“Hmmm—mmm—mm—mmmm,” he hummed a few ominous chords. “Perhaps. However, the unnatural inevitably betrays itself by its excessively perfect mimicry of the natural, abandoning the variations and irregularities which are integral to Nature. Take this pair of stones—” He hunted around near his wingtip for a moment, and I shifted my weight again as he looked down, feeling the necklace going into the top of my boot. “… It was right here,” he muttered, and “… your pardon, it will make this point quite clear—” He rose slightly and turned, a few diamonds big and small dropping off him as he did. I rocked back and scooped up more of my prize, and when he actually turned his back on me, I scooted forward an inch or two.
“If you’re looking for a flawed stone,” I said, picking up a diamond about as big as the end of my thumb and shining the light into it, admiring the rainbows I made everywhere, “I see your point. And I disagree. It can still be beautiful, yes, imperfect, but beautiful; but there’s a clear standard in stones.” I tossed that one back on the heap. The smaller ones were near the bottom, larger ones on top—self-sorted like a sand dune—which accounted for the large number of smaller diamonds around the edges.
“Here it is,” announced Hunnondáligi, and delicately lifted a tennis-ball-sized diamond. “See? Here. One tiny, hairline flaw in the center.” And he rose, undoing a couple of coils of himself, and approached me, holding two stones between three claws. “And see the other? A fake,” and he steamed a bit, “which a very foolish sorcerer attempted to foist off on me as genuine. Identical in color, size, carat-weight … but different. Not as bright.”
I had to stand, and so I did, and the necklace trickled down and settled coldly around my ankle. I hardly believed it had worked thus far. “Just toss them, all right?” I said, backing away.
To my surprise, he did. “See the flaw …”
I studied the stones and found the flaw after a few seconds. “Tiny. Yes. Imperfect. But still, the artificial, the unnatural one, is more beautiful, because it lacks the flaw: it surpasses Nature. Nice cut,” I added, and made as if to throw them back.
“Just anywhere,” he said, settling back. “Do you like my collection?”
“I didn’t want to comment, not being sure of the etiquette,” I said, “but it’s quite pretty. Prettier with lights, though.”
“I have light,” he said, and flamed a short blue-white spurt.
“Where I studied,” I said, “they were inventing things called lasers, concentrated beams of light which did astonishing things when refracted through stones like this. All sorts of scattering, and colors, and prismatic effects. Art enhancing Nature.”
“Lasers,” he repeated. “Hmmm. Perhaps I should have one. Would you like a souvenir?”
I shook my head and sidestepped the trap. “I’m a ruby lover, myself,” I said. “And topazes. Anyway, diamonds aren’t that hard to come by in some places.”
“Rubies. Yes, they’re not unattractive, but I always preferred the purity of diamonds.”
“Even they come in colors. Blue, pink, yellow, and so on,” I said. “In fact, stones can be colored by exposing them to certain artificially-made energies, turning yellow topaz blue and white diamond black, among other things. An example of an unnatural impurity not detracting from—even enhancing—natural beauty.”
Hunnondáligi chuckled suddenly. “So. So. You have me there; I must agree with you. On that point but not in general.”
“How long have you been working on this collection?” I asked.
Humming, he thought for a moment. “Since … let us see. In your terms, eleven or twelve thousand years, perhaps more. Time has little meaning to dragons, Sir Otto.”
“You are immortal, are you not?”
“I suppose so. One aspect of immortality is that one does not think about one’s own death, and the deaths of others are of small import.”
Speaking of death, my light was yellowing. It was just a small pocket-torch, not meant for extended use like this. “Hunnondáligi, my batteries are running down in my light. If you’ll pardon me I’m going to change them.”
“That light,” he said, cocking his head, “is that a laser?”
“No,” I said. “Much weaker.” I unscrewed the cap and poured the dead batteries out on my palm, dropped the fresh ones, and put in the dead ones again, then screwed on the cap again and picked up the fresh batteries and pocketed them. “You would like lasers, I think.”
“Perhaps I’ll get one. Or several. Where was it, you said? The world has changed, it seems, since I last travelled. Lasers, hmmmm.”
