Out of the Darkness

“That has nothing to do with anything,” Krasta said, suddenly recalling little Gainibu’s unfortunate hair color. Lurcanio laughed out loud, which only infuriated her further. “How dare you say it?”

Lurcanio gave back a serious answer, perhaps the most annoying thing he might have done: “Well, for one thing, it is-or it appears to be-the truth.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” Krasta yelped, very conscious of the difference between what was said and what was.

“And, for another”-Lurcanio went on as if she hadn’t spoken-”I can still strike a blow of sorts by telling the truth here. You Valmierans are going to be as hard on me as you know how; I doubt that not at all. Why shouldn’t I make things as difficult as I can for you?” Malicious amusement sparked in his cat-green eyes.

Revenge Krasta understood. She didn’t care to have it aimed at her. “It’s not gentlemanly!” she exclaimed.

“I am not in a gentlemanly predicament, you stupid little twat,” Lurcanio snapped. “You were pleasant in bed, but you haven’t the brains the powers above gave a hedgehog. I fought a war here in Priekule, and they intend to murder me under form of law on account of the way I fought it. I cannot do much to stop them, either. Now, have you got that through your thick skull?”

“Futter you!” Krasta said shrilly.

“I would tell you to go right ahead, my former dear, but the mesh is too narrow to make it practical,” Lurcanio replied.

“Powers below eat you, you put my name in the news sheets,” Krasta said.

“And when have you ever complained about that?” Lurcanio asked.

“Futter you!” Krasta said again. This time, she didn’t wait for an answer, but flounced out of the visiting chamber. When she slammed the door behind her, an earthquake might have hit the building. The warder, who was waiting in the anteroom, jumped. “Get me out of this horrible place,” Krasta snarled, snatching up her chattels.

The warder started to say something, looked at her, and thought better of it. He led her back to the entrance. He did dare a, “Goodbye,” then.

Krasta ignored him. She stalked back to her driver. “Take me home this instant-this instant, do you hear me?” she said. The driver, sensibly, obeyed without a word.

Bembo threw away his cane and stood up on his own two legs in the middle of his flat. Actually, judging by what his kilt displayed, he stood up on about a leg and a half. The one that had been broken in Eoforwic was still only a little more than half as thick as the other. But he did stand, and he didn’t fall over.

“How about that, sweetheart?” he said to Saffa.

She looked up from her baby, who was nursing, to clap her hands. Seeing the baby at her breast never failed to make Bembo jealous, even though he knew how foolish that was: the baby wasn’t interested for the same reasons as his. “That’s good,” she said. “Pretty soon, you’ll be able to run like the wind.”

“Well. .” Bembo looked down at his portly form. He’d lost a good deal of weight since getting hurt, and he was still portly. I might be able to run like a slow breeze one of these days, he thought. That was about as much speed as he had in him. He said, “Maybe I will be able to start walking a beat before too long. Having some money coming in again would be good.”

“Aye.” Saffa nodded. Her little boy was falling asleep; her nipple slipped out of his mouth. She raised the baby to her shoulder to burp him, then set her tunic to rights. As she patted the baby’s back, she went on, “You know something?”

“I know all kinds of things,” Bembo said. “What have you got in mind?”

Saffa made a face at him. “I was going to say, you’re nowhere near as big a bastard as I thought you were before I let you get lucky. Maybe I ought to keep my mouth shut.”

“Maybe you should,” Bembo agreed. She made another face. He laughed. “You asked for that.”

“If you got everything you asked for, you wouldn’t think that was so cursed funny,” Saffa said hotly. Her temper would kindle on the instant, and then calm down again just as fast. Even when she was angry, she noticed people around her, which Bembo wouldn’t have done. When he gnawed on his lower lip instead of giving her a snippy answer, she asked, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he said, and limped over to a chair. He was glad to sit down; standing hadn’t been easy, and walking without a cane made him feel as if he’d fall over at every step he took with his bad leg.

Saffa knew a lie when she heard one. How many lies had she heard, from how many men? Bembo didn’t want to think about that. She gave him an exasperated look and said, “I didn’t mean to bite you there. I didn’t think I had bitten you. Why do you think I did?”

“You don’t want to know,” Bembo answered. “Believe me, you don’t.”

Before Saffa said anything, she eased her son, who’d fallen asleep, down off her shoulder and held him in the crook of her arm. Then, with her free hand, she shook a finger at Bembo. “Why don’t I? What do you think I am, a baby myself?”