"Isn't that splendid? Well, if the shock of your fall didn't break it, we're probably safe for a little while longer." White light flashed somewhere above them and thunder rolled, louder than before. "Though I have been much more comfortable. So don't kick. Don't flail. Don't struggle. And don't do anything fucking stupid. Savvy?" "Oh, no, sir, oh please—" "Shut up already."
"Lo… er, Leocanto," said Jean. "I'm thinking this fellow deserves some flying lessons." "I'm thinking the same thing," said Locke, "but thieves prosper, right, Jerome? Help me haul this stupid bastard back up there somehow." "Oh, thank you, thank—" "Know why I'm doing this, you witless woodland clown?" "No, but I—" "Shut it. What's your name?" "Trav!" "Travwhat?" "Never had no after-name, sir. Trav of Vo Sarmara is all." "And you're a thief? A highwayman?" "Yes, yes I am—" "Nothing else? Do any honest work?" "Er, no, not for some time now—"
"Good. Then we are brothers of a sort. Look, my smelly friend, the thing you have to understand is that there is a Thirteenth. He does have a priesthood, and I'm one of his priests, savvy?" "Ifyousayso—"
"No, shut up. I don't want you to agree with me, I want you to use your misplaced acorn of a brain before the squirrel comes looking for it again. I have a blade at your throat, we're seventy feet above the ground, it's pissing a nice, hard rain and you just tried to murder me. By all rights, I ought to give you a red smile from ear to ear and let you drop. Would you agree with that?" "Oh, probably, sir, gods, I'm sorry—"
"Hush now, sweet moron. So you" d admit that I must have a pretty powerful reason for not satisfying myself with your death?" "I, uh, I suppose so!"
"I'm a divine of the Crooked Warden, like I said. Sworn to the service and the mandates of the god of our kind. Seems kind of a waste to spit in the face of the god that looks out for you and yours, doesn't it? Especially since I'm not so sure I" ve been doing right by Him recently." "Uh—"
"I should kill you. Instead, I'm going to try to save your life. All I want you to do is think about this. Do I still seem like a heretic to you?" "Uh… oh, gods, sir, I can't think straight—"
"Well, nothing unusual there, I'd wager. Remember what I said. Don't flail, don't kick, don't scream. And if you try to fight, even the tiniest bit, our arrangement's off. Wrap your arms around my chest and shut up. We're a good, long way from sitting pretty."
2
At Locke's urging, Jean went up first, hand-over-hand on the slick cliff-face at about half his usual speed. Up top, he rapidly unknotted his own belay line from his belt and passed it down to Locke and his shaken passenger. Next he took his harness off and slid his main line along the cliff-edge until it too was beside the dangling men. They certainly didn't look comfortable, but with all three good lines in their reach they were at least a bit safer.
Jean found his frock coat on the ground and threw it on, grateful for the added coverage even if it was as sopping wet as the rest of him was. He thought quickly. Trav looked like a fairly meatless fellow and Locke was lightly built… surely they were no more than three hundred pounds together. Jean was sure he could hoist nearly as much to his chest, perhaps even above his head. But in the rain, with so much at stake?
His thoughts turned to the carriage, nearly a quarter-mile distant through the woods. A horse would be a vast improvement on even a strong man, but the time it would require, and the trouble inherent in unhooking, calming and leading a beast whose master had been clubbed unconscious… "Fuck it," he said, and went back to the cliff's edge. "Leocanto!" "Still here, as you might have guessed."
"Can the two of you make one of my ropes good and fast to your waistbelt?" There was a brief muttered conversation between Locke and Trav. "We'll manage," Locke yelled. "What do you have in mind?"
"Have the idiot hold tight to you. Brace your arms and legs against the cliff once you" ve lashed yourselves to one of my lines. I'll start hauling on it with all I" ve got, but I'm sure your assistance won't hurt."
"Right. You heard the man, Trav. Let's tie a knot. Mind where you put your hands."
When Locke looked up and gave Jean their private hand signal for proceed, Jean nodded. The secured rope was Jean's former belay line; he seized the working end just before the coil that lay on the wet ground and frowned. The sludge underfoot would make things even more interesting than they already were, but there was nothing else for it. He formed a bight in the rope, stepped into it and let it slide tight around his waist. He then leaned back, away from the cliff, with one hand on the rope before him and one hand behind, and cleared his throat.
"Tired of dangling, or shall I let you have a few more minutes down there?"
"Jerome, if I have to cradle Trav here for one second longer than I absolutely must, I'm going to—"
"Climb away, then!" Jean dug his heels in, allowed himself to lean even farther back and began to strain at the rope. Gods damn it, he was a powerful man, unusually strong, but why did moments always come along to remind him that he could be even stronger? He" d been slacking; no other word for it. He should find some crates, fill them with rocks and heave them up a few dozen times a day, as he had in his youth… damn, would the rope ever move?
There. At last, after a long uncomfortable interval of motionless heaving in the rain, Jean took a slow step back. And then another… and another. Haltingly, with an itching fire steadily rising in the muscles of his thighs, he did his best impression of a plough-horse, pushing deep furrows into the gritty grey mud. Finally, a pair of hands appeared at the edge of the cliff and in a torrent of shouts and curses, Trav hoisted himself up over the top and rolled onto his back, gasping. Immediately the strain on Jean slackened; he maintained his previous level of effort and just a moment later Locke.popped over the edge. He crawled to his feet, stepped over beside Trav and kicked the would-be bandit in the stomach.
"You fucking jackass! Of all the stupid damn… How difficult would it have been to say, "I'll lower a rope, you tie your purses onto it and send them up or I won't let you back up?" You don't tell your bloody victims you're just going to kill them outright! You come on reasonable first, and when you have the money you run!" "Oh… ow! Gods, please. Ow! You said you… wouldn't kill me!"
"And I meant it. I'm not going to kill you, you cabbage-brained twit, I'm just going to kick you until it stops feeling good!" "Ow! Agggh! Please! Aaaaow!" "I have to say, it's still pretty fascinating." "Aiiiah! Ow!" i Still enjoying myself.". "Oooof! Agh!"
Locke finally ceased pummelling the unfortunate Verrari, unbuckled his harness belt and dropped it in the mud. Jean, breathing heavily, came up beside him and handed him his soaked coat.
"Thank you, Jerome." Having his coat back, sopping or no, seemed to salve some of Locke's wounded dignity. "As for you. Trav — Trav of Vo Sarmara, you said?" "Yes! Oh, please, don't kick me again—"
"Look here, Trav. Here's what you're going to do. First, tell no one about this. Second, don't fucking go anywhere near Tal Verrar. Got it?" "Wasn't plannin" to, sir."
"Good. Here." Locke reached down into his left boot and drew out a very slender purse. He tossed it down beside Trav, where it landed with a jingling plop. "Should be ten volani in there. A healthy bit of silver. And you can… wait a minute, are you absolutely sure our driver's still alive?"