The Christening Quest

by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

  “It all depends on your point of view, Uncle,” Alireza Mukbar said, stretching blissfully. “The man’s presence here is to my mind an unexpected bonus. We have not only profited from the brat, but I, at least, intend to profit from him as well.”

  “Greater profit might be obtained from our creditors by allowing him to find the child,” Mashkent pointed out slyly. “He would be of great interest to them, you may be sure.”

  Alireza scoffed. “He’d never make it. The valley’s guardian would intercept and spoil him, as she does all good things, and we would have no profit from him at all. Besides, isn’t there a prophecy about that somewhere, too, Ali?”

  “Assuredly, First Sale of the New Day,” he said, using one of the Miragenians’ most flattering terms for a beautiful woman. “If this prince becomes the prey of the valley’s guardian, the profit-and-loss ledger will look even worse, for the woman will gain undue influence. Much as I would hate for you and your charming sisters to be no longer available for wooing, lady, I agree that, other than having him eliminated or transformed into some innocuous beast, allowing the prince to fall into your loving arms would be the safest thing to do with him.”

  “And his companion?” Mashkent asked. “The witch?”

  “Surely a profit may be made from her also,” Mirza said.

  “What magic does she possess?” Alireza asked.

  “Nothing of great note: a minor variation on the siren song plus an occasional borrowed trick like the one she did with the dragon. Still, she may cause disruption of trade if not handled properly.”

  “Neutralize her ahead of time?” Mashkent asked, pulling his beard. “We can safely do nothing to quell her power without further study of it. We can arm the security forces with wards against her, however, and distract her so that her power is concentrated elsewhere when we apprehend her.”

  “The competition won’t interfere?” Mirza asked sharply. “We can’t risk allowing anyone else to become involved in this. If our Gorequartz creditors learn of the presence of this pair from anyone other than ourselves, we may have a great deal of difficulty. I still think perhaps the best thing would be to send the man as a gift, disguised, up the Cashflow, avoiding the guardian, and let the Gorequartz priests do with him as they will.”

  “You’re too cautious,” Alireza chimed in, undulating her slender fingers at him in breezy dismissal. “Giving away assets before learning their full advantage to us is not like you, Mirza. I fear your little brush with the Guardian when you tried to obtain some of that cheap love potion to win my sisters and me undid you. The Gorequartz priests already have what they desire and if they know nothing of this prince, they will not miss him. I, on the other hand most certainly will. Nor is the witch going to appeal to our competition. Especially not if we surround her with a pall of bewilderment and strangeness. She will appear unprofitable, and none will wish to deal with her. Now then, my dear fellow board members, if I have eased your trepidations sufficiently, I will excuse myself while you deal with the witch. I must make my own simple preparations for acquiring her companion.”

  Chapter V

  The first order of business was to locate Mukbar, Mashkent, and Mirza. Since the firm was large and influential, the cousins had anticipated no difficulty in learning its whereabouts. But each person they approached together turned from them to another task or customer.

  “This will take all day at this rate,” Carole said, shifting miserably inside her overabundance of clothing.

  Her awkward fumbling was accentuated by a woman bargaining at the stall ahead of them. The other woman’s movements were like a dancer’s, fluid and graceful, golden bracelets clinking on smooth rounded arms as she gestured, fingers flying like doves, enhancing every softly articulated word. Rupert sighed as her beautifully formed head turned ever so slightly, the waterfall of black waving hair shifting beneath a sheer emerald veil, hooded dark eyes taking him in, nostrils flaring beneath the coin-rimmed veil, sweet flicker of tongue darting out to dampen lips suddenly in need of softening. He held her gaze for no more than a moment before she swirled, a fragrant, heady cloud wafting from her veils. She beckoned with a slim finger, her eyes darting back for another tantalizing glance.

