Aftermath tw-10

by Robert Asprin

  "Yes!" the Termagant said, astonishing Hanse by the sudden happy light in her eyes. "So! She flowered, then, and is respected, with the Ability."

  "Yes. She Sees, Termagant, Teretaff; Mignue Sees beyond anyone else in Firaqa."

  "She will do well there, then," Teretaff said, with some happiness and pride mingled with sadness. Tears had appeared in the walnut eyes of the girl beside the old woman, to hear that her sister was not coming back. "But-you are here and she there?"

  Hanse nodded. "It was not easy. Oh, we had our troubles-probably mainly because we were under the shadow of sorcery all the time. But I think we will always love each other. It's just that I had to come back, and she felt she had to remain there. She is happy there. Established."

  "I am glad for her," Jileel said but her voice quavered and she sniffed.

  'I am delighted'" the Termagant said, and again she astonished Hanse, by proving that grim mouth could smile.

  Hanse wondered whether Teretaff might have been less equable about this news had the Termagant not been present, and so enthusiastic. Al- most he wished that Jileel were not present. She kept staring at him, staring with those huge dark brown eyes. She always had, he remem- bered, when he had come to see Moonflower and then Mignureal, but now it seemed different. She was older, with the cusp of womanhood newly sealed upon her. And ... could that be she in there, rather than the family laundry or a couple of smuggled melons, making her blouse stand out and strain so? Mignureal had not been constructed so! Of course her mother had been, but Moonflower had been huge everywhere, a truly obese woman whose size had made walking difficult for her. (She also remained the most beautiful woman Hanse had ever known. It was she who taught him, just by being, that beauty was not something a person wore, like clothing or skin, but was inside; it was something a person was.)

  He produced the bag and handed it to a surprised Teretaff. It jingled.

  "From Mignureal," Hanse told him.

  "From Mignureal?" Now it was TeretaflPs eyes that glistened wetly.

  Hanse pretended not to notice. He nodded. "She insisted. She is doing well. That is for you and her sisters and brother, she said. It is, uh, considerable Firaqi gold, Teretaff. Gold because that way 1 had fewer coins to carry. Be sure to go to a decent bank to get a fair exchange on those flame-marked coins, now."

  Teretaff smiled, then laughed, and embarrassed himself when laughter became sobs. In manner womanly, his daughter Jileel went to embrace him- Uncomfortable, Hanse began backing.

  "I have to go now." He swallowed. "Got an appointment, you know."

  "Young man."

  Hanse swallowed again. "Name's Hanse, ma'am."

  "Hanse, then. And I am called the Termagant. You know that I am the senior amoushem; first among the S'danzo with the Ability. Moonflower liked you. I know, and Mignureal ... well. I admit that I never had much-I never had any use for you. That has changed. You may consider me friend. Hanse.

  Still again Hanse swallowed. It was his way not to act honored, but he could not escape the feeling that this was like being acknowledged friend by the Prince-Governor, as he had been. Suddenly his stance changed, and his grin was the old cocky one.

  "My occupation hasn't changed. Termagant."

  She blinked. "I do not hear you. A friend entrusted a bag of money to you for her father, and you brought it this long way."

  Damn! "Uh ... well, that's different. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

  "What?"

  Hanse shrugged. "I've got my reputation to think of."

  "But young ma- Hanse, it is a bad reputation!"

  Hanse nodded. "It's mine, Termagant."

  Between the old woman and her father, with her arm around him, Jileel giggled.

  The Termagant shook her head. "I, however, have spoken. You are to consider me friend, Hanse."

  "I'll remember. I have to go now."

  As he left, he heard the Termagant's voice: "Very well now, Jileel, let's test you again to see if that really was the Sight ..."

  Hanse hurried on, clucking to Notable, thinking of the considerable amount of money he had secretly left with that banker in Firaqa for Mignue, dear Mignue ...

  He found a decent place to live, in Red Court in the Maze, and de- lighted the proprietor by laying down a few coins in advance. Silky the ever supple and ever ready was for testing the bed; this soon after leaving Mignureal's family, Hanse just couldn't. He also couldn't admit that. He pointed out the need to find her employment, and they wandered. Some- time that afternoon he realized that he had no intention of living with the tan-haired girl he and his loneliness had acquired up in Suma. All right, he could handle that; he was not stuck with her and besides she was obviously not charmed with the Maze, Hanse's natural habitat.

