Aftermath- - Thieves World 10 (34 page)

Sensing an impending trade, Cholly snorted and made a chuckling noise to show Hanse how silly that was. It was also subject-changing time:

"Ah yes, this is good now, Hanse-Dry-tack's a really good bonder. I'm proud of it. It won't stick to slippery surfaces, see, like wax or grease. Or

soap. On the other hand it's easy to peel it off smooth, polished surfaces."

"In that case how can it be strong enough for a knife I need to trust?"

"I said 'peel' it off, Hanse. Pulling it off, breaking the bond—that's another matter. Believe me, I could glue a handle onto a horse's back and

lift him by it. If I could lift a horse, I mean. It's strong." That triggered a thought, but Hanse was careful to sound casual when he asked how one got the stuff off.

Cholly gestured. "Oh, I have a remover for it! Had to come up with that!"

"Uh. I guess," Hanse said, and decided it was time to swing back to the potential trade: "How strong d'you think this silvered blade is?"

"It's a dagger, Hanse. I mean, it isn't as if you're going to try throwing

it or chopping trees, is it?"

The ritual of leading up to a transaction had begun. The dickering had to come first, of course, and the deliberate dropping of the subject for friendly converse before returning to another offer or "suggestion" of offer. This time the process took only fifteen or eighteen minutes. When 196 AFTERMATH

Hanse left, Cholly had both Firaqi knives in exchange for the inlaid dagger and a pot of the dry-tack Hanse called "Cholly's Dry Stickum." The gluemaker threw in the remover as a courtesy. Their deal made both men happyHanse returned to the area where he had left Silky. The melon pedlar had gone on, and apparently so had Silky. A little asking around apprised

him that the tan-haired Sumese girl had departed, with that blond Rankan. While Hanse's pride was wounded a bit, he was not unhappy. He did seem to be stuck with the big red cat. By that evening he had left

Notable with Ahdio twice. The moment a door was opened. Notable hastened to use it and seek out Hanse.

"All right, you damn' cat, let's go home and drop off my new pot of glue! You'll need to sniff out the place anyhow." Notable swerved sharply to bang his flank into Hanse's leg. "Maowr!"

"No."

"mew?"

"No, damn it. Notable, we will not stop and get you a beer now!" Strick's rule was that people came to him; he went to no one. For this interview he had long wanted, however, he would have gone to the palace. Prince-Governor Kadakithis would not hear of it. Instead, secretly, in disguise and terribly early on a Fourday morning as agreed for his convenience and security, he arrived in Strick's "shop." In this absolute

privacy and confidence, the handsome young Rankan of about Hanse's age and size astonished Strick; he admitted that he was less than he wished to be and had decided that it was because he was too indecisive; fearful of what the Ilsigi would think of him.

"The young half-brother of the emperor," he said quietly, tapping his chest while studiously not-looking at the spellwright, "always had to be careful not to offend or even be very visible, you see. Abakithis—the emperor—was that sort of man. In time, though, he decided that I wasn't invisible enough. He shipped me out here. The goal was not to do anything for Sanctuary or for me, but to get me out of Ranke!" Kadakithis sighed. "So, I felt the need to prove something, to do well. Trying too terribly hard, I was overzealous in trying to clean up this town. In taxing

the Red Lantern Houses and . . . other things."

Strick sat very still. He said absolutely nothing and more, he made no sound.

Embarrassedly looking at the wall to his right, Kadakithis went on in that sadly quiet voice: "This morning Lord Abadas, the new emperor's

cousin, visited to present himself formally. I disgusted me. I was positively ingratiating." After a time he turned his head to look at Strick from pale blue eyes.

"Your efforts and actions were understandable," Strick said just as quietly. "And with Lord Abadas as well. The man is surely here to keep an eye on you for his cousin, isn't he. After all, you're half-brother to

. . . Emperor Theron's predecessor in the imperial chair." Kadakithis shook his head. "No, Strick; I have come to like this town, both from sympathy and feeling a part of it. If I'm to amount to anyth—

if I'm to help these people in anything approaching the way you have, I'll

need . . ." The Prince-Governor broke off in embarrassment. Strick didn't need to hear the words. "I like Sanctuary and its sorely stressed people, too, lord Prince, and ... I must help, I have no choice."

