Mutely he handed her the tiny blade from his pocket. Biting the inside of her lip slightly, she set out to manipulate him. At least this time she was doing it for his own good. He was scared, desperately scared for himself. She would shift the fear to worrying about the rest of them. Worrying about her. She knew he would react. He always did. He'd put his own problems behind him somehow, and find the courage and resource to help his companions. She knew she had to break his funk before panic took over, but she still felt despicable doing this. "He's going to kill me . . . and Leyla. Help us, Keilin, please!"
Her appeal did the trick, as she had known it would. He nodded, and the very act broke through his wall of fear. He felt the assegai shaft. Who was Kemp to be petrified of anyway? Old Marou would have made mincemeat of three of him. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. It was S'kith. There was almost a trace of expression on his face. Worry. With shock Keilin realized the emotional spillover from his mind must have touched the otherwise puzzled man. The shaven-headed man forced his face . . . into a sort of smile. "Friend," he said quietly. It was only one word, but Keilin knew exactly what it meant. It meant that Keilin's enemies were S'kith's enemies. And S'kith's answer to any threat was a preemptive strike. Right now that would get them all killed. He'd have to stop S'kith from going off the deep end too soon.
Shael handed back the small knife as they walked through the archway into the palace. Keilin wondered vaguely if her trimming had been judicious, while walking. She'd cut her nails, that she'd so carefully cared for, into rather pointed things. By the look of them she ought to rather have just cleaned them. They were plainly dirty, very unlike her, with her vanity. He must buy her some more cream too. He'd no idea where she'd got this lot from, but it smelled of fish. Then, as the heavy gates clanged shut behind them, it occurred to him that he might not get an opportunity to buy anything again.
It was a large hall, with a balcony, lined with crossbow men. The Patrician turned, "Take thith girl, and that other one over there down to my . . . chamber. I'd never thought of two. How exthiting. I'll enjoy one while the other getth into the mood, watching." The giggle would have frightened crocodiles.
"Wait, you promised . . ." Cap burst out.
"And the retht of them. Take them to thee my withard," the Patrician said with a lighthearted wave. "Ditharmed of course. He'll be fathinated to hear what thomeone claiming to be Crew wantth here. Abtholutely fathinated. You thee, my landth are not platheth of tranthit. We're a dead end, thurrounded by dethert or thea, or Morkth territory."
He stepped through an archway and disappeared, leaving them to face the aimed crossbows.
"It's no use thinking of hostages," the Guard Commander sneered. "The only hostage worth taking just left. Drop your weapons." They had little option but to comply. A couple of men led Leyla and Shael away, as the rest were searched. As one of the searcher's hands travelled down Keilin's leg, S'kith stood on the man's foot, while looking the other way. The searcher turned to cuff him. S'kith simply stood, but Keilin's ankle pouch remained undiscovered. The pile of confiscated weapons grew. Jewels and money were also removed. When they took the core sections from Cap, danger flashed in his eyes. However, all their goods were simply piled onto a low trolley, and not looted. "The wizard will examine it first," commented one searcher, replying to Beywulf's sarcastic comment.
"Come now. Take me to this magician or whatever. I am in a hurry to sort things out, and be on my way," said Cap with a show of his customary arrogance. Keilin just kept his mouth shut. He noticed with relief however that while they were being searched Kemp had left and followed his master.
One of the soldiers shuddered. "I'd rather be questioned by a shark, mister."
"Shut up, Trooper. March them through." Something in the corporal's tone suggested that he agreed with what the soldier had just said.
The wizard had a long beaky nose and a too-broad face. He also sat too still in his robes on the high-backed carved chair. The air outside was hot, and dry. Here in this room it was positively steamy. "Close the door, soldier. It's too dry out there." The voice was curiously atonal, and its cadences somehow wrong. Keilin found himself staring carefully at the speaker's face. Something else was tugging at the sleeve of his memory.
"You claim to be part of the Crew, on business here. Explain." The man's lips were not in perfect synch with the words. The memory tugged more urgently. Smell . . . lavender . . . and something far less pleasant?
At his side S'kith began bioenhancement rituals. "Morkth," he said quietly. And Keilin recognized the smell.