by Karen Lord
'Give me time to have breakfast, and then we can go.'
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17
the sisters in charge, and the trickster in trouble
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The search for Paama and the indigo djombi was still on. Sister Elen watched diligently every day and sometimes at night and wrote down everything that she could see. Sister Deian hovered beside her in case there was anything to tell Paama. Sister Carmis worked the hardest, spending hours upon hours in sleep or meditation. She said she was looking at probabilities, but they had become too varied and numerous for her to find anything meaningful. Instead of following a few bright threads in the fabric, she was caught in an irregular, brilliant, dynamic web.
'Not very informative,’ she admitted, ‘but still rather exhilarating.'
The other searchers were moving with equal blindness, arriving at places moments or hours after their quarry had left. If the djombi had pooled resources with the Sisters, they might both have gotten somewhere, but the djombi didn't think to take human abilities seriously, and the Sisters, knowing little about such beings, didn't imagine that it was even possible to collaborate with djombi, so they were both the poorer for it.
However, when humans must rely on their own powers, they can be immensely resourceful. Sister Carmis put the idea out into the open by telling the Sisters of a dream she had had of a warrior-hunter seeking Paama's trail.
'That's it,’ said Sister Jani. ‘We'll hire a tracker.'
'Not from around here,’ warned Sister Elen hastily. ‘I think we should not alarm Paama's family just yet. We need to keep our actions secret.'
'Ahani is the place to find good trackers,’ Sister Jani remarked. ‘No-one asks your business there.'
The Sisters nodded, and then an awkward silence fell. None of them wanted to go to Ahani. Makendha supplied most of their needs, and on the rare occasion that something additional was required, it was sent for.
'There is something else that concerns me,’ said Sister Carmis. ‘We saw the truth of what happened that night, a truth that no-one now seems to recall. The poet Alton appears to be content to be a lord, and Neila is willing to marry him, but what of that man, the majordomo, who once more pretends to be so ordinary? I do not trust him. I would be happier if he were out of Makendha.'
'How are we to accomplish that?’ asked Sister Elen. ‘I might Read him from a distance, but if I dared to speak to him face to face, I might lose my memories and my purpose in an instant. His master may have put protections on him, the same as he did for his poet.'
'Then we deal with him from a distance,’ said Sister Deian.
'We will send him a message threatening him with exposure,’ said Sister Jani, her eyes flashing. ‘Let him try to modify the memory of an entire town full of people after we tell everyone who he is.'
'Wait,’ Sister Carmis said, frowning. ‘He might know something about where his former master is going. Shouldn't we try to bargain with him first?'
'Who knows if these people have any sense of honour?’ Sister Elen sighed. ‘We need something to bind him to be obedient to us, at least for a while.'
If the Sisters sound rather daring in their plans, it is because they did not really know who they were dealing with. Although their memory of the evening was untouched, their perception of what had happened was awry. Both the Trickster as Bini and the indigo lord in his disguise as Alton had shown but slight signs of something changed in appearance. Alton, on the other hand, had been almost entirely controlled by the indigo lord so that he could have the demeanour of a lord to match his own gift of eloquence. He had shown so much influence and interference swirling about him that Sister Elen had Read him as the most dangerous, and Sister Deian had pronounced him the centre of the entire disturbance.
The confused scenes that had followed had been made even more obscure by the darkness and by the peculiar effect of the time bubble, which did not easily permit sight at a distance. They knew that Bini the majordomo was deeply involved in the conspiracy to get the Stick and the subsequent cover-up, but they had not yet grasped the fact that he was not human. Out of all the three, Sister Carmis was the only one who had the slightest idea of his true nature, but unfortunately she had taken her dreams of spiders to be as symbolic as her dreams of the visible web of probabilities.
Therefore the Sisters are plotting something that would work very well for a human, but that will have unexpected consequences for a djombi.
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The Trickster was treating himself to a sort of holiday. He was going to establish Alton permanently as Lord Taran, preferably in a residential district just off Ahani so that Neila's nouveau riche tastes could be satisfied, and then he was going to hand in his resignation and go back to his usual haunts in Ahani. As for the real Lord Taran, the Trickster didn't spare him a thought. He had seen enough. Getting between half the host of undying ones and one fallen comrade would be going to a level of danger that he was not accustomed to. Danger for the sake of fun, that he could appreciate, but unreasonable risk taking was not part of his character.
So comfortable was he in his vision of his likely future that the note that came down from the House of the Sisters via the postboy was quite a shock. Humans had seen him and remembered him? How was that possible? He would have to start paying closer attention to the little toys and gadgets that were so popular in the larger cities, and that now, apparently, had come to the hinterlands as well. He read the first part of the message more closely and realised that they had not, in fact, seen him, but that he was guilty by association with the indigo lord. He crumpled the note in his hand. There was a simple answer to this problem. He would hand in his resignation a bit earlier than planned, and Bini would disappear, his face never to be seen again in this country.
He raised the crumpled paper in his fist and laughed as he shook it in the direction of the House of the Sisters.
Grant him this one theatrical moment. It is going to be of extremely short duration.
