by Gary Gygax
Outside and heading back toward his own home, the tall Egyptian seemed to fly across the ground he walked so quickly. He whistled a little air as he went, a rather tuneless sound which would have told Rachelle, had she been there, that the magister's mind was working furiously on some plan as he went. Then the copper-skinned priest of Thoth vanished inside the low-walled villa which was his seldom-visited home. In the morning, nobody there would even know that their master had come and gone.
DEATH IN LONDUN
Avillonia. Three islands, five kingdoms, and a mixed people who had come to consider themselves one. One, that is, in terms of dealing with those from other lands. Perhaps they regarded the Brettons as acceptable cousins, the folk of Flanders slightly less so, and some of their other immediate neighbors, along with Atlantlans, Romans, and Grecians, respectable enough to deal with. Others, especially such neighbors as Neus-tria, Francia, and the Teutonic lands were filled with undesirable persons. If the people of such lands came to any of the Five Kingdoms, they might survive well enough in the larger cities. In fact, the capitals of the kingdoms of Avillonia had large populations of foreigners from all over Yarth. Caledonia and Cymru, the two smallest kingdoms, each had under two million inhabitants. Their capitals, Edinburgh and Caerdyv, the one with only some thirty-five thousand citizens, the other boasting sixty thousand, had foreign quarters with non-natives totaling about ten percent of their populations. The same was true for Glasgow and Cardigan, too, those cities being about as large as the capitals. Hybernia with between three and four million, Lyonnesse with between four and five—whose great capitals, Dublin and Camelough, respectively, each had one-quarter million or more souls—supported slightly larger foreign populations. Albion, the most populous kingdom of all, with over seven million, also had as its capital the largest city in Avillonia. Londun totalled over seven hundred thousand residents, and that census omitted all persons not holding citizenship. Almost a hundred thousand "strangers" dwelled in the city. Londun was not the largest city of Yarth, but it was certainly one of the twenty or so with populations near to or over a million.
Ch'ins, Hindi, Phonecians, Shamish, Yarbans, Atlantlans, Berbers, and even some number of Egyptians were to be found in the foreign districts of the metropolis of Londun. Fully a half of the non-Avillonian population was made up of such Azirians and Afrikans. The balance were of a somewhat less exotic sort—merchants of Hansa and other Teutonics, Francians, Russians, Skands, Romans, Grecians, and Iberians, too. Nobody in the city paid much attention to these strangers, so it was surprising to all when a growing mob of Londuners began to pour through the streets in the Limehouse district. "Kill the POCs!" some screamed. Others began smashing windows and pillaging. "Pocs" was the slang term for all Egyptians, an acronym derived from "Pharaohs Own Citizens." The mob and riot were soon taken care of, and only a dozen or so deaths and three times as many serious injuries resulted from the affair. Then the Lord Mayor demanded to know why it had happened in the first place. The Bow Street Runners went out in force to find the answer.
Setne Inhetep could have given them the answer easily enough. He had left his own land and had returned to Avillonia, if not to that very district of Camelough, by magickal means. That left obvious telltales, but the wizard-priest was no longer very much concerned about that. He went directly to a place in Hybernia, to the dwelling of a fellow Egyptian who was also practitioner, albeit in only a small way. Onru-hehept wasn't exactly thrilled at the Setne's arrival, but he was accommodating nonetheless. Without using his diplomatic status, the official managed to get Inhetep an audience with the king himself. It was a brief meeting, but both the Hybernian monarch and Setne were enlightened. King Finn arranged for the priest-mage's conveyance across his land to the sea, where Inhetep boarded a fast packet bound for Glasgow the next night. In the Caledonian capital, the Egyptian simply used bluff and his renown to gain a similar audience with the monarch of the northernmost of the Five Kingdoms of Avillon. Despite precautions, Setne was assailed by thugs while in Edinburgh. But their attempted assassination failed because agents of King Finn were still trailing the wizard-priest and interceded, as it were, to set the attackers straight. A dozen corpses had to be disposed of, and the Royal Caledonian respect for Inhetep rose accordingly.
