Two-Bit Heroes

by Doris Egan

  "How do you know?"

  That was a good question; how did I know? There was no real reason I couldn't have been standing just outside the frame of the picture I'd read last night, ready to take a good long fall. I had a feeling, that was all, which could be from the cards or could be wholly self-manufactured. I shrugged. "Maybe I'm wrong. There's fruit on the sideboard for you, and chocolate. I put the saucer over the cup to keep it warm."

  He went to collect them. "We'll need tah," he said, for we were both addicted.

  "They serve it later in the morning up here. About an hour or so before lunch. I asked the girl."

  Now, that had worried me badly for a moment, when I first saw the chocolate. What if they didn't have tah in this city? I'd have brought a supply if I'd thought we would be cut off. But fortunately the citizens here were firmly addicted. The tah price in Shaskala, I learned later, is set by municipal law.

  Ran ate and drank thoughtfully. Then he put down his cup of chocolate—half drunk, the man had no appreciation—and

  said, "Theodora, have you given any thought as to how we should proceed on this information-gathering spree?"

  Something in the way he said it made me cautious. "Only the merest, vaguest outline," I said.

  "And how are you feeling this morning? Hardy and healthy?"

  I looked at him. "You want something."

  He grinned that Cormallon grin, a variety of smile that should be treated as a controlled substance. "I have an idea," he said.

  Chapter Four

  Ran's ideas always partake of a form of logic, however warped; the safety of following them, however, is something I will not speak for. Twenty minutes of arguing later found me lying on the sideboard, arms outspread, candles at each point, like the human sacrifice in some ancient folk thriller.

  "Your sorcery usually isn't so dramatic," I said.

  "Drama helps you to concentrate. It's a well-known fact. You can hear a pin drop during a good theater performance, and why? Complete concentration by the audience."

  "Let's skip the candles, then. I'm afraid I'll knock one over and burn down the house. I promise to concentrate without them."

  "Shush," said Ran. "We have to have props for this. The equations I got off the Net all use props. I can't change that variable now, I don't have Net access in this town." His voice was reasonable but distant, his focus elsewhere. He was rifling through a collection of notes he'd printed out back in the capital and taken along. "Not this one, not this one… ah. Here we are. We can use this with minor modifications. It's meant for an inanimate object, but there's no reason we can't attach it to a human being."

  "Oh, really?" I said.

  "You should be thinking of your definition. Are you thinking of your definition?"

  I muttered and tried to think about it. After a minute I turned my head and saw him with a pencil in his mouth, frowning at a piece of paper. "It's no use, Ran, what I'm really thinking is these candles feel pretty warm so close to my body, and what would happen if I kicked one—"

  "All right, all right." He got up and moved them away.

  "Here." He took the dregs of our breakfast and scattered some pieces of pellfruit at my head and my feet. "Better

  substitution anyway; a living object to assist in placing a spell on a living object."

  "I don't see why you can't place this spell on something like a piece of jewelry, anyway."

  "Tymon, we've been through that. We want a spell that will let us identify by touch the people who are most likely to give us information. If I went around touching everybody with my ring until we stumbled on the right informant, it would make people nervous. They're sure to think I'm poisoning them or laying a curse, or at best out of my mind."

  I turned over, knocking down some pellfruit, and lay on my stomach. In the morning sunlight I could see that the carpet beneath us showed an elaborate series of scenes from the life of Annurian the Rebel. I opened my mouth to point it out to Ran, since we had both known Annurian, but then I closed it again. He already thought I wasn't concentrating on business. I said, "Well, why not put this spell on yourself? I don't see why you have to drag me around touching people."

  "My dear sweetheart and quarter-wife. If I went about shaking hands with everybody in Shaskala, they would lock me up. But from a barbarian, they'll accept it. Now turn back over and concentrate on your definition."

  My definition. "Want to hear it?"

  "Please."

  "We want to identify anyone willing to speak to us about the governor and not tell anyone they spoke to us."

