The Wizard of Anharitte (8 page)

Ren watched with mounting horror as the hammer fell. The auctioneer’s voice boomed above the murmur of the crowd.

‘I hereby declare the slave Zinder to be sold to the Society of Pointed Tails acting on behalf of its client, Director Magno Vestevaal. The agreed price is fourteen barrs raised to the tenth power—a completely unprecedented sum for any slave at any time in history and a truly magnificent tribute to the slave-training policy of the House of Magda.’

‘Damn!’ Ren, ashen of face, staggered to his feet. It was too late to rescind the bid—the transaction was already complete. He turned appealingly to Catuul Gras.

‘What the hell’s Dion up to?’

‘Teaching the director a lesson, I should think,’ said Catuul grimly. ‘Well he’s certainly made his point—and at our expense. Let’s face it, Tito. He’s beaten us at our own game.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Ren, consumed by his own anger. ‘A man like Dion isn’t going to let Zinder go.’

Zinder, from the rostrum, had displayed a keen interest in the proceedings. Far from seeming betrayed by Dion-daizan’s action, she appeared elated. She saluted her late master who, in turn, approached her to kiss her hand. Then Dion-daizan turned to the crowd and raised his hands in an expansive gesture of triumph. The ensuing cheer was probably the loudest roar of acclamation from human throats that Roget had ever known.

The auctioneer took Zinder’s halter and led her, a symbol of apparent meekness, to Catuul Gras. The latter took the plaited rope as though it were likely to grow hot and looked somewhat stupidly at Ren.

‘The sale price is on guarantee from the Galactic Bank,’ said the auctioneer. ‘The contract settlement is now between the purchaser and the city administration. Therefore I have no need to detain you, except to remind you of the convention that the title of the bond must be registered at the prefecture within seven hours or the money is forfeit and the bond is returned to the city administration.’

‘I understand,’ said Catuul Gras. ‘I assure you the bond will be duly registered within the time.’

Ren said nothing, not being able to trust himself to speak. Having been tricked into authorizing such an astronomical sum on the acquisition of a single female slave, he knew that the blackest hour of his career was upon him. An error in his judgment had caused this embarrassment to happen. He had been certain above all things that the
Imaiz
would not allow Zinder to be bought over his head. Now the wizard was standing both pleased and apparently unworried as Zinder was led away by the hands of his sworn enemies. Ren was still not convinced that the
Imaiz
would allow it to happen, but failed to see how he could prevent it—unless by some ambush or deception Dion managed to stop the bond’s being registered in time.

Catuul’s mind was apparently working along the same lines. He signaled members of his clan out from the crowd and sent them ahead to see that the roads Zinder and her new owners had to travel were free from possible trouble. With practiced inconspicuousness the little group melted away.

‘I think,’ said Catuul, ‘that we had best pick up the director and get the registration over as soon as possible. That is—’ he glanced uneasily at the radiant Zinder—‘assuming that you wish to go through with it.’

‘For that sort of money,’ said Ren ruefully, ‘the deal had better be legally complete. Though the devil knows how it’s going to look on the account books.’ Despite the immensity of his blunder the humor of the situation overwhelmed him and he started to chuckle spasmodically at his own discomfort.

The assembled crowd was beginning to disperse with much laughter and amused speculation. Not a few came to have a closer look at Zinder wearing the customary bondage halter. For a moment Ren felt angered by what he regarded as morbid curiosity. But when he saw the proud and dominant strength in Zinder’s face, he realized that on the end of the halter was a powerful social catalyst. What he was parading through the streets was the anachronistic shame of Anharitte’s slave trade. He and the Pointed Tails were being used to underscore the unfairness and absurdity of the system. While he was agent for the titular master, it was obviously the slave who held command of the situation and the hearts of the onlookers.

Thinking deeply in this vein, Ren walked ahead. Catuul followed, leading Zinder on the halter as if she were any common beast. Four of the Pointed Tails armsmen acted as a guard detail and also carried the torches, which were just needing to be lit as the purple dusk closed down. Ren found the journey acutely embarrassing. His civilized instincts prompted him to make conversation with Zinder, whose intellectual talents were probably more than equal to his own. But the halter she wore about her neck made such an action seem incongruous and he could think of no topic of conversation that could span the dual standards that had been thrust upon him.

