A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  Princess Kadolan recoiled, then disappeared into her new carriage without another word.

  “Well, that’s settled, I suppose,” Andor said, a gleam of amusement on his too-handsome face. His raiment would have cost a factor’s clerk in Krasnegar about three lifetimes’ wages.

  Rap gave Foggy a final pat while he looked the rig over once more with farsight.

  Andor paused at the carriage step. “The driving will be tricky, my man. I’d best give you directions.”

  Rap’s nerves were too taut for jesting. “Just say right or left when you want me to turn. You needn’t shout, either.”

  Andor flinched. “You can hear what we say inside?”

  “When I want to. Right or left out the gate?” Rap hauled himself up on the perch without waiting for the answer.

  “Left!” Andor whispered crossly, and went to join the princess.

  Hub was huge. Andor had told him so, long ago, but Rap had never envisioned so many leagues of busy streets and ostentatious architecture, and it all grew grander and grander and busier and busier as he drove steadily into the heart of the capital. Row after row of tenements for the poor gave way gradually to respectable homes, and then to the great houses of the nobles beside parks, to monuments and grandiose public buildings and temples … above all, temples. Dozens of temples.

  Even in the gloomy drizzle, Hub was overpowering. He could not imagine how glorious it would be in sunshine.

  Inside the carriage, Kade was as excited as a child, and Andor smugly acted as tour guide: pointing out, naming, explaining. “The temples are why this is called the City of the Gods, ma’am. Every single God has a temple of Their own. ’Tis said the Imperial secretariat just keeps building them, so that whenever a new God is added to the list, there is a temple ready waiting to be dedicated.”

  “Fancy! Well, I must visit some. And since it must have been the God of Love who appeared to Inos, I should perhaps start with Theirs.”

  “Er … I advise against it! A lot of dubious characters hang out around that one.”

  Rap had little time to eavesdrop on the passengers or admire the city or brood about his future. Despite himself, he was being forced to exercise some of his powers, and he had no idea how mundane drivers could survive unscathed in such tumultuous traffic. Carriages wheeled everywhere, all driven by maniacs, while the rest of the population seemed to be holding footraces and watersports on the same streets in fruitless efforts to stay dry. He thought he would much rather drive over the causeway to Krasnegar at high tide in a gale. He survived only because he had absolute control over his horses, and over all the other horses, as well — his passing provoked much well-phrased cursing.

  It was a danger, of course. Some sorcerer might detect him, some warden’s votary out hunting for recruits, but he thought that very unlikely. He had learned how to use his talents now without shaking the ambience much, and he had just become aware of another safeguard, here in Hub — there was a background shimmer of sorcery and magic going on all the time. To track down a whisper of animal mastery amid all that occult hubbub would be almost impossible.

  He caught a fleeting view of the golden turrets of East’s palace, and a much briefer glimpse of the Opal Palace beyond, and then Andor’s instructions led him south, away from the center.

  Dark was falling by the time he heard the welcome news that the hostelry ahead was his destination. He pulled into the yard and stopped, and for a moment just sat limply in the sudden peace, wiping his eyes and feeling as if he’d been wrestling white bears underwater. Whatever dread fate his foresight had seen in Hub … could it be any worse than the traffic?

  A groom was holding cheekstraps, Andor counting out gold, Gathmor yelling instructions at the boys swarming over the baggage, and a quartet of trolls was shambling forward.

  Rap jumped down and went to thank Smoky and Foggy. Normally he would have insisted on rubbing them down himself, but a quick scan of the stables showed him they would be well boarded — and Andor was sending him glances.

  “We’ve only a bowshot to go,” he was saying. “We don’t need porters, do we?” The travelers had amassed an amazing amount of baggage, and that morning he had insisted that it all be crammed into just two trunks.

  So Rap exchanged shrugs with Gathmor and said he thought they could manage. Then he beat the sailor to the larger box and hoisted it onto his shoulder with no help from the scowling trolls.

