The Magehound (20 page)

Too late, Matteo realized how his words could be taken. Frando’s face darkened with anger, yet he could not dispute Matteo’s assessment.

“Give me the message,” he said shortly.

To Matteo’s surprise, the jordain did not receive the message on first hearing. Frando repeated it back with several alterations and two outright errors. Matteo patiently repeated Procopio’s detailed report, once and then again, insisting that the man repeat it back precisely.

“Enough,” the jordain finally said, his face crimson. “You change the words to mock me.”

Matteo quickly swallowed the surge of rage that accusation brought. “I am charged with bringing a message to your patron, untainted by error or magical persuasion. Perhaps I had better repeat it to her myself.” He turned away, intent upon doing just that.

Frando caught Matteo’s arm and spun him around. “You would offer such insult?” he said incredulously.

“Less insult than you offered me,” Matteo retorted as he jerked free of the big man’s grasp. “You all but called me a liar.”

“And so you are.”

Impulse overtook training. Matteo’s fist flashed out and connected squarely with Frando’s jaw. The man staggered back and tripped over a chair. He went down heavily and came up with his hands on the hilts of his daggers.

This put Matteo in a serious quandary. It was against the law for one jordain to draw a weapon on another. If he defended himself, he and Frando would be judged equally at fault, for Matteo had struck the first blow. Yet judging from the fury in the other man’s eyes, Frando intended to attack whether Matteo drew weapons or not.

Before he could respond, a small woman dressed in an eye-searing combination of scarlet, orange, and yellow breezed between him and Frando. Matteo’s heart jolted with a mixture of pleasure and apprehension when he recognized Tzigone. She was clad as a street performer, wearing brilliant yellow pantaloons, an orange shirt, and a red vest encrusted with shiny bits of glass cut and polished to look like gems. Around her head was a turban fashioned of multicolored scarves. Her face was scrubbed clean and painted so that her eyes look huge and exotic. Even her fingernails were tinted in gaudy citrus shades. To his surprise, Matteo realized that this display was actually an effective disguise. Few would see past the color and the costume to take note of the small woman’s features.

She hopped up onto the dais and clapped her hands. “Gather round,” she called in a clear, ringing alto. She gestured for the crowd to fill in the space between Matteo and Frando, quite effectively cutting off the angry jordain’s attack.

“Watch carefully and see if you can detect the skill in what I am about to do. For it is skill alone, not so much as a drop of magic!”

She called up a child, and with much flourish, she pulled a skie from behind his ear.

“A simple conjurer’s trick!” scoffed someone from the audience.

Tzigone dropped her arms to her side and turned, staring incredulously at the heckler. Matteo followed the line of her gaze. The man who’d spoken was young and obviously wealthy, for he was clad in violet silk and decked with far too much gold and amethyst jewelry. There were many like him in Halruaa’s cities: sons and daughters of successful merchants who had time and means to while away their hours in the shops and festhalls.

She took hold of the hems of her gaudy vest and spread it open. “If I could conjure as many coins as I’d like, would I spend them on such elegant, subtle garments? And judging from your raiment,” she added dryly, “I doubt you’re of the conjurer’s school either.”

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd, and the fop shrugged self-consciously. Tzigone pointed at a street merchant, a plump woman with a half-full basket of oranges balanced on one generous hip. The fruit was past ripe, the sticky scent of it was strong in the air, and a few bees buzzed and circled over the basket. “Toss me a few of those fruit, if you please.” The woman reached into her basket and took out three oranges. Tzigone deftly caught them and started tossing and catching them. With a challenging smile, the merchant threw another orange, and then several more in rapid succession. Tzigone caught them all and added them to the dancing pattern, which she constantly shifted and varied. The oranges circled and darted, crossing and leaping and changing direction in her deft hands. The crowd’s murmurs of approval deepened and turned into applause. “Illusion!” hollered a skinny youth. Without breaking pace, Tzigone caught an orange and hurled it at her detractor. The ripe fruit splattered on his chest and splashed sticky juice into his face and hair.

“No need to wash that tunic,” she told him sweetly, juggling still. “The juice is just an illusion. And so are the bees that it will likely draw.”

