Smuggler's Gold

  "No. Just that the money was good."

  "And how the hell are we to get in contact with the priests?"

  Justice noted the use of the plural and winced. "Supposedly there's always one of them waiting behind the steps downstairs."

  Krishna frowned. "K this is a false run, Justus..."

  "I've told you all I heard. That's the only information I can give you on deathangel. Take it or leave it."

  For a moment, Justice thought Krishna would stalk off, but the hightowner kept his temper in check. "All right. I'll tell you what. . . why don't you and I pay a little visit to the steps."

  "Me?" Justice tried to look startled. "Why do you want me to go with you?"

  "Simple." Krishna smiled nastily. "To make sure it's not a setup."

  Justice shrugged. "I can only tell you what I overheard, Krishna. Nothing more. But if you want me to go with you, I'll come."

  Sonja waited until she had seen Justus walk off with Krishna, then gathered up her books along with the one Justus had left behind. Counting until she reached thirty, she stood and casually walked off down the hall toward the stairs. As she nodded in passing to other students, she asked herself why she was doing this. Why was she getting herself involved in another of Rhajmurti's and Justus' plans? Was it simply to get back at Krishna for all those years when he had been after her to pay attention to him? Or, was it because she truly liked Justus... liked him more than many of her hightowner friends?

  She could not answer that question to any satisfaction. Her parents were puzzled and concerned over her new choice of friends, though neither of them had said anything derogatory about Justus. It would not do for her to become overly fond of someone with no House, no money, no position. As it was, she had been affianced a year ago to. enter into a contract marriage with Jorge Kuminski when she finished College.

  A famihar anger welled up inside. Dammit! Was she not free to pick and choose as she wished? Had she no say in her own destiny? Not that Jorge was a bad sort; she was as fond of him as she was of many other hightown young men, but. . . She shook her head and walked on. Her parents had married for love. Why not her? All these contract marriages, these formings of alliances between Houses, bored her to tears. She could play politics with the best of them, but she had a fatal streak of outright honesty that could doom her in political maneuverings.

  And what, by Krishna the Thrice Blessed, was wrong with her liking Justus? He was smart, talented and would go far in his chosen profession. An artist who catered to hightown could become as wealthy as some of his patrons. All the great Houses had to start somewhere.

  She descended the stairs, refusing to follow her thoughts on to a conclusion. Justus was sometimes far too good a person, if the word good applied here. She supposed it was his own honesty that appealed to her... his earnestness, and his dedication.

  And, by the gods, he wanted to make something of himself, to become more than he was at the moment. That kind of ambition she admired.

  She smiled slightly. Getting back at Krishna would have to serve as her reason for going along with Rhajmurti's plan... for now.

  Justice followed Krishna down the wide steps that led to the first floor of the College, all the while keeping his fingers crossed that Rhajmurti knew what he was doing. Krishna had reacted as expected, his greed being the one thing about him that never changed. Money given to him now, in partial payment for the future delivery of deathangel, was far more attractive than spending money to purchase the fish and getting paid back for his trouble later.

  As for his own part in this plan, Justice hoped he could pull it off convincingly. The last thing he needed was Krishna mad at him again. Ever since the Governor's Winter Ball, Krishna had been careful not to step on Justice's toes too often. It was one thing to bait a student with no ties to Merovingen-above, and another to bother someone Sonja Keisel seemed to like.

  "You sure this priest will be waiting there?" Krishna asked over his shoulder, his words nearly lost in the hum of conversation around him.

  Justice shrugged. "All I know is what I heard. If he's not there, he's not there, and we're back at our starting point. But we won't have lost a thing."

  "This better be on the up-and-up," Krishna growled when he reached the foot of the stairs. He turned to face Justice, trying to look grim. The effect was spoiled by his lack of height: it was hard to appear threatening when one had to look up at the person one threatened.

  "Look, Krishna," Justice said, putting an edge of weariness in his words, "if you don't want to bother, just say so. You asked me to see if I could help you, and this is the only lead I've got."

  "Huhn."

