avevale_intelligencer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
avevale_intelligencer) wrote2016-09-16 11:15 pm
avevale_intelligencer) wrote2016-09-16 11:15 pm
Chapter 19 of Two Magicians and a Boat!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I think the Sinjaro's in league with them,” Gorol insisted. “He deliberately stopped me scragging the one who pinched the food. Gave him time to get away.”
“Do you think so?” Thavaar considered. “It could indeed be so. But even if it were so, brother Gorol, how do you propose we proceed? Our stout leader, or so we thought him, has washed his hands of us and retired to his room to pout. We have already attempted once to enlist his aid against the foreign peril, without success. Brother Driskil, a worthy man of his hands by all accounts, even now languishes upon his bed of pain, laid low by this very Sinjaro. We are depleted, I fear, sadly depleted.”
“I'll be all right,” Driskil said weakly. He was still very pale, but had recovered consciousness and taken a little food.
“Indeed you will, brother Driskil, but alas, not yet. I must think, I must plan. Deprived as I am of the motive fluid of my existence by the caprice of the witches of Gerenna, nonetheless I must cudgel my weakened brain into action.”
“I don't see that it takes much thinking,” Burlox said. “If we wait by the stern rail till the fellow comes back tonight, we can scrag him then.”
Thavaar stared in admiration. “I do believe you have hit it, brother Burlox. Your keen intellect points the way and we poor clods can merely stumble in your wake. We must mount an ambush.”
Gorol saw an objection. “What about the Sinjaro? He'll try to stop us.”
“Yes,” Thavaar said, “we must at all costs keep the gentleman occupied.”
“I'd like to occupy him,” Driskil muttered. “Like to occupy his guts with my knife.”
“A laudable sentiment, my dear fellow,” Thavaar said, “but patience, patience. We must have you fighting fit again before we send you into battle. No, something in the way of a subterfuge is called for at this point, I fancy.” He thought silently for a while. “Perhaps it has escaped your notice,” he said, “that our erstwhile educator is exceedingly exercised at the present about the idea of illegal foreign drugs being peddled somewhere hereabouts?”
“I should say not,” Burlox said. “He practically turned me inside out to find out if I knew anything about it.”
“And did you?”
“No,” Burlox said with satisfaction.
“Good,” Thavaar said silkily. “Well, suppose one of our number, whose honesty and good report are unimpeached, were to inform the said Old Stick that this Sinjaro is in fact the source and purveyor of these noxious and reprehensible substances?”
Driskil managed a faint snigger, but Burlox looked perplexed.
“But he said the Sinjaro set him on to it in the first place,” he objected.
“How better to disarm and deflect suspicion?” Thavaar said. “The Sinjaro is supposed to have said that he cast that spell upon our fallen comrade here in order to cleanse the drug out of his system, but that doesn't mean he didn't put it in his system in the first place.”
“I'll say I got it from him,” Driskil said, “instead of from—”
“I think,” Thavaar said, cutting him off, “it would be best if Burlox were to convey the news. He possesses the appearance of robust honesty to a degree that puts us effete sophisticates to shame. No, not now, you ass. Say fifteen minutes before dinner tonight; that will give Old Stick time to work up a good head of righteous rage. And then when dinner has been called, you and Gorol will conceal yourselves somewhere in the region of the stern rail and await developments. And now,” Thavaar said with considerable satisfaction, “we shall consider exactly what it will be best for you to say.”
*
“I wish I could talk to Varnak,” said King Bran mournfully.
“I wish I could talk to Mordecai,” Gisel agreed.
They were in the kitchen garden again, and this time it was definitely raining. Bran's nose dripped, and Gisel's tunic and breeches were soaked.
“I mean, there they are,” the king went on, “sailing down the river, away from it all, probably having the time of their lives, and we have all this to deal with.”
“Mordecai's definitely not having the time of his life,” Gisel said. “He has to be dragged bodily out of the palace these days, he's so neurotic about the Panergodyne. He'll be thoroughly miserable till he gets back.”
“Well, you're probably right,” Bran said heavily. “So what do we do about this thing with Zivano and Lady Ralitz?”
“What can we do?” Gisel said. “She asked him to visit, he said yes. I can't very well foist myself on him as a chaperone. And even if I could, I—”
“You think it's important that he knows we trust him?”
Gisel nodded gratefully. “And I think we can.”
“What do you suppose she wants from him?”
“I don't know. I think,” Gisel said, choosing her words carefully, “I think she's someone with a very limited view of the world.”
“But she's in with these Chotani people. She's the one behind the úllama trade deal.”
“Oh, at least.”
“Well,” Bran said, “let's hope Zivano can learn something useful from her.”
“And,” Gisel said, “that he chooses to share it with us. Your majesty, I think I am now about as wet as I can possibly be, so with your permission I'm going indoors to change and have a hot bath.”
“A very good idea,” the king agreed, shaking himself like a dog and disproving Gisel's statement. “Tam blast it, there's still something we're missing, but I'm damned if I can see what it is. Go by all means, my dear. I'll let you know if I think of anything else.”
*
Mordecai spent the afternoon in their room, furiously thinking. It did no good, of course, but he found he could not stop. At first Varnak kept trying to make conversation, till Mordecai told him to go and tell Churidang about the nocturnal visitor. Unfortunately, the thinking went no better even without interruptions.
Somebody arranges this trade deal with the Chotani. We have to go to them, because they will not come to us, and it has to be Varnak and me, because only a prince can negotiate with a prince and because they are supposed to be providing spells to help us deal with this mysterious tree sap. On the day before we are due to leave, Willibald is kidnapped. The two things must be connected. Somebody wanted us out of Tamland, separately. It was not the king, and it was not the Tseneshi Duenna, but it was a lady in black, with auburn hair.
The Duenna's hair is white.
That man we saw was white.
He could be a Chotani. In which case they could have come to us, but they chose to lure us away and then follow us. Why? None of this makes any sense.
Except that it is bad for Tamland, and bad for me.
