Liavek 2

by Will Shetterly

  Elmutt issued a bitter laugh and held a hand to his own breast. "My humble establishment is honored by your presence, Master Geth Dys. I am Elmutt, cripple, garbage picker, and murderer of the hag Cankera."

  "You are insolent."

  Elmutt again covered his eyes. "And you are where you are not wanted, priest. Either do your destruction or be gone. I want no conversation."

  There was a strained silence. Elmutt looked up and angrily waved his hands at Geth Dys. "Go! Go! Leave me and my garbage!" He pointed at the golden throne. "And take your illusion with you!"

  Geth Dys slowly brought the fingers of his left hand together into a fist. As he did so, an ominous black cloud formed over his head. The priest leaned back in his throne and smiled. "You are a mouthy creature, Elmutt. You killed someone last evening because of her mouth, didn't you? However, I am inclined to be more lenient."

  Elmutt's jaw was locked with fear. To hide his fright, the picker folded his arms and glared at Geth Dys.

  "Now that I have your undivided attention, picker, I would confirm my knowledge of a few recent events. On the night of the Fourteenth you attempted investiture?" Geth Dys raised his black brows. Elmutt gave a curt nod.

  "And you were struck by lightning?" Again Elmutt nodded.

  Geth Dys stroked his beard and nodded in return. "What you cannot do has been a joke in the streets ever since. I have seen something of what you can do. In your pitiful ignorance, do you have any understanding at all concerning your powers?"

  "Not a great degree of understanding."

  The priest thought for a long moment, his forehead creased in a frown of decision. The decision made, he nodded and spoke. "In the most ancient writings known to my sect, The Book of Oblivion, there is mentioned a White priest named Xaviat Nihl who was what they then called a juriet, a fortune maker. By wishing it, Xaviat could create a person's future. One limitation upon his ability was that the seeker of the fortune had to ask Xaviat for his future, much like you would do with a fortune teller. He couldn't simply create unrequested realities. In addition, the form of the request presented further limitations. Specific requests severely narrowed the aspects of future reality that he could alter. General requests, such as 'What will my future be?' made the remainder of the seeker's realities subject to Xaviat's wishes. Do you understand?"

  Elmutt sat motionless. Geth Dys opened the fingers of his left hand and the black cloud vanished. Elmutt shook his head. "What do you want of me?"

  "Do you understand what I have told you?"

  "I suppose, but—"

  "Very well. Are you familiar at all with the beliefs of the Church of Truth?"

  "A little. I have done errands at the White Temple."

  "Good. As I said, the story comes from an ancient writing. As nearly as I can place it, Xaviat Nihl lived and practiced his art over two thousand years ago. Ever since, the White priests have sought another with similar powers. The search is such an ancient one that many of the Whites believe Xaviat and his powers to be nothing more than legend." Geth Dys pointed at Elmutt. "I believe you to have this power."

  Elmutt shook his head as he moistened his lips. "My head did not wish the woman dead. I swear it."

  "Your heart did, just as your heart took the opportunity to avoid the blame by creating a new attitude for the hag's husband. And they did ask for what they received."

  Elmutt thought back. Cankera's mock request: Oh, please, Great Wizard of Dung, what does the future hold in store for me? But Mortice had not asked him for a future, in jest or otherwise. He thought again, trying to remember. What is to become of me? Now that you have taken my old woman, what will become Of me?

  Elmutt looked sadly at the priest. "Neither of them knew what they asked for."

  "It is written that one should be careful when praying. One might receive that for which one asks." Geth Dys waved a hand in a depreciating gesture. "A matter of complete irrelevance." He placed the hand upon the throne's armrest. "I am here for another purpose."

  "What purpose?"

  The priest stared into Elmutt's eyes and raised both hands. "What you will see now, only your heart will remember."

  There was Elmutt picking among the garbage,

  There was a baby in the garbage behind Serena's Couch,

  There was an old man dying in the garbage in the Merchant's Quarter,

  There was a young man picking garbage in the Merchant's Quarter,

  There was a baby being sold to a garbage picker named Radneh,

  There was an old man dying in the garbage of the Canal District,

  There was...