  Krishna turned and stalked off, turning right at the edge of the stairs and heading back toward the rear of the great entry hall. Justice followed.

  For a moment, he thought no one was waiting, but then he saw a cloaked and cowled figure standing in the shadows under the stairs. Krishna had evidently seen the same person, for the stocky hightowner stopped, turned toward Justice, and made a quick motion for silence.

  "Do you think that's him?" Krishna murmured.

  "How should I know? I suppose all we can do is ask."

  Krishna's face darkened but he evidently could not come up with a flippant reply. He set his shoulders, glanced once about to see if anyone might be interested in what he was doing, gestured for Justice to accompany him, and slowly walked toward the stairs.

  It was a priest... Justice could see that now: the saffron color of the cloak showed a bit more in the shadows the closer he and Krishna came.

  "M'ser?" Krishna said in a soft voice. The priest looked up, but still Justice could see no face in the shadows thrown by the cowl. "I've heard that you're looking to buy something. Is that true?"

  "That depends," the priest said. Justice tried to place the voice, but could not. "What do you have to sell?"

  "Nothing yet," Krishna said, "but if you'd tell me what it is that you want, I might be able to help you."

  Justice lifted an eyebrow. Such finesse... never really committing himself, Krishna was still letting the other man know he was available, and that he knew more than he was saying. An old hand at this game, and it showed.

  "Could be." The priest shifted his weight in the shadows. "I'm interested in obtaining a certain fish____"

  Krishna glanced sidelong at Justice, his eyes glittering in the dim light. "And what kind of fish would m'ser be interested in?"

  The most beautiful... with long, trailing fins of deepest black, set on a silver and yellow body. Do you know the fish, young ser?"

  Justice heard Krishna's quick intake of breath.

  "Deathangel," Krishna said.

  "It is called that," the priest acknowledged.

  "Ummm... as I said, I don't have any now, but I could find some, if the price is right."

  Lord and Ancestors! Justice groaned. Greedy as ever, aren't you?

  The priest reached beneath his cloak and extended a gloved hand. Even in the shadows, Justice could see the flash of gold.

  "Would this be appropriate as partial payment for... shall we say, twenty fish?"

  Krishna took the coin. "A demi," he breathed, turning the gold piece over in his hand. He glanced up at the priest, then back at the money. "I—I think this would be more than appropriate, m'ser."

  Justice stared at the gold glittering on Krishna's palm. Damn! That one coin could keep him going for weeks and weeks!

  "Then I can trust you to fulfill your part of the bargain, m'ser Malenkov?" the priest asked.

  Krishna's head jerked up at the mention of his last name. The priest knew him! He swallowed heavily.

  "Yes, m'ser. A Malenkov doesn't break his word."

  "That's good to know. I wouldn't want you to have to return the full amount if you fail. I'm sure you understand me, don't you, m'ser?"

  "Oh, yes. I understand you."

  "Then it's settled."

  "Uh... where should I deliver the deathangel?" Krishna asked.
r />   "What in Vishnu's hells is going on here?"

  Justice had been so intent on the bargaining going on, he had failed to notice the arrival of another person to the shadows beneath the stairway. He spun around and came face to face with Father Rhajmurti.

  And Sonja.

  Three things happened so quickly Justice could barely follow them. The cloaked and cowled priest turned away and vanished around the stairs; Krishna started to break and run; and Rhajmurti reached out, grabbed Krishna by the arm, and spun him around.

  "Selling drugs now, are you?" Rhajmurti asked in a voice like polished steel. "I'm ashamed of you, Krishna." He glared in Justice's direction. "And you... of all people, Justus, I wouldn't have expected to find you involved in this!"

  "But—"

  "Don't you say another thing, Krishna!" Rhajmurti snapped. "You've already heaped enough karma on your soul without lying! You know it's a rule of the College that we won't tolerate drug usage or drug selling!"

  "But—" Krishna's face had gone white now, visible even in the shadows.

  "The demi," Rhajmurti said, extending his hand, keeping the other firmly planted on Krishna's shoulder.