From the capital of Caledonia, Setne was conveyed by another official convoy to the seat of government of Cmyru, the city of Caerdyv. There he was likewise granted immediate audience with the ruler of that nation. That wasn't surprising, for by this time he was accompanied by trusted emissaries from both Hybernia and Caledonia. Owen, twelfth monarch of that name to rule the western portion of the biggest of the three Avillonian islands, ordered passage for the tall Egyptian, so that Inhetep sailed from the capital city to Albion the very next day. Debarking at Bristol, and now purposely alone and without shadowing agents, the magister took various coaches eastward to reach Londun, that sprawling metropolis on the Thames, as quickly as possible. There King Dennis was holding court over Sunsebb Tide, as the winter solstice was called in Albion.
"Please tell your superior that Magister Setne Inhetep of Thebes is here on important business," the wizard-priest said in clipped tones to the lesser porter of the royal palace, a great complex of mansions and towers called the Citadel of Londun.
The fellow had a long face which grew longer at Setne's command. "As you wish, ah . . . noble Egyptian sir," the functionary replied. He made the honorific sound shoddy, and his expression conveyed the likelihood that a foreigner such as the tall, hawk-faced Easterner with reddish skin and shaven head would receive only the attention of those curious to see an outlandish inferior. "Please be so good as to wait here," he added, waving the priest-mage toward a long, hard bench of carved oak much polished by the posteriors of similar supplicants.
Fifteen minutes passed. The lesser porter literally flew back into the plain antechamber where Inhetep sat calmly waiting. He was wringing his hands, a gesture between worry and anxiousness. "Your sincere pardon, Magister Inhetep," he said with utmost solicitousness. "The Lord Chamberlain himself will see you immediately."
The fellow had dallied. That was obvious to Setne. He'd probably stopped to chat with another petty official, pinch a serving maid, and then strolled to the office of the porter. That one had certainly had Inhetep's name on a list. Setne imagined the junior running off down a corridor at the harsh command of his superior, taking word of the Egyptian's arrival to the porter's own master, the chamberlain. He saw the long-faced fellow in his mind's eye running breathlessly back to inform the porter that Sir Chauncey would personally receive the visitor. He stood up and looked at the man without expression.
"Dreadfully sorry about the wait," the assistant to the porter gulped under the emerald-green stare of the wizard-priest. He wondered if such foreign spell-craefters could read minds easily, then hastily dropped the thought. With a bow, the fellow ushered Inhetep into a wide hallway and conveyed him to the suite of offices occupied by the greater officials of the royal household.
The major domo stood and extended his hand to the Egyptian. "How may I be of service, Magister Inhetep?" he inquired politely. "It is, of course, an honor to receive a cleric and mage of your reputation."
Setne tapped his breast with a careless gesture, an acknowledgement of the chamberlain's greeting, but he ignored the extended hand. It was not customary in Egypt, and the wizard-priest chose to stand on that now. With similar disregard for Western etiquette, Setne seated himself upon one of the several chairs near the table the man used as his desk, nodded as if recalling the chamberlain's query, and said, "I am here to speak with your liege, King Dennis."
"I see," the chamberlain said coldly, walking round so as to seat himself across the table from his caller. His face was a bit flushed. The Egyptian's behavior indicated that either he was rude or ignorant or . . . something else. "Arranging a royal audience is a matter of some difficulty, and you have come so unexpectedly—"
"Have I, Sir Chauncey? Odd. As a former me
mber of a service similar to Albion's, I had thought a spy system as efficient as yours would have known a day or two ago that I must be headed here."
The chamberlain's flush darkened and spread. "See here, Inhetep—"
Setne stood up, bowing. "Oh, have I said something out of place? I am unused to your court formalities, and I crave your pardon. Nonetheless, what I have come for is of utmost importance. Please conduct me immediately to King Dennis. He will understand once I have spoken to him."
"That is impossible. However, you may relate to me whatever information you have which you believe will be of interest to His Majesty. Rest assured, I will relay the gist of it to him in expeditious manner." Sir Chauncey paused and looked expectantly at the hawk-faced man opposite his desk.
With a shake of his shaven head, Setne refused. "Most unacceptable—and for your own sake, too, I must add, Lord Chamberlain. The words I have are for your sovereign alone. When may I speak with the king?"
