Liavek 2

by Will Shetterly

  She folded her fleshy arms and spat back at him. "I'll get no buyers with you stinking up the front of my stall. Move on, Worrynot's Humiliation!" Her cackle filled the alley, drawing the many eyes in their direction.

  Elmutt swallowed his anger, put his bag over his shoulder and aimed his limp toward the Skull.

  Worrynot's Humiliation.

  Ghaster had titled him that, Elmutt's existence being graphic evidence of the esteemed contraceptive weed's fallibility. Sometimes Ghaster would goad him with the story of how he had acquired his bond child from the crone who had, in turn, picked the foundling out of the garbage behind Serena's Couch, a house of negotiable virtue at the south end of Rat's Alley. Elmutt would try at times to imagine his mother, the whore—

  "There is only so much of this that any man can take," he whispered to himself.

  That calm, strong feeling again invaded his pain. This time he recognized the feeling. Somewhere in the back of his head he had found the courage to make the decision. Tomorrow would be the Fourteenth of Flowers. Tomorrow he would attempt to change the luck that had steered him through sorrow ever since he could remember. He would invest his luck, or die trying. In the western sky, beyond the Hill of Temples and the Levar's palace, there were storm clouds building.

  •

  Outside it was raining into the blackness of the alley. In the cellar, Elmutt sat upon his pallet while Ghaster reclined upon his collection of greasy cushions, his perennial jug of Dragonpiss cradled in his arms. The shadows thrown by the two candles that burned between them made the mounds of bottles and cliffs of broken furniture shiver in the dark.

  "Where is your little friend, Elmutt?"

  "Do you mean Tavi?"

  Ghaster snorted out a laugh. "What other friend do you have?"

  "Tavi is no friend." He pointed a finger at Ghaster. "You cannot see him. How do you know Tavi isn't spitting into your precious bottle this instant?"

  "I know." Ghaster took a swallow from his jug and replaced it upon the cushion as he wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. "I know because if Tavi were here, you two would be fighting. It is too serene here for Tavi to be present."

  Elmutt slowly shook his head. "Tavi has been missing since before I entered Yolik's house this afternoon. Perhaps a dog ate him."

  "You can always dream, Elmutt." After taking another swallow, Ghaster settled more deeply into his cushions. "Tell me your dream. Your other dream."

  Elmutt ignored the request and closed his eyes as he leaned his back against a large wicker basket filled with junk.

  "Tell me your dream."

  Elmutt opened his eyes and glared at his master. "Why, Ghaster? So you can make fun of it again?"

  "No, boy. I like to hear you tell it. It is a nice dream to listen to for one who sleeps in garbage."

  Elmutt frowned. The fat, greasy man had often asked to hear what he called Elmutt's dream. Always, after hearing it, Ghaster would heap scorn and abuse on his bond child. There used to be beatings, as well. But Elmutt was now grown enough to kill his master, which he once proved as he terminated Ghaster's last whipping by beating his master senseless. For the first time, however, Elmutt saw that Ghaster was old. Very old, and sick. Elmutt also saw for the first time that Ghaster was not in love with his own life. His master had some pain of his own.

  Elmutt shook his head. "I cannot bring myself to pity you, Ghaster."

  The fat man laughed. "I do not want pity. Not from you." He took another swallow from his jug and lowered the container to his lap. He pointed a pudgy finger. "From you I want to hear the dream."

  "It is not a dream. It is my plan."

  "Yes, yes." Ghaster nodded, his face serious. "Go on."

  Tomorrow evening he would attempt investiture. This might be, he thought, a good time to review it and see if there was anything left undone.

  "My plan is to change my luck. From my birth, to the infliction of Tavi on my person, to my purchase by you, I have been at the mercy of a perverse fate. This can be changed. My plan is to place my fate under my control. During the time of birthday magic, I will perform the rite and invest my luck in a vessel. I will become a great wizard, and with my luck at my fingertips throughout the year, I will acquire the wealth to live in ease and splendor. I will have fine clothes, rich foods, servants, a beautiful and loving wife, the smell of clean air in my nostrils. I will have power! That, Ghaster, is my plan. Now it is your turn to try and spoil it."

  Ghaster sat up on his cushions, his gaze fixed upon the flame of one of the candles. Instead of beginning his usual scornful review, however, the old garbage picker studied the flame for a moment, then lifted his gaze and studied Elmutt's face. "What day is it?"

