Absent assassin 22

 

Chapter 22

 

“Poltronis does the Psion thing to be noticed and taken heed of, doesn’t he?” said Kiliana.

“Yes,” said Quester, a little shortly. He did not really want to have a discussion of psionic power at that moment.

“Well, can’t you, like, somehow do that in reverse so people don’t want to bother to look at us?” said Kiliana.

Quester blinked.

“You are on good form,” he said.

“I like doing practical things, it makes me think better than sitting writing essays for you and reading books,” said Kiliana. “I know you sigh over my lessons and that I am an indifferent student, but when I’m doing things, it’s like my brain wakes up.”

“Well, I must set you more practical tests to accomplish, then,” said Quester.  “I can, indeed, discourage people from wanting to see us; the hardest part will be when we veer away from the... I hesitate to call it a town, trading centre, and head for the hinterlands.”

“Well, why are we veering away?” asked Kiliana.

“My dear, we have to get our passenger to the landing area where we can signal the Buckyhare.”

“So, why don’t we go down to the dock and steal or hire a boat, and row round? You have flowers for a lady who lives along the coast. Easier to go by boat... if we can steal one, we could even sail to the rendezvous.”

“Bold, and I like it,” said Quester.

 

oOoOo

 

The harbour was made up of a number of rocks penetrating the surface of the sea; these underwater peaks had been joined to make a wall on two sides of the dock over the years with sunken ships piled with rocks, plascrete wave breakers, and possibly several hundred years worth of waste from middens at one point, with rocks on the outside to protect it from erosion.  The water in the harbour was like a mill pond, a few catspaws ruffled by the breeze the only disturbance to the water. Towers tethered the pirate zeppelins, cables running to the fleet of small boats they dragged with them. On the shore, a steam-powered train ran on rails flush to the concrete surface of the dock, hauling heavy goods back and forth. It would be fuelled with the olive stone fuel blocks, no doubt, and would be a triple-expansion engine, the third, low-pressure cylinder extending each side to run it as efficiently as possible. There were large, pirate vessels docked in their own part of the quay, and smaller boats for local trade and fishing smacks of varying size near the road which straggled down from the town. Women on the quayside gutted fish in the same way they had done since the bulls were danced over as on his ring, when Knossos was above the waves. And doubtless they would continue in the same way for time out of mind, for fish was important.

Quester looked around, and his eye lighted upon a small, one-man skiff, with the fore-and-aft rigging that could be handled by one man, if he knew what he was doing.

 

It was a nice little skiff, and Quester knew he could sail it by himself.  A man was finishing off renewing the rigging.

“You need to get a new block for the mainmast; you noticed yours is splitting,” said Quester, using  voice control.

“I don’t recall...” the skipper fought the control.

“You’ve been worrying about it all night,” said Kiliana.

Quester frowned. She hadn’t been trained and might break the thread of thrall he was building.

“I didn’t sleep too good,” said the skipper.

“The bad dreams about the block kept you awake, but you wanted to do the rigging first. Now you have time,” said Quester.

“Well....”

“Go now, quickly!” said Quester.

The man wandered off, towards a chandlery.

“Tip the load over the gangplank into the boat, undo the painter and be ready to jump as I move off,” said Quester.

Poltronis had a rather bumpy trip into the bottom of the boat; Kiliana was not concerned if he broke anything, even his neck. He was marked for death, anyway. She hoped the painter was the rope tying it to some bollard, and undid that, throwing it inboard and leaping after it. Quester was on the sweeps, swiftly manoeuvring out into the harbour, where, in open water, he might release the sail and catch the catspaws of breeze to dance out onto the open sea, running close hauled; but the little boat responded to his lightest touch, and he thrilled to feel the sea under his feet all at his own command.

Quester laughed in delight.

“Oh, Leo! You come alive on a boat,” said Kiliana.

“I should take the leave owed to me at times and just go sailing,” said Quester. “Duck!”

Kiliana ducked as he went about, to catch another breath of wind on the other tack.

“Are we going to sail straight for the rendezvous?” she asked.

“No,” said Quester. “We’re going to check that Elena and Nicos got away all right, and that Martellus did not send someone to wait for us. We aren’t expected to make for the rendezvous, so we shall have to rely on the chandler being both busy and garrulous, so it takes a while before we are missed.”

“I wouldn’t rely on that,” said Kiliana, grimly. “I think I heard someone shouting. And if they send out the zeppelins....”

“They won’t,” said Quester.

“Why not? You’re a dangerous foe and we have Poltronis....”

