by Allan Cole
"Well, I'm just your man, Ersen said. See if you can find another jar of wine in there, Timura. There's a good fellow. Conspiracy makes thirsty work."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ZEMAN'S REVENGE
It was just after Last Prayer and the Foolsmire was filling up with thirsty students. Inside the shop Zeman kept an eye on the alley entrance while he handed out books and collected rental fees. The word had come down from Kalasariz that Safar was expected to visit tonight in order to meet with Olari and his group of malcontents. Zeman's orders were to learn the purpose of that meeting and to report back what he found.
Zeman was vastly pleased with himself. His grandfather had been away when the letter from Iraj Protarus had arrived for Safar. Soon as he saw it Zeman thought his fortune was made. As anxious as he'd been to pass it on to the spymaster, he'd first taken time to examine the opportunity from every angle.
He'd been in Kalasariz employ for over a year. He had a small copper chest under his bed filled with money earned from all the information he'd passed on to the spymaster. The Foolsmire was an ideal place to pick up gossip from wine-soaked students and learn of their crimes; past, present, and planned. It was a task Zeman found himself ideally suited for. His awkward ways, bad manners, and sly, short-changing habits had made him an object of derision among the young customers. He'd suffered their mocking remarks for years. Like most insensitive people Zeman's own feelings were extremely delicate and the remarks wounded him deeply. His reaction had been to become more abrasive and to cheat them every chance he had. Once he became a paid informer, however, the jibes no longer injured him. As an informer he was a man of power who secretly repaid every insult with a report that put a black mark next to their names. Also, except for the jibes, no one paid any attention to Zeman when he came near. The students thought so poorly of him they spoke freely in his presence, unaware all they said was being passed on to Kalasariz.
Safar was one of the few regulars who never joined the others in the game of Zeman-baiting. Zeman hated him for it. He saw condescension, not kindness, in Timura. He also strongly believed Safar had designs of his own on the Foolsmire. Look at how he toadied up to Katal, pretending he actually liked the old man and cared what he thought. Zeman saw his grandfather as a crazy, irresponsible old man who lived in a dreamworld where food for thought was more important than food for the table. Katal had the audacity to tell him some months ago that when he died he'd made arrangements for two small bequestsone for Timura and the other for that little thiefbitch, Nerisa.
Zeman had been scandalized by the news. The old man was giving away what rightfully belonged to his grandson. He became convinced the bequests had been Timura's goal all along. Safar was stealing Katal's affection and if Zeman didn't put a stop to it soon the old man would end up handing over all his worldly goods to Safar, leaving Zeman with nothing. As for Nerisa, why it was as plain as a full moon on a cold night that she was in league with Timura. Look at how she played on the old man's weaknessespretending to be a helpless orphan but all the while cozening up to Katal so she could win a place in his home and at his table. Zeman also believed her relationship with Timura was scandalous. He was certain they were sleeping together, which made Nerisa a child whore and Timura a whoremaster who probably traded her around to other decadent men who savored the flesh of children.
Zeman considered it his holy duty to put a stop to it. He'd plotted long and hard to find the rock that would crush them both. The letter, combined with Nerisa's robbery of the stallmaster, had given him that opportunity. When he'd finally delivered the letter he'd added a report linking the two together as conspirators against Walaria.
Now his plan was about to bear fruit. Other evidence had been found against Timura. At least that's what he surmised when the urgent message came that he was to watch Safar carefully tonight and report back all that he'd found. Zeman sensed a crisis cominga crisis for Safar and Nerisa, at least. When it arrived the only thing that would make Zeman's world even more perfect would be if he could rid himself of his grandfather as well. He didn't know how he could accomplish that feat just yet. But he was confident if he were especially watchful the idea would come.
A voice broke into his thoughts: What's the matter with you, Zeman? Got dirt stuffed in your ears?"
He looked up and saw the sarcastic amusement in a young customer's face. I've told you twice, now, the student said, that you've given me too much change."