And then when we are fairly on our way, an irritating seller of swords is murdered for what seems to be no reason at all. Except that he is a Penny. Can that be connected?
And then Hudge disappears, and comes back (according to Gudge) and disappears again. Can that be connected?
Only a madman sees connections where there are none.
Only an idiot sees no connections at all.
Gudge.
I have not seen Gudge lately.
Mordecai got up, checked on the cat and her kittens, and left the room. He found his way to the room that had been Hudge's, knocked and tried the door. It was locked.
“Who's there?” quavered a voice from within.
“Alonso del Cazargua,” Mordecai said. “May I come in?”
There was a long pause, and then the door was unlocked and Gudge shyly ushered Mordecai into the room. It was as sparsely appointed as the two empty rooms below; evidence of either occupant's personality was markedly lacking. Only Hudge's art paraphernalia, returned to his room by some kind soul, seemed out of place.
“What can I do for you, Master Alonso?” Gudge enquired uncertainly.
“What do you know about the Chotani?” Mordecai said.
“Practically nothing,” Gudge replied at once. “They are a very secretive people. Briom had some contact with them many years ago, but that never came to anything.” He frowned, mustering his thoughts. “Their land is far away, across the Lost Ocean to the north. They are said to be very pale, and to be averse to all kinds of magic or religion. It is thought that—” He stopped.
“Tell me,” Mordecai insisted.
“It is thought,” the little man went on unwillingly, “that they have an expertise in exotic botanicals. Fungi, you understand, and plants that do not grow in our warmer climate.”
“Drugs?”
“Nothing has been definitely proved,” Gudge said reproachfully.
“But there is a drug trade in some parts of Briom. Drugs that do not come from anywhere in the three kingdoms.”
“That is true,” Gudge admitted, looking more dejected than ever. Mordecai filed the information away and pressed on.
“You said they were averse to magic. Do you know why?”
“No, I have no idea,” Gudge said. “Magic is a fact of life. It would be like being averse to rain.” He tittered uneasily.
“But they would never use it?”
“As far as I know, definitely not.”
So much for the “suite of spells.” So much for the reason for me to be on this trip. Which means there must be another reason.
“You can tell me no more about your commission?”
“I—no,” Gudge said quickly. “I am afraid Master Hudge did not have time to inform me—”
“Have you looked among his effects to see if he left any notes?”
“Oh, I couldn't do that,” Gudge said, dismayed. “That would be a gross breach of confidence.”
“Even if he is dead?” Mordecai decided to take the initiative. “I shall look. You may do as you please.”
Gudge slumped, but Mordecai fancied he caught a gleam in the protuberant eyes. “I can't stop you,” Gudge said.
Mordecai began with the sketchbooks and art materials. They yielded nothing of interest. Further investigation turned up a battered holdall, stuffed roughly under the bed, which contained a change of clothes, toiletries, a surprisingly large bag of money, two books, one a textbook on painting and the other full of strange picture writing, and a small black notebook. By measuring the outside and inside heights, Mordecai discovered the existence of a false bottom, and in due course extracted a sheaf of papers, and several small cloth bags.
“Let me see,” Gudge said, and Mordecai wordlessly passed him the papers and the bags. Gudge read quickly, then returned the papers to the false bottom.
“What did they say?” Mordecai said. “And please do not hide behind professional confidence or anything foolish like that. At least one man is dead, possibly two.”
Gudge showed no reluctance. “The commission was on behalf of the Exalted Order of the Penetrating Light,” he said. “You—you will not tell Master Churidang I told you this, will you?”
“On my word, I will not,” Mordecai said.
“Master Parrunz,” Gudge went on, “was to obtain a quantity of these very illegal drugs we were talking about. He did so.” He patted the bags. “Master Hudge obtained the evidence from him, with his co-operation, I should add. My job was to be to alter it so that it pointed at...a different person, and contrive to pass the evidence to that person without their knowledge.”
“What different person?”
“Aldro Stychel,” Gudge whispered.
“Stychel? Why?”
“We were not told,” Gudge said, consulting the notebook, “but Master Hudge seems to have speculated that it was...to do with internal politics.”
“Ah.” The Exalted Order, in other words, were setting out to hamper and embarrass the unnamed group to which Stychel belonged. Perhaps it was a territorial or jurisdictional dispute, or perhaps the Pennies just wanted a larger share of the royal cash. Or maybe it was just Stychel himself they wanted out of the way. Whatever, it was nothing to do with the current problem.
Unless...
“Does any of that stuff show from whom Parrunz bought the drugs?” Mordecai asked.
Gudge shook his head. “Oh no. Master Parrunz would have been very careful about that. Not relevant, you see. We make a rule never to burden ourselves with information that we do not require.”
“That is a pity,” Mordecai said, controlling his emotion with some effort. “The person who sold him the drugs, you see, might have been the person who killed him...and Master Hudge.”
Gudge's eyes widened still further, and he clutched convulsively at his neck.
“Perhaps,” Mordecai went on, “I should go about the boat talking loudly about this evidence you have of a drug transaction. Then, when you are attacked—”
“No!” Gudge yelped. “Take it! Take it all!” He scrabbled in the bag, pulled out the papers and almost threw them at Mordecai, who caught them, tidied them together and put them into his pouch, along with the bags of unidentified substances.
“Thank you,” Mordecai said, “for your co-operation.”
*
It had stopped raining by the time King Bran appeared at the door of the magery, once again in the enveloping cloak. Gisel let him in, took the garment and led the king into the inner office.
On the desk, which was otherwise bare, stood a bowl of water, and beside it lay a small gold ring. In front of the bowl was a note, in Zivano's firm, clear hand:
PUT THE RING IN THE BOWL.
“Do you know what this is about?” Bran said. “The message I got just said to come and see you.”
“We're about to find out,” Gisel said, picking up the ring. Carefully, she placed it into the bowl, where it immediately began to vibrate, causing ripples to appear on the water's surface. A bright light emanated from the bowl, and above it a cloudy image appeared, and solidified into a picture; a woman, auburn-haired and dressed in black, in the act of rising from an armchair.