  "It is Windday."

  "The date. What is the date?"

  "It is the Thirteenth."

  Ghaster frowned deeply as he sat forward and nodded. "And tomorrow is the Fourteenth, the day you think you were born. You have made a decision, haven't you? You are really going to try it?"

  "Yes."

  "That is the strangeness I saw in your face." The fat man shook his head. "It is so dangerous. If you are not successful, you will die. Don't you remember what happened to the shoemaker, Ulduss? His uncle was a magician, yet with that advantage he died."

  "I know. However, my rotting master, only those who find life attractive fear death."

  "Elmutt, learned magicians with many years of experience often fail at investiture."

  "I know that as well. I am as prepared as I will ever be."

  Ghaster leaned back against his cushions, took a swallow from his jug, and looked back at Elmutt. "How can you even be certain that the Fourteenth is your birthdate?"

  "I have observed my luck. It is always bad, but on the Fourteenth of Flowers it becomes particularly bad. It was the Fourteenth of Flowers when you helped me to cripple my leg. You said it was in the middle of Flowers when you purchased me from the crone. It was that same date when I awakened to find that Tavi had chosen me as his victim. It was the Fourteenth—" Yes, he thought of the year before. It was the Fourteenth of Flowers when Almantia kissed me, destroying me.

  Ghaster shrugged, seemingly not noticing the incompletion of Elmutt's words. "If it is not your birthdate, you will look like a fool. If it is your birthdate, it will be very dangerous. You will die. I am certain of it."

  Elmutt replied more for his own benefit than for Ghaster's. "For years I have done errands for Yolik's granddaughter, and for the White priests. I have picked up much from their idle talk. from stolen glimpses of scripture, and from the refuse bins behind the temples and along Wizard's Row."

  "It is still dangerous." Ghaster picked at a scab on his chin and smiled. "What will you use as a vessel?"

  "The laws of magic say that I may invest my luck in anything that I choose. However, I would leave nothing to chance. There are discarded vessels. I know they will serve because they have served before. I have a great copper staff that once belonged to Yolik. He discarded it when he became too old and feeble to carry it, investing his luck instead in a ring. I have an iron mail cap that was once the vessel of the White priest Soldire, and the belt of woven brass that served as the luck vessel of the wizard Miena, until she became too fat to wear it."

  Ghaster laughed out loud. "Ho, that is the way a true picker approaches investiture! There he is, people of Liavek! Clad in your garbage! The magician of muck! The wizard of waste!"

  Ghaster's interest was deteriorating into scathing scorn. Elmutt turned away from his master and stretched out on his pallet. "Let me sleep, Ghaster."

  "No, no!" A condescending tone crept into his voice. "Forgive me, Elmutt. My humor is out of place. See what I have brought you."

  Elmutt kept his back turned to the old man. "Drink yourself to sleep and let me be."

  "Elmutt, I have brought you yet another vessel. Here, look."

  Elmutt turned his head. "What is it?"

  The old man reached behind his cushions and pulled out a crooked brow
n shaft that was covered with fuzz, a busy clump of matted hair at one end. He threw it at Elmutt and collapsed on his cushions, laughing.

  It landed at Elmutt's feet. It was a rotting tail amputated from some long forgotten camel. He kicked it back toward Ghaster.

  "You are a pig. You are a cursed pig, Ghaster. Someday I will kill you." He turned his back on his master.

  "What does Tavi say? Your little creature, Elmutt. What does he say?"

  "Tavi doesn't know."

  "You should find out what Tavi thinks. As much as you hate him, he is from ghostside and ought to know at least a little of such things."

  Elmutt ignored the comment.

  Ghaster took another drink, belched, and wiped one dirty hand across his face. "I know you hate me. Maybe you think I hate you. I don't, boy. Remember that."

  Elmutt remained silent until the fat man drifted off to sleep. Once he heard his master's snores, he sat up and studied the shadows. Those shadows, the piles of refuse that threw them, the cellar, even Ghaster's sleeping hulk, had somehow become dearer to his eyes.

  "It is true," he whispered. "This may be my last living night. "

  He heard a giggle and turned his head to his left. Sitting atop a pile of salvaged bricks, a creature no larger than a doll, but with a disproportionately large head, leered back. The face was lumpy with warts and was the color of mud.

