Swords: 06 - The Third Book of Lost Swords - Stonecutter's Story (7 page)

      
Meanwhile, another model had just stepped up on a recently vacated stand, where she attracted Kasimir’s attention. She was a graceful young woman, really only a girl he thought, not yet out of her teens. Her face was unprepossessing and her hair, worn in awkward braids, the approximate color of used wash water. But her body was striking, tall and strong without being either fat or in the least unfeminine, and he found himself immediately distracted from trying to follow the argument, or even thinking about the Sword.

      
Kasimir’s appreciative gaze was at once tempered with sympathy; even worse, he supposed, than having everyone in a roomful of people stare at you when you were undressed might be to have the same roomful ignore you almost completely. That was what was happening to the young woman now, and she did indeed look a little faint.

      
Kasimir was jolted out of his contemplation when one of the many clerks in this room grabbed him by the arm again and hustled him, along with the two men who had been chosen with him, across the floor of the great room and into a small antechamber lined with benches. Here and there on the benches were little piles of clothing.

      
The clerk snapped orders at them, in the tone of one who enjoyed being able to snap orders. “All three of you, get your clothes off, quick. What are you waiting for? Hurry, hurry!”

      
“But I’m applying for a job as—”

      
The clerk was already gone; and anyway, as Kasimir kept reminding himself, the purpose of his coming here was not to defend his dignity or even to get a proper job, but to discover as much as possible about this sculptor and his operations. So, in company with his two rivals, all three of them casting wary looks at one another, Kasimir removed his clothes and piled them on a bench.

      
In a moment the clerk—or another clerk who looked very much like the first one—was back, to shepherd the three sturdily built men, all now naked as infants, back into the great studio. Here each was urged to mount, like a trained circus beast, on his own small stand. Then they stood there waiting. From his new position of vantage on this modest pedestal Kasimir could get a better look than before into the far recesses of the vast room, and see a little farther into the other end of the shallow L. Over there, right under some windows where the light was particularly good, a number of workers were laboring industriously, chipping and sawing away at blocks that were not statues but doubtless would be part of the stonework out on the facade. Kasimir saw no indication that any of those workers were using magic tools.

      
Glancing back in the direction of the other set of little pedestals, he saw that the young woman who had attracted his attention was now gone, her place occupied by another, more voluptuous, more classically beautiful, but somehow less interesting.

      
And the argument was over, or at least in abeyance. The Chief Priest had retired, as if between rounds of a contest, into a far corner of the room, where he was now in conference with other red-clad figures. But his opponent was not resting. In another moment the domineering sculptor was standing directly in front of Kasimir, staring at his body with wildly urgent and yet abstracted eyes, as if Kasimir were a piece of stone that might or might not be of just the proper size and shape to meet some emergency need. It came to Kasimir suddenly that he had seen physicians who looked at their patients in a very similar way. He hoped he would never be one of them.

      
The sculptor, having examined Kasimir’s physique from hair to toes, at last stared him straight in the eye.

      
“Who are you?” the artist demanded. Kasimir gave his name, though not his profession. But to be snapped at in this discourteous way was very irritating. “Who are you?” he demanded right back.

      
One of the sculptor’s assistants, hurrying after the great man with a scroll of notes and a pen, blanched when he heard that. But the artist himself accepted the question—as if it would take a lot more than an uppity model to upset him.

      
“I am Robert de Borron,” he replied in a cold voice. “And this is my work you see all around you. I see no reason to believe that you are going to fit into it.”

      
With a jerk of his head the artist signaled to his aides that Kasimir should be removed. In a moment the physician found himself making his way back to the dressing room, still naked amid a throng of indifferent people.

      
His clothing and his small medical kit lay on the bench just where he had left them, apparently untouched. He had begun to worry that his modest purse would be stolen, or perhaps some of the drugs taken from his kit. But apparently he need not have worried. Maybe the folk who worked in an artist’s studio—or who wanted to work here—needed no other drug than the hectic conditions of their employment.