His laughter choked off as he saw before him not a human fist, but the sharp-tipped, bristly leg of a spider. He blinked in horror and tried to reassert his image, but nothing happened. The postboy, who had been waiting in case an immediate reply needed to be sent, stared at him in frozen terror.
The Trickster pulled himself together. ‘There is nothing to worry about,’ he told the boy as reassuringly as he could manage. ‘These things happen. Just run along and deliver the rest of your letters.'
Other powers remained intact, for the postboy paused in confusion, nodded peacefully, and then went off to complete his work.
The Trickster gnashed his mandibles in irritation. The power over memory worked best when used on those whom one would rarely see. It was perfect for large and busy towns or cities, and for short interactions, but in a small village like Makendha he would end up having to destroy the short term memory of half the inhabitants to sustain his disguise.
He smoothed out the crumpled note and read it through carefully with a feeling of grudging admiration. Not many people managed to trick the Trickster, but when they did he was willing to give credit where credit was due. Well, he was not going back to Ahani without his secondary power of disguise intact. With a little less elegance than his previous employer, he waved a forelimb in the air and stepped through the crack in space and time—out of his own tent and into the House of the Sisters.
Sister Elen was the first to see him. She started to scream, but he raised a leg wearily.
'This is all your doing, so don't fuss. Who do I have to deal with to get my disguise back?'
She stared at him. ‘Deian!’ she yelled.
The Dreamer came running. On her head was a cap made of the same fabric that covered the cushion she had given to Paama. The Trickster looked at her and observed the immunity to mind tampering.
'No need to be so defensive,’ he said, trying to make soothing gestures with his forelegs, and failing miserably. ‘I realise t
hat perhaps you didn't know what was beneath the disguise when you decided to block my power to maintain it, but now I'm sure we can both agree that it would be better for all concerned if I looked a little less??ntimidating.'
'Where's Paama?’ demanded Sister Deian.
'I honestly have no idea. I'm not really involved. Trust me, none of my kind would wish to get caught up in this matter.'
He was afraid that they would think he was lying, but, both Dreamer and Reader looked at him, their faces showed disappointment at the truth of his words.
'But that has nothing to do with me. Won't you let me have back my disguise?'
Sister Elen had the pained expression of someone who was thinking very very quickly. ‘You have to agree to leave Makendha and never return again.'
'Never?’ he said, dismayed.
'Never,’ she reiterated firmly.
He nodded, pretending to be resigned, but secretly he thought that there were always ways to get around ‘never'.
'And since you and your ... kind cannot—or will not—help us find Paama, you must go to Ahani and hire us the best tracker you can find,’ she went on bravely.
'I can do that,’ he acknowledged. ‘And you will let me have my disguise back, so that I can carry out this mission?'
'No. You can have it back only when the tracker reaches the House and is approved by us,’ said Sister Elen.
'And has found Paama,’ added Sister Deian.
'You bargain shrewdly. You must have heard about me before,’ he smiled. Unfortunately, this movement showed itself as an ominous clicking of the mandibles, which caused the two Sisters to jump back in fear.
'No, no, I will do as you say. I will find you a tracker and stay in Ahani. You can return my disguise to me from a distance?’ he asked pleadingly.
'Yes, once the terms are all met,’ said Sister Deian.
'Agreed, then.'
The spider-man backed away cautiously so that no sudden move of his might startle them, waved a foreleg gently in the air in farewell, and vanished.
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18
the spider in his parlour and a very eager fly
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And so we return to a familiar scene—the spider-man sitting in a bar, observing and choosing his victims. If his seat was a little farther back in the darkness than usual, and if the bar was less cheerily lit than his previous haunts, we can understand why. He was a little nervous about having no disguise to fall back on.
The thought crossed his mind that he did not have to put up with this. Although he had long borne the spider shape, he could yet retire it and craft a less remarkable shadow. It would take a little time to do it, but the change might do him good. Perhaps??erhaps indeed it was time to put aside the legend of the Trickster with one last trick.
Then he relented. Better to start a straight trail with an honest deed.
Other honest deeds had been faithfully carried out. Alton's writings, the first part of a great work, had been sent by courier to an agent. Neila's orders for fabric and other wedding paraphernalia had been delivered to the appropriate stores, and the goods were being shipped directly to Makendha. Alton's household was being managed by a temporary majordomo, a junior looking for advancement hired from the chief's staff in Makendha. He thought it was temporary, but the Trickster knew that a permanent offer was just around the corner.
The Trickster sighed. All he needed was for one more thing to go right.
The first adventurer he approached with a free drink (alcohol definitely helped his situation), was a big man of middle years who had recently suffered an injury and was trying to return to full marketability. The spider-man recognised another trickster when he saw one, and this man was hiding the fact that he had lost his nerve after the accident that had nearly maimed him permanently. It was a common characteristic among the warriors—no fear of death, and only pride for their scars, but little thought of all that could happen in between those two extremes.
