Liavek 2

by Will Shetterly

  The eldest smiled at them both. "Does it matter?"

  "No," the woman answered, returning his smile. "Not now."

  •

  Trav lay on his stomach on a carpet on the floor of his study and idly flipped through the most recent edition of the Cat Street Crier. A half-eaten biscuit sat on a green porcelain plate beside him, which interested a fat, shaggy black cat. Next to the plate was a cup of the same green porcelain, holding the dregs of some pale tea. On the small of his back was a sleeping silver-blue kitten.

  Trav wore a long blue robe over tight black trousers, and his sandaled feet were crossed as he scratched the outside of his left ankle with his right foot. His only jewelry was a plain but heavy polished-brass bracelet on each wrist. His sandy hair was cropped close to his skull, his jaw was cleanly shaven, and his eyes were yellow, maybe brown, perhaps green. His face bore no more lines of age or experience than that of a pampered youth.

  A voice filled the room like the striking of a gong. "Two prospective clients seek audience with you, O noble master."

  The cat leaped away from the biscuit and fled guiltily out of the room; the kitten did not wake. Trav looked up from the Crier and said, "Who're you trying to impress, Gogo?"

  "I shall ask their names as you request, O mighty Magician." Trav sighed, reached around to transfer the kitten from his back to a pillow, and received a swat for his effort. Gogo spoke again. "They are Sessi of Candlemaker's Street and her companion, the bold Sorel, O wise one."

  He did not recognize either name, but he knew that Liavek grew faster than he could learn every person of consequence. He said, "Fine, Gogo. Let them in. And I don't care how rich they are, you needn't fawn so."

  "I obey as always, O Magician of Magicians."

  Tray sighed again, then stood. He set the cup and plate on a low ebony table by a wide wicker couch, popped the remaining fragment of biscuit into his mouth, glanced at the window which looked out on a sunny beach by a calm sea, and snapped his fingers. The scene beyond the window changed to the bright awnings of the Street of Scales. Hearing footsteps in the hall, Trav stepped to the door and, bowing low in the Tichenese manner, swung it wide.

  The first thing he noticed was that the hall beyond was paved with glistening diamonds set in gold; Gogo was doing her best to impress these clients. The second thing he noticed were small, dirty feet which, he saw as his gaze traveled upwards, belonged to a small, dirty child. Her eyes were bright black beads beneath tangled hair, and her dress had been a sugar sack that still bore the imprint of the Gold Harbor Trading Company. The girl smiled shyly, saying, "Hello, Master Magician. Can you find my dolly?" In the palm of her outstretched hand was a very thin half-copper coin.

  A boy, little taller than the girl though his gauntness and his swagger said he was twice her age, stood behind her. A silver knife was stuck through his sash as though he dared anyone to take it. He pulled a faded cloth cap from his head and said, "I came so's Sessi wouldn't get lost, Your Magiciancy."

  Tray whispered, "Gogo..." The guardian did not answer. The children watched him with expectant eyes. "Your...dolly?" he said at last.

  "Yes!" said the girl, beginning to cry. "My dolly!"

  "Gogo..." Tray whispered again. When he saw that the boy studied him with his head cocked warily, Tray shrugged and said, "Enter."

  Sorel took the girl's hand and led her into the room. "C'mon, Sessi. The Magician'lI find your doll."

  Tray bit his lip, then spoke carefully. "This isn't my usual sort of commission. You understand that, don't you?"

  The girl nodded. "Yes. You'll find my dolly."

  "That's not—"

  "I got money. Lookit!" She thrust the copper coin at him. Her voice quavered as though more tears were imminent.

  "That is a great deal of money," Tray said gently. "Still—"

  The door from the hall opened, and a short woman with hair the color of brass stepped into the room. She was barefoot, and her tunic was a simple white garment, but her hair was elaborately coiffed and her copper-dark skin was very clean. "Trav..." she said. Her voice was husky, promising pleasure if he pleased her and trouble if he did not. Her eyes were as green as emeralds.

  Trav glanced up. "Who's watching the front door, Gogo?"

  "Didi, of course."

  "Then who's watching the back?"

  "No one's dared to go there in seventy-five years. And Didi's not so simple that he can't handle both."

  "You want something? I'm in conference."

  "No." Gogo smiled. Leaving, she added, "I'm glad you've agreed to help them." The door closed on her last word.

