The Wizard of Anharitte (7 page)

Di Irons was crushing. ‘I lay the responsibility for this piece of mischief at your door, Ren.’

The statement caught Ren completely off guard.

‘Mine?’

‘Of course.’

‘But I had nothing whatever to do with his death.’

‘Then you should consider better the consequences of your actions. I know perfectly well that this man overwrote Dion-daizan’s title in the register and I know that your money induced him to do it. Now he’s dead because of it. If this piece of bloodshed is an example of how you mean to harass the
Imaiz
, you’d be well advised to employ a more competent society.’ He spat in the general direction of Catuul Gras.

‘I admit I could have been an interested party,’ said Ren. ‘But if the man’s dead it was the
Imaiz
who had him killed. Why don’t you tax him with it?’

‘I would—if I had a shred of proof. But we’ve found no trace of an assassin, no sign of any weapon. It’s only our suspicion that the
Imaiz
would want this man destroyed. There’s no tangible connection with Dion-daizan. If you can give me proof of his complicity, I’ll take the issue to his door. Until then, I regard this as the result of your own inept machinations.’

‘You’ve found no weapon?’ Ren was perplexed. He turned to Catuul Gras. ‘Weren’t you here when it happened?’

‘I was—we all were.’ Catuul’s gesture encompassed his comrades. ‘We chose this house because it has only one door connecting with the street—and that door could be stoutly bolted. The windows have shutters inside and the courtyard leads only to blank walls. Here, at least, we thought we could defend him from the mighty wrath of the
Imaiz
.’

‘Then what happened?’ Ren was impatient.

‘We were drinking moderately and talking and because the roof is low the room soon grew hot. We opened the door to the courtyard to let in air, since we dared not unbar the windows. Even then, for safety’s sake, we put three men in the courtyard so that no surprise attack could come from there.’

‘And?’

‘The clerk was badly worried and drank more freely than was wise. Knowing the courtyard was guarded, he felt safe in going to the door to relieve himself into the gully. As he reached the door he seemed to choke and we saw him fall down just where you see him now. His throat was torn and he drowned in his own blood.’

‘Then how did—?’

‘We don’t know. Those in the courtyard saw and heard nothing, nor did those of us who stayed inside. Whatever split his throat has not been found, though we’ve searched the yard and the room a dozen times. No man among us has recent blood on his weapons, so even treachery is ruled out. I personally think that the
Imaiz
sent an invisible beast to claw out his throat.’

‘You know I can’t accept that,’ said Ren angrily. ‘There are no such things as invisible beasts.’

Ren bent down to examine the wound, but realized, with his fingers and shoes slipping with blood, that he had neither the knowledge nor the stomach to gain much from the examination. He passed on out into the courtyard, inspected its solid walls and tried to scrutinize the higher surroundings, which were obscured by darkness. Finding no solution to the mystery, he climbed back past the body in the doorway and faced Di Irons.

‘If you’ll permit, Prefect, I’d like Dr. Hardun at the spaceport to perform an examination of the body.’

‘Will that help, Agent Ren? The man is dead—his throat is gone. What more can be learned from him?’

‘There must be some evidence of whatever broke his throat. We’ve many facilities on the battle cruiser. A weapon that caused that damage must have left a trace. If it’s there we’ll find it.’

The prefect shrugged. ‘I see no harm in your trying. If you wish you may come and take the body after daybreak. And you, Catuul, will have an accounting to make to his widow. I shall hold the Pointed Tails responsible for the cremation and all expenses. Nobody’s lightly going to disturb the peace while I’m prefect on the three hills.’

‘It will be as you direct, Prefect,’ said Catuul Gras quietly, though a variety of emotions struggled in his voice.

The prefect called his watchmen and departed. Ren returned to Catuul in anger.

‘The fate of the clerk is unfortunate, but I thought your society could have handled a thing like the death of a member with discretion. How did Di Irons come to learn of it?’

‘I asked myself the same thing,’ said Catuul. ‘The watchmen claim they were called here because of complaints of a disturbance. But there was no disturbance. When the man fell dead we were too amazed to cry out—and thereafter we were too afraid of attracting attention. Yet the watchmen arrived within minutes of the death. Indeed, they must have started on their way while the man was still alive. Whoever complained to them must have done so with a foreknowledge of the death to come.’

