, he thought. As if agreeing, the fire nipped at his toe. He yelped, and scrambled a few feet further away.

Not wanting to leave Nalia in the same room with the ball of light, he carried her downstairs and carefully propped her up in a corner by the piano. She dozed peacefully, and he expected that she, like Jape and everyone else in the area, would be out for a while. Meanwhile, he had business to attend to.

Giving the basket and its sizzling contents a wide berth, he searched Tremmlowe's room and found the Setron stashed inside the nightstand. Screw the gold pieces, he thought as he slung it over his shoulder. This thing's mine. In a pocket of Tremmlowe's coat, he found a small pouch full of white pills. This he added to the collection of clues in his sporran. Then, having finished his search, he gave Tremmlowe a hard punch in the belly. It made him feel much better. “What happened?” Tremmlowe mumbled as he slowly opened his eyes.

"A little shit tried something really dumb,” Scrornuck said, “and now the little shit's going to pay.” He grabbed Tremmlowe by the collar, hustled him out the door and shoved him down the stairs, enjoying the grunts and groans as the little shit tumbled and bounced into the alley. Scrornuck followed, muttering “it's payback time” as he shoved Tremmlowe up against the wall and held Ol’ Red's blade to his throat.

Jape stumbled into the alley, holding his head in the throes of a world-class hangover. “What the..."

"Say the word, Jape!” Scrornuck said. “Say the word and this creep's history!"

Jape rubbed his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?"

Scrornuck pulled his sword back a little. “Yeah, I guess you passed out and missed it. This shit sent three people to kill me. I got strangled and stabbed and poisoned, and then he grabbed Nalia..."

"I swear, I never touched her!” Tremmlowe croaked. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Shut up, slimeball!” Scrornuck gave Tremmlowe a hard elbow in the ribs, knocking him to the ground. “C'mon, Jape, say the word!"

"And what will you do?"

"I'll take him apart,” Scrornuck said, “starting with the most painful bits.” He let Ol’ Red's luminous tip dance around Tremmlowe's crotch. “And ending with the vital ones.” He lifted the blade to graze his captive's throat.

"No.” Jape shook his head, and immediately regretted it. “Let him go. There's been too much killing lately."

"Oh, no,” Scrornuck said. “Not this guy, not after what he tried to do to us."

Jape massaged his temples as if trying to chase his headache away. “Let him go, Mister Saughblade. That's an order."

"Fine.” Reluctantly, Scrornuck put his sword away. “Get out of my sight, you little shit,” he growled, pitching Tremmlowe toward the street, straight into a pile of fresh garbage. “If I had my way, you'd be dead—and I promise, the next time I see your face, you won't live to see sundown!” As he watched Tremmlowe struggle to his feet and scurry away, Scrornuck sat down on an overturned trash basket and muttered, “Sheeyit."

"What's bothering you, Mister Saughblade?” Jape asked.

Scrornuck stared at the ground. “Me. I knew all along the guy was a slimeball. I promised to protect you and Nalia, and even if you thought he was safe, I should've remembered.” He looked up at Jape. “We're going to regret letting him go."

Jape shrugged. “Well, what's done is done. Let's go check on Nalia. She was still asleep when I heard the commotion out here..."

"Did somebody mention my name?” She strolled through the doorway, looking comfortable and well-rested. “What happened to you two? Too much fun last night?"

"Come inside and I'll tell you all about it,” Scrornuck said.

They returned to their table, which the staff, awake again, had already cleared. Scrornuck slumped into a chair and began to tell his tale of the attempted assassination.

"What?” Nalia interrupted. “Two people came into your room and tried to kill you? Right here in the middle of Taupeaquaah?"

Scrornuck nodded. “They weren't very good at it, obviously. And then I found you in the scumbag's room with that ball of purple light..."

"What?” It was Jape's turn to interrupt. “The Orb was in Tremmlowe's room?"

"Yeah.” Scrornuck looked at Nalia. “Don't you remember?"

She shrugged. “All I remember is, I was sitting here at this table, and I guess I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, you two were outside bickering."

Scrornuck looked at Jape. The Ranger shrugged. “I must have nodded off. When I woke up you were out in the alley beating up on our host."

"Shee-ee-yit!” Scrornuck said, holding up a handful of his smoke-stinking hair. “How do you think this happened?"

"I don't know,” Jape said reasonably. “Let's go have a look."

They headed upstairs and found the door to Tremmlowe's room had already been locked. “The housekeepers are quick,” Scrornuck said, setting Ol’ Red's blade to a toothpick size and picking the lock. Seeing Nalia's surprised look, he added, “I've had a lot of practice tonight."

Tremmlowe's room was neat and in order, and there was no sign of the Orb or any basket. “You were right here,” Scrornuck said, kneeling. He looked at Nalia. “You had your arms in it up to the shoulders.” He flipped backward. “And this is where we landed when I finally got it to let go.” He stared at her with a pleading look. “Don't you believe me?"

"I believe you'd never intentionally lie to me,” Jape said. “So you must have seen something.” He helped Scrornuck to his feet. “But if the basket and the Orb were here, where did they go? Tremmlowe was in no shape to move them."

Scrornuck collapsed into the chair. “It was here."

Jape patted his shoulder. “You had a hard night."

"What about the assassins? Was I just seeing things?"

"Let's find out."

Scrornuck didn't bother picking the lock on his room. He simply kicked the door hard enough to tear the lock from its mounts. Somehow this relieved a little of his frustration. “Hold your breath,” he warned. “The smell is going to be pretty bad."