  Wielding the princess’s umbrella for her with his usual aplomb, Andor led the way out of the yard, across the street, into a lane too narrow for a carriage, down a short flight of stairs, turned left at an intersection, and into a shadowy court.

  Then up some stairs. Across another courtyard …

  The steady downpour was showing no signs of waning, and a spiteful wind hustled it along these constricted passageways. The trunk on Rap’s shoulder grew heavier by the minute. Water was running into his sleeve and down his collar. Ankle-deep floods swirled garbage along gutters and paving alike, and periodically managed to soak his feet.

  The next alley was a gap so narrow that pedestrians must walk in single file, and the two human camels had to watch their elbows and knuckles. Nothing was straight for more than a few paces, no angles were right; the buildings were a labyrinth, their height squeezing the darkening sky to narrow slits. More steps …

  “Some bowshot!” Gathmor grumbled, puffing.

  “Arrows fly straight.” Rap just wished that the old lady would walk faster.

  “Good spot for an ambush.”

  “Don’t see anything lurking.” Rap had not been neglecting his farsight, but so far it was confirming what his eyes said — that this was an area of blighted trades and decaying residences, but relatively harmless. The buildings were obviously very old, but that must be normal in Hub.

  Gathmor paused to shift his load to his other shoulder. “Easy for you!” he grumbled.

  “Yep!” Rap said. “Want me to take both?” But he was using honest muscle, not power, and he was both surprised and pleased to have outlasted the sailor. He shifted his load over, also, though, and they carried on — across a rubbly empty lot, through the gloom of a covered wynd, stopping at last before an inconspicuous door set almost flush with the wall. It was cobbled together from rough planks; it had no distinguishing marks at all.

  “And here we are!” Andor said cheerfully. “Not exactly a fashionable address, but certainly not a slum, either. Discreet —”

  “Open that door, or I drop this on your toes!” Gathmor snarled.

  “Ah! Well, if you insist. Magic time!”

  Andor placed his lips close to a knothole in the door and whispered something to it. Rap felt a shimmer as it swung open.

  “Goodness!” the princess said.

  “Magic door! You can buy anything in Hub if you have the money.”

  That was sorcery, not magic, but a large number of such occult gadgets in operation would explain the steady vibration Rap sensed in the ambience. With sighs of relief, he and Gathmor entered and thumped their loads to the floor in unison. The dingy little room was bare except for a shabby rug and a row of pegs holding a few assorted hats, cloaks, and a couple of lanterns. The only lighting came from a small transom, grimy and barred, plus a few chinks in the door; the staircase ahead was inky dark. Andor closed the door carefully, then fumbled with flint and steel.

  “This is an odd place,” he said. “What my associates and I like most about it is that it has entrances on three different streets. Thinal and I have been known to come in a skylight, also.”

  Rap’s farsight was already exploring an astonishingly complex series of rooms and hallways and staircases, a human-scale ants’ nest carved out of a dozen adjoining homes by the simple process of stealing away a room here and a room there. Only by tracing out the pathways through the maze could he determine which chambers belonged to this residence and which did not. Even the neighbors might not realize that this labyrinth existed in their midst.

 
He easily detected the hand of Sagorn — room after room filled with books, rolled charts, hermetic apparatus, and piles of bizarre paraphernalia — but he also noted several walk-in closets completely stuffed with gentleman’s clothing, and an attic workshop littered with artists’ equipment and parts of musical instruments. Thinal seemed to be represented only by a small secret cupboard under a stair tread, half full of gems and gold trinkets — nothing but the best, of course. Of Darad there was no sign at all, but Darad would have no reason or desire ever to come to Hub.

  The lantern flickered into life, casting a golden glow on weary faces.

  “The place needs a good cleaning,” Andor admitted. “We hire a servant every ten years or so, for a few months. We’re overdue. It may not be the style to which you are accustomed, ma’am, but it does provide a very suitable lair for a group of men bearing an ancient curse.”

  “You did not design it yourselves?” Rap asked.

