Four guards, Otungs, were farther down the corridor, at a convenient but discreet distance.
“So?” said Otto.
“It is encrypted in a naive manner,” said Iaachus. “It purports to be from the elusive Corelius.”
“Enter,” said Otto, putting aside the soft, oiled, linen rag with which he was treating the re-edged blade of the long sword which he had carried since the Plains of Barrionuevo, or the Flats of Tung, as the Heruls would have it. It was the same blade he had carried when he had entered the Hall of the King Naming on Tangara, during the Killing Time, bearing the pelt of a white vi-cat. The light coat of oil protects against rust. Otungs, like Drisriaks, are reluctant to carry sullied or tarnished blades. Otto slid the long weapon to the side on the table. In the hands of one such as Otto that blade could fell a small tree or cut the head from a horse.
“I thought,” said the Arbiter of Protocol, “you attended to that torodont of a weapon yesterday.”
“Be seated,” invited Otto.
Iaachus took his place across the table from the emperor.
“Some men,” said Otto, “tap their fingers or feet, some rattle beads on a string, some whittle, some practice calligraphy, some draft poems, some touch the lyre.”
“You are thinking,” said Iaachus.
“You have news of our dear friend, Corelius?” asked Otto.
“Possibly,” said Iaachus, thrusting a sheet of paper toward Otto.
“You know I cannot read,” said Otto. “I am of the peasants, raised in the festung village of Sim Giadini. Learning is seldom wasted on peasants. They are good for other things.”
One recalls that the festung of Sim Giadini, stronghold of an Emanationist Brotherhood, a sect of Floonianism, was destroyed in an air strike. Shortly before that, the medallion and chain, an artifact signifying leadership amongst the Vandalii, had been stolen by a renegade Otung, Urta, from the cell of one of the brothers, a salamanderine, as had been Floon, a Brother Benjamin.
“Look at it,” said Iaachus. “You know the look of letters.”
“Yes,” said Otto, “I see letters.”
“Even if you were an accomplished, skillful reader, as adept as Titus Gelinus, or your Flora, a former officer of a court on Terennia, or your Renata, you could not immediately read this.”
“It is a secret writing?” said Otto.
“A cypher, I think,” said Iaachus, “where a sign or mark may stand for a letter, or one letter stand for another letter, and such.”
“I have heard of such things,” said Otto, “a secret writing.”
“A kind of secret writing,” said Iaachus. “There are many kinds.”
“Obviously such writings must be intelligible to the person or persons who use them,” said Otto.
“Surely,” said Iaachus.
“Thus, there is a method involved,” said Otto.
“A key,” said Iaachus.
“Once the method or key is discovered, the message becomes intelligible,” said Otto.
“Precisely,” said Iaachus.
“It must be difficult to discover the method, or key,” said Otto.
“In some cases more so than in others,” said Iaachus.
“How does one proceed?” asked Otto.
“Some letters occur more frequently in a language than others,” said Iaachus. “This may provide a clue. If a given letter occurs, say, with such-and-such a frequency in Telnarian, then a sign or mark, or another letter, which occurs with the same or a similar frequency may stand for that letter.”
“Then,” said Otto, “it would be well to have more than one sign or mark to stand for that letter, and perhaps to have signs or marks which refer to no letter.”
“That is frequently done,” said Iaachus, “and, more interestingly, there are sophisticated cyphers in which a large number of keys may be used in a single message.”
“How then can such messages be read by those not privy to the method or key?” asked Otto.
“It can be difficult, or impossible,” said Iaachus, “particularly if the message is short, for then one has less to work with.”
“Doubtless,” said Otto.
“There are also cyphers,” said Iaachus, “in which one has the actual letters of the message, but the letters are mixed in such a way as to obscure the meaning of the message.”
“Once again,” said Otto, “one must discover the method or key.”
“By means of which to rearrange the letters in such a way as to reveal the message,” said Iaachus.
“You spoke,” said Otto, “of a message encrypted in a naive manner, one purporting to be from the elusive Corelius.”
“The cypher is amateurish, embarrassingly simple,” said Iaachus. “Each letter of the actual message is replaced by the third letter following it, and the last letters of the alphabet, as needed, by moving three letters, as before, returning, if necessary, to the beginning of the alphabet.”
“That does not seem so simple, or amateurish, to me,” said Otto, “certainly no more so than any other simple cypher, except that it has the advantage of being easy for those with the key to both write and read.”
“Perhaps,” said Iaachus.
“Too,” said Otto, “there must be levels of such things and a cypher of the sort mentioned might be appropriate for certain situations and occasions, particularly where quick writing and reading are needed.”
“Perhaps,” said Iaachus.
“Also,” said Otto, “the message was sent to you without the method or key. If it was sent to you, the sender would wish you to be able to read it. Thus, it would be judicious to put it in a form in which it would be mysterious and unintelligible to most, but still in a form in which you, with some effort, perhaps modest effort, could read.”
“True,” said Iaachus. “It was intended to be read by us. It is not as if we intercepted the message, or came upon it by accident.”