      
Kasimir dressed quickly. He supposed he could now return to the second-floor personnel office, and try to convince someone there that he was really applying for a physician’s job. But he felt a need to regroup mentally, to get out of the temple for a while, before he tried again. Then in an hour or less he would come back.

      
Kasimir had just stepped out of the front entrance of the temple, under a sky whose gradually growing promise of rain was beginning to come true, when he caught sight again of the strongly built and graceful young lady with the faded braids. She was sitting on a bench not far from the front entrance, and she did not look well.

      
Perhaps she was poor and hungry—her blouse and trousers looked rather shabby—or perhaps the experience of posing in the nude had been too much for her. In a moment Kasimir had stopped beside her.

Chapter Six

      
“If I may intrude for a moment upon your thoughts? I am a physician, and you do not look well. Can I assist you in any way?”

      
“Oh.” The young woman sitting on the bench turned up her face to Kasimir. Again he was struck by the plainness of her face. But her greenish eyes, seen at such close range, were unexpectedly impressive.

      
Her voice had an intriguing quality too, low and throaty. “It’s a long story. But I expect I’ll be all right.” Then she frowned. “Didn’t I just see you somewhere inside the temple?”

      
“No doubt you did, I was looking for a job. I noticed you in there too.” Kasimir was about to add that it would have been difficult not to notice her in the circumstances, but he had approached her as a physician, and it was a little too soon to alter that.

      
The girl was still frowning up at him. “You were trying out as a model? I thought you said just now that you were a physician.”

      
“I was. I am. There were a series of misunderstandings-—originally I was supposed to be applying for a physician’s job in the temple. Do you mind if I sit down?”

      
“No.” She moved over slightly on the bench, adjusting her baggy peasant trousers. “Except that I have things to do, and I ought to get up and do them—did the sculptor hire you, then?”

      
Kasimir sat down. “No. It seems that something about my attitude displeased the great artist, Robert de Borron. Perhaps he didn’t like my shape any better than my attitude. What about you?”

      
“Did you deliberately displease him?” Her frown vanished. “I’m glad, I would have liked to do that too—but I couldn’t afford to. So he hired me. I’m to start modeling for him tomorrow.”

      
“I’m pleased for you, if you are pleased. You don’t sound exactly overjoyed about it.”

      
“Oh, I am, though. Getting this job was absolutely essential for me.” It was said in a tone of heartfelt seriousness.

      
“Then I can rejoice with you.” At this point, inspiration came to Kasimir. “By the way, I missed my breakfast this morning—would you care to join me in an early lunch? We could at least get in out of this drizzling rain somewhere.”

      
Her greenish eyes appraised him thoughtfully. She stood up from the bench. “That sounds like an excellent idea, thank you.”

* * *

      
They went into a nearby wine shop, where sights and aromas provided an intriguing menu. Sausages were hung invitingly from the rafters, and cheese and fresh, crusty bread were displayed on a counter.

      
They sat at a table, and ordered wine and food. The young woman’s name, she told Kasimir, was Natalia. As he had surmised, she was originally from a small village. But she had visited Eylau several times before moving here a few months ago. Economic conditions at home were poor. She ate hungrily—though not like one actually on the verge of starvation—of bread and cheese, but sipped sparingly at her wine. She also persisted in turning the conversation around to him.

      
“Have you been a physician long?”

      
“About five years. How long have you been a model?”

      
She smiled at him. “My experience in that line is very limited. I expect the hardest part will be just holding still for a long time. Well, the hardest part besides…”

      
“I understand.”

      
Natalia tossed back her awkward braids. “I did study at a White Temple for a while. Not modeling, of course, but medicine.”

      
“Really? Then we might have been colleagues.”

      
“I never had the chance to finish.”

      
“Sorry. Where did you study?”

      
She named a small city that Kasimir had barely heard of, hundreds of kilometers to the west.

      
Kasimir chewed a mouthful of his sandwich. “It’s easy to tell that you’re well educated.”

      
“Thank you.”