“Damn,” I said. “These batteries aren’t working either. I’ve got a fresh set in the pack. Pardon me, I’ll be right back with the light—” and I stepped smartly back toward the dim entrance, hitting my head on the low overhang, my back tingling and sweating. I forced myself not to bolt, not to run once outside. I was fairly sure Hunnondáligi would follow me.
He did. I heard him slithering behind me, coming out. My escape plan was very simple and it relied wholly on me being slightly ahead, out of sight.
“My pack’s back with the horse,” I called, and strolled along the way I had come.
The diamond necklace in my boot was still ice-cold, or maybe it was my blood. It was painful to walk with it there, rubbing holes in my ankle. There was my horse. There was my fire, burning still, smokily.
Hunnondáligi made a trumpeting noise. I drew my knife and felt the dragon thundering after me, shaking the earth and the trees, not making a sound after that first blast. Tango went wild as I slashed his reins and pulled out the Key, holding his bridle as he plunged about.
Hunnondáligi was moving toward me at about fifteen miles an hour, flaming a short, intense blue flame. I looked at the Key’s wards and spoke the words to place it in its context and me with it. Precious fractions of a second …
That was the hardest piece of Way-opening I’d ever done, facing death by barbecue with a panicked horse dislocating my shoulder, but I said the spell clearly and stepped through the fire and into the Great Square of the City of Landuc as the heat from Hunnondáligi’s flames began to singe my hair.
5
OTTAVIANO REPACKED AND RELIT HIS PIPE for the third time. He puffed a smoke ring thoughtfully, eyed it, puffed another smaller one.
“And?” I asked at last.
“And what?”
“Who won the bet?”
“Oh,” he said glumly. “Dewar.”
“You’re kidding! How?”
He chuckled ruefully.
I just let Tango go, figuring he’d find his way back to the Palace stables eventually and that he probably needed to work things out on his own. He took off like a wild thing, flying out of sight. The Square was full of people, as usual; the loungers who were sitting on the iron railing enclosing the Keystone of the City got off the railing hastily and didn’t look at me as I climbed over it and walked away.
The first thing I did was have a shot of whisky in the first bar I passed, and the second thing I did was have a double. Fortified and calmed, I went outside and around into a stinking alley usually used for other purposes—that necklace was still burning a hole in my ankle, so to speak—and took it out for a clandestine look. It was a stunner, fit for a queen. I thought I’d like to give it to Glencora, actually, since she’d been more than kind to me. I wrapped it in my handkerchief and put it in an inner pocket, took out my Key and kissed it thankfully (it was still hot), and then went out and marched up to the Palace.
First person I saw was Prospero, coming down the steps toward the stables, and I gave him the usual nod, no spoken greeting, and he gave me the same.
“Dewar’s looking for you,” he said as he passed me.
“No!” I said.
“Yes,” he said, and shot a puzzled look back at me.
“Damn! No! Damn it.” I kicked a watering trough.
Prospero snorted.
“I lost a bet,” I explained. “Where is he, the—Where is he?”
<
br /> “A wager?” A sardonic expression came to his face as he regarded me from two steps down. “Aaah.”
I waited.
“He’s at the Salty Cat,” Prospero said, chuckling, and went on down, laughing outright by the time he reached the bottom.
Do you know the Salty Cat? The reputation is almost as good as the real thing, believe me. After dumping my armor, I gritted my teeth and headed out to the city, found the unnamed alley in which its main door is (there are uncounted side doors) and allowed my eyes to adjust to the bad light just inside.
Dewar wasn’t immediately visible. I edged past empty tables and around the corner of the bar, and there he was back by the wall at a round table with a wineglass and bottle in front of him.
An enormous, self-satisfied grin flashed across his face, and he smothered it almost at once. “Welcome back,” he said, and signalled the barmaid.
I sat down. “Yeah,” I said. “All right, you win—assuming you’ve got something.”
“I do,” said he, nodding.
A beer was thunked down in front of me and a piece of cardboard on the table picked up and punched all in one swift movement by the barmaid.
