Paula Volsky
The Luck of Relian Kru
This book is an Ace original edition, and has never been previously published.
THE LUCK OF RELIAN KRU
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace edition/June 1987
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1987 by Paula Volsky.
Cover art by James Warhola.
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by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
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ISBN. 0-441-83.816-2
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
To Aline Volsky, with love.
„My young gentleman was born under an unlucky star. That’s a fact,“ the lackey Trince announced. „Or else he’s the victim of a curse. It’s one or t’other, without a doubt. Poor Master Relian!“ He took a swig of ale. His broad, shrewd face bore an expression of regret.
„A curse?“ one of the young cookmaids echoed in flattering wonder. „Your master is accursed? Really?“
„It’s true, sweetheart, every word. Master Relian must be the unluckiest man alive. Fate’s plaything, that’s what he is.“
„Oh, what’s Fate done to him?“
„Nearly everything. But mat’s a long story. I’m only a visitor here in Neraunce and I wouldn’t want to impose on me patience and hospitality of you good folk,“ Trince replied with spurious modesty. He took another swallow of ale and covertly studied his audience of fellow-servants. His inborn showman’s instinct assured him that they were hooked, each and every one of them.
The servants sat around a wooden table in the kitchen of Gornilardo, the famous Dhreve of Neraunce. The warm, low-ceilinged room was circular in shape – a common feature of the regional architecture. The natives were wont to inhabit round stone towers of dizzying altitude. It was claimed that these structures represented a visual embodiment of the Neraunci quest for spiritual enlightenment. A more realistic explanation might have cited Gornilardo’s quest for personal glory, but such excessive accuracy was customarily eschewed. The palace of the Dhreve consisted of no less than fifteen towers of varied height joined by omate aerial walkways of extraordinary beauty and insubstantiality. At the top of the Mauve/Garnet Tower was the suite of rooms occupied by the Divine Vhanaizha, Gornilardo’s current mistress; and there a reception was in progress. Down below in the kitchen, the servants idled and gossiped. As a stranger and a traveler, Trince would have been the center of attention at any time. His flair for narration, however, added immeasurably to his glamour. Trince was enjoying every minute of it.
„Tell us about the curse,“ the little cookmaid coaxed. „Who did it to him, and why?“ Trince winked at her.
„Yes indeed, friend Trince,“ one of the footmen urged. „Why should anyone wish to curse your master? I saw him as the two of you were riding in and he seems a likely young fellow, except maybe for those odd-looking white hands of his – “
„That’s right,“ the cookmaid agreed. „I saw him too, and he’s a mighty handsome gentleman but for those hands. They’re so long, and white like a corpse’s, and the fingers look like they’ve got no bones in them, and they’re just so – so – strange.“
„Well, there you have it,“ Trince sighed. „Being stuck with those hands is just the beginning of the bad luck that’s plagued poor Master Relian and those around him all of his life. You should know, since you’re interested, that my young gentleman and I are Travornish by birth. Master Relian is a person of quality, being born twenty-one years ago to Squire Berlian Kru of Hillheather Manor over in West Greding, near the Porpol. That’s a fine name in those parts of Travorn. Of course Squire Berlian and his lady were overjoyed to have a son, but their pleasure didn’t last long. Shortly after the arrival of Relian, things went pretty sour. The crops failed, taxes went up, and the tenantry got sullen. There was an epidemic of the Shivers among the cows, and some loony started setting fire to folks’ barns at night. And all that before Relian was past the age of two!“
„Well that’s all very sad, I’m sure,“ the cook observed. „But I don’t see how anyone could say that it had anything to do with the boy.“
„Very true, but keep listening. Time went by and things got worse at the manor. Lady Jemanthey – Master Relian’s mother, that is – took a tumble from her horse and broke her arm. It never healed proper. Squire Berlian developed gout and the temper of a rabid wolf. They discovered that Meb the Steward was pilfering, and Meb had to be turned out without a reference. Without Meb around, the records of the estate got in a muddle and money was lost. The Squire had to sell a parcel of land at a big loss. He drank brandy, raved and smashed crockery for three days running, and was never the same thereafter. Then Lady Jemanthey’s mother came to Hillheather Manor to stay and the old lady started suffering spells when she’d throw off her clothes and run out into the garden at night to dance naked in the light of the moon. She claimed to carouse with the fairies, and may have spoke the truth for aught I know, for somehow the old lady was got with child. Then Meb came sneaking back one night to poison the well, and – “
„ ‘Tis untrue and unjust to blame the boy for all this,“ the cook interrupted.
