Jaws of Darkness by Harry Turtledove Read Free Book Online Page A

start. Who are you? Who’s he? And if you two are brothers, how come you’re calling each other nasty names?”
    Those were all questions Bembo would have asked. He wouldn’t have asked them as if he intended to murder the Forthwegian if he didn’t like the answers. Maybe that made Oraste a better constable than he was. He didn’t much care.
    “I’m Hengist,” the Forthwegian with the bumpy nose answered. “He’s Hestan. Why is he a traitor? I’ll tell you why. Because his son ran off with a Kaunian slut, that’s why.”
    “I have no idea where Ealstan is,” Hestan said. “All I know is, he left Gromheort two years ago, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him since.”
    “Left? He ran off after he had a fight with my son. My guess is, he thought he murdered Sidroc,” Hengist said furiously. “And what were they fighting about? Sidroc got hit in the head, but he finally got reminded or remembered. They were fighting about a blond bitch named Vanai, that’s what.”
    “Futter your son!” Hestan shouted, sounding even angrier than Hengist. “Talk about murder—Sidroc murdered my Leofsig and nothing happened to him, so now he thinks he can put a noose around Ealstan’s neck, too.”
    “Hold on. Slow down,” Oraste said. “Who’s who again? Too many names all at once.”
    But Bembo had heard all the names before. He pointed to Hestan. “This is the fellow who was talking with that Brivibas bugger when I recognized his voice in spite of the magic that made him look like a Forthwegian.”
    “So?” Oraste said. But then, a couple of beats behind Bembo, he began to catch up. “Wait a minute. That long-winded bastard was what’s-her-name’s granddad, wasn’t he?”
    “That’s right.” Bembo nodded. “One of our officers who came through here not so long ago was looking for that Vanai twist, too. He’d had her when he was garrisoned in Oyngestun, and he wanted to take her west with him so he wouldn’t have to sleep all by his lonesome. But she never got pulled into Gromheort, remember? She’d skipped Oyngestun before we cleaned out the place.”
    “Aye, that’s right,” Oraste said. “I forgot how all the pieces fit together.” He glowered at Hestan. “What’s this nonsense about murder you were spewing.”
    “It isn’t nonsense,” the Forthwegian said. “His son”—he spat at Hengist’s shoes—”beat mine to death with a chair in my own dining room.”
    “Why didn’t he hang for it, then?” Oraste demanded.
    Hestan didn’t answer right away. When he didn’t, Bembo did: “I recall that. Nasty business. This Sidroc item had just signed on with Plegmund’s Brigade, so nobody much cared what he did.”
    “Aye, he’s loyal to King Mezentio,” Hengist said, “unlike some people I could name.”
    Bembo was less impressed than Hengist had thought he would be. “Most of what’s in Plegmund’s Brigade is stable scrapings, you ask me,” he said.
    Oraste’s big head went up and down. “That’s the truth. Half of’em’d be in gaol if they weren’t in Unkerlant.” Hestan laughed. Hengist looked as if he hated Bembo and Oraste both. But Oraste wasn’t finished: “Still and all, this fellow”—he pointed at Hestan—”hangs around with Kaunians, and his kid’s likely a Kaunian-lover, too. I say we run him in, see if the bigwigs think he’s worth keeping.”
    “Suits me.” Bembo pointed to Hestan. “You can come along quiet-like, or we’ll make you unhappy and then you’ll come along anyway.” He jerked a thumb at Hengist. “As for you, pal, get lost before we haul you in, too.”
    Hengist turned to go, but not without a parting blaze: “His precious Leof-sig escaped from a captives’ camp. He bribed officials to look the other way.”
    “Did he, now?” Bembo eyed Hestan in a speculative way. He’d never been allergic to cash on the side, or under the table.
    But Oraste said, “He won’t get away with that, not with us.” Oraste had been known to