“How did you fare?” he asked, and I told him what I’ve told you, though I omitted any description of the prize. I wanted to see his face when he first saw it.
“Hm. I wonder if he might be Sorkal using a different part of his name,” Dewar said. “He has a diamond collection, or a reputation of having one.”
“How d’you know all this?” I demanded.
“I was brought up properly,” retorted Dewar, with a dry smile.
“Here’s your goodies, then,” I said, with a sigh. “I was thinking it would be nice to give to Glencora,” but he stopped me as I reached for my pocket.
“Let us wait until we are private.”
I recalled where we were and nodded. “I’m starving, and I won’t eat here,” I said. “Got a cockroach in the only sandwich I ever tried.”
“Allow me to buy you dinner at an excellent restaurant I’ve discovered,” he said. “My shout.” But he handed me the tab for our drinks, smiling smugly.
We went to a pushcart called Armand’s Pit on Fish Dock, almost as redolent of ambience as the Salty Cat, the cart specialty being delicious fresh fish steaks cooked right before our eyes at the grill by sweaty, singlet-clad Armand himself. We sat on the edge of the dock to dine and returned the shingles on which our repast was served to Armand, who chucked them into his fire. Dewar told me his story while we were eating, also not describing his loot, and we had another beer and went up to the Palace together.
In his rooms, we pulled out our separate hauls—his in a drawer, mine from my pocket.
“Holy shit,” Dewar breathed, running the necklace through his hands and then holding it, shaking his head, and looking at the sapphire. “Ho-leee shit.”
“Pretty nice, I thought.”
“Rather.”
He was obviously very, very impressed. I felt better about losing on execution, having scored points on taste and workmanship.
“Let’s see yours,” I said, and opened the round sandalwood box he’d put it in. “Oh, my.”
Emeralds and topazes, small ones, sparkling and twinkling together, a few diamonds scattered in … It was a tiara sort of thing, pure gold and glittering stones, not big, but intricate and lovely and graceful—curving wires giving a suggestion of gold-flowered green-leaved vines somehow, and perhaps the diamonds were dewdrops …
“Oh, that’s gorgeous,” I said, and it was, delicate and charming.
“Dwarf work. —So you wanted to present the necklace to the Empress?” he asked me.
I thought about it, looked out the window, looked at the wall, looked at the necklace. I thought of something else I might like to do with it. “On second thought, that wasn’t such a good idea. Hard to explain where it came from.”
“That presents no problem.” He shrugged. “Or does it. Yes, I suppose it might.”
“She’d tell Avril, but no one else, I think,” I said.
“Avril,” agreed Dewar. Avril had jerked his leash a few times lately, testing his loyalty or just testing his limits.
“However,” I said, “if the other lady to whom I’d also like to give it would accept it …”
Dewar set the necklace down. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment.
An awkward silence lumped along for a minute or so.
“I think not, but if you wish to try you may.” Dewar spoke in a not-optimistic tone.
I reminded him, “It’s yours to dispose of as you see fit.”
“You ran the risk.” He shrugged again. “Anyway, I won the wager. Take it and give it to anyone you choose, or have it made into a watch chain.”
“Tacky,” I said. “Nouveau-riche and vulgar.”
“But impressive.”
He put the tiara away with a smile. I had a feeling I knew where it was going, and I was dead wrong as it turned out. Me, I presented the necklace to the Empress Glencora as a token of appreciation, gratitude, and so on.
“Who did you think was getting the tiara?” I asked. I could guess: Luneté of Lys.
Otto chuckled and shook his head. “A gentleman never tells,” he reminded me.
I’d seen Mother wearing it dozens of times. It sat in her hair and caught the light, not flashy but a touch of color here, there, and the gold wires shining.
Otto said thoughtfully, “I saw Freia a few years later at a formal banquet at Landuc, wearing that and emerald-green velvet. I had to admit he’d done the right thing. It suited her better than it would anyone in the family or out of it.” He smiled reminiscently out the window. “God, those were the days.”
“How so?” I asked softly.