„You think so, eh? During this time,“ Trince continued, „Master Relian was getting bigger. He was as bright, handsome and good-natured a child as you’d ever care to see, but already he wore bad luck like a garment cut to his measure. In the first place there was the matter of his hands, as you’ve already noticed. Those hands were peculiar from the first, and the children of the gentry all over the countryside took to sniggering and calling Master Relian ‘Wormfingers.’ That was hard on the lad, but it wasn’t the worst of it. It seemed that nothing went right for him from the very first, and it was never his fault. He caught every ailment of childhood you can think of and some you can’t imagine. Who ever heard of a Travornish boy falling sick of the Gangeloid Spasms? Or the Foaming Heaves? The Strellian Scabies or the Seven Week Mucosity? Well, Master Relian had ‘em all. And that meant the whole household caught ‘em – Squire, Lady, retainers – everyone. Glymbelt the kitchen boy never did get over the Mucosity, and Master Relian felt terrible about it.“
„Then,“ Trince went on, „there were the tutors. My young gentleman applied himself faithfully to his studies, but things went bad there too. There was the doctor of natural philosophy who came to demonstrate his experiments, mixed the wrong powders and got burned in the explosion. There was the dancing-master who tried to demonstrate the Maquirvian Prance, tripped and broke his head. Then there was the fencing-master who impaled himself. And the riding-instructor who got trampled. As for Relian himself – he didn’t get off easy, neither. Why, I think he broke near every bone in his body at some time or other. The lad went through a dozen tutors within the space of a couple of years and mind you, the accidents and tragedies were never his doing. He didn’t complain much, but things were telling on him, you could see. And so it went,“ Trince continued, „all through Master Relian’s childhood. He grew up at last, and things got no better. If I told you about the times he’s gone a-courting – but no, those stories are too sad. Enough to say that Squire Vorpiu’s second daughter had it all wrong when she claimed that Master Relian did it to her on purpose. And as for the other one – the young Lady Dajanett, that was – well, the physicians believe that the scars on her face will fade, in time. I still maintain it wasn’t my young gentleman’s fault. But it’s all soured his nature a bit, as you may well imagine.“
„Finally,“ Trince went on, „Master Relian’s studies were finished and the young gentleman set forth on his travels. They say ‘tis meant to complete his education, but truth is, the family really wanted to get ‘im out of the way. Squire Berlian and Lady Jemanthey were delighted to see him go, and to my mind they’ll be glad if he never comes back home. And Master Relian, he don’t even want to go back before he’s found some way of ending his run of bad luck – and maybe not even then. So we’ve been traveling now for six months and wherever we go, misfortune follows. When we visited Ferille, the floods came with us. While we were in Wherautin, fire destroyed the ducal palace. When we visited the court of Xasxin, the old king was taken with ,fits. In Auswesl, Master Relian paid his addresses to a veiled lady who turned out to be the wife of the Dorbidadur, and we had to flee for our lives. We were declared persona non grata in the Low Hetz and we’ve been banished on pain of death from Beruze. Now we’ve come to Neraunce, and who can say what will happen? There’ll be something, though – on that you may rely, my friends. So you see,“ Trince concluded, „that this lifelong run of bad luck isn’t natural. The most likely explanation that I can see is a curse. I don’t know who’s done it to my poor master or why it was done, but there it is. And where it will all end, I could not say.“
The servants regarded Trince with mingled interest and commiseration.
„Pretty hard on your master,“ a footman observed.
„Pretty hard on anyone who comes anywhere near your master,“ said the cook.
„Why, he must have lay in a cradle of black-and-tawny!“ a potboy exclaimed.
„Eh?“ Trince looked blank.
„Black and tawny together signify the Dedication to Disaster,“ the potboy explained. „Add a green stripe and you have the Dedication to Disaster with Emphasis.“
„Oh.“
„Aren’t you afraid?“ the cookmaid inquired.
„Afraid, sweetheart?“ Trince smiled indulgently.
„Yes, aren’t you afraid that something terrible will happen to you if you don’t leave the unlucky gentleman’s service?“
„Oh, I’ve already had my arm broke twice, and a case of the Grinning Jerks, and I’ve stood in the stocks in Wherautin and I’ve had my pocket picked three times, since I entered Master Relian’s service. But these are only trifles and you may be certain I do not fear them. I’m not so easily affrighted as that, I warrant you. When Bendo Trince enters a gentleman’s service, he’s not to be frightened off by curses. He spits upon all such impertinent knaveries! Aye, Bendo Trince laughs them to scorn!“
„If there’s really a curse on your master, then why don’t he seek out a magician or sorcerer to take it off again?“ asked the cook.
„Sorcerers? Magicians? Bah – where should we find such creatures?“
„Oh, they live as great lords over in Nidroon, in the town of Vale Jevaint.“
„Foolery,“ Trince opined. „Carnival mountebanks and rogues, I doubt not.“
„Not so, friend Trince. The sorcerer Keprose Gavyne is the hereditary seigneur of Vale Jevaint.“
„He practices magic openly?“
„So I’m told,“ the footman answered.
