Letitia, on the other hand, smelled like musk, like old attic dust. Sometimes she smelled like clover, like brittle winter leaves, like earth turned in the spring.
Human folk had odors too, odors that offended, or attracted, others of their kind. And what did the Newlies think of human smell? Letitia Louise said Finn smelled nice, or most of the time, and he hoped that this was so.
“We has come to a decide,” Toothy said, turning to Finn once again. “Our decide is this. We doesn't think you contend against our kind. We doesn't think you do a quarrel. We believes you had a hostile because you was there.”
Finn felt a sense of relief, but he didn't let it show.
“What you say is true. I am pleased you understand. It was dark, and there was little time to reason things out. I had no idea who you were, or what you were doing there. It is clear now, you did — you had a quarrel with the Nuccis. I'm not too surprised, but there's no need to go into that. After I'm gone, do feel free to break in anytime.”
Toothy looked at Short. Short looked at Limp.
“You are a gone? We thinking you are here.”
“Gone from there,” Finn explained. “Gone from the Nuccis when a ship arrives again.”
“That is not a gone …”
“No, that is like a then …”
“This calls for a change of our decide …”
“This is not a pleasant,” Short said, “but this is how things is. If you be not a gone when we is coming, you be there again. Best thing to do, wes thinking, is us be sticking you now.”
“What?”
“Will you journeys to the alleyway, please? It is plenty darker there …”
24
Finn had no time to think, no time at all to blink. All three Foxers drew their blades at once. Finn ducked as Limp shaved the hairs atop his head. Toothy came at him from the left. Finn stepped on his toes and sent him reeling into Short.
“Lunatics, crazies!” Finn shouted. “I'm stranded in a madhouse here!”
And, with a solid kick that impaired Toothy's very vital parts, Finn was off and running through the horde, through the rabble, through the packed marketplace.
The crowd cleared before him, parting like water before a schooner's bow, parting, as any crowd would, before a man howling, growling, shouting out curses in some unholy tongue, clutching his blade and waving it about.
Bold, short-tempered men, men who liked to have a drink without a lot of noise, hastened to find a brick or a sharp-pointed stick, hastened to stop this brazen oaf. Hastened, then paused, paused and hesitated, mindful of the rage, of the fierce determination in the man's clearly homicidal gaze, mindful of the yelpers and the yappers, of the barking berserkers on his tail. Thinking it wise to stay out of this mess, the stout and burly men shook their fists, dropped their bricks and sticks, and let their anger chase the man instead.
Finn knew that a man with any sense would let a madman have his way. Especially a loony who came from out of town. Everyone knew they were a dangerous lot, even when they seemed to be sane.
Turning a corner into a narrow, murky way, Finn stopped in his tracks, stopped and felt his heart beat fast against his chest. A team of worker Bullies, seven, eight, or maybe ten, were dragging an enormous building stone down the cobbled street. Each was a giant among his kind, great ponderous creatures with broad massive chests, and scarcely any necks at all. Each grasped a rope across his shoulder, grasped it in two chunky hands, strained so hard against the burden of the stone that a deep and awesome thrum resounded from their lungs with every step. Their thighs were as big as the torso of an ordinary man, and the veins in their arms were as thick as killer vines curled about a mighty tree.
Each of the brutes looked solemn and grave, and each wore a heavy ring through his nose, some lost tradition from the past, some rite now centuries old.
Finn knew he couldn't get through, knew the narrow street could scarcely contain these fellows now. Knew the manic Foxers were howling on his trail. Knew he could beat them one and all if they'd only fight him fair. He paused, took a breath and plunged into the fray …
He ducked, weaved, scrambled through columns of meat, under crotches, under legs, over bare and smelly feet. The fleshy hulks kicked him, cursed him and growled. Finn gagged and choked, staggered under body odors foul, under flatulent attack.
Finally, gasping for breath, stumbling to his feet, he came out the other side. The air was still vile, a near visible cloud.
The streets were close to empty, everyone at market, Finn supposed, leaving their doors and windows open wide. Trusting their neighbors, no doubt, for their goods were so shabby no one wanted whatever lay about.
The lane here was narrow, narrow and cramped. The stories from one side leaned out drunkenly to meet shaky structures tipping the other way. The street was a tunnel shut off from the sun, a place too wretched to live, Finn thought, unless everyone wore gray.
The Foxers, he guessed, wouldn't be fool enough to come the way he had. They'd go around and try to cut him off, and they'd know the town better than he.
Which way, then-left, right, the street that smelled of cabbage, or the one more like a sewer? The sewer, he decided, for a bit more light leaked down through the arches overhead.
Three more byways, and three dead ends. Finn wished he'd gone the other way-he couldn't keep going, couldn't go back the way he'd come.
An old woman passed with a bundle of wood, a child strapped tightly to her back. The child stared at Finn in wonder. The woman didn't bother to look his way.
Finn studied the shop behind him, the building overhead. The shop had a sign that read TALLOWS amp; LAMPS. The one across the street read CLUB. Another place that wouldn't let him in. Only the people at CLUB could drink there. He was, it seemed, beginning to understand these alien ways.
He plunged his hand into the basket, coming up with half a loaf of bread. He ate half of that, and put the quarter back. All of the tomatoes were squashed. Getting through the Bullies had ruined all the cherries and the berries, and the sweetcakes had crumbled into shreds.
He heard the sound of his foes before he saw them, the yipping and the yowling and the stomp of heavy boots, the clatter of buckles and swords.
He looked to his front, to his left and to his right. Finally, he looked at the arches that loomed up above.
“Up it is, then,” he said aloud, chiding himself for pausing to eat, “up is the only way there is …”
The first story up was chunky stone with plenty of handy holds for hands and feet. The second was ancient wood, which rotted and crumbled, and nearly spilled him to the ground.
Once at the top, he could see a small corner of the market, a blue slice of the sea.
“The sea would be west. When we were still in open water, the sun always set behind the stern. Except, I think, when we went through Blue Butter Strait. Unless I'm mistaken, the sun on that occasion came up in the south. I knew that couldn't be, and meant to ask about it at the time …”
Not for the first time, Finn had to sadly confess that he scarcely knew his left foot from his right. That sort of thing was not required for a man in the lizard trade. He surely didn't know his way back to Julia and Letitia Louise. Back to Squeen William and the Nucci maniacs. What he knew was the sound of his pursuers was growing much closer all the time.
Leaping from one roof to the next was as simple as could be. The thatched, patched, tiled and slatted shops were hardly a quarter inch apart, and often closer still. The clatter of the Foxers was fading with every step he took. Finn, however, knew that he was fading too. His throat was dry as sand. He'd had a little food, but not a thing to drink. If you can't get in BAR or TAVERN or CLUB, there's little one can do.