“Do come in, Magus,” she said, in a tinny sort of voice, advancing with her hand outstretched. The watchers saw Zivano's hand appear from somewhere below and raise her hand to (presumably) his lips. For a moment the view was mostly hand. “Please sit down,” the woman continued. “May I offer you some tea? Or would you prefer something stronger?”
“Never offered me anything stronger, mean old bat,” Gisel muttered.
“That is Lady Ralitz, isn't it?” Bran whispered, and Gisel nodded.
“Tea would be very pleasant, thank you,” Zivano's voice boomed from the air, and the image shifted as he moved to a chair and sat down. Lady Ralitz rang her bell and instructed an unseen maid to bring the beverage.
“First of all, let me say how much I admire your generosity in assuming this temporary position,” she said. “We in the community were much saddened to learn of del Aguila's unaccountable animosity towards you. But then,” she laughed a little, “with those people one never can tell, can one? And your willingness to step into the breach after his equally unaccountable disappearance has not been overlooked by those of us who, as it were, keep a weather eye open.”
“'Those people,'” Gisel fumed.
“Ssh,” said Bran.
“That is indeed most gratifying, my lady,” said Zivano's voice.
“There is a change in the weather coming, my lord Zivano,” said Lady Ralitz, leaning forward. “Much that is old will be swept away. There will be an unavoidable amount of confusion at first. It would greatly benefit the land if a person gifted with strength and resolve—a person such as yourself—were in a position to take charge when that happens.”
“What the Tomes is she talking about?” Bran said.
“Sssh,” Gisel said.
“What kind of...change...would we be contemplating, my lady?” said Zivano.
“A revitalisation,” said Lady Ralitz, her eyes alight with purpose. “For far too long this land has ambled along the path of tradition, unchanging, unchanged. We propose—that is, some friends of mine and I—we propose to put the governance of Tamland on a thoroughly sound business footing.”
“I don't like the sound of that,” Bran muttered.
“I do not know if you are aware of the fact, but my late husband owed all his success in trade to me,” the lady continued. “Mine was the brain that guided him to the top of his profession. If King Bran had not stupidly refused to countenance my vision of the Market of Markets—the one store to replace all others, the one source for all goods and resources—we should have been even more successful.”
“Alas,” Zivano's voice said carefully, “some people do lack the necessary clarity of vision.”
“But now,” Lady Ralitz said, “we have no need for such half-measures. My...my associates and I...are about to conclude, by proxy, a trade agreement which will allow me to flood the market with goods for which there will be a guaranteed demand at any price.”
“You refer to the substance known as úllama?”
“Úllama!” Lady Ralitz laughed, this time fully and with an edge. “Merely the foot in the doorway. No, my products will have a truly unique appeal. Irresistible, one might say. We have been running trials in neighbouring areas, and we are almost ready to unveil them publicly. First, of course, there will be free samples for the royal court. I can guarantee that they will not fail to be interested.”
“So, if I understand you correctly,” Zivano said, “your plan is to secure power for yourselves, by addicting, first the court, and then the rest of the population, to powerful narcotic substances that only you can supply.” His tone was hard, cold, very like the Shurath of old. “That is the Chotani's main export, yes?”
Lady Ralitz was taken aback, but recovered swiftly. “You are most perceptive, my lord Zivano,” she said. “Doubtless, also, you recognise the manifold benefits of the scheme. The ultimate incentive—to work, to buy, to work again, to work till one dies. We shall reorganise the economy, so that instead of the messy chaos we have now, with everyone working for themselves, all will work for us. We shall establish true discipline, by making every citizen beholden to the ruling class for their health, their sanity, their very lives. We shall make this country into a truly efficient machine, maximising profits at minimum cost, and all shall benefit. The workers shall be delivered from the crippling, bewildering uncertainty that is miscalled 'freedom,' and we—the new rulers—shall be the first of a new dynasty, founded firmly on the one true value—wealth.”
“And what of magic?” Zivano said quietly.
“There will be no place in the new Tamland for such mummery,” Lady Ralitz said scornfully. “Nor for the religion of No Gods that pretends to be no religion at all. Tamland will be reorganised along strictly rational lines. No doubt this will come as a relief to one such as yourself, whose antipathy to magic is well known. We shall consolidate our power base here, and when we are ready, we shall move against Briom and Tsenesh. Nothing can stand against the power of reason and science. Nothing!” She was breathing hard, sitting on the edge of her seat, her face flushed.
“A beguiling vision indeed,” Zivano said suavely. “But is it wise to abolish all magic before our enemies have been subdued and brought to heel? Indeed, is it wise to abandon magic altogether? Remember your history. It was magic that made this land the hospitable place it became for Tam and his followers. It is magic that—”
“Bah!” Lady Ralitz exclaimed. “The people of the new Tamland will not care if they have to work a little harder. They have had it too easy as it is. Privation is good for the soul, my lord Zivano, and without the coddling of magic our people will grow lean and hard and hungry like the women of Tsenesh. Even more incentive to go forth and conquer. Do you not see the beauty of it, the logic? How it all fits together? Fat, contented people achieve nothing, gain no glory, make no profit for their employers. We shall forge a new breed of Tamlander in the fires of adversity. Within ten years, Tamland will rule the world!”
There was a short silence. Gisel felt sick. King Bran was emitting a soft hissing sound, like a pan of boiling water with a tight lid.
“And do the Chotani know,” Zivano asked casually, “that the person with whom they are dealing is a woman? I seem to recall they have some prejudice—”
“Not yet,” Lady Ralitz answered, a little breathlessly. “I dealt with them through intermediaries, first my husband and then underlings. They will know soon, though, and they will yield to the logic of the situation. I am the originator of the scheme, therefore I am the equal of any man.” She sat up straighter, and adjusted her hair, which had come a little undone. “So, my lord Zivano. Are you with us?”
