The Face of Chaos tw-5 Page 12

  'Louder! The name came readily enough to you when you represented yourself to Synab as my agent.'

  'I ... everyone said you were dead, sir. I thought the symbols were a new extortion racket and didn't see any harm in trying to cash in on it myself.'

  'Even if I were dead, it's a dangerous name to be using. Weren't you afraid of the guardsmen? Or the Stepsons? They're hunting hawkmasks, you know.'

  'The Stepsons,' the boy sneered. 'They aren't so much. One of them had me cold with my hand in his purse yesterday. I knocked him down and got away before he could untangle himself enough to draw his sword.'

  'Anyone can be surprised, boy. Remember that. Those men are hardened veterans who've earned their reputation as well as their

  pay.'

  'They don't scare me,' the boy argued, more defiantly.

  'Do I?'

  'Y ... Yes, sir,' came the reply, as the youth remembered his predicament.

  '... but not enough to keep you from posing as one of my agents,' Jubal finished for him. 'How much did you get from Synab, anyway?'

  'I don't know, sir.'

  The ex-crimelord raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

  'Really!' the urchin insisted. 'Instead of a flat fee, I demanded a portion of his weekly sales. I told him that we ... that you would be watching his shop and would know if he tried to cheat on the figure.' ,

  'Interesting,' Jubal murmured. 'How did you arrive at that system?'

  'Well, once I knew that he was scared enough to pay, I suddenly realized that I didn't know how much to ask for. If I asked for too little, he'd get suspicious, but if I named a figure too high, he'd either ruin his shop, trying to pay it, or simply refuse ... and then I'd have to try to make good my threats.'

  'So what portion did you ask for?'

  'One in five. But, you see, linking his payment to his sales, the fee would grow with his business, or adjust itself if times grew lean.'

  The hawkmaster pondered this for a time.

  'What is your name, boy?'

  'Cidin, sir.'

  'Well, Cidin, if you were in my place, if you caught someone using your name without permission, what would you do to him?'

  'I ... I'd kill him, sir,' the boy admitted. 'You know, as an example, so other people wouldn't do the same thing.'

  'Quite right,' Jubal nodded, rising to his feet. 'I'm glad you understand what would have to be done.'

  Cidin braced himself as the ex-crimelord reached for the sword on the table, then blinked in astonishment as the weapon was returned to its scabbard, instead of being wielded with deadly intent.

  '... fortunately for both of us, that isn't the case here. You have my permission to use my name and work as my agent. Of course, two thirds of what you collect will be paid to me for the use of that name. Agreed?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You might also think of recruiting some of your friends to help you ... if they're as quick of wit as they are of foot.'

  'I'll try, sir.'

  'Now wait here for a moment while I fetch my aide. I want you to tell him what you told me about portions instead of flat fees. It's an idea worth investigating.'

  He started for the door, then paused, studying the boy with a thoughtful eye.

  'You don't look like a hawkmask... but then again, maybe that's what our rebuilding needs. I think the days of swaggering swordsmen are numbered in Sanctuary.'

  'Have you reached a decision yet on Mor-am and Moria?'

  Jubal shook his head. 'There's no rush,' he said. 'Mor-am is ours anytime we want him. I don't want to eliminate him until I've made my mind up on Moria. Those two were close once, and I'm still unconvinced she has totally quelched her feelings for her brother.'

  'It's said she has developed a taste for wine. If we wait too long, she may not be worth the recruiting.'

  'All the more reason to wait. Either she is strong enough to stand alone, without brother or wine, or she isn't. We've no room for employees who need tending.'

  'They were good people,' Saliman said softly.

  'Yes, they were. But we can ill afford generosity at this time. What about the other? Is there any danger our spies in Walegrin's force will be discovered?'

  'None that we know of. Of course, they have an advantage over the rest of us.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Only that they're exempt from the order to assist the Stepsons, whenever trouble arises. I've told you before, it's a dead giveaway to come to the aid of those mercenaries every time they get into a scrape. No one else in town likes them, except the whores, and it breeds suspicion when one of ours takes their side in a quarrel.'