At that moment the youth let out a howl and slapped at his neck. The orange merchant convulsed with laughter, doubling over and nearly spilling the contents of her basket When the crowd’s mirth had died, Tzigone tossed the oranges one by one back into the merchant’s bin. She then struck a haughty pose, an eerily precise imitation of Frando’s stance and expression. Matteo raised a hand to his lips to suppress a smile.

“Consider the problem of pirates,” she droned in obvious mockery of Frando’s lecture. As she spoke, her head rolled back and her jaw fell slack into an audible snore. She pantomimed a startled awakening at the crowd’s laughter, and then shook herself as if to banish the last vestiges of sleep.

“The problem with pirates,” she said in a far more animated tone, “is that they occasionally come ashore. Then they become your problem and mine. I bid you good folk to hear this cautionary tale, and leave this place the wiser for it.

“A lady jordain was sent to carry a message for her patron. With her was another counselor in need of training, who for our purposes need not be named.” Again she puckered her face into an approximation of Frando’s prissy expression, and the crowd chuckled and looked about for the jordain.

“As night began to fall, their path took them through streets that wiser men avoid. Before long, a large, ill-favored man in a pirate’s rough garb began to follow the two jordaini.” Tzigone’s brow beetled, and she took a couple of steps forward in deftly feigned menace.

“The lady’s companion glanced behind them and took note of the danger. ‘We are being followed,’ he said nervously. ‘What could that big fellow want?’ “

The tone of Tzigone’s voice was eerily like Frando’s, and several people in the crowd chuckled and glanced at the crimson-faced man. Tzigone waited for silence and then continued her tale.

“The jordain woman shrugged. ‘The usual, I suppose. He wishes to rob you and ravage me.’”

This was an unexpected turn, and the crowd began to shift and exchange uncertain glances. Bawdy stories were not unknown in taverns, but never were they told in this respectable forum. Tzigone’s mimicry might be clever, but her words were unseemly and far beyond the bounds of polite convention.

Tzigone seemed not to notice her audience’s distress. “The woman’s companion wrung his hands and asked what they should do. ‘Why, the only logical thing,’ said the woman. ‘We walk faster.’

“They quickened their pace, but their pursuer easily matched them. ‘He is gaining!’ wailed the jordain.

” ‘Indeed,’ the woman said calmly. ‘By my ciphering, the pirate should be upon us before that cloud passes over the moon.’

” ‘What should we do?’ her companion all but wept.

” ‘The only logical thing. You run one way, and I will run another. It is well known that jordaini carry little and own no valuable items. If the pirate must choose between robbery and ravishment under those circumstances, which would be the logical choice?’

“This reasoning lifted the man’s spirits considerably. Without hesitation, he turned tail and scurried back toward the safety of their patron’s house.”

Tzigone paused again for the slightly mocking laughter directed toward Frando.

“Much later, the lady jordain arrived at the patron’s house. By now Fran-that is, her companion-was nearly giddy with worry. He pounced upon her and demanded full details.

“The lady regarded him with puzzlement. ‘What happened?’ she repeated. ‘Why, the only logical thing that could have happened. The pirate gave chase and overtook me before the shadow of the cloud cleared the moon.’

“The other jordain swallowed hard. ‘What happened then, my lady?’

” ‘I did the only logical thing,’ she told him in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I pulled up my skirts.’”

Several people in the crowd gasped. Tzigone nodded. “Yes. The jordain responded in much the same way when he heard this. He demanded to know what happened next. ‘Why, the only logical thing,’ said the lady. ‘The man pulled down his leggings.’

” ‘And what happened next? Tell me everything!’ ” Tzigone spoke the words with breathless eagerness, leering as a salacious jordain might have done. Matteo noted that her expression was identical to that on Frando’s face.

Before he could catch himself, he laughed aloud. Tzigone caught his eye and winked.

“The lady jordain looked her companion in the eye. ‘The only logical thing happened. A lady with her skirts up can run much faster than a man with his breeches down.’ “

The unexpected ending brought a round of laughter and then applause. Frando, however, was tight-lipped with rage. He shouldered his way through the crowd with as much dignity as he could muster. As he passed Matteo, he leaned in close.

“We will finish this another time. I am certain that my patron will support my wish to challenge you to a public debate.”

