I could just barely hear her over the wind and rain. A flash of lightning seen through one of the windows cast the tables, the dishes, the tense customers into sharp relief. The thunderclap came immediately afterward. That was close! Rain pelted the nearest wall of the inn and leaked in rapidly around the edges of windows. The serving boy and Mama rushed around the edges of the room, shuttering windows, lighting candles and lanterns, stuffing rags in the two or three worst leaks. Half-forgotten serving dishes cast eerie shadows on the tables.
Meanwhile, my chowder was getting cold. I dipped a spoon back into it. Two bites later, I remembered what Iranda and I had been discussing. "Hey, acrobat lady. Why won't it matter for a week or two what I think of His Scarlet Eminence?"
I had spoken loudly, firmly. But a sudden lull made it possible for Iranda to answer me in normal tones. "Because this week there's so much going on. It's Calornen's Stone, you know."
Calornen's Stone—I knew of it. But I rarely read the Cat Street Crier, or any of its competitors. Reading was a useless luxury for me; knowing the news didn't make me any richer or any happier. "What about the Stone?"
"Don't you know a song about it?" Iranda asked. "Calornen, the Wizard Levar? The stone in the circle?"
Yes, I did know the song. But with firelight flickering across the room from us, with a lantern over our table illuminating everything but the shadows of our faces, with wind and rain battering the walls the way my father had often battered me, Iranda gave me the full story.
A hundred years ago a Levar named Calornen had reigned for seven years. Liavek was thoroughly surprised when their ineffectual ruler let slip that he wore the Stone, the largest diamond ever found, on a coronet because he had invested his luck in it. Calornen became known as the Wizard Levar, though he was scarcely the first Levar to learn magic; and within a year, he was found dead in the palace, and the Stone was missing.
This much I knew; it was in the song.
But unlike "The Dry Well of Dondar", "Calornen's Song" now had a sequel. The Stone had surfaced in Ka Zhir. In a rare gesture of friendship, Prince Jeng had agreed to return it to Liavek; a small sailing ship called the Praluna was to carry it across the Sea of Luck, and—if no strings were attached, if no treachery were plotted—the ship's captain would hand the Stone to the Levar on Liavek's docks.
I nodded my head. It wasn't as good a story as Dondar's. But then, it wasn't finished yet.
"Those poor sailors," Iranda said. "Trying to bring their ship to port in a storm like this."
I nodded again. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Mama Neldasa's fat and smiling face.
"Nobody's going anyplace," she said. "Why don't you play for us?"
So I found a spot in the middle of one wall, wiped some raindrops off my cittern, and began to play.
The caravan road to Tichen
Has ended at Dondar's dry well,
But throwing the dice yet again
May lead us alive out of hell—
The storm showed little sign of abating, so three hours later Mama led Iranda and me upstairs. I had a usual room when I slept here, little more than a closet under the eaves, with a straw pallet and a candle; but this time, she took us to a far larger room, with a double pallet on the floor, a luxurious embroidered quilt, a rack of gorgeously colored candles along a wide windowsill, and a fine painting of the Levar's palace on the wall by the door. Belatedly, I noticed a jar of Worrynot next to the leftmost candle, and felt a slow flush creeping into my cheeks. Apparently Mama had thought—she'd thought the obvious.
Iranda noticed it too. "Liramal," she said seriously, "any time you want, all you need to do is ask."
I put my hands on her shoulders, trying to keep my voice steady. "My precious acrobat princess," I managed to say, "I don't need a woman. I need a reason for living."
Iranda shrugged and stepped out from under my hands. "You certainly seemed to have all the reasons you needed, back when you were playing downstairs. Do you have any idea just how purposeful you looked when you were playing 'The Dry Well of Dondar'?"
"It's that song," I said, sitting down on the edge of the pallet and beginning to remove my shoes. The moment was past, and I felt relieved, yet disappointed. "I identify with it, somehow."
Iranda sat down alongside me and removed her slippers. "I think I can understand liking it a lot," she said. "It's a powerful image: Navar, the caravan master, giving his life so that his caravan won't die of thirst. But I don't see what the connection is with you. Why do you identify with Navar?"
"It's not Navar I identify with."