He shook his head. “Everything was … simpler. Being younger helped, I suppose. The longer I live, the more complicated even the simplest things look.”
I smiled slightly and stared at my blotter. A final point about his story occurred to me as I compared his experience to Uvarkis’ and Nellor’s notes.
“I have been under the impression that dragons do not brush off such intrusions as yours lightly,” I said, “and that they will spend a lifetime in pursuit of a thief. Did Hunnondáligi not follow you?”
“He sure did,” Otto said, “and I knew he would, so I was out of Landuc, in an Eddy I know along the Road, when he found me.”
“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows.
“I managed to appease him,” Otto said.
“How?”
“With a contribution to enhance his collection.” Otto smiled.
I waited, but he said no more. Typical of him, and, irked by his silence, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking. “I wonder whether Dewar’s dragon pursued him,” I said. “Do you know?”
“I never thought to ask him about it; he trekked off to visit over here for a while after that. Have you heard from him?” Otto asked.
“No,” I said. “I don’t know where he is. No one does.”
“If you do, tell him I’d like to see him, to talk to him.”
I nodded. We sat for a minute or more in silence, and then I got up and found a half-bottle of wine in my sideboard and poured us each a glass. We sipped it, and without thinking I launched into the story that was Otto’s fee.
It began innocently enough. We had six days of bad weather and another ten of abysmal weather, heavy snow mixed with rain and then just snow. The New Year was still a month away. True, most of the forecasters had predicted a snowy, wet winter (based on the wet spring, summer, and autumn we’d had, the average length of growth of the horns of wood-elk, and the placement and depth of hibernation burrows by their resident rolies), but expecting it and liking it are two different things altogether. This is particularly true in Argylle, where snow by New Year is something unusual and a cause for celebrations by the sledding set.
At any rate the weather was foul and I couldn’t go hunting, which is the natural l
ate-autumn occupation. Confined to the Citadel because the roads were impassable, I played hide-and-seek with my birds, got under everyone’s feet, read and reread books I didn’t particularly like, and foiled my own best efforts to amuse myself.
Mother was away, Gaston was away, Prospero was away, Dewar was away—everybody in my family was away, even Belphoebe, who had decided to go down to Errethon and see just what the would-be sorceress Dazhur was doing there. Did you ever hear of Dazhur? I suppose there’s no reason you would have. In Pheyarcet, she would have become like Oriana or, more likely, like Neyphile, chaffering her charms for power. In Argylle, since we do not barter with our Spring, Dazhur was a frustrated minor witch who had forever been snatching at shreds of sorcerous knowledge and who had forever been rebuffed by Prospero, Dewar, Freia, Gaston, Marfisa, Alexander, Belphoebe, Walter, and myself.
Dazhur had travelled to Errethon after our diplomatic exchange visitor Prince Josquin had returned to Landuc, and something she was doing had put the wind up my sister. I, therefore, was alone in our family’s chimney of chilly stone.
Freia had appointed me to sit in the Black Chair for her. It was my first time in charge alone, and I was anxious to discharge my duties creditably. Dewar had stayed for a few months (the good weather) the first year I was on and had roused me before dawn one crisp autumn morning to announce he was for the Road. That was a few years previous to the winter of which I speak, and my family had, it appeared to me, been avoiding Argylle since. I suspected I was being either hazed or tested.
Mother had spent a lot of time on me, with me, and so had my tutor and my grandfather, far more than for any of the others, and the perspiration-inspiring realization that I was destined for Great Things had often crept into my thoughts. Nobody had said anything explicit, but I was very conscious of Freia’s spot quizzes that began, “What would you do if …” or “Suppose such-and-such happened. What response could we make?” or, apropos anything, “But what do you think?” And then, for my trial by fire, Freia popped me onto the Black Chair and went away to submerge herself in a complex biological research project, something vague which would involve visiting her friend and research colleague Thiorn in whatever cul-de-sac or Eddy it is where Thiorn and her people live: nobody knows, they are secretive. Mother therefore had been obscure about her destination.
The Well-Favored Man Page 9
