(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 44 by Intrigue of Antares

Author:Intrigue of Antares [Antares, Intrigue of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twelve

Give them their due, they did not stint on me.

They furnished a slap up meal of local produce with a great variety of vegetables and fruit, and to drink a light local beer — or, at least, a brown fluid they called beer — rather flattish and with a miniscule head as though it had been watered. There were palines to follow. We sat in the guardroom annex for the meal and later on as the suns were thinking of declining beyond the western hills Lord Jazipur’s man entered.

Hikdar Tygnam greeted him cautiously, standing up to do so. I remained seated, enjoying the palines’ juiciness and freshness after the meal.

The fellow was of that breed that can insinuate itself into the crannies of society and sniff out gossip and tidbits of valuable information. He wore a drab tan tunic and a three-quarter length cape thrown back. He did not wear a shamlak. He did wear three swords and a plethora of daggers. As to his face, he was apim, clean-shaven, and narrow as to feature, with deep lines running from the corners of his mouth to the sides of his chin. His hat was perfectly in character, being wide and floppily down-drooping. It did not sport a feather.

He gave his name as Naghan — Naghan the Ordsetter.

“My men are waiting outside. Let us get on with it.”

There was genuine relief visible in Hikdar Tygnam that he did not have to venture down into the warrens between the hills.

He bade me a courteous remberee and we stepped outside into the haze of jade and ruby dusk. It had rained earlier and up here on Grand Central the air tasted sweet.

“Amak Dagert and his men have offered to assist us.” This Naghan the Ordsetter possessed a strange squeaky voice. “He will be useful if his man knows the whereabouts of the Fristle.”

There was no answer called for. Dagert of Paylen and Palfrey joined us with a group of men at the cable car terminus. We were headed north, to the hill known as Rondjas’s Hill. Apart from Palfrey saying in a quick excited voice that from there we must go to the Hill of Sturgies, we were a silent party as we boarded the car. The wheels whispered along the cable and the breeze blew in from the open cabin windows. The other cars passed us, swaying gracefully in their looping arcs from hill to hill.

Lights were springing up everywhere all over the city. Their sparkles were much like fairy lanterns. As we swayed through thin air suspended by slender cables the very trance-like air of this enterprise forced itself on me most strongly.

A lifter swooped down, passing us closely and flew on towards Rondjas’s Hill. It showed only riding lights. The car began to climb the last looping curve of cable towards the terminus.

Whilst this structure was nowhere near as ornate as that upon Grand Central, it had its architectural charm. A small knot of people waited to board our car.

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