by Chris Bunch
A child, to her friend: “Even though this is my favorite toy, I’ll give it to you, for Makonnen told my mother giving is always better than owning.”
A woman, barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting breeches, to a laborer: “I’ll freely give you my body until nightfall, for the words of Makonnen are that a woman’s task is above all to give man happiness.”
Zaimis snorted, but Peirol was a bit heartened at the response from the working man: “And I, in m’turn, will buy wine and p’r’aps gift you with some of the coppers m’ foreman just give me, after I give him the gift of half a day’s hard work.”
A well-dressed woman to her friend: “I see you admiring my hat, which you must accept as a present, for the text of Makonnen says a happy person is a delight to the eyes of all.”
That one set Peirol back, but the last exchange gave him greater hope, listening to a fat woman and an equally fat female vegetable merchant: “Of course I’ll give you those cabbages, for doesn’t Makonnen say there’s no greater joy than that of others?”
“And I, in turn, will give you six coppers, for the same reason.”
“Eight would give me greater happiness.”
“But I’m sure you really want seven, for didn’t Makonnen say the good man always is satisfied with less than his dreams?”
“Seven it is.”
Zaimis started finding this nonsense funny. But Peirol wasn’t sure whether he did or not.
• • •
The Place of the Contented Duck was quite a large inn, with a central courtyard and its own stables. The buildings were stone, like the rest of the city, but faced with wood stripping, carved and painted in fantastic colors.
They found a nearby money changer, and Peirol tried exchanging one of his smaller gems, an emerald, for the local coin, using the cabbage merchant’s trick. It seemed to work — he got a dozen gold coins, twice that in silver, and three coppers — but the changer gave him dismaying advice:
“It’s well I have remembered as much of the text of Makonnen as I’ve had read to me, and know a stranger is to be treated well and taken into your household as if he is one of your family, but I must warn you that if you’re a man who traffics in expensive baubles, you might be saddened by Isfahan, for the text of Makonnen says when the Day of the Redeemer is close, expensive delights that give nothing should be put away, and among these are jewels, gold, dancing women, racing horses, and mansions.”
That truly worried Peirol. But the innkeeper at the Contented Duck made only a mumbled reference to Makonnen and his greatness before naming what, in the old days, he would have charged for the best room in the house, and was quite happy to take exactly that amount as a gift without further moralizing.
The rooms were quite satisfactory — a huge bedchamber, a greeting room Peirol could use as his showroom, and an even larger bathroom, with water both hot and cold coming in through brass pipes, the flow controlled by levers, into both a cascade and a tub.
Zaimis waited until the keeper left, having put their saddlebags next to a great closet and accepted a coin. Then she walked over and tested the mattress.
“I’m not sure I remember how to do it in a bed. Perhaps you might come here, and we can attempt to remember together?”
“Perhaps I might, my lady.”
He got up on the bed beside her. Zaimis smiled, lay back, and Peirol took her in his arms.
“I think,” he said, “the memory is returning. Now, if you’ll give me a hand with these buttons?”
“Oh, you are a clever man!” Zaimis squealed after a while.
Peirol noted he’d been promoted from dwarf — if, in view of men named Aulard and Niazbeck, that was in fact a promotion at all.
• • •
The next day seamstresses were summoned while Peirol went out to do business. Peirol inquired about the finest jewelers in Isfahan and was given directions. The first jeweler mouthed more of Makonnen’s platitudes and seemed uninterested. Finally he drawled offers on three of the better stones Peirol had presented, offers that would show no more than a few coppers’ profit. Peirol, trying to be polite, managed to thank the man and left.
The jeweler’s clerk, a sharp-faced sort, followed him outside and asked where he was staying. Peirol eyed him.
“The Place of the Contented Duck,” he said. “On an upper floor, with barred windows. I might add I sleep very lightly, if at all, and one of the peculiarities of my past is, I sleep with a bare blade in my hand.”
“Nay, nay,” the clerk protested. “I’m not a scout for footpads. But I know a man — actually, some men and women both — who don’t share my master’s fascination with Makonnen. Though,” he added hastily, “all are most religious, and wait the Redeemer eagerly. But they think, shall we say, it’s well to have an interest in other matters.”