Sir Chauncey set his mouth in a tight line. "As you wish, Magister. The next possible audience is the day after tomorrow. Please be at the citadel on the stroke of eight."
"I understand," the wizard-priest replied. "Thank you for your courteous assistance in this matter."
"No trouble at all, sir," the chamberlain said with sudden thawing to his cold tone. "Yes . . . speaking of courtesy, is there anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable? Have you lodging?"
"There is nothing, thank you. There is a small Egyptian quarter in Londun, I believe. Several acquaintances of mine dwell there, and I will stay with one of them until the day of the audience."
Sir Chauncey was still being helpful. "I say, Magister Inhetep. At least allow me to get you a chair and a guide! That section of Londun is quite a warren. It's possible to get lost just trying to arrive in the vicinity."
"That's most kind but unnecessary," Setne said, with a smile of thanks to match the chamberlain's own cordiality. "I appreciate your offer, and it is good to find you bear no animosity due to my abruptness and persistence. You see, Sir Chauncey, this is a most critical matter, and the safety of the crown itself might be involved. Anyway, I will be here as you instruct, and meanwhile I shall find my way about town well enough. As they say, we dweomercraefters are a hard lot to lose."
"Yes . . ." the chamberlain replied with distraction. The words Setne had uttered regarding the safety of the crown had had a sharp impact on the man. "Well, until we meet again, Magister."
Escorted out and on his way, Inhetep walked briskly for several blocks, the cold winter air pushing him along. Having completed that constitutional, the tall Egyptian sought out a public carriage, and after a few minutes found a small hansom typical of Londun. It was unoccupied, so he climbed in and asked the driver to take him to the foreign quarter—the place where Egyptians were to be found, if the man knew where that was. "Near 'nuff," the cabbie replied, and whipped the tired old plug pulling the small cab into a sort of trot. Near the river warehouses in the Limehouse district, however, the man stopped the conveyance and asked for payment, saying, "Hit's gettin' too blamed dark ta see, so's I'll take m'fare now—place yer lookin' fer be only aways orff."
Sleet was beginning to fall, and the stuff was being swirled about by a freezing wind which blew in gusts off the nearby river. Setne hunched down in his great cloak and slogged ahead, taking the first lane to the left, then another to the right, and finally a twisting way of alley-width to the left again. No witchlights or other magickal illuminations were in evidence here. Such things were subject to theft, of course, for having a light of that sort saved a poor man much in the way of candles, lamp oil, and the like. There was a sputtering torch a little ways ahead, the flambeau set into a niche and semi-shielded from the elements in order for its flame to lure passersby into the drinking house before which it stood. A sign there showed a double-faced deity sporting eight arms which brandished various weapons, and crude lettering beneath proclaimed it in both Brytho-Kelltic and Vedic as the "Golden Shiva."
There were darker shapes in the gloom and sleet where Setne had been only a moment before. Without seeming to notice them, the tall man stepped to the doorway to the tavern, ducked under the low lintel, and pushed open the door. Twanging strains of music, a hum of voices, and red-gold light rushed out over the hissing ice and blustering wind. Then the door banged shut, and the alleyway was left to its dismal self. Inhetep stepped inside and shook off the crusted sleet, shed his damp cloak, and found a seat near the carved bar. He smiled a little. At least the folk of Sindraj, Hind, and Ceylon alike, appreciated warmth.
"Date wine," he informed the sloe-eyed wench who came to his table. She brought a battered pewter goblet of the syrupy stuff, and Setne sipped it with a satisfied sigh. Perhaps it wasn't very good, but it reminded him of home. There were lamps burning low and a large fireplace ablaze in the corner. Setne looked around the large room and the clusters of patrons, perhaps two score in all. His gaze fell to the floor. Sure enough. In the center was a heavy iron grill, and nobody went near it. "Salamander?" he asked when the serving girl came by his table again.
She merely nodded. It was of no interest to her. "More wine, effendi? Perhaps you seek other things too . . . ?"