  He did succumb to Silky's importunings to buy a melon. As he cut it, he noticed that the wooden handle of his favorite knife was loose.

  "Damn!"

  Next he noticed that she was talking animatedly with another of the pedlar's customers, a Rankan. Good, he thought, and without any com- punctions at all he walked away. Silky wasjust Silky, a passing fancy, but a defective knife was serious business. Using this cut-through and that, he was soon on the Street of Tanners. Three blocks down from Sly's Place was Zandulas's Tannery; one had only to follow one's nose to find it and the busy establishment of Zandulas's next door neighbor, Cholly. Cholly the Gluemaker was the man to see. Oh, his real name was Chollander, but only his wife called him that. Cholly performed a number of impor- tant services for Sanctuary, including the making of glue. In a town where bodies tended to appear with the morning sun and tended never to be claimed by anyone, a man who had use for them and thus rendered a free corpse-collection service was valuable. Come to think, "rendered" was the right word for the main part of Cholly's activities.

  The bear-sized man with the barrel belly greeted Hanse heartily and with surprise. "Why haven't I seen you for so long, Hanse? Must be a year or more."

  Cholly was alone in his smelly, cluttered place of business, meaning that his two assistants were out on this errand or that. Taking orders for delivering glue, probably, or the ancillary products of Cholly's trade. Selling jewelry, perhaps, or slightly used clothing. A bone or two, maybe. Or nice long hair, perhaps, to make nice wigs.

  Briefly and without much patience, Hanse told Cholly where he had been.

  "I had no idea, Hanse' Oh-I guess you left before that sexy Rankan gladiator came to town, didn't you?"

  "How can a gladiator be s- oh. You mean Chenaya Nutcracker? We, uh, met, Cholly."

  "Oh? Surprised you don't grin when you say that, Shadowspawn. Surely Milady Swagger either insulted you, tried to kill you, or bedded you. Or all three."

  Hanse clamped his teeth. "She bedded me, Cholly. That's the way it was, too-she collected me. took me home, and bedded me. She's good- looking and she's cat-supple, I'll give her that. Bed is another matter. I didn't enjoy it with her and we will not be doing it again. I prefer women."

  Cholly saw the expression and heard the tone. Considerately and wisely, he nodded and said nothing at all. Then his visitor laid the wounded knife on his counter and the huge man shifted to his business demeanor. He picked it up in a big meaty hand, examined it, said "hmm" twice, and shrugged.

  "Easily fixed, Hanse. Let's just make repairing this a welcome-home gift," Cholly said, already starting to work. "We'll use dry-tack. It's a special sort of glue I made up; sticks by pressure." He grunted softly; a man the size of Chollander the Gluemaker seldom found tasks large enough to require large grunts. "There. Now we apply the dry-tack wet, so, and allow it to dry. We don't have to wait long. I remember this old knife from years back. A really superior blade! Oh-you, ah, pick up any new knives up in Furakka?"

  Hanse showed him a couple, knowing this lover of knives would con- sider both of them exotic because they were of foreign manufacture. "The really fancy one was a gift from the head mage up in Firaqa, a man named Arcala."

  "Hmp! Never knew you to stay ar
ound a mage long enough to receive a gift! Hard to imagine, from a fellow who hates sorcery worse than anybody!" Cholly said, admiring it and the other knife Hanse handed him, a normal enough sticker. He examined both with the respect and care of a man who knew knives. "Nice," he said, laying them down. "Here, look at this pretty thing while I finish the job on your old knife." He placed in Hanse's hand a dagger whose blade was inlaid with silver.

  Sensing trade negotiations, Hanse naturally found it necessary to de- mean the seeming treasure. "Uh. Pretty," he said casually. "I'll bet this fancy inlay weakens the blade, though."

  Sensing an impending trade, Cholly snorted and made a chuckling noise to show Hanse how silly that was. It was also subject-changing time:

  "Ah yes, this is good now, Hanse- Dry-tack's a really good bonder. I'm proud of it. It won't stick to slippery surfaces, see, like wax or grease. Or soap. On the other hand it's easy to peel it off smooth, polished surfaces."

