Oracle of Delphi

by James Gurley

  His upbringing had left little time for intimate contact with girls his own age. The older girls were readying for marriage and the younger ones were interested only in girl’s games. He had had no girlfriend, no one he had even cared for, other than his stepsister. Even the schools were segregated by sex. He was out of his element. He needed someone to talk to, someone his own age who professed a broader knowledge about women. He would have to seek out Janith Hokum. Speaking to Janith would also allow him to ask discretely if the rebels were responsible for the attacks on the king. He would have to be careful not to arouse their suspicions. They would of course ask him for information. He would have to be careful with what information he supplied them. The last thing he needed was an arrest for treason to the king.

  Medico Jesic kept Tad in hospital for two more days until the last traces of his fever had abated. Tad was concerned that Sira did not return, but assumed her studies took all her time. On the last day, Simios brought King Karal, who stood quietly and smiled from across the room, but would approach no closer than several meters.

  “Have you forgotten me already?” Tad chided.

  The king pointed to the open window and frowned.

  “Oh, I see,” Tad replied. “You are frightened of the window. I can’t blame you after all you’ve been through.”

  Tad had already packed his few things. “Here. Help me with this satchel and we shall return to your rooms.”

  King Karal eagerly grabbed up the satchel of clothes and danced to the door.

  “He has missed you,” Simios said. “He has done nothing but mope about in his rooms. The guards would not let him venture this far. I sneaked him away.”

  As Tad passed Simios, Simios drew in his breath at the sight of Tad’s scarred back, visible beneath his loose tunic. “Oh, my,” he whipsered.

  “The Medico says it will mostly heal after a while. There will be some scarring, of course.”

  “You were very lucky,” Simios replied, walking beside Tad.

  “A Wraith warned me of the attack and shielded us from the full fury of the blast.”

  Simios stopped walking and stared at Tad. “A Wraith?”

  Tad stopped and turned to face the Plin. He nodded. “Yes. Was he one of yours?”

  Simios’s face took on a stern demeanor. “I do not use Wraiths. Watchers do not tolerate them. Mages do, but I know of no Mage who would send a Wraith to aid you. How would he know of such an attack?”

  This had concerned Tad also. He was puzzled. “Then who?”

  Simios resumed walking but shook his head. “I do not know. As I said, it is a mystery.”

  “There are too many mysteries around here, if you ask me,” Tad whispered, catching up to King Karal, who was dancing impatiently ahead of them, eager to return to his rooms.

  In Tad’s room, Simios confided in him. “One fear I have is that these attacks are meant for you and not the king.”

  This floored Tad. “Me? Who would, want to kill me?” This was something he had not even considered, automatically assuming that the intended target was the king.

  “I do not know. It is just an idea. There were no attacks on the king until your arrival.” He shrugged and threw up his hands. “It could be coincidence and nothing more.”

  King Karal watched the two conversing with growing concern on his face. “Tad in danger?” he asked.

  “No, Your Highness. I think not, but we shall be more careful in the future.”

  The king smiled. “Hungry now.”

  Simios took this as a reason to leave. “I will go now. Keep a careful eye out for both of you. If you have any problems, contact me.” He stopped a moment before continuing. “Has Saxtos contacted you?”

  “Yes. He wants to be my friend.”

  Simios grimaced. “Trust him little. He is Akalah’s left hand.”

  Tad cocked his head. “And his right hand?”

  “His Saddir temptress. Trust her not at all.”

  “Who do I trust? You?”

  Simios smiled. “Who can say? Trust mostly in your instincts.”

  With that, Simios simply vanished, leaving Tad and King Karal alone in the room. The king was delighted at the act of magic, clapping and laughing. Tad smiled, glad for Simios’s reminder that even Watchers shared some Mage abilities, the art of invisibility, or more accurately, the ability to misdirect the viewer’s eyes. Only after he had vanished did Tad remember that he wanted to ask Simios if he had heard of Talidorus Murse, the name the Wraith had used while living.

  “Let’s go eat, shall we?” Tad suggested to his young ward.

  Taking the king by the hand, Tad led him to the king’s private rooms, where a sumptuous meal awaited them already set out on the table. The hearty aroma of roasted meats, savory soups and freshly baked bread reminded him how much he had detested the nutritious but tasteless food served in the hospital. He made a plate for the king, choosing many vegetables the king usually would not eat and was delighted when he ate all of it without complaint. After the initial pangs of hunger caused by the smell of food, Tad realized that his stomach ached from all the intrigue and from his conversation with Simios. He chose only a piece of roasted duck and hot bread with butter and consumed it without tasting it, chewing slowly as his thoughts ran rampant in his head.

