He had spent as little time as possible in Old Town today, visiting only the critically ill—sharing the Shining One's words with any who would listen. He had dropped in at "The Swimming Cat" for a brief while, and there had found out from Bontido, the potter, that Tutadar had managed to convince Duran to send the Sabirn boy away for a handful of days.
Such news should have made him happy, but Vadami had a certain feeling that as soon as things began to settle down, Duran would have the boy back in his place as a runner, and the neighborhood would be set off again. In all the years he had spoken with Duran, Vadami had not seen any urge on the other man's part to change his ways.
Especially now. Especially considering the influences being brought to bear on him.
He flinched at the measures that might be necessary. He shrank from the bloodshed that might be necessary, to stop this, remove his heretical thoughts from Old Town.
If there is a growth on a healthy body, don't leave it there, maintained an old Temple saying, cut it out.
And so he would have to make sure that Duran was removed from Old Town.
He did not want to be responsible for such decisions. He never wanted to harm anyone.
Why then, had the gods saddled him with this problem? He attempted to talk to his Superior—his harried Superior curtly bade him solve his own difficulties with his own district—
I have no time, his Superior had said, awash in papers, awash in petitions from priests in every district—for charity, for dispensations—
One thought Duran might have been called to the priesthood himself: if not for Duran, and Duran's charity, countless people who lived in Old Town might have died. The man had always seemed unconcerned for his own aggrandizement in the world, choosing to help those who lived in poverty. Such a person should have been highly respected by everyone.
Should have been. Such was the Sabirn evil they could turn aside even such an exemplary life.
And make him blaspheme . . .
Memories swept over Vadami—his own schooling, the years of hard work and study spent in preparing him to become a priest.
And to have Duran stand up to him—someone who had not endured the study, the fasting, the grueling examinations—and for Duran to turn the words of the book of the Shining to his own advantage—
No! to Sabirn advantage—
That sophistry could not be tolerated. Priests were the only ones qualified to interpret those words. If everyone could choose a meaning for what had been written down in that Book, the cohesive structure of the Temple would be in danger.
For two reasons, therefore, Duran must be punished: his dealings with the Sabirn, and his most dangerous notion that he could interpret the Holy Words.
"Priest Vadami."
He looked up from his wineglass. The alchemist, Ladirno, stood before him, thoroughly soaked.
"May I join you, priest?"
"Aye. Please."
"Damned storm," Ladirno said, tossing his cloak back from his shoulders to let it rest on the chair. He turned to give his order to a waiter, then looked back. "What brings you here, Vadami?"
"The weather. And I needed somewhere to sit a while and think." The waiter brought Ladirno his glass of wine, took the money the alchemist handed over, and disappeared back toward the kitchen. Vadami watched Ladirno—remembering he was Duran's friend.
Was Hladyr leading him?
Was it—guided, this encounter?
"Sor Ladirno. Do you mind if a share a problem with you?"
Ladirno quirked an eyebrow.
"It's about Duran," Vadami said and, as the alchemist's face went dead sober: "He's—gone far past anything we believed. I fear—he is irretrievable."
"In what regard?"
Even now Duran had friends, people who thought him a good man. It worried Vadami, and at the same time made his heart ache to see such loyalty about to be hurt.
"It's true. I fear—he has contact with Sabirn wizards. I fear they've snared him—corrupted him beyond what any reason can deal with. He dares to argue with me. He mocks the Scriptures. He despises reason."
Ladirno shook his head sadly. "I feared so, Father. I did fear it."
"I'm sorry." There was so much respect in this man, so much learning, so much concern, so much . . . stature. "Add to that his consorting with the Sabirn. Something has to be done. I've very sorry. But—"
"Believe me, I do understand. But I fear—" Ladirno lowered his voice further, leaned across the table, whispered: "Father, the Duke himself met these charges. The Duke heard all the -evidence—gave him only the slightest of reprimands. Dare I say it to you, Father—dare I say a terrible thing?"
