resounded with applause. Slerma beamed. She was a success. She was glorious. She was beautiful. She was loved. Her happiness would have been complete if her father had been there to see her triumph, but unfortunately he was laid up with gout.
Determined music began; the cheering died away, and was replaced by a babble of talk, gossip and speculation. The festivities were underway.
As a skavamareen wailed along in the wake of a galloping thrum, Togura encountered a girl named Zona, who made it appear that she met him almost by accident.
'Are you a Suet?' he said.
'Yes. How did you guess?'
'What else would they send to seduce me?'
'The cheek of the animal!' she said.
'A kiss would be a good way to start,' said Togura.
She blushed, and Togura saw his suspicions were correct. The Suets had sent one of their expendable females to romance him. He was flattered.
'Dance with me,' he said.
She yielded, so soon they were dancing the Dalataplash, kicking their heels and punching the air, whooping at the war-scream and shouting at the hoot, then embracing each other in the couple and the grind. She laughed a lot. She might have been sent, but she was willing. He was young, handsome and a hero, and a baron's son besides, heir to the estate if he killed his half-brother Cromarty. There was good meat on her bones; he knew himself lucky.
They danced then ate, danced then drank, then danced again. Togura cast occasional glances in the direction of young Roly Suet, who seemed to be making a remarkable recovery from his traumatic experience with Slerma. The royal couple were not dancing: Slerma was still eating, with Roly at her side feeding her choice morsels from a bucket.
'Would you marry me?' said Togura to Zona.
'Would I if what?'
'If I asked.'
'Ask.'
'That's no answer.'
'Still, it's the answer deserved. Are you a hero or aren't you?'
'I'll think about it,' said Togura. 'Come, the music's wasting. Let's dance.'
And dance they did. She was smooth, lithe, clean-limbed and lively. He wanted her. She was his answer to the urgency of the flesh. She was part of a contract for a fabulous future. In the face of such offers, what wisdom in questing? Fifty men missing, most probably dead? Where was the temptation in that?
It was many generations since Togura's ancestors had been sharp-bargaining Galish merchants, but, nevertheless, a trader's caution was still part of his heritage; he disliked unnecessary danger on principle, being entirely lacking in the kind of hang-devil recklessness which welcomes impossible odds.
But Day!
How could he forget about Day?
How could he write her off like this?
He tried to bring her face to mind, but failed. He could not remember what she looked like. He tried, in a dutiful way, to fabricate feelings of regret and remorse, but failed.
'Kiss me,' said Zona.
And he could hardly decline.
As they danced, the music grew louder. An old-fashioned canterkade beat out a rhythm in direct opposition to a new-fangled clay. A sklunk back-thumped, a chanter whined, a snot-pipe shrilled, then massied plea whistles hooted and honked, joining the screaming high pinions in a caterwauling fanfarade.
'So what's it to be?' said Zona, as the last of the music jogged down to nothing. 'Where will you sleep tonight and tomorrow? By some bone-rotting mountainside bog? Or elsewhere, far warmer?'
'Give me time to think,' said Togura, with a laugh of joy and triumph which he was unable to suppress.
Already he knew his answer. It was no contest. The people of Sung – even the young men – were essentially too sane and sober to make good questing heroes. They seemed wild enough, with their feuding and fighting, but such localised sports are essentially civilised in that they never take you more than a couple of days from your own warm bed and a hot-bread kitchen.
Though the Wordsmiths did not know it yet, Togura had just cancelled his quest for the index.
'Let's find a seat,' said Zona.
'Let's,' said Togura, coughing.
'It's rather smoky,' said Zona, waving a hand in front of her face.
'Rather,' said Togura, looking round to see who was smoking the acrid pipe.
He blinked. His eyes were stinging. People were starting to shout. Somebody screamed. Suddenly Togura realised there were clouds of smoke curling and coiling overhead. People were panicking, rushing for the exits. Togura drew his sword, then looked at it in astonishment. Why had he done that? He sheathed it hastily, before Zona noticed. Zona?
'Zona!' shouted Togura.
His voice was lost in the uproar. She was gone. She had fled. Somewhere, a loud voice boomed, roaring:
'Fire! Fire! Fire!'
Togura jumped on a table.
'Don't push!'he bawled. 'People will get crushed!'
But he was ignored. He coughed; the air was harsh with smoke. Looking round, he saw a disturbance. He saw part of a wall breaking down, admitting bright sunlight and a wedge of – masked men!
'We're under attack!' shouted Togura.
But nobody heard him.
He jumped down from the table and waded toward the attackers. With Suets and their guests crushing each other to death in the jam-packed exits, he figured that the break in the wall offered him the best chance of escape from a building now definitely burning.
He drew his sword again, and this time did not feel stupid for doing so.
Chapter 11
Togura, dizzy with smoke, fear and excitement, hung back as the masked men attacked. His drawn sword was strictly for self-defence. He was them close in on Roly Suet, who fought as best he could, crowning one with a food bucket and kicking another in the privates. They overwhelmed him and carried him off.
'Give me back my man!' said a vast, slurred, grubbling voice.
It was Slerma. She was not pleased.
A man slashed at her with his sword. She threw up a forearm to defend herself. By rights, sword versus arm should lead to instant amputation. But the blade scarcely managed to cut deep enough into her blubber to reach the bone. Next moment she had seized the miscreant by neck and by ankles, and was tearing him apart. As Togura blinked, gaped and boggled, the man ruptured and split, spilling -
Togura closed his eyes, feeling sick.
By now, others had realised what was going on. Suets and guests, arming themselves with tables, chairs, carving knives and roasting spits, gave battle. Those with no weapons flailed at the attackers with jackets, coats, cloaks and capes, seeking to entangle their swords or beat them down so they could close for a stranglehold. Roly's kidnappers were cut off from their escape route. Two sat on Roly, holding him down, while the others fought in the burning building.
Slerma, thinking the battle was going against her side, went to the rescue.
'No!' screamed Togura, seeing her bulking off the reinforced section of the floor.
But he was not heard or was not understood or was ignored. Slerma rumbled ahead, spitting and growling,