  He watched the king, trying to think of him as ruler of the land as others may see him, rather than a young boy, but could not. What heartless cruelty could drive someone to harm a child? Could anyone rule wisely and benevolently who could do such a dastardly thing? Tad thought not. It was his duty not only to save the king but also to uncover the power behind the assassination attempts. Discarding his half-eaten piece of fowl, he waited on the king to finish his meal, and then helped him to bathe and dress for bed.

  “Tad stay?” King Karal asked.

  Tad had made up his mind. He pulled the covers up to the king’s chin. “No, I must see someone. I will instruct the guards to admit no one. You will be safe.” He hoped he was right.

  He shuttered the windows, locking them from the inside. Then he gathered his cloak and, as he quietly shut the door behind him, saw the king’s bright eyes staring at him with concern from across the room. Outside, he spoke to the two guards.

  “Allow no one to enter this room.”

  The older guard, a Saddir, surprised Tad by saluting. “As you will, Tushima,” he replied.

  Tad looked at him a moment, and then nodded curtly before walking away. Word must have spread among the Saddir of his deeds. He felt certain the king would be safe this night, at least.

  14

  BLACK WARRENS

  Without gaslights, the maze of streets and alleyways of the Warrens was pitch-black. The occasional dim flickering light of a tavern or home filtered through broken shutters or open doors, threw bars or irregular pools of light on the uneven cobblestones, highlighting black puddles of filthy water. Treading around these carefully, Tad found the building to which Janith had taken him. He tapped on the door timidly. It opened a sliver with a shrill screech of warped wood. A face, unrecognizable in the shadows, peered into the night.

  “It’s your Watcher friend lad, Janith,” the man called into the room, stepping back into the deep shadows.

  Tad stepped in, shutting the door quickly behind him.

  “Tad, my lad!” Janith called, rushing over and slapping Tad on the back, failing to see Tad wince in pain. “Good to see you again.”

  “You, too,” Tad replied, his back still stinging from the blow.

  “You have made a name for yourself in the court. They try to keep secrets, but we hear all.”

  Tad shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  Janith attempted to slap him on the back a second time, but this time Tad pulled away. “Just lucky! Listen to his modesty. Saves the king twice, he does.” Janith guided him to a pool of light in the middle of the room. Several men stood or sat around a table in its center. He recognized redheaded Cyrin and dark-haired Snark standing at the edge o
f the shadows, as well as the tall, gaunt Valcor the rebel leader sitting in a large armchair, his booted feet resting on the table.

  “Ah, Tad,” Valcor said. “Paying us a social call?” He nodded to an empty chair.

  “Sort of,” Tad answered, carefully sitting down. He felt the cold, hard eyes of those gathered there staring at him. “I came seeking Janith for a night on the town. I am weary of the court. You heard of the assassination attempts, I take it?”

  Valcor nodded, grinning. “You want to know if we are responsible,” he said, using his hand to indicate everyone at the table.

  “Well, kind of … I mean …” he stammered in embarrassment at being so obvious to Valcor.

  “We would not kill the king. He is Terran and an Oracle. We would not kill you, either. You are also a Terran. We would gladly remove the king from power, as well as the Council that rules by unjustly usurping the king’s name, but we are few in number and amuse ourselves by stealing secrets, fostering discontent and endlessly organizing. We do not have the capability, yet, to have made these attempts.”

  Tad did not know whether to believe him or not, but Valcor spoke as if he meant his words. Tad could sense no guile in him. He decided that the rebel leader spoke truthfully.

  “If this is so, who, then, could do this?”

  “The Council would not be above such a thing, but I doubt even Akalah could persuade all of them to act as one. Their interests are too varied.” Valcor leaned forward and peered at Tad, squinting as he did so. “There have been rumors of a group, very dark and very well hidden, that would wrest power from the king and use it to weaken Terrans—the Blood Cabal.” He threw up his hands. “So far, we have learned nothing of them.” he grinned and looked around. “One of them could be here in this room with us right now.”

  The low mumbles of background conversation stopped. The room was as silent and cold as the predawn hour. Finally, someone chuckled to break the chill.

  “He’s right of course,” Valcor said of the unknown chuckler. “Whoever wants the king dead is not Terran, I suspect.”

  “Then who? What race would benefit?”

  Valcor shrugged. “Surely you are in a better position to enlighten us on that subject. Are there not court intrigues enough surrounding you?”

  Tad’s face flushed red. “Perhaps I am not sophisticated enough to follow such intrigues. They are above me.”

  “I doubt that. You seem bright enough to me. I suspect you came here searching for answers rather than friend Janith.”

  Tad grinned. “Both perhaps.”

  “There is danger for you, lad. It would be best if you left the king’s side. I can find work for you here—honest work, if you prefer. We can sniff out some secrets, but other doors remain closed to us. What lies behind them, we do not know.”

  “The Council is convinced you rebels are responsible. They will likely take action against you soon.”