Vadami's heart beat faster and faster.
"I fear—" Ladirno whispered. "I fear the extent of this -influence. . . ."
Vadami caught his breath. Someone who understood! Truly understood.
"Dark dealings," Vadami said, "understates it. I'm very much afraid—and I don't want to say this to you who are his friend—Duran's gone, completely sucked into that darkness."
An odd look passed across Ladirno's face, quickly gone. "Hladyr bless, Father. I fear—I fear the same. If you're correct—if I am—then . . . anyone dealing with him could be led astray."
Vadami whispered, "The time has come, Ladirno, when we must move. We must keep Duran's heretical ideas from the rest of the people. We must remove his influence from Old Town."
"Remove . . ." Ladirno echoed, fearfully. "You don't mean . . ."
"Sor Ladirno." Vadami shook his head vehemently. "I don't want to hurt Duran. I truly don't. But he has to be stopped, removed from influence—before his corruption spreads. Before his blasphemous interpretations of the Shining One's words fall on fertile ground."
"What are you suggesting?"
Vadami took a sip of his wine, set the glass down, and consciously steadied both his mind and his voice. "If we were to run Duran out of Targheiden, we could solve this problem. As a weapon then, as a channel for darkness—he would be useless to them."
"Run him out of . . . ?" Ladirno rubbed his chin. "What about his friends? What about all those poor folk he's helped? Don't you think they'll prevent such a thing from happening?"
"I've taken that into consideration. Maybe if the weather was its usual fine self his friends would back him up. But no longer. More and more people are becoming convinced the Sabirn are behind the storms."
"Are you?"
"Is there another answer? They hate us. They deal in the darkest of dark arts. If they have wizards drawing directly from the demons of darkness, who's to say what they can do—with an Ancar to spread their poison?"
"I hear you. But, Duran . . . I can't believe he's wrapped up in such acts."
"He is. He's totally involved. How can he not be, seeing the Sabirn as he does? A rotten apple will spoil an entire basketful. Everyone knows that. What we have to do is remove that apple before it rots the others."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"For the same reason I spoke to you before about Duran. You're his friend. I need your help in getting him out of town without hurting him. I was hoping you'd have some idea on how that could be accomplished."
Ladirno sat for a long while in silence, studying his glass held in his hands. Vadami's heart went out to the alchemist, so obviously torn between friendship and a sense of what was right.
"The people are disturbed, you're correct about that," Ladirno said at last. "Did you hear the ducal heralds?"
"Aye. In Temple Square. The crowds—just stood in the rain. . . ."
"Father, the citizens of Targheiden are ready to take up stones. Running Duran out of town could get dangerous. If anything starts—one can't say how far it would go, with what bloodshed."
Vadami nodded. "If we think this through carefully, there's a chance the folk of Old Town will just want to persuade him away. To frighten him. He's done too much good there for them to want to do him bodily harm."
"I don't know. We'll have to be v
ery careful. Have you ever seen a mob in action?"
"No . . ."
"Well, let me tell you . . . you want to pick your leaders. You want to pick them extremely carefully. They should be respected enough to maintain control. They should be respectable people—his neighbors, his friends—who, however they may be frightened right now—will not want to hurt a longtime neighbor. Or stir up wider disturbance."
Vadami rubbed his forehead. "Wise words. I think I have the very person in mind who could talk to Duran's neighbors. She's a seamstress and she runs her shop right next to Duran's. She's been trying to talk him out of this fascination with the Sabirn for years—a good woman, Sor Ladirno . . . she believes in the right things."
"You think she can stir Duran's neighbors up to a point where they'll act? And keep it going? Responsibly?"
"Aye. They're already riled up. Considerably. It won't take much to convince them they'd be better off without Duran around."
Ladirno slowly shook his head, a look of sadness in his eyes. "I was hoping I'd never see such a day," he said, his voice weary. "Duran's always been . . . a little strange. Every one of his colleagues has noticed this. Some of us have even spoken to him about it."
"Hladyr will bless your intent."