“Were I not,” Zivano replied, “I doubt I would be leaving this house alive.”
The lady laughed, and exhibited something she had had concealed in the folds of her black gown. “Alive, certainly,” she said, “but no longer your own man. The substance contained in this bulb of úllama is instantly addictive. You would crawl in the dirt before me and beg to be allowed to do my bidding. Most undignified. I should prefer to enlist you willingly to our cause.”
“Then,” Zivano said, “you have my—qualified—support. You understand that while matters remain uncertain, I must keep my options open.”
“Matters only appear uncertain on the surface, my lord,” Lady Ralitz said, rising. “In reality our victory is utterly assured. del Aguila, the Prince, and that irritating apprentice have been disposed of, and nobody else in the royal court will put up the least resistance. With you on our side, we cannot fail. And you will be on our side...one way or another.” She smiled, but the smile was ugly.
“In that case,” Zivano said, “I am at your service, my lady.” He must have bowed; the view dipped alarmingly, and both Gisel and Bran involuntarily leaned back. Then the view vanished abruptly, to be replaced by Zivano's face, greatly enlarged, hovering before them.
“This recording is a true representation of the conversation I have just had with Lady Anatta Ralitz,” he said. “I suggest that we meet soon to discuss possible courses of action. Perhaps before court tomorrow?” He smiled. “Oh, and in case you were wondering...and I'm sure Gisel was...when I pledged my support to the lady's cause...I was lying.”
The image winked out. The water in the bowl ceased to vibrate.
Gisel glanced at Bran. The king's face was grey, and he looked to be fighting for breath. Quickly she took his arm and helped him to a chair, where he sat for most of a minute moving his lips and uttering faint gasps.
“The filthy—stinking—traitor,” he managed at last.
“Well, yes,” Gisel said.
“The utterly vile—repulsive—insane—”
“I couldn't agree more.”
The king delivered himself of a number of other adjectives, to which Gisel assented, and gradually under this therapy his breathing eased and his natural colour returned. Eventually he began to repeat himself, and then stopped and turned to Gisel.
“She is mad, isn't she?” he said, almost pleadingly.
“In a way,” Gisel said. “In a rather horribly sane way. It would work, her scheme. Oh, not the conquest part, not unless Briom and Tsenesh were also enslaved to these drugs of hers, but...turning Tamland into one huge profit-making business...it could be done.”
“But it would be hell!” Bran burst out. “Hell for the people, hell for everyone!”
“Except her,” Gisel said. “And her friends. They would be fine, at the top, getting all the money and all the best of everything.”
“It would be hell,” Bran repeated stubbornly. “And she would be the devil. Gisel, we must be able to stop her. Surely—”
“We can stop her, certainly,” Gisel said. “You can send a squad of guards round to her house, arrest her, chop off her head if you want to be that kind of king.”
“And that would do it, wouldn't it?” Bran said. “If you cut off the head of a snake, the body dies.”
Gisel sighed. “The problem with that,” she said, “is that Lady Ralitz is not the head of a snake. She is the leader, but I would be very surprised if there were not several others somewhere we don't know about, all ready to take over. And don't forget the Chotani. We have no idea where they might be.”
“Oh, Gisel,” King Bran said, and began to cry. It was horribly unexpected, and for a moment Gisel quailed, but then she mastered herself and cradled the king's head against her as he sobbed.
“This is ridiculous,” he said after a while. “I haven't blubbed since I was six.”
“Ten,” Gisel said gently. “And you're wrong anyway. You cried buckets when your wife died. You just hid it well.”
“Not from you, eh?”
“Never from me.”
“I could see it, you see,” Bran said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “As she talked about it, I could see it...a horrible grey world, no magic, no gods...everyone working for the same few people, day after day, no dignity, no care for anything but money. No light. No hope. No—” His voice broke, and the tears threatened to return.
“I think, you know,” Gisel said, trying to sound positive, “that even in a world like that human beings would survive somehow.”
“Survive!” Bran was suddenly enraged, surging out of the chair, pushing Gisel aside obliviously. “Survive! What's the damned point of surviving? They survived in Tsenesh, and look what it did to them. Surviving isn't the point, it's the bare minimum. People are meant to live, not just survive. If all we needed was to survive we could have stayed in Briom. Tam brought our ancestors here to make a place where we could live. All of us. Not just him and his cronies. Live and be free and find our own fulfilment, with the king as a servant, not a master.” He rounded on Gisel. “She wants to undo all that. She wants to make herself master—not even king! Not even that tiny concession to human dignity! Just master, because she'd have all the money. Money!” he howled, digging into his pouch and flinging coins on to the floor. They bounced everywhere, and Gisel flinched. “You're not supposed to care about money! It's not a person, it's not a useful thing, it's, it's just a, it's just an in-between thing! Everyone needs it so you don't have to work out apples to cart horses or whatever, but it's just, it's just tokens that represent the work you do! You don't get to keep more tokens than you need, that's just stupid!”
He glared at Gisel, not really seeing her, working himself up.
Gisel decided to cut in.
“Finished?” she said crisply.
Bran blinked, and sagged, the wild energy leaving him as quickly as it had come.
“Finished,” he said. “I'm sorry, Gisel.”
“For what it's worth,” Gisel said, starting to gather up the fallen coins with quick stooping movements, “I think you're absolutely right. But being right isn't going to be enough, Bran. The trouble is, she can make her way of thinking sound damnably reasonable. Move your foot.”
Bran moved his foot. “Reason, eh?” he mumbled. “Well, if reason's on her side, then reason's an ass.”
“Reason tells you what you want to hear,” Gisel said, casting around behind the desk, “and proves it for you. That's reason. Everyone's reason tells them something different. If you want to know what's right, you need something more.”
“What?”
“I'll tell you,” Gisel said, as she pounced on the last copper, “when someone discovers it. Now, do you think you can get back to the palace all right? You had me worried for a while there.” She poured the handful of coins into Bran's pouch.