  Andor had turned toward the stair. He turned back, as if reading something in Rap’s tone. “No. It’s very old. We were lucky enough to hear of it when it came on the market, and Sagorn purchased the freehold. Why?”

  “About two-thirds of it is shielded. I suppose the rest of it was added in later, but the original was the work of a sorcerer.”

  For once Andor was at a loss. Then he laughed uneasily. “Our lucky word at work?”

  “Certainly,” Rap said. “You probably owe your lives to it, because all of you jostle the ambience at times. It’s always seemed like a miracle that you have escaped detection for so long … so, here’s the miracle.”

  “Gods! We do? Then you will show me which parts are safe before you leave?”

  “Gladly.”

  Andor shrugged, visibly unnerved by the news. Then he again headed for the stair, holding the lamp high and offering his arm to the princess. In silent consent, Rap and Gathmor moved to opposite ends of the same trunk and hefted it between them, leaving the other for a second trip.

  Settling in was a brief process. Andor assigned bedchambers to everyone; the other men delivered baggage and then brought buckets of water from the pump in the cellar, which was itself ankle-deep in runoff that day. Cleaned up and refreshed, the visitors gathered in the main drawing room and discovered that their host was no longer Andor.

  Long and gaunt in a silvery robe, Sagorn was leaning against the mantel and surveying the room with the supercilious sneer that meant he was displeased. He was wearing a black skullcap, an affectation Rap had not seen on him before.

  The chamber was large but sadly in need of cleaning: the fireplace full of ancient ashes, tables thick with dust, shelves festooned with cobwebs. Rap did not know how much detail the others could make out in the gloom filtering through the grubby windows, but the smell of dirt was unmistakable and the princess’s expression unusually bleak. Sagorn himself was making no move to light the candles.

  He nodded to Gathmor as he entered, the last to do so. “Take a seat, Captain.”

  “Think I’ll stand.” The sailor folded his arms and scowled. The princess had perched on a straight-back chair. Rap had let himself sink into a cushioned divan, to see if it was as soft as it looked. It was, but smelled unpleasantly of mildew.

  “I assume that Andor called you so we could have a strategy meeting?” the princess said.

  Sagorn chuckled cynically. “Only partly. Our fastidious friend was shamed by the quarters he had to offer you. He decided that as it had been my idea to bring you here, I ought to take the blame.” He raised a hand to forestall her denial. “And he was right! I apologize wholeheartedly, ma’am. I had failed to notice in the last few years how neglected the place has become. I tend to become lost in my studies, you see … The house is a disgrace.”

  “Well, we shan’t hurt for a day or two,” the princess said cheerfully. “What do you propose we do now?”

  “Food, I suppose,” Sagorn said. “And information. How real is this war? Has Inosolan arrived in Hub, and have her djinn companions? They may have been forced to turn back, you know. What of Krasnegar? What rumors of the Four? And we might try to ascertain which of your friends and relations are in town, ma’am. The same for my political cronies. When we have answers to those questions, we shall have more questions to answer!”

  “And how can I help?”

  “I’m not sure! There are taverns not far away where Thinal can often pick up gossip. Andor can visit some of his acquaintances.” His raptor eyes swung around to look at Rap. “Our mage should be able to gather news by occult means.”

  “Only by eavesdropping,” Rap said. “But that’s safe enough.”

  “And mastery. If Andor can worm out secrets, I’m sure you can.”

  “I suppose so,” Rap said unhappily.

  “You might interview a legionary or two. And the captain …” Sagorn eyed Gathmor doubtfully.

  Gathmor sneered. “The captain stays home and makes things shipshape. Filthy, lubberly crew you are!”

  “Then I shall be cook and homemaker,” the princess said.

  “Ma’am —”

  “No, truly!” She beamed up at him, amused. “I love cooking, and I very rarely get the chance. But I can’t produce a meal from an empty larder.”

  All eyes went to the darkening windows. The markets would be closing, or closed.