  From the corner of my eye I saw him shake his head. "Not good."

  "What's wrong with it?"

  "Anybody in town might be willing to speak to us. But not all those people will have relevant information."

  "Kanz," I said. "All right, wait, let me think."

  When it comes to sorcery, you have to formulate very carefully what you're trying to do. Magic, at its very best and most tame, as every good sorcerer wants it, is also at its most dumb. It does what you tell it. It does exactly what you tell it. And it does only what you tell it. I understand a lot of people have died accidental deaths down through the years because of this.

  "How about this? We don't need positive information,

  since the Governor's PR will be broadcasting that anyway; so we require someone with negative information who is willing to share it."

  "Closer."

  "What do you mean, closer?"

  "What if they have some juicy negative information they're not willing to share at this point, but we can talk them into it? We don't want to confine our subject pool too strongly."

  Wizards had never gone on like this about their subject pools in any non-Ivoran books I'd ever read. I got up on one elbow. "You know, this isn't my idea of a honeymoon, Ran."

  I'd used the Standard word. He was taking out one of his little packets of colored dust and holding it up to the light. "What's a honeymoon?"

  I told him.

  "Ah. A seravan… We don't follow that custom here with principal wives."

  Principal wives, eh? "Ran, you don't ever plan on taking on any official concubines someday, do you?"

  "Of course not, sweetheart," he said, not meeting my eyes. "The thought never entered my head." Ran knew he was dealing with a Pyrenese-Athenan prude, and was scrupulous about not offending my sensibilities. Openly.

  "Because on Pyrene we were strictly monogamous."

  "So I understand."

  "And back on Athena, a group marriage means multiple husbands as well as wives. Just a warning."

  "You want to lie down and run the spell, Theodora?"

  I lay back down and waited. Ran said after a moment, "What about your definition?"

  "Cast it, Ran, and don't press your luck."

  It was late morning, leaning toward noon, when we got outside. Oh, by the way, I was primed to meet anybody who had negative information and negative feelings about the Governor. Negative feelings would give us a lever to work with, and somebody like that would be less likely to report us if we tried to buy him off.

  So this was Shaskala, white-roofed and pure under the heavy blanket of sunlight. We were halfway up the plateau,

  but the air didn't feel any different; it was still hot, for one thing. "You know much about this place, tymon?" asked Ran, ready to fill in his barbarian partner.

  "I've heard stories about it."

  As a hitchhiker planet, Ivory was settled slowly and haphazardly, and the far corners of the world bred oddities of custom. Thanks be to the gods, they'd stuck mostly to one language, but even there the dialect differences were extreme. Shaskala was stranger than most places for several reasons. First, it was near the Andulsine border, and mixed northern and southern ways of life. Next, for reasons that would take a separate volume to explain, the Shaskala elders had made an aborted attempt to go into the business of manufacturing items from Tellys. This happened about twelve years back, but the effects are still being
felt. And last, it was the traditional trading place and dumping ground for those who dealt with the Northwest Sector.

  Tuvin Province overlaps the Sector by a six-day march. There are no paved roads. Certainly, much of what comes into Shaskala for trade is respectable stuff: Meat from the herds of Northwest ranchers, grain from the wheat that grows on the high plateau. The banks of the river below the city are lined with mills and slaughterhouses. But what Shaskala is famous for in song and story is stolen goods.

  Refugees from all over the southern continent have headed like lemmings for the Northwest Sector since the btime of the first Emperor, and any number of them have stopped in Shaskala, changed their names, and settled. Meanwhile, their brothers, sisters, and cousins have raided and thieved their way across the plateau, then come to the city to trade.

  We made our way through the Shaskala streets. A bell began to strike, deep, tolling strokes; four of them. I looked around and spotted a clock tower in the cliff face to the west. A glimpse of midnight blue and gold caught my eye next, and I pulled Ran's arm. "Look at that carpet!" The city was full of Andulsine rugs and tapestries. Ran let me drag him over to the piles of carpet under a striped awning, where a man in a checkered robe had just turned away.