Zephyr’s warnings flooded into Matteo’s mind, and he understood the smug gleam in the other jordain’s eyes. Frando’s patron, Xavierlyn, was the Chief Elder of the city of Halarahh. She was one of the few wizards that Procopio Septus held in esteem, and the last person he would wish to challenge. Yet a debate between jordaini was the equivalent of a wizard’s duel between their patrons-indeed, they were sometimes considered to be duels by proxy. Matteo watched as Frando sauntered off, no doubt dreaming of his coming vengeance.

Tzigone hopped off the dais and breezed through the crowd to his side. “No need to thank me,” she said cheerfully.

“On that we are in accord,” Matteo said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Have you any idea what you’ve done?”

She frowned. “Distracted a challenger? Stopped a fight? Made a few coins?” She jingled her bag. “Come on. I’ll buy ale and sweet bread for us both.”

Matteo took her arm and drew her to the far side of the market square. They stopped in the vine-covered shadows of a thick, high wall.

“Frando was not my friend. Now he is my enemy,” he said tersely. “He challenged me to public debate to avenge the insult you dealt him. Win or lose, this will utterly destroy the hopes of my patron. Procopio Septus will not thank me for this day’s work. My position with the lord mayor is as good as ended.”

Tzigone took this in. She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “That’s easy enough to resolve. Find a new patron.” She snapped her fingers. “I know just how to go about it. That ought to settle things between us for once and all!”

“Thank you for the kind thought, but, please, no more ‘help,’” Matteo said earnestly.

Tzigone wasn’t listening. She busily scanned the market. Her eyes lit up suddenly and a smile curved her lips. “Wait here,” she said happily and dropped to the ground. She wriggled through the thick, flowering vines and disappeared from sight.

Like the crowd, Matteo was suddenly suspicious of magic surreptitiously used. He bent down and parted the bushes, but there was no sign of Tzigone or her escape route. He searched for quite some time before he found an explanation. Behind the vine, the stone wall had crumbled, leaving a hole big enough for a child or very small woman to crawl through.

“You have lost something, other than your judgment and your dignity?”

The rounded alto tones struck a chord in Matteo’s memory. He scrambled to his feet. There stood a tall, regal woman clad in a simple, elegant white gown that left her arms bare and draped low over her bosom. Her glossy black hair had been elaborately dressed and coiled about her shapely head, but her only ornament was the enameled pendant that proclaimed her position. Her long, narrow face would never be considered conventionally beautiful, but the intelligence in her dark eyes made it extraordinary.

“Lady Cassia.” Matteo inclined his head in a respectful bow, giving honor to the most powerful jordain in all of Halruaa. “How might I serve you?”

The words were polite, but they brought a small, hard smile to the jordain’s lips. “Badly, no doubt. Who is your patron?”

Matteo told her. Her ebony brows lifted in surprise. “And does Lord Procopio know that you consort with base entertainers? That you enjoy listening to the mockery of your fellow jordaini? Is this typical of your service?”

“I would like to think it is not, my lady.”

“To the contrary, I would like to think that it is,” she said slyly. “It is reported that Queen Beatrix is in need of counsel. If you were to serve her, most likely you would also serve me, provided you could survive long enough. Clockwork devices are so unreliable, and Beatrix is so fond of them. Such a pity, what happened to her last counselor. They intend to bury him with full honors just as soon as they gather up enough pieces.”

The smile she gave Matteo was as cold and reptilian as a crocodile’s. “Prepare yourself for a promotion, boy. And while you’re at it, you might want to put your affairs in order.”

Matteo watched as Cassia swept through the market, as queenly and formidable as any woman who’d ever worn a crown. The short encounter left him stunned, and for the first time in his life, he felt himself at an utter loss for words.

“You’re gaping like a hooked fish,” intoned a rich alto voice at his elbow.

The voice was Cassia’s. Matteo jumped, startled by the seeming split of sight and sound. In the next heartbeat, he realized who the speaker had to be, and he whirled to face the troublesome Tzigone. To his surprise, the young woman wore an expression of extreme self-satisfaction.

“That was easy,” she said brightly. “All I had to do was mention in Cassia’s hearing that you and that Frando person were planning a public debate, and she came right over. Did anything interesting come of it?”