Blade tensed. If he could make his move before the searchers got close enough to see him make it. He looked behind him. The searching party had stopped and spread out across the road. They seemed to be poking spears or poles down into the ditch on either side. This was going to be bloody close!
The carriage rumbled past. Blade came out of the ditch like a striking rattlesnake. His wounded leg almost betrayed him, slowing him by a heart-stopping fraction of a second. He felt the left rear wheel of the carriage brush his foot. Then he was safely under the carriage, hauling himself up into place to cling like a monkey to the center-pole as it rumbled out into the road. He twined arms and legs around the polished wood to lock his grip, then settled down to enjoy the ride.
A second later he wondered if there would be any ride, except perhaps in a covered cart to a dumping ground for unwanted bodies. A harsh voice shouted «Halt!» from ahead, carrying over even the rumble of iron-tired wheels and the creak of the leather cords that acted in place of springs. The carriage slowed and stopped, and Blade heard the same voice calling out.
«We are of the service of the Lord Durkas. We seek an escaped slave, a most dangerous and wicked man.»
«Durkas?» came a voice from inside the carriage. It was a woman's voice, full-bodied, bell-clear, strong. It held a note that Blade couldn't quite identify.
«Yes, Sister Brigeda,» said the man. His voice seemed a little less harsh.
«I have seen no one pass by,» said the woman. «I have only-«A prolonged rumble of thunder, very close, drowned out the rest of her sentence.
As the thunder died away, Blade heard the man saying, «I grant that you have not had much chance. But it is the Lord Durkas's orders, Sister.»
«The Lord Durkas is not my master, soldier,» said the woman. This time the harshness was in her voice. «If he wishes my carriage searched, let him come himself.»
Blade tensed. If the carriage was searched, and if the soldiers had half a brain, they would look underneath, Then-
Before he could complete that thought, a sound like the crack of doom slammed down from above. Blade felt the whole carriage jerk as the horses jumped in fright, and he nearly lost his grip on the center-pole. Then came a sulphurous blast of hot air, the sound of cracking, splintering wood, a heavy thud, and the swelling roar of falling rain.
Blade heard curses from the bravos standing all around the carriage and the sound of thudding feet as they ran for cover. Then the driver's whip cracked and the carriage lurched forward, rapidly picking up speed. The sound of the bravos faded rapidly away behind. Blade grinned again. Whatever the argument with Durkas's bravos, Sister Brigeda obviously wasn't going to sit around in the rain to finish it. And he doubted if the bravos would feel much like taking up pursuit. Not in this weather, and not without Stipors' officer driving them on.
Before too long Blade had to stop grinning in triumph and concentrate on holding on. The whip-crackings came almost continuously as the driver steadily lashed the horses up to a gallop. The carriage thundered along in a deafening chorus of rattles and bangs and creaks and groans. Every shock and jar seemed to go clear through Blade, until he felt that his flesh was about to be shaken off his bones and his bones shaken apart. He could only hang on and grit his teeth at the pain of his wound.
The carnage rumbled on through the rainstorm, jolting and lurching from side to side. Either Sister Brigeda didn't care how much she was bounced around, or she was more interested in getting home and out of the rain than anything else. Blade didn't blame her.
The streets were becoming slick with the rain. Several times the carriage swerved violently and nearly went into a skid. The fast-turning wheels began to throw up spray. Bit by bit, it soaked through Blade's already damp and filthy clothes. He began to feel cold water trickling down inside his collar and a prickling in his nose. He had to fight back an urge to sneeze violently.
Before much longer he was having to fight back an even more dangerous urge. It was an urge to loosen his grip, drop to the pavement, and lie there quietly and fade away. He knew where it came from; loss of blood was getting to him. He also knew he had to fight it. But that didn't make the fighting any easier.
He clenched his teeth until he could taste the salt of blood on his lower lip. He tightened the grip of his hands until he felt the nails digging into his flesh. He ran mathematical formulas, remnants of his public-school Greek, orders for long-forgotten missions through his head. Anything to fight off that urge to let go, to give up.
Blade was concentrating so completely on the fight to hold on that it was a while before he realized the carriage was slowing down. The rumble of the wheels was softer, the jolts less violent, the spray not so high. Blade had just realized this, when the driver's voice shouted out from above.
«Whoa!»
The carriage rumbled to a stop. Then Blade heard the door open, and the carnage tilted slightly as Sister Brigeda climbed out. Blade got ready to let go and duck for cover. Then another door opened and footsteps and voices sounded all around the carriage. From the words, Sister Brigeda's household staff was welcoming their mistress home. Blade gritted his teeth again and held on. When they had all gone-
But before the voices died away, the driver's whip cracked and the carriage started up again. Blade nearly swore out loud. He held on grimly while the carriage rolled slowly down a short stretch of cobblestones, then turned to the right.
More voices and footsteps sounded around the carriage. Men's voices, this time. Sister Brigeda's stablehands were going to work. Blade saw rag-bound feet around the carriage and heard the sounds of horses being unharnessed and led away. The carriage moved slowly and jerkily forward for perhaps thirty feet. Then it stopped. A moment later the feet vanished, the voices died away, and then a large door shut with a thump and a rattle.
Blade clung to the center-pole for a little longer. He wanted to be absolutely sure that everybody was gone away to stay. Then he let go, and dropped with a thud onto the floor of the coachhouse.
He lay there quietly, not moving until he felt his head clearing and some circulation and feeling returning to his cramped limbs. Then he rolled over on his side and began tearing away the cloth around the wound in his thigh. The blood had clotted so solidly that he finally stopped, rather than risk reopening the wound to pack or dress it.
Presently his leg stopped throbbing and he tested it. It still hurt like blazes, but he could walk if not run. Now to get out of Sister Brigeda's coachhouse and limp to the rendezvous with the sailors. Fortunately he wouldn't have to-
On the other side of the coachhouse, a door opened.
Blade froze where he was, then silently crawled back under the carriage. He felt like cursing, not silently. Of all the damned times for someone to come in!
He heard footsteps, the sound of the door shutting, then two voices, both young, one male, one female. The footsteps moved along the wall to Blade's right. A faint glow crept in under the carnage as one of the newcomers lit a candle. Then Blade heard the unmistakable rustle of clothes being taken off and the plop of them dropping on the floor.
A moment later the girl gave a soft little whimper. There was another kind of rustling sound and a grunt from the boy. Then another unmistakable sound-the furious thud of flesh against flesh as the couple went at it with all the eagerness in their young bodies.
In the pale yellowish light of the candle, Blade could see writhing shadows on the gray stone floor of the coachhouse. He could also see a slim tanned leg, obviously female, hanging down in front of a background of hay bales.