‘Di Irons seems reluctant to agree that the
Imaiz
must have been responsible. Does he have some sympathy for Dion-daizan?’

‘I think not. Di Irons concerns himself with the peace of the city. If two sides feud he cares little which side goes under as long as the fighting is contained. Knowing this, Dion is perhaps using him to harass us like fools. I swear to you one thing, friend Tito—if Dion-daizan hopes to buy Zinder back at the auction, he’ll find her the most expensive purchase he ever attempted.’

The slave market was situated on the eastern slopes of Anharitte, in the bowl through which descended the old road leading to the valley and to Secondhill and T’Ampere. The location was said to have been chosen in the days when slaves were leased to merchant vessels entering the shipping lanes to trade their cargoes along the inland rivers and canals. The slaves were used to’ handle the cargo exchanges and in theory returned to their owners when the ships once again reached the Aprillo
en route
to the sea.

However, so many slaves were lost through misuse by their temporary masters that the system fell into disrepute and slave-leases were abandoned.

It was doubtful if a more astute class of man existed on all the three hills than the average slave auctioneer. Operating usually on a percentage basis against the immutable laws of supply and demand, he knew well how to present his wares to the best advantage and how to drive the shrewdest bargain.

This afternoon, however, most of the sale rostrums were unattended by clients, no matter how eloquently the vendors phrased their sales address. A curious order had replaced the normal hubbub of the slave market and almost all the onlookers were facing a solitary platform high on the slope. Watchmen were in abundance, as if to emphasize the weight of the hand of the law, but the crowd was genuinely good humored and interested in the coming spectacle. The atmosphere was one of anticipation rather than resentment. The occasion was the sale of Zinder’s bond—and speculation had it that the
Imaiz
himself would be coming to the bidding.

Ren had arrived early with Catuul Gras and a more than nominal bodyguard of Pointed Tails. They first approached the auctioneer to establish Catuul’s right to bid on behalf of Magno Vestevaal and to offer proof of the considerable funding on which they could draw if necessity arose. Then, under the jovial eyes of the happy auctioneer, they were offered selected seating in front of the rostrum from which to conduct their business. At a few minutes to the preset hour at which the proceedings should have begun there was still no sign of anyone from the House of Magda. Then the crowd divided abruptly and a man strode through alone—Dion-daizan, the wizard of Anharitte.

This was the first time that Tito Ren had ever been really close to the
Imaiz
and he studied Dion carefully as the latter spoke to the auctioneer in the customary mode of introduction. Ren’s analysis did not leave him particularly impressed. Of indeterminate age, though probably nearing fifty years, Dion appeared to eschew all forms of showmanship or affectation,

Clad in a simple white gown, without apparent weapons, Dion’s face was neither distinguished nor particularly memorable. Only the movement of his hands indicated quiet confidence and competence that warned the agent to be wary. Whether or not the man was a Terran was not discernible from his unexceptional appearance, but he was obviously skilled in the control both of himself and others. And from the respect with which he was treated it was obvious that he was nearly a god in the eyes of Anharitte.

The auctioneer held up his hands for attention. His prologue was treated to a quantity of good-natured banter from the onlooking assembly, but this died when Zinder herself was brought out.

Ren was stunned. He had seen the work of beauticians on seven prime worlds, but never in all his experience had he seen such exquisite presentation of the female form as Zinder managed on her way to the rostrum. The audience of perhaps a thousand held its breath as she walked on stage in burnished radiance. Only Dion himself seemed unimpressed.

Even the auctioneer became speechless. Though he had issued instructions that Zinder be readied for the market, he had not anticipated the skill in the hands of several inhabitants of Magda whose task it had somehow become. He started to make his customary appeal to would-be purchasers, but seemed to become awed by the wonder of it all. Evidently lost for words, he finally paid her the ultimate tribute—he kneeled and kissed her hand.

A cheer rose from the assembly.

Catuul Gras came coldly to his feet. ‘I bid you five barr for the bond,’ he said.

So low a price was a calculated insult. The audience tensed with anticipation. It was going to be an evening to remember.