“And how do they know that we have Poltronis, or that I am the Lord Justiciar?” said Quester. “A subservient, a fisherman, had his fishing boat stolen. He was speaking amicably to the thief; the pirates, who seem to throw their weight around like Patricians, will perhaps assume that it’s the prank of a friend of his.  They won’t help. We have a lithe little boat which goes closely to the wind, and we can take advantage of that.”

“Well, why not sail straight out now you don’t have to mess about looking nonchalant and zig-zagging like a drunken sailor?” asked Kiliana.

Quester opened his mouth, shut it, and his eyes, and counted mentally to ten.

“Have I said something stupid?” said Kiliana. “You look pained.”

“Not stupid, but ill-informed,” sighed Quester. “You lived with sheep, not ships,” he punned feebly. “I can’t sail straight out because the wind is coming from sort of in front of us. I have to sail in such a way as to have it push us sideways, and by zig-zagging, I can go against the wind. I’ll draw you diagrams when we have time.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kiliana. “I should have realised that you wouldn’t do something without good reason. I feel a real idiot now.”

“I don’t expect you to know everything,” said Quester. “I’m sorry I looked pained. I grew up with the knowledge.

“At least if it’s not academic, I’m a quick study,” said Kiliana.

“You are,” said Quester.  “I think we might want to re-think the strategy of outrunning them, though, as we shall have to stop in that little cove and they’ll catch up with us.”

“It wasn’t deep under that tree,” said Kiliana. “Will that mast come down?”

“I can unstep the mast, yes,” said Quester. “We’ll have about a quarter of an hour in hand, and as it’s slack water now with the tide about to go out, we can more easily retrieve the boat. You were thinking of sinking it, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Kiliana. “I think we’d better get Poltronis out first.”

“Yes, I’m afraid we must,” said Quester. “But we can stow him in vegetation.”

“Shall I sing a prayer?” asked Kiliana.

“It can’t hurt,” said Quester.

Kiliana fell back on the first prayer he had taught her.

“Bless us, and keep us, God-Hero,

Blessed Abe, be our father, we pray;

Waking  or Sleeping

Hold us in your keeping,

Be our father, we pray,

By night or by day.”

She kept it up-tempo for Quester to row, as they approached the cove, and he rapidly took in the sails and unstepped the mast, which folded down. Then he sculled skilfully towards the fallen tree, which was lapped by the water as it had been some twelve hours before when they had arrived.

“The other boat has gone, so I guess they got off all right,” said Kiliana, her sharp eyes searching the flotsam and jetsam.  She lifted branches to get the boat right under, and Quester rowed until the keel touched.  He was out in a trice, tying up the painter, and then leaped back in to help manhandle Poltronis.

“What about the wheelbarrow?” asked Kiliana.

“Put it over the side in the deeper water,” said Quester. Kiliana complied, whilst Quester manhandled the feebly wriggling bundle up above the high water mark. He lodged Poltronis between two roots, where the earth had washed away, throwing bundles of marram and thyme over him from what had straggled down the cliff in the wake of the fallen tree, and kicked sand over Poltronis’s feet. His torso was protected by the roots, he should take no harm being partly buried. Kiliana joined him.

“I pushed the flowers under the sail to stop them floating away,” she said.

“Good girl. Finish up here, and I’ll go and pull out the bung. You get that gown off and stuff it in a hole, go back to being a boy,” said Quester. He jumped into the boat, and, seeing fishing tackle, got it out of the boat before pulling out the bung. The boat disappeared under the water as he sprang out again.

Quickly he set up two lines.

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” he said. “I’m going to be a truculent peasant if anyone asks us questions.”

He wiped the last of the makeup off his face and shook his hair in the hopes of getting rid of most of the powder.

“We’re brothers?” asked Kiliana.

“Yes,” said Quester.

The sun was pleasant, not yet too hot, there being some light haze off the sea. Quester sat back and relaxed. Kiliana did her best to copy him in that.

Some small vessels presently rounded the point, and there was pointing inshore. Someone shouted something, and Quester waved and held up 3 fingers.

He had actually caught 3 fish whilst waiting, which was an excellent addition to their cover.

The shouting now sounded irritable.

Quester made a universal symbol of distain, putting his thumb between the next two fingers and holding it out.

One of the little boats took in its sail and rowed up onto the beach.

“Don’t scayer thee fisssh,”[1] said Quester, in a creditable imitation of the local accent, which he recalled from his childhood, and had been wont to ape, as small boys will make fun of the regional accents of others.  His quick ear had been enough for it to come flooding back.

“I don’t knoaw thee,” said the man who came ashore.

“That’s noat myy faulut,” said Quester. “Everywaan knoows myy uncul Yannees.”

“Yannees the fissh?”

“Naow, tha fooul, Yannees the Highbreed, waas tha theenk?”

