concocted a plan, I merely promised to tell him when we’d sorted out the matter in hand. At that point we had to skirt the remains of a Fristle, and so we pressed on with our swords clear of the scabbards.
The late Maglo the Ears had parked his stolen caravan beside the road and the uproar from the animals brought a quick frown to Unmok’s face. “They are starving! That bastard Maglo — he kills the caravan owners and steals their wares, and then he does not feed them! Froshak — we’ll have to see about this.”
“Aye,” quoth Froshak. “If there is food here.”
If there was not, that would present a poser. The slaves huddled at the side of the road. They’d found shoots in the hedge and were chewing them and spitting green. Froshak roused them and they went off to attend to the animals. There was no sign of any of the bandits or the escaped chavonth.
“He is no longer hungry. He will probably not return.”
“If he does, his hunger will be appeased and we can catch him as we would any stray.”
Unmok yelled at a slave, a stranger, hurrying past with a bucket and a broom. The slave trotted up, half-bent, cowed, a once burly Brokelsh but now a man much fallen away. He mumbled his jaws and clenched and unclenched his fist on the bucket handle.
“Yes, masters. Ungarvitch the Whip. He was our master. The drikingers killed him. There was much blood.”
“So you are a masterless man now, until your late master’s creditors sell you.”
The slave merely blinked his granulated eyelids and nodded.
I said, “Get Avec to find a good lawyer. You will have a claim on the animals, at the least.”
“I will, Jak, I will. And we do, we do. I think I will leave Froshak in charge to get things sorted out. I am for Huringa and Avec and the law. There is gold in this.”
I did not smile, but I felt like smiling. Good old Unmok!
“And you, Jak. What is it all about, hey?”
Very carefully, I said, “If there were a certainty that you would be received with great honor in a certain country, where you could take up whatever profession you desired according to your abilities, and Froshak with you, and where your position would bring copious quantities of gold, would you give up the animal-catching business — as you have promised time and again?”
He stared up at me with his quizzical Och face only half-puzzled. If I chose to speak in riddles, he seemed to be saying, that was my business. As for him, he had important affairs to conduct. “Well, Jak, if you will not tell me, I must see Avec and—”
“I am trying to tell you, you five-limbed infuriating Och!”
“For a great hairy apim, you bluster tolerably well.”
I had not really regarded Unmok as a blade comrade. But I warmed to him, I warmed to him. A thought occurred to me.
“I suppose you can fly a voller?”
“Naturally.”
Well, it wasn’t really naturally, but in Vallia it was uncommon among the generality of folk to find airboat pilots. Here in Havilfar piloting was much more common. And I fancied in this I could, as Seg Segutorio would say, take two korfs with a single shaft.
“I am hardly likely to buy a voller I could not test fly myself. Now, if you have enjoyed your jest—”
“I do not jest, Unmok. I give you my word on this. Before I decide what is best to do, we must thrash out the whole business of the partnership—”
“You wish to terminate our agreement?”
“No, by Harg, no!”
“Well?”
“Leave it until the arrangements with Avec are made. But think on my words. It is you who must make up your mind, you and Froshak. Think of what is offered — assuming — assuming—”
“Assuming what?”
“Assuming I live to tell you.”
There was no answer Unmok could make to that beyond the conventional one that I should confide my fate into the hands of Ochenshum and Havil the Green — and any other gods who would look kindly upon me.
A hullabaloo broke out with much shouting and cracking of whips, and presently
The late Maglo the Ears had parked his stolen caravan beside the road and the uproar from the animals brought a quick frown to Unmok’s face. “They are starving! That bastard Maglo — he kills the caravan owners and steals their wares, and then he does not feed them! Froshak — we’ll have to see about this.”
“Aye,” quoth Froshak. “If there is food here.”
If there was not, that would present a poser. The slaves huddled at the side of the road. They’d found shoots in the hedge and were chewing them and spitting green. Froshak roused them and they went off to attend to the animals. There was no sign of any of the bandits or the escaped chavonth.
“He is no longer hungry. He will probably not return.”
“If he does, his hunger will be appeased and we can catch him as we would any stray.”
Unmok yelled at a slave, a stranger, hurrying past with a bucket and a broom. The slave trotted up, half-bent, cowed, a once burly Brokelsh but now a man much fallen away. He mumbled his jaws and clenched and unclenched his fist on the bucket handle.
“Yes, masters. Ungarvitch the Whip. He was our master. The drikingers killed him. There was much blood.”
“So you are a masterless man now, until your late master’s creditors sell you.”
The slave merely blinked his granulated eyelids and nodded.
I said, “Get Avec to find a good lawyer. You will have a claim on the animals, at the least.”
“I will, Jak, I will. And we do, we do. I think I will leave Froshak in charge to get things sorted out. I am for Huringa and Avec and the law. There is gold in this.”
I did not smile, but I felt like smiling. Good old Unmok!
“And you, Jak. What is it all about, hey?”
Very carefully, I said, “If there were a certainty that you would be received with great honor in a certain country, where you could take up whatever profession you desired according to your abilities, and Froshak with you, and where your position would bring copious quantities of gold, would you give up the animal-catching business — as you have promised time and again?”
He stared up at me with his quizzical Och face only half-puzzled. If I chose to speak in riddles, he seemed to be saying, that was my business. As for him, he had important affairs to conduct. “Well, Jak, if you will not tell me, I must see Avec and—”
“I am trying to tell you, you five-limbed infuriating Och!”
“For a great hairy apim, you bluster tolerably well.”
I had not really regarded Unmok as a blade comrade. But I warmed to him, I warmed to him. A thought occurred to me.
“I suppose you can fly a voller?”
“Naturally.”
Well, it wasn’t really naturally, but in Vallia it was uncommon among the generality of folk to find airboat pilots. Here in Havilfar piloting was much more common. And I fancied in this I could, as Seg Segutorio would say, take two korfs with a single shaft.
“I am hardly likely to buy a voller I could not test fly myself. Now, if you have enjoyed your jest—”
“I do not jest, Unmok. I give you my word on this. Before I decide what is best to do, we must thrash out the whole business of the partnership—”
“You wish to terminate our agreement?”
“No, by Harg, no!”
“Well?”
“Leave it until the arrangements with Avec are made. But think on my words. It is you who must make up your mind, you and Froshak. Think of what is offered — assuming — assuming—”
“Assuming what?”
“Assuming I live to tell you.”
There was no answer Unmok could make to that beyond the conventional one that I should confide my fate into the hands of Ochenshum and Havil the Green — and any other gods who would look kindly upon me.
A hullabaloo broke out with much shouting and cracking of whips, and presently
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