by Allan Cole
Ersen burst into laughtera loud donkey braying Haw-Haw-Haw that endeared him to every student, but was hated by the priestssince they were usually the object of his uncontrollable laughter.
"I would love to see that, Timura, he said after he'd recovered. Why, I'd trade my father's fortuneand throw in his flabby old balls as a bonusto see old Hunker down here burning the shitters."
Safar chortled. What about your own equipment? he said. Would you throw them in, as well?"
Ersen acted shocked. What, and disappoint all the whores in Walaria? Why, the whole city would be filled with females weeping if their little Ersen was denied them. Besides, my father doesn't have much use for his anymore. He already made me. And there's no way he can improve on that historic feat."
Safar rewarded the reply with more laughter. But the whole time he kept thinking of Gundara's warning. Was Ersen the source of the danger? On the surface it seemed ridiculous. He was the class jester, the instigator of the best practical jokes aimed at authority. It there was mischief, everyone knew instantly that Ersen would be at the bottom of it. How could he be an informer? Then he recalled the comet streaking across the House of the Jester and it dawned on Safar just how good a cover Ersen's behavior would be if he were a spy. Everyone spoke freely in his company because what was there to fear from someone who was always in trouble himself for mocking authority?
Cold realization knotted in Safar's gut. This was exactly the sort of subtle game Kalasariz would play. He looked at Ersen with new eyes and saw the twitch in his cheek, the nervous, preoccupied drumming of his fingers on the stepssmall leaks through his genial facade.
Safar sighed and stretched his arms. Well, it's nice to dream about Hunker taking my place on the punishment detail, he said. But that's not getting the shitters burned."
"What did you do to deserve that, Timura? Ersen asked. Set fire to Umurhan's beard, I hope."
Safar scratched his head. I don't think so, he said. The last thing I remember was getting drunk at the Foolsmire. Hunker jumped me when I showed up this morning. He screamed a lot, called me the usual names, and ordered me to report for shitter burning. But now that I think of it, he never did say what for."
"It must have been something pretty bad, Timura, Ersen said. It'll probably be all over the University before the day is over."
Safar grimaced. Let me know when you find out, he said. And I pray to the gods that whatever I did was worth it."
With that he strolled away, Ersen's bray echoing after him"Haw Haw Haw."
When it was safe Safar whispered to Gundara, Was he the one?"
"How could anyone miss it? the Favorite replied. I swear, when the gods made humans they must have run short of intellect to stuff into your skulls."
Safar had no grounds to disagree at the moment, so he continued on in silence, taking a corridor that led away from the kitchens and stank of sewers. The tunnel finally spilled into an immense room pocked with great pits. The sewer pipes emptied into those pits and Safar thought the odor was rich enough to give a starving pig convulsions.
As he entered the room he saw a group of acolytes tending to a pit on the far side. They dumped big jars of oil into it, someone threw in a flaming brand and then they all jumped back as red and yellow flames towered up with a whoosh. Clouds of sewer smoke followed the flames, billowing out over the acolytes who cursed and choked on the filthy air.
The smoke was thinning as Safar came close and one of the acolytes saw him. He shouted something at the others, then ambled forward to meet Safar.
"That's Olari, Safar whispered to Gundara. The one I have business with."
"I can't say if he's entirely safe, Gundara answered. Only you can judge that. But I can say thishe isn't a spy."
Safar whispered thanks to a few gods for this answer, hedged though it was, and made a hurried prayer to a few others to help him with his plan.
Olari was the second son of the richest man in Walaria. As such he would not inherit command of the family fortunes and so some other worthy occupation had to be found for him. His magical talent was as small as Ersen'sso small that if he had been an ordinary youth he would never have been permitted into the school of wizardry. Everyone knew this, including Olari's father. It was assumed Olari would enter the administrative side of the business of magic, where canniness and family contacts were much more important than sorcerous ability. Safar did not underestimate him because of this. He knew that was the same road Umurhan had taken to power. Olari's reputation was as controversial as Ersen's. Except where Ersen presented himself as a jester and the laziest of all the lazy students, Olari was a rebel.
He was one of the student ringleaders who constantly and loudly challenged the status quo in Walaria. Safar had spent many an evening at the Foolsmire listening to Olari and his band of committed brothers debate the great issues of the day, fueled by copious quantities of strong spirits. They deplored the oppression of the common man, which Safar thought humorous since the only common men Olari and his rich friends knew were the slaves who waited on them and the tradesmen who catered to their exclusive tastes. Olari and the others roundly denounced the heavy taxes Didima demanded and the corruption of a system where bribery was the rule, not the exception. They condemned the city's leaders as old men, cowardly men, greedy men, who lacked all capacity to understand the new ideas and grand reforms offered by their far-seeing children.