There had to be at least half a dozen men called Yannis, known as ‘the fish.’

“Hast thee seen annee small boaut?” asked the newcomer.

“Aye,” said Quester.

“When? Wheyer they gooun?”

“Weyul, you do be ashoar, and there be twaa others with ye,” said Quester. “Wass youw disterbing of my fissh to ask silley questionus eh?”

“Was theyer another boaut bout twenney minutes ago?”

“Miyut of beeyun,” said Quester. “Miyut not. Couldn’t saey fer shoower.”

“Youw musta noticed eef theyer was a boaut.”

“Aye, theyer miyut well of beeyun, but I doan’t saey as hoaw I noticed the tiyum,” said Quester. “That were’nt cummeen inshoare to scayer the fissh.”

“Wheyer did thaat gow?” his interrogator asked.

Quester scratched his head, Burdock fashion.

“Coouden’ riyutlee say,” he said. “Wereyn’t lookiyin, was I? That proberlee sailed paast. It weren’t scoopeyd up by a Krakeyn nor no mermaiyuds neetheyer. Ef there haad been, we’d be feasutiying on mermaiyud taiyul fer dinner.”

The fisherman who had come ashore grunted, and shambled back to his boat, knowing fine well that he’d give no more information if someone was scaring his fish.

“Leo, you are priceless,” sniggered Kiliana when their pursuers were back out at sea.

“The accent is different, but I was a country fisherboy once,” said Quester, grinning boyishly. “Being unhelpful is a country craft. I’ve bought us some time, anyway.”

“So, is it going to be better to be here looking innocent when they come back, or to have packed up and disappeared?” asked Kiliana.

Quester considered.

“We have to wait a few hours for the boat to be revealed; we can either try the bold bluff of staying here, or we can head up the cliff and lay low for a few hours.”

“And if we have disappeared, don’t you suppose they might come looking for us, because we are persons of suspicion?” queried Kiliana.

“I’m glad you agree with me,” said Quester. “I wondered if you preferred to just disappear.”

“I believe in the bold play,” said Kiliana. “We should give Poltronis some water.”

“We’ll do that when our pursuit has sailed back in despondency,” said Quester.

“Oh, wouldn’t they be better to sail back in boats?” asked Kiliana, straight faced.

“Killie!”

She giggled.

“We are having so much fun, it’s hard not to be flippant,” she said. “And don’t deny it, you loved pulling Yannis’s nevvy out of the bag to let loose on unsuspecting thief-chasers.”

“You really are a pernicious brat,” said Quester, amicably. “Well, let us enjoy our holiday, fishing. We have enough for lunch, though I’m not about to feed Poltronis. He has enough flesh on him.”

It was an hour or so before the dispirited little flotilla returned. They glanced at Quester and Kiliana, and proceeded to ignore them. Quester gave them plenty of time to pass, and went to undo Poltronis enough to give him some water.

“You effing bastard! You wait till my men catch up with you, then we’ll peel the skin off your feet and legs and chain you out on Shark Rock waiting for the tide to come in!” howled Poltronis.

Kiliana slipped the gag back on.

“He doesn’t seem to want any water,” she said.

Quester hesitated.

“No, he doesn’t,” he said.

Hopefully the self-styled pirate king would have the sense to drink first before sounding off his mouth next time. He wouldn’t start dying of thirst for at least another 48 hours.

And then Quester built a fire from driftwood, showed Kiliana how to clean and gut fish and cook them in the embers.

It was, he thought, a meal fit for kings.

But not for the pirate king.

 

---

[1] Yes, I know, trying to make a Arhangelos accent in English will probably make a native of Rhodes laugh.

Absent assassin 21

 sorry - woke with a migraine and went back to bed

Chapter 21

 

Being a nursery wing, with bars on the windows, the corridors were deserted as Nicos led them towards a plainer region of the house.

“Servant’s quarters, and he’s understaffed,” said Nicos, with assurance. “I was told to for goodness help myself if madam wanted food as there was nobody to get it for her.  So I did, and I stashed a bag full of sandwiches and bottled water for us to take, not knowing if we’d need food.”

“Sagacious lad!” said Quester.

“He said you’re wise,” said Kiliana.

“Do I need translating?” sighed Quester.

“When you’re on a pompous fit, yes,” said Kiliana. “I know you, you’re worrying about something.”

Quester sighed.

“I could get into trouble for not arresting Poltronis immediately now I know he’s here,” he said.

“Oh, is that all,” said Kiliana. “Your duty is to get intelligence out to the Hussars, you know.”

“But you can carry that,” said Quester. “Indeed, you saw more than I did.”

