a strange look in his eyes, too, fixed as they were on Lord Ermenwyr, who was making himself as small a target behind his table as he could, and whose lips were moving in—prayer? But he could not see Flowering Reed advancing on him.
Smith knew the truth, suddenly, without understanding. Bawling “My lord!” he ran around the table to block Flowering Reed’s advance, pulling his machete.
Something white was flowing toward him from his left with tremendous speed. The Yendri doctor? Something was coming thunderously up behind him. Flowering Reed looked at Smith with purest hatred in his eyes, and grimaced around the tube between his clenched teeth.
Then Smith was down, he was hit and he seemed to have struck his head on something, because it hurt a lot, and there was some other injury but minor, a little stinging in his arm. Smith turned his head and saw three tiny feathered darts sticking out of his wrist. Knowing that he must get the thorns out, he raised his machete to scrape them away; but the room blurred in bloody darkness before he could tell if he’d succeeded. Oh, he thought, I’m dead.
He was listening to Lord Ermenwyr talk, smoothly, persuasively, and what a silky manner the lordling could summon when he wanted to!
“…assassins, without a doubt hired by my father’s enemies. Professionals, artfully disguised. Why, you hadn’t any idea they weren’t simple traders, had you?”
The Housekeeper was moaning apologies.
Smith opened his eyes and looked up at the Yendri doctor, who was stitching up Smith’s scalp. At least, that was what he looked as though he were doing. Smith could neither feel the jab of the needle nor any other sensation. He tried to speak and discovered that he was limited to fluttering his eyelids. The Yendri noticed his panic.
“You can’t move because the darts in your arm were poisoned. We got them out, and I gave you an antidote. The paralysis will go away, in time. You’re a fortunate man,” he said, and resumed his task.
“A very fortunate man,” agreed Balnshik, looming at the doctor’s elbow. “Do hurry and recover, Caravan Master. I’m going to thank you personally for your act of heroism.” She caressed him in a way that suggested something very nice indeed, and Smith’s heartbeat quickened.
“What, is he conscious?” Lord Ermenwyr leaned over him from the other side. “Bravo, Caravan Master! Yes, you certainly don’t want to die before you’ve been personally thanked. Nursie’s quite talented. Have you ever heard of the Dance of Two Feathers and One Piece of String?”
Balnshik smiled gently and, placing her open palm on the lordling’s face, shoved him backward. The doctor looked horrified. She leaned low into Smith’s line of sight, and he almost felt the weight of her breasts.
“You have the gratitude of his lord father,” she crooned, and kissed Smith. Of all times to be paralyzed, he thought. That was all he knew for a while.
“The boys have sworn up and down you’ve been our caravan master for years and that you’ve never even been near Karkateen, so all that rubbish about a charge of theft has been dropped,” Mrs. Smith told him, exhaling smoke.
“What about Flowering Reed?” Smith asked, speaking with difficulty.
“Not a trace of him,” she replied in disgust. “Slithered out into the night like a snake and must have gone over the wall like a shadow. Bloody backstabbing greenie. No way to tell if it was him set those assassins on you, as they’re all dead, but it seems likely. You’ve made some enemies in your day, haven’t you, dear?”
“They were all members of the Throatcutters, did you know?” Burnbright said. “I saw their tattoos. They cost an awful lot to hire. That’s why I can’t think they were after you, see; they must have been after whatever Parradan Smith had in his case!”
“Were the carts broken into?”
Mrs. Smith shook her head. “The boys had a good look. Everything’s secure. Nobody else hurt but you, and at least you were spared the Mixed Grill and creamed woodpeas.”
“So, you see? Everything turned out all right,” Burnbright concluded cheerfully. “The Yendri says you’ll be on your feet again in another day or two, and we can push on. And think how much more room there’ll be in the carts, now we’re down two passengers!”
However, a solitary traveler came forward on the day Smith was well enough to leave and bought a passage to Salesh-by-the-Sea. His name was given as Mr. Amook, his occupation was given as Mercenary, his