Swords: 06 - The Third Book of Lost Swords - Stonecutter's Story (2 page)

      
She answered in a melodious voice. “No, I am sure, sir, that your party is the first to arrive today.”

      
“How do you know?”

      
“My family has been keeping watch on every side, for some kinfolk who are to meet us here.”

      
“I see. By the way, whose tent is that across the pond? Have you any idea?”

      
“Certainly.” The woman seemed surprised at Kasimir’s ignorance. “That is the tent of the Magistrate Wen Chang. He has been here for several days.”

      
Kasimir blinked at her. “The Wen Chang?”

      
The young woman laughed again. “There is only one Wen Chang that I know of. Only one that anyone knows of. From what remote land have you come that you do not know him?”

      
“I know of him, certainly.” Now the conviction was growing in Kasimir’s mind that it was, or ought to be, somewhat below the dignity of a physician to stand here debating with a girl who had been sent to fetch water. He turned and started round the pool, ignoring a smothered giggle behind him.

      
The tent ahead of him was silent as he approached it, the entrance flap of silken fabric left half open. If this pavilion were really occupied by the legendary Wen Chang, then it appeared that the gods might be favoring Prince al-Farabi and his friends with a matchless opportunity.

      
The Magistrate Wen Chang was a renowned judge, whose fame had spread far from his homeland, which lay well to the south of the desert. In the more fanciful (as Kasimir supposed) stories, Wen Chang was credited with the ability to see into the secret hearts of men and women. It was said that he knew, as soon as he laid eyes on any group of people, which of them were innocent and which were guilty. It was even alleged—Kasimir had heard this variation once—that the Magistrate could tell, just by staring at the thief, where stolen treasure had been hidden. But Kasimir had never heard that the famed Wen Chang was wont to travel as far as this from his usual base of operations.

      
When Kasimir was still a score of strides from the tent’s doorway, the flap opened fully and a tall, imposing man emerged from the dim interior. He was dressed for desert traveling in a gray robe, almost plain enough to be that of a pilgrim.

      
If this was indeed Wen Chang, he was a younger-looking man than Kasimir had expected, with black hair and a proud narrow mustache still quite innocent of gray; but there was that in his bearing that convinced Kasimir he was indeed confronting the famed Magistrate. From his elevation upon the little knoll the tall man squinted through narrowed eyes in Kasimir’s direction; then he ignored the approaching youth and went unhurriedly to the edge of the pool, where he knelt down and with a silver cup scooped up a drink.

      
Meanwhile Kasimir had come to a stop about ten strides away, where he stood waiting in an attitude of respect.

      
Presently the tall man rinsed his cup, hurling water from it in a little silver spray, and rose unhurriedly to his full height. His eyes, turned again on Kasimir, were remarkably black. It seemed to the young man that those eyes glittered whenever they were not squinted almost shut.

      
Kasimir cleared his throat. “Have I the honor of addressing the Magistrate Wen Chang?”

      
“It is my name. And that was formerly my office.” The voice was precise, and spoke the common tongue with a slight accent of a kind Kasimir had seldom heard before. “Whether you are honored by the mere fact of talking to me is something you must decide for yourself.”

      
“Honored sir, I am honored. And I really think that the kindly fates have sent you here. Or they have sent me here to meet you. There is a matter in which your help is greatly needed.”

      
“So?” The tall man eyed the youth intently for a moment. Then he said: “I believe this grassy bank provides a finer seat than any of the pillows in my pavilion. And out here the view is finer too. Let us make ourselves comfortable and I will hear your story. Mind you, I promise nothing more than a hearing.”

      
“Of course, sir, of course.” Kasimir let the older man choose a spot to sit down first, then cast himself down on the grass nearby. “Let me think—where to begin? Of course, forgive me, my name is Kasimir.”

      
“And you are on your way to Eylau, to seek employment through the White Temple there.”

      
“Yes, I—” Kasimir forgot his hope of making a good impression so far as to let his jaw drop open. “How could you possibly know that?”

      
The other made a gesture of dismissal. “My dear young man, I did not know it, but the probabilities were with me. The size and arrangement of the pouches you wear at your belt—the cloth container for drugs, the lizard-skin for items thought to have some potency in magic—these identify you as a physician, or at least as one who has some pretensions of skill in the healing arts. Certain other details of your appearance indicate that you have already been more than a few days in the desert—therefore you are now traveling toward the city, which is only two days’ march from here, and not away from it. And once an itinerant physician has arrived in Eylau, where would he most likely go, but to the White Temple of Ardneh, a clearinghouse for jobs in his profession?”

      
“Ah. Well, of course, sir, when you put it that way, your deduction seems only reasonable.”

      
“ ‘Only,’ did you say?” The Magistrate sighed. “But never mind. What is this most disturbing problem?”

      
Listening to the hastily outlined story of the theft, Wen Chang allowed his epicanthic eyes to close almost as if in sleep. Only slight changes of expression, tensions playing about the thin-lipped mouth, indicated to Kasimir that his auditor was still awake and indeed listening intently.

      
Kasimir in his relation of the events of the previous night had just reached the point where he had begun his examination of the stunned guard when the Magistrate’s eyes opened, fixing themselves alertly at a point over Kasimir’s left shoulder.

      
The young man turned to look behind him. Prince al-Farabi, walking alone, his eyes looking haunted and wary, was advancing toward them along the shaded path beside the pool.

      
Kasimir jumped to his feet and hastened to perform introductions. The two eminent men greeted each other with every indication of mutual interest and respect.

      
Then Kasimir announced: “I have taken it upon myself, Prince, to appeal to the Magistrate here for his help in recovering the missing Sword.”

