“On your feet,” he said, brusquely. “You tipped the wagon. You should be beaten for that.”
Cornhair struggled to her feet.
She stood submissively, head down, in the traces. But she did not feel the whip. It did not strike her.
Then her heart flooded with slave emotion. She was owned, a collared slave. And she was suffused with the overwhelming feelings of an owned, collared slave. She wanted, with all her heart, to be at Rurik’s feet, the feet of her Master. With every bit of her soft, owned body, she wanted to love, please, and serve him, wholly, helplessly, vulnerably, in all ways, as the slave she was.
Rurik and another placed the more sorely wounded man in the seat of the wagon. Two soldiers held him in place, one on each side. Two of the other soldiers attended their less injured fellow.
Rurik then picked up the reins and, walking ahead, led Cornhair, drawing the wagon, from the dock district.
“A gloomy area,” said Otto.
“Tenements, and cheap shops,” said Julian.
“Wooden buildings, easily gutted by fire,” said Otto.
“The streets are deserted,” said Julian. “It is hard to realize that thousands are crowded into such tiers of hovels.”
“It must be near midnight,” said Otto.
“There,” said Julian, “the sign, the wine shop of Peleus, closed now, with the screens chained in place.”
“The stairwell, that to the right, as one faces the shop,” said Otto, “then the first door to the right, on the seventh floor.”
“The stairwell is not lighted,” said Julian.
“Few stairwells are lighted in this area,” said Otto. “Lamps require oil.”
“Who would live here?” asked Julian.
“Anonymous throngs,” said Otto, “the ill-clothed, the hungry, the crowded, the ill, and wretched, and, too, men without names, without identities, men forgotten and men desiring to be forgotten, criminals, thieves, beggars, fugitives, dealers in smuggled goods and noxious substances, those desiring to reside under a mantle of invisibility, those wishing to live unseen and unrecognized, those who hope to disappear in crowds.”
“Let us return to the palace,” said Julian.
“Ah,” said Otto. “This street is not as deserted as heretofore.”
“Stand back,” said Julian, unsheathing his weapon, drawing it from beneath his cloak.
The bent-over figure, head down, hobbling, muchly cloaked, and hooded, stopped, some feet from Julian and Otto. “Please, noble sir,” said a quavering voice, “do not strike me. I am only a poor beggar, innocent and defenseless, lame, alone in these dark streets.” At this point, the figure held out a shallow metal pan, and shook it, gently, pleadingly. Some coins rattled about in the pan. “A coin, a coin, a penny, a penny, please, noble sirs.”
“Do not approach,” said Julian.
“Wait,” said Otto, “I have a coin.”
“Do not approach him,” said Julian. “Consider the district, the time of night.”
Otto dropped a coin in the pan.
“Thank you, noble sir,” said the quavering voice, its owner not looking up from within the darkness of the hood. He then turned about and hobbled away.
Julian and Otto looked after him. Then he turned a corner and was gone. Then Otto said, “To the stairwell, and hence to the seventh floor.”
“It is dark, and forbidding,” said Julian, looking up the stairwell.
“Do not bother sheathing your blade,” said Otto, as he drew his own weapon.
“I will not,” said Julian.
Julian and Otto then, Otto in advance, began to feel their way up the stairs.
“I smell urine, and excrement,” said Julian.
“Do not be critical,” said Otto. “It is late, the floor buckets, on the landings, by the stairs, may be full. The nearest public latrine may be hundreds of yards away.”
“Perhaps some tenants are impatient, even lacking in civility,” said Julian.
“It is not impossible,” said Otto.
They had ascended some four flights when Otto stopped.
“What is wrong?” whispered Julian.
There are two or more on the stairs, above us, ahead of us,” said Otto.
“I hear nothing,” whispered Julian.
“You are not a hunter in the forests of Tangara or Varna,” said Otto.
“What shall we do?” asked Julian.
“Do not conceal our presence,” said Otto. “We live here. We are returning home. Climb normally, possibly stumble, it being dark, mutter, curse, hum a tavern tune, such things. If they take us for residents and they are departing, or are eager to depart, they will pass us on the stairs. If they wait on a higher landing, in silence, prepare to use your weapon.”
Accordingly, Otto, followed by Julian, blades poised, began to ascend the stairs, rather as might rightful residents, incautiously, unsuspectingly, returning to their rooms.
They had ascended but one more flight, when they heard clearly, above them, descending, the sounds of feet.
“There are at least three,” said Otto. “Stand to the side.”
“Out of the way,” said a rough, gruff voice, and a dark bundled figure brushed past Otto and, on a lower step, past Julian.
Three more such figures followed, hurrying, as they could, in the darkness.
“It seems they are in haste,” said Julian.
“The next landing is the sixth,” said Otto.
Otto and Julian then ascended to the sixth level, and then to the seventh level, and felt their way to the first door on the right.
