Thieves’ World

by Edited By Robert Asprin

  “They …?” Enas Yorl probed.

  “Ah … No. I confess: it’s only one that I can swear to.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was nine. And six grown men took pleasure of me, before they beat me with wire whips and left me for dead.”

  “I see.” He retrieved the scroll and with its end tapped the table absently. “Can you now divine what is in this message? Bear in mind that it forced me hither.”

  “Forced? But I’d have thought—”

  “I found myself here by choice? Oh, the contrary!” A bitter laugh rang out, acid-shrill. “I said we’re both victims. Long ago when I was young I was extremely foolish. I tried to seduce away the bride of someone more powerful than me. When he found out, I was able to defend myself, but … Do you understand what a spell is?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s … activity. As much activity as a rock is passivity, which is conscious of being a rock but of nothing else. A worm is a little more aware; a dog or horse, much more; a human being, vastly more—but not infinitely more. In wildfire, storms, stars, can be found processes which with no consciousness of what they are act upon the outside world. A spell is such a process, created by an act of will, having neither aim nor purpose save what its creator lends. And to me my rival bequeathed … But no matter. I begin to sound as though I pity myself, and I know my fate is just. Shall we despise justice? This scroll can be an instrument of it. Written on it are two sentences.”

  “Of death.”

  While he spoke, there had been further changes under his concealing garb. His voice was now mellow and rich, and his hands, although very slender, possessed the ordinary number of joints. However, the redness still glowed.

  “If one sentence is upon Commander Nizharu,” Jarveena said firmly, “may it be executed soon.”

  “That could be arranged.” A sardonic inflection coloured the words. “At a price.”

  “The scroll doesn’t refer to him? I imagined—”

  “You imagined it spelt his doom, and that was why he was so anxious about its loss? In a way that’s correct. In a way … And I can make certain that that shall be the outcome. At a price.”

  “What—price?” Her voice quavered against her will.

  He rose slowly from his chair, shaking his cloak out to its fullest; it swept the floor with a faint rustling sound.

  “Need you ask, of one who so plainly is obsessed by lust for women? That was the reason for my downfall. I explained.”

  Ice seemed to form around her heart. Her mouth was desert on the instant.

  “Oh, why be so timid?” purred Enas, Yorl, taking her hand in his. “You’ve endured many worse bedfellows. I promise.”

  It was true enough that the only means she had found to cross the weary leagues between Forgotten Holt and Sanctuary had been to yield her body: to merchants, mercenaries, grooms, guardsmen …

  “Tell me first,” she said with a final flare of spirit, “whose deaths are cited in the document.”

  “Fair,” said the wizard. “Know, then, that one is an unnamed man, who is to be falsely convicted of the murder of another. And that other is the new governor, the prince.” Thereupon the light faded, and he embraced her unresisting.

  Chapter 5

  SHE WOKE LATE, at least half an hour past dawn. She was in her own bed; the dormitory was otherwise empty. All her limbs were pervaded by a delicious languor. Enas Yorl had kept his promise. If he had been equally skilled when he was younger, small wonder his rival’s bride had preferred him to her husband!

  Reluctantly opening her eyes, she saw something on the rough pillow. Puzzled, she looked again, reached out, touched: green, iridescent, powdery—

  Scales!

  With a cry she leapt from the bed, just as Melilot marched in, red-faced with fury.

  “So there you are, you little slut! Where were you all night? I watched until I could stay awake no longer! By now I was sure you’d been taken by the guard and thrown in jail! What did Nizharu say?”

  Naked, bewildered, for a long moment Jarveena was at a loss. Then her eye fell on something infinitely reassuring. On the wooden peg over her bed hung her cloak, jerkin and breeches, and also her precious writing-case, just as though she herself had replaced them on retiring.

  Seizing the case, she opened the compartment where she hid such things, and triumphantly produced the gold she had accepted from the commander—but not the silver he had allotted to herself.

  “He paid this for a false rendering of the scroll,” she said. “But you’re not to make one.”