“I don’t necessarily understand it as well as you, though,” said Kiliana. “Look, if you want, we can put Elena and Nicos on the boat to go back to the Buckhare ship... whatever he calls it.”

“The ‘Righteous Indignation,’” supplied Quester.

“Right. Because I wager Nicos knows how to row.”

Nicos sighed.

“I do,” he said.

“So do I,” said Elena.

“Good; we give the signal and Nicos reports and we go back and grab Nasty Poltroon,” said Kiliana. “Someone can row back for us and our prisoner.”

“I... no, you should go back with Lady Arkada and the child,” said Quester.

“I think not,” said Kiliana. “An assistant will improve your chances of capture. If he wounds you, getting him out will not be easy and he might escape. Two on one reduces the chance of something going wrong.”

Quester sighed, conceding her point of view. He seemed to sigh a lot around Kiliana, he reflected.

Oh, well, she was right. And he could not dispute it; and if she were a lad, he would not be so protective, so it must irk her that he was.

He hoped that the girl did not think that he might be in any way romantically inclined towards her, to be so protective; that would be most improper.

Nicos recovered his bag, full of meaty sandwiches and pies, and led them to the window of what appeared to be a laundry room of some kind.

“It’s big enough for a good draught, but the drop is pretty sheer,” said Nicos. “Here, look after the food, I’ll be back.”

He scrambled on a table to reach the high window and was over the sill in a flash. Soon, scraping sounds heralded the arrival of a ladder.

“I’ll go down first and help to steady it,” said Kiliana, swinging over the sill, and running down the ladder, not displeased that it was too dark to look down at the ground. She held it as Elena climbed down, a lot slower.

“Kiliana, take them back to the boat; I’ll stay here,” said Quester, quietly, hoping his voice would not carry to other ears.

“Nonsense, we discussed that,” said Kiliana, equally quietly. “Nicos, can you get Elena back to the cove where the boat is?”

Nicos sniffed.

“What you take me for?” he demanded.

Kiliana bit off a curse.

“I’m sorry, you have been so capable....”

“O’ course I can get her back. Only if Lord Quester would throw down some food....”

“You heard him, Leo,” said Kiliana. “Take out some for them, and throw down the bag.”

Quester sighed, and climbed down, dividing the food. He did not want to throw it.

“You’re going to insist, I suppose?” he said to Kiliana.

“Leo, if I dress in Elena’s dress, and lie on the bed with the manacles lying just in place, he will be off guard,” she said.

“I... yes, I suppose so,” said Quester. “I’ve never effected a rescue before, I usually just go in to make arrests.”

“Always a first time,” said Kiliana, gaily.

“And I’m not feeble, so... Nicos, you called him?... won’t be held up by me,” said Elena. “Good luck.”

“I like to make my own luck, but thank you,” said Quester. He followed Kiliana back up the ladder, and they slid quietly back to Elena’s room. “I hope nobody heard our departure.”

“It’s the servants’ side of the house,” said Kiliana. “No pretty vistas and arbours of gardens, and no escape out of the window if not already good cat burglars, if held as indentured servants. Anyone still awake will curse voices disturbing their meagre slumber but will not bother to wake up enough to listen.”

“Good. Now, we need to keep the food cool....”

“The best place for food is inside us, and it feels a long time since we ate,” said Kiliana. Quester gave a quiet laugh.

“Ah, you are still growing,” he said. “Perhaps you had better put Elena’s gown on first; over your trousers and shirt.”

“Yes, I should,” agreed Kiliana. She pulled on the heavy damask gown in the peacock blue Elena favoured, adjusting it to fit her less robust figure. Rather than undo the binding on her breasts, she searched the clothes press and thrust several pairs of stockings in to superficially fill out the tailored and shaped gown. With the shackle loosely on her ankle, she sat on the bed, and proceeded to devour her share of the food.

Quester chuckled.

She was still a child in some ways.

 

Quester dozed. He could cat-nap and come alert in an instant, and they might as well take what rest they could. The lights he had turned down low, which would enhance the illusion that Elena had not left. Presumably Poltronis was preparing every fighting man he could, in case of attack on the base, as there were really an insufficiency of guards on Elena; but then, he despised women and doubtless counted her capabilities as very little, even though she had already made one bid for freedom.

“How would you escape if you were Elena?” he asked when he woke from slumber as Kiliana had used the bathroom.

Kiliana considered.

“Shackled to you as a guard? I’d brain you with a bottle. If I couldn’t pick the lock, or slip my foot out, I might see if I could cut your hand off with broken glass. Or break a link with fire irons. I’d try that first,” she said. “Then I’d open the door. If I had time, I’d open the door into the main part of the house, then I’d go back to this room and hide under the bed.”

“Really?” said Quester.