Then there were a few who were more brag than bravery, youngsters who had little or no experience who were travelling the world to find themselves. There were others who, having unfortunately found themselves, were seeking a way to get lost again. All these the Trickster turned away. He knew something about the business of tracking, and it required single-mindedness, not self-absorption.
Precious days were lost in this way, and he began to think that perhaps it was time to be less picky. Then, at last, the perfect tracker found him. He was a thin man of medium height, with light scars tracing his left cheek just below his eye. There was an expression of muted amusement on his face, as if he thought he was part of some grand joke and was glad of it. The Trickster found his face naggingly familiar, which was surprising, because he knew he had never met him before. But we have met this stranger, oh yes, a long trail back. More than mere coincidence had brought him to the Trickster. Certain information had come to him, making him realise that there was unfinished business on his karmic plate.
'You've been looking for me,’ he proclaimed to the spider-man who, as usual, had tucked himself discreetly into the darkest, farthest corner of the room.
Then he added audaciously, ‘Aren't you going to buy me a drink?'
'That depends,’ said the Trickster cautiously. ‘Who told you I was looking for you?'
The newcomer shrugged. ‘There are many answers to that. I could say that the word is out in Ahani that someone is sifting through the city's entire allotment of trackers to find the very best. In fact, I think that is the best answer for now.'
And he made a small, elegant gesture with his hand as if to say, ‘your play'.
'It is true that I am looking for a tracker, an excellent tracker. The assignment is no ordinary quarry,’ the Trickster murmured, signalling to the barman for an extra glass of spirits.
The tracker caught the barman's attention and signed for water instead. The Trickster didn't know whether to be impressed or worried.
'In what way is your quarry unusual?’ asked the tracker.
The Trickster's eyes gleamed with pleasure. This would be enjoyable.
'It leaves no trail. It can travel from one end of the earth to the other in the blink of an eye. Oh, and did I mention it has the powers of chaos at its side?'
'What does that mean, exactly?’ asked the tracker, as if only slightly curious.
'It means that if there is a chance of your getting lost, or run over by an omnibus, or hit by debris from a falling star??ell, you'd be surprised how easily those chances can get called up when your enemy has the right tool to hand.'
'So, it sounds as if I shall have to be careful that this quarry does not suspect I am following,’ mused the tracker.
'There is more,’ the Trickster snapped. ‘There are others on the trail?'
'...?he nonexistent trail,’ the tracker interjected helpfully.
The Trickster glared at him. ‘Exactly so. There are others, as I was saying, and it is best that you do not try to get between them and the quarry.'
'When I do track down the quarry, assuming there is nothing stopping me from doing so, what am I to do then? Return it to you?'
The Trickster relaxed and leaned back. Here at last was the enjoyable bit. ‘That is not my concern. I have been instructed to hire the best tracker Ahani has to offer. More information on your duties will have to come directly from your employers.'
'My employers. So, I have got the job?'
The Trickster inclined his head in assent. ‘Why not? Time is short and I am tired of looking any further. Here is a ticket to Makendha. You will have to find your own way from there to the House of the Sisters, but you can hire a mule from anyone and go up the hill trail. But before you go?’ and here he gripped the tracker's hand just as it was reaching for the ticket, enjoying the sight of the slight swallow in the man's throat as he dealt with the experience of being manhandled by a giant spider, ‘...?hat other reasons would you have for thinking
I was looking for you?'
'Why do you ask?’ The tracker's face was less cheerful now, more anxious.
'You do not discuss wages, or deadlines, or reasons for the assignment. You do not flinch at any of the strangeness in my words nor even my appearance, and I know this for a fact because I have long since lifted my pacifying influence from you, the mental sedative I use to keep humans from curiosity and wonder and fear. Who are you? What is your name? Who sent you?'
'I am a tracker,’ the man replied in a quiet voice. ‘My name is Kwame, and??nd I was sent by a dream.'
There was a small silence.
'A dream?’ said the Trickster, releasing his hand and letting him take the ticket. ‘Well, I wouldn't doubt it, with all the nonsense that's been happening lately. A dream. Why not. Anything to make my job easier, thank you, Sisters. Once I was the strangest thing around here, the Sultan of Weird, but now the humans are outpacing the weird ones. Such is life.'
'You must not let yourself become cynical,’ chided Kwame. ‘We only do what we can, and sometimes we are permitted to do even more than that, human or??therwise.'
The Trickster gave him a measuring look. ‘You are a philosopher, I see. And yet young. What has made you so wise before your time?'
Kwame shrugged. ‘I try to pay attention to life's lessons.'
The spider-man laughed. ‘So modest? Let me tell you, I have seen men who are trying to find themselves, and I have seen men who are trying to lose themselves, but rare indeed is the man who knows exactly who he is and where he is at. Kwame, I sense that you are that fortunate and rare man.'
'I thank you for the compliment, but in truth I am trying to find a part of myself, something that I lost on the way from childhood. My dream tells me that at the end of this quest is where I will find it.’ A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. ‘Finding out that someone like you is at the start of it is oddly encouraging.'
He drained his glass of water and stood up. ‘As you said, time is short. I will go to the House of the Sisters and do as they command me.'