  “What?” Snatching the coins, Melilot made to bite them, but checked.

  “How would you like to be scribe by appointment to the governor’s household?”

  “Are you crazed?” The fat man’s eyes bulged.

  “Not in the least.” Heedless of his presence, Jarveena reached under the bed for her chamberpot and put it to its appropriate use. Meantime she explained the plot she had hatched.

  “But this means you’re claiming to have read the scroll,” Melilot said slowly as he tried to digest her proposals. “It’s enchanted! How could you?”

  “Not I, but Enas Yorl.”

  Melilot’s mouth worked and all his colour drained away. “But his palace is guarded by basilisks!” he exclaimed at last. “You’d have been struck to stone!”

  “It doesn’t quite work like that,” Jarveena said, pulling on her breeches, giving silent thanks that she could do so briskly. That dreadful paralysis would haunt her dreams for years. “To settle the argument, though, why don’t you bring the scroll? I mean, why don’t we go and take another look at it?”

  They were in his sanctum a couple of minutes later.

  “It’s perfectly clear,” Melilot said slowly when he had perused the document twice. “It’s very stilted—formal Rankene—and I don’t know anybody here or in the conquered cities who would use it for a letter. But it says exactly what you said it would.”

  A tremor of awe made his rolls of fat wobble.

  “You’re satisfied it’s the same scroll? There’s been no substitution?” Jarveena pressed.

  “Yes! It’s been all night in a locked chest! Only magic can account for what’s happened to it!”

  “Then,” she said with satisfaction, “let’s get on with the job.”

  ****

  Each noon, in the grounds of the Governor’s Palace before the Halls of Justice, the guard was inspected and rotated. This ceremony was open to the public—to everybody, in principle, but in practice only to those who could afford to bribe the gate guards. Hence most of the spectators were of the upper class, hangers on of the nobility, or making an appearance at the law courts. Not a few bore a general resemblance, in figure or clothing and in their retinue, to Melilot, who was in any case a frequent visitor when transcripts of evidence were in demand.

  Therefore his presence and Jarveena’s were unremarkable. Moreover word had got about that today was the last day when the crack imperial guards would perform the ceremonial drill before fifteen of them were ordered back to Ranke. There was a much larger throng than usual awaiting the appearance of the governor, one of whose customary chores this was whenever he was in residence.

  It was a warm, dry, dusty day. The sun cast strong dark shadows. Tents, pavilions, stone walls seemed all of a substance. So in a way did people, especially those in armour. Under closed visors, any soldier might have been mistaken for any other of like stature.

  Strictly it was not the turn of a guard detachment from the watch-house on Processional Way

  to take over from the Hell Hounds. But a few bribes, and a sharp order from Aye-Gophlan, and the problem had been sorted out.

  Jarveena composed her features and did her best to look as though she were just another casual passer-by impressed by the standard of marching of troops from the capital, rather than a person whose dearest ambition for revenge bid fair to be fulfilled.

  But her mouth kept wanting
to snarl open like a wolf’s.

  The relieving guard marched in from the direction of Governor’s Walk, exchanged salutes and passwords with the imperial troops, and formed up in the centre of the courtyard. Attended by two armed orderlies. Commander Nizharu formally recognized his successor and took station at his side for the governor’s inspection. As soon as it was over, the departing troops would retire by squads and march away with flying colours—Less than ten minutes later, amid a ripple of applause at the precision drill of the Hell Hounds, the prince was leaving the parade ground arm-in-arm with Nizharu. The latter was being posted back to the capital, but five of his comrades were to establish a bodyguard of local soldiers for the governor, trained to imperial standards.

  So rumour said. Rumour had been known to lie.

  With some care arid ingenuity, Melilot had smiled and shoved his way to the front of the crowd, and as the two approached and all were bowing, he said very loudly and clearly, “Why, commander! What good luck! Now is my chance to return the scroll you dropped yesterday morning!”

  Nizharu had raised his visor because of the heat. It could clearly be seen that his face grew pasty-pale. “I—I know nothing of any scroll!” he barked as soon as he could gather his wits.