“Oh, void, yes,” said Kiliana.  “He’d come in, see me gone, and go looking. Not finding me in the house, he would assume I had managed to get out, and would rouse all the guard.  In the garden, and down to the port, and around. So, I’d braid my hair, as she has a lot of it, and go to the servants’ quarters as soon as it was late enough for them to get up. I’d steal a dress from the room of one of the kitchen girls, go to the kitchen part, pick up a basket, and walk out towards the market, head down, not hurrying.”

“It... could work,” said Quester. “People see what they expect to see, of course, and as a servant, not a running Patrician lady... your ingenuity makes me more sanguine about your safety.”

“Thank you, Leo,” said Kiliana, deciding not to tease him about that piece of pomposity.

 

Quester woke, hearing the door handle; but it was only a servant, with breakfast.

“Food for you and for milady,” said the girl.

“Thank you,” said Quester.

Kiliana sat up as she was going out.

“We might as well eat,” she said. “Open the curtains behind me, Leo; getting the shackle back on in a hurry is hard, and if I’m right, morning light should stream into the eyes of anyone coming in, which will silhouette me.”

Quester did so, and found that this was indeed the case; and moved to sit facing the door. He put on his dark glasses. It was bright enough to make out most things through them now the antidote had worked.

They ate breakfast, rather than waste good food. Kiliana ate with the steady concentration of a growing teen; and Quester with the neat determination of a man who intends on stocking up his calories, not knowing when he might next eat.

He was fairly certain that Poltronis would come to visit and taunt his captive after breakfast.

Kiliana echoed his thoughts.

“He’s going to want to come and sneer at his bird in a cage, isn’t he?” she said.

“Probably; it’s in his psyche,” said Quester.

“If I act sulky, he’ll come over to manhandle me, and then you can nab him”, said Kiliana. “You could put the food bag over his head and pull the drawstring, which will blind him, muffle any shouting, and half suffocate him as well.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be the Justiciar and I’ll be your assistant?” joked Quester. “I had planned to throw the shackle round his throat, but the bag would be even better.”

 

 

Poltronis walked into the room without knocking. He squinted against the bright sunlight streaming in.

“Ah, Elena, my dear, still in bed?” he said.

Kiliana turned away.

Poltronis frowned.

“What, no greeting at all for me?” he demanded.

Kiliana hunched a shoulder, and wriggled to turn further away.

Predictably, Poltronis strode over, and grabbed her by the shoulder. Kiliana, who had hung on to the pepper from the condiments rack, threw the contents of the opened jar in his face. Poltronis started coughing and swearing.

It was the work of a moment for Quester to thrown the heavy bag over his head and pull it tight, and Kiliana snapped her ankle shackle onto the wrist of one of the hands clawing at his face. She passed the chain about his waist to Quester, who took her idea quickly and snapped the other shackle onto his other wrist.

Blinded, choking, and confined, the fight went out of the bullying Patrician very quickly.

“Nice move,” said Quester.

“It was your idea to throw the shackle around him, I took it a stage further,” said Kiliana. “Should we take the bag off in case he dies, and just gag him?”

“Not for a minute or two, I want him half unconscious,” said Quester. “Meanwhile, do you think you could get a maid’s dress?”

“No problem,” said Kiliana, sliding out like an eel.

She went no further than the laundry room, and sorted through clean laundry. Quester was already dressed like nine out of ten of the locals, and would not stand out.  Somehow they had to get Poltronis out, and Kiliana went looking for sheets as well.

She returned, and Quester bit off the query about what kept her.

“We can wrap him, tie him, and lower him down,” she said.

“There has to be an easier way,” said Quester.

“Well, if they took the laundry out as some folks do, we could have put him on a handcart under soiled linen, and wheeled him out,” said Kiliana. “But they don’t, so what we have, is what we have.”

Quester grunted, and took the bag off the head of a rather blue Poltronis.  Kiliana quickly gagged him, leaving his nose free to breathe. He glared as the air to his lungs revived him.

“You are under arrest, Anastas Theodrakis Poltronis, for high treason, piracy, barratry, smuggling, being a rogue Psion and a heretic,” said Quester, formally. “And as you’re going to try to use your pitiful psion skills, I’m going to blindfold you as well,” he added, feeling a rather feeble attempt to attack his mind.

He suited actions to words.

“Stay here,” he said to Kiliana.

They rolled Poltronis, tying his legs as well, under the bed, and Quester slipped out.

He found the gardens again readily enough, and stopped a gardener.

“Himself wants a load of flowers for some doxy in the town,” he said.

The gardener spat.

“Ain’t the Patrician wench enough for him?” he said.