  "Reality is a prison; an endless succession of births, deaths, and rebirths. The only escape from reality is to destroy it. It is the secret of the magicians of the Church of Truth that we, the White priests, seek this destruction and the secrets and powers that will make possible this destruction. You, Elmutt, may have such a power. You might have the power to free us all from this prison, and to end your own trek through infinite refuse.

  "To make this future, you must wish for it with every particle of your being. To do that, you must believe, as the White priests believe, and you must know yourself. Become one of us and one with us. Become a priest of the Church of Truth . Consider."

  The cellar came into focus. Geth Dys still sat upon his golden throne. The priest looked as though he expected some kind of response, but Elmutt couldn't remember the question—if there had been a question. "What would you have me do, Master Geth Dys?"

  The priest stood and the throne vanished. "Come to the Levar's palace at noon today and present yourself and your name to the guard at the Eastern Gate." Geth Dys turned and pointed at the bag of coppers on Ghaster's cushions. The bag rose in the air, flew toward Elmutt, and thumped into his lap. "Purchase something respectable to wear. You shall be meeting Her Magnificence, the Levar."

  Elmutt touched the bag and looked up, but Geth Dys had vanished.

  "I see you've been busy since last I saw thee, you have." Atop the brick pile sat Tavi. "A murder, a visiting vavasor, and soon to be presented to Her Magnificence, Tazli Ifino iv Larwin, the Levar, the Mad Child of Liavek. My, my, but we are getting up in the world, we are."

  Elmutt climbed to his feet. "Where have you been?"

  Tavi laughed. "Oh, Tavi had to make certain that you could not turn him into a tentacled wonder as you did to that poor old woman, may her soul rest in Narkaan's tender claws. Be certain that Tavi will never ask you for his fortune. No, no." The troll leaned in Elmutt's direction, a sly look on his face. "With the Levar under your power, Elmutt, and Tavi upon your shoulder advising you, just think of the chaos we can cause, we can."

  As Tavi prattled on about how they could wreak havoc upon the world for fun and profit, Elmutt studied the creature. For the first time he asked himself if Tavi was an independent being or a creature created by his own hate and despair. There was no answer. He looked at the morning light upon the cellar stairs. Hooking Mortice's bag of coppers onto his belt, he headed for the alley. Tavi appeared on his left shoulder.

  "Where do we go, fortune maker, where?"

  "In a few hours it will be noon. Before then I must purchase new clothing." He paused, wondering if the vessel of his magic was composed of some article of his clothing. And why, he asked of himself, why can I not create my own future? Why can I not wish myself a new reality?

  Tavi fell into silence for a moment, vanished, then reappeared garbed in purple suit and slippers with a bright yellow cape. "Tavi has completed his shopping, he has. Tavi will shame the palace trolls. Do you like?"

  "It's fine, Tavi, except for the hood."

  The troll frowned. "There is no hood, Elmutt."

  "That is what I mean. You need a hood to hide your ugly face."

  Tavi grinned slyly at the picker. "Your mood is excellent for the evil we will cause at the Levar's court today, it is." The troll fell into silence as it giddily contemplated death and destruction.

  As Elmutt came to the top
of the stairs and turned south toward the Street of Rain, he resolved to find out from Geth Dys the next time they met why he could not work his magic upon himself. As the picker passed by them, the people of the alley avoided looking in his direction.

  •

  Later, as he rapidly walked the Avenue of the Moon around the south of Mystery Hill, it gnawed at him that the power he had achieved had produced little more than fear. Fear from the people on the alley, his own fear and shame of his darker self, and in addition, the attention of the magician-priest, Geth Dys, who frightened him. Perhaps this power, he thought, is not the answer. On the other hand, perhaps I simply do not have enough power. His association with Geth Dys might be the way toward increasing his power, however much the scarred priest frightened him. And there was the Levar.

  It was said in the streets and markets that the young girl, Tazli, Levar of Liavek, was mad. The demons that plagued her made her a creature of whims. She might make one's fortune or seal one in a barrel full of snakes with equal consideration and compassion.

