Master Of The Hashomi

Chapter 16

Blade didn't get back to the House of the Night's Tale until nearly sunset. It had been a hot, windless day, and now they were facing the same kind of night.

Kubin Ben Sarif seldom came into the city itself to deal with this kind of affair. He left that to a handful of trusted personal agents, and one of them was on hand when Blade returned. He was a gray-haired man and looked like someone with many years of experience as a soldier or as one of Kubin's fighting men.

Without even giving his name, the man began giving orders. It was Kubin's wish that both Blade and Esseta be properly rewarded-how and in what amount would be decided later. For tonight the House of the Night's Tale would do no business, but both Hashid and Blade would stand guard at the main door nonetheless. All other doors would be locked, and no one permitted through them. He himself would arrange to relieve Blade and Hashid at intervals, so that one of them could get some sleep and still leave two men on guard.

«Does the lord Kubin suspect someone of wishing this house ill?» asked Hashid. He tried to make the question sound completely casual, but didn't succeed. Blade detected something that shouldn't have been there in Hashid's voice. Eagerness, fear, suspicion? He couldn't be sure. He could only be sure that Hashid would bear watching until this affair had blown over.

«Kubin is not worried about people's wishes,» said the older man. «He is worried about the Thieves' families who might feel called on to pay us a visit. He will seek them out, in time, and make arrangements with them.»

Blade couldn't help wondering what those «arrangements» would be. Bribery or murder? Kubin could afford the first, but had no scruples about applying the second if the first failed. Scruples were one thing he could not afford.

It was really Kubin's decision, in any case, and none of Blade's business. His own suspicions of Hashid were another matter-he had to mention them. He did so in the first moment he was alone with Kubin's agent.,

The man looked at him skeptically. «You feel that Hashid is not to be trusted?»

«Not in matters that can mean life or death to lord Kubin's servants, I think.»

«Yet you feel this only because of what you hear in his voice?»

«That, and also because he is an ambitious man. He hopes to rise high, but fears that Kubin has turned against him. He thinks that I have caused this, and so he is my enemy.»

«How do you know so well what is in Hashid's mind, Blade?»

Blade kept face and voice expressionless. «One may learn much from the women.»

The agent laughed harshly. «So one may. Perhaps I also would do well to speak to the women. But not tonight. I cannot imagine that our friend Hashid has any way of doing us harm tonight.»

The first hours of the night passed quietly. It was not common for such a prosperous brothel as the House of the Night's Tale to be unexpectedly closed, but it was not unknown either. Most of the customers who were turned away took it quietly, and Blade had to raise his voice only once. The customers of the House of the Night's Tale knew who owned it, and none wanted to give offense to Kubin Ben Sarif. If he wanted to close down one of his most profitable businesses on any night for any reason, it was not for them to ask why.

An hour after midnight, Kubin's agent came down to relieve Blade on guard duty. Blade did not return to the sleeping loft, but went to a mattress he'd spread on the floor at the foot of the stairs. That way he could sleep within earshot of anything that might happen at the door, weapons at hand. Blade ate some bread and cheese, drank a mug of beer, and lay down fully clothed. No one had come to the door in nearly an hour, so he found it easy to drift off to sleep.

He was sleeping lightly, though, so he awoke at the first banging of the door knocker. He rolled over and looked toward the door. In the dim light of the hall he saw Kubin's agent standing with one hand on the bar of the door and the other holding open the speaking hole just above the latch.

«I am sorry, but it is Kubin's wish that the house be closed tonight. We value your custom, and certainly we will welcome you on another night. But not this one.»

«Will there be free beer if we come back on another night?» came faintly through the speaking hole. The voice was high-pitched, like a boy's. Probably some youngster who's scraped together the money and the nerve to try his first woman and come to us for her, thought Blade. Too bad he's going to have to be disappointed.

«Free beer?» said the agent, confused. Then behind him Hadish rose from the bench where he'd been sitting.

«Of course, there will be free beer,» he said. «Give us your name, and we shall-«

«What do you think-?» snapped the agent, turning to face Hadish. He never completed the turn. Halfway through it, Hadish's right hand swept up to meet him, driving a knife into his throat. With his left hand Hadish gripped the bar and heaved it out of its brackets. The bar and the body of Kubin's agent hit the floor at the same moment. Then Hadish gripped the handle of the door and heaved it open. That took both hands and all his attention, so he did not see Blade leap to his feet.