  "In that case how can it be strong enough for a knife I need to trust?"

  "I said 'peel' it off, Hanse. Pulling it off, breaking the bond-that's another matter. Believe me, I could glue a handle onto a horse's back and lift him by it. If I could lift a horse, I mean. It's strong."

  That triggered a thought, but Hanse was careful to sound casual when he asked how one got the stuff off.

  Cholly gestured. "Oh, I have a remover for it! Had to come up with that!"

  "Uh. I guess," Hanse said, and decided it was time to swing back to the potential trade: "How strong d'you think this silvered blade is?"

  "It's a dagger, Hanse. I mean, it isn't as if you're going to try throwing it or chopping trees, is it?"

  The ritual of leading up to a transaction had begun. The dickering had to come first, of course, and the deliberate dropping of the subject for friendly converse before returning to another offer or "suggestion" of offer. This time the process took only fifteen or eighteen minutes. When Hanse left, Cholly had both Firaqi knives in exchange for the inlaid dagger and a pot of the dry-tack Hanse called "Cholly's Dry Stickum." The gluemaker threw in the remover as a courtesy. Their deal made both men happy-

  Hanse returned to the area where he had left Silky. The melon pedlar had gone on, and apparently so had Silky. A little asking around apprised him that the tan-haired Sumese girl had departed, with that blond Rankan. While Hanse's pride was wounded a bit, he was not unhappy. He did seem to be stuck with the big red cat. By that evening he had left Notable with Ahdio twice. The moment a door was opened. Notable hastened to use it and seek out Hanse.

  "All right, you damn' cat, let's go home and drop off my new pot of glue! You'll need to sniff out the place anyhow."

  Notable swerved sharply to bang his flank into Hanse's leg. "Maowr!"

  "No."

  "mew?"

  "No, damn it. Notable, we will not stop and get you a beer now!"

  Strick's rule was that people came to him; he went to no one. For this interview he had long wanted, however, he would have gone to the pal- ace. Prince-Governor Kadakithis would not hear of it. Instead, secretly, in disguise and terribly early on a Fourday morning as agreed for his convenience and security, he arrived in Strick's "shop." In this absolute privacy and confidence, the handsome young Rankan of about Hanse's age and size astonished Strick; he admitted that he was less than he wished to be and had decided that it was because he was too indecisive; fearful of what the Ilsigi would think of him.

  "The young half-brother of the emperor," he said quietly, tapping his chest while studiously not-looking at the spellwright, "always had to be careful not to offend or even be very visible, you see. Abakithis-the emperor-was that sort of man. In time, though, he decided that I wasn't invisible enough. He shipped me out here. The goal was not to do any- thing for Sanctuary or for me, but to get me out of Ranke!" Kadakithis sighed. "So, I felt the need to prove something, to do well. Trying too terribly hard, I was overzealous in trying to clean up this town. In taxing the Red Lantern Houses and ... other things."

  Strick sat very still. He said absolutely nothing and more, he made no sound.

  Embarrassedly looking at the wall to his right, Kadakithis went on in that sadly quiet voice: "This morning Lord Abadas, the new emperor's cousin, visited to present himself formally. I disgusted me. I was posi- tively ingratiating."

  After a time he turned his head to look at Strick from pale blue eyes. "Your efforts and actions were understandable," Strick said just as quietly. "And with Lord Abadas as well. The man is surely here to keep an eye on you for his cousin, isn't he. After all, you're half-brother to ... Emperor Theron's predecessor in the imperial chair."

  Kadakithis shook his head. "No, Strick; I have come to like this town, both from sympathy and feeling a part of it. If I'm to amount to anyth- if I'm to help these people in anything approaching the way you have, I'll need ..." The Prince-Governor broke off in embarrassment.

  Strick didn't need to hear the words. "I like Sanctuary and its sorely stressed people, too, lord Prince, and ... I must help, I have no choice."

  "I have heard that mysteriousness before, Spellmaster, but I will not pry. I believe you. If it is pain, then I am sorry. Both of us know pain."

  "And so am I sorry, lord Prince, so am I. Now I must warn my lord Prince about the Price."

  Kadakithis nodded. "Naturally I have heard about that, too- I want that help you've given so many others, Strick."