“You, sir,” Peirol said, “are entirely too sharp to remain a clerk for long.”
The clerk bowed. “I thank you.”
“I’m not sure I meant it as a compliment. But I’ll give you ten percent of the profits from anyone who seeks me out with your recommendation.”
Peirol found another lapidarist, somewhat more interested in trading, and turned a small profit. “And may Makonnen bless the both of us,” the trader said as he bowed Peirol out.
“May Makonnen get foot rot up to his damned knees,” Peirol said. But it was under his breath, and after looking to make sure no one was in hearing. He went back to the inn, found a corner booth, and, nursing a beer, wondered how much further in debt Zaimis was putting them. He considered whether they should ride on or keep trying.
The innkeeper, bowing as if he were a marionette, brought a richly dressed man to Peirol’s table, whom he introduced as Nushki. Peirol stood, made an elaborate obeisance, asked him to be seated, and ordered a bottle of good wine. The man waited until the wine was tasted and approved, then sipped at his glass.
“I am delighted to be alive in these exciting days of the Redeemer,” Nushki said. “As are we all.”
“I must say, however, there are certain … unusual circumstances no one could have predicted.”
“Such as?” Peirol asked.
“Such as the difficulty, shall we say, of conducting commerce.”
“I’m encountering that selfsame problem.”
“So I understand,” Nushki said smoothly. “Which is why a certain clerk of my acquaintance brought your arrival to my attention. Since you’re evidently a stranger to Isfahan, perhaps you’re unaware our populace can be extraordinarily excitable.”
“In what way?”
“In seizing on enthusiasms,” Nushki said. “And, worse, becoming enraged when, or rather if, those enthusiasms don’t develop in the manner expected. I remember, when I was a boy, a rage for exotic nut bushes swept the city, and people spent outrageous sums to buy the latest and strangest. Of course, when everyone had at least one or more bush, was tired of selling on credit, and the market was flooded, prices collapsed. The man who began the craze was dismembered, his heart and genitals burned before his eyes while he screamed. Then the throng rioted, and no one knows how many hundreds died.
“My father, who was a wise man, which is why I was able to finance my businesses with a minimum of risk, had seen this coming. We fled the city before the riots, after he’d converted as much of his holdings into cash or transportable goods as possible. We stayed at an inn leagues beyond Isfahan, and we could barely see the smoke from the fires. When we returned, all was calm, although the city was a quarter ruined.
“They’d burned our house and several of my father’s businesses. But because of his farsightedness, my father was able to reestablish himself quickly. And since his funds were liquid, he was able to take advantage of many opportunities in the depressed marketplace.”
“I’d guess,” Peirol suggested, “nut bushes weren’t among them.”
“As a matter of fact, I still can’t stand to eat those meats. At any rate, I’ve been considering what i
s happening today, and, of course I’m wrong to even think this, to wonder about the greatness of Makonnen and the Redeemer, but a wise man takes precautions.”
“One of the most transportable and easiest to convert of all assets is high-grade gems,” Peirol said.
“Which is why I thought we might have a common interest.”
“An excellent thought,” Peirol said. “Perhaps we should adjourn to my chambers and discuss the matter further, and you might peruse some interesting examples of my craft?”
“Such would be my pleasure.”
As they reached the stairs, Nushki, very casually, pointed out six armed men as his bodyguards and said that unfortunately the taproom couldn’t accommodate all of them, so others were forced to wait outside in the back, near the stables, and in front, on the street.
Peirol gave him a wintry smile. “You’ll find I’m no less honest than those you normally conduct business with.”
“The thought never came,” Nushki said, and bowed him up the stairs.
An hour later, Peirol was fatter by two bags of gold, and Nushki, quite delighted, had a palmful of gems, one Aulard’s ill-omened opal.