The levels in such a structure are close to one another, and the ceilings are low. In this way lumber is conserved, and more levels can be crowded into a given space. In a typical room, a grown man cannot stand upright. Given the stresses on wood, particularly on cheaper wood, such buildings are seldom more than seven or eight stories in height. In such buildings, the wooden construction, coupled with in-room cooking and the use of braziers in colder weather, tends to increase the hazard of fire. Indeed, not too long ago, a terrible fire had ravaged the city, the worst in some four hundred years, destroying, it is estimated, between a tenth and a fifteenth of the city. Reportedly, it began in a Floonian temple, one practicing the rites of, and subscribing to the beliefs of, the Illusionists, a Floonian sect teaching that Karch, in his compassion and mercy, would never have permitted a sentient, living organism to suffer and die on his behalf. Accordingly, what was taken as the salamanderine, Floon, must have been an image, a projection, an illusion, or such. The Illusionist sect, it might be noted, had been denounced as heretical by Sidonicus, the exarch of Telnar, ministrant of another Floonian sect, claiming itself to be Floonian orthodoxy, namely, that Floon and Karch were the same, though different.
“The door is open,” said Otto, feeling his way.
“I feared it would be so,” said Julian. “The spies of Sidonicus are everywhere. The lair of Corelius was found. Surely those who passed us on the stairs, given the hour, were dispatched to deal with him. I shall strike a light. We will examine the body.”
“There will be no body,” said Otto.
In a moment Julian had switched on, and lifted, a lighting cartridge.
“There is no body,” said Julian.
“No,” said Otto.
Julian moved the ignited cartridge about. “This is a hole, a hovel,” said Julian. “A filch would keep its nest cleaner and in better order.”
“I knew Corelius from the Narcona, and from Tangara,” said Otto. “He was very particular about his appearance, and such. Hiding here must have been very stressful for him.”
“He is not here,” said Julian. “He did not keep his appointment.”
“But he did,” said Otto.
“I do not understand,” said Julian.
; “Would you wait here? With no exit?” asked Otto. “Would you not, rather, wish to wait outside, to see who might approach, and if they came alone? Or if they might be followed?”
“Doubtless some reconnaissance would be desirable,” said Julian.
“That would be wise,” said Otto, “particularly if one suspected there might be killing squads about, searching for one.”
“The lame beggar!” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“Corelius!” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto.
“You put a coin in his pan,” said Julian.
“A gold darin,” said Otto.
“That sealing a bargain, pledging agreement to his terms,” said Julian.
“Yes,” said Otto. “Arrangements, of course, are pending. One would not be well advised to carry a thousand gold darins about. To transport such easily would require a large, powerful man, a cart, or small wagon. And how could Corelius manage such a weight, subtly, judiciously, concealing it or transporting it?”
“But why, then, the matter done, did you enter the building and ascend the stairs?” said Julian.
“To conceal the identity of the beggar,” said Otto. “Corelius was in quite enough danger as it was, to pretend begging, in this district, at this hour. I suspect few genuine beggars would court such peril.”
“What of the men who passed us on the stairs?” asked Julian.
“I suspect,” said Otto, “as I gather you did, assailants, presumably a killing squad.”
“Corelius was fortunate he left his room before their arrival,” said Julian.
“Very much so,” said Otto.
“Do you think he noted their entry into the building?” asked Julian.
“It is very likely,” said Otto.
“He must be terrified,” said Julian.
“Quite possibly,” said Otto.
“He will contact the palace later,” said Julian.
“If possible,” said Otto, “if still alive.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
“We are sure,” said Sidonicus, “that Corelius has taken refuge in the dock district. It was there that this treasure, well seized, was to be delivered to him.”
“Better,” said Fulvius, “that the treasure was followed, it leading us to Corelius.”
“Not at all,” said Sidonicus. “The treasure was stoutly guarded. It could be acquired only in an arranged darkness. It served its purpose, informing us that Corelius is somewhere in the dock district. Even now I have men combing the area, every inn, tavern, warehouse, alley, byway, shelter, camp, and shop, every ship and barge, every pier and wharf.”
“Still,” said Fulvius.
“In a lighted area, our men, following and discovered, would have been slaughtered under the blades of professional soldiers,” said Sidonicus.
“How wise you are, great blessedness,” said Fulvius.
This conversation took place in the basement of the exarchical palace. Four men were present, ponderous Sidonicus, exarch of Telnar, his high deputy, smooth-cheeked Fulvius, and two others, large, plain-tunicked men, bearded, of somber visage, one grossly scarred. Light in the chamber was supplied by a single lamp, resting on a stout table, that about which the four men were gathered.
“Lift the box, Buthar,” said Sidonicus. “Place it on the table.”
The more scarred of the two plain-tunicked men lifted the box, and carefully placed it on the table.
The box was small, but, judging from the apparent stress involved in its relocation, weighty. It was of thick, dark, lacquered wood, bound with two bands of iron, and secured in two places, with heavy padlocks.
“Note,” said Sidonicus to Fulvius, “the seals.”
“Those of the palace,” said Fulvius.
“Unbroken,” said Sidonicus.
“I trust, my dear Buthar, your esteemed, reticent colleague, Grissus, has brought tools.”
The second of the two plain-tunicked men placed a hammer and a tapered wedge, a narrow, rather cylindrical cone of iron, flat on one end and pointed on the other, on the table.
