The Wizard of Anharitte

by Colin Kapp

Ren held out his hand in acceptance of the bargain. ‘Then it’s settled. The Imaiz will be stopped.’

  ‘He will be. But initially we must proceed by customary feud and harassment. Only if these measures aren’t effective can we consider outright war.’

  ‘I’ll accept that,’ said Ren. ‘You start to prepare a campaign against the Imaiz. I’ll do some preliminary canvassing for support among the other lords. I suggest we meet again in two days time to decide our plan of action.’

  As Ren left his office he was at once aware of being observed. He had not gone far through the quaint and narrow streets before a prefecture watchman approached him.

  ‘Agent Ren?’

  ‘The same.’ The watchman had obviously been waiting for him to emerge. ‘What services can I offer?’

  ‘If you please, you will accompany me to the prefecture. Lord Di Irons wishes to speak with you.’

  ‘And I with him,’ said Ren, though he recognized the summons for the imperious demand that it was. If he had thought or declining the invitation the appearance of two more watchmen behind him pointed up the wisdom of cheerful compliance.

  Even in the bright sun the prefecture looked cold and uninviting. The wide portals shaded the exterior brilliance quickly into a dim chill that seemed resident in the very fabric of the building. Tito Ren could not repress a shiver as he entered the main door. The stone corridors of the law Were always an anathema to him.

  Di Irons’ office was large and grimly impressive. On the same scale was the man himself. Huge, bearded, and with a shock of rust-red, unruly hair, he was as unlike the typical Ahhn as was Ren himself. His very presence spoke of strength and granite resolution. The prefect was obviously not a man to be lightly deflected from his task.

  ‘Agent Ren—’ the handshake was a mere formality—‘I’ve asked you here because we need a better understanding of each other. My job is to maintain the law in Anharitte. Yours is to run a profitable exchange of trade through our sea and spaceport facilities. It would be a pity if in pursuit of our respective duties we should happen to collide.’

  ‘Indeed a pity.’ Ren shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘However, I think the possibility is slight. We traders are aware that we remain here on sufferance.’

  ‘Don’t fence with me,’ said Di Irons savagely. ‘I spoke of understanding. We both know that the lords of Anharitte are as much dependent on your money as you are upon access to the free port facilities. So let’s speak frankly. I know that you and your director intend making feud with the Imaiz.’

  Ren examined his inquisitor warily. ‘You know of that?’

  “‘Of course. Not much occurs in Anharitte that isn’t known in the prefecture. Whether or not we choose to act on what we know depends on our interpretation of the law. Provocation isn’t an offense. But if Vestevaal had struck Zinder the other day we’d have been very much concerned.’

  ‘To protect a slave?’ Ren affected a measure of surprise he did not feel.

  Di Irons’ voice was quieter now but just as dangerous. ‘No. We would have had to intervene to protect your stupid hides. And that offends our idea of preservation of the peace. You’re no stranger here, Ren. You know which way the tides flow in Anharitte.’

  ‘I know it,’ said Ren, ‘but the director needed proof of my interpretation.’

  ‘Well, I gather he got it. But I don’t advise him to make an open confrontation like that again. Zinder has too many sympathizers to make it a healthy pastime. But what escapes me is why your director needed proof of her ability to cut him down to size.’

  ‘Because it’s my contention that if the Imaiz continues to educate slaves to her level, the slave structure will crumble. Your society as it now exists will crumble. Don’t ask me what will replace it—but it will certainly be a system with less tolerance toward Free Trade than the one we can enjoy at the moment.’

  ‘So that’s it.’ Di Irons was suddenly caught by the speculation.

  ‘You asked for understanding,’ said Ren. ‘Well, I’ve shown my blade. Now dare you return the gesture? I don’t imagine you lords of Anharitte would look upon the withdrawal of Free Trade with much favor.’

  ‘No!’ Di Irons reacted violently. ‘You’ll not involve me in politics. The Imaiz may be ill advised in the way he treats his slaves. But if I were to take arms against every slavemaster I considered ill advised, I would not have half enough cells in which to hold them—Or a tenth enough tormentors to make their stay uncomfortable. In any case, I think you’re reading more into this than is written. I know Dion well. He’s a frequent guest in my household.’