  As the Avenue of the Moon opened onto the Two-Copper Bazaar, revealing merchants and traders spreading their carpets and wares among the few early morning shoppers, Elmutt paused. He would not search for his clothing here. No Two-Copper hawker would be selling things fit to wear at the Levar's palace. Instead, he would examine the wares of the famous tailors in the Merchant's Quarter, He had picked through Merchant's Quarter garbage long enough to know which tailors sold names and which tailors sold fine value.

  Still, he paused. From where he stood he could look above the activity of the Bazaar and see the buildings atop Temple Hill. The Levar's palace was hidden by the crest of the hill, but facing the same court was the Temple of the White priests. He could see the back of the temple and wondered at his sudden, curious desire to know what the White priests knew, to become one of them. He looked at his left shoulder just in time to see Tavi, a scared look upon his face, vanish. Elmutt frowned for a moment, then put it out of his mind. Whatever had frightened his creature was Tavi's problem. not his.

  An enclosed litter-chair born by eight servants entered the Bazaar plaza from Merchant's Way. The servants were heavily muscled and garbed in uniform suits of gleaming tan leather and white linen. What there was of a crowd instinctively parted for the litter-bearers, the Tichenese bowing with his arms at his sides, the Zhir with both of his hands to his forehead, the Liavekan holding but one hand to his forehead. Regardless of the origin, this was respect. The kind of respect the picker craved.

  The silken window curtains of the chair were drawn. Elmutt nodded. This was indeed the kind of finery he desired. Perhaps Geth Dys and the Levar would be the means through which he could attain such a station. As did everyone else within view of the bearers, Elmutt tried to catch a glimpse of the personage behind the curtains. As the bearers passed by on their way across the plaza to Bazaar Street and the Levar's Highway, the curtain on Elmutt's side pulled back slightly, revealing one eye of the dark figure behind it. Elmutt bowed after the manner of those from Liavek, his gaze fixed on the chair's window.

  The curtain drew back further, revealing the twisted, warted face of a hideous crone. She held up a gnarled hand and motioned in Elmutt's direction. Her mouth opened but what she said could not be heard. At a call from one of their number, the bearers came to a halt. One of the pair carrying the right rear released his share of the carrying pole, walked forward and pulled shut the curtain. The bearer turned, placed his hands on his hips and glared at Elmutt. The picker completed his bow and continued on his way. He had no desire to tangle with the bearer, and even less desire to talk with the crone, however high her station.

  •

  Shortly after noon, Elmutt stood in an anteroom just off the Levar's audience chamber with a finger stuck between his new collar and his neck. The shirt of crisp linen and lace chafed, the coat and trousers of deep blue velvet were uncomfortably warm, and the slippers of stiff black leather hurt his feet. Another goal achieved, fine clothing, and another achievement that measured something short of expectation. There, too, he was standing in a luxuriously appointed room of maroon, grey, and gold, he had the smell of gently scented air in his nostrils, and by the standards of the alley, he was wealthy. In a manner of speaking, he was also respected. As the litter bearers had traveled through the crowd toward Fountain Court and the palace's eastern gate, the citizens had parted for him, their heads bowed in respect. However, it was all wrong; all less than it should have been.

  He didn't like being in that room, smelling that air. Despite his fine clothes and the grandeur of his arrival, he felt like a spot of mud on a new, white carpet. When the people on the streets had bowed toward him, he knew they were bowing toward his chair and his suit.

  What made him even more uncomfortable as he waited in the anteroom was contemplating how he had acquired the clothes. Mistress Rhina's shop on the corner of Gold and Thimble streets was the only establishment that had a complete suit of adequate fit and sufficient quality ready to wear. The suit had been ordered by Obone, eldest son of the Margrave of Rookhurst. Unfortunately for Mistress Rhina, Obone had come in second in a duel before paying his bill, the suit remaining on display ever since. Those who could afford such woven grandeur preferred their attire to be made specifically for them.

  Elmutt negotiated for the suit, Mistress Rhina barely tolerating his less-than-common appearance. Mortice's entire pouch of coppers, however, was far short of the tailor's most generous price. Elmutt, devoid of more honorable options, posited to the good woman that it would be in her best interest if she gave him the suit at a price he could pay.