“I'm sure I can,” Bran said.
“And tomorrow,” Gisel said, “we plot.”
“I think the Sinjaro's in league with them,” Gorol insisted. “He deliberately stopped me scragging the one who pinched the food. Gave him time to get away.”
“Do you think so?” Thavaar considered. “It could indeed be so. But even if it were so, brother Gorol, how do you propose we proceed? Our stout leader, or so we thought him, has washed his hands of us and retired to his room to pout. We have already attempted once to enlist his aid against the foreign peril, without success. Brother Driskil, a worthy man of his hands by all accounts, even now languishes upon his bed of pain, laid low by this very Sinjaro. We are depleted, I fear, sadly depleted.”
“I'll be all right,” Driskil said weakly. He was still very pale, but had recovered consciousness and taken a little food.
“Indeed you will, brother Driskil, but alas, not yet. I must think, I must plan. Deprived as I am of the motive fluid of my existence by the caprice of the witches of Gerenna, nonetheless I must cudgel my weakened brain into action.”
“I don't see that it takes much thinking,” Burlox said. “If we wait by the stern rail till the fellow comes back tonight, we can scrag him then.”
Thavaar stared in admiration. “I do believe you have hit it, brother Burlox. Your keen intellect points the way and we poor clods can merely stumble in your wake. We must mount an ambush.”
Gorol saw an objection. “What about the Sinjaro? He'll try to stop us.”
“Yes,” Thavaar said, “we must at all costs keep the gentleman occupied.”
“I'd like to occupy him,” Driskil muttered. “Like to occupy his guts with my knife.”
“A laudable sentiment, my dear fellow,” Thavaar said, “but patience, patience. We must have you fighting fit again before we send you into battle. No, something in the way of a subterfuge is called for at this point, I fancy.” He thought silently for a while. “Perhaps it has escaped your notice,” he said, “that our erstwhile educator is exceedingly exercised at the present about the idea of illegal foreign drugs being peddled somewhere hereabouts?”
“I should say not,” Burlox said. “He practically turned me inside out to find out if I knew anything about it.”
“And did you?”
“No,” Burlox said with satisfaction.
“Good,” Thavaar said silkily. “Well, suppose one of our number, whose honesty and good report are unimpeached, were to inform the said Old Stick that this Sinjaro is in fact the source and purveyor of these noxious and reprehensible substances?”
Driskil managed a faint snigger, but Burlox looked perplexed.
“But he said the Sinjaro set him on to it in the first place,” he objected.
“How better to disarm and deflect suspicion?” Thavaar said. “The Sinjaro is supposed to have said that he cast that spell upon our fallen comrade here in order to cleanse the drug out of his system, but that doesn't mean he didn't put it in his system in the first place.”
“I'll say I got it from him,” Driskil said, “instead of from—”
“I think,” Thavaar said, cutting him off, “it would be best if Burlox were to convey the news. He possesses the appearance of robust honesty to a degree that puts us effete sophisticates to shame. No, not now, you ass. Say fifteen minutes before dinner tonight; that will give Old Stick time to work up a good head of righteous rage. And then when dinner has been called, you and Gorol will conceal yourselves somewhere in the region of the stern rail and await developments. And now,” Thavaar said with considerable satisfaction, “we shall consider exactly what it will be best for you to say.”
*
“I wish I could talk to Varnak,” said King Bran mournfully.
“I wish I could talk to Mordecai,” Gisel agreed.
They were in the kitchen garden again, and this time it was definitely raining. Bran's nose dripped, and Gisel's tunic and breeches were soaked.
“I mean, there they are,” the king went on, “sailing down the river, away from it all, probably having the time of their lives, and we have all this to deal with.”
“Mordecai's definitely not having the time of his life,” Gisel said. “He has to be dragged bodily out of the palace these days, he's so neurotic about the Panergodyne. He'll be thoroughly miserable till he gets back.”
“Well, you're probably right,” Bran said heavily. “So what do we do about this thing with Zivano and Lady Ralitz?”
“What can we do?” Gisel said. “She asked him to visit, he said yes. I can't very well foist myself on him as a chaperone. And even if I could, I—”
“You think it's important that he knows we trust him?”
Gisel nodded gratefully. “And I think we can.”
“What do you suppose she wants from him?”
“I don't know. I think,” Gisel said, choosing her words carefully, “I think she's someone with a very limited view of the world.”
“But she's in with these Chotani people. She's the one behind the úllama trade deal.”
“Oh, at least.”
“Well,” Bran said, “let's hope Zivano can learn something useful from her.”
“And,” Gisel said, “that he chooses to share it with us. Your majesty, I think I am now about as wet as I can possibly be, so with your permission I'm going indoors to change and have a hot bath.”
“A very good idea,” the king agreed, shaking himself like a dog and disproving Gisel's statement. “Tam blast it, there's still something we're missing, but I'm damned if I can see what it is. Go by all means, my dear. I'll let you know if I think of anything else.”
*
Mordecai spent the afternoon in their room, furiously thinking. It did no good, of course, but he found he could not stop. At first Varnak kept trying to make conversation, till Mordecai told him to go and tell Churidang about the nocturnal visitor. Unfortunately, the thinking went no better even without interruptions.
Somebody arranges this trade deal with the Chotani. We have to go to them, because they will not come to us, and it has to be Varnak and me, because only a prince can negotiate with a prince and because they are supposed to be providing spells to help us deal with this mysterious tree sap. On the day before we are due to leave, Willibald is kidnapped. The two things must be connected. Somebody wanted us out of Tamland, separately. It was not the king, and it was not the Tseneshi Duenna, but it was a lady in black, with auburn hair.
The Duenna's hair is white.
That man we saw was white.
He could be a Chotani. In which case they could have come to us, but they chose to lure us away and then follow us. Why? None of this makes any sense.
Except that it is bad for Tamland, and bad for me.
And then when we are fairly on our way, an irritating seller of swords is murdered for what seems to be no reason at all. Except that he is a Penny. Can that be connected?
