The Forlorn(88)

Shael held her dagger as steadily as she could, wishing her hands weren't so shaky. She was too scared to trust her voice. She began to walk forward with Leyla and Cap, as Cap said savagely, "Not less than five, Leyla. Nasty deaths, too. Are they allowed to defend themselves?"

"Killing people is against the law in the Tyn States. Unless I command otherwise, of course," said the heavy-set man with the flying eyebrows so recognizable from the coins.

Shael dropped her knife. It clattered on the wooden slats, and splashed into the water below. "Father?"

"Yes, m'dear. What a chase you've led me on." He turned and called over his shoulder, "Henry Balscom."

He came forward out of the mist, the heavy browed, brutish face she had frozen into her memory, from Shapstone and the confrontation with Deshin. He was smiling now. "Mornin', yer Highness. Nice to see you again," he said, his coarse voice bringing back memories of the desperate chase in Shapstone's palace.

"You had agents among Deshin's traitors," she accused her father, her angry finger stabbing at him.

"I only knew about it at the very last moment. Barely in time to escape myself. You don't think I'd sacrifice such a proportion of my power willingly, do you?" he replied calmly.

"Excuse me," said Captain Wickus, hovering between relief at the intervention and annoyance at finding himself ignored, "Who are you? Will you take yourself and your child off this dock? I've permission from the Tyrant himself to use it. You're not wanted here."

For an answer Henry knocked his legs out from under him, and kicked him over the edge of the pier, to splash into the shallows below. He leaned over the edge to address the spluttering man. "Yer never address the Tyrant himself like that again, dog turd."

"Quite," said the Tyrant. "Now, dear. Let's go."

There was a silence, broken only by the sounds of Captain Wickus struggling to shore. "Like hell I will, Father. You've got some explaining to do."

He sighed. "It's cold and very early. I'll explain to you some other time. Right now I've more important things to do. Let's go and get you a bath and some clothes more fitting to your station."

"I'll jump over the pier edge and swim for the main channel if you come one step closer to me, before I've had some answers," she told him in a small hard voice. Keilin couldn't see it, but he knew that her chin would be coming up as she said this.

"Shael, stop being so childish. Come along now." Keilin could hear anger and just the edge of fear coming into the Tyrant's voice.

Shael read voices far more accurately than Keilin. With a defiant tilt of her head she stepped onto the very edge of the pier. "I want to know why you gave the use of this pier to this ambush party from Amphir. I also want to know how you got out of Shapstone. I don't believe you did. I'm willing to bet you sold yourself . . . to the Morkth."

A reluctant chuckle. "You're my daughter all right. Yes. An agreement was reached. The Morkth freed me to weaken Deshin's control. As to Amphir . . . Saril Jaine's defection left me rather weak in the covert operations area. So we used some of my lesser operatives, ones that had penetrated Amphir's cash-fat Jewel Police. It was from them that we got word of you and your companions. Before we could reach you, someone in your party was foolish enough to steal something from Amphir. From then we used their resources to keep track of the whole party. We were also obliged to keep them off your track somewhat. We couldn't chance you being hurt by accident while the thieves were being arrested."

He gestured at the dock. "We wanted you safe out of Deshin's territory, so we facilitated this. Of course we have a hand in the river blockade runners. Otherwise they might bring in things we didn't want, and allow things, like escapees and unaltered communiques from spies, to leave."

"So, here they are about to have pieces carved out of them, all merely as an aside to getting your dear daughter back. How charming. How well you reward the people who've kept me alive since you crawled away into the woodwork."

Keilin had felt the knife of her sarcasm often enough before. It was however plainly a novelty to the Tyrant. And not one he was enjoying either. "You should mind your tongue, daughter mine. You've picked up some appalling habits from these commoners."

She raised her eyebrows. "Fix it, Father. You created this mess. Now sort it out."

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "You really do have a mind of your own, don't you? We always thought you would be our greatest asset in extending the Tyn States. Now we are sure of it. What do you suggest we do, rapier-sharp child?"

"Don't be so patronizing, Father. I'm not exactly a little girl any more. Knowing you, I doubt if you have less than a thousand men back there. Toss this bunch into the river," she said coolly.