He headed for a nearby apothecary shop.
Arnulf Black said his girls usually ran to the druggist, whoever the druggist was.
The shop had been there forever but had changed hands a year ago. The new druggist was the son, grandson, or nephew of the man who had retired.
The wizard expected it to be closed and those associated with it to be gone. Chames Marks had to know he was being watched. But the door opened when Varthlokkur tried it. The overhead bell jingled.
A girl came through the curtains filling the doorway to the rear. Varthlokkur guessed her to be eleven or twelve. She was drying her hands on an old grey rag. She started to make an apology.
She looked straight at him.
She blanched. Her mouth worked but nothing came out. She had trouble breathing.
What was this? The child ought to have no idea who he was.
He made a quick gesture with his left hand. Her gaze followed. He said, “Stay where you are.”
She froze. Varthlokkur considered his surroundings. This was a serious apothecary shop, whatever else it might be—assuming the contents of those containers matched their labels.
Here was a fortune in medicine.
“What is your name?”
“Seline, sir. Seline Shalot.”
“Where is your master?”
“Making a delivery in Eatherton Close. Belladonna. Dr. Jaspars uses it. He should be back soon.”
“Why didn’t you make the delivery?”
“Chames thought it might not be safe. What’s been happening to girls around here has him worried.”
Varthlokkur put her under deeper so she would not resist more personal questions.
Chames had not touched her. It was all right if he wanted to. He was good to her. He might have been intimate with Haida. Haida had bragged that he was. It was no big thing.
Someone came in the back way. Varthlokkur heard a clunk and clatter and muttering, then the tread of shod feet headed their way. “Seline, I need you to pull jars while I formulate. We have a big wholesale order…”
Varthlokkur grinned wickedly. “Well! Hello. This puts a new spin onto everything.”
...
“I fooled myself,” Babeltausque complained to Nathan Wolf. It was dark. A fire, shielded from wind and rain by a tent under the constant assault of the elements, did not yield enough light to continue work.
Wolf agreed. “You should’ve thought about the weather before you told her. You knew she’d go nuts.” There were bits of ice in the rain. They stung.
The pond was empty. The dam side had been broken. Rainwater was flushing the muck. Babeltausque, Wolf, and several miserable soldiers took turns keeping the outflow burdened.
They had recovered six coins. Two were silver. None were gold.
“You’re right. But that’s not what I mean. Nobody will know if we just get in and hunker down by the fire.”
“She can’t fire us. What were you talking about, then?”
“Those men who attacked me. I marked them with tracer spells.”
“So you could see where they ran. So?”
“So I lost them. They left town. I should’ve grabbed them.”
Wolf grunted, disinterested. He was busy quitting work. He kept his back to Babeltausque so the wizard could not read his expression. “This will at least clean the pond out.”
Babeltausque glanced that direction, was content to let the darkness have the pool. “I hope we have enough firewood.”
...
Ozora Mundwiller told Kristen, “Inger found the missing treasury.”
Kristen slumped.
“Take heart. They didn’t find much. Not enough for Inger to clear her debts. She won’t be hiring any troops.”
“That’s good news, then.”
“The wizard may have gone home, too. He hasn’t been seen lately.”
“More good news.”
“To old news. Did you try to kill Inger’s sorcerer?”
“No.” Kristen had heard about that but had given it no thought.
“Nor did I. Who, then? The sorcerer said they were Wessons.”
“Which would rule out the Marena Dimura. But they aren’t heard from much anymore, anyway.”
“So who, then?”
“Does it matter?”
“In the sense that it may affect us, of course it does. The enemy of our enemy isn’t necessarily our friend.”
“The eastern empress could have hired them.” But that was silly. Mist would be more direct. “No. Of course not. Maybe some Nordmen.”
“But the Estates, nominally, support Inger and Fulk.”
“How about Aral Dantice?”
“Or Michael Trebilcock? Is he still alive?”
Kristen said, “I think so. How about you, Dahl?”
“Word would have gotten around if he really died.”
Kristen said, “Maybe if we knew why he was attacked?”
Haas said, “I’ll go try to find out.”
“Or you could stay here and keep me happy.”
“I could do that, too.” Haas chose that course. But he did poke around in the shadows of Sedlmayr when he could get out of the Mundwiller complex unnoticed. He did not learn anything useful.
...
“I see three possibilities,” Babeltausque told the usual gathering. “What we found is a red herring. The King took the treasury with him and Shinsan has it now, which is what I think happened. Or, what we dredged up really is the whole treasure and Kavelin was broke before we took over.”
Inger scowled at the “we” but let it slide. “Or somebody got to it before we did.”
Gales asked, “Somebody who could keep from bragging or spending a farthing?”
Wolf agreed. “Nobody could keep that secret. Even if they took the money out of the kingdom. We would’ve heard.”
Babeltausque nodded agreement.
So. They all thought she had been chasing a fantasy, making wishful thinking over into policy. “Then we have to rely on ourselves after all. How much goodwill have we gained by rooting out those abusers?”
Wolf remarked, “The perverts aren’t happy.” He glanced at the sorcerer. Babeltausque scowled back.
