“We have the boat to trade,” Gragelouth pointed out, “and I still have my purse.” He tapped the bag full of coins which rested against his ribs beneath his shirt. “We will find something.”
“Not another bloody wagon.” Neena let out a groan.
“Unfortunately, I do not have the resources to hire a corps of eagles to tow us through the sky,” the merchant replied rather stiffly. “Did you think this would get easier?”
“No, I suppose not.” She sighed resignedly as they headed into town.
Their initial impression of Camrioca as a sophisticated, wealthy community was reinforced by the appearance and attitude of the individual from whom they sought directions. The marmot was fat, graying, and dressed in a wealth of richly embroidered silks trimmed in soft leather. Buncan admired the outfit, while Neena was positively envious.
Clearly delighted to be back among his own kind, an obeisant Gragelouth put their questions to his fellow merchant. Disinclined to speak with the ragged strangers but desirous of avoiding an argument with two armed otters and a tall human, the marmot politely supplied them with directions to the central marketplace.
Full of hawkers and stalls, street vendors and confusion, rife with argument and pungent with exotic smells, the marketplace lay down the main bay street and immediately inland from the waterfront. Many of the shops were a reflection of their proprietors’ prosperity, having been constructed of stone or wood. Here goods from downriver and inland collided in a frenzy of commercial activity.
As if the smell wasn’t enough, a query directed them to the livestock pens, where traders haggled over the price of riding snakes and dray lizards, fattened food crawlers and select breeding stock. Bemoaning the loss of his old reliable wagon and team, Gragelouth set about attempting to secure adequate transportation for the journey ahead. A good judge of reptilian flesh, he was unlikely to be cheated, but proper bargaining, he warned his companions, would take some time.
That was all right, Buncan assured him. The marketplace of Camrioca was by far the largest of its type he’d ever visited, and mere was much to see. He and Squill and Neena would have no problems entertaining themselves while the sloth set to his . . .
Speaking of Neena, where had she gone and got herself to?
Lizards and snakes hissed and jostled within their pens as their owners alternately coaxed and cajoled them. A trio of armed city police consisting of two coyotes and a helmeted badger struggled to maintain some semblance of rough order. They ignored the noisy, screeching fight taking place between an insulted margay and a panda certain he had been cheated. The margay had teeth and claws on his side, but the panda had strength. The cops had business elsewhere.
As for Gragelouth, the merchant ignored it all. He was already bargaining intently with a strangely clad, wizened-face little macaque for the use of four bipedal riding lizards. They would not have the endurance or hauling capacity of his old team, but would travel much more swiftly. Squill stood impatiently nearby, looking bored.
Buncan scanned the crowd. Where was Neena?
“Squill, you see your sister?”
“Sure, mate. She’s right over . . .” He blinked, then shrugged disinterestedly. “So she’s wandered off, gone bloody shopping. You know ‘ow females are.”
“Not really. How can she do any shopping? She hasn’t got any money with her.”
Squill winked. “Old Mudge, ‘e can’t ‘elp teachin’ us things Weegee wishes ‘e wouldn’t.”
“If she’s off on some crazy stealing spree and she gets caught, we may not be able to get her out. This is a big, well-developed city. I’m sure they have big, well-developed jails. Also, if she gets herself in trouble after everything we’ve been through and survived, I’ll personally pluck her bald all over again myself.”
“Good luck at that, mate.” Squill was grinning. “She’s been plucked before, by better than you.”
“It’s not funny.” He stopped searching over the heads of the crowd and motioned to Gragelouth. Irritated at being interrupted, the merchant excused himself from his haggling.
“What is it, boy? Be quick about it or I’ll lose what leverage I’ve gained.”
“Neena seems to have disappeared.”
“Otters are always coming and going. It is their manner to be unpredictable and impulsive. I would not worry. She will return soon.”
“Probably, but Squill and I are gonna go have a look for her anyway.”
“Please yourselves. Try not to be long. I hope not to be long here. Negotiations are proceeding satisfactorily. Oh, and try to stay out of trouble, human.”
“I just want to make sure that’s what Neena’s doing.”
The sloth seemed mollified as he returned to his bargaining.
Buncan and Squill made their way through the livestock pens until they were back among the stalls and street vendors. Hours of searching failed to locate the absent otter.
Squill was somewhat less than distressed. “Crikey, I’ve been tryin’ to lose the-mouth-that-swims for years.”
“This is serious. Can’t you be serious for once?”
“ ‘Ell of a thing to ask of an oner, mate.”
Buncan surveyed the surging crowd. “We have to keep looking.”
They finally obtained something more than a curt shake of the head from a mongoose selling copper pots, pans, and other utensils.
“Female you say, about your size?” Squill nodded tersely. “Elaborately streaked and made-up fur? Don’t-give-a-damn attitude?”
“That’s me sister, all right.”
The mongoose looked back down at the saucepan he was hammering out. “Haven’t seen her.”
Buncan pushed his way past Squill. He towered above the otter, as he did over most of the denizens of the marketplace. The coppersmith eyed him warily.
“Look, I do not want any trouble.”
“That was a pretty precise description you just gave of someone you claim not to have seen.”
“Well, you see, it is like this.” The mongoose’s gaze darted in several directions. “It would be worth my life if it were to become known in certain quarters that I voluntarily gave you such information.”
Buncan considered. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but what you’re saying is that you have some information, but that we’re going to have to threaten you to get it?”
“Did I say that? I did not say anything like that.”
“Let me beat it out of ‘im.” Flexing his fingers, Squill took an eager step forward. The merchant shrank from his approach.
Buncan put a restraining hand on the otter’s arm. “I think that’s enough of a threat to suffice.”
“Oh, yes.” The mongoose smiled relievedly. “I am thoroughly intimidated, and therefore no one can blame me for telling you what happened.”
“Something happened to Neena?” Buncan’s anxiety level doubled.
The vendor fingered the saucepan. “She was asked to spend some time as the guest of a powerful citizen.”
Buncan and Squill exchanged a glance. “What citizen?” Buncan finally asked.
“The Baron Koliac Krasvin.”
“Never ‘eard o’ ‘im.” Squill let out a derisive snort. “But then, up until recently I never ‘eard o’ this dung’eap either.”
“Who is this Baron Krasvin?” Buncan inquired intently.
“A local nobleperson of ignoble repute but substantial fortune,” the mongoose informed them. “Please do not torture me anymore.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Buncan impatiently. “Get on with it.”
“Surrounded by numerous retainers and household guards, he resides in a fortified mansion west of the city and well outside its boundaries. Also its jurisdiction. I cannot stand much more of this pain,” he added, rather sedately for one ostensibly in the throes of final torment.
“Why would Neena go with this bloke?” Squill wanted to know.
The trader coughed delicately. “The Baron is not especially well-liked in Camrioca. An expert with both saber and rapier, he has killed several in duels, and there are those who find his presence in the Crescent of Nobles displeasing. But he is the scion of a noble family, and he has money. A difficult combination to abjure.”