In the days that followed other men and women, equally richly dressed, equally worried about Makonnen’s prophecies and what would happen if anything went awry, came to Peirol and left with jewels. They swore him to secrecy, because those who displeased Makonnen were taken to a park and stoned to death. Several hundred people had already been made aware of Makonnen’s displeasure. Peirol was more than happy to promise.
He had gotten rid of half his gems when the summons came. Four plainly dressed, well-armed men came to the inn, and announced Peirol of the Moorlands and his companion had been selected for a rare privilege. Makonnen himself was prepared to grant them an immediate audience and a blessing. Horses were waiting outside. “Trouble,” Zaimis whispered.
Peirol couldn’t think of any way to put the men off and make an escape. Besides, he thought hopefully, perhaps this will really turn out to be a blessing.
It wasn’t.
• • •
The house Makonnen lived in sat high on the canyon, near the city-circling walls. It had been given — honestly given — by a merchant prince, one of the first to accept the creed of the Redeemer. Makonnen now considered him one of his most trusted advisers. His former friends such as Nushki, of course, reviled him as a traitor to his class. But they did it very quietly. Isfahan was divided among the ardent believers, who included most of the peasants and a great deal of the upper class, the very quiet opposition, and those who simply got on with things and waited for the worst.
Peirol had expected the mansion to be laden with loot, all “gifts” to Makonnen. Instead it was bare as a penitent’s cell, although the sparse furnishings were all of the finest woods and metals. Makonnen’s household was all female, all good-looking, mostly young. Not all looked happy to be where they were.
“Godsdamned men,” Zaimis whispered, and Peirol couldn’t argue.
A bearded dignitary introduced himself as Kuphi. “You should consider it a great honor to be personally summoned by Makonnen, the One Who Comes Before the Redeemer, to be asked to gift him.”
“What sort of gift would be appropriate?” Peirol asked, hoping the payoff would be no more than a large diamond or two.
“I cannot say,” Kuphi said. “But I know Makonnen wishes the city to prepare a great gift for the Redeemer, when he arrives, and I’ve heard mention a model of the world, done in gold and gems, might be the least offering.”
Gems. Peirol tried not to let the wince show.
“I see,” he said. “I am truly looking forward to this audience, for there’s a question of a spiritual nature has been pulling at me, and only a man with the wisdom of Makonnen can answer it.”
“Perhaps,” Kuphi said, “you would wish to ask me, for I’m not unfamiliar with spiritual matters, and might be able to solve it for you, so Makonnen will not have to occupy himself with matters not on his plane. I don’t mean that to be insulting, for all of us, as Makonnen has taught, think our own souls as depthy as the ocean, and perhaps we are right.”
“No, no,” Peirol said. “I know this question can only be dealt with by Makonnen. If not him, then I’ll be forced to hold it for the Redeemer’s arrival.”
“I, uh, see,” Kuphi said. “I bid you wait for a few moments, and then you will be called to dine, with Makonnen himself making the before-meal prayer.”
He bowed, left.
“So they’re going to feed us,” Zaimis said. “Hogs before the slaughter?”
“I prefer lambs before the shearing.”
“You can think in that manner,” Zaimis said. “All you’ll lose will be our gems. I might become one of this man’s chattels and spend the rest of my life, at least until he tires of me, on my back with my legs in the air. I am very tired of being a possession.”
Peirol nodded glumly.
“And what is this great question you’ve been waiting to ask Makonnen?” she asked. “And why haven’t you puzzled at it with me?”
“Because I don’t know what it is, yet,” Peirol whispered fiercely. “Maybe it’s why the hells the gods didn’t make me a magician so we could fly right on out of here. Shut up and let me ponder.”
A few minutes later, a rather dissonant gong sounded from somewhere in the mansion, and a woman came into the room and beckoned them to follow. They entered another almost bare room, empty except for a long table with chairs. Two dozen dignified men stood behind chairs, and they nodded to Peirol and Zaimis. At one end of the room sat a young woman with pen and paper.
There were bowls at each place, a spoon, a mug of water, and a half loaf of bread. In the center of the table was a great steaming dish. Peirol sniffed, smelled nothing but vegetables, which made sense. It was always good for those who prate of spiritual matters to disdain earthly things. Thus far, with the exception of the women, Makonnen was doing well.
