Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [165]
“He’s gone,” Saryon said heavily. His muscles ached with weariness. His numb brain, unable to cope with whatever had occurred, kept urging him to ignore everything and go back to sleep. Shaking his head firmly, the catalyst staggered to his feet, crossed the chill floor, and plunged his head and face into a washbowl of icy water.
“How long do you suppose he was here before we knew it?” Mosiah asked in a strained, tense voice.
“What does it matter?” Joram replied with an uncaring shrug. “He knows we’re lying.”
“Then, why didn’t he do something!” Mosiah cried, his taut nerves snapping. “What kind of game is he playing—”
“The kind of game you’re losing already if you don’t get hold of yourself,” Simkin said languidly. “Look at me!” He held out his lace-covered hand. “There. Not a flutter. And I discovered the body. Speaking of the body, I wonder what jolly thing they plan to do with it. If they dump it in the river, I, for one, am not taking a bath for a year—”
“Body!” Saryon’s eyes widened.
“Explain things to Briar Rose, will you, dear boy? I really couldn’t go through it again. Quite fatiguing. By the way”—Simkin asked in bored tones, glancing across at Joram—“did everything go well last night?”
Joram did not answer; lapsing into despondency once more, he sank back onto the bed.
“I say, you might at least tell me what you were doing, after all the trouble I went to—”
“Murdering guards!” Mosiah snapped viciously.
“Well, if you want to put it in that crude fashion. Still, I—Almin’s blood, you lout!”
This exclamation was occasioned by the door to the prison flying open, nearly knocking Simkin over. Casting a sneering glance at the irate young man, one of Blachioch’s henchmen stepped inside as Simkin was trying to go out.
“I say, do move to one side or the other,” Simkin said, the silk to his nose. “I can’t go through you. Well, I suppose I could, but you wouldn’t like it much ….”
“You’re not going anywhere. Orders. I came to tell you. Not till—”
“Oh, no. Really, this won’t do at all,” Simkin said. Coolly stepping past the guard, he gave the man a wide berth, his nose wrinkling. “I’m certain you’re mistaken. Those orders do not apply to me, now, do they? Only to these three.”
“Well, I—” the henchemen stammered, frowning.
“There, there.” Simkin patted the man on the shoulder as he walked out the door. “Don’t tax your brain so, old chap. You’re liable to go into a fît.” With a final flourish of orange silk, he glanced back into the prison. “Farewell, dear friends. Delighted to have been able to help. I’m away.”
“Help!” Mosiah muttered as the door shut behind the gaudily clad figure, the henchman pacing back and forth outside.
Going over to the window, Mosiah saw the young man make his mincing way across the street to the house where the guard had died. Two of Blachioch’s men were removing the body, and Simkin fell into step beside them, holding his orange silk over his nose and mouth. At the same time, several more guards took up positions in the window, keeping their eyes upon the prison. Slamming his hand on the window ledge in disgust, Mosiah turned away. “If it hadn’t been for that buffoon and his nightshade, everything would be all right. He might as well have turned us over to Blachioch himself! Maybe you’ll believe me about him, Joram. Now that it’s too late.”
Joram lay back on his bed without answering or even giving any indication he had heard. His hands beneath his head, he stared up at the ceiling.
Wiping the water from his face with the sleeves of his robe, Saryon crossed to the window and looked out to see Simkin marching at the head of what had become an impromptu funeral procession, the guards following behind with their grim burden and grimmer faces. Dabbing at his eyes, Simkin called mournful greetings to the few townspeople who were up and stirring. No one answered; they stared at the body in fearful perplexity, then hurried off, whispering together and shaking their heads.
Stupidity? Saryon’s mind went back to the forest outside the village of Walren, the forest where he had