The Lightning Key (Wednesday Tales (Quality)) by Berkeley Jon

Author:Berkeley, Jon [Berkeley, Jon]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-02-14T05:00:00+00:00

Miles Wednesday, dry-eyed and sand-jointed, lay awake and listened to the breeze whispering tales of the sea as it riffled through the palm fronds. He and Baltinglass had been given a tent for the night, while the servants who usually occupied it slept with the camels by the water’s edge. Although he knew that Kadin al Arfam’s men were discreetly searching the oasis for Little, he had slept only fitfully, and as the night drew on without a sign of her he was impatient to resume their pursuit. Baltinglass, on the other hand, had stayed up exchanging stories with Kadin for some time, and now slept like a baby on the other cot, a new ivory-handled swordstick clasped to his chest.

Miles turned restlessly and watched the strip of torchlight that lay across the sandy floor, waiting for a scorpion to cross it. Only when it sidled into view did he wonder how he had known that the scorpion was about to appear. A feeling came over him that was like déjà vu but inside out. It was not that he felt he had seen that same scorpion before; rather that he had known he was about to see it. He knew this was the “far eyes” that the Shriveled Fella of the Fir Bolg had seen in him. He had no idea how it worked, but it happened only when danger loomed, and he held his breath and listened.

As the feeling grew stronger he slid quietly from under his mosquito net and crept to the other side of the tent. The scorpion was not the danger. It scuttled away at the sight of him and vanished under the tent flap. There was something else, but he could not put his finger on it. He crouched by the foot of Baltinglass’s cot, trying to remember what was about to happen. There it was! A shadow on the tent wall, and moments later a long sword plunged through the fabric and straight into the bed where he had lain only seconds before.

“Baltinglass!” he hissed, giving the sleeping explorer a sharp poke in the ribs. He knew, of course, that this would have the worst possible effect on the old man, which was exactly what he wanted. Baltinglass leaped from his cot with a hoarse shout, and Miles ducked quickly as the ivory-handled sword shot from its cane and sang through the air. At the same moment a figure with a cloth-wrapped face stepped in through the long slit in the tent wall, and the two swords sparked together as though their owners were electrically charged. Baltinglass, having risen so quickly, had his mosquito net wrapped around his head like some nightmare bride. This was no great hindrance to him, since his fighting technique involved slashing with bewildering speed at any place his opponent could possibly be, but it must have looked quite alarming to the assassin.

Miles had dropped to all fours at once and quickly crawled around behind the stranger. The nightmare bride’s veil had given him an idea.

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