  'Have they honoured their pledge not to hunt the old hawk-masks?'

  'Yes,' Saliman admitted grudgingly. 'In a way, they still go through the motions, but they have been notably ineffective since the alliance.'

  'Then we'll honour our side of the bargain. If our forces are drawing unwanted attention, instruct them to be more subtle with their assistance. There are ways of helping without openly taking sides in a brawl.'

  'We tried that, and the Stepsons proved inept in battle. You were the one who said we must do whatever necessary to keep them alive.'

  'Then keep doing it!' Jubal was suddenly tired of the argument. 'Saliman, I fear your dislike of this alliance has slanted your reports. Those "inept" Stepsons drove our entire force out of our mansion. I find it hard to believe that they are suddenly unable to survive a simple street skirmish.'

  The small snake raised its head to study its captors, then went back to exploring the confines of its jar with the singleminded intent characteristic of reptiles.

  'So this is one of the dread beynit,' Jubal mused, resting his chin on his hands to study the specimen. 'The secret weapon of the Beysib.'

  'Not all that secret,' his aide retorted. 'I've told you of the bodies that have appeared marked with snakebite. The fish-folk are not always discreet in their use of their secret weapons.'

  'Let's not fall victim to our own tricks, Saliman. We were never above scattering a few extra corpses around to confuse the issue. I don't think it's safe to assume that every snakebit body is the work of the Beysib. You're sure this snake won't be missed?'

  'It cost the life of one of their women, but that's unimportant. Hers isn't the only life they've lost lately. They seem remarkably stubborn about not adapting to Sanctuary's nightlife. Wherever they come from, they're used to being able to travel the streets alone.'

  'Their carelessness may give us the advantage we need,' Jubal said, tapping the side of the jar to make the snake raise its head again. 'If we can unlock the secret of this venom, we'll be that much ahead if we ever have to confront the fish-folk.'

  He straightened and pushed the jar across the table to his aide.

  'Pass this to someone well-versed in toxins and include enough money for test slaves. I want an antidote for this poison within the month. Too bad Tempus revenged himself on Kurd. We could use the vivisectionist's services.'

  'Tempus has a knack for making our life difficult,' Saliman agreed, dryly.

  'That reminds me. How are things going with the Stepsons? You haven't said anything lately, so I assume the situation has stabilized.'

  'No, it hasn't. However, you told me in no uncertain terms that you didn't want to hear any more complaining about the Alliance.'

  'No more complaints, but that didn't mean I would reject all reports.'

  'Yes, it did. All I get is complaints about the Whoresons and their inability to save themselves from the simplest of conflicts.'

  'All right, Saliman,' Jubal sighed. 'Perhaps I have discounted the reports too much. Now, can you give me an impartial briefing as to what has been happening?'

  The aide paused to collect his thoughts before reporting. 'The Stepsons, as we knew them when they first arrived in town, were hardened warriors, able to not only survive but triumph in most situations involving armed conflict. They were feared but respected by the people of Sanctuary.
This has changed radically since our alliance with them. They have grown more quarrelsome, and their ability to defend themselves seems to have diminished nearly to the point of nonexistence. A major portion of our agents' time and energies is being diverted into keeping the Stepsons out of trouble, or saving them when our preventive measures fail.'

  The ex-crimelord digested this. 'We both know that field soldiers left in town too long become troublesome as their fighting trim and discipline deteriorate. Is this what's happened to the Stepsons?'

  Saliman shook his head. 'Such deterioration would not be so rapid or complete. These warriors could not be more ineffectual if they were trying to lose.'

  'You may have the answer there. We know the Stepsons to be fearless, willing to follow Tempus's orders even unto death. They could be testing us, deliberately exposing themselves to danger to measure our intent or ability to honour our alliances. Either that, or there may be more to Tempus's leadership than meets the eye. It has been established that he derives support from at least one god. Perhaps he has found a way to transmit that power to his troops ... a way that has grown tenuous operating at such a distance.'

  'Either way, we're still investing too much of our time maintaining a bad alliance.'