      
Once more al-Farabi demonstrated grief. “Alas! I fear the treasure has gone beyond even the power of Wen Chang to bring it back—but of course I would welcome any chance of help.”

      
“Having just undertaken a long journey which came to naught,” said Wen Chang, “and being in no particular hurry to return to my former place of service-—there have been political changes there, which I find unwelcome—I have been waiting for two days at this oasis, in hopes of receiving some sign from the Fates to direct me. It appears to me that your problem may well be the sign I have been looking for. I have long been an admirer of Prince Mark of Tasavalta, though I have never met him; for that reason alone I would like to see that his property is recovered. Also, from what I have heard of this problem so far, there are certain aspects of it that are intrinsically interesting.”

      
“Thank you, sir!” Kasimir cried.

      
“Almost,” said al-Farabi, “you allow me to begin to hope again!” He wiped his forehead with the edge of his robe.

      
A few minutes later, the three men were seated more formally if no more comfortably inside the larger pavilion of the Prince, which by now had been erected in cool shade at the other side of the oasis from the pavilion of Wen Chang.

      
Here inside the Prince’s tent, with a small cup of spiced wine in hand, Wen Chang began to ask questions, probing into one detail after another of the disappearance of the Sword.

      
“In what sort of container was the Sword carried? And why was it stored in that particular tent when the caravan stopped?”

      
“It was wrapped in blue silk, and that in turn in coarse gray woolen cloth, that it might seem an ordinary bundle and attract no special attention. And when we stopped for the night the Sword was always placed, in a pile with certain other pieces of baggage, in the same tent as my valued passenger here, who has been passing through my domain under my protection. I had no reason to believe that tent less safe than any other. Rather the contrary, as it was near the center of our small encampment.”

      
“Nothing else was stolen last night? From that tent or any other?”

      
“Nothing.”

      
“And was the pile of baggage in the tent disturbed?”

      
“It was very little disarranged, or perhaps not at all; until I began to search through it in hopes that the Sword might still be there. Alas!”

      
Wen Chang sat back in his nest of pillows. “Then it would appear that the thief, or thieves, knew just what they wanted, and where to lay hands upon it.”

      
“So it would appear, yes.” And al-Farabi once more raised his hands to hide his face.

      
Kasimir tried to reassure him. “They might have been—I suppose it is likely that they were—helped by powerful magic. Perhaps even the magic of one of the other Twelve Swords. Wayfinder, say, or Coinspinner. I have never seen those Swords but either of them, as I understand the tales, may be an infallible guide to locating some desired object.”

      
“Then would that we had them both in hand today!” the Prince cried out.

      
Wen Chang was nodding thoughtfully. “That the thieves had either of those Swords is a possibility, I suppose. Or some lesser magic might well have been strong enough to let the robbers find what they wanted. Was any wizard traveling with you?”

      
“None, Magistrate.” Ai-Farabi shook his head. “I am a simple man of the desert, who lives more by the sword than the spell. With such trivial magical powers as I myself possess, I have of course already tried to get Stonecutter back. But as I say, I am no wizard. I suppose you will be able to bring to bear much stronger spells and incantations?”

      
“Probably not.”

      
The Prince blinked at him. “Sir?”

      
“I prefer to rely upon a stronger tool even than magic.”

      
“And what might that be, Magistrate?”

      
“Intelligence, my friend. Intelligence.” The Magistrate drank spiced wine, and sighed, pleasurably. He moved a trifle on his pillows, like a man settling himself to play a round of some congenial game. “Now tell me. Who, before your caravan set out, knew that you were carrying Stonecutter with you?”

      
“Among my own people, only myself and Lieutenant Komi, the commander of the escort—and I would trust Komi as I trust myself. Our fathers were blood brothers, and I have known him all his life.”

      
“
I
certainly had no inkling of the Sword’s presence with the caravan,” Kasimir put in.

      
Wen Chang nodded slightly at him, prolonged the look appraisingly for a moment, then returned his narrow-eyed gaze to the Prince. “And who, not among your people, would have known that you were carrying Stonecutter with you?”

      
Al-Farabi took time to give the question serious thought. “Well—the only people I can think of would be the Tasavaltans who delivered the Sword to me at the other edge of my domain. They were three, including Prince Mark himself, and one of his chief wizards, and the strong man called Ben of Purkinje. It was plain to see that the Prince trusted his companions as thoroughly as I trust Komi. And why would a man connive to steal his own Sword?”

      
The Magistrate was frowning. “There might be several answers to that question. If there is a good answer in this case, it is not immediately obvious. No doubt other people in Tasavalta might have known that the Sword was being loaned to you?”

      
“No doubt.”

      
“Then, for the moment at least, this line of inquiry seems unproductive. Let us try another.”

      
Al-Farabi, sitting with his head bowed again, said through his hands: “As soon as we have replenished our supplies and rested, we will return to the desert and try again to track the thief—or thieves. But I fear that the Sword of Siege is lost.”

      
Wen Chang nodded. “And I fear that you may well be right. Still, the situation is not utterly hopeless, even if your pursuit through the desert should fail.”

      
“It is not?”

      
“No. Not utterly. Consider—what will a thief do with such a treasure when it falls into his hands?”

      
“He’ll most likely want to sell it, I suppose,” Kasimir put in.

      
The narrowed eyes of the Magistrate turned on him again. “Almost certainly he will. And where would anyone go to sell an item of such value?”

      
Kasimir shrugged. “Why—he’ll go to the metropolis, of course, to Eylau. There’s no city of comparable size for a thousand kilometers in any direction.”

      
“It would be more accurate to say for several thousand kilometers. Yes, I shall be surprised if our robber has not turned his steps toward Eylau already.”