Iranda stopped, her right slipper forgotten in her hand. "Then what in the name of the Twin Forces do you identify with?"
"It's the dry well, Iranda. I identify with the dry well."
•
Sooner or later, there's always a morning. This one came sooner than I'd expected; apparently I'd slipped into deep sleep in spite of myself. Still, my head had spun for a while first. I could see patterns growing and blooming; yet as fast as I could speak them out loud, they changed.
Yes, it was the dry well I identified with. No, it wasn't the dry well I wanted to identify with. I wanted to be like Navar, the caravan master, the wizard. But could I die, to give a hundred starving travelers water? Or would I, in Navar's place, be a well gone dry, a promise left cruelly unfulfilled?
I would never know. Navar had been a wizard and had died a wizard's death. I, who had never known my luck time, would have no such chance. I had been Liramal the minstrel, playing in the Levar's Park, for five years. Liramal the minstrel I would probably be until I died, and the knowledge brought me no joy.
My eyes opened. Sunshine poured in the window. A trickle of dampness along the sill showed that the glass was not watertight, after all. But the candles still stood in formation: the jar of Worrynot , curse it, had not toppled to the floor and broken. I smiled in spite of myself. Liavek might rock in the worst storm of the season, but Mama Neldasa's was solid as bedrock.
Iranda was already up and dressed. "Hey, balladeer boy," she said. "Are you awake?"
I reached for my tunic and trousers at the foot of the bed. "All right, acrobat woman, I'll talk. What do you want me to say?"
"Two points," she said. I pulled my tunic on over my head. "First, purpose. Second, His Scarlet Eminence."
I pulled my trousers on and threw back the quilt. "You mean you think you know what my purpose is?" I asked blankly.
"No, silly," she said. I must have looked hurt. She looked contrite and continued. "Some ideas for where to look."
I put on my shoes and stood up. The floor was steady underneath my feet, and I felt fine. I'd drunk nothing but yhinroot tea all night, but for some reason, I'd expected a hangover. "For instance?"
"There is a man," she said slowly, "called the Vavasor of Fortune Way. I know him, a little. I grew up in Old Town. You can ask him, 'What will be my fortune?' And if hc's feeling at all kindly toward you. he'll tell you. If you want..." She left it unfinished.
"I've heard the stories," I admitted. "But Iranda, listen a second. There's a difference between a purpose and a fortune. I could know that my purpose was to be a wizard, with the same certainty that I know how to play an E7 chord; but unless someone were to tell me my luck time, my fortune would be to play the cittern until my fingers fell off."
"Or," she said firmly. "you could go to your mother with some of your new-found earnings and make her any offer you chose, if she would only tell you the day and hour of your birth."
"She would lie. I know. She's done it." I had asked, with all the innocence of nine years, and she had laughed and given me a date, in the month of Meadows; another date, in the month of Wine; another date, in the month of Fog; and a last date, in the month of Heat. And my father had called her a lying halfwitted bitch and struck her hard. so that blood dripped from her mouth and she put both her hands in front of her face. And then he struck her again and she ran out of the room whimpering and bleedin
g. It was the first time I had ever seen either of my parents strike anybody but me. Later, Father had said all four dates were lies, and I believed him.
"Your father?"
"May the Twin Forces be praised, he is dead." Dead without telling me my luck time, as he willed it. Men who are bad shots should not duel.
Iranda and I went down to our breakfast, then agreed to meet by my tree in the park the hour before .noon. "And just what do you plan to do with the hours of the morning?" she asked.
"Little things," I said. "I plan to get some new strings for my cittern"—Iranda looked suddenly hopeful—"and some polish for its wood." Iranda looked almost joyous. "And then I'm going to speak with the seller of used goods, and see what he thinks it's worth." Iranda's face fell again.
"Liramal, Liramal." It seemed to be all she could say. "I wish somebody could take care of you. I wish you'd let somebody...."
The morning went fast. New shoes from the cobbler we'd seen the previous day; blue tunic and white cotton trousers from a small shop near the Two-Copper Bazaar; finally, new strings and polish at Whistler's Corner. I changed my strings and applied the polish sitting on a three-legged stool in the front of the music shop; then I strode on down the way to the Levar's Park.