  ‘And Zinder? Is she a frequent guest, too? A slave?’

  ‘If Dion wills it. A slavemaster’s rights over his bondslaves are absolute—and that’s a principle I must uphold. If he chooses to pretty her and pamper her it’s no concern of mine. She would not be the first bondslave to become a favored concubine—though I’ll not say that’s what she is. If Dion is pleased to bring her to my, table I’ll be the last to interfere. In any case, Zinder’s a charming and cultured girl.’

  ‘And you approve of a bondslave’s being educated to this level?’

  ‘I don’t necessarily approve when a master has a slave stoned to death for some imagined slight. My function is not to judge but to maintain the law. Thus far I’ve no evidence that Dion-daizan has broken it.’

  ‘Then you’re not willing to assist us in protecting Anharitte from the Imaiz’s slave policy?’

  ‘I’m not even convinced there is any threat. A man who owns slaves must always be on guard against rebellion—and I fancy Dion runs less risk of this than most. But above all, the law must be neutral—or it ceases to be law and becomes tyranny. Let it not be said that a prefect of Anharitte used his position to persecute others on the word of an outworld merchant’s agent.

  ‘If you think you have a grievance against Dion-daizan you can have recourse to the supreme court in Gaillen. Or you can attempt to achieve satisfaction through the services of a society. But let them advise you on tactics. The societies know how to operate with discretion. If your feud moves .Into the ‘public realm I shall act—and act decisively and without favor. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Would you also move against the Imaiz if the necessity arose?’

  ‘The lords of Anharitte have certain rights of arms. Outside those, whoever destroys the peace of Anharitte will be forced to account to me. That goes for the Imaiz, for the other lords—and most especially for you, Ren. Agent you may be, but if you assume the role of agent provocateur, then you’ll not find us so hospitable.’

  Ren scowled with disappointment. ‘I doubt the other lords would condone your tolerance toward the activities of Dion-daizan and his slaves.’

  The prefect exploded in anger. ‘You’re an outworlder, Ren. Don’t try and tell me what Di Rode and Di Guaard and the Lady T’Ampere would or wouldn’t think. I was raised with these people. I know what they think better than they know it themselves.’

  ‘But you weren’t raised with the Imaiz,’ said Ren coldly. ‘Because the suggestion is very strong that he’s a Terran. Don’t tell me that doesn’t offend your precious law?’

  For the first time Di Irons seemed unsure of himself.

  ‘You have evidence to support that statement?’

  ‘No positive proof as yet. But I will have. Don’t you query the rights of the claimants to your aristocratic Houses?’

  ‘Query?’ Di Irons was grimly amused. ‘Do you think I would dare look closely at the credentials of Di Rode or Di Guaard—or they at mine? How many murdered infants do you suppose would be found in the moats? Which unfortunate son went alive into his tomb behind the new wall in the tower? Whose mother is that demented crone who has sat in chains for thirty years in the dungeon? The rights of the title go to the claimant with the ability to survive at the top. The state acknowledges the title of the House—the holder of the title declares himself.’

  ‘I understand all that,’ said Ren patientl
y. ‘But surely the position is different if the occupant of the title is an outworlder?’

  ‘It would be—if the matter could be proved. Then I would have to act. But you’ve admitted you don’t have the evidence. Until you do, I submit you’re playing a very dangerous game.’

  ‘Dangerous in what way?’ asked Ren.

  ‘I know Dion well. He’s shrewd, resourceful—and his information is impeccable. What do you think he’ll be doing while you wander the countryside trying to stir trouble against him? I strongly advise you to guard your back, not to visit dark places alone and to engage a taster to test your food. If you were to die—I’m sure I’d have a hard time trying to hang the responsibility on Dion-daizan.’

  ‘I’ll remember that. But in the meantime think over what I’ve said. I doubt even you would refuse a quarter of Magda’s share of the income from the spaceports concession.’