“And so,” said Otto, “let us not disparage the cypher but rather be grateful to the sender for providing us with a message we can read. Indeed, the simplicity, if anything, might be taken as something of a concession to our perhaps limited ability to unravel such a message. One could see the matter, if one wished, from the sender’s point of view, as somewhat condescending, if not actually insulting.”
“I see,” said Iaachus, less than pleased.
“Convey to me the gist of the message,” said Otto.
“It purports to be from Corelius,” said Iaachus. “He claims to have information of momentous significance, which he would sell to us. He requests an emissary from the palace to bring a thousand gold darins to a specified address in the Varl district, tonight at midnight.”
“Not an auspicious location for a rendezvous,” said Otto, “and the hour seems a desperate one.”
“Consider, as well, the dispatch with which he wishes the business to be concluded,” said Iaachus.
“Speculate,” said Otto.
“I conjecture,” said Iaachus, “he is in hiding, in fear for his life. Consider the Varl district, and the hour. He wishes to obtain the means to flee the city.”
“And wishes to betray his principal or principals, whom he justifiably fears,” said Otto.
“He is no stranger to betrayal,” said Iaachus.
“Long ago,” said Otto, “he, with a Phidias, captain of a freighter, the Narcona, and a fellow officer, Lysis, delivered a poisoned dagger to the Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, then masquerading as a slave on Tangara, with the intention that she use it to assassinate me. The attempt failed. Interestingly, Phidias, Corelius, and Lysis fled, abandoning the Lady Publennia to her fate, even before the outcome of the attempt was known.”
“They reported the attempt was successful,” said Iaachus.
“You were instrumental in organizing the plot,” said Otto
.
“Yes,” said Iaachus, “I thought it in the best interests of the empire.”
“You do not now,” said Otto.
“No,” said Iaachus.
“The winds of politics are variable,” said Otto.
“Let them blow and roar as they will,” said Iaachus. “I no longer give them heed. I have been taught honor, and friendship.”
“Oh?” said Otto.
“By a barbarian,” said Iaachus, “an Otung.”
“You deem the missive from Corelius?” asked Otto.
“I think it likely,” said Iaachus. “I see no obvious trap in this, as one might if he requested a clandestine audience with the emperor.”
“I assume the information he wishes to sell is that our enemies are Ingeld and the exarch of Telnar,” said Otto.
“Yes,” said Iaachus. “He would know nothing of what we know, from Safarius and the guards, Boris and Andak.”
“What do you advise, dear arbiter?” asked Otto.
“We dare not arrest Corelius,” said Iaachus. “If we do, Ingeld and the exarch will assume we are aware of their complicity, their plottings and treasons, this information having been extracted, by torture or other means, from Corelius. Better let them continue to think we are ignorant of such matters.”
“Good,” said Otto. “How then would you respond, or would you respond, to the missive of Corelius?”
“We must respond,” said Iaachus. “If we do not respond, Corelius, and others, if they are involved, will suspect that we already have such information, and perhaps more.”
“You would then pay him a thousand gold darins for information we already have?” said Otto.
“That it remain unknown that we have it,” said Iaachus. “To purchase such an advantage I think a thousand gold darins is not unreasonable.”
“I agree,” said Otto. “Indeed, two thousand gold darins would not be unreasonable.”
“We need not bring that to the attention of Corelius,” said Iaachus.
“No,” said Otto.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“You cannot do this to me,” said Cornhair. “I am not a draft beast. I was of the high honestori! I was the Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii!”
“And I am of the Larial Farnichi,” said Rurik. “Surely you know that the women of the enemy are loot, and the suitable properties of the victors. And surely you know now that you are naught but a meaningless slave, and my slave. Harness her.”
Lovely blond-haired, blue-eyed Cornhair, her hands braceleted behind her, standing in place, felt the straps cinched on her body.
“You are slight,” said Rurik. “Otherwise I might enter you in the slave races. Do you think you might learn to prance?”
Cornhair moaned.
Such races are characterized by different gaits, and styles.
“To be sure,” said Rurik, “such races are largely favored by free women, who are the most common attendees, and most often the drivers. Little love, it seems, is lost between free women and female slaves.”
Cornhair was well aware of that.
The small, light wagon had two large wheels and a seat for one.
Rurik placed a small, iron-bound, locked, heavy box under the seat. It weighed a hundred weights. The Telnarian “weight” has ten divisions. The Telnarian gold darin is minted to a division of a weight.
“Bridle her,” said Rurik, taking his seat in the buggy.
Cornhair was then bridled, the bit fastened in her mouth, and the reins passed back to Rurik.
“A snapping of the reins,” said Rurik, “means move. If I draw back on the reins you are to stop. By means of the reins you will be informed to turn to the left or right. I have, incidentally, a whip at hand by means of which you might be urged to a greater speed, or encouraged not to dawdle.”
It was late in Telnar, but not yet midnight.
Cornhair and Rurik were not alone. Flanking the wagon, ten on each side, were soldiers, drawn from Rurik’s small, private army.
“Prepare to move, shapely draft beast, meaningless slave,” said Rurik. “Dally, and you will feel the whip.”