  'But until we know for sure, we can't tell if it's more to our advantage to keep or dissolve the agreement. Find me the answers and I'll reconsider. Until then, we'll maintain our current position.'

  'As you will.'

  Jubal smiled as Hakiem was led blindfolded into the room. It was not necessary to wear the hawkmask for this interview, and he was glad, for he wanted an unobstructed view of his guest. Had he not been forewarned, he never would have recognized the old storyteller. He waited until the blindfold had been removed before making his examination, walking slowly around the tale-spinner, while Hakiem stood blinking in the light. New clothes, hair and beard trimmed, the gauntness gone from his rib cage, and ... Yes! The fragrant odour of perfume! Hakiem had bathed!

  'I have a job,' the storyteller broke the silence, almost embarrassed by his newfound wealth.

  'I know,' Jubal said. 'In the new court, as advisor to the Beysa.'

  'If you already knew that, why'd you drag me here all blindfolded,' Hakiem snapped, returning momentarily to his old gutter temper.

  'Because I also know you're thinking of quitting.' There were several heartbeats of silence; then the storyteller heaved a sigh. 'So instead of my asking why I'm here, I guess the question is "Why am I quitting?" Is that it?'

  'You've put it a bit more bluntly than I would have, but you've captured the essence of the matter.'

  Jubal sank into a chair and waved Hakiem to take the seat across from him. '... and help yourself to the wine. We've known each other too long for you to stand on ceremony.'

  'Ceremony!' the old tale-spinner snorted, accepting both chair and wine. 'Perhaps that's what bothers me. Like you, I come from the streets and gutters. All the pomp and bother of court life bores me and, if nothing else, my time in Sanctuary has taught me to be impatient with boredom.'

  'Money pays for much patience, Hakiem,' Jubal observed. 'That I've learned from this town. Besides, I've had call to discover your beginnings are not as humble as you would have others believe. Come now, the real reason for your discontent.'

  'And what business is it of yours? Since when did you concern yourself with my thoughts or livelihood?'

  'Information is my business,' the ex-gladiator shot back. 'Especially when it concerns the power structure of this town. You know that. You've sold me rumours often enough. And besides ...' Jubal's voice dropped suddenly, losing its edge of anger and authority. '... Not long ago I considered changing careers. Two men, an old friend and a penniless storyteller, ignored my temper and convinced me to examine my own motives. I haven't paid all my debts in life, but I don't forget them either. Will you let me try to return the favour you paid me? Of being both gadfly and confessor at a time you feel most alone?'

  Hakiem stared into his wine for several moments. 'I love this town,' he said finally, 'as you do, though we love it differently and for different reasons. When the foreigners ask me my opinions of the townfolk, to appraise their trustworthiness or weakness, I feel I'm somehow betraying my friends. The gold is nice, but it leaves a slime on me that all the perfumed baths in the world cannot remove.'

  'They ask no more than I did when you served as my eyes and ears,' Jubal suggested.

  'It's not the same,' Hakiem insisted. 'You are a part of this town. like the Bazaar of the Maze. Now I deal with strangers, and I'll not spy against my home for mere gold.'

  The ex-crimelord weighed this carefully, then poured them each another round of wine.

  'Listen to me, Hakiem,' he said at last. 'And think well on what I say. Your old life is gone. You know you could no more return to being an innocent storyteller than I could go back to being a slave. Life moves forward, not backward. Just as I've had to adapt to my sudden advance in age, you must learn to live with your new station in life. No. Hear me out.

  'What you tell the invaders, they would learn whether you supplied it or not. As a fellow gatherer of information, I swear to you this is true. There is always more than one way to learn any fact. If, however, you were not there, if they chose someone else to advise them, there would be a difference. Another would be too swelled with his own importance, too in love with the sound of his own words to hear and see what was actually going on around him. That, storyteller, is a weakness you have never had.

  'What goes on in that court, and the logic that the newcomers use to arrive at their decisions, can be of utmost importance to the future of our town. It worries me, but not so much as it would if anyone but yourself were monitoring their activities. Trading information we know for that which we do not is a fair enough bargain, especially when what we gain is so valuable.'