Another gong came, and Makonnen entered. Peirol had expected a bearded, hairy charlatan of some sort, a village mountebank who’d fallen into a good thing. Such a one could be bribed with a single gem. But Makonnen was young, in his mid-thirties, sleek-haired, clean-shaven, with a handsome face, if the nose was a little large and pointed for some tastes. In keeping with the ascetic setting, he wore a white tunic, close-buttoned at the neck, white breeches, and simple white sandals.
Zaimis was looking at the man a bit interestedly.
Makonnen came to the only empty place at the table, held out his hands, palm up, and lifted them. “This day is blessed,” he said, in a voice that was pleasing, mild, “for it is one day closer to the Redeemer’s coming. I lift my voice in prayer to him, and to the gods and heavens he comes from, to give us ease, peace, and plenty, a life of great plenty, for all to savor and enjoy. For have I not written, ‘Only in the Redeemer’s graces can anything be enjoyed, and only when we are joined with him shall we know true happiness’? I now further add to that, by saying — ”
The prayer went on and on. Peirol saw the young woman writing hastily as Makonnen spoke. By the time the prayer finished, the dish in the center of the table had stopped steaming.
“Be seated, my advisers, my guests,” Makonnen said. “And allow me to serve us.” He went around the table, dishing up bowls. No one began eating until Makonnen sat down and lifted his spoon, and then everyone followed, eating at a great rate. Peirol tried the dish, found it a lentil stew of no great distinction, with too many tomatoes and not enough garlic. He’d eaten better, he’d eaten far worse.
He ate slowly, paying more attention to Makonnen than the meal. Peirol thought the man very clever for avoiding the usual traps of impostors. He wondered why no one ever thought the young could be frauds. Certainly an old charlatan must get started sometime. He was at a loss as to what he might do, and then he noticed something. There was a peculiar glitter to Makonnen’s eyes, and he never quite looked directly at anyone or anything, but beyond them, over
their shoulder. He’d seen the look before, on the face of the gods-besotted. An idea formed.
Makonnen had finished about half his bowl when he put his spoon down. Instantly everyone else stopped as well. Zaimis had her spoon lifted, and Peirol had just taken a bite. She kicked him and put her spoon back down, obviously more experienced with formal state banquets than the dwarf. If this was Makonnen’s way, no wonder his advisers gobbled so hastily. Makonnen made no gesture, but women swarmed, cleared the table.
“I greet my visitors,” Makonnen said, without rising. He looked a bit past Peirol and Zaimis as he spoke. They ducked their heads, hoping that would be showing adequate respect. “I asked you to come here,” he said, “because first, I’m always curious about outsiders who come to my … to the Redeemer’s city.”
Ah. A slip, there, Peirol thought.
“My agents report that even though you two come from the beyond, you have been more than respectful about the Redeemer’s coming, and have listened with great interest to what humble teachings of mine have been presented to you. This is very good. Another reason I invited you was to ask you if you wished to become part of our family, as each gives to each, and thereby increases their worth in the eyes of the Redeemer. Each of you could choose to give a great gift, but one which will ensure your being in the greatest favor with the Redeemer, as these friends of mine here are and as I hope I am considered.”
The advisers hastily cut in with “Of course you are,” “You’re the best of us all,” and such phrases sycophants have always used. Makonnen waited until the chorus died away.
“However,” Makonnen said, “before we discuss that matter, and perhaps pray for proper guidance, I understand from my friend Kuphi that you have a question on spiritual matters you wish to put to me. I am delighted to listen to it, but you must remember, I am but the messenger of the Redeemer, and what little power of thought I’ve been given comes from him, for his great mind can more than spare the mite he’s given me, and” — Makonnen hesitated, regained his train of thought — “so it’s not at all inconceivable the answer to your question might have to wait until the Redeemer himself walks among us. But that will be no great burden, for I have been told, through my dreams and visions, we have but little time to wait, although we all know what the gods and great beings call little time might be a lifetime to a man.”