  “No? Oh, in that case, if it isn’t yours, I’m sure the prince will accept it from me with a view to tracing its rightful owner!”

  Fat though he was, Melilot could act briskly when he must. He whipped the scroll from under his robe and thrust it into Jarveena’s eager hand. A heartbeat later, she was on her bended knee before the prince, gazing up into his handsome, youthful, and somewhat vacuous face.

  “Read, Your Highness!” she insisted fiercely, and almost forced him to take hold of it.

  The instant the prince caught its tenor, he froze. Nizharu did the opposite. Spinning on his heel, he shouted for his men and broke into a run.

  The knife which Jarveena carried in her writing-case served other purposes than the sharpening of reed-pens. She withdrew it with a practised flick, aimed, threw.

  And, howling, Nizharu measured his length on the ground, pierced behind the right knee where there was only leather, not metal, to protect him.

  The crowd shouted in alarm and seemed on the brink of panic, but the incoming guard had been warned. Throwing back his visor, Captain Aye-Gophlan ordered his men to surround and arrest Nizharu, and in a fine towering rage the prince bellowed at the onlookers to explain why.

  “This message is from a traitor at the imperial court! It instructs Nizharu to assign one of his guards to murder me as soon as he has found someone on whom the charge can be falsely pinned! And it says that the writer is enchanting the message to prevent the wrong person’s reading it—but there’s no difficulty in reading this! It’s the court writing I was first taught as a child!”

  “We—ah—arranged for the magic to be eliminated,” hinted Melilot. And added quickly, “Your Highness!”

  “How came you by it?”

  “It was dropped by Nizharu when he inspected our guardhouse.” That was Aye Gophlan, marching smartly forward. “Thinking it important, I consulted Master Melilot, whom I’ve long known to be loyal and discreet.”

  “And as for me …” Melilot gave a deprecating shrug. “I have certain contacts, let us say. It put me to no trouble to counteract the spell.”

  True, thought Jarveena, and marvelled at how cleverly he lied.

  “You shall be well rewarded,” declared the prince. “And, after due trial, so shall he be! Attempting the life of one of the imperial blood—why, it’s as heinous a crime as anyone might name! It was a miracle that he let fall the scroll. Surely the gods are on my side!” Raising his voice again. “Tonight let all make sacrifice and give thanks! Under divine protection I have survived a dastardly assassin!”

  If all gods, Jarveena thought, are no better than Melilot, I’m content to be an unbeliever. But I do look forward to watching Nizharu fry.

  Chapter 6

  “IN VIEW OF how you must be feeling, Jarveena,” said a soft voice at her side, “I compliment you on the way you are concealing your emotions.”

  “It’s not difficult,” she answered with bitterness. The crowd was dispersing around them, heading away from the execution block where, according to the strict form, traitor Nizharu had paid for his many crimes by beating, hanging, and lastly burning.

  And then she started. The person who had addressed her was nobody she recognized: tall, stooped, elderly, with wisps of grey hair, carrying a market basket…

  Where eyes should be, a glint of red.

  “Enas Yorl?” she whispered.

  “That same.” With a dry chuckle. “Inasmuch as I can ever make the statement… Are you content?”

  “I—I guess I’m not.” Jarveena turned away and began to follow the drift of the crowd. “I ought to be! I begged the privilege of writing the authorization for his execution in my own hand, and I thought I might include mention of my parents, my friends, the villagers he slaughtered or enslaved, but my formal Rankene isn’t good enough, so I had to make do copying a draft by Melilot!” She tossed her head. “And I hoped to stand up in open court, swear to what he did, watch the faces of the people change as they realized what a filthy villain came hither disguised as an imperial officer … They said there was no need for any other evidence after Aye-Gophlan’s and Melilot’s and the prince’s.”