Zeman glanced at the rental book in the student's hand and the coins on the desk. He'd been so lost in thought that he'd forgotten his original intentwhich was to shortchange the student. He made a quick count of coins and saw that instead he'd returned too much.
"I don't mind cheating you, the student said. The gods know you've robbed me often enough. But that was for your own pocket. This is for old man Katal."
"No one's forcing you to come here, Zeman snarled as he pulled in the excess change. If you don't like I how do business, go someplace else. You won't be missed by me."
Instead of getting angry the student laughed at him. No one cares what you think, Zeman, he said. You don't own this place. Your grandfather does. We only put up with you because of old man Katal."
He grabbed his change and walked into the patio, laughing and telling the others about the encounter. Zeman was about to shout an insult when he saw Timura coming down the alley. Quickly he put out a coin basket and little sign telling the other bookstore patrons to wait on themselves. It was an honor system Katal had instituted long ago for the busiest hours. Zeman disliked the practice and had argued against it many times. He planned to end it soon as Katal gave up his stubborn hold on life and died. But just now it served his purpose.
As he headed for the patio and the crowded tables of wine drinkers someone tried to stop him and hand him money for a book.
"What are youblind? Zeman retorted, pointing at the basket. Put your money there. I've got other things to do."
He rushed out, not hearing the response. His grandfather was at the well, drawing up buckets of cold wine jugs and stacking them on trays. Zeman saw Timura head for a large table in the far corner where Olari was holding court. Zeman was thrilledthe intelligence he'd received about the predicted meeting was evidently correct.
He snatched a tray from Katal's hands. Here, let me help you with that, grandfather, he said to the startled old man.
Zeman ignored the pleased expression on his grandfather's face. He balanced the tray above his head and moved slowly through the crowd. People shouted for service as he passed, but he paid them no mind, concentrating instead on Safar and Olari. Timura's arrival was met with shouted welcomes and Olari rose to greet him, slapping him on the back and then leaning close to whisper something in his ear. Safar laughed as if he'd just been told a grand joke, but Zeman saw Olari pass him a small object, which he tucked into his robe.
Instead of going directly to Olari's table Zeman delivered his tray to the one closest to it. Moving at a snail's pace, he put a jug in front of each person; his focus was entirely on the discussion swirling around Timura.
He could pick up only snatches of the excited babble:…history in the making… teach them a lesson they'll never forget… Umurhan will just shit… it's gonna be the best Founder's Day ever!"
When the tray was empty he stepped over to Olari's table; as usual, no one paid him the slightest attention, other than to order a drink or to berate him for being lazy and slow. Zeman smiled blandly at the insults, gradually working his way toward Timura. He was just at Olari's elbow, bending his head close as he could to hear the whispered conversation between the two, when Safar suddenly looked up and saw him. His eyes were wide as if someone had just said something surprising. Then they narrowed in what seemed to be sudden understanding.
Zeman couldn't bring himself to tear his gaze away from Safar's stare.
He knows, Zeman thought. Timura knows I'm an informer. But that's not possible! How could he?
Then Timura broke his
gaze and touched Olari's hand in warning. The young noble snipped off whatever it was he was saying and leaned closer so Timura could whisper something in his ear. Zeman saw him jolt and start to turn to look in his direction, but another warning touch from Timura stopped him.
Zeman calmed himself. His imagination was running wild, he thought. There was no way Timura could know he was a spy. Safar's behavior was the result of guilt, not knowledge. He and Olari were obviously planning something and Timura was smart enough to make sure that not even someone he held in such contempt as Zeman would overhear. But he still felt uncomfortable, so he hurried away from the table on the pretense of fetching the orders for wine.
****
Safar watched Zeman dodge through the crowd, the empty tray clutched tightly to his side.
"How do you know he's an informer? Olari asked. He's so stupid and lazy, it's hard to believe Kalasariz would ever want him."