  "Sir!" I called. "Gracious sir! Would you care to discuss the artistic merits of the blue-and-gold Voba pattern by the pole?"

  He turned back, and I saw a small white cup in his hand.

  "This one cannot speak with you now, I'm afraid." He lifted the cup.

  "It would only take a moment, gracious sir."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you see that it's time for tah right now? The gracious lady had better come back later." He turned and disappeared through a door in the wall at the back of the shop.

  He'd used the direct form of "you"—his way of telling the barbarian to straighten up. I made a face at Ran, and he shrugged.

  We went back to the street, where the crowds had thinned. The balconies of the buildings on both sides were now full of people in patterned Shaskala robes, drinking from small white cups. Pots of tah steamed on little metal warmers beside them. A small collection of tables in the gutter to our left now had tah cups out on them, and the servers there seemed to be the only people working in the city… no, strike that; I saw that one of the waiters was leaning against a wall, sipping idly.

  "We'd better wait a bit before we go to City Hall," said Ran. "Something tells me all the officials will be sitting around taking their tah fix."

  "We haven't had ours yet today," I pointed out.

  "True. Sir, may we?" he called to the waiter, then held out a chair for me.

  We sat and took tah cups from the communal pot. While I sipped I glanced around, then touched Ran's arm.

  "Look." I pointed to a torn poster on the wall nearby.

  "REWARD for STERETH TAR'KRIM and ANY AND ALL members of his band. 2,000 tabals in gold for any information leading to capture. Report to the Governor's office, City Hall."

  "What kind of name is that?" I asked. " 'Grain-Thief,' 'Rice-Thief?"

  "One of the Northwest Sector outlaws. One of the governor's problems, maybe. We'll see."

  "I guess we will." I sipped the tah and looked at my hand. My body didn't look any different now that a spell was on it. Sometimes I expected a glowing halo, or a troop of flying dragons, or some other explosive results.

  Sometimes I got them.

  * * *

  "Honored by this meeting," I said to the Keeper of the City Records, extending my hand.

  The Keeper of the City Records looked down at my hand as though wondering what to do with it. "The honor is mine," he said, and we finally shook.

  A courteous gentleman. When our hands touched, I was alert for any feelings or perceptions that might arise from Ran's spell. Nothing.

  I glanced at Ran and signaled with my eyes that this one wouldn't work out.

  Ran sat back and smiled at the official.

  "You said you had some courtesies you wished to observe?" said the Keeper.

  "Yes," said Ran, "our group is associated with the House of Rivis. We'd like to set up a new branch in Shaskala, and of course before we purchased the land we thought it only polite to inquire into any formalities."

  "Ah, if only all travelers were so considerate," said the Keeper. He smiled at me. "In terms of my department, our needs are small… perhaps three hundred tabals to accelerate the paperwork, and another two to handle any negative findings that might arise during the title search."

  "The gracious sir is generosity itself."

  The Keeper made a modest disclaiming motion with his hands.

  "But I wonder if we might intrude further," said Ran.

  "Please," said the Keeper, "let me know how I might serve you."

  "We're strangers to your most excellent city. Could you be our guide in the confusions of municipal order? I would hate for us to pass over anyone else who needed… formalities observed."

  "Sir, your wishes are so reasonable, it is a delight to grant them." The Keeper pulled out a piece of paper from his desk and began writing. "The first person you should see is the Director of Utilities. This is an estimate, mind you, but I doubt if he will ask for more than one hundred fifty. Then you'll want to speak to the Tax Assessor… that, I fear, will be more costly…"

  We met and promised bribes to over a dozen officials in the Shaskala City Hall. We were a popular twosome.

  Over half of them extended invitations to dinner, which we put off. Whatever their wishes were for possible alliance with our imaginary group, none of them harbored any meaningful ill-will against the Governor. "What's wrong with these people?" I asked Ran as we got back to our room and I flopped down on the cushions. "What's happened to politics when jealousy, spite, and hurt feelings are no longer part of the game?"