Olari and his companions had tried to recruit Safar into their company. He was popular with all the other acolytes and if he joined them it would do much to strengthen their appeal with the university's intellectuals. Safar had always diplomatically refused, saying he wasn't a citizen of Walaria, nor did he intend to remain here when his studies were completed. He had no stake in Walaria, he said, and it would be wrong of him to take sides. Actually Safar considered the young rebels ideals empty. Except for Olari, he thought their protests and petty conspiracies nothing more than spoiled children defying their parents. He excepted Olari because he thought it entirely possible the young nobleman was mapping out a shortcut to power. But the main reason he refused was that Olari and the other ringleaders were protected by their noble births. They were coddled by their families, who correctly said they'd soon grow out of this hot-headed stage. So it took no courage at all for them to express their views at the top of their lungs. Someone like Safar, however, would quickly find himself being hauled before Kalasariz as a traitor. In the past that fate had been only a strong probability. But now that Safar had actually met Kalasariz he knew it as a fact.
Another blast of fire and smoke thundered from a sewer pit, adding an odd drum beat of drama to the moment when Safar and Olari took the last few steps that closed the gap between them.
"I won't offer you a glad cry of welcome, Timura, he said, because you'd curse me for it."
"And no one would blame me if I beat you about the head and shoulders as well, Safar laughed.
"Soon as I saw you, Olari said, I thoughtI'll be poached in shit sauce, if it isn't Safar Timura! The only time he's put on a work detail is when the whole class is being punished."
Safar shrugged. It's my country upbringing that saves me, he said. I'm good at ducking for cover and not getting caught."
"And did you? Ersen asked. Get caught, I mean. And what in the hells for?"
"Ersen asked the same thing, Safar said. He seemed as surprised as you to see me here."
"And what did you tell him? Olari asked.
"I lied, Safar answered, and said I was here to help you burn the shitters. And that whatever it was I did to deserve it I'd forgotten because I was drunk."
Olari cocked his head, a small smile playing on his lips, considering what Safar's statement meant. Tall and darkly handsome, with deep brooding eyes offset by a dazzling white smile that charmed all who knew him, he was every inch a patrician, even in work robes and daubed with smoke and filth.
After a moment he nodded in satisfaction, smile spreading wider. Come into my office, and we'll t
alk."
He gave Safar a follow me gesture and led him to a rubbish heap that hid a small cavelike opening in the wall. Olari dropped to his knees and crawled into it, Safar close behind. After a few feet the hole broadened into a small room. Olari lit a candle, revealing that the room was decorated with old mattresses and blankets. There were makeshift shelves bolted to the wall filled with sealed jars of food.
Olari lit a few more candles and a little smoke pot of incense to cover the sewer smell. Then he sank onto one of the mattresses and laid back, hands behind his head.
"What do you think of my office? he asked.
"Considering the place it's in, Safar said, I'm impressed."
"We take turns hiding out here, Olari said. One group keeps watch while the other sleeps, or eats and even… he reached to a low shelf, grabbed a stoppered jar and tossed it to Safar… drinks."
"This is starting to take on the air of a palace, Safar said as he uncorked the jar. He took a long drink of what turned out to be a fine wine, then passed the jar to Olari.
The youth sat up and raised the jar, saying, Here's to lies. And he drank.
As he passed the jar back to Safar he said, I'm guessing that you're here because you've reconsidered my offer."
"That I have, Safar said. I've decided to take you up on it."
"And why is that, my friend? Olari asked. What has suddenly made you see the light and decide to join our cause?"
"To be absolutely honest, Safar said, I have no intention of joining anyone's cause. Although I'm risking the loss of your good opinion of me, I'll tell you straight out, OlariI have a sudden need for a large sum of money. Call it a family emergency, if you will."
"There's no shame in that, Olari said. Although I'd prefer it was your heart that guided you to me, not your purse."
"Oh, my heart's always been with you, Safar said. You know I agree with most of what you say. I just don't feel involved because this is your home, not mine. If we were in Kyrania you'd feel the same."
"Perhaps I would, Olari said. Perhaps I would."
"When we last spoke, Safar said, you asked me to do a bit of creative sorcery for you."
Olari became as excited as his patrician mask would allow. Which meant his brooding eyes lit up and he crossed his legs. Are you sure you can still do it? he asked. There isn't much time, you know. The Founder's Day festival is only two days off."
"There's time, Safar said.
"Are you certain? We need something really big. Something that will knock them out of their boots. Something that will show everyone what kind of fools we are ruled by."
"I think everyone in Walaria already knows that, Olari, Safar said. They just don't talk about it much. Especially in public."
"Well, they'll talk after Founder's Day, Olari said. If your magical event is big enough and public enough. The timing is crucial."
"I've thought of that, Safar said. The spellcast I have in mind would work best if it came off at the Last Prayer ceremony. Right after the bells and the song when Umurhan does his annual magic trick to impress the masses."
"Where would you do it? Olari asked.
"In the stadium, where else? Safar answered. Right in front of altar where Umurhan and Didima and Kalasariz will be holding court."
Olari whistled. Right under their noses, he said. I like that. And I can follow it up with spontaneous demonstrations and protest parades all over the city. He slapped his thigh. That'll make them sit up and take notice."
Absently, Olari took another drink from the jar. What exactly do you intend to do? he asked.