Vigilante justice had caught up with several bad men. An especially vile bordello had burned. The mob responsible also laid into several known thieves, a moneylender, and his collectors.
Inger said, “We should clamp down. How do we do that if we can’t pay our soldiers?”
Gales suggested, “There’s always the old-fashioned way. Steal from them who do have money.”
Inger growled, “Cynicism noted. That would require soldiers, too.”
Gales observed, “Nothing should happen before the world sees what happens with the old king.”
Inger asked, “Has anyone seen Varthlokkur?”
Headshakes. Wolf said, “I’ve heard that he went back to the mountains. I don’t believe it. He’d want to know what Shinsan is up to here, first.”
Inger suggested, “Maybe he hasn’t been seen because he doesn’t want to be seen.”
“That sounds right to me.”
“So what might he be up to while he’s keeping his head down?”
“Maybe trying to find the portals Shinsan has here,” Babeltausque said. “That’s what I’d be doing if I wasn’t trying to find treasury money that probably doesn’t exist. Those portals might be a lot more important than the money.”
Inger glared. “Meaning?”
“Meaning we’re here and in charge because the Empress Mist hasn’t yet developed a taste for Kavelin.”
Inger’s glare intensified. She was severely displeased. But Babeltausque had not said an untrue word. Kavelin could no more defend itself than could a naked virgin in a coma.
She admitted, “Facts are facts. We’re dead meat if that’s what Shinsan wants.”
Josiah said, “The Nordmen and Wessons would resist.”
Nathan Wolf nodded. “But not on our behalf. And, proba
bly, not very effectively.”
Inger shuddered. “All right. It’s true. We’re in the stew. There are no obvious or easy ways out. Basically, we spent a year getting ourselves into a place where we either have to run away or throw ourselves on the mercies of our subjects.”
Wolf said, “That could end up ruining the monarchy.”
He did not need to explain. Exactly that had happened in Ruderin only two years ago. The crown there never recovered from the Great Eastern Wars. The nobility so weakened the central authority that King Byar became nothing but a national symbol. Ruderin was in worse chaos than Kavelin. As in Kavelin, a bountiful harvest had contributed heavily to a root level economic resurgence. That, in turn, had enfeebled the normal human inclination toward bad behavior.
One poor harvest and both kingdoms would descend into banditry, plagued by petty warlords.
Inger saw that future plainly. Anyone with half a brain could see it. But no one would yield anything of their own to prevent it.
“Call a parliament,” Inger blurted.
“Your Majesty?”
“Send out word, Josiah. I’m calling the Thing, made up the same as last time.” She raised a hand to forestall comment. “I know. Some of them are dead. People know who the heirs should be. Just get the word out. We have to pull everyone together.”
Wolf said, “That’s begging for trouble. Begging for it.”
“And I’ll give it back if they ask for it.” Pure bluster, that. “A Thingmeet should be good for Vorgreberg. All those people will be here spending money.”
The men eyed her curiously, wondering whence that notion had sprung.
It had begun as a fantasy about gathering all the troublemakers in one place so she could massacre them. Her thoughts had trickled on to possibilities less bloodthirsty.
She said, “Babeltausque, you can drop the treasure search. Find Mist’s transfer portals instead. And any other evidence that Shinsan is still interested in Kavelin. Assuming Varthlokkur hasn’t found the stuff already.”
“Your Majesty?” Then, “Of course. As you will.” He got it. Inger had found an enemy everyone could hate.
A Thingmeet must, inevitably, devolve into incessant squabbling. Meantime, though, everyone would forget about fighting one another. Every grownup remembered the occupation by Shinsan…
And everyone attending the Thingmeet would have to spend money. So Vorgreberg would fall in love with Inger all over again for the first time.
For the first time in months hope surfaced. Too much, really. But… Hope!
Inger said, “Once the summons goes out we issue new regulations for innkeepers, taverners, merchants, and so on. They will allow no credit. They will demand cash in advance, of which a tithe will be ours. They won’t do business with who already owes them, either. A Thing member who dodged his obligations before will make good beforehand or not be seated. And we will take a tithe.”
Her mind raced. Ideas came faster than she could articulate them. “Debtors won’t even be allowed through the gates while their obligations remain unpaid. How does that sound?”
“Populist,” Gales said. “The kind of man who welcomes dishonor by ignoring his debts isn’t likely to care enough about his seat to settle them.”
“Possibly. But if we make this sound like we’re really putting the design of the future on the table… I think they’ll all want to have their say.”
Babeltausque said, “There will be a great deal of animosity from our enemies, Your Majesty.”
“How so?”
“They’ll assume that you mean to chunk them into the dungeon with Dane if they actually show up.”
Inger nodded. She had not considered that. Her natural inclination was to say, “So what?” and declare anyone dim enough to disagree with her to be outside the equation. But that would only worsen the strains amongst the factions. If a Thingmeet was to happen there had to be a potent sense that it was real.
Josiah said, “You’d be taking a huge risk, Majesty. If you call a Thingmeet to decide the future you’d better be ready to live in a future that you’ll find less than condign. Whatever happens, we won’t be able to impose your will.”