      
“But short of money just now.”

      
Her green eyes questioned him. “I might have landed a different kind of job in the Red Temple, without too much trouble. But I’d like that even less than posing.”

      
“Of course, of course. I sympathize.”

      
During their lunch Kasimir, sounding out his companion as gradually and carefully as he could, at last admitted to her that he had had an ulterior motive in trying to get a job inside the Red Temple. Yes, he was really a physician—but his main occupation at this time was a partnership with the well-known dealer in antique and special weapons, Ching Hao.

      
Natalia blinked her green eyes, as if she had never heard of the famous Ching Hao—small wonder—but wasn’t quite ready to admit the fact, because she realized she ought to be impressed.

      
Ching Hao, Kasimir went on to relate, was particularly interested just now in locating and buying a certain special sword, an ancient and very valuable weapon. There was reason to suppose that this sword might have come into the possession of the Red Temple, or perhaps even the hands of Robert de Borron, for whom Natalia would presently start modeling. It would be worth some money to Ching Hao and his partner—more money than a model was likely to get paid—if an insider at the temple could find some evidence that the sword was really there.

      
Natalia didn’t respond at once, except to look at Kasimir thoughtfully.

      
He pressed on: “We wouldn’t be asking you to take any risks. And it’s not a matter of getting anyone in trouble. It would just be a matter of keeping your eyes open and reporting to me.”

      
“How would I know this sword if I saw it?”

      
Kasimir drew in a deep breath. “It’s an impressive-looking weapon, to begin with. The blade is a full meter long, of mottled steel. The hilt is plain black, with a simple white image on it, depicting a wedge splitting a block.” He hesitated briefly. “Most importantly, the blade has the magical ability to cut stone, any stone, very easily.”

      
The greenish eyes were wide, really impressed at last. “The magic must be very powerful, I suppose. Does this sword have a name?”

      
Probably out there in the remote lands to the west they weren’t altogether caught up on what happened out in the great world. Evidently their ignorance extended even to the history of the Twelve Swords.

      
“Yes,” said Kasimir. “Some people call it Stonecutter. Or the Sword of Siege.”

      
Natalia, thinking the matter over as she finished her lunch, eventually agreed to act as Ching Hao’s agent. She would receive a small advance now, an additional payment every time she reported to Kasimir, and a substantial reward if she could provide some useful information about Stonecutter. They made arrangements for their next contact, which would be in the White Temple.

* * *

      
When he left the wine shop, Kasimir, taking what he considered rather ingenious precautions against being followed, returned by a somewhat indirect route to the Inn of the Refreshed Travelers.

      
He felt reasonably well pleased with himself for what he had managed to get done today. He might, he thought, possess a hitherto undiscovered knack for this sort of thing. It hadn’t taken him long to conclude an arrangement with a young woman who was going to be one of Robert de Borron’s models. Of course it would still be possible for him to go back to the temple and try again for the physician’s job. But now it seemed to Kasimir that that would probably be unnecessary; with Natalia in place inside the temple he would be free to help Wen Chang in some other way.

      
Nor was that all he had accomplished today, Kasimir thought with satisfaction. He had discovered also that the sculptor, Robert de Borron, had a large reputation, and the ability to justify it. Also that de Borron was under intense pressure from the Red Temple authorities to complete his work; it seemed highly probable that he would suffer financial and other penalties if he failed to do so in time. When it came to business matters, Kasimir had observed, the Red Temple was likely to be as grasping and unyielding as the Blue. And sometimes, if the truth be told, the White could hold its own with either.

      
The day was getting on toward midafternoon when Kasimir returned to the inn. The place was busy, but as far as he could tell everything was peaceful. Lieutenant Komi and a few of his men were on guard in their second-floor room, seated around a table near the stairway where they played at some tribal card-game. A couple of the other troopers slept on cots. Three or four were absent, and Kasimir assumed that these were off duty, enjoying whatever they might be able to afford of the delights offered by the big city.