Blade ran down the hall and gripped one end of the heavy wooden bench. He put all his strength and weight into a tremendous shove. The bench seemed to fly down the hall ahead of him. Hadish let go of the handle as the door swung open and started to turn. The bench caught him and smashed him against the edge of the door, two hundred pounds of iron-hard wood with Blade behind it. The sword he'd started to draw fell from lifeless fingers. He toppled to one side as Blade heaved the bench back, then drove it forward again.

It shot into the open doorway as three masked men started to come through. The bench caught two of them with the force of a battering ram. Blade heard the sickening crunch of a man's kneecap disintegrating, and an agonized scream that he hoped would wake the entire house.

The two men struck by the bench went backward down the front stairs, taking several of their comrades with them. The third man was more agile. He leaped up on the bench and struck at Blade with his sword. Blade had to back clear before he could get his own sword into action. Then there was a brief flurry of sword cuts, ending when Blade got under his opponent's guard and laid open his stomach and thigh.

The man was dying, but he'd driven Blade back far enough to open a path for his comrades into the House of the Night's Tale. Several more now charged through the doorway, pushing the bench back so violently that Blade had to jump out of its path.

As he did, one of the girls appeared at the foot of the stairs. She took one look at the scene in the hallway, then screamed loudly enough to nearly deafen Blade. If that didn't wake up the rest of the house, they must all be dead! He had time to shout to her, «Get back upstairs and warn them! Tell them to close all the-!» and then his opponents seemed to be swarming all over him like hungry wolves.

Blade's sword whirled and danced, slicing flesh and chopping bone. He was stronger and faster and could reach farther than any of the men facing him. He was also facing them in the cramped hallway, where none of these things gave him the edge he needed against such odds. Once more he had to give ground to avoid being surrounded and cut down. Some of his opponents had long knives, better for work at close quarters than Blade's sword.

None of the masked men seemed to be Hashomi. They screamed when his sword tore their flesh, and when they took crippling wounds they fell or drew back. The hallway rapidly became a shambles, with screams ringing in Blade's ears and the well-scrubbed wooden floor under him slippery with blood and half-buried under writhing bodies.

It seemed that for every man who fell two more took his place. Blade gave up the hallway a foot at a time, backing slowly toward the stairs. He would have to hold the stairway until the end, otherwise these people would have an easy route up to the women's rooms.

Blade swore. It was ludicrous, to realize that he was quite possibly going to die here in the bloody, body-strewn hallway, defending a whorehouse from enemies in masks. He didn't know who they were or why they were attacking. He didn't even have time to make a good guess!

Anger at this ridiculous fate flowed through Blade, twisting his face into a mask so terrible that several of his opponents drew back. It filled him with a terrible speed and strength, so that he went over to the offensive and killed three men with four sword strokes. Then the hallway was clear around him, and he was facing a bandy-legged man with a long knife in each hand.

The man came at Blade with a rush, his movements sure and fluid. Blade had plenty of room to swing his sword, and aimed a cut at the man's head. The man brought up one knife fast enough to deflect the sword to one side, thrusting with the other knife at Blade's groin. Blade twisted to one side and slashed down again. His sword bit into the man's right shoulder. The man blinked, but didn't make a sound. Blade knew he was facing one of the Hashomi.

The Hashom took a step backward. Then he raised his right arm, which should have been impossible. With more strength than Blade could believe, he hurled the knife from his right hand at Blade. Blade had to leap aside to avoid taking the knife in his chest. The Hashom charged, whipping his other knife around in a wide arc and stabbing upward. Blade's sword came down, but he'd misjudged the Hashom's speed. Instead of splitting the man's skull, Blade only mangled his right shoulder again. This left the Hashom on his feet, charging past Blade toward the foot of the stairs.

Blade had to move quickly, to catch the Hashom without turning his back on the other men. As his sword came up for the killing blow, a chair came flying down the stairs from above. It caught the Hashom squarely in the chest, hurling him across the hallway. He held onto his knife, but couldn't do anything with it before Blade's sword came down. This time the stroke split the Hashom's head neatly in two. Before the body struck the floor Blade was turning back to face his other opponents.