It was a fine day for a brisk walk, though puddles and muddy patches bore witness to the previous night's storm. In two miles I saw three separate crowds gathering around three separate scandal-sheet hawkers. Big news today, I thought, and thought little else. When I reached my tree, Iranda was waiting there with a quizzical expression on her face.
"It took you long enough," she said. "Guess what? Liramal, you're not going to have to worry about His Scarlet Eminence today."
"I wasn't worried about him to begin with," I said. "But why not?"
"Calornen's Stone," she said. "It's lost. The ship that's supposed to be carrying it foundered on the Eel Island shoals."
Well, that explained the hawkers of scandal sheets. "And His Scarlet Eminence is off to Eel Island?" I guessed.
"Wherever he is," Iranda said, "he's got a lot more on his mind than one street minstrel who won't play for the Levar." I glanced toward the sun. It was midday. "Iranda? Shouldn't you be doing your noontime show?"
Iranda looked guiltily at the rope that hung from a hook at her belt. "I should be, perhaps. But I wanted to watch you play today, if it might be for the last time."
She presumed a lot; I had seriously planned on not playing today at all. But I had put on the new strings. "So shall it be, then." I unslung the cittern, tuned it up, and began to play.
There were half a dozen people in earshot as I began with "Pot-Boil Blues." Iranda sang harmony where she knew the words, hummed along where she didn't, and seemed completely caught up in the music. By the end of the song, there were about eight people standing around. I finished, let my cittern hang by its strap, and flung my hat dramatically to the ground. Obligingly, several onlookers tossed in coppers. I bowed.
Then, "The Kil Island Fisheries." "Pell and Onzedi." "Eel Island Shoals," which seemed to earn a disproportionate amount of applause this time, and I understood why. My three-song medley of caravan songs. (Though ''The Dry Well of Dondar" was, in fact, a caravan song, I never sang it as part of the medley; it was too special to me.) "Song of the Herdsmen." By this time I had a substantial crowd, and my hat was half-full of coppers and an occasional larger coin. About ten feet away to my right, Iranda listened in a trance.
I was giving my heart to "The Bregas Street Baker" and was only dimly aware of three figures approaching to the rear of my crowd. But suddenly people were moving as though to make way for a noble in a litter. I didn't see any noble in a litter, I only saw—oh. One woman reached to touch his robe, then turned suddenly and ran. I understood her feelings perfectly.
"Minstrel boy," His Scarlet Eminence said when I had quite finished. "I have an errand for you."
"Is this wizardry or is it statecraft?" I returned. I was annoyed; "The Bregas Street Baker" had brought me not a single copper. In fact, there was nobody in earshot any longer except His Scarlet Eminence, his twin guards, and a somewhat frightened-looking Iranda.
"It is an errand," he said.
Iranda was mouthing words at me. I could read lips fairly well, and I understood what she was saying: "Be careful."
Still.... "I had planned to play here all day," I said. "But plans can be changed."
His Scarlet Eminence tossed me a leather coin purse, the twin of the one he had given me the day before. I caught it, one-handed, with a catch that was a twin of the previous day's catch, and looked at him, waiting.
"By accepting my wage," said His Eminence, "you have agreed to accept my employment."
"Tell me about it," I said. Suddenly I was trying very hard not to tremble. "Just what have I agreed to do?"
"You will go to Eel Island," he said. "There you will find Zhir divers and magicians trying to retrieve, or pretending to try to retrieve, the Stone from the floor of the harbor. I want you to watch, and write a humorous ballad about it."
I let my breath out all at once. (Interestingly, I'd had no idea I'd been holding it.) "Oh. But, Your Eminence, I have written few ballads. Mostly I just play."
"You are the person I want," said His Scarlet Eminence impassively. "Write a ballad that makes the Zhir look like fools. It will not take you long."
I pondered for a moment. "If someone asks me my purpose in traveling to Eel Island," I said, "do I tell them I plan on writing a humorous ballad for His Scarlet Eminence?"
"Your stated purpose will be to play for the poor folk on the island itself." His face was completely expressionless. "And you will indeed play for the poor folk; but you will watch the divers, and you will listen to everything that is said. You will spend the day there, and you will make a song of what you learn."