"If you don't mind, Safar replied, I'd really rather not say. It's a very complicated spell and very very delicate. Just speaking about it could disturb one of its parts and have a disastrous effect on the whole. He was lying. He hadn't had time to come up with the kind of magical disturbance Olari wanted. But I promise you, he continued, that it will be beyond your wildest wishes. This was only a partial lie. Safar did intend to deliver the spellcast, he just didn't know what it would be.
"The word of Safar Timura, Olari said, pricking Safar's conscience, is good enough for me."
Safar hesitated, then took the plunge. About the money, he said.
Olari gave a dismissive wave. Don't worry, he said. I've not forgotten. I promised you fifty gold coins. But I can see now I was being tight-fisted. Make it a hundred."
Safar's heart jumpedso much? That's very generous of you, he said. My, uh, family, will be more than thankful. But there's, uh, one other thing I'd like to ask."
"What's that?"
"Can I get it in advance?"
Olari stared at him long and hard.
"Just so you have all the facts you need to make up your mind, I'll tell you this, he said. I intend to leave Walaria right after I do the casting. I know I'm putting a very large burden of trust on your shoulders, but I assure you I wouldn't ask if it wasn't necessary."
As Safar had hoped, the negative bit of information about his leaving helped sway Olari's decision.
"I think I can manage that load easily enough, the young nobleman said. I'll do as you asked. Meet me at the Foolsmire tonight."
Safar thanked him and they shared a few drinks from the jar.
"I wish I could persuade you to stay, Olari said. Things really will be different when we get rid of this lot."
"I'm sure it will be, Safar said. But I worry about you. You've caused them no end of grief of late. Big demonstrations that have nearly turned into riots. Broadsides condemning them spread all over the city. What if they tire of it? Or worse, what if they suddenly think you are a great danger to them?"
"I want them to, Olari said. That's my intent. How else can we achieve change?"
"I understand that, Safar said. But you know, times really have been troublesome the past two years. And you can't blame it all on the Unholy Trio, as you call them. The weather has become increasingly unpredictable. As have the harvests. And there's been locust swarms and outbreaks of flux and plague. Not just in Walaria, either. It's happening all over Esmir."
Olari shrugged. The gods are in charge of those things, he said. And since it's their responsibility, what can I do? Besides, times will get better. They always do. History tells us that. And things aren't really so bad as you say. Deaths have been few. There's no mass starvation. Actually, many people live in relative plenty. And there's good news in the land as well. What of Iraj Protarus? He's our age. And look at all he's doing to change Esmir for the better."
"I don't call wars and raids on other people's kingdoms change for the better, Safar said.
Olari gave him a puzzled look. I thought you two were friends?"
"We are, Safar said. Or were, anyway. But that doesn't mean I agree with him."
Olari chuckled. It seems Protarus and I have both had the same experience with you, he said. You give us your friendship but not your company in our cause."
"I suppose you're right, Safar said. But I've never been enamored of causes. Politics don't interest me. Only the science and history of magic."
"I suppose you'd like to put that interest to real use someday, Olari said. To help people, for instance. To better their lot, their condition, with your skills."
"I'll admit I've thought of such things, Safar said.
"That's a cause isn't it? Olari said. Your cause, of course. But a cause just the same."
"I suppose it is, Safar said.
"So why do you shun my cause, and the cause of your friend Protarus. We're all the same age. We all have similar ideals. It's time for a change, dammit. A massive change. We've lived under the heels of old men for too long."
Safar couldn't say he theorized change might already be occurring. But it was a change on a scale much greater than two young men who wanted to be king.
Instead he said, Allow me my delusions, Olari. I'm sure you and Iraj will soon prove me to be a blind fool. And I hope you forgive me when that time comes."
"You're forgiven already, my friend, Olari said
. Just make sure that when the time comes you know which way to jump."
"That's wise advice, Safar said. I'll remember it. But I hope you'll also remember mine. Be careful of Kalasariz. I have a feeling he's becoming anxious."
"What if he does? Olari said. What can he do to me? The brutal truth of the matter is that there are two kinds of people in Walaria. Those who have reason to fear Tulaz blade. And those who do not. And I, my bookish friend, belong in the first category by reason of my birth and my father's fortune."
Just then Gundara whispered in Safar's ear. The spy approaches!"
Safar held up a hand to silence Olari. A heartbeat later they heard Ersen's sarcastic voice. Do I hear sounds of merrymaking within?"
Ersen ducked into the room and saw the wine jar in Olari's hand. What a greedy lot of beggars, he said. Keeping the wine for yourself when your poor friend Ersen is nearly dying of thirst."
Olari laughed and handed the jar over. Ersen took a long drink, then sat on a mattress. What are you fellows up to? he asked. Plotting the overthrow of the world as we know it, is my guess."
Ersen was not a member of Olari's group. He was too much of a jester to be welcomed. Still, Safar was worried that Olari would say too much. He made a hidden gesture of warning, then said to Ersen:
"You found us out, you canny devil. We've been sitting here for hours planning our revolt. We're thinking of starting with Didima. I've got a recipe we can slip into his food that'll make him limp as a wet rag."
"That's a good start, Ersen said. What about Kalasariz? I've heard he doesn't have a tool at all."
"Exactly what I've been telling Timura, Olari said. We have to come up with something different for him."