And then Hudge disappears, and comes back (according to Gudge) and disappears again. Can that be connected?
Only a madman sees connections where there are none.
Only an idiot sees no connections at all.
Gudge.
I have not seen Gudge lately.
Mordecai got up, checked on the cat and her kittens, and left the room. He found his way to the room that had been Hudge's, knocked and tried the door. It was locked.
“Who's there?” quavered a voice from within.
“Alonso del Cazargua,” Mordecai said. “May I come in?”
There was a long pause, and then the door was unlocked and Gudge shyly ushered Mordecai into the room. It was as sparsely appointed as the two empty rooms below; evidence of either occupant's personality was markedly lacking. Only Hudge's art paraphernalia, returned to his room by some kind soul, seemed out of place.
“What can I do for you, Master Alonso?” Gudge enquired uncertainly.
“What do you know about the Chotani?” Mordecai said.
“Practically nothing,” Gudge replied at once. “They are a very secretive people. Briom had some contact with them many years ago, but that never came to anything.” He frowned, mustering his thoughts. “Their land is far away, across the Lost Ocean to the north. They are said to be very pale, and to be averse to all kinds of magic or religion. It is thought that—” He stopped.
“Tell me,” Mordecai insisted.
“It is thought,” the little man went on unwillingly, “that they have an expertise in exotic botanicals. Fungi, you understand, and plants that do not grow in our warmer climate.”
“Drugs?”
“Nothing has been definitely proved,” Gudge said reproachfully.
“But there is a drug trade in some parts of Briom. Drugs that do not come from anywhere in the three kingdoms.”
“That is true,” Gudge admitted, looking more dejected than ever. Mordecai filed the information away and pressed on.
“You said they were averse to magic. Do you know why?”
“No, I have no idea,” Gudge said. “Magic is a fact of life. It would be like being averse to rain.” He tittered uneasily.
“But they would never use it?”
“As far as I know, definitely not.”
So much for the “suite of spells.” So much for the reason for me to be on this trip. Which means there must be another reason.
“You can tell me no more about your commission?”
“I—no,” Gudge said quickly. “I am afraid Master Hudge did not have time to inform me—”
“Have you looked among his effects to see if he left any notes?”
“Oh, I couldn't do that,” Gudge said, dismayed. “That would be a gross breach of confidence.”
“Even if he is dead?” Mordecai decided to take the initiative. “I shall look. You may do as you please.”
Gudge slumped, but Mordecai fancied he caught a gleam in the protuberant eyes. “I can't stop you,” Gudge said.
Mordecai began with the sketchbooks and art materials. They yielded nothing of interest. Further investigation turned up a battered holdall, stuffed roughly under the bed, which contained a change of clothes, toiletries, a surprisingly large bag of money, two books, one a textbook on painting and the other full of strange picture writing, and a small black notebook. By measuring the outside and inside heights, Mordecai discovered the existence of a false bottom, and in due course extracted a sheaf of papers, and several small cloth bags.
“Let me see,” Gudge said, and Mordecai wordlessly passed him the papers and the bags. Gudge read quickly, then returned the papers to the false bottom.
“What did they say?” Mordecai said. “And please do not hide behind professional confidence or anything foolish like that. At least one man is dead, possibly two.”
Gudge showed no reluctance. “The commission was on behalf of the Exalted Order of the Penetrating Light,” he said. “You—you will not tell Master Churidang I told you this, will you?”
“On my word, I will not,” Mordecai said.
“Master Parrunz,” Gudge went on, “was to obtain a quantity of these very illegal drugs we were talking about. He did so.” He patted the bags. “Master Hudge obtained the evidence from him, with his co-operation, I should add. My job was to be to alter it so that it pointed at...a different person, and contrive to pass the evidence to that person without their knowledge.”
“What different person?”
“Aldro Stychel,” Gudge whispered.
“Stychel? Why?”
“We were not told,” Gudge said, consulting the notebook, “but Master Hudge seems to have speculated that it was...to do with internal politics.”
“Ah.” The Exalted Order, in other words, were setting out to hamper and embarrass the unnamed group to which Stychel belonged. Perhaps it was a territorial or jurisdictional dispute, or perhaps the Pennies just wanted a larger share of the royal cash. Or maybe it was just Stychel himself they wanted out of the way. Whatever, it was nothing to do with the current problem.
Unless...
“Does any of that stuff show from whom Parrunz bought the drugs?” Mordecai asked.
Gudge shook his head. “Oh no. Master Parrunz would have been very careful about that. Not relevant, you see. We make a rule never to burden ourselves with information that we do not require.”
“That is a pity,” Mordecai said, controlling his emotion with some effort. “The person who sold him the drugs, you see, might have been the person who killed him...and Master Hudge.”
Gudge's eyes widened still further, and he clutched convulsively at his neck.
“Perhaps,” Mordecai went on, “I should go about the boat talking loudly about this evidence you have of a drug transaction. Then, when you are attacked—”
“No!” Gudge yelped. “Take it! Take it all!” He scrabbled in the bag, pulled out the papers and almost threw them at Mordecai, who caught them, tidied them together and put them into his pouch, along with the bags of unidentified substances.
“Thank you,” Mordecai said, “for your co-operation.”
*
It had stopped raining by the time King Bran appeared at the door of the magery, once again in the enveloping cloak. Gisel let him in, took the garment and led the king into the inner office.
On the desk, which was otherwise bare, stood a bowl of water, and beside it lay a small gold ring. In front of the bowl was a note, in Zivano's firm, clear hand:
PUT THE RING IN THE BOWL.
“Do you know what this is about?” Bran said. “The message I got just said to come and see you.”
“We're about to find out,” Gisel said, picking up the ring. Carefully, she placed it into the bowl, where it immediately began to vibrate, causing ripples to appear on the water's surface. A bright light emanated from the bowl, and above it a cloudy image appeared, and solidified into a picture; a woman, auburn-haired and dressed in black, in the act of rising from an armchair.