  "Gogo!" Trav raced after her, but when he entered the hallway, it was quiet, shadowy, and empty. "I will never be rich," he whispered.

  Gogo's voice rang in the hall like chimes. "Look again at the girl's coin, my wise master. And ask the boy to describe the doll, and how it was stolen."

  Trav's eyes flicked wide. As he hurried back into the study, the children stared at him.

  "That's all we got," said Sorel. "Unless..." The boy's voice saddened as his fingers touched the hilt of his silver knife.

  "No," Trav said. He took Sessi's half-copper piece and saw that it bore the stamp of Nevriath the Unlucky, the last ruler of S'Rian before Liavekan nomads came almost seven hundred years ago. Tel Jassil of the Street of Old Coins would pay a small fortune for such an antiquity, for His Scarlet Eminence, the Levar's Regent, would pay Jassil a larger one to add it to his collection.

  Trav allowed himself a tiny smile. "If Gogo thinks we've made a fine bargain, I could hardly alter it now." He nodded, and the coin disappeared from his fingers. "Tell me about this doll."

  "It's my dolly," said Sessi. "Some bad men took it."

  "The Titch took it," Sorel explained.

  "The...Titch?"

  "Yeah. The one that's got that big house on the Levar's Way, just past Temple Hill."

  Trav stared, then laughed in delight. "The Tichenese ambassador?"

  Sorel nodded.

  "He stole a doll?"

  Sessi sniffed, nodded, and said, "Bad old Titch."

  "Not by himself," said Sorel.

  "Of course not," said Trav. "There's a Tichenese saying: When others act for you, you pay for success; they pay for failure. "

  "Huh?"

  "Who took the doll?"

  The boy squinted nervously. "Some sailors. They snatched Sessi's doll, and she came and got me. I followed them to the Titch's house. I didn't actually see the head Titch. But that's where they went, the Titch's house, and they didn't come out again."

  "And you didn't try to go in?"

  "You know how well they guard that place?"

  Trav nodded. "Describe the doll."

  The boy looked at the girl, then said, "Well, it looks like a Titch, and it's about a foot long, and it's carved out of wood. Not very well carved, either. And it's got a little beard made of camel hair, but it was wearing a dress—"

  "A long robe?" said Trav. "Golden, like the ambassador's? Or dark blue, with some silver trim?"

  "Blue and silver, mostly."

  "Gogo was right to admit you."

  "What do you mean, your Magiciancy?" Sorel asked.

  "Never mind." Trav turned to the girl. "Where did you find your dolly?"

  She looked down, then whispered, "Sorel gave him to me."

  "Oh?"

  Sorel bit his lip. "Yeah. I didn't think anyone at the markets would want a Titch doll. 'Specially not a badly carved one."

  "And where did you find it?"

  "Um, I was in this house—"

  The Magician's eyes narrowed, and he said, "I don't care that you stole it. Tell me from whom."

  "Deremer Ledoro."

  "On Pine Street? Dances at Tam's Palace?"

  Sorel stared in surprise or fear. "How'd you know?"

  "I'm The Magician. I'm amazed Deremer's home wasn't better guarded."

  "It used to be. But all she's got now are a few locks on the windows and doors."
Sorel shrugged. "Cheap ones."

  "Yes," said Trav. "So someone suspected that Deremer's luck had been freed or stolen, and you were sent because you're dispensable. "

  "Because I'm good!"

  "Did you find the S'Rian coin there?"

  "I—"

  "You want me to seek the doll?"

  Sessi clutched Sorel's arm and said, "Yes!"

  "Then tell me what I need to know."

  Sorel glanced at Sessi. "The coin was in Deremer's house."

  Trav nodded. "Thank you." He glanced at the ceiling. "I think we'll have refreshments now. And then one of my servants will call upon our ambassador from the north."

  When Gogo entered with a tray of wooden mugs and a pitcher of pineapple juice, the children were sitting on the wicker couch facing The Magician. Trav sat on the corner of his desk, folding a sheet of paper into the shape of a bird. Several paper birds already flapped around the room, much to the annoyance of the black cat, which crouched beneath the desk, and to the delight of the kitten, which bounded into the air, swatting at the birds.

  Gogo glanced at Trav, who blushed and came to help her with the drinks. "My," she said. "You are in a good mood."