“We were quite right to be concerned with the fidelity of our friend, Corelius,” said Sidonicus to Fulvius. “Not only did he vanish from our purview, his absence unauthorized, but he wished, as well, the ungrateful, treasonous filch, to enter into dealings with the usurper. What sort of dealings? Those of profit to himself and of value to the usurper. Something to sell, doubtless. And what would he have to sell but information, and what information would fetch a better price than the revelation of our identities and the nature of our plans to seize and manage the empire, for the most blessed and appropriate of purposes, ours?”
“As the box has not been opened and the seals are in place,” said Fulvius, “it seems clearly that any projected transaction on the part of the loathed Corelius had not yet been consummated.”
“Even if it had been, we need but deny it with astonishment, tears, and outrage,” said Sidonicus. “Who would take the word of a usurper, and barbarian, over that of the exarch of Telnar, a native Telnarian, who speaks in the name of Floon and Karch?”
“A barbarian arrow does not review or question its target,” said Fulvius.
“The barbarian is not a fool,” said Sidonicus. “He does not want the empire to be riven, broken into flaming halves.”
“It is unfortunate that Corelius eluded us,” said Fulvius.
“He, too, is not a fool,” said Sidonicus. “He must have sensed that he was no longer of value to us and that his prolonged existence, given what he knows, might imperil our projects and programs.”
“I was sure we had located him in the Varl district,” said Fulvius. “Descriptions were recognized, streets were guarded, exits were watched. But then it seemed he vanished once more. He had withdrawn from sight, avoiding the streets. But he must eat and drink. So food shops and markets were put under surveillance. Inquiries established that meals were being delivered to a particular address, a certain room in a certain dismal tenement.”
“And who, living in such a place, in such poverty and squalor, could afford to pay for the regular ordering and delivery of food?” said Sidonicus.
“It seemed certain he had betrayed himself,” said Fulvius.
“The room was found unoccupied,” said Sidonicus.
“Clearly another fugitive had been making use of the premises,” said Fulvius. “We did not know at that time that Corelius was in the dock district.”
“Our spies will locate him,” said Sidonicus. “Our men will see to the rest.”
“We may not have apprehended the treasonous Corelius as yet,” said Fulvius, “but the day was not lost.”
“Indeed, not,” said Sidonicus. “How much wealth is in the box, would you suppose?”
“Its weight suggests a goodly sum,” said Fulvius.
“Surely more than a hundred darins,” said Sidonicus.
“Much more,” said Fulvius.
“My dear Buthar,” said Fulvius, “what would you conjecture?”
“There might be a case within the box, and a case within that,” said Buthar, “it is hard to say.”
“Conjecture,” suggested Sidonicus.
“Five, perhaps six, hundred darins,” said Buthar, “—of gold.”
“Ah,” breathed Fulvius.
“It cost me three men,” said Buthar.
“No matter,” said Sidonicus, “they now revel at the table of Karch.”
“Three men,” said Buthar, evenly.
“Do not menace me,” said Sidonicus.
“Three,” said Buthar.
“Very well,” said Sidonicus. “I will give you a silver darin for each.”
“If the chest contains gold,” said Buthar, “give me three darins—of gold.”
“Do not seek t
o feed a hungry purse to the point of gluttony,” said Sidonicus.
“Three,” said Buthar.
“We accept the contents of this stout coffer on behalf of the temple,” intoned Sidonicus. “There, it is said; it is done.”
“Three,” said Buthar, “—of gold.”
“Do not risk sacrilege,” said Sidonicus. “With a word I could deny you a place at the table of Karch.”
“Friend Grissus,” said Buthar, “remove your hand from the hilt of your knife.”
“We are all friends,” said Fulvius.
Grissus perhaps failed to understand Buthar’s suggestion, for he not only failed to remove his hand from the hilt of the knife, but, rather, drew the weapon.
This was noted by Fulvius, if not by Sidonicus.
“In your days in the bloody square,” said Sidonicus to Buthar, “in a hundred bouts you would not make three darins of gold.”
As one may recall, the visage of Buthar was muchly scarred, and, indeed, if it must be known, much of his body was scarred, as well. Until recruited by Sidonicus he had survived four years in the bloody square. While not a record, this was unusual. In the bloody square one dons the leather belt and has one’s fists wrapped with bands of leather, often studded with hooks and bits of metal.
“Three—of gold,” said Buthar.
“He must pay his men, excellency,” said Fulvius, with a glance drawing attention to the unsheathed knife of Grissus, “and good men, applied to dark projects, possibly involving risks, deserve to be well paid.”
“Of course,” said Sidonicus, now observing the drawn knife. “Who could gainsay so fair an observation? Let us open the chest, and observe the treasure. If necessary, scales may be brought.”
“Perhaps our colleague, Grissus,” said Fulvius, “might be prevailed upon to open the chest.”
Grissus resheathed the knife, and picked up the hammer and the tapered wedge.
Soon, by means of the wedge and hammer, the two padlocks were sprung, and jerked free from their staples. The hasps were then flung back, freeing the lid.
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