„Then why don’t they burn ‘im at the stake?“ Trince inquired.
„How are they going to do that?“ the cook countered. „A sorcerer isn’t about to let himself be burned, is he? Not a real sorcerer. The ones that get burnt – I’ll stake my money they aren’t the real thing.“
„That may be so,“ Trince conceded. „But I’m still a long way from believing that such a one could help my young gentleman.“
„ Tis natural that you should be a skeptic.“ The cookmaid suppressed a giggle. „Your colors signify as much.“
„How’s that, sweetheart?“
„You wear dark blue and gray, with brass buttons on your jacket.“
„Aye – the Kru livery.“
„Well, dark blue, charcoal and brass convey the Specific Incredulity in the Second Degree of Intensity.“
„Is that a fact, now? You’ve different notions from the people at home, that’s certain. And what do your colors say, sweetheart? Let’s see – red, orange, brown and buff stripes, black rosettes, gold buttons, blue eyes, pink cheeks – shall 1 take a guess what they might mean?“
„No need to guess,“ the girl replied. „They signify the Potential Ferocity in Defense of Virtue.“
The kitchen door banged open and another of the Dhreve’s servitors came scurrying in. The fellow was flushed and excited. „There’s going to be bloodshed before long.“ he announced. „Scrivvulch the Stick will be busy tonight, 1 can tell you.“
Trince instantly lost his audience.
„What are you talking about, Guz?“ the potboy demanded.
„It’s the stranger, the young Travomish gentleman. You’ll hardly believe me when I tell you what he’s done. But I’ll swear it’s true!“ „What’s he done?“
„Listen to this. The Travorner is wearing a dark green coat with gold embroidery. Green breeches, black waistcoat with gray trim. White cravat and stockings. And a ring with a great stone of blue!“
„Why, the young noddy!“
„If he thinks Gornilardo will suffer this, then he doesn’t know our Dhreve!“
„Scrivvulch will make quick work of him, I shouldn’t wonder.“
„The young gentleman’s a stranger,“ the little cookmaid reminded them. „Perhaps he just don’t know any better?“
„Perhaps, but that won’t matter a pyte’s worth to Scrivvulch the Stick.“
„Here now, wait a bit.“ Trince thrust his way into the excited conversation. „What are you saying here? You’re talking about my master Relian Km. What concerns Master Relian concerns Bendo Trince.“
„Friend Trince, after tonight you may need to seek new employment,“ one of the footmen observed. „ ‘Tis no great matter. A stout fellow such as yourself should have no trouble – “
„Enough!“ Trince exclaimed. „My present employment suits me fine and I’ve no ambition to change it. Now what’s all this about Master Relian? Are you saying he’s done something wrong?“
„Well, if you call offering a mortal insult to the Dhreve something wrong, then he’s done it,“ Guz replied.
„That I cannot believe. Master Relian was brought up proper and there’s nothing wrong with his manners. He wouldn’t insult anyone, I can attest to it.“
„It’s his clothes,“ said Guz.
„What’s wrong with ‘em? That green suit of his is brand new and the tailor swears it’s a masterpiece for fit and cut.“
„It’s those colors. The Dhreve must be boiling.“
„Look here,“ Trince argued. „I’ve seen that you Neraunci set a lot of store by color. But it ought to be pretty plain that my Master Relian is a stranger here. He don’t know your ways and if he’s caused offense, ‘tis accidental – “
„Perhaps that’s so. Aye, there could be something to that,“ Guz admitted. „You see, we’re reasonable people and we’re willing to be fair. Scrivvulch is reasonable too, but Scrivvulch will always follow the Dhreve’s orders. And the Dhreve – well now, sometimes he’s a bit hot and he never will forgive an insult. So I’m afraid your young gentleman has run into some serious bad luck – “
„Hold on,“ Trince demanded. „Who’s this ‘Scrivvulch’ blackguard you keep talking about?“
„Perhaps ‘tis unjust to call Scrivvulch a blackguard – “ suggested the potboy.
„No it isn’t,“ the cookmaid declared. „That wicked, crafty gray-poll!“ She shuddered.
„ – rBut Scrivvulch is very serious about his work and won’t let anything or anybody get in the way of it. He’s mighty proud of his position – “
„And what position might that be?“ asked Trince.
„High Court Assassin.“
„Wait.“ Trince took a deep breath. „I can’t be understanding you right. You don’t mean – you can’t be saying – that your Dhreve Gornilardo is a-plotting to assassinate my innocent master? That’s not what you mean, is it?“
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