“Oh, he wants to marry her, and keep his piece on the side as well,” said Quester. “Put me several bunches in a wheelbarrow, I have other gifts to mollify the wench as well.”

The gardener laughed.

 

The villa really was short of staff.

Quester purloined a second wheelbarrow and wheeled it in to the abandoned nursery wing without being questioned.

“Oh, Leo, that was clever,” said Kiliana.

They manhandled a muffled and furious Poltronis into the wheelbarrow and to the back door, covered with a sheet, and folded up by the expedient of running a makeshift rope between his legs to tie to the chain of the shackle at the back. And then they might transfer a load of bunches of flowers on top of him, and move out of the back gate, and towards the town as if they were flower vendors.

Poltronis tried wriggling and kicking, and Quester, without a moment’s compunction, gave him a quick burst of Psionic subsonic noise to make him subside.

Now all they had to do was actually to avoid the town, and get back to the beach. Easier said than done.

But not impossible.

 

Absent Assassin 20

 

Chapter 20

 

The pirates were grumbling.

As Quester had surmised, they came from a wide variety of places, with faces every shade it was possible for a human to be. There were a few ogroid, and some with facial or hand deformities, usually with the slavic or eastern features of the peoples of the Commutants.  They had a peculiar gait, half swaggering, half furtive scuttling.

“I don’t know what to make of the boss joining us, and with that Patrician wench, too,” muttered one.

“It’ll bring trouble,” said another. “There are ruddy Highbred around, it’s said, and they don’t stop to take prisoners or free hostages, they just go right ahead and attack. And they have lasers.” He shuddered.

“Lasers!” Quester spat the word opportunistically. “Like the effing patrol boats. Don’t you talk about lasers as if you knew them, I know lasers. Even if they miss you, they can ruin your life. Blinded, I am!  And what’s a blind man supposed to do with two lads not old enough to bring home a man’s share between them?”

“Well now!” said one of the pirates, putting down his tankard. “It may just be that the boss will have a job for you.  He wants a good man to be with his hostage, but one who can’t see her naked when she undresses. He don’t trust any of the women not to take a bribe from her.”

“What about my boys?”

“She’ll need servants; they can be sent out when she dresses,” said the pirate. “Here! Nelle! Feed the old man and his boys!”

He got up, tossing coin to the bar wench.

“That was a piece of luck,” Kiliana muttered down towards her stew when it was dumped in front of her. It seemed meaty enough, at least, and came with plenty of pita.

“Sometimes I have hunches,” said Quester, also talking downwards to hide mouth movements. “I felt an urge to animadvert against lasers. And it may have paid off.”

 

The three had plenty of time to finish their stew, and a confection of pastry with cream to follow. Nicos now had a moustache as well, and kicked Kiliana as she wiped it off with a handkerchief.

“What would ma think, if she was alive, you being a mucky pup?” demanded Kiliana.

“Well, she ain’t, so she can’t think nuffink,” said Nicos, truculently.

Kiliana cuffed him, making it look harder than it was.

The inn fell suddenly silent as the door opened, and there was a sense of expectancy, and a distinct feeling of fear, if not respect. Quester  had wondered how far Poltronis might be; apparently not far.

“If you’re still after a job, you’ll control the brats,” said the sneering voice of Poltronis.

“Boys!” Quester appealed, as if despairing.

“Sorry, Pa,” said Nicos.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Kiliana.

“Good, obedient boys,” purred Poltronis.

“Mister, if it’s about a job, we likes eating every day,” said Kiliana, earnestly.

Poltronis laughed.

“Good; I can think of worse punishments than withholding food for disobedient boys,” he said.

Kiliana could not help herself; she shuddered.

Poltronis laughed, heartily.

“You’ll forgive me, of course, if I check a few things,” he said, whipping off Quester’s dark glasses. Quester exclaimed.

“The light... it hurts!”

Poltronis peered into his eyes. They were red-rimmed, and the drops had formed a milky sheen as well as causing the pupils to open.

“How much can you see?” asked Poltronis.

“Light and dark,” said Quester.

Poltronis took a knife from his belt and advanced it towards Quester’s left eye. Kiliana gasped.

“Mister! Please don’t hurt our Pa!” said Nikos.

Poltronis ignored them, and a couple of pirates grabbed their arms.

Quester did not flinch.

He could read the man’s actions in the uncontrolled projection of thoughts common to many an untrained Psion, but he must not move. He prayed that the man would not decide to put out his eyes with the knife to make sure.

“So, do you find being able to see light and dark useful?” Poltronis asked.

“Yes, sir, I can sometimes see enough to stumble out of the way of someone outside, or not to walk into things as much,” said Quester.

“I’ll leave you that, then,” said Poltronis. “I need you functional. Come with me. The brats can earn their bread by running errands.”