  "I wondered when you would show up, Tavi."

  Another giggle. "You know you are not my only client, pitiful one. Do not be jealous. No, no, no, do not be jealous!" Tavi's voice was high-pitched, his speech rapid. "How was your crawl and grovel before the wizard's granddaughter, abused toady, hmmm?"

  "Why didn't you stay away?"

  The troll grabbed the stockinged toes of each foot with his hands and rocked back and forth upon his ample rear. "Why, me, why, my? Why, oh, why?" Tavi came to rest leaning forward. "I must watch you, I must. You fascinate me, you do, you do, you do. How much can Elmutt take before he takes his life, how much? And now I know! My, oh, yes, I know, I do, I do, I do!"

  "I am not going to take my own life. Never."

  "My, oh, my, a lie to Tavi? Tch, tch, tch." Tavi shook his head, still leering. "Naughty, naughty, naughty."

  "Go to sleep, you reeking gob of pus." Elmutt turned his back and stretched out upon his pallet.

  The creature's face appeared in front of his. "Tavi knows, he does, yes. Tomorrow Elmutt kills himself, yes, yes?"

  Elmutt pushed himself up upon an elbow. "Tomorrow I shall acquire the magic to turn you into a lump of dung. A quiet lump of dung. That is, if you don't foul th—" Elmutt's frown melted into a smile. "Thank you, Tavi."

  The creature's eyebrows went up. 'Thank Tavi? Thank Tavi? Why, oh, why?"

  Elmutt settled his head upon his arm. "You reminded me of a detail that I have to take care of before my investiture, that's all."

  "Detail? What detail, what?"

  "You, little pestilence. You are the detail. Now crawl back to hell and let me sleep."

  "Me? Me, what?"

  Elmutt closed his eyes, his face smiling. As long as Tavi remained confused, perhaps he would remain silent. In the quiet of the storm from outside, Elmutt slept.

  •

  Early the next morning while Ghaster lay motionless upon his cushions, Elmutt walked through the rain, an oilcloth held over his head. From his perch upon Elmutt's shoulder, Tavi shivered.

  "This is too early, this is. And too wet. Go back, Elmutt, go back."

  Ignoring the troll, he turned right onto the Street of Mists, the rain coming from behind with such force that he had to lean backward against it to keep his footing.

  Tavi shouted in Elmutt's ear. "Idiot!"

  Elmutt stopped. "What is it?"

  "You are so stupid, you are! It is raining, you see, you see?"

  "If you don't like it, Tavi, you can get off now!"

  The little creature sighed. "Why make your death so difficult, Elmutt, why? Take us out of the rain."

  "I said you can get off. Go devil your other clients."

  "Oh, pitiful one, it is your turn, it is."

  "Bah!" Elmutt continued along the deserted street toward the north end of Rat's Alley. The shutters and doors of the Street of Mists were closed tightly against the storm. When the thunder rolled it seemed as though the very ground trembled. It is fitting, thought Elmutt. It is fitting that I would draw this kind of weather for my investiture.

  Many of the investiture rituals could be conducted anywhere, indoors or out. The only ritual he knew by heart, however, required him to stand in the open atop the rise just off the Street of Trees. He felt the weight of the coins in the purse suspended beneath his dripping cloak. It contained every copper that he owned, including his wages from Almantia. He wondered if, at any price, he could hire dancers and musicians to perform in this muck.

  He turned into Rat's Alley and noticed that the storm as well as the morning had drowned the notorious way's bright lights and gay sounds. One of many eternal puzzles played itself again in his head. Rat's Alley and Dung Alley were separated by only a few minutes of walking. Yet they were different worlds. Instead of drab hovels, on this part of Rat's Alley there were well maintained, if garish, structures providing a variety of services to satisfy every quirk and lust ever possessed by a person of wealth. The inhabitants made a specialty of parting the wealth from the wealthy, or as Tavi was wont to remark, "Rat's Alley. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, good, good, good!"

  Elmutt stopped beneath the sign of the ass's ass and tried the doors of Cheeky's, famed for delivering the minimum value at the maximum price. In addition to their questionable wine and solvent financial posture, Cheeky's employed some of the finest dancers and musicians in Old Town.