  “This place is shielded.” Rap had just discovered he was ravenous. “How about chicken dumplings?” He was remembering a very special treat his mother had made for him maybe twice or three times in his childhood, the best thing he had ever tasted. With his occultly flawless memory he could recall that taste exactly, and his mouth was suddenly watering like the weather. It was the nicest sensation he’d known in days. Maybe, just once in a while, it was good to have powers beyond the mundane.

  “Of course!” the princess exclaimed. “You can make food appear by magic, like Sheik Elkarath did!”

  “Oh, yes. I’m not sure what happens afterward, though. We may all wake up very hungry in the night.”

  “Well?” Sagorn snapped. “Why stop with such plain fare? I am sure her Highness would prefer, say, fricassee of pigeon breast in truffle and caper sauce.”

  “Anything at all,” Rap said. “If you let me know what you want it to look like, I’ll produce it. But it’s going to taste like chicken dumplings.”

  2

  Along every great highway of the Impire, the horse posts were numbered. In her letter to Senator Epoxague, therefore, Inos had suggested that Post Number One on the Great South Way would be a suitable place to meet. She knew the road would go that far, but she had no idea where it went within the city. What she had not anticipated was just how large a staging post could be.

  The letter had been borne on ahead by the next passing courier, and a message to a senator was sure to receive dispatch treatment. Azak had set a gentler pace thereafter — to be less conspicuous, perhaps, or to let the letter arrive and produce results. That night the innkeeper had called in soldiers to inspect his suspicious guests, but the elvish passport had worked again. Inos kept expecting it to fail.

  And at noon the next day, it did.

  South Post Number One was huge, enormous. Not only the Great South Way began here, but the Pithmot Way also, and a spur of the Great East Way. Here the stagecoaches and the Imperial mail began and ended their runs. Here private travelers arriving could turn in their posters, then hire cabs for transport within the city; the outgoing could rent mounts or whole equipages of horses and coaches and servants. Halls and yards and paddocks and stables sprawled like a small township, bustling with couriers and messenger boys and porters and ostlers and cutpurses. There were a thousand horses there, and almost as many people, all seemingly milling around in the rain, all shouting. Wheels rumbled and splashed. The air was thick with the smell of wet horses. There were also soldiers.

  Inos had not foreseen the difficulty of meeting someone she did not know, and who did not know her, because she had expected a far smaller place, and never su
ch a turmoil. For two days she had been dreaming of a friendly family senator appearing to provide hospitality and protection, and perhaps a little sane, cultured relaxation after half a year of mad adventure. He might very well have answered her plea and come to the rendezvous, or sent someone in his place, but how could they locate each other? She had not dared mention that she was traveling with four djinns.

  They had turned in their horses and recovered their original deposit. They had left that office, and now they were outside in the rain and Azak was leaving the next move to her, scowling ferociously but saying nothing as the minutes crawled by and she stared this way and that way and wondered where on earth to go first. Horses and travelers milled past, and then — from all sides like wolves emerging from a forest — legionaries closed in with drawn swords.

  Followed by her four djinn companions, she was escorted indoors and then up a somber staircase to a room that already contained a tribune, a centurion, and one unremarkable civilian. About a dozen legionaries filed in with the captives, and spread around, still holding naked blades. There was one table and no chairs. The door was then closed, and bolted.

  Fear throbbed at her temples; the forgery had been exposed, the senator had betrayed her. The deliberate overcrowding of the room was designed to add to the stress; she felt she could hardly twitch without contacting an armored torso. They were all around, eyes too close. She could smell the leather and the polish and the men’s breath.

  The tribune leaned back against the table and read over the passport. Then he regarded his five captives with satisfaction. “This is very good work,” he said. “A very good fake.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Azak replied.

  The tribune smiled and handed it to the civilian, who was young, balding and bookish — an inoffensive little man, obviously dangerous, else he would not be there. He carried the document over to the window and peered at it, holding it almost at the end of his long nose. “Yes, very fine,” he concluded. “Elvish, almost certainly.” He continued to study the penmanship.