  ‘I prize some things above money,’ said Di Irons. ‘And one of them is life. Nobody in his senses provokes a needless quarrel with a man as far-reaching and formidable as Dion-daizan. I know it’s not fashionable among Free Traders to speak of magic and superstitions, but some of the works of the Imaiz are well beyond the powers of man.’

  ‘That I must yet have proved to me,’ said Tito Ren. ‘For the moment I prefer to regard him merely as an academic Terran adventurer with no supernatural powers.’

  ‘It would be churlish of me,’ said Di Irons, ‘not to wish you a successful venture. If what you’ve told me is true I stand to gain or lose as much as you. But I would need more reason than you’ve given before I raised my hand against the wizard of Anharitte. Take care, merchant. You’ve chosen a stronger enemy than you think.’

  The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. A watchman came in, apologized for the intrusion and handed Di Irons a note. The latter read it, looked questioningly at Ren for a moment—then his face broke into a wry smile.

  ‘It appears I spoke more truly than I knew. Don’t tell me after this that you don’t believe in the powers of the Imaiz.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘You rent a bonded oil and spirit warehouse on the quayside of Firstwater?’

  ‘I do.’ Ren was half on his feet. ‘What’s the trouble?’

  ‘It’s on fire,’ said Di Irons. ‘You had best get down there. I think this will not be the last conversation we’ll be having on the matter, so you have my permission to proceed. But tomorrow I’ll be asking questions. I don’t tolerate the destruction of property in a private feud—and if I find proof that either you or Dion-daizan has done this deliberately, an accounting will have to be made.’

  ‘I’m not likely to set fire to my own warehouse,’ said Ren bitterly.

  ‘And Dion’s not stupid enough to indulge in ordinary arson,’ said Di Irons. ‘Or in any event, I’ve never been able to prove he is. If you find me some proof, Ren, I’ll guarantee to lay it where it belongs.’

  FOUR

  Ren thought of returning to his chambers for his cushion-craft. Then he realized that the poling of the vehicle by stavebearers through the city streets and down the Trade Road would be a slow and tiresome business. A mule cart would be quicker—but not much. The total distance from the prefecture to Firstwater was no greater than two kilometers and much of the way lay down the slopes of Firsthill into the valley formed with Thirdhill on the other shore. Overall he calculated he could make the journey more quickly on foot and he set out at a labored jog—with complete disregard for lack of dignity or sweat.

  He had barely cleared the fringes of the buildings and come out at the end of the Trade Road overlooking Firstwater when he became aware of the broad smoke column rising into the sultry air. If he had thought the fire might only be a minor one his surmise was soon corrected. Even through the dense smoke cloud he could see the bright seat of the flame—and its visibility at this distance told him that the conflagration must be total as far as his installation was concerned.

  The Trade Road was easy to negotiate. Such carts as were on it were also moving downhill, laden with spectators eager to witness the fire. Most of these vehicles, braked with iron wedges and chains against the slope, were easily overtaken, and his urgent running raised a great deal of amused comment. On the Via Arena the crowds thickened and the road to Magda Crossing was nearly impassable in the direction of the river. Fortunately a group of Pointed Tails met him and forged him a path through the mobs to a point near the burning warehouse.

  The Pointed Tails’ fire appliance was there—with all its hand-cranked absurdity. It was so obviously inadequate against the roaring inferno that it had not been put into even token use. Two other societies had also brought their appliances, but these were equally useless and stood well clear of the outer perimeter fence, where they would not be affected by the intense heat.

  The fire itself was overwhelming. The whole building, with walls of massive stone blocks, vibrated with the tremendous roar of the furnace within. The structure had no windows, and the two exterior doors jetted streams of angry flame like enormous blowlamps. The roof, once a structure of heavily tarred wood, was completely gone. Surmounting the walls was a continuous crown of fire, which produced such intense heat that the spectators had to move back repeatedly to avoid being scorched.