      
Komi looked up as Kasimir walked in. The officer appeared glad to see him, and tossed a casual salute without rising from the table.

      
“Ching Hao has not yet returned,” Komi announced, giving the name of the supposed merchant a slight emphasis, as if he thought the physician might need to be reminded of the alias. “He left this note for you. Also there is a man waiting out in the courtyard now, who says he wants to see either the merchant or his assistant.”

      
Kasimir accepted the casually folded square of paper but did not immediately open it. Close under the windows of the inn a street vendor screamed, hawking his dried fruit. “A man waiting? Who is he?”

      
“An elderly fellow who looks to me as if he might possibly have money. Beyond that I have no idea who he is-—that is why I insisted he wait in the courtyard and not in any of our rooms. But he says that he is interested in possibly purchasing antique weapons from you.”

      
“If he wishes to buy weapons then he can hardly be trying to sell Stonecutter.” Kasimir spoke freely in front of the card-playing soldiers at the table; all the members of Komi’s squad had been informed of the essentials of their mission. “Still, for the sake of appearances, I suppose I’d better see him.”

      
“I’ll point him out.”

      
Looking out one of the small windows that opened on the inn’s interior courtyard, Kasimir studied the figure the lieutenant indicated-a gray-haired man, garbed in the drab clothing of a desert traveler, sitting on the rim of one of the courtyard’s two fountains, and talking to someone who might be another merchant. At this distance it was hard to get any very distinct impression.

      
Before descending to talk to the caller, Kasimir opened the note Komi had handed him. The message was recognizably in the writing of Wen Chang and seemed innocuous.

Kasimir—if you have no urgent reason to go out again, remain at the inn until I return, which will probably be before dark.

      
Ching Hao

      
Yes, it might very well be a communication from a merchant to his assistant. There was no hidden meaning that Kasimir could detect. He tossed the note carelessly on a table, almost hoping that some spy might find and read it—though he really doubted that any spy would be watching them at this stage of affairs.

      
In a moment he was going downstairs again.

      
When Kasimir came out into the courtyard, the man who waited by the fountain was alone, sitting patiently with folded arms. He got to his feet as Kasimir approached. Despite his gray hair and lined face, he was still erect and hale, of average height and build. The two men bowed, in the approved manner of polite strangers unsure of each other’s exact status. Kasimir was wishing silently that he had been able to learn something about antique weapons before undertaking to play the role of a dealer in them.

      
“I am Kasimir, secretary to the merchant Ching Hao. Can I be of service to you?”

      
“It may well be that you can, young man.” The elder nodded in a benign way; he had a gravelly voice, and a vague accent that Kasimir had trouble trying to define. “I am Tadasu Hazara, few in these parts know me, but in my own region I have something of a reputation of a collector of fine weapons. Having heard that your master was here, I decided to find out if he might have any of the specialized kind of weapons upon which my collection is centered.”

      
“And what kind of weapons are those, sir?”

      
“My chief interest lies in jeweled daggers of the Polemonic Epoch; also, if they are of the first quality, mail shirts of the bronze alloys made by the smiths of Aspinall.” The hands of the elder gestured; they were gnarled but strong, those of a man who had at some time done a great deal of physical work.

      
Kasimir assured the other, in perfect truthfulness, that Ching Hao had nothing like that in stock just now.

      
“Ah, that is too bad.” After considering for a moment, the gray-haired man announced that he was also unfortunately under the necessity of parting with one or two very old weapons that had once belonged to his father. Was the merchant thinking of purchasing anything just now?

      
“What sort of weapons are they?”

      
When it turned out that none of them was a sword, Kasimir, feeling that whatever more he did was likely to be a blunder, pronounced himself unable to make decisions on such matters. Tadasu would have to wait for the return of Ching Hao himself.

      
The visitor seemed annoyed at having spent his waiting time in the courtyard for nothing. After expressing his formal good wishes to Kasimir and his absent master he bowed again, more lightly this time, and walked on out of the courtyard, through the main entrance of the inn.