  “To speak after princes is a dangerous habit,” opined the wizard. “But at all events, it appears to have dawned on you that revenge is never what you hope for. Take my own case. He who did to me what you know of was so determined to wreak his vengeance that he created one spell more than he could handle. To each he was obliged to cede a certain portion of his will; for as I told you, spells have no aim or purpose of their own. He thereby deprived himself of ordinary sense, and to his death sat blubbering and moaning like an infant.”

  “Why do you tell me this?” cried Jarveena. “I want to make the most of my moment of satisfaction, even if it can’t be as rich and memorable as I dreamed.”

  “Because,” said the wizard, taking her arm by fingers whose touch evoked extraordinary thrills all over her, “you paid a fair and honest price for the service I undertook. I shall not forget you. Scarred and branded you may be without; within you are beautiful.”

  “Me?” said Jarveena with genuine astonishment. “As well call a toad beautiful, or a mud wall!”

  “As you like,” Enas Yorl answered with a shrug. The movement revealed that he was no longer quite what he had been earlier. “At all events, there is a second reason.”

  “What?”

  “You read the writing on the scroll, and previously I had described it to you. Nonetheless you’re acting as though you have forgotten something.”

  For a brief moment she failed to take his point. Then her hand flew to her open mouth.

  “Two deaths,” she whispered.

  “Yes, indeed. And I scarcely need to tell you to whom a traitor in the imperial court would apply for a spell powerful enough to drag me into the matter willy nilly. I could make the paper legible. I could not evade the consequences of undoing a colleague’s work.”

  “Whose death? Mine?

  “It would be politic to minimize the danger, as for instance by taking employment with a seafarer. Many merchant-captains would be glad of a skilful clerk, and after your apprenticeship with Melilot you’re well equipped for such a post. Moreover, your present master is inclined to jealousy. You are half his age, yet already he regards you as a rival.”

  “He dissembles well,” muttered Jarveena, “but now and then he’s acted in a fashion that makes me believe you.”

  “He might regard you more kindly were you to become a sort of foreign agent for him. I’m sure you could contrive—for a reasonable fee—to supply him with commercially valuable information. He would scarcely object to adding other strings to his bow: trading in spices, for instance.”

  For a while Jarveena had seemed enlive
ned by his discourse. Now she fell back into gloom.

  “Why should I want to make myself rich, let alone him? Ever since I can remember I’ve had a purpose in life. Its gone—carried to the sky with the stench of Nizharu!”

  “It takes a very rich person to commission a spell.”

  “What would I want with magic?” she said contemptuously.

  A second later, and it was as though fire coursed all over her body, outlining every mark that defaced her, every whiplash, every burn, every cut and scratch. She had forgotten until now, but sometime during that extraordinary night when she had lain with him, he had taken the trouble to trace her whole violent life story from the map of her skin.

  Now she also remembered thinking that it must be for some private magical reason. Could she have been wrong? Could it have been simpler than that—could it just have been that he sympathized with one whom life had scarred in another way?

  “You might wish,” he was saying calmly, ‘to cleanse your body of the past as I think you have now begun to cleanse your mind.”

  “Even …?” She could not complete the question save by raising her hand to the right side of her chest.

  “In time. You are young. Nothing is impossible. But one thing is much too possible. We’ve spoken of it. Now, act!”

  They were almost at the gate, and the crowd was pressing and jostling; people were setting their hands to their money-belts and pouches, for these were prime conditions for theft.

  “I take it you’d not have spoken up unless you had a new employer in mind for me?” Jarveena said at length.

  “You’re most perceptive.”

  “And if there were not some long-term advantage in it for yourself?”

  Enas Yorl sighed. “There is a long-term purpose to everything. If there were not, spells would be impossible.”

  “So there was a purpose behind Nizharu’s dropping of the scroll?”

  “Dropping … ?”

  “Oh! Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “In time, I’m sure you would have done. But you came to Sanctuary so recently, you could scarcely be expected to know that in his boyhood Aye-Gophlan was counted among the smartest dips and cutpurses in the city. How else do you think he managed to buy himself a commission in the guards? Does he talk as though he came from a wealthy background?”