  The Magician shrugged, then laughed. "I've heard interesting news. Someone," he said, still grinning, "has been very careless."

  •

  Shortly thereafter, the two children emerged from 17 Wizard's Row. That day, the house was a white cottage that would not have been out of place on Kil Beach or Minnow Island, except perhaps for a tiny brass gargoyle's head set into the center of the front door. As the children left, the gargoyle called, "He said not to come back until tomorrow! So stay away until then! Or longer!"

  Sessi whispered, "I liked the other one better."

  Sorel said, "You mean that door-thing and the serving woman are the same?"

  Sessi nodded. "'Cept somebody else is the door-thing, right now."

  After an instant, Sorel said, "I knew that."

  The tiny brass gargoyle snickered maliciously. The white fence gate closed behind The Magician's clients. When they had left Wizard's Row, Number 17 opened again. A small balding man in the grey and blue of the Levar's Guard looked in either direction, then stepped toward the street.

  "You needn't hurry back," the gargoyle said.

  The balding man laughed. "I like the other one better, too." He strode briskly to One-Hand Lane, where a young woman waited by an empty footcab.

  She glanced at his uniform and his flintlock pistol, and said, "Afternoon, Captain. Where to?"

  He sat in the cab. "The Tichenese embassy. And don't spare the horses."

  The woman frowned as she lifted the shafts to draw the cab away. "If I have to hear more jokes," she mumbled, "I expect a good tip."

  The officer was silent for the rest of their trip. The footcab traveled north on Cat Street, passing the flatboats and barges that plied the river and the canals, and then passing the boats' destination: Fisher's Market, the Old Town Market. Hawkers shouted their wares with glee, except for one sad-faced fellow crying plaintively, "Camel stew! Very cheap!" and the crowd slowed their passage until they neared Temple Hill.

  The homes along the Levar's Way to the west of Temple Circle were walled as though they were fortresses, to keep out invaders in forgotten times and thieves in the present. Two very dark women and a man stood before the iron gates of one, with their arms crossed and no weapons visible. They wore the blue and silver robes of the Guild of Power, which proclaimed them to be among Tichen's most skillful sorcerers.

  The footcab stopped by the three foreigners. The Guard captain stepped down, counted out his fare in shiny coppers, and walked toward the spiked gate as the footcab hurried away. The tallest sorcerer blocked his way, smiled down at him, and said, "Does the Ambassador expect you?"

  "No," the captain answered calmly. "But he would do well to see me, if he did not want the City General to inquire about his dealings with Deremer Ledoro."

  The sorcerer's grin widened. "Come, Captain. We shall take you to the one you seek. You will surrender your pistol?"

  "Of course."

  The smaller woman accepted the weapon and sneered slightly. Two of the sorcerers, the man and the tall woman, stepped back for the captain to lead, so he took the cobblestone road into the embassy. The grounds beyond the granite wall were elaborately gardened in Tichenese fashion, with small, shaped trees and streams that ran over beds of colored pebbles. The embassy stood several hundred yards beyond the gate.

  The captain glanced back at his escorts. Though the young man's face was somber, the tall woman smiled. Her teeth glistened like marble. She said, "Do you have doubts about your mission, Captain?"

  "No," the Liavekan answered quietly.

  Both sorcerers extended their fingers toward the captain. "You should," the woman said, laughing as the captain disappeared.

  •

  Naked of clothing and jewelry, he stood on cold limestone before a wall of polished black rock. Something cast light from behind him, and as he turned, he heard a polite cough that said he was not alone.

  A handsome, middle-aged man with Tichenese features stood five paces away. His goatee hung as low as his sternum, and his hair was worn in many long braids. His robe was almost entirely indigo, with only a thin piping of silver at the hem and on each sleeve. The man bowed low and said, "Greetings to you, Trav The Magician. Do not step from the place where you stand, or I must burn you until you are but ashes. That would be a waste, don't you think?"

  "Rather," Trav answered cautiously. The lack of windows and the cool, moist air suggested they stood in an unfinished basement, probably beneath the embassy. His disguise of the little balding man had disappeared with his clothes, his freedom, and, he noted, all his carefully prepared protective spells. His skull felt naked. When he passed his hand over it, he learned that his hair had been taken, too.