  "The Price is the Price, Prince Kadakithis. It is beyond my control. Sometimes it is severe and sometimes it is readily bearable. I have no control over it."

  "I know these things, Strick. I said I want that help you've given so many others. While I am called Kittycat, you are being called Hero of the People. Is a prince of the people not a person? Shall a prince be treated as less? Shall a prince be fearful of the Price? I know about it, Strick. Must a prince cajole?"

  Strick rose and bowed. "Noble Lord Prince! I have desired this meet- ing for months- These people deserve more of their gods and their rulers. Now you embarrass me; I have wanted to be of aid to you, as you know. The warning, believe me, is something I give to everyone who comes here. I must."

  Kadakithis nodded. And sat looking expectant. Waiting.

  Strick called Avenestra, but met her at the door. She knew that she was not to enter as usual and not even to see this visitor, and was able not to try. He let the prince hear him bid her prepare "Saksaraboonmga." She already had the drink's revolting but harmless ingredients ready, except for a bit more stirring to mix the vegetable colors of purple and green. She hurried to do so. Strick waited at the door; Kadakithis sat very still, staring at nothing past the Firaqi's empty chair. Avenestra reappeared from the other room to hand her savior a silver goblet. Strick paced over to set it on his worktable before his visitor. Kadakithis stiff- ened, bent forward to peer into the cup, stiffened the more, and tensed his face. Then, as if accepting a mandated cup of poison, he bravely reached for it.

  "A moment, my lord Prince. Give me something of value."

  First Kadakithis gave him a look. "I suppose the ritual bans the use of the word 'please'?"

  Strick stood gazing at him. He said nothing. True, this was a prince royal of Ranke and governor of this city-co-governor, at least, with his alien companion. Torezalan Strick tiFiraqa, however, was Tbrezalan Strick tiFiraqa, Spellmaster and Hero of the People.

  From within his pillow-stuffed brown tunic the disguised prince slid a tiny, beautifully carven box. He set it on the desk and opened it to reveal a single pearl. As if ritually, Strick only touched it. And looked expec- tant.

  With obvious misgivings and distaste for the concoction Strick had been at pains to make unpleasant in appearance, odor, and flavor, Prince Kadakithis drank it down. All of it, without lowering the cup. The man did know, Strick mused, how to take medicine!

  Lowering the drained goblet, Kadakithis shook his head. "And people think it's easy being a royal! By all gods, Strick, what's in that stuff!"

  "Nothing to harm you,
lord Prince. A secret formula I have of a Zimmanabuniga wizard far to the west."

  With hands on the lean blond's shoulders, Strick told him that he was decisive, charismatic, and had no need to lack confidence, "for charisma and more importantly your intelligence will carry you through, to the benefit of Sanctuary. You must think much on this, particularly before sleep and before rising."

  The Rankan Prince-Governor of Sanctuary stood and gripped the far bigger man's hand. Strick noted that the young man stood more erect than when he had entered. For a few moments they stood gazing into each other's eyes. Then Kadakithis swung, drew his hooded cloak again about himself and his padded tunic, and left. With, Strick noted, a firmer and more confident tread than when he had entered.

  Strick sighed. Charlatan, he grumbled at himself, hardly for the first time. That handsome young man was already charismatic and decisive! It's just that now he Believes!

  Then the spellwright sent Wintsenay to pass the word; Strick needed to see Hanse.

  Kadakithis paid the Price. That same Fourday afternoon he received word that Taya had fled the palace.

  Shupansea was amused: "Well after all, she came here as your concu- bine, my love. And, however pampered, she's had nothing to do for a long, long while now!" Then: "On the other hand, I would recom- mend-"

  "Never mind," Kadakithis said with cool decisiveness. "I have already decided to take no action whatsoever. This cannot reflect badly on me, but will serve as further proof of how truly you and I love each other."

  Shu-sea blinked. "Well. How very clever-no, how very intelligent of you, my love!"

  Yes, he thought. And the point is, this is obviously the Price I must pay for Strick's help. even if it costs me face.

  An hour later a bank messenger arrived to tell Strick that someone had just deposited sixty unshaved golden Imperials to his account, each coin bearing the face of the previous emperor. Strick smiled and nodded. He knew who it was from, and wondered what other Price Kadakithis was paying.