"Trust me, Safar said. Or at least, humor me. My information comes from an impeccable source."
Gundara's hissed warning had come just as Olari was discussing the disturbances he intended to stage after Safar's spellcast disrupted the Founder's Day ceremony. Safar had been nearly bowled over when he realized the little Favorite had fingered Zeman. After his initial surprise he had felt pity for poor Katal. His next thought was the realization that it was none other than Zeman who had put Kalasariz on his trail with trumped up charges. Anger boiled over in his belly, rising to sear the back of his throat. It was Zeman's fault that his life and Nerisa's were in danger. Under the circumstances anger was futile, as were any thoughts of revenge that would delay his flight from Walaria.
"You probably think I've suddenly gone mad, Safar said. Insane or not, you can't be harmed by following my advice and being careful around him."
"I don't think you're mad, Olari said. But I do wonder how you got your information."
"I can't say, Safar said.
"Anyone else we should be wary of? Olari asked.
Safar knew if mentioned Ersen, Olari really would think he'd gone crazy. So he said, Look at it this wayif someone like Zeman can be a spy, then who can you trust? The most unlikely person could be a direct pipeline into Kalasariz. Why, even Ersenjester that he iscould be with the enemy."
"Ersen? Olari said. What brought his name into this?"
Safar shook his head. Please, just be careful. Question everything. Everyone."
"Actually, Olari said, Ersen makes more sense than Zeman. His father ran into some trouble with Kalasariz a few years ago. He seemed doomed for awhile, but then suddenly everything was fine again. And he's done nothing but rise in the ranks of the Walarian Council since Ersen started at the University."
Safar didn't respond and after a bit Olari realized he wasn't going to say anything more.
"For a man who doesn't like politics, Olari said, you sure have a talent for wading into it up to your neck."
****
An hour later Safar lit the oil lamps in his rooms above the old city wall and got out his chest of magical implements. He had an idea for the spellcast he'd promised Olari and he thought he'd work on it while waiting for Nerisa.
The spell links came to him quickly and he jotted them down for reference and then got out a clean casting scroll and his brushes and magical paints. Gundara was busy devouring the sweet rolls he'd been promised and was quiet for a time. As he nibbled on the last of his treats, the little Favorite noticed what Safar was doing and watched with some amusementpicking dried berries and crumbs off his tunic and popping them in his mouth.
Safar used a narrow brush to paint sorcerous symbols on the rough white surface of the scroll, building up the spellcast's foundation.
"You can tell you're a student, Gundara criticized. Too complicated. And do you really want to put the water sign in the center? Most wizards I know shove it in a corner out of the way."
"I'm not other wizards, Safar said. And in this particular spell water goes in the center."
"O-kay, Gundara said. If that's what you really want. But I think it's pretty stupid. He'd finished the rolls and with no other tasties in sight he didn't see any reason for continued politeness.
"You'd better pray I'm right, Safar said, because you're the one who's going to carry it out."
"Oh, that's just wonderful, Gundara complained. Here I am, the product of history's greatest wizardly minds, reduced to student pranks."
"This happens to be a prank, Safar pointed out, that may save your master's life."
"Oh, in that case, Gundara said, leave the water sign in the center. I'll get a new master quicker."
Safar, mind buzzing with the spell cast he was forming, started to get irritated. But when he saw the Favorite licking the sugary remains off his ugly little face he had to laugh.
"You win, he said. He dabbed white magical paint over the blue water sign. Will the right hand corner do, O Wise One?"
Gundara shrugged. Put it where you like. Makes no never mind to me. The Master knows best, that's my motto from now on."
"Fine, I'll put it there, Safar said. Now, what symbol would you suggest for the center?"
Gundara got interested in spite of himself. How about Fire? he said. That's a good symbol."
"Fire it is, then, Safar said, loading his brush with new paint and making red flame-like flares in the center."