"We so hoped he would listen to us, to the Duke, to the Duke's advisors. What we didn't count on was the man's flare for words, and the Duke's leniency." Ladirno smiled crookedly. "But then it's that bond between Ancar. Perhaps that's why Duran wasn't punished as he should have been."
"Perhaps. I pray so."
"If it has to be, it has to be. Duran can't go on working against—honest folk. That's for sure."
"Then you think what I'm planning is right? That it can work?"
"Aye. You have all the arguments on your side, Father. After all, you're the priest . . . you're the one to counsel these people—to counsel all of us. And I think it can work, if you're very careful. My advice still stands: use this seamstress. Only agitate Duran's neighbors as well—be sure to involve as many of his true friends as you can gain—that way there'll be no question of sincere purpose in this—"
A warm feeling filled Vadami's heart. He was finally taking some action. He was given a chance to save an entire section of town from practitioners of the dark arts, a chance to redeem Old Town from heresies and to preserve the Scriptures against attack—surely Hladyr had to bless that—in many ways.
That was why the god had left him in this dismal post—for Hladyr's greater glory, for his ultimate good.
"Hladyr bless, Sor Ladirno," Vadami said, signing him. "And prosper you and yours. Hladyr has used you to advise me—though you're Duran's friend—and friendship is nothing to be scoffed at—you know what is right and just; and Hladyr will reward you."
"In my own humble way, I try," Ladirno replied.
Now that he had an active plan at hand, one that the alchemist agreed was viable, Vadami could hardly sit still. He gathered up his cloak, slipped it over his shoulders, and stood.
"A thousand thanks, Sor Ladirno," he said, bowing slightly. "You'll be in my prayers. I'll always remember your advice, your patience, and your intelligent suggestions."
Ladirno looked up, his face very serious. "Father, I'm sure you're doing what's right. You're being far more gentle in your solution than any other law might be. Only be careful. Guard yourself."
* * *
Full shelves—and hundreds of empty clay pots—kept the shop looking normal. Duran stood, hands on hips, and surveyed what was left downstairs, what he could not take with him. He had delivered nearly all of his drugs, herbs, and medicines to the alley window, only leaving behind enough to do the absolutely necessary routine business from his shop.
But few customers had stopped by. With the continuing rain and wind, his lack of business was not surprising. And since Tutadar had told the neighbors the Sabirn boy was going to be gone for a few days, it should seem natural that deliveries and solicitations should stop, and that the shop would settle to a quieter routine.
One hoped—that that was the perception on the street, at least.
But, thank the gods, the last of his belongings would be smuggled out tonight, storm or no storm. When he had gone to the "Cat" for his midday meal, the looks he had received from his neighbors were not—neighborly.
That was certainly part of the strange sense of urgency that filled his mind. And part of it, he was sure, was a desire to be done with this: now that he had decided to leave Targheiden, he wanted nothing more than to do it quickly—like any parting: the longer it drew on, the more painful it began to be; and the more a man tried to settle his mind—the more the old place began to seem irrelevant and strangely disturbing to him.
Dog, too, seemed keenly aware something strange was in the wind. As Duran's books, papers, medicines, and alchemist's tools had disappeared into the baskets, Dog had walked from place to place, sniffing the emptiness left behind. More than once he had turned his head, looked at Duran in canine puzzlement, and whined softly.
He was taking Dog with him—damned sure. Dog was going to be of great comfort on the road and—wherever else . . . the only living contact Duran would have of what his neighborhood had once been like. But he could not tell Dog that; and perhaps Dog—having experienced loneliness before—could not trust in things.
Duran sighed, scanned the shelves again for forgotten details, things overlooked, things that he might still regret. There was nothing. The shelves with their false, empty containers, stood as a reminder to him of how empty his life had become.
The past was dead, the present was dying.
Only the future seemed of import.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Can you believe it?" Wellhyrn fairly shouted, pacing Ladirno's rug, "That damned man has got to have more than one wizard backing him! There's no other way to explain it!"