 

Quester allowed Kiliana to lead him after the warlord – he could think of no other title with which to refer to Poltronis – reflecting that the man had extraordinary courage to show himself in public like this.

In a flash of revelation, Quester realised that it was less courage, or even bravado, than a complete lack of understanding of what danger he was in.  For one thing, Poltronis was probably unaware that his power over people was in the use of Psionic persuasion, and therefore did not know that he was flagged as a rogue Psion and heretic. For another, he probably had no idea how harsh the penalties were had he been an ordinary rogue warlord and pirate king. He had duped the other twenty of the twenty-one, and had decreased education in Imperial Ethics, which included what a Justiciar was, and what a Justiciar did. For that alone, his life was forfeit, and the Imperium was humourless when it came to flouting the rights of those who administered justice.

Strictly speaking, Quester was breaking the law in not arresting Poltronis as soon as he encountered him, but the law did hold some flexibility for the purpose of practicality. He had not anticipated being hired by Poltronis himself, but he was not about to lose the chance of rescuing Elena, and thereby avoiding an innocent’s death. Though in his report, he would emphasise the need for public relations, of course.

 

Poltronis, it appeared, had claimed the one fine villa on the island. Kiliana worked on not sneering.

“Cuh, that’s a fine house,” said Nicos.

“You keep your mouth shut,” said Kiliana.

Poltronis purred.

“It is a fine house; I am the King of Pirates after all,” he said.

Quester suppressed the urge to tremble with sheer fury at this calm acceptance of this situation.  It was iniquitous that the fellow was so blatant!  And what a tragedy for Araklion Archipeligo that the undoubted drive and organisational genius should be concentrated in a man who saw his talents purely for self-aggrandisement, self-enrichment, and personal gratification. If he had put a half of the effort into lifting the islands that he had put into repressing them, and building his secret base, why, Araklion would be famed and enriched.

That, however, was not to be, and the Twenty-One would be lucky if someone higher up did not decide to Purge the lot of them, or even enact Annihilation.

His recommendation should mitigate too much further retribution, but the isles might find a governor imposed upon them for having been so complacent. That they were played by a rogue Psion was in their favour; the Imperium was somewhat lenient towards those who had been abused mentally.

 

The big white house was cool after a hot night in the city, and the scents of a fine garden wafted through windows,  bougainvillea, jasmine, and lavender, plus the sweet scent of shepherd’s tea from outside the gardens, and thyme. Quester breathed in well-known scents, appreciating them the more for his temporary blindness, and reflecting how angry it would make Poltronis to realise that Quester considered himself far richer than him for being able to appreciate such simple pleasures. He must renew his scent libraries, having replayed those he took to academy until they had virtually no scent left, and having been too busy to replace them. And that was an irrelevance, and he should concentrate.

However, it was not long before they were led into a side wing, likely enough used for a nursery, as there were bars on the windows.

A door unlocked and was opened.

Elena’s voice was irritable.

“I do not consider it proper for you to have a man watching me all the time!” she said. “I find it embarrassing to relieve myself while he stands in the doorway and smirks!”

There was the sound of flesh on flesh, and a male grunt.

“Never smirk at my bride,” growled Poltronis. “You can get out; Elena, this man is blind. I’m going to shackle him to you, so he can stop you running away, but he will not taste the delights of your body when you undress as he will not be able to see it. His sons will be your servants, and will sleep next door.”

“You are intolerable,” said Elena. “And if you think I’d marry you, you must have lost your wits.”

“Oh, when I have time, I will school you, so that you beg to marry me,” said Poltronis.  “You will be a good, compliant wife, and when all this has died down, you will be my queen when I am king of Araklion.”

“You must be insane if you think it will die down,” said Elena. “It’s been established that you are a rogue Psion, using powers to persuade people, and that means you have been declared a heretic.”

He shrugged.

“So? Who cares for some outmoded religion?” he said, carelessly.

Quester had to fight to control himself, and Kiliana put her hands to her mouth.

Elena gasped.

“Abe have mercy on the rest of us!” she cried. “Have you any idea how seriously the Empire takes searching out heretics? Even if you manage to disappear from sight, you can never go back to Araklion.”

He scoffed, but waves of sudden uncertainty rolled off him.

“Then we shall have to carve out a kingdom in the hinterlands of the Commutants,” he said. “The Crimean ribbon is ripe for conquest. That would do, though I’d like to teach those smug bastards on Araklion who’s boss. You’re probably misinformed, or that Quester fellow tried to frighten you. You’re only a woman, and not even a woman, so you’ll have misunderstood, because you’re stupid like all women.”

Elena laughed, disdainfully.