So, again, my purpose was to be a musician—or so it was said. But in five years of playing, I'd never really believed that. "Sorry, Your Eminence. I'm going to lean against my tree and play all day, and that's all I want to do."
Suddenly he was standing very near me, well away from his guards, staring me in the eye. "Listen to me. This is a matter of life and death. I have given you money far beyond what you need for traveling, far more than you would earn playing here in one day. I have asked in return that you do only one thing for me. I am not a patient man. You will do this.'''
"Well—all right, Your Eminence. Certainly, Your Eminence."
"Good," he said, taking a step backward. He appeared relieved, and I was startled to see such a human emotion on his face. "You will leave immediately."
"May I accompany him?" asked Iranda, from somewhere to my rear. Her voice quavered just a bit.
"What you do does not matter," said His Scarlet Eminence, and turned to go. The leather coin purse was at my feet; I had no recollection of dropping it.
The trip to Eel Island was a matter of life and death.
I had known for several days, somehow, that my life as a musician was drawing to an end. Iranda was worried for me. And I, an arrogant, insolent street child, had crossed His Scarlet Eminence just yesterday.
The conclusion was simple: Before the end of the day, I was going to die.
•
I sat, miserable, on the bench in front of the cobbler's. Iranda paced the street in front of me while annoyed pedestrians detoured around us both. The cobbler was nowhere in sight. Distant dark clouds seemed to be blowing in our direction.
"You young fool," said Iranda vehemently, "he said it was a matter of life and death. He never once said that it was a matter of your life and death."
"So maybe I'm supposed to save somebody's life," I said. "Do you think that's any better?"
"Oh, for Rikiki's sake," she said. She stopped, but her fists were clenched, white-knuckled, at her sides.
"In 'The Dry Well of Dondar,'" I finally said, "Navar has the job of saving the lives of all who ride with his caravan. He saves them, yes. But the song always ends with Navar lyi
ng still on the sand. Sometimes there's no other way."
"Maybe," she said hopefully, "you don't have to do anything special. Just write the ballad."
"So I'm supposed to write a ballad that can save a life," I said hotly. "What next? A chorus that will move the mountains of the Silverspine? A tune that will stop storms in their footsteps?"
"Write it," Iranda almost shouted, "and come back singing it! That's all he asked!"
"Come back singing it? Come back to where? His Scarlet Eminence didn't tell me where or when I was supposed to meet him. He doesn't even know my name. Iranda, he doesn't expect me to come back!"
I could see the effort of will Iranda was making. She took three deep, slow breaths; her fists unclenched. "What I meant," she said, "was that it's better by far if you do what His Scarlet Eminence says, than if you run and hide. Besides, you already took his money."
I couldn't stay upset with Iranda. In fact, I couldn't remember ever previously being upset with her at all. "Acrobat princess, I'll admit that perhaps I'm frightened of shadows. And I've already spent much of what he paid me yesterday. Very well. I'll go to Eel Island. But can you understand that I may indeed be going into danger, and not punish me for my fears?"
Iranda nodded. "Pick up your coin purse," she said finally. "I think we should go say goodbye to Mama Neldasa."
•
Mama wasn't in, so I left a two-levar piece to cover what I owed her. Then Iranda and I hopped into a footcab and told the burly young woman between the shafts to take us to the docks.
The dock area was less busy than usual; still, schooners, galleasses, and the smaller yawls and ketches made a colorful clutter around the ends of the docks. Here a young man hawked garlands of flowers, bedraggled but bright from yesterday's rain; there a Zhir sailor caulked leaks in a small boat up on sawhorses; across the street to my left, I heard a voice yelling the availability of the Cat Street Crier.
"I think I'd better get one of those," I said to Iranda. "The more I know about what's happening today, the better."
Iranda nodded. Clearly deep in thought, she'd been poor company since before we'd arrived at Mama Neldasa's. I knew some of what was going through her head: If I was in danger, she would protect me. If I were to save a life, she would assist me. If I needed time alone to write a ballad, she would fend off anybody who might distract me. Unfortunately, neither of us had any idea what was going to happen, and so Iranda could do nothing.
Liavek 3 Page 8