He therefore stalked ahead of the group, growing increasingly angry at his own inability to resolve the conflict within himself. He sensed in the situation the ingenuity of the
Imaiz
in attacking the slave problem in this particular way and his respect for the wizard increased considerably. The
Imaiz
was forming a schism not only in society but also deep in the psyches of individual participants—such as himself. It was a dangerous and powerful game, and Ren knew that if Dion-daizan were not stopped he would ultimately win the battle.

Magno Vestevaal was waiting in Ren’s chambers. The director had been drinking liberally, presumably celebrating a victory that had not been won. Ren roused him from his chair, knowing the worst had best be told without delay.

‘We have to go immediately to the prefecture to register the bond.’

‘Register?’ Vestevaal’s eyes refocused on Ren in an instant. ‘What the hell do you mean?’

‘I mean that the
Imaiz
played with us as he might with fools. You now own Zinder.’

‘Own Zinder?’ Vestevaal appeared to sober himself by a tremendous effort of will. ‘I see! And how much did this—ah—acquisition cost us, Tito?’

‘Fourteen barrs to the tenth power,’ said Ren, being deliberately obtuse to soften the shock.

‘What in hell is that in terms of money?’

Ren bent over his office calculator and converted the figures first to duodecimal galactic credits and then to the Terran ten-based notation which the director handled more happily. Vestevaal watched him steadily, sensing in Ren’s actions a certain reticence that foretold of trouble.

‘Well?’

Ren had finished the calculations and was examining the printout, wondering how to present it in the best light.

‘You’d better sit down again,’ he said. ‘Would you believe about two hundred million million Solar dollars?’

For a moment the director appeared in danger of suffering a seizure. At last he swore. ‘You could buy two battle cruisers for less. Tito—have you any idea how I’m going to explain that sort of expenditure to the Free Trade Council? What are you trying to do—ruin me?’

‘No, but I think it’s a reasonable certainty that the
Imaiz
is. He promised to teach you a lesson. I guess this is it. But I still think we’ve hit him where it hurts. After all, we’ve got Zinder.’

‘Where is she?’ asked Vestevaal. The color was slowly coming back into his cheeks. ‘Do you have her?’

‘She’s outside with Catuul and the guard.’

‘Then fetch her in—fetch her in! Where’s your hospitality, Tito? It’s not every day you get the chance to entertain somebody who’s worth more than all your Company executives rolled into one.’

Ren called for Zinder. Unlike Ren, Magno Vestevaal was in no doubt as to how she should be treated. He borrowed Ren’s sword to cut the halter from her neck, then handed her into a chair as though she were a queen. She took the incident completely unabashed. Already she seemed to have, established with Vestevaal a degree of rapport that reached to depths Ren could not envision. She accepted wine and fell into a quiet conversation with the director until Ren was forced to interrupt, fearing if they further delayed they would become overdue for registering her bond.

The remainder of the journey to the prefecture was in marked contrast with that from the slave market. Magno Vestevaal led the way, engaged in earnest conversation with the slave girl on his arm, while Ren and Catuul followed disconsolately at their heels. The four armsmen had dispersed themselves fore and aft of the group, swords drawn and ready for trouble, since Catuul still feared an ambush or an interference designed to delay the registration of the bond. The director, however, ridiculed the idea of potential trouble and refused even to remain consistently within the shield of guards. He was right—inasmuch as they arrived at the grim portals of the prefecture without any sign of unwanted intervention.

The prefecture was bustling with people. Watchmen were returning or departing on duty—clerks were fetching and carrying their massive volumes and a small mob around the slave registry was presumably waiting to see the registration of Zinder. Ren was not surprised to see Barii, the
Imaiz
’s slave-caste steward in the group—and Dion-daizan himself. Everyone turned to watch as the director and his costly prize came across the threshold.

Dion-daizan made a bow of courtesy to Magno Vestevaal, which the latter good-humoredly returned. The director seemed in remarkably good spirits, having regained his equilibrium completely after his shock of learning of Ren’s transaction.