  “What did you say?” Rupert asked Carole, keeping one eye on her and the other on the swaying veils sauntering just ahead on the dusty street. Carole repeated herself snappishly, but he replied with a blitheness born of relief. “Why, certainly it will take all day. This town is little used to strangers, since so few can find it, and two of us together bewilder them. We’ll alarm them less if we split up,” he said. “I’ll do this side of the street, you do the other.” And so saying, he trotted briskly after the departing green-clad figure.

  Carole watched him, and hoped that the woman was as friendly as she looked. Perhaps their hunt would be over as soon as he caught her. Just so he proceeded directly with business instead of dallying about while his suffering cousin baked in the street. She watched the preoccupied merchants and approached the first. Tension and dread knotted her stomach. She suddenly longed for her recalcitrant villagers at Wormroost, lazy and spoiled and expecting her to take care of them. At least there she had some worth. Here people dismissed her and went coldly about their business as if she had never made a purchase in her life and wasn’t about to start with them. She felt tempted to give them all dancing lessons, but it sickened her to think she had to dance people around just to get a little decent human cooperation from them.

  A large animal with a hump in its middle, ridiculously attired in tapestry, tassels, and bells, brushed against her, nearly stepping on her foot. It gave her a supercilious look, very much like the one she and Rupert had gotten from the last vendor. She started to laugh, thinking that if even the animals in this place were unfriendly, she was being a ninny to allow the attitude of the people to cow her. The beast continued to glower at her, worked its jaws, and spat. She sidestepped the gob just in time, and ducked straight into the path of an enormous lumbering mud-colored animal with wrinkled skin and a nose that resembled a front-end tail. The beast was heavily laden. It was ridden by a small nut-brown man who threatened Carole with a riding crop. She wasn’t too concerned about the riding crop, but the animal had a pair of horns situated on either side of its prodigious nose, each of them larger than four unicorn horns put together. She ducked again, tripping over a little brown hairy beast standing on its hands and juggling balls, which it dropped when she tripped over it. It jumped to its feet chattering and grimacing at her furiously. When she tried to retrieve the balls, it threw them at her. She longed for the animals of her home, work-hungry beavers, opinionated moose, dim-brained bears, rare and magical unicorns and even love-sick dragons.

  In front of Carole a woman squatted beside a pile of glittering objects: mirrors with mother-of-pearl frames. The sun flashed from their surfaces. The woman eyed Carole suspiciously over a length of black veil much mended with inept embroidery.

  “Mirrors for sale,” she said dully. “You want to buy one?”

  “Well, no. That is, I don’t think I need a mirror.”

  “You think wrong then, girlie. I never saw one who could use it more. Take a look.”

  She thrust the mirror into Carole’s face and Carole thought at first that a mistake had been made. This was no mirror but a moving portrait of a face that was beautiful, fine of feature, with milky skin rather than her own sallow complexion. The mirrored face was crowned with lustrous black waves, not with straw-like hair slicked back into a single brown braid. The nose was straight and patrician, lacking the Brown hook.

  “Your mirror’s defective,” she told the merchant, handing the object back to her. “That’s not me.”

  “It’s what you ought to be. What you should look like if you was to do your duty and beautify the streets instead of being just another dowdy body taking up air. If you buy this mirror, see, you’ll have the model before you, so you’ll know what to strive for. With the proper accompanying spells and
potions and maybe a judicious application of virgins’ blood now and then to keep you young, you may come close.”

  “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass,” Carole said. “I was just going to ask if you could direct me to the firm of Mukbar, Mashkent, and Mirza.”

  “I could, but may I run at a loss if I will. I have business to do. If you want information, I suggest you go to them as sell it and let a poor woman earn her living.”

  She got a similar reception from everyone else on the street, even at a place where she parted with two of her small store of coppers to purchase an inedible pastry. Everywhere she was regarded with distaste and indifference.

  She stumbled along, suffering with the heat, while trying to avoid the animal dung thick and steaming in the streets, she bumped straight into another vendor, who held her at arm’s length. He brushed her off, and with a crazed expression lurched into his sales pitch. “You look like a lady who’s going places. With my wares, you can so do pleasantly, safely, quickly, expeditiously, and without the need for such a fierce frown.”