  "It's a good spell. I refuse to believe there's a problem with the spell."

  I considered the matter, staring at the ceiling. "Maybe we're targeting the wrong group."

  "How do you figure that?"

  "The folks at City Hall are old, entrenched politicos. They have their bribes set down to half a tabal. They know the good and the bad, they aren't shocked by anything… I don't think they really care one way or another who the governor is, or what his policies are, as long as they don't impact on their daily business."

  "So whom do you want to target?"

  "What about the women?"

  "What?"

  "The women. What if we accept some of these dinner invitations and get introduced to the women at home. I'll bet they know the inside gossip on everyone worth knowing in Shaskala, and they've probably got opinions on it, too."

  "Good point. I don't know how much they'd be keyed into local politics, though."

  "How much did your grandmother know? And she never even left Cormallon. And Kylla recognized your client."

  "She did?" His voice was startled. "When did she tell you that?"

  "She didn't have to tell me."

  He pulled off his outer robe and stepped over to the breeze from the window. Blue sky and clouds showed beyond, and the first touches of twilight. "All right, tymon, we'll try it your way."

  "Good." I rolled over on my belly. "And what about getting some evening tah around here, anyway?"

  He came over to join me. "Shops close early in this town, sweetheart. We'll have to get a few bags tomorrow morning and brew it ourselves."

  "Yeah? You know how to make your own?" He was pulling off my sandals. "Of course."

  "Come on. A day never went by in your life that someone else didn't provide for you."

  He removed my gray outer robe, folded it neatly, and dropped it on a cushion in the corner. "Where do you get these ideas about me?" he asked.

  Ran was already gone by the time I got up. He left a note—in Ivoran, my reading skills had improved—saying he'd gone to buy a supply of tah. I washed and dressed, wondering what was keeping the chambermaid.

  There was a knock on the door. "Gracious la
dy, it's me," she called. Her voice sounded different, as though she were upset. I opened the door.

  She looked right and left in the hallway and said, "Gracious lady, you'd better leave this establishment quickly. Your husband has just been arrested, and I think there's a warrant out for you, too."

  I stared. What could we possibly have done? Sorcery is illegal, of course, but nobody cares and, besides, who would know?

  "There must be some mistake," I said.

  "No doubt," she said politely, "but you'd best take what you can grab hold of swiftly and come with me. There's a side exit to a stableyard, and I can put you in the loft till dark."

  None of it made any sense, but in case it was true I decided to be discreet. I pulled on my moneybelt and took an extra overcloak and hat and followed her warily down the back stairway.

  At the entrance to the stableyard she said, "You'd better put on the hat, you're too conspicuous without it."

  I held her back. "See here, what am I supposed to do at dark?"

  Her large, brown eyes met mine. "I have a suitor in the police. He can get word to your friends if you'll tell me how."

  "My friends? What friends?"

  She took my hand. "The yard's empty now! Quick!"

  We ran to the stable. Two drivebeasts went on placidly

  munching, ignoring our entrance. She gestured to a ladder. "Come up with me," I said, "we need to talk."

  She followed me up. There was a window where I could see across the yard to the inn; a face appeared in a window on our floor, and I drew back. The chambermaid scrambled over to sit beside me in the hay.

  I asked, "You've no word on why he was arrested?"

  "Not officially… but we all assumed it was the obvious reason."

  We? "What obvious reason?"

  "Gracious lady." She smiled. "Everyone knew, soon as you checked in, that you were Cantry and he was Stereth Tar'krim. Who else travels with a barbarian wife? And arriving in the middle of the night, and not signing any names—please, we're not stupid. Not that anyone would have dreamed of giving you away."

  Stereth Tar'krim. The wanted poster I'd seen on the wall by the tah vendor's came back to me. The leader of one of the Northwest Sector outlaw bands, with an extraordinary amount of money on his head.