“Do come in, Magus,” she said, in a tinny sort of voice, advancing with her hand outstretched. The watchers saw Zivano's hand appear from somewhere below and raise her hand to (presumably) his lips. For a moment the view was mostly hand. “Please sit down,” the woman continued. “May I offer you some tea? Or would you prefer something stronger?”
“Never offered me anything stronger, mean old bat,” Gisel muttered.
“That is Lady Ralitz, isn't it?” Bran whispered, and Gisel nodded.
“Tea would be very pleasant, thank you,” Zivano's voice boomed from the air, and the image shifted as he moved to a chair and sat down. Lady Ralitz rang her bell and instructed an unseen maid to bring the beverage.
“First of all, let me say how much I admire your generosity in assuming this temporary position,” she said. “We in the community were much saddened to learn of del Aguila's unaccountable animosity towards you. But then,” she laughed a little, “with those people one never can tell, can one? And your willingness to step into the breach after his equally unaccountable disappearance has not been overlooked by those of us who, as it were, keep a weather eye open.”
“'Those people,'” Gisel fumed.
“Ssh,” said Bran.
“That is indeed most gratifying, my lady,” said Zivano's voice.
“There is a change in the weather coming, my lord Zivano,” said Lady Ralitz, leaning forward. “Much that is old will be swept away. There will be an unavoidable amount of confusion at first. It would greatly benefit the land if a person gifted with strength and resolve—a person such as yourself—were in a position to take charge when that happens.”
“What the Tomes is she talking about?” Bran said.
“Sssh,” Gisel said.
“What kind of...change...would we be contemplating, my lady?” said Zivano.
“A revitalisation,” said Lady Ralitz, her eyes alight with purpose. “For far too long this land has ambled along the path of tradition, unchanging, unchanged. We propose—that is, some friends of mine and I—we propose to put the governance of Tamland on a thoroughly sound business footing.”
“I don't like the sound of that,” Bran muttered.
“I do not know if you are aware of the fact, but my late husband owed all his success in trade to me,” the lady continued. “Mine was the brain that guided him to the top of his profession. If King Bran had not stupidly refused to countenance my vision of the Market of Markets—the one store to replace all others, the one source for all goods and resources—we should have been even more successful.”
“Alas,” Zivano's voice said carefully, “some people do lack the necessary clarity of vision.”
“But now,” Lady Ralitz said, “we have no need for such half-measures. My...my associates and I...are about to conclude, by proxy, a trade agreement which will allow me to flood the market with goods for which there will be a guaranteed demand at any price.”
“You refer to the substance known as úllama?”
“Úllama!” Lady Ralitz laughed, this time fully and with an edge. “Merely the foot in the doorway. No, my products will have a truly unique appeal. Irresistible, one might say. We have been running trials in neighbouring areas, and we are almost ready to unveil them publicly. First, of course, there will be free samples for the royal court. I can guarantee that they will not fail to be interested.”
“So, if I understand you correctly,” Zivano said, “your plan is to secure power for yourselves, by addicting, first the court, and then the rest of the population, to powerful narcotic substances that only you can supply.” His tone was hard, cold, very like the Shurath of old. “That is the Chotani's main export, yes?”
Lady Ralitz was taken aback, but recovered swiftly. “You are most perceptive, my lord Zivano,” she said. “Doubtless, also, you recognise the manifold benefits of the scheme. The ultimate incentive—to work, to buy, to work again, to work till one dies. We shall reorganise the economy, so that instead of the messy chaos we have now, with everyone working for themselves, all will work for us. We shall establish true discipline, by making every citizen beholden to the ruling class for their health, their sanity, their very lives. We shall make this country into a truly efficient machine, maximising profits at minimum cost, and all shall benefit. The workers shall be delivered from the crippling, bewildering uncertainty that is miscalled 'freedom,' and we—the new rulers—shall be the first of a new dynasty, founded firmly on the one true value—wealth.”
“And what of magic?” Zivano said quietly.
“There will be no place in the new Tamland for such mummery,” Lady Ralitz said scornfully. “Nor for the religion of No Gods that pretends to be no religion at all. Tamland will be reorganised along strictly rational lines. No doubt this will come as a relief to one such as yourself, whose antipathy to magic is well known. We shall consolidate our power base here, and when we are ready, we shall move against Briom and Tsenesh. Nothing can stand against the power of reason and science. Nothing!” She was breathing hard, sitting on the edge of her seat, her face flushed.
“A beguiling vision indeed,” Zivano said suavely. “But is it wise to abolish all magic before our enemies have been subdued and brought to heel? Indeed, is it wise to abandon magic altogether? Remember your history. It was magic that made this land the hospitable place it became for Tam and his followers. It is magic that—”
“Bah!” Lady Ralitz exclaimed. “The people of the new Tamland will not care if they have to work a little harder. They have had it too easy as it is. Privation is good for the soul, my lord Zivano, and without the coddling of magic our people will grow lean and hard and hungry like the women of Tsenesh. Even more incentive to go forth and conquer. Do you not see the beauty of it, the logic? How it all fits together? Fat, contented people achieve nothing, gain no glory, make no profit for their employers. We shall forge a new breed of Tamlander in the fires of adversity. Within ten years, Tamland will rule the world!”
There was a short silence. Gisel felt sick. King Bran was emitting a soft hissing sound, like a pan of boiling water with a tight lid.
“And do the Chotani know,” Zivano asked casually, “that the person with whom they are dealing is a woman? I seem to recall they have some prejudice—”
“Not yet,” Lady Ralitz answered, a little breathlessly. “I dealt with them through intermediaries, first my husband and then underlings. They will know soon, though, and they will yield to the logic of the situation. I am the originator of the scheme, therefore I am the equal of any man.” She sat up straighter, and adjusted her hair, which had come a little undone. “So, my lord Zivano. Are you with us?”
“Were I not,” Zivano replied, “I doubt I would be leaving this house alive.”