“What a fool you are, to assume all women to be stupid,” she said, in scorn. “To be sure, my mother might well be rather limited, but some of us are so far beyond her, and you, that you wouldn’t understand it.

He backhanded her, casually, and she fell; and whilst she was down, slightly dazed, he put a shackle on her ankle, attaching the other end to Quester’s wrist.

“What...?” said Quester.

“You’re attached to your prisoner. You may not be able to see her, but you will feel every movement. That should stop her trying to escape again.”

Quester bowed, awkwardly, as a fisherman might, not quite in the direction of Elena.

“Ma’am, I will do my best not to be a nuisance,” he said, timidly. “My boys are good boys and will run errands.”

“And the older one had better not get any funny ideas,” said Poltronis.

“What sort of funny ideas, boss?” asked Kiliana.

“About touching up the lady,” growled Poltronis.

“Yuk! Girls have cooties,” said Kiliana.

Poltronis laughed.

“Oh, you’re young enough to feel like that, are you? Good,” he said. He left.

Nicos opened his mouth and Kiliana slapped her hand over it.

Quester mumbled something about being sorry, whilst he fished a box out of his pocket and handed it to Kiliana.

“Can we get you anything, miss?” asked Kiliana, as she got out Quester’s bug-detecting equipment. She checked all around. “Clear,” she said, relieved.

“Perhaps you will administer the antidote,” said Quester.

“Yes; he’s inspected your eyes, after all,” said Kiliana.

“I was going to tell the lady we’d come to rescue her, what was all that?” asked Nicos.

“Checking for bugs, in case anyone was listening in,” said Kiliana. “If there had been any, you could have killed us all.”

“Cuh!” said Nicos, and subsided.

“I am much confused,” said Elena. “I did try to escape; I managed to steal the key from a man who fell asleep, but Poltronis caught me while I was looking for a window to slip out of.”

“And that’s what Nicos is going to do; go looking for a good place to slip out, claiming, if caught, that he’s looking for the kitchens to get you drinks,” said Quester.

Nicos nodded.

“That, I can do,” he said, scooting off.

“That... surely you are not Lord Quester?” queried Elena, bewildered.

“Yes, and if you are having trouble recognising me, I doubt Poltronis will suddenly realise,” said Quester. He sat as Kiliana administered the drops which would, albeit rather slowly, return his vision to normal. “I am temporarily blind, but I fancy I can still pick the lock of what seems to be a rather rudimentary shackle.”

“And I’ll spend some time turning Lady Arkada into a duplicate of me,” said Kiliana. “Lady, I’m going to plait your hair; it’s dark anyway, so I don’t think I need the mix of pig fat and dye to treat it. I’ve got some spare clothes, and you’ll just have to leave all jewellery and clothing here.”

“I can tie Lucius’s promise ring around my neck on a string with my grandmother’s ring, which are all I care for,” said Elena. “Kiliana, really? You look such a boy, and a disreputable one at that.”

“It won’t be the first time,” said Kiliana. “I lead an interesting life as Lord Quester’s assistant.”

“I wager,” said Elena. “But... how is Lucius? Is he hurt? Why did he cede a rescue to anyone? He’s very headstrong.”

“I was blunt with him,” said Quester. “Once we sorted out the slightly bad moment when he thought I was courting you, because I let Lord Idis think so, to win him over to you marrying off the Islands, he agreed that your safety was paramount. He’s a good man; he was ready to work with me, and leave the choice of man to you, that’s true love. But letting me come is one reason we have to get back quickly, as I’m afraid his pacing up and down will wear a hole right through the bottom of the gondola.”

Elena laughed. It held a touch of controlled hysteria.

“Oh, that’s Lucius,” she said.  “Well done for making him hold back.”

“He’s a real man, who is comfortable enough with himself to agree that he isn’t always the best man for the job,” said Quester. “I respect him a great deal.  I’ll turn my back whilst you change,” he added, as the lock sprang open.

“Oh, take off mine first, please,” said Elena. “I have no desire to dress with that in the way.”

Quester made short work of the second lock, having learned how it was constructed from undoing the first.

Then Nicos sidled back into the room as Elena was putting on rough fisherman’s garb.

“I found a likely window,” he said. “It’s a bit of a scramble; it’s sort of on a cliff, but I wager the Nasty Poltroon or whatever it is Mr. Burdock calls him won’t reckon anyone can get down. I went through it, an’ I climbed around a bit, an’ I found a ladder what’ll help you old folks, an’ if I go first, I c’n put it up for you.”

“Invaluable youth,” said Quester. “Well done, using your brains well,” he explained.

Nicos, a little wary of a word like ‘invaluable’ beamed.