  "But... the priest... his money..." Krishna dropped the gold piece into Rhajmurti's hand.

  "How do you know that was a priest?" Rhajmurti asked. "Anyone can don a saffron cloak and stand in the shadows beneath the stairs."

  "He knew me," Krishna said in a plaintive tone of voice.

  "That doesn't surprise me. You're quite notorious in certain sections of town." Krishna lowered his head.

  "Think of the karma, Krishna," Rhajmurti said, lowering his hand. "And you, too, Justus. You've both brought a good deal of it down on you today. And you've broken a College rule. Punishment seems to be in order here."

  Justice had been watching Sonja, who had remained silent through the whole thing.

  "Were you going to sell drugs, Justus?" she asked.

  "Uh... no."

  "Oh?" Rhajmurti looked stern. "Then what were you doing here?"

  Krishna swallowed again. "He was here because I made him come with me. He overheard someone saying that the priests were looking for deathangel. I was going to sell it to the priests, not him."

  A look of genuine surprise crossed Rhajmurti's face. "That's one of the most responsible, adult things I've ever seen you do, Krishna," he said. "By being truthful, you've escaped a good lot of your karma."

  Krishna looked hopeful.

  "But I still have to punish you both. If word gets out that the two of you were caught negotiating the selling of drugs and then not punished..."

  "Just don't tell my father," Krishna begged. "Please, Father Rhajmurti. You can do with me what you like, but don't tell Papa."

  Rhajmurti seemed to think about that request for what Justice considered an overly long time. "All right. Since you've been honest, Krishna, I'll keep this from your father. But if I ever so much as hear a whisper that you're involved in drug dealing, he's the first one I'll go to."

  The threat had a visible effect on Krishna. He licked his lips nervously, nodded, and put his hands behind his back. "You won't, Father."

  Rhajmurti drew himself up. "All right. The two of you come to my office. I'll have to think of a suitable punishment." He turned to Sonja. "We'll continue our conversation later, m'sera, if you-wish."

  Sonja smiled her most charming smile. "Of course, Father. Any time." She extended Justice's book to him. "I'm glad you weren't selling drugs, Justus, or... or I wouldn't have wanted to be seen with you for a very long time."

  Krishna stiffened at this pronouncement, and glanced forlornly at Rhajmurti. "I wasn't exactly selling drugs," he began.

  "No, just thinking about it." Rhajmurti looked at Krishna and Justice, and gestured toward the stairs. "My office. Now."

  He turned and walked off, expecting to be followed. Krishna nodded to Sonja as he passed her, but Justice merely smiled slightly at her, and exchanged a conspiratorial wink.

  "Are you suffering suitably yet?" Sonja asked, turning away from the blackboard, chalk in hand.

  Justice sighed. "Actually, yes. You've chosen some of the hardest math problems I've seen since the last test." He rubbed his eyes. "Are you sure you want me to do these?"

  "That's what Father Rhajmurti served up as your -punishment," she said, a smile tugging at her mouth.

  " 'You, Justus, will have to spend ten nights at the College, doing what you hate the most... math,' " Justice repeated, mimicking Rhajmurti's tone of voice. He grinned. "He's right. I still don't like math, despite your love of it."

  Sonja sat down at the table. "Who knows... you might become fonder of it as time goes by."

  "Maybe." Justice cupped his chin in one hand and stared at the blackboard. "I wonder who Father Rhajmurti got to play the priest buying deathangel?"

  "I suppose we'll never know."

  Justice laughed. "I'm just glad I'm not Krishna right now."

  "I bet you are. But I think he might have had some good sense scared into him."

  "Let's hope so." Justice grinned at her. "You know what I'd like to be? A fly on the wall of Hilda's kitchen. Can you see it? Krishna Malenkov, son of The Malenkovs of Martushev of Rimmon Isle, washing Hilda's dirty dishes for ten days!" He took the chalk from Sonja's hand and stood. "I'll tell you something else... as much as I hate math, I'd far rather be doing this."