  'All this talk comes very smoothly, slaver,' the talesmith scowled. 'Perhaps I've underestimated you again. You didn't bring me here to ask my reasons for quitting. It seems my thoughts were already known to you. What you really wanted was to recruit me as your spy.'

  'I suspected your reasons,' Jubal admitted. 'But spy is an ugly word. Still, the life of a spy is dangerous and would command a high wage ... say, fifty in gold each week? With bonuses for particularly valuable reports?'

  'To betray the other powers of Sanctuary while feeding your strength.' Hakiem laughed. 'And what if the Beysib ask about you? They'll grow suspicious if there is a blind spot in my reporting.'

  'Answer them as truthfully as you would when questioned about anyone else.' The ex-gladiator shrugged. 'I'm hiring you to gather information, not to protect me at your own expense. Admit everything, including that you have ways of contacting me, should the need arise. Tell the truth as often as you can. It will increase the odds of them believing you when you do find it necessary to lie.'

  'I'll consider it,' the storyteller said. 'But I'll tell you the only reason I'd even think about such a pact is that you and your ghosts are one of the last effective forces in Sanctuary, now that the Stepsons have left.'

  Something nickered across Jubal's face, then was gone.

  'The Stepsons?' he asked. 'When last I heard, they still ruled the streets. What makes you think they're gone?'

  'Don't toy with me, Hawkmaster,' Hakiem scolded, reaching for more wine, only to find the bottle empty. 'You, who know even what's going on in my own head, must know that those clowns in armour who parade the streets these days are no more Stepsons than I'm a Hell Hound. Oh, they have the height and the hair of those they replaced, but they're poor substitutes for the mercenaries who long ago followed Tempus off to the Northern Wars.'

  'Of course.'Jubal smiled vaguely.

  A small purse found its way from his tunic to his hand, and he pushed it across the table to the storyteller.

  'Here,' he instructed, 'use this to buy yourself a charm, a good one, against poison. Violence in the courts is quieter, but no less rough than that you know from
the Maze, and tasters are not always reliable.'

  'What I really need is a guard against their snakes,' Hakiem grimaced, making the purse vanish with a wave of his hand. 'I'll never get used to having so many reptiles about.'

  'Check with me next week,' Jubal answered absently. 'I have people working on an antidote for that particular poison. That is, of course, assuming you decide to retain your position. A street storyteller has no need of such protection.'

  'You have one of the beynit?' the talesmith asked, impressed in spite of himself.

  'They aren't that hard to come by,' the ex-crimelord responded casually, 'which reminds me. If you need a tidbit to keep your patroness happy with your services, tell her that not all the snakebite victims appearing lately are her people's work. There are those who would discredit her court by duplicating their methods.'

  Hakiem raised his eyebrow in silent question, but Jubal shook his head.

  'None of mine,' he declared, 'though the idea bears further study in the future. If you'll excuse me now, I have other matters to attend to ... and tell your escort I said to see that you reach your next destination safely.'

  The sound of Jubal's laughter brought Saliman hurrying into the room.

  'What is it?' he asked, half-puzzled, half-concerned by the first outburst of gaiety he'd witnessed from Jubal for many months. 'Did the old storyteller have an amusing tale? Tell me, I could use a good laugh these days.'

  'It's very simple,' the Hawkmaster explained, regaining partial control of himself. 'We've been betrayed. Double-crossed.'

  'And you're laughing about it?'

  'It's not the intent, but the method that amuses me. Though I have no love of being tricked, even I must admit this latest effort displays a certain style.'

  With a few brief sentences, he sketched out what he had learned from Hakiem.

  'Substitutes?' Saliman frowned.

  'Think about it,' Jubal argued. 'You know at least some of the Stepsons on sight. Have you seen any familiar faces in those uniforms lately? Perhaps the one who made the alliance with us? It explains so much, like why the so-called Stepsons suddenly don't know which end of a sword to grasp. And to think I expected to take advantage of a naive second-in-command.'