Rurik snapped the reins.
Cornhair, tears running down her cheeks, stripped save for her collar, leaned forward, pressing against the straps, and the wagon trundled forward.
She was far now from her former luxuries and riches, her silks and jewels, the palaces, resorts, and gaming tables of a dozen worlds.
“You should not be here,” said Julian, of the Aureliani. “The district is dangerous, particularly at night.”
“I often leave the palace at night,” said Otto. “One is one’s own spy. One learns much.”
Both men were cloaked and hooded. Otto carried not the great long sword, but a shorter blade, one easily concealed within his cloak.
“The message,” said Julian, “merely alluded to an emissary, certainly not to a person of rank, let alone an emperor.”
“I am my own emissary,” said Otto.
“What if Iaachus has been suborned, what if he has arranged for us to be set upon? Even our destination is known.”
“That is interesting,” said Otto. “Iaachus warned me, before departure, to beware of you, that you might strike at me in the darkness, and then blame the business on thieves, or assassins?”
“What a monster, and scoundrel!” said Julian.
“You might then have a claim to the throne,” said Otto.
“As might a hundred others,” said Julian.
“Iaachus does not trust you,” said Otto.
“Nor I him,” said Julian.
“I must be a fool,” said Otto.
“Why?” asked Julian.
“Because I trust both,” said Otto.
“You are emperor,” said Julian. “Trust no one.”
“I shall consider that,” said Otto.
“Good,” said Julian.
“You sound like Iaachus,” said Otto.
“The palace is a jungle,” said Julian. “It behooves one to be armed and tread warily.”
“One wants friends,” said Otto.
“Tread warily,” said Julian.
“The throne is a lonely seat,” said Otto.
“And a dangerous one,” said Julian.
“By now,” said Otto, “Rurik and his men must be at the dock district.”
“I trust that those who might be watching the palace have him under surveillance,” said Julian.
“The guards with him will surely suggest the transportation of a cargo of considerable value,” said Julian.
“The small, weighty box, publicly placed in the wagon, should also be noted with interest,” said Otto.
“Let us hope so,” said Julian.
“It would be noted with less interest, or enthusiasm, though perhaps with greater surprise,” said Otto, “were its contents revealed.”
“A hundred weights of lead pellets,” said Julian, “each pellet one division of a weight.”
“We are now well within the Varl district,” said Otto.
“It is muchly deserted,” said Julian.
“The more deserted the better,” said Otto.
“The dock lamps are extinguished,” said one of the soldiers.
“Defense!” cried Rurik, drawing his weapon, leaping from his seat on the wagon, as shrouded figures approached, hurrying, in the darkness.
Cornhair twisted in the straps, and lost her footing, falling, tipping the wagon. The iron-bound box fell to the boards.
The soldiers wielded weapons, as they could, against crowding, dark figures. There was a sudden spray of sparks in the darkness as, by hazard, blades met blades. Thrusts were made. Some wove a compass of steel about themselves, a fence within which it might be death to enter. There was the sound of clubs, some stri
king bodies, some striking the seat or shafts of the wagon. Some of the assailants, in the confusion, doubtless struck their fellows. Cornhair, helpless, on her side, on the boards of the pier, the bit in her mouth, the reins about her, her hands braceleted behind her, tried to make herself small. “I have it!” cried a voice. “It is heavy! Help me! Help me!” “Hold, hold!” cried Rurik. The intruding, marauding figures hastened away, in the darkness. “A lamp, a torch, light, light!” called Rurik, a blade in hand, the steel running with blood. “Light, light!” A lamp approached, lifted, from the side, borne in the hand of a fellow emerging from the shack of a dock watchman.
“The dock lamps were out,” said Rurik to the watchman.
“Surely recently,” said the man. “All was in order when I made my rounds.”
“Report,” said Rurik, to a subordinate.
“Two wounded, one more seriously,” said the subordinate.
In the pool of light from the lifted lamp, three bodies, clad in nondescript garb, of no known uniform or livery, lay on the boards.
“It is hard to kill in the darkness,” said the subordinate. “It neutralizes skill.”
“Tend to the wounded,” said Rurik. “We return shortly to the palace.”
“Woe,” said a man, “I do not see the box.”
There were sounds of consternation, and rage, from several of the soldiers.
“It is missing,” said a man.
“We have lost it,” said another. “The treasure is gone!”
“Let us pursue the thieves,” said another.
“Do not rush on knives and clubs in the darkness,” said Rurik.
“But the treasure,” said a soldier.
“They are welcome to it,” said Rurik. “May it do them much good.”
“Our mission is a failure,” said another soldier.
“Not at all,” said Rurik. “It came out precisely as planned.”
Men regarded him, wonderingly.
One man’s wounds were being bound. Another, slumped, was supported by two comrades.
Rurik went to where Cornhair lay trembling.
He crouched down, beside her. “Are you all right?” he asked. Had there been concern, even tenderness, in his voice, Cornhair wondered. Could he care for her, she only a slave, once a woman of the hated Larial Calasalii, he of the Larial Farnichi? She made a tiny sound, against the bit.
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