  The warehouse had two perimeter fences, one contained within the other, but it was now impossible to approach the building nearer than the confines of the outer fence. Here Ren found Catuul Gras, his face heavy red from the heat. Catuul was watching the progress of the conflagration with frank disbelief. His expressive glance at Ren suggested both physical and mental agony. He gestured toward his own useless fire appliance.

  ‘I took the liberty of calling on the spaceport for emergency assistance. I hope I did right.’

  ‘Exactly right,’ approved Ren. ‘How did the fire start?’

  ‘We don’t know. No goods have moved in or out of the warehouse for fifteen days. Everything was secure on the last round of the society guards and the picket between the fences has been strictly maintained. The fire started behind locked doors and we’re certain that nobody could have entered.’

  ‘Could some sort of time fuse or incendiary mechanism have been placed inside?’

  Catuul grimaced. ‘I know of no device obtainable hereabouts with such a long delay. But if you’re thinking this is the work of the Imaiz you pose a paradox. Those doors were sealed several days before your quarrel with Dion-daizan became actual. You could only suspect his hand if you were prepared to credit him with the magical powers you deny he possesses.’

  ‘Nevertheless, the timing’s too perfect to be a matter of coincidence. Even Di Irons hinted he suspected that the Imaiz was behind it. Well, if it is Dion’s work and there’s any evidence left to prove it, it will give us a good start for our harassment. Di Irons is all set to string up the Imaiz by the thumbs if he’s found responsible for the destruction of property during a private feud. All he needs is proof—and here come the boys who can give it to us.’

  Movement among the watchers on the road signaled the arrival of the cushion-craft emergency tender from the spaceport. Behind it came two more tenders containing compound foam and chemicals. They were deftly manipulated into place. In complete contrast to the laughable native fire appliances, these three vehicles, normally reserved for spacecrash emergencies, were magnificently equipped and manned by trained and competent crews. Within seconds the great pumps were working and hoses were being run ‘out as far as the river to bring in the additional water necessary to complete the work of the foam coverage.

  Pictor Don, the spaceport’s emergency commander, spared neither Ren nor Catuul a glance as he deployed his facilities for maximum effect. The foam from the hoses hit the side of the building and whatever it touched it solidified into glass slag and instantly formed an air-excluding seal that was also an impressive heat-reducing barrier. The properties of the solidifying foam were such that it could easily withstand the temperatures involved
, while its noncommunicating cellular structure was light, yet strong enough to prevent the collapse of all but the heaviest parts of buildings. In dealing with a fire of these proportions the shell of the building could literally be filled with foam in a matter of minutes with a hundred per cent expectation of complete extinction of the fire.

  The radiated heat fell away dramatically as the foam blanket coated the walls and the forecourt. Ren and Catuul followed the fire team nearer as the work of filling the building’s shell with foam began. After a short while, however, they became aware that something was wrong—the flames in the interior, instead of yielding, had become concentrated in one central spot and now roared like a volcano. The flare hurled large pieces of congealed foam high into the air to fall at a distance, to the intense consternation of the onlookers.

  Finally Pictor Don dropped down from his command point and came over to Ren.

  ‘What have you got in there, Tito? Rocket fuel?’

  The agent shook his head. ‘No. Mainly high-grade crude oils and essential oils waiting shipment offworld to Rance for refining.’

  ‘But the oxidants,’ protested Don. ‘You should know better store oxidants with flammables.’

  ‘There are no oxidants there. In fact, no tonnages of oxidants are available on Roget.’

  Pictor Don shook his head. ‘That foam can extinguish anything up to and including a blazing well-head without trouble. But you’ve got something in there that could have put the whole building comfortably into orbit had the jet been pointed down instead of up. A few tons of liquid oxygen would do the trick with your high-grade oil—but without oxygen you couldn’t produce a flare like that in a million years.’

  ‘No oxygen,’ said Ren. ‘There’s not a liquid oxygen plant within sixteen light-years of Roget and it’s a dead certainty that oxygen is not imported.’

  A cry from a member of the fire team indicated that the situation was changing. Pictor Don returned to his post and saw the bright plume of flame above the building gradually diminish and finally become extinguished by the solidifying foam. The fire was out.