"What smell?” Nalia asked. The room smelled like a room. The windows were open and a gentle breeze stirred the curtains. No blood, no bodies, no broken furniture, no puke in the chamber-pot. The place looked and smelled like a perfectly ordinary upstairs room at a brothel. Nalia kicked at a heap of blankets and pillows on the floor. “Are these the bodies you left behind?"

Having found nothing upstairs, they returned to the table. “I have the mother of all hangovers,” Jape moaned, holding his head. “I need coffee."

Scrornuck produced a silvery pouch labeled COFFEE, INSTANT, SELF-HEATING. “At least I can still protect you from caffeine withdrawal.” He kneaded the pouch for a few seconds, and it quickly became hot.

Jape tore a corner off the pouch and sucked down its contents greedily. “Mister Saughblade, you are a sight for sore eyes.” As the coffee started working, he corrected himself. “I mean, the sight of you makes my eyes sore. You look like somebody dragged you through hell.” He opened his eyes further. “It's getting to be morning, the kitchen's about to open, I'll order a nice, big breakfast, and you go clean yourself up."

"Just a little snack for me, okay?” Scrornuck said, unsure about whether he could keep anything down right now.

"Continental breakfast, then,” Jape said. “Now get going. Wash that blood off and find a shirt, or at least cover up that tattoo. You'll feel better, and trust me, so will we."

"Last time I was in that room...” Scrornuck muttered as he limped toward the stairs. “If I'm not back in five minutes, send a search party."

Nobody bothered Scrornuck as he washed, dried and clothed himself, finishing up by folding and pleating the big plaid blanket into a proper traditional kilt. A search of the room turned up no sign of his shirt, blood-soaked or otherwise, or the dragon-headed brooch that had belonged to his grandfather. With a sigh, he threw the top parts of the kilt over his shoulders and tied the fabric together to more-or-less cover his tattoo.

He returned to the barroom, still sore and reeking of smoke but feeling good enough to think he might be able to eat something. To his surprise, Jape and Nalia were deep in conversation with the two
chickaderos.
He paused for a moment, listening.

"And what do you want?” Nalia demanded, scowling.

"Meeoow,” Blue Eyes sniffed, then turned to Jape and said, “Where's that shit friend of yours, the one that stiffed us last night?"

"Mister Saughblade?"

"Not the big guy. I'm looking for that little shit who took off and didn't pay us."

"Although,” Blondie giggled, “the big guy stiffed us, too."

"Put a sock in it,” Blue Eyes ordered. “See what I have to put up with? Anyway, that little friend of yours—"

"Tremmlowe?"

"Yeah, Tremmlowe. He hired us to entertain the big guy and he never paid up."

"I don't think you'll be seeing him again,” Nalia said icily.

"Great, just great.” Blondie rolled her eyes. “A working girl never gets a break."

"Wait a second,” Jape cut in, “let's get back to Tremmlowe. He offered you money to entertain Mister Saughblade?"

"Yeah, four silver pieces."

"I'd have done it for three,” Blondie said. “In advance."

"You'd have done it for nothing, if I'd given you half a chance,” Blue Eyes retorted. “That's why I run this business."

"If you're so good, how come we didn't get paid?"

Jape pulled out five silver pieces. “Tell you what,” he said, “I'll give you these if you can tell me exactly what Tremmlowe wanted you to do."

"There's not much to tell. He just pointed to your friend and said he'd give us four silver pieces to keep him entertained."

"Wait,” Blondie said suddenly. “What about the door?"

"Oh, yeah. He made a point of that. Once your friend was asleep, we were supposed to get out quietly and leave the door partway open."

"Did he say why?” Jape asked.

"Nope. We just figured he had some other fun planned for later.” Blue Eyes stared at the coins. “That's all we know. Can we get paid now?"

"Hi, guys!” Scrornuck arrived at the table as Jape handed Blue Eyes her fee.

Blondie shoved a chair in between herself and Blue Eyes. “Have a seat, tiger!"

He accepted the chair. Blondie reached for his hand—and suddenly froze. Across the table, Nalia glowered at the two
chickaderos,
staring so intently that her eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the gas lamps. The girls sat bolt upright, an expression approaching terror on their faces. Scrornuck looked about and saw that Jape was also sitting at attention, eyes wide open. Oh, no, he thought, half-expecting to see sparks around Nalia's fingertips, not again.

The girls nodded, as if responding to a voice he couldn't hear. Taking great pains to avoid making contact with Scrornuck, they backed slowly out the door. Jape relaxed, and as the serving wench arrived with breakfast, Nalia flashed a smug smile. “Sorry,” she said, “but tarts aren't on the menu this morning."

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"Doesn't he ever sleep?” Scrornuck groused as he limped across Temple Square in Saturday morning's bright sunshine.

High Priest Rosaiah, the object of Scrornuck's muttering, smiled down from the Temple porch in a benign, almost fatherly, manner. “I see the Dragon is starting to humble you. Are you yet ready?"

"Ready to shove that stuffed toy up your—
oof!"
Scrornuck felt Jape's elbow in his sore side, and shut up.

Rosaiah sighed. “You are a stiff-necked pupil indeed. I fear you will suffer greatly before Spafu finishes your lessons.” He returned to his scrolls. “We will be waiting."

"Go stroke your lizard, Rosey,” Scrornuck muttered. “That guy really frosts my—
hey!"
He jumped back a step, dodging a small cart that two men were pushing across the Square at a flat-out sprint. A moment later, a swarm of carts and runners burst forth from the narrow street beneath the west side of the Temple platform. They carried all manner of goods—cloth, unfinished sections of timber, sacks of flour, cases of toilet paper, baskets of fruits and vegetables, whole sides of beef. The rush went on for several minutes, and then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.