  "You needn't trouble yourself about the vessel of your power, Colleague Trav, whatever it might be. All that you wore is far, far more than three paces away from you." The sorcerer smiled gently. "I'm sorry about making you bald. I've never known anyone to successfully invest power in hair, but I take no chances with one of your skill. Please, accept this as a gesture of respect."

  Trav shrugged, wondering what other precautions the Tichenese had taken, and sat cross-legged on the chilly floor. "Surely this is an excess of respect, Chiano Mefini."

  "Oh!" The sorcerer pursed his lips in pleasure. "My fame precedes me?"

  "Who doesn't know of the Guild of Power's Young Teacher, whom some say intends to replace the Old Teacher soon?"

  "In this uncivilized city," said Mefini, laughing, "no one but Trav The Magician. I enjoy playing the ambassador."

  "You do it well. Why've you troubled to lure me here?"

  "Ah, you come to the point, Colleague Trav." Mefini patted his goatee, then said, "And since you do, I'll tell you honestly that another war between Liavek and Ka Zhir would ensure that Tichen remains strong. Our Guild has done a few subtle things to hurry such a war, yet several of our agents have failed. We are not familiar with failure. When I suggested to the Old Teacher that Trav The Magician might have intervened, she laughed and said you were too concerned with your wealth and your safety to take sides. And then she suggested that I reassure myself." Mefini took a roll of yellowed parchment from his robe and opened it. "You recognize this?"

  Trav studied the sigils. "Yes. The Scroll of Truth. You have much power, Chiano Mefini."

  "Thank you." Mefini set the scroll carefully on the ground before Trav. "Place your hand upon it and swear on your luck and your life never to interfere in Tichenese matters. Then you may return to your house and your business."

  "I don't suppose you'd accept my promise?" said Trav.

  "I'm sorry. It must be the Scroll."

  "I'd rather not."

  "And I'd rather not kill you."

  Trav nodded. "Good. Tell me, is the doll here?"

  Mefini glanced at a dark c
orner perhaps ten feet away, where something small sat atop a crate. "Why?"

  "Your ruse was well done." Trav propped his elbows behind him and leaned back as though he lay on the rug in his study. "I imagine you promised the boy a great deal of money to let you alter his memory for a few hours. Since he believed what he said, he couldn't give away your trap. Did you also bewitch the girl, so she believed she had owned the doll? Or did you fail to tell the boy why you had him burgle Deremer Ledoro's home, and he gave the doll to the girl as he said?"

  "Does it matter?" Mefini asked.

  "I suppose not," said Trav. "But you did have the boy burgle Ledoro's home."

  "Yes." Mefini watched Trav as though he suspected there might be more to The Magician's speech than curiosity.

  "I thought so," Trav said. "For me to believe his story, most of it had to be true. That was rather risky, Chiano Mefini." The shadows about The Magician seemed to grow blacker. Though his tone was casual, his eyes never left his captor's face.

  "A risk worth taking," Mefini replied, smiling apologetically, "as you are now my prisoner." A hint of suspicion crept into his voice. "If you hope to regain your magic, I must confess that all your clothes and jewelry were sent into a volcano's womb. Whatever may have been the vessel of your luck, it is destroyed and you are powerless." Mefini coughed a command in Tichenese, and a ball of fire flared and died above Trav. As its ashes fell on Trav's naked form, Mefini said, "As you see, I am not. Tell what you think, Colleague Trav."

  Trav laughed lightly. "I think Deremer Ledoro seduced you in order to study Tichenese magic. She must have learned your weakness and stolen it. When Ledoro's luck was freed by a friend of mine, you learned she was powerless and sent the boy to take back your doll. And then you thought to use these events to lure me from my home."

  Mefini frowned. "My weakness, you say? You think you know what the doll is?"

  "You expected its description to intrigue me and doubted I would guess its purpose?" The Magician smiled gently. "You are old, Chiano Mefini, perhaps older than I. Magicians wonder about other magicians, especially those who live for many years. It is the Master's Conundrum, I believe you call it in Tichen, yes? A magician must invest birth luck every year, and it cannot be used for any purpose while it is being invested in a vessel. A magician may stay magically young throughout the year, but eventually, we all grow too old to survive the weight of our true age during those few hours of investiture. Yet a magician who binds birth luck to create a talisman to stay young forever will have no more magic to use. Such a magician with enemies or covetous friends will soon be dead by other means than age. Still, solutions are available, as both of us have found."