His reaction to Dion-daizan was an acknowledgment of the excellence of his adversary. Dion’s respect was no less evident. Both men turned to regard Zinder, who stood peacock-proud watching the register clerk intently as he painstakingly wrote the details of her bondage on a new page of his mammoth book.

Di Irons came out of his office and took charge of the proceedings. His manner suggested that it was important for the peace of the city that the registration went smoothly. The prefect inspected the entry carefully, held it up for Dion-daizan to examine, then called for the mark of the auctioneer to authenticate the sale.

Catuul went suddenly tense. He had momentarily lost sight of Baril, but finally located him standing behind the
Imaiz
, who had retired discreetly to the rear. Like Ren, the scribe had the gravest doubts that the
Imaiz
would permit the registration to be completed, but it was difficult to see how he could now prevent its finalization. Everyone in the room felt the tension rise and additional watchmen came out from some dark antechamber to stand silent and ready for trouble.

After the auctioneer had made his mark several statutory witnesses followed—Mallow Rade came to sign on behalf of the Pointed Tails. It was then Vestevaal’s turn to sign as the ultimate purchaser. Such a succession of names was not usually required, but Di Irons was taking no chances. Necessity demanded that this was one registration that could never be disputed.

Vestevaal was aware that he could be altering the course of history on Roget as he took out his pen. He was buying a legend for hard cash, and the implication of the completed deal was that even enlightenment had its price. This was not, he reflected ruefully, the first time nor was Roget the first world on which that lesson had been learned. As he turned from the book he could not resist flashing a look of triumph in the direction of Dion-daizan. In return he received a polite smile, which might have signified resignation—but probably did not.

The director turned and held out his hand, indicating that Zinder should walk before him. Then a gasp of amazement from the onlookers diverted his attention back to the register. To his astonishment he saw the lines of ink begin to smoke and spread out, charring the surrounding paper. Some potent chemical reaction caused a glow that quickly became a flame that ran up the angled page—and though Vestevaal seized another volume and beat upon the burning book, he succeeded only in completely breaking up the fragile ash, which further disintegrated of its own volition.

All eyes turned accusingly to the
Imaiz
, then back to Di Irons, wondering how the situation was going to be resolved. The prefect, a cloud of smoke still about his startled head, growled in a voice like thunder and savagely pulled the book toward him as he brushed away the burned edges.

‘Dion-daizan—I take it this is some work of yours.’

‘Mine?’ The
Imaiz
sounded shocked. ‘There are ten good people between myself and the book—and have been all evening. Likewise, my servant Barn has not approached the proceedings. I could have had no more to do with the loss of the entry than—say—Agent Ren had with the loss of the title I once owned.’

‘You make a good point,’ said Di Irons, glancing sourly at Ren, who had come forward to examine the burned page of the register. ‘The question is, what’s to be done now?’

‘Who claims the tide to Zinder?’ asked the
Imaiz
. His voice, though soft, carried perfectly,

‘I do, of course,’ said Vestevaal.

‘Then I contest your tide to the bond. I submit that at this moment you can no more prove your ownership than could I a short while after Zinder was taken from me.’

‘There must have been a thousand witnesses to my purchase tonight.’ Vestevaal was adamant. ‘I demand that the registration begin anew.’

‘You have a thousand witnesses, but all Anharitte knew for ten years that Zinder belonged to me. Whose evidence is the stronger?’

‘Stop this!’ thundered Di Irons. ‘Dion, I shall have many words to say to you concerning your conduct this night. And you, Director, and your puppet Ren, are beginning to tire my patience. In the circumstances—I can see that the
Imaiz
has a valid point. Your situation is no different from his a little while ago. If justice is to be done I think the case should be treated in the same way.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Vestevaal sharply.

‘If you wish, Director, your society can contest my decision in the supreme court at Gaillen. I advise you now that it would be a waste of time to do so, with the
Imaiz
so closely attentive to his own claims. But my own ruling is this: it’s the considered opinion of the prefecture that the bondship of Zinder still has no clear tenure. Under the law it is therefore my duty to impound the slave girl in question and return her to the market for public auction. I have no more to say on the subject.’