"I have heard that mysteriousness before, Spellmaster, but I will not pry. I believe you. If it is pain, then I am sorry. Both of us know pain."

"And so am I sorry, lord Prince, so am I. Now I must warn my lord Prince about the Price."

Kadakithis nodded. "Naturally I have heard about that, too-I want that help you've given so many others, Strick."

"The Price is the Price, Prince Kadakithis. It is beyond my control. Sometimes it is severe and sometimes it is readily bearable. I have no control over it."

"I know these things, Strick. I said I want that help you've given so many others. While I am called Kittycat, you are being called Hero of the People. Is a prince of the people not a person? Shall a prince be treated as less? Shall a prince be fearful of the Price? I know about it,

Strick. Must a prince cajole?"

Strick rose and bowed. "Noble Lord Prince! I have desired this meeting for months-These people deserve more of their gods and their rulers.

Now you embarrass me; I have wanted to be of aid to you, as you know. The warning, believe me, is something I give to everyone who comes here. I must."

Kadakithis nodded. And sat looking expectant. Waiting. Strick called Avenestra, but met her at the door. She knew that she was not to enter as usual and not even to see this visitor, and was able not

to try. He let the prince hear him bid her prepare "Saksaraboonmga." She already had the drink's revolting but harmless ingredients ready, except for a bit more stirring to mix the vegetable colors of purple and green. She hurried to do so. Strick waited at the door; Kadakithis sat very still, staring at nothing past the Firaqi's empty chair. Avenestra reappeared from the other room to hand her savior a silver goblet. Strick

198 AFTERMATH

paced over to set it on his worktable before his visitor. Kadakithis stiffened, bent forward to peer into the cup, stiffened the more, and tensed his

face. Then, as if accepting a mandated cup of poison, he bravely reached for it.

"A moment, my lord Prince. Give me something of value." First Kadakithis gave him a look. "I suppose the ritual bans the use of the word 'please'?"

Strick stood gazing at him. He said nothing. True, this was a prince royal of Ranke and governor of this city—co-governor, at least, with his alien companion. Torezalan Strick tiFiraqa, however, was Tbrezalan Strick tiFiraqa, Spellmaster and Hero of the People.

From within his pillow-stuffed brown tunic the disguised prince slid a tiny, beautifully carven box. He set it on the desk and opened it to reveal

a single pearl. As if ritually, Strick only touched it. And looked expectant.

With obvious misgivings and distaste for the concoction Strick had been at pains to make unpleasant in appearance, odor, and flavor, Prince Kadakithis drank it down. All of it, without lowering the cup. The man did know, Strick mused, how to take medicine!

Lowering the drained goblet, Kadakithis shook his head. "And people think it's easy being a royal! By all gods, Strick, what's in that stuff!"

"Nothing to harm you, lord Prince. A secret formula I have of a Zimmanabuniga wizard far to the west."

With hands on the lean blond's shoulders, Strick told him that he was decisive, charismatic, and had no need to lack confidence, "for charisma and more importantly your intelligence will carry you through, to the benefit of Sanctuary. You must think much on this, particularly before sleep and before rising."

The Rankan Prince-Governor of Sanctuary stood and gripped the far bigger man's hand. Strick noted that the young man stood more erect than when he had entered. For a few moments they stood gazing into each other's eyes. Then Kadakithis swung, drew his hooded cloak again about himself and his padded tunic, and left. With, Strick noted, a firmer

and more confident tread than when he had entered.

Strick sighed. Charlatan, he grumbled at himself, hardly for the first time. That handsome young man was already charismatic and decisive!

It's just that now he Believes!

Then the spellwright sent Wintsenay to pass the word; Strick needed to see Hanse.

Kadakithis paid the Price. That same Fourday afternoon he received word that Taya had fled the palace.

Shupansea was amused: "Well after all, she came here as your concubine, my love. And, however pampered, she's had nothing to do for a long, long while now!" Then: "On the other hand, I would recommend—"

"Never mind," Kadakithis said with cool decisiveness. "I have already decided to take no action whatsoever. This cannot reflect badly on me, but will serve as further proof of how truly you and I love each other." Shu-sea blinked. "Well. How very clever—no, how very intelligent of you, my love!"

