Page 53 of A Drop of Corruption

“Then we row, with much complaining.” She tossed the bag at my feet and studied my pack hanging from my shoulder. “You seem kitted out well.”

“Not my first time in the wilderness,” I said. “At least here there will be fewer worms.”

“Maybe, but other pests in abundance. Many of them human—the worst kind.” A flash of a grin. “Come. I have things for you to move.”

I helped load the boat, and as I did she introduced me to the rest of her crew: nine wardens, all green-eyed Pithians, all augmented forscent and sight and hearing; and, for the men, all wildly bearded. Few of them spoke much imperial standard, and instead muttered bits of Pithian at Malo for her to translate for me. One warden stared at me when introduced, and said only, “Ugasa kavi ki’um livahpam?”

The other Pithians laughed. Malo shot him a glare but did not reprimand him.

“What was that?” I asked her.

She hesitated and said, “He asked, ‘Why we are bringing a big sad poet on a raid?’ Do not listen to him. He is an idiot who wipes his ass with the same hand he uses to eat his bread.”

I assumed that was a Pithian adage, but still made a note to accept no food from him. “At least I shall have an opportunity to learn more about the Yarrow locals,” I said.

She looked me over as if scrutinizing me for a sign of jest. “These are not Yarrows. These are wardens. These are people who spend days in the swamp waiting to shoot smugglers with many arrows. I would no more assume they are an example of Yarrow folk than I would assume a rabid dog is a common pet.”

Along with us came a short little Kurmini fellow named Tangis: a medikker princeps with smooth, straight gray hair he combed back around his ears. “I don’t speak a word of their language, either,” he confided to me. “But we get by with grunts. Besides, you don’t have to talk much when patching up a wound. Blood speaks well enough.”

Yet it was the last warden to arrive who caught my attention: a tall Yarrow girl who came running down the pier, angrily waving a hand at the jeers of her colleagues, who appeared to scold her for being late. She was about my own age, and sported a wild mane of auburn hair, and green eyes no less wild.

We locked eyes as she grew near, and she slowed in her pace. I recognized her immediately: the girl I’d slept with during my first night in the city.

She nodded stiffly to me. I nodded politely back, and she loaded her kit into the boat.

It was a small moment, I thought, yet it was one Malo spiedinstantly. She sidled up to me, bumped her shoulder into my arm, and gave a triumphant “Ah!”

“Ah?” I said warily.

“IthoughtI’d smelled something familiar upon you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bother denying it! But by hell, I can’t believe you bedded Sabudara, of all my wardens! I am surprised she did not take a bite out of you.”

I felt myself coloring. “Her name is Sabudara?”

Malo stared. “You…you did not even getthat,Kol? By the titan’s taint, what kind of man are you? Some kind of fricatrat, making your rounds?” She stuck a finger in my chest. “Whatever you have with her, you leave it here now.Nofucking on a raid, all right?”

I blushed brighter and climbed aboard.

—

We embarked justafter dawn, the seakips hauling us off into the brown tides of the canals. We passed the clearings about New Town and the many junks and barges making their way along the Great Canals; then after a few more hours we came to a narrow little tributary, and turned and headed southwest into the shimmering veil of the jungle.

Soon all civilization was lost, and we saw nothing but forest. The crew fell to silence, watching the trees. Sabudara glanced back at me, then reached into her pack, pulled out a filthy brown cloak, and tossed it to me, saying, “Tutim baputa vate ake baputa vileh hoi.”

Once more, the other Pithians smiled or chuckled. I looked to Malo.

“She said you are too big and too blue,” Malo told me. “And you should cover yourself.” She shrugged. “She is right. You are very visible. If you take an arrow to the neck, it will cause me no end of trouble.”

I sat low in the boat, tossed the cloak about my shoulders, and studied the trees. “Are we looking for anything in particular?”

“You look for nothing,” Malo said. “For you’ve not got eyes as we do. But the jungle is not trustworthy here, and will get less trustworthy as we go. The smugglers are as ghosts, in many places—yet ghosts that fire a volley of arrows before vanishing.”

“Do you expect much combat?”

“Combat is not their nature,” she said. “Smugglers wish to stay alive, steal, and make money, not fight wardens. They will run. The tricky thing is approaching unnoticed. So stay quiet.” She reached into a satchel on the deck, slid out a small roll of paper, and tossed it to me. “And keep an eye out for this fellow, of course.”