Four men had entered the place. "Finally," Setne muttered aloud. The dusky-skinned wench looked puzzled and hopeful. "More wine?" "Yes." "Other things?" "No," the Egyptian managed somewhat distractedly. He was keeping careful watch on the four without looking at them. That required all of his attention, so Inhetep didn't see the shrug and flounce as the girl went to fetch more wine. Inhetep paid for his order and pretended to be absorbed in his drinking and the six musicians who sawed and toodled and thumped away nearby. Then he called the wench over to his table again. "How do I find the district where the Egyptian folk dwell?" he asked loudly.
"I am uncertain," the Hindi woman said with a pout. That changed to a smile when Inhetep produced a pair of coppers, slipped one into the girl's hand, and told her to use the other to bring them both another drink. The wench then related several ways of getting to the area Setne had inquired about. "Oh, you are looking for the place where they have many shops offering the goods of your country for sale?" she asked in response to his words. "Then you need only to go along the next street aways. When you see the sign of the Gypsies—an eye in a ball of glass— turn to your right. In a little while you will come to the place where your folk live."
With that, the wizard-priest grinned and gestured toward the musicians. "Bring a full ewer of whatever they like and ask them to join me," Inhetep told the sloe-eyed maid. "If you are free, come and sit with me, too. With such a short way to go, I can spend much time here having fun." The wench went off to do as he had asked. One of the four men also got up and left the tavern. Setne was positive the man had overheard everything. Still smiling, the Egyptian soon had the company of the band, the serving maid, and a couple of other women who had drifted over to the group. Setne put his purse on the table and emptied it. A dozen or more copper and silver coins spilled forth. "Now that should do for our thirst!" he said drunkenly. "Can any of you charming ladies dance?"
Within half an hour, there was a roistering party in full swing around the Egyptian's table. Soon, in fact, several of his fellow-countrymen appeared as if by magick in the Golden Shiva. Although they were of common sort, Inhetep welcomed them as if the three were cousins. The musicians resumed their places to accompany the woman who was dancing for Setne. Then another woman performed and more folk joined the noisy throng. More silver came from somewhere on the magister's person, and greater quantities of beer, wine, and spirits arrived. "Is there a pair of strong fellows here?" the shaven-headed priest-mage cried. "I'll pay the winner of a wrestling bout four dolphosess. I want some entertainment of the rigorous sort!" Although several of the wenches volunteered other sports, Inhetep held firm, and soon a pair of stalwarts agreed to give it a try. A space was cleared for them as Setne set out four of the Achaean coins, silver disks each worth about twent
y-five of the common Albish bronze coins. The match began—and in no time the contest brought bedlam to the tavern.
As several tipsy onlookers cheered the wrestlers, a third contestant leaped into the fray. Someone joined the trio in order to even things out. Then a tankard was hurled into the crowd, and a general melee commenced. At the height of the brawl, several people managed to escape the devastation. Beside a stray Hindi or two and a Phonecian gambler, the three Egyptians who had wandered in left the tavern the same way, but with more energy than when they had entered. Anybody keeping track of the wizard-priest would not have wondered why he didn't leave when his countrymen did. Somehow the tall man had become embroiled in the fighting and was seen only occasionally in the sprawl, a shaven head here, a lean, coppery arm there. In fact, three hard-eyed men were watching Inhetep as he brawled. Naturally, they paid no attention to those who left hurriedly.
Outside, the three Egyptians ran off toward their own quarter as fast as they could. There was no telling when the watch would arrive to break up the melee and arrest all they could lay their hands on. The cost of damages and the fines would certainly pauper a working man! It was no more than a half-dozen blocks to the part of Londun where the former folk of Pharaoh dwelled. Actual distance was difficult to measure in the slant and twist of street and alley. Halfway there, the men slowed to a brisk walk, breath steaming in the chill air. Only then did they feel safe in laughing and jesting about the whole affair. They headed directly for their own favorite drinking establishment, the Fattened Goose. "Where's Buhor?" one of them asked when they arrived. The second man shrugged. "Who can say? Perhaps he decided to go home—he hardly said a word after we left that stupid Hindi tavern." The first Egyptian was about to go back into the street despite the cold and look for his friend, but then he saw a pair of sisters he knew. "Too bad for him," he said to his companion, pointing toward the women and winking.