  "It's locked."

  "Perhaps, Elmutt, they noticed that it is raining, it is. May you learn from this establishment's example, you fool, you fool, you—"

  "Be still!"

  To his left through the rain he could make out another pedestrian struggling in his direction. It was an old woman wrapped in an oilskin cape and hood. "Ho, there!"

  The woman stopped and Elmutt froze as he saw her arms move beneath her cape. The motion meant that at least a knife, or more likely a pistol or springdart, was aimed at his belly.

  "What do you want?"

  Elmutt bowed slightly, holding his oilcloth up from his face with one hand and holding his other hand out to his side with his empty palm facing the woman. "Forgive me, woman. But are any of the places with dancers open, do you know?"

  Tavi clapped his hands and squealed, "Oh, I love dancers, I do, I do, I do!"

  The woman's face assumed a sour expression as she held back her head to view the picker down her nose. "Youth today," she spat. "It is hardly light, and already you are on the debauch!"

  Elmutt shook his head. "No, no, good woman. I need dancers and musicians for a ritual. I have come to see if I can hire some."

  Tavi danced upon Elmutt's shoulder, still clapping his hands. "Dancers, oh, dancers! I love dancers!" The creature paused in midprance and turned his head toward Elmutt, a puzzled look upon his face. "Dancers, Elmutt? Dancers at your death? Why, why?"

  The woman's eyebrows went up. "A ritual, is it?"

  Tavi turned toward the woman and mocked, "A ritual, is it? A ritual, is it?" Only Elmutt could hear the creature's taunts, and he refused to react.

  "The old hag," hissed Tavi. "She has no weapon, Elmutt. She is only scratching her scabbed hide. A ritual, is it? A good lie, Elmutt. A ritual, poo!"

  The woman shook her head, still keeping a wary eye upon the picker. "You should be on the Hill of Temples looking for ritual players."

  "I cannot afford them."

  She nodded with her head toward Cheeky's. "In back of the place. Try there. But they are too stupid to play a ritual. All they know is naked flesh and loud drums."

  Again Tavi danced and clapped his hands. "Oh, I love, love, love naked flesh and loud dru
ms, I do, I do, I do!"

  Elmutt placed his outstretched palm against his forehead, bowing slightly. "My thanks, good woman." He turned away and headed for the walkway indicated by the woman. The path between Cheeky's and the next building was open to the sky and stank with a row of soggy, overflowing garbage barrels. Almost instinctively, Elmutt's gaze scanned the contents of the barrels. There was a wealth of bottles, most of them unbroken. Having them hidden from the alley meant that the proprietor of Cheeky's had contracted with professional garbagers. Ghaster would be pleased at this new source of supply. They would have to sneak in at night to avoid the garbagers—

  Tavi tugged at his earlobe. "By this time tomorrow, Elmutt, you will either be too grand or too dead to be picking Cheeky's garbage, you will, you will."

  Elmutt nodded and continued down the walkway. "Thank you, Tavi."

  Tavi jumped up and down upon Elmutt's shoulder and shouted angrily, "Do not be thanking Tavi all the time! Not!" The creature's voice became sly. "Why you thank Tavi, why? Last night and now, why?"

  "You do me favors, Tavi. That's why."

  "Humph!"

  As Elmutt knocked upon the only door that opened onto the walkway, the creature upon his shoulder stewed in hot confusion.

  •

  The man seated on the floor cushion leaned his elbow on a table and stroked his slick black beard. "A dancer, a drummer, and one on pipes, eh?" His name was Hidat.

  Elmutt nodded from his cushion. "Yes. How much for an hour's performance?"

  "When?"

  "This evening, an hour after sunset."

  The man shivered with projections of the rain outside. "Ten."

  'Ten coppers?" Elmutt was surprised at Hidat's generosity.

  The man laughed. "Ten levars."

  "That's..." The figure swirled in Elmutt's head. "That's a thousand coppers! Too much. Too much for an hour's work." He began climbing to his feet, but Hidat gestured for him to remain seated.

  "Do not be so eager to end the negotiations, Elmutt. Make a return offer."

  "I think fifty coppers would be reasonable."

  "Fifty!" Hidat shook his head. "I would not shame my clients with such an offer. If I told them I had hired them out for fifty coppers apiece, they would box my ears."