  “Stop,” she said. “I don’t want to hear another word unless you can tell me where I’ll find the firm of Mukbar, Mashkent, and Mirza. No one else will tell me and I’m not about to waste my time listening to someone who’s going to be insolent when he’s done with his own business.”

  “Ah, I can do better than that!” he said. “Though I have only myself just arrived here today. How, you may ask, did I manage to arrive so opportunely for yourself, just at the time when you most need aid. Why, by means of my wondrous wares, I answer. With the help of this marvelous item you too can be on hand for significant occurrences among those who need you—even two during the same day. And have all of your adventures narrated to you in thrilling detail at no extra charge—”

  “What are you talking about?” Carole asked, fanning herself with her hand and trying to stay patient. Crazed this character might be, but he was the only one so far who had heard her request and retained his eagerness to speak to her.

  “Why, thissss—” he said, gesturing to the side of the road where a hollow stump lay and inviting her to follow him. “My magical, mystical travel log. I would be only too happy to give you a free demonstration.”

  “Sitting down on the log will be plenty for now,” she said wearily. Before he could say more, a little round woman turned from the cartload of scrolls she was unloading and rushed to Carole, putting a restraining hand on her arm.

  “No, no, my dear. Pay no attention to this man. He is a charlatan. I’ve been watching him and he’s sat here all day. You’re the first customer he approached. He may be a slaver. A young lady like you should be more cautious.”

  The man backed hastily away as the little woman glared at him. Picking his log up under his arm, he made a swift departure down the street.

  Carole stared after him, stricken. “It’s very good of you to be concerned for me,” she said, “But he promised to help me find the firm of Mukbar, Mashkent, and Mirza. No one else will. I can’t afford to buy anything.”

  “That is very plain. I just didn’t want you to come to any harm. You may not buy today and still be a good customer in the future. You have the look of one seeking employment to me. I’d offer you a job if I could, but my business is run on the good will of my customers and I’m afraid you would not engender good will, no offense. Still, if you promise to keep away from slavers, I’ll tell you where you can find the competition, and perhaps they’ll be able to hire you so that you can someday come and look at my wares with a more positive eye, poor girl.”

  Toward evening, following the woman’s directions, Carole stood before a shop front remarkable only in that it boasted a permanent awning and a recess in the wall, unlike the barrows and tables and spread-cloths of the other vendors. In front of a collection of pots, an elderly man sat on one rug while weaving another.

  Carole was about to speak to him when two men sneaked up behind her, grabbing her arms in tight grips. They panted through guilty grins at the old man. “Here she is, Illustrious Employer. The witch you sought.”

  “Indeed,” the weaver grumbled. “Very brave of you, capturing her just as she was about to introduce herself.” The rug upon which he was seated rose high with his indignation. It plopped abruptly to the ground as the weaver said, “Stand by, but unhand her.”

  He and the rug beneath him spun around as the guards obeyed, and regarded her through rheumy eyes alight with some uncanny glow that made her think he might have fireflies behind his milky-white lenses. He beckoned her to come closer, and shook the clawed end of his weaving comb under her nose. “So you came to find us, did you? I thought you might. But I’ll tell you it will do you no good. A bargain is a bargain, and you were present when it was made, even if you were too young then to have better sense than to do commerce with that red-haired liar girl and the cheat of a gypsy boy. You heard the deal as it was signed and sealed, and we have taken delivery, to the Profit of the righteous. If those who welsh on deals are not happy, let them think again before depriving their buyers of pre-purchased goods.”

  Carole sank to the ground, crossing her legs, and facing him tiredly. She watched his righteous wrath rise and fall with his breath and decided that behind his eyes the fireflies were laughing at her. His pretension to an ethical argument was a sham. He had merely assumed a bargaining position, in quite the same way as the seamstress did when a lady from Rowan Castle was negotiating the amount of embroidery embellishing a new gown. “I’m glad to hear that you don’t deny taking the child,” she replied at last. “And there’s really no need to be unpleasant about all this. As you say, I was there. I’m not challenging your basic position, just your timing.”

