A Scoundrel's Song

32

Sometimes, even Niico marvelled at his genius and skills. From telling the guards that he and Herit suffered from one of the most virulent and deadly diseases known to the world, to persuading them to escort them through the town to the auspices and good graces of the temple of Elea Kha, Patron of Maidens and the foremost authorities on healing, took less than two sentences. Now, the procured wagon trundled along the streets of Baccirese with an honour guard, pushing citizens out of the way. For their own safety, of course.

Niico had taken the most bare fraction of a moment to see that they had arrived at the port town on a particularly busy day, with people of all kinds thronging the streets and performing all those most hated methods of walking that Niico despised. The Weavers, the Strollers, the Jerkers that would stop for no reason at all and switch to a very different direction for no reason whatsoever than they obviously wanted to cause bile to rise in Niico's throat.

Now, they had clear passage all the way to the docks. Or, at least, to the temple district near the docks. Once there, Niico didn't doubt he could persuade the guards that even finding themselves in the mere vicinity of the temple had miraculously cleared the infection, leaving them only a few streets to traverse to reach the tavern where Herit's father awaited her. If he could believe Akafa's story.

All around, Niico saw people shoved to the side by the arms and spears of the town guards, the long, pointy, dangerous weapons pointed at other people, for once, and not at his head, which was a nice change of pace he could grow accustomed to. At the western side of the town, the others would enter, if they had not already, drawing the attention of Diaste Kha and her vicious followers. His plan was one of such utter brilliance, he almost felt the need to shout it out to the passing throngs. He didn't, of course. That would be foolish in the extreme.

To his side, Herit continued to pluck at the strings of Niico's mandolin. Every so often, the child's hand would stop, reach out and touch Niico's arm, as though to make sure he hadn't left her, in fairness, at any other time he would have considered it. Putting himself in danger, even for coin, was not his idea of clever. Clever was gaining coin with as little danger as possible. This child had put those worries to the side, but, Niico mused, only because the promise of a number of Talon coins proved too difficult to pass.

Baccirese had changed since the last time he had visited. It had grown. Not spreading outward, but up, with several buildings now sporting more levels than he remembered. Wooden scaffolds littered the town where further building works continued at a pace. Businesses and houses rising skyward that Niico assessed for their ease of climbing. Now that he came to think of it, Casoria had run a little dry for goods to purloin. Perhaps moving to Baccirese could prove more lucrative.

Up above, he saw seagulls wheeling, turning and diving as the fisher fleet returned with their morning catches and Niico knew Pel would sneer at every single one of them. He never asked the reason why she hated them, or why, despite that hatred, she lived in a coastal town, but hate them she did. Here, as in Casoria, the seagulls ruled the air, their harsh calls reverberating from the tight walls of the streets.

"She knows!" Herit broke the silence with a yell, almost dropping the mandolin as she jumped up, her hand reaching for the blindfold. "She knows!"

"Don't be foolish, child!" Niico pressed her back to the seat, lifting the muffling over her ear and made a harsh whisper. "How can she possibly ..."

He stopped, tugging the mangy horse to a standstill as he saw several figures in the street ahead. Figures that he could not fail to recognise. Hooded, wearing black leather outfits with far more buckles and straps than anyone ever had any need for, and carrying those heavy maces in their hands. They had spread across the street, forcing the passing crowds to curl around them, staring toward Niico and, more to the point, Herit.