“That’s true. All true. Hang on.” After a moment, she asked, “How about safe-conducts for all Thing members? Whoever they are, say, beginning three days before the first meeting date through three days after adjournment.”
“That would stun the kingdom, Majesty,” Nathan Wolf said. “It stuns me. I like it. If nothing else, it will buy us time.”
“Thank you, Nathan. You and Josiah get it rolling. Babeltausque, I need evidence that Shinsan is lurking behind our hedges.”
The sorcerer nodded. Here was a chance to show off. Carrie would be impressed by his royal connection.
Inger would give Kavelin a common foe. The gimmick was older than prostitution. It remained in play because it worked.
He had to produce evidence that was not obviously manufactured.
He should start where he had run into the woman, being a little more careful to avoid an ambush. A visit to the cemetery would be in order, too. He would do that first, and try to find those squatters. They should make useful witnesses.
Mist’s people had her mansion cleaned out already, he imagined.
This might be too big a task. He was a bit player, not the Empire Destroyer. He could not do much more than keep water from boiling.
How to get Varthlokkur involved?
He was involved, just not politically. Would he appear as a witness?
He explained it all to Carrie before taking a nap, after which he meant to change into clothing suitable for knocking around the countryside. She listened, interested. Carrie was a changed girl now that she lived in the castle. She took her role as his companion seriously. She mentioned that her grandmother had been married at her age. She no longer whined about everything.
Her family thought she had scored a coup by connecting with a palace wizard. Her age was not an issue.
He figured Carrie would move on if she had a chance to move up.
That was good enough.
Carrie was mercenary but she gave good value. These days she laid into her work with nurturing enthusiasm and was a good resource for understanding what ordinary Vorgrebergers thought.
Carrie said, “You shouldn’t fuss about the wizard. Just acknowledge what you know.”
Wow. This was a far cry from constant whining for new shoes and clothes.
She was more confident now, maybe because he treated her like a real, thinking companion when not using her to satisfy the consuming need that had driven him to find her.
“Hmm?”
“You probably shouldn’t waste time taking a nap. That wizard has more resources than you do.”
“Time with you is never wasted.” He meant that so sincerely that it did not sound corny.
“You are a devil man.” She began to shed her clothing.
Babeltausque became uncomfortable when she did that in the light, which too plainly revealed how much she had ripened.
She would be fully a woman soon.
He was useless with grown-up women.
†
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
WINTER, YEAR 1017 AFE:
AN ERA ENDED
Seasons were not extreme at Sebil el Selib. Winters were cooler but seldom really cold. Most years it was damper but not remarkably so. Those who grew up there and did not travel could not conceive of the fury of a thunderstorm.
Some knew sandstorms but even those had to be experienced elsewhere.
On rare occasions the wind did shift enough to bring a taste of alkali off the salt pans.
Rains, even in this year’s notably wet seasons, seldom amounted to more than sustained heavy drizzles.
Haroun eased his head through a slit in the exterior wall of El Murid’s tent. Rain was still falling in what locals considered torrents. It was cold. The wadi boiled with raging brown water. He muttered, “Twenty
years of this and the ancient seas will be back.”
Megelin Radetic, Haroun’s boyhood teacher, had insisted that salt pans were the bones of ancient seas. In the heyday of Ilkazar today’s pans had been vast lakes. The scars of old shorelines remained visible on the flanks of mountains.
The swift drying of those lakes had been part of the vengeance of the Empire Destroyer.
All Hammad al Nakir had been more lush in those times.
But this was now. This was remarkable. This could become dangerous. Rushing waters tore away tons of hard soil. The wadi bank had crept five yards nearer the Disciple’s tent.
Suppose a truly violent downpour came along?
Bin Yousif pulled back inside. He settled to think.
This weather could be used to cover his getaway. And go he must. Yasmid could not cover up much longer. Her henchmen were suspicious. They wanted to know why she kept disappearing inside her father’s tent.
So far they thought it had something to do with him, possibly involving the foreigner. They thought she might be trying to consolidate her position as the old man’s successor.
Luckily, Phogedatvitsu never went out where he could be isolated and interrogated. He would not hide the fact that Yasmid spent little time with her father. Instead, she vanished into the empty quarters for hours, then returned disheveled but in a better temper.
This was insanity.
This was what had kept him going during his captivity and long journey home. He was back with the woman who was the other half of his soul.
The circumstances were insane, not the relationship.
But he had to go. This had persisted far too long. Fate had been tempted in the extreme. Elwas al-Souki talked about searching the tent again.
Al-Souki smelled something not the stench of vixens’ dens.
He should have moved on months ago. Al Rhemish called. Megelin had made a muddle of everything.
Haroun realized that he was not alone.
He had let himself drowse where he was not secure.
His gaze found that of El Murid. The Disciple looked vague but not caught up in a poppy dream. The man extended his left hand, pointed. “You are the one. Why do you haunt me?” He spoke slowly, voice dreamy.
Haroun rose slowly, so as not to spook the man. His keepers should be looking for him. They would rush toward any excitement.