A Scoundrel's Song

23

The wagon rattled and swayed through the streets, the sounds of celebration and gaiety impinging upon the tense silence within the cabin. Niico laid back, unconcerned, while the others fidgeted and swapped nervous glances. Even Akafa looked worried, but Niico felt certain that Antioni could navigate the teeming throngs to reach the other side of Ancomo to safety.

When the wagon stopped, however, and official voices crept through the curtains, Niico's unconcern took a little turn for the worse. Antioni's stuttering replies sounded as though he leaned down from the seat of the wagon and, when the wagon began to move once more, it had changed direction, the wheels scraping against worn cobbles as Antioni turned the wagon on the spot.

"What are you doing?" Niico made a tiny crack in the curtains, peering out and hissing to Antioni. "You were doing so well! The street out is that way! This is ... why are we going back into town? We need to be getting out of town, not taking in the sights!"

"The way is blocked to entertainers." Antioni tried to look over his shoulder, only for Niico to risk showing his hand by showing his hand, pushing Antioni's face to look forward. "We're supposed to set up in the town square."

Niico sat back, fingers digging into his scalp as he fought to think of a new plan. The town square was the absolute worst place to go, for several reasons. There, ringing the wide open space, were the temples. Including that of Diaste Kha, the Lady of Bearing, and her stern, leather bedecked, heavy mace-carrying priests. Not to mention the family Engallini, who, true to form, thought themselves of a parity with the Patrons and had built themselves an enormous house that sometimes dwarfed those temples.

He said 'sometimes' because the family Engallini and the temple leaders had started a competition, of sorts, where each would add to their structures, building bigger and taller. The family Engallini, because they were rabid egotists and narcissists, desperate to prove themselves more important than anyone, mortal or immortal, and the temple leaders because they would be damned if anyone thought they could challenge the authority of the would-be gods they worshipped.

All except the priests of Anshana Kha, of course, who always built their temples in the brothel district of any town or city and could be often confused with their neighbours. Which was probably the point. None of that mattered to Niico, were it not for the fact that both the family Engallini and the priests of Diaste Kha were bloodthirsty killers who would think nothing of ruining everybody's time to get what they wanted. That being Akafa and Herit for the priests and Niico and Pel for the family Engallini. They needed a way out, together.

"What are you doing?" That appeared to be the main question to everyone, it seemed, as Niico saw Pel applying make-up and a wig to her face and head. "This is no time for a performance!"

"Who's performing?" Pel rubbed under her eyes with dust from a pot in her hand, darkening the undersides. "I'm getting out of here. No-one bothers mad old crones. Especially the ones that spit."

Behind her, he saw Akafa attach the hooded jacket Niico had acquired for the boy, in passing, quite by chance, as they had flitted through a village days ago. He had got that for the boy to perform in, but they couldn't perform. Not here. Not where enemies were close at hand. When Pel handed Akafa a large, thick, hooded cloak, it appeared only Niico would stand to find an escape.

"Look. There's no point in separating. We should stick together. We're a troupe! We're a team! Give me five minutes and I'll think of something." He couldn't think of anything. Outside, he could already hear the sounds of bards, storytellers and hawkers. "Why not ... why not put one of Pel's wigs on Herit? Pretend he's a girl and ... and ... I could wear the hooded jacket. It'll be tight, but I have a svelte body. It'll work."