  A HARMLESS EXCURSION

  by Robert Lynn Asprin

  Pietor Gregori did not like being the head of the House, but the death of his father had left him no choice in the matter. For the better part of a year he had done nothing, or as little as possible, while House Gregori languished from neglect. The minor details of maintaining a functioning Household went untended, while major decisions

  Had it not been for Terrosi stepping into the void as family doctor when winter's fever penetrated their holdings, House Gregori might have been wiped out completely. Pietor, for his part, had done nothing to take command or make even the smallest gesture of leadership during the crisis—while Demitri seemed bent on destroying himself with alcohol since the elder Gregori's death, —though in truth Pietor had never considered his brother and father to be that close. Still, he hesitated to dictate behavior, so Demitri's drinking continued unchecked.

  Meanwhile the census was grinding toward its end, in the slow way of Merovingian affairs, and the family still argued the best course to follow: did they exaggerate their headcount to keep their mortal enemies the Hannons at bay, or report accurate or even reduced figures to keep their tax burden with the government in bounds? In lieu of agreement, someone would have to decide, yet few hoped that Pietor would rise to the occasion.

  Sharrh-inspired fireworks terrified the city, and strange plants multiplied in the canals—unprecedented occurrence. Things changed in Merovingen, and there were stirrings of ambition in various Houses high and low, —but Pietor did nothing to advance House Gregori.

  And worst of all, Pietor did absolutely nothing at all about the Feud. The entire city had braced itself for the bloody vengeance of House Gregori on House Hannon when their rivals succeeded in poisoning the head of the Gregori. household (for no one really believed the old man's death to be natural)—yet fall passed to winter and winter wore on to spring without any sign of counterattack. In fact, the famous Feud not only failed to escalate, there were no signs that it was even being maintained at its earlier levels.

  Now, while nearly all of Merovingen traditionally deplored the Gregori-Hannon feud as an obsessive waste of money and personnel, there were many in the city nonetheless disquieted by its absence—in somewhat the same way as a cat is upset by rearranged furniture. The Feud was a constant, a part of native Merovingen, and the prolonged lack of activity seemed to leave a void in the ordinary goings-on and gossip of the city—while certain people whispered dire rumors of extremist activity and speculated that fear had driven the Feud to subtler measures; and while the foreign Sword of God acted unchecked and impious Ne
v Hettek folk walked unmolested in broad daylight in Merovingen of the Thousand Bridges.

  In short, there was no one who was pleased with Pietor's performance as head of House Gregori... including Pietor himself. He knew his hopes that family affairs would take care of themselves were in vain. Sooner or later he was going to have to take an active hand in running the House, which meant accepting the responsibilities of his actions as well, and that day was something he would avoid indefinitely, given a choice. Unfortunately, one might not always have a choice....

  "It's not that I expect you to do anything, Pietor... God knows you've done little enough since father died. Stephan insisted I should tell you, that's all. Everyone loves little Nikki so, though for the life of me I can't see why. He's a mediocre artist for all his claimed devotion, and no use at all in the Feud...."

  Pietor avoided meeting his sister's eyes as she prattled on. Sister Anna was one of his greatest personal decriers... certainly she was his loudest. Anna Gregori had had a caustic tongue for as long as Pietor could remember, and he had been secretly glad when she had married out of her House on a five-year contract, thinking they were free of her at last—or at least free until the contract expired—but instead of taking her from the House, her hew husband, Stephan, had simply moved himself into their holdings—since it turned out he seemed less fond of Anna as a partner than as a passport into the Gregori fortunes.

  Needless to say, this discovery had done little to improve Anna's disposition, but strangely Pietor felt more sympathetic toward her since that unfortunate discovery. He had always envied Anna the inner fire which he had always seemed to lack, and now that that fire was sputtering with frustration he was willing to make the extra effort to make her five years of suffering minimal.

  "Could you tell me about it again, from the beginning?" Pietor said, interrupting her in mid-grumble.

  "Really, Pietor. I've already..."

  "Yes, yes. But you yourself have commented on how slow I am. Please, Anna?"

  She grimaced and rolled her eyes melodramatically, but she complied.