Ladirno leaned back in his chair, watching Wellhyrn sputter. His young colleague had burst in not long after he had gotten home, his handsome face red with rage and his hands clenched as if he were prepared to strike out at anyone who got in his way.
"Calm, calm," Ladirno said. "Be patient."
"Patient!" Wellhyrn cried, facing him. "We're near the end of our resources. Two, two wizards, who don't come cheap! And from what Mandani's spy tells him—nothing's working!"
"He has his eye on Duran, then."
"Evidently he's been to that inn for his midday meal. The spy says that it was the same as yesterday. Duran seemed quiet, but not moody—showing no signs of bespelling, nothing in the world wrong! What in Dandro's hells are we going to do? We can't afford to put another wizard on him!"
"We may not have to do anything at all," Ladirno said, taking a sip of his second glass of wine. "I think the little priest might have solved our problems."
"Vadami?" Wellhyrn was incredulous. "That priest?"
"Aye. I just happened into the 'Shoe.' Ran into Vadami. He's utterly convinced Duran's damned, that he's lost his soul to darkness by dealing with the Sabirn."
"So? We tried that argument in court, and it didn't get us anywhere."
"This isn't the Duke we're dealing with, Hyrn. This is a young, ambitious priest, who's very pious, and very interested in doing something that will draw that piety to the attention of his superiors."
"What has that to do with our situation?"
"He still thinks I'm Duran's friend," Ladirno said, "and I'm not going to dissuade him of that fantasy. He told me today that he's reached the end of his patience, that Duran's beginning to corrupt the minds of Old Town." Ladirno leaned closer and lowered his voice. "He plans to run Duran out of town."
Few things ever caught Wellhyrn at a loss for words, but this did. Ladirno found satisfaction at his colleague's stunned expression.
"He's what?"
"Planning on running Duran out of town," Ladirno repeated.
"Are you certain?"
"Aye, I'm certain. Vadami's going to talk to that shrew who has her shop next to Duran's. He see
ms to think she's the most pious woman he knows."
"The seamstress?" Wellhyrn curled his lip. "She's nothing but a gossip and a troublemaker. She's had that reputation for years."
"That may be. But this time, all her gossiping and troublemaking will benefit us. She's the one after Duran; she'll get the entire neighborhood stirred up against him." He took another sip of wine. "Trust me, Wellhyrn. Not everything requires wide actions. We'll be rid of Duran without having to lift a finger ourselves."
"And without any suspicion coming to roost in our nest."
"Exactly.—I'm only sorry if the Duke's heir is receiving treatments for the pox from Duran, there's no chance that Duran can finish. He won't have a chance to save Brovor's life—personally. But there are other doctors. And we can discover who."
Wellhyrn smiled coldly. "That's beautiful. We couldn't have thought up anything that would have worked as well. But do you think Duran's neighbors will act? After all, he's been a well-liked man. And that woman—"
Ladirno shook his head. "He's taken the Sabirn side against them—what do you expect they'll do? What any pious folk would do—and they are that, Hyrn, they are that. They don't know statecraft from hogswill—but they do know their own pocketbooks. Trust that."
"Then our wizards are working."
"Perhaps. Perhaps you have someone else to thank—but let's wait a day or two. At least until we know for sure that Duran's gone. He may have some protection—protection of a sort we'd rather not deal with. It won't hurt to keep ill-wishing him."
"It's money we can ill afford," Wellhyrn pointed out.
"Let me tell you—friend. You involved us in this. I've found our solution. I want you to remember that."
Wellhyrn gave him a hard-jawed stare. "You—"
"The storms, friend. You want to know why our wizards aren't having any luck. Perhaps it's because Duran is involved up to his neck. Perhaps it's because he does have protections—from wizards the Duke's own wizards can't beat. Personally I don't want to touch this mess—but we're in it; and being in it, we'd damned well better put somebody else between us and the trouble—somebody with special protections: let the Temple fight this thing."
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