The lady laughed, and exhibited something she had had concealed in the folds of her black gown. “Alive, certainly,” she said, “but no longer your own man. The substance contained in this bulb of úllama is instantly addictive. You would crawl in the dirt before me and beg to be allowed to do my bidding. Most undignified. I should prefer to enlist you willingly to our cause.”
“Then,” Zivano said, “you have my—qualified—support. You understand that while matters remain uncertain, I must keep my options open.”
“Matters only appear uncertain on the surface, my lord,” Lady Ralitz said, rising. “In reality our victory is utterly assured. del Aguila, the Prince, and that irritating apprentice have been disposed of, and nobody else in the royal court will put up the least resistance. With you on our side, we cannot fail. And you will be on our side...one way or another.” She smiled, but the smile was ugly.
“In that case,” Zivano said, “I am at your service, my lady.” He must have bowed; the view dipped alarmingly, and both Gisel and Bran involuntarily leaned back. Then the view vanished abruptly, to be replaced by Zivano's face, greatly enlarged, hovering before them.
“This recording is a true representation of the conversation I have just had with Lady Anatta Ralitz,” he said. “I suggest that we meet soon to discuss possible courses of action. Perhaps before court tomorrow?” He smiled. “Oh, and in case you were wondering...and I'm sure Gisel was...when I pledged my support to the lady's cause...I was lying.”
The image winked out. The water in the bowl ceased to vibrate.
Gisel glanced at Bran. The king's face was grey, and he looked to be fighting for breath. Quickly she took his arm and helped him to a chair, where he sat for most of a minute moving his lips and uttering faint gasps.
“The filthy—stinking—traitor,” he managed at last.
“Well, yes,” Gisel said.
“The utterly vile—repulsive—insane—”
“I couldn't agree more.”
The king delivered himself of a number of other adjectives, to which Gisel assented, and gradually under this therapy his breathing eased and his natural colour returned. Eventually he began to repeat himself, and then stopped and turned to Gisel.
“She is mad, isn't she?” he said, almost pleadingly.
“In a way,” Gisel said. “In a rather horribly sane way. It would work, her scheme. Oh, not the conquest part, not unless Briom and Tsenesh were also enslaved to these drugs of hers, but...turning Tamland into one huge profit-making business...it could be done.”
“But it would be hell!” Bran burst out. “Hell for the people, hell for everyone!”
“Except her,” Gisel said. “And her friends. They would be fine, at the top, getting all the money and all the best of everything.”
“It would be hell,” Bran repeated stubbornly. “And she would be the devil. Gisel, we must be able to stop her. Surely—”
“We can stop her, certainly,” Gisel said. “You can send a squad of guards round to her house, arrest her, chop off her head if you want to be that kind of king.”
“And that would do it, wouldn't it?” Bran said. “If you cut off the head of a snake, the body dies.”
Gisel sighed. “The problem with that,” she said, “is that Lady Ralitz is not the head of a snake. She is the leader, but I would be very surprised if there were not several others somewhere we don't know about, all ready to take over. And don't forget the Chotani. We have no idea where they might be.”
“Oh, Gisel,” King Bran said, and began to cry. It was horribly unexpected, and for a moment Gisel quailed, but then she mastered herself and cradled the king's head against her as he sobbed.
“This is ridiculous,” he said after a while. “I haven't blubbed since I was six.”
“Ten,” Gisel said gently. “And you're wrong anyway. You cried buckets when your wife died. You just hid it well.”
“Not from you, eh?”
“Never from me.”
“I could see it, you see,” Bran said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “As she talked about it, I could see it...a horrible grey world, no magic, no gods...everyone working for the same few people, day after day, no dignity, no care for anything but money. No light. No hope. No—” His voice broke, and the tears threatened to return.
“I think, you know,” Gisel said, trying to sound positive, “that even in a world like that human beings would survive somehow.”
“Survive!” Bran was suddenly enraged, surging out of the chair, pushing Gisel aside obliviously. “Survive! What's the damned point of surviving? They survived in Tsenesh, and look what it did to them. Surviving isn't the point, it's the bare minimum. People are meant to live, not just survive. If all we needed was to survive we could have stayed in Briom. Tam brought our ancestors here to make a place where we could live. All of us. Not just him and his cronies. Live and be free and find our own fulfilment, with the king as a servant, not a master.” He rounded on Gisel. “She wants to undo all that. She wants to make herself master—not even king! Not even that tiny concession to human dignity! Just master, because she'd have all the money. Money!” he howled, digging into his pouch and flinging coins on to the floor. They bounced everywhere, and Gisel flinched. “You're not supposed to care about money! It's not a person, it's not a useful thing, it's, it's just a, it's just an in-between thing! Everyone needs it so you don't have to work out apples to cart horses or whatever, but it's just, it's just tokens that represent the work you do! You don't get to keep more tokens than you need, that's just stupid!”
He glared at Gisel, not really seeing her, working himself up.
Gisel decided to cut in.
“Finished?” she said crisply.
Bran blinked, and sagged, the wild energy leaving him as quickly as it had come.
“Finished,” he said. “I'm sorry, Gisel.”
“For what it's worth,” Gisel said, starting to gather up the fallen coins with quick stooping movements, “I think you're absolutely right. But being right isn't going to be enough, Bran. The trouble is, she can make her way of thinking sound damnably reasonable. Move your foot.”
Bran moved his foot. “Reason, eh?” he mumbled. “Well, if reason's on her side, then reason's an ass.”
“Reason tells you what you want to hear,” Gisel said, casting around behind the desk, “and proves it for you. That's reason. Everyone's reason tells them something different. If you want to know what's right, you need something more.”
“What?”
“I'll tell you,” Gisel said, as she pounced on the last copper, “when someone discovers it. Now, do you think you can get back to the palace all right? You had me worried for a while there.” She poured the handful of coins into Bran's pouch.
“I'm sure I can,” Bran said.
“And tomorrow,” Gisel said, “we plot.”