"Of course, Lord Asper would've used his serpent symbol, Gundara said. But I suppose he's out of favor with the younger wizards these days."
The name caught Safar by surprise. Asper? he goggled. You know of Asper?"
Gundara sniffed, superior. Certainly I do. You don't spend a couple of thousands years knocking around wizards laboratories and not run into Lord Asper. Of course, his stuff was always more popular with demons. Since he was one. And I don't do demons. That's Gundaree's job. But I've picked up enough about him over the millennia to get by."
Safar pushed the scroll in front of him. Show me, he said, holding out the brush.
Gundara hopped closer and grabbed the brush. Small as it was, it looked like a large spear in the little Favorite's taloned paws. He washed off the red in a water dish and loaded it with green paint.
Gundara lectured as he drew. The serpent had four heads so it could see in every direction. Each head had four poison fangs to help guard the center. He daubed in the long body. And there was a poison stinger on the tail in case the serpent was attacked from overhead. And then up here, right below where the heads join, you need to give the serpent wings so he can escape into the air if he needs to."
When he was done, Gundara stepped back to examine his work. Not bad, he said, even if I do say so myself."
His twin must have uttered an insult, for he suddenly turned toward the turtle idol, which was sitting next to the brazier. Oh, shut up, Gundaree! he snarled. Shut up, shut up! He turned back to Safar. He's so rude, the Favorite said. You can't believe the things he says to me!"
Safar, who was getting used to the one-way exchange between the twins, paid no attention. He examined the scroll and when he was satisfied he made a magical gesture, stirring the air with a forefinger. A miniature tornadoabout the size of Safar's little fingersprang up over the paper, quickly drying the paint. When it was done Safar blew on it and the tornado vanished.
Then he rolled the scroll into a tight tube and gave it to Gundara.
"Keep it, he commanded. When you hear me chant the words to the spell you are to activate it. Do you understand?"
"What's to understand? Gundara said. You humans make such work out of magic. Demon wizards know it all comes from the gut, not the head. They just do it, while you're still thinking about it."
Despite the retort the Favorite did as he was told, collapsing the paper tube into an object the size of an infant's finger and tucking it into his sleeve for safe keeping. For a change, however, Safar was stung by Gundara's comments.
He'd learned much in Walaria. He had a mental storehouse of spells to confront almost any possibility. And he
had the sound intellectual knowledge to create new spells to meet eventualities rote learning didn't cover. Compared to the other students and, yes, even compared to Umurhan, he had much greater power. He could feel it surging forward when he cast a spellso strong he had to hold back so he didn't betray his true abilities. Still, the force was nothing like he'd experienced when he'd bested the demons in the snowy pass years before. He'd tried in private many times but he'd never been able to equal the river-like surge he'd felt during that life-and-death moment. The failure frustrated him. At first he tried to tell himself it didn't matter. That magic really wasn't his true purposewhich was to find the answer to the puzzle of Hadin. But the more he'd studied, the more he'd realized the solution would only come through sorcery.
"When I have time, Safar said, which probably won't be until I'm safely on my way home, you and I need to sit down and have a long talk about Hadin."
"Best place in the world, Gundara said. Smartest mortals around. They made me, which ought to be proof enough. Although, somebody sure made a big mistake when they made Gundaree. Probably a human assistant. You know how there are. Of course, anything I have to say will be pretty old news. The gods were still in swaddling clothes last time we were there."
"Anything will help, Safar said. Also I want to hear about Asper."
Gundara yawned. That'll be a pretty short conversation, he said. All I know is what I've heard from other wizards."
"I understand he wrote a book about his theories, Safar said. Have you ever seen it?"
"No. And I don't know anyone who has."
"I think there's a copy in Umurhan's library, Safar said. Among his forbidden books."
"Then why didn't you steal it today? Gundara asked. You could have gone upstairs. I told you it was safe. And once you were inside I could have sniffed it out for you easy. You wouldn't have even had to give me another sweet roll."