“Cor, thanks, guv,” Squill murmured sardonically.
“We don’t go on without Neena. That’s understood,” Buncan said flatly. Gragelouth nodded tiredly.
“Yes, yes. But we must somehow convince, pay, or trick at least a few soldiers-at-arms into coming with us, or we will surely have less than no chance.”
“Righty-ho!” Squill straightened. “Stiff upper whiskers an’ all that. If we’re lucky, maybe we can ‘ire on a few more otters.”
“May the god of all honest merchants preserve me from that,” Gragelouth muttered, sufficiently tow so that Squill did not overhear.
CHAPTER 12
She finally began her gradual ascent from the bottom of the pool. It was one of the most beautiful pools she’d ever visited, deep and cool and perfectly circular. There were no fish, only dark olive-green fronds with scalloped edges that swayed back and forth in the current.
Sunlight and air beckoned overhead as she spiraled lazily upward, not swimming at all, carried skyward by a reverse whirlpool. When she broke the surface, she blinked and inhaled softly.
Instead of the sun, she found herself staring at a glowbulb suspended from the nave of a vaulted ceiling decorated with richly carved dark wood. Turning her head to her left, she saw a high, narrow window of stained glass. The unknown artist had used the chromatically colored, intricately shaped pieces to illustrate a bedroom scene, a scene that . . .
Waking up fast, she rolled over in the expansive, canopied bed.
There was no refreshing pool, unless one counted the swirl of fine linen on which she reposed. She was not even slightly damp. Every strand of her fur had been brushed out, and her coat radiated a fine, cushy silkiness. Instead of her familiar shorts and top, she found herself clad in a full-length dress of pink satin sewn with pearls and semiprecious stones. The sleeves were short and puffed at the shoulders. Matching slippers shod her feet. Tiny silver bells had been braided into her tail, and even her whiskers had been sprayed with pink glitter. They itched.
Her initial reaction was to strip the stones and pearls from the dress and cram them into the first container she could find, but as there was no booty bag handy she spent the time instead yanking off the too-tight slippers while inspecting more of her surroundings.
It was quite the largest bed she had ever seen, with its sweeping crewelwork canopy and line of pillows marching from one side to the other at the top. It could accommodate the most energetic couple, together with their immediate family as well as assorted aunts, uncles, and distant cousins. No doubt it was a source of continuing delight to its owner.
It suddenly struck her that she might well have been brought to this place to participate in just such entertainment.
Whoever had caused the bed to be fabricated was no giant. It was built low to the floor, and she slipped off easily, heading for the single window. The stained glass lay just out of reach. If she stacked a few things underneath she was sure she could reach the small sill at its base.
As she began her search for suitable objects, she happened to catch sight of herself in a large, oval, freestanding mirror. Her cheerful, brightly hued makeup had been redone exclusively in pink and rose, the stylish streaking running from the corners of her eyes and mouth in waves to the back of her head. Powdered ruby and garnet applied over a base of black specular hematite had been used to create the stunning effect. A glance over her shoulder as she pirouetted revealed that the back of the dress was cut in a sharp V all the way down to the base of her tail.
Blimey, she thought as she stared at her reflection, I’m bloomiri gorgeous. Too bad it was a wasted effort on someone’s part. She preferred to be asked.
The glowbulb illuminated the entire ceiling, its light supplemented by the pair of tall oil lamps which flanked the bed. She suspected the moderation of its glow was due to intent, not a weakening of the spell which powered it. Someone was striving hard for a particular atmosphere of which she, like the subdued light and the bawdy stained glass and the bed, was merely one more component.
She found a chair and placed it beneath the window. Resuming her search, she passed once more in front of the mirror and, in spite of herself, stopped to stick out a short leg. Someone had outdone themselves in fashioning the dress. Otters were difficult to tailor for, with their short waists and limbs and long, sinuous bodies. The folds of fine satin were highly flattering.
“It is better for someone else to admire such a work of art.”
She spun away from the mirror as the speaker shut the single door behind him. The mink was no taller than she, and slightly slimmer. His fur was finer and darker. He wore jeweled sandals with pantaloons and a vest of metallic red accented with black leather. The vest had a high, stiff collar which framed his finely formed head. More decoration than threat, a bejeweled dagger was secured at his waist. A double earring dangled from his left ear.
Unlike his complimentary tone, the expression on his face was positively predatory. Not that her situation required additional explication. Neena was young but hardly naive. Her elegant attire had been provided for her captor’s enjoyment, not hers.
Her pupils dilated sharply. “I know you. You’re the arrogant bastard from the marketplace. You kidnapped me.”
“Correct on both counts.” The mink had a brusque, clipped manner of speaking. “I am the Baron Koliac Krasvin, at your servicing, which I intend to carry out shortly.”
“I’ll wager ‘tis ‘shortly,’ all right.”
His laconic smile vanished. “Your attempt at humor is ill-timed. I suggest you lighten your attitude instead and it will be the better for you. You may call me Koliac.”
“ ‘Ow about ‘Colon’ instead? Or, if you’d prefer a little more familiarity, Shithead.”
One thing for the Baron: He was not easily nonplussed. “Please, no simple bucolic obscenities. If you are going to call me names, at least strive for inventiveness.”
That sparked an idea. Not a great one, but her options were pretty limited. “You want to see inventive? I’ll show you inventive.” She straightened. “You’d better open that door right now, or I won’t be responsible for the ‘orrible things that’ll ensue.”
Krasvin took a dainty, measured step forward, grinning unpleasantly. “That’s all right. I will.”
She retreated from the vicinity of the mirror. “I’m warnin’ you; I’m a spellsinger, I am.”
His grin widened. “Oh, surely. And you are about to turn me into a newt.”
“I mean it. I’ll do it.”
“You certainly will,” Krasvin assured her, “willingly or otherwise. You know, I’ve never met a spellsinger, but I’ve heard of them. Do not their mystic conjurations require instrumental accompaniment? I know for a fact that you do not have an instrument on you. At least, not a musical one.”
She found herself being backed toward the bed, which was not a preferred line of retreat. “ ‘Ere now, don’t you realize that you’re a very offensive person?”
“Oh, surely. It’s an integral part of my personality. But I’ve learned to live with it. I noticed that you like your gown. It was originally sewn for a lady mink, but I had it modified especially for you.”
“You needn’t ‘ave bothered.”
“No bother.”
“Doesn’t it trouble you that I’m an otter an’ not a mink?”
“On the contrary, I find the differences intriguing rather than disconcerting. Besides which, my tastes are quite broad. As soon as I set eyes on you I knew that an inevitable succession of events was about to commence. These will conclude presently. And I grow tired of talking.”
She looked around desperately, but there was only the single high window and the one door. She considered taking a running jump at the stained glass, but it was a foolish notion. Otters were adept at many kinds of physical exertion, but with their short legs running jumps could not be counted among them. If they’d been in the water, now . . .