‘Raised to the second power,’ said Dion-daizan unhurriedly.

‘Six barr to the second power,’ said Catuul Gras. He was playing his hand narrowly.

‘To the third power,’ said Dion-daizan.

‘Seven to the third power,’ Catuul said.

Ren, whose mathematical training probably transcended that of any in the watching public, lapsed into mental calculation of the true value of the bids, unsettled by the way in which the
Imaiz
each time multiplied the value of the bid by raising the index. It was absolutely certain that at some point the
Imaiz
was going to approach a figure he could not possibly afford, and at that point Catuul must withdraw. He was relieved to note that, as the values rose, the scribe became more punctilious about obtaining confirmation before proceeding.

Nevertheless, Ren continued disconcerted by the actions of the
Imaiz
, who seemed determined to drive the price into truly astronomical figures.

It said much for the mental constitution of the auctioneer that he was able to continue functioning as evenly as he did in the face of the rapidly mounting values. He was sweating profusely and developed a marked tremor of the limbs when his due commission on the sale would have made him rich beyond all his dreams. Still the contest continued.

Ren was now using a pocket calculator to bring out the absolute values of the bids in terms of the galactic credits. The
Imaiz
used no calculating aids, but Ren had the feeling that Dion-daizan was nevertheless completely aware of the real value of the figures with which they were playing. Only Catuul seemed out of his depth and repeatedly looked at Ren for confirmation that he was intended to continue.

‘Ten barrs raised to the sixth power,’ said Catuul uneasily. This was more money than he had ever heard of.

‘Ten to the seventh power.’ Dion-daizan showed slight signs of agitation although Ren suspected the wizard was well within his ample budget.

‘Eleven to the seventh.’

The
Imaiz
faltered and a gasp of anticipation ran through the watching crowd. Ren felt a savage elation at the thought of having placed the
Imaiz
on public trial. It was a beautiful piece of harassment.

‘Eleven barrs to the eighth power,’ said the
Imaiz
finally.

Somebody in the crowd with some appreciation of the amount involved gave him a round of applause. Ren signaled for Catuul to continue.

‘Twelve to the eighth,’ said Catuul grimly.

The
Imaiz
stopped and scanned the crowd, as if trying to estimate the cost of losing face. Then he shrugged resignedly and turned again to the auctioneer. Ren still judged Dion-daizan to be within the limits of his purse, but the wizard was obviously struggling with considerations that evidently weighed as heavily with him as the regaining of Zinder.

‘Twelve to the ninth,’ said the master of Magda in a voice that could scarcely be heard.

Catuul Gras stole a warning look at Ren, but the agent had a reasonable idea of the
Imaiz
’s true financial potential, based on the yearly spaceport dues paid to the House of Magda. He knew it was possible to squeeze the
Imaiz
even drier.

‘Thirteen to the ninth,’ said Catuul.

‘Thirteen to the tenth,’ said the
Imaiz
, his voice suddenly sharp with a new resolve.

‘What’s the old fox up to?’ asked Catuul anxiously. ‘Has he really got that much money?’

‘I think he has. But he’s becoming uncomfortable. I think just once more must take him to the limit.’

‘Fourteen to the tenth,’ said Catuul.

The auctioneer had long since ceased to comprehend the magnitude of the figures being used and cared only that each bid was higher than the last. On a commission of even one percent his family would be rich for generations.

Dion-daizan sat, his face suddenly bland. The auctioneer looked at him questioningly.

‘Dion—don’t you wish to raise?’

‘Of course not.’ The
Imaiz
’s face was alive with humor, revealing a richness of personality he had hitherto concealed. ‘Believe me, it’s not through lack of finance, but in observance of a principle.’

‘Principle?’ The auctioneer was lost.

‘Yes,’ said Dion-daizan happily. ‘Anyone who would bid fourteen to the tenth power barrs for Zinder must have achieved a true appreciation of her worth. Far be it for me to deter such enlightenment. It’s not every day that my progressive policies gain such eminent recognition. Nor is it often in Anharitte that the real worth of a human being is so openly , acknowledged. May others soon become as wise as Director Vestevaal.’