He did so just in time. Seeing Blade distracted by the Hashom, the other attackers had regained their courage. Eight of them were in the hallway now, moving forward one step at a time, stepping over the bodies, leaving the bloody footprints, but coming on as steadily as a glacier and in overwhelming strength. Blade picked up the chair and set it. in front of him to block part of the hallway, without taking his eyes off the men coming at him.

Then bare feet thudded on the stairs. Esseta and two other women were standing beside Blade, as suddenly as if they'd sprouted from the floor. Esseta held a dagger, the second woman held a kitchen cleaver, and the third held the broken-off leg of a chair. Esseta raised her dagger in a mocking salute to the attackers.

«Hail, doomed fools! Consider the price Kubin Ben Sarif will ask for this night's work, before you come on! You will pay that price, whatever happens to us. There is nothing you can do for yourselves by doing anything to us.» There was a hissing note in Esseta's voice, exactly like a snake's angry warning.

The eight men stopped as if an invisible rope had been stretched across the hallway in front of them. Some kept their eyes on Blade, but others looked furtively toward the now-distant doorway. From upstairs came the sound of furniture being pushed around. Blade hoped the women and servants were building some sort of barricade across the head of the stairs.

Then the door flew open, and three more men sprang into the hallway. One carried a long shepherd's staff with a knife tied to the end of it, making a crude but wicked-looking spear. The other two carried crossbows. The spearman gave a wordless cry and slammed the butt of his weapon on the floor. A quiver ran through the men facing Blade, and they began to draw to either side.

In another second the archers would have a clear field of fire. With the flat of his sword Blade slapped Esseta across the back. «Get down!» he shouted, pointing to the chair. It was poor cover for her and the other women, but better than nothing. He himself dropped into a crouch, ready to spring forward, seeking cover among his enemies. If he could get into the middle of them, and even better, if he could knock down the lamp that was the only light in the hallway. Not much chance of that, though, and no chance of his surviving it. The women might be able to make their retreat, though, and-

A sudden explosion of sound from outside made the spearman and the archers stiffen. Hooves clattered on the cobblestones of the street, men shouted, horses neighed. Then crossbows began to go off, and men began to scream.

The spearman whirled around and thrust his head out the door. A second later he reeled back into the hallway, a spear rammed through him from chest to back. He threw up his hands and fell. As he did, he crashed against one of the archers and the man's crossbow fired. The bolt went into the back of one of the eight men facing Blade, flinging him so violently forward that he knocked down several of his comrades.

Whatever the cause, the enemy was falling into confusion. Blade snatched up the chair with his free hand, hurled it into the middle of the enemy, then followed up with his sword.

The confusion among the attackers promptly became total. Some tried to run forward to meet Blade others tried to retreat toward the door. Some just stood where they were, unable or unwilling to do anything. Blade's sword flashed and hissed in a deadly arc, and two men reeled toward the wall, trying to stop the blood from gaping wounds. He heard a gurgling cry, and saw Esseta cutting the throat of one of the men who'd been knocked down. The remaining archer fired, and the bolt thunked harmlessly into the wall.

Now the men in the hallway might have broken and run, but Blade and the women were pressing them too closely. They didn't have time to even turn around, let alone run. A man on the floor kicked out wildly, and Esseta tripped over him and went down. Another man tried to stamp on her, but as his foot came down so did Blade's sword. The man's leg came off just below the knee, and Esseta gasped and spluttered, drenched in a torrent of blood spraying from the stump. The man screamed and fell almost on top of her.

Then a sword was slicing the air toward Blade's head. He whirled to avoid it and his foot slipped on the blood now inches deep on the floor. He threw out his other leg for balance, and got it tangled up in the chair. He threw out both hands in a last desperate effort to keep himself upright. His free hand slammed into the wall, and then his head slammed into the heavy iron bracket holding the lamp. A roaring explosion of pain and fire threw him down into blackness.

Blade's last thought was that it was a bloody stupid way to die, tripping over a chair just when help had arrived.