Yes, he thought. And the point is, this is obviously the Price I must pay

for Strick's help. even if it costs me face.

An hour later a bank messenger arrived to tell Strick that someone had just deposited sixty unshaved golden Imperials to his account, each coin bearing the face of the previous emperor. Strick smiled and nodded. He knew who it was from, and wondered what other Price Kadakithis was paying.

A short time later, Hanse responded to Strick's request to visit. He met the young Lady Esaria on her way out. Neither recognized the other because neither knew the other.

Somewhere, the goddess Eshi smiled.

"Hanse," Strick said without any preamble at all, "a man needs your help. A client needs a service only you can perform." Hanse put on his face of sweet innocence. "I can't imagine what you mean."

Strick's smile was cursory; dutiful, "A wall or two needs to be scaled. A house and a room or two need to be entered. An item needs to be fetched."

"Ah! I've heard of just the roach you need. He's called Shadowspawn, I believe."

"Do you think he will perform this service?"

"Probably. He usually works for himself. But, if the price is right . . ." Hanse gestured eloquently. "Tell me about this . . . mission."

"The price is right," Strick said, and told him about the mission.

"Oh, no! Not a sorcerer!"

"Hanse! After your experiences with the real thing up in Firaqa, this boy will pose you no problem. True, he was apprentice to Markmor the Archmage, but Markmor was found dead even before I came here. A lot of mages have come and gone, Hanse."

Hanse nodded. "I remember that big one with the blue star on his forehead . . ."

200 AFTERMATH

"Lythande," Strick said.

"Lythande! Odd name for a man!"

"That one will not be back, Hanse. Lythande does not like this town at all, and will never be back."

"You know a lot, Strick. for a newcomer who's been here only a few months."

Strick nodded. "Yes. I make it my business to learn things. Sanctuary is my business, now. And I, believe me, am here to stay. And we were discussing a certain venture concerning a roach and one Marype."

"Oh but Father Us, how I hate sorcery!"

Strick stared. "Perhaps you will refer me to a brave professional, then."

"Bastard!" The professional thief made a show of his sigh. "What does he have that you want . . . acquired?"

Strick held out his hand. An earring gleamed brightly in his palm: a glowing black stone caged in good gold. "The mate to this. It was torn from its wearer's ear and now that swinish mage is using it to harm him."

"Nadeesh," Hanse murmured, and sighed. He nodded, gestured. Strick told him a bit more. Reluctantly, Hanse named a price. Disconcertingly, Strick did not even bother to dicker. He rose, placed the earring in Hanse's hand, bade him grip it and try to visualize its mate, and

laid hands on the best cat-thief in Sanctuary.

"Now. You will be able to find it, once you're in its proximity. If it is in

a container, bring it that way. This is important." Once more Hanse sighed. "A sorcerer! Gods, how I hate sorcery!" Strick merely gazed at him.

The younger man rose. "It will be done, Strick," Shadowspawn said casually, on his way out.

Strick surprised him with the standard benison on a thief: "May the night-dark cloak cover you and your actions this night," Meanwhile the spellwright was thinking: How interesting. He keeps company with an ensorceled cat and wears a dagger that's the product of sorcery. Hates it,

hmm?

Hanse wandered his town, thinking and working to relax as he preferred to do before an important reaching venture. He noted reconstruction, a purse-cutting, the painting of various buildings, the large number

of foreigners imported to handle the work. Occasionally he returned—or ignored—a startled greeting. He saw Beysib mingling with Ilsigi and Rankans. Near the marketplace he was surprised to see large dark eyes peeping at him; the girl he had thought of only as Mignue's little sister.

He pretended not to notice. Beard of Us' Jileel! All grown up and seemingly smuggling watermelons—and still staring!

Noise at a wall's reconstruction site attracted him. He ambled that way, seeing that it was a real uprising. While disgruntled Ilsigi laborers

mutter-muttered, refusing to work, a big fellow harangued them. He was ranting loudly about the way these walls were wrecked, among other destruction and deaths, and how the gods were angry at Sanctuary, and why should "we fix and put back a wall for those damned oversea Beys occupying our palace!" Imported workers meanwhile stood away. Uninvolved, they performed that act known as honoring the strike, meaning they stood or sat around enjoying the break.