  She laughed at him and asked what would happen to her. In a moment her shop was hung with rags, the floor covered with fresh garbage and at least a dozen confused Dung Alley rats.

  Not only did he get the suit at no charge, but the good Mistress Rhina threw in a bath, haircut, shave, shoes, stockings, and undergarments as well. In addition, she ordered the litter chair and bearers for him and paid his way to the palace's eastern gate. Elmutt had arrived in style, true. However, he wore his suit like an aura of personal guilt. To get what he wanted he had driven the tailor to the limits of hysterical distraction, not to mention upsetting the rats.

  "If she just hadn't laughed at me," he muttered. The thought removed not one particle of the guilt he carried, even though he had returned her shop to its original state, minus the articles on his back, and had sent the rats back to the alley, somewhat more confused. Murderer and extortionist, the picker named himself. I wonder what new skills this experience with the Levar will require?

  "Good sir?"

  Elmutt faced the door to see a servant clad in black and scarlet bowing in the doorway. "Yes?"

  "I may present you to the Levar now."

  "Where is Master Geth Dys?"

  "He is with Her Magnificence."

  Elmutt's fright climbed to dizzy heights. "I thought I...I mean, I wanted to speak to Geth Dys before seeing the Levar. I don't know what I am supposed to do."

  The servant straightened, a pained expression on his aging face. "I am not in possession of this knowledge myself, good sir. If you would follow me, please?" The servant turned.

  Elmutt followed in the servant's footsteps through the Grand Hall, each step toward the huge doors at the end of the hall seemingly another step closer to an undefined noose. As they approached the doors, two grey-uniformed stalwarts of the Levar's Guard opened them, revealing the interior of the Levar's Court.

  The room was long, the wide tiled center completely empty. Four courses of stairs led to a higher level that surrounded the first, in addition to supporting the forest of columns that, in turn, supported the vaulted ceiling. The room was devoid of decoration or furniture save for the massive gilt throne occupying the center of the upper level opposite the huge doors. Standing to the right of the throne was the White priest, Geth Dys. Sitting upon the throne, her feet on a stool, was a little girl.

  Elmutt was co
nfused. The girl could be no older than eleven or twelve years. The Levar? He began to ask the servant, but before the first word escaped his mouth the girl turned her head from Geth Dys and looked in his direction. She was so far away that he could not make out her expression. The chamber was otherwise deserted.

  As they came to the edge of the course of stairs, the servant stopped, causing Elmutt to bump into him. "I'm terribly sorry—"

  "Your Magnificence," shouted the servant, "I present Elmutt, uh, Elmutt of the City of Liavek."

  The girl giggled. "Elmutt Elmutt?"

  The servant's face soon matched his scarlet trousers. "Just one Elmutt, Your Magnificence."

  She motioned with her hand. "Bring him here, Togus. Be quick about it, then you may go back to spying for His Scarlet Eminence. "

  The servant's face achieved an even brighter shade of red. However, Elmutt thought he saw a hint of a smile on the White priest's face. Her Magnificence, the Levar, did not smile at all, even when she giggled. Elmutt hadn't thought faces that grim appeared on little girls any place other than Dung Alley.

  As he limped behind the blushing servant, down the steps and across the sunken level, the Levar's image became clearer. She was a thin girl, her face a study in unhappy angles. Her complexion was fairer than average, but this seemed to be less a matter of heritage than of health. Her eyes were dark and expressionless, her hair black and cut short. On her head she wore a simple tiara of silver that gleamed in contrast to the black film of her gown.

  The servant pulled Elmutt to a stop at the foot of the stairs to the throne level, bowed deeply, then turned and left the chamber, the huge doors closing quietly behind him.

  Tazli Ifino iv Larwin, Levar of Liavek, kept an unblinking gaze on the garbage picker. "Geth Dys," she said, "this one is crippled."

  The White priest nodded. "Yes, Your Magnificence."

  "Leave us."

  "Yes, Your Magnificence." Geth Dys bowed deeply, his hands at his sides, turned, and exited through a door behind and to the right of the throne. The Levar continued to stare at Elmutt after the door had closed. The chamber was as silent as death.