Free Future Indefinite by Dave Duncan Page B

important than any formal Committee session, for the real decisions would be made there, over port and cigars. And of course Dommi had been careful to tell him that his mistress was back, but her husband was not.

9
    A cruel wind wailed along the street, inciting dead leaves to ran races, whipping up the rank smell of horses from the stones. It tugged at Eleal’s cloak and tried to snatch her precious load from her arms. It threw dust in her eyes. In this corner of the town the evening’s activities would not normally begin for hours yet, but twilight was coming early under the storm clouds and she must complete her business and be well away before it did. Bending into the gale, she trudged with her uneven gait— clip-clop, clip-clop-clip . The wind repeatedly tried to push her off balance or rip the cloth wrapping from the burden she carried.
    Jurg was a fine town, her favorite town in all the Vales, but all towns had seamy corners and River Street was seamier than the backside of a patchwork quilt, a fetid alley that made the area near Cherry Blossom House seem dull as a virgin’s diary. She had only ever ventured here before once, and then in broad daylight. The Cherry Blossom whores came regularly, but always around noon, and even then Tigurb’l Tavernkeeper sent bouncers along to protect them. Eleal could have asked a couple of those thicks to escort her this evening, but they would have been more dangerous than the ill-reputed denizens of River Street. They would have demanded to know what she carried wrapped in that rag and then promptly relieved her of it. The brighter ones would also have cut her throat so she couldn’t tattle back to Tigurb’l.
    It had cost more than five Joalian stars. If she let it slip, it wouldn’t be worth a copper pig. If she fell and went down on top of it, she might not be, either. The sucker was as tall as a two-year-old child—and heavy . The push of the wind was uneven. The cobbles were uneven. Her legs were uneven. Clip-clop…clip-clop…clip …
    There were few other people around. The town mice had fled the coming dark and the cats had not yet emerged. The one or two men who came hurrying past all looked at her as if they could not believe their eyes—this was no place for a woman alone. She should have borrowed some less pretentious garments, too. Her cloak alone had cost almost half a star, burgundy-colored Narshian llama wool with white goose-fur trim.
    But here was her destination. Amid all the shabby tenements, run-down stores, and mysterious anonymous doorways stood a grand pillared entrance, far older than all of them. The original proprietor was still in business, for the portico bore a massive metal hammer, the symbol of Karzon. Usually the holy buildings in a city were clustered close together. Isolated temples like this one were so rare that Eleal knew of no others—it was as if the god who lived here had been spurned by the other gods of the city, as if they would not associate with him. This was the home of Ken’th, avatar of the Man in Jurg.
    She dared not pause to catch her breath, although her heart was racing like a cheetah. One more effort to think this project through and her courage would fade like mist. Blinking the wind tears from her eyes, she hurried up the steps, clutching her precious bundle. Clip-clop, clip-clop …The old tiled steps showed signs of wear. That amused her, because no one ever admitted to worshipping at the temple of Ken’th. Mother Ylla, that horrible hag, had told her once that only boys and old men did—she had overlooked harlots.
    The door stood open. It was a small door for so large a portico, and the interior beyond seemed dark. Again, Eleal felt her nerve waver. Her insides had tied themselves into hard knots; her arms shook so violently that she feared she was about to drop the figurine. That would ruin all her plans! But gods should be approached with humility and reverence, not this burning anger, this vitriolic craving