  “I see.” Mashkent slitted his eyes and folded his hands, regarding her impassively, waiting for her to say more.

  “In your haste to collect your debt from Bronwyn, you spirited the child away before she could be christened. I don’t know how familiar you are with the ceremony, but it will add inestimably to her value to you.”

  “How good of you to be concerned for our investment,” he said. “Perhaps you would care to enter my home in order to estimate for us somewhat closer the admittedly inestimable value of this ceremony of which you speak?”

  “That would be very nice,” she said demurely, thinking thirstily of long drinks of water. Also, now that she and Mashkent had found each other, there would be no further need for her cumbersome, suffocating disguise.

  “No sooner said than done,” Mashkent said, inclining his head and smiling a sweet old man’s smile full of fatherly kindliness and consideration. He clapped his hands once, resoundingly.

  Tendrils of varicolored smoke slithered forth from the shop, curling toward her. The tendrils were very like the ones she had seen enter the bottle on the riverbank. She watched them so intently she missed the disappearance of the old man. The tendrils wrapped themselves around her arms and legs and bore her gently aloft, so that she rested as comfortably as if on a down mattress. Nevertheless she had to duck her head to avoid injury as her translucent guides transported her through the low doorway leading from the cluttered shop to the garden that was the heart of Mashkent’s home.

  At the heart of the garden was a magnificent pool, surrounded by many peripheral pools. The group was connected with a web of blue-green tiled gutters with what seemed to be overflow rippling between them. Mashkent sat near the largest pool. It contained no fewer than thirty-five fluting fountains, showering the pool on seven different levels. The whole thing was larger than the finest, biggest mill-pond in the east of Argonia, the new one just constructed at Little Darlingham.

  Carole’s vaporous guides deposited her on a silken cushion, wisped away momentarily, and wisped back with silver trays full of cut up bits of fruit, nuts, smelly cheeses, dates, and a sweating silver goblet of a tart fruit drink that was more thirst quenching than the water she had hoped for. She ate and drank as daintily as possible. Her host did not join her, but studied he
r with every evidence of benign pleasure in her pleasure. He made occasional friendly remarks about the garden, the varieties of flowers growing therein, which bird was singing at any given moment. They were all larks or nightingales or doves or something melodious and romantic, it seemed.

  When Carole was quite finished her host clapped again and the vapors deftly removed the trays. Swishing around Carole like the ghosts of silken cloths, they wiped her hands and mouth.

  Belatedly, Carole thought of Rupert. “Perhaps, actually, I should wait until Prince Rupert finds us to discuss this matter. He was detained.”

  “Ah. Was he? But surely you need not delay your mission. You are in accord on this matter, I take it?”

  “Yes, but, well, I—”

  “You are distressed on his account, no doubt fearing in your womanly fashion that he has no place to dine and rest as you do. That is commendable, but a misplaced concern, I assure you.”

  “Nevertheless—” she said, fluttering her hand in an imitation of the gesture she seen Miragenians use, the one that meant “I need not explain the rest to you.”

  The old man’s smile tightened momentarily, his patience strained, then he clapped his hands again, saying to her, “I shall undertake to settle your mind in this matter.” To a solid and refreshingly human-looking minion, a boy of about eight, he said, “Check the pool and report to me if Prince Rupert is safely settled for the rest of the day, if he is comfortable and in amiable company, and has dined.”

  The boy bowed low and scuttled to an adjoining pool, over which he leaned low.

  Carole sat erect, straining to see beyond the child into the pool. She recalled Bronwyn saying something about these pools that acted as crystal balls. She supposed that was what this was all about. She caught vague billowing of curtain-like draperies, soft, dappling light, and a bare glimpse of a familiar tawny head, eyes closed, breath sifting through the hairs of his mustache.