  Valcor shrugged. “They don’t know who we are. They will speak boldly and make much noise, but in the end they will use us as an excuse to seize more power in the king’s name and the people, sheep all, will praise them for it.”

  Tad was aghast at Valcor’s attitude. “They will search you out.”

  Valcor nodded. “Perhaps, but to find us too quickly would eliminate the need for tighter security. I rather think they will make a diligent but slow search, first using the opportunity to remove personal obstacles to their schemes. This is where you should be wary. The Council is jealous of its young Oracle King, and it seems that you and the king have become best of friends. Lord Saxtos plays the fool and the friend equally, but he is neither. He is not a man to be trusted. His allegiance is with Lord Akalah.”

  This was Tad’s opinion of Lord Saxtos also, but he said nothing.

  “We have heard your name bandied about on the street many times. It seems you have quickly made your mark here in Delphi.”

  “I seek no fame,” Tad protested.

  “Fame seeks you out, it seems. This fame can help or hinder. You walk a fine line. Do not let your newfound fame swell your head lest someone tries to take it.” He made a cutting motion across his neck with his hand.

  Upon seeing Tad’s look of desperation, Valcor laughed.

  “We will be watching out for you, never fear. Now, why don’t you and Janith go enjoy the evening?”

  Scraping his boot heels across the tabletop and plopping them on the floor, Valcor rose, stretched as if he had been sitting too long, and strode into the shadows. From the darkness, he said, “I see great things for you Tad de Silva.”

  Janith punched him on the shoulder. “Valcor likes you. Come on, it’s time I introduced you to the ladies.”

  Tad could not help but notice the sour looks he received from Cyrin and Snark as Janith put an arm about his shoulder and walked him out the door. Outside, Janith said, “First, we’ll have a pint of bitters at the Slovenly Mutt; then a bite to eat at the Headers Club. They have the best roasted drissel meat in all the Warrens, which isn’t saying much, but the price is right.”

  Having eaten little earlier, Tad found his stomach growling at the prospect of a good meal. “Sounds good,” he answered.

  The Warrens, with little light showing, appeared shut down tight for the night, but Tad soon discovered that this was not so, merely an image used to keep a low profile. The main streets, lined with businesses, were quiet, but as they walked deeper into the maze of alleys, more people emerged from the shadows. Couples cuddled in doorways, drunks laughed and shared bottles beneath balconies, and gamblers tossed dice at any spot level enough and large enough for a crowd. Several women, painted with rouge and wearing little clothing, stood in doorways and cooed luridly to passersby. Janith ignored most, but suddenly swerved and pulled Tad into an open door, brushing past a harlot barely past her mid teens.

  “Here we are,” he said.

  There was no sign over the door or any other way to mark this particular doorway from any of a dozen others they had passed along the alley, but once inside, it became obvious people had no difficulty in locating it. There were many people present, crowding the narrow corridor. Through a series of twisting corridors and up and down flights of rickety stairs they walked, the din of revelers growing louder each minute. At last, they entered a large room through a swinging half door.

  At least two score people stood or sat on stools in a space barely large enough to accommodate half that number. A long plank bar along one wall provided a space to lean and drink. A large man with an enormous black moustache and a scar across one eye poured ale from a barrel and a buxom young girl forced her way through the throng expertly holding a tray of glasses above her head. Janith waved to the girl, who winked back. He led Tad to a narrow rear door.

  “Not everyone gets to enter here,” he said with a smile.

  Inside, the small room was less crowded, but no less cramped. Only four or five men sat around a large table that took up most of the room. Janith grabbed an empty chair and sat down. Tad did the same. The girl entered a few moments later with a pitcher of ale and two glasses. The others already had glasses sitting in front of them. Janith filled his and Tad’s glass and passed the pitcher to a dour looking man to his left. They waited until everyone had refilled his glass before one man raised his glass.

  “To a new day,” he said.

  “Hear, hear!” another answered.

  Tad took a tentative sip of the brown ale. It was bitter but not strong. He swallowed and took a bigger sip.

  “Not bad, eh?” Janith said.

  “It’s not as strong as some wine I’ve tasted.”

  One old man laughed. “Wait until you’ve downed a pitcher or two and you’ll sing a different tune as you drain your bladder.”

  Everyone laughed at his joke.

  Janith waved his glass at the men. “These men are the heart and soul of the revolution. They go out among the people, listen, and bring back what they hear. Without them, we would be deaf and blind.”


  “Aye, and we work cheap—for a pitcher of ale,” one man said. He wore a knitted cap that had seen many years of wear and few washings. He wore it low over one ear that looked ragged at the edges. Tad tried not to stare at the man for fear of offending him.

  “Aren’t you afraid the Council can find you?” Tad asked, shocked at his cavalier attitude.

  “Before any Palace Guard or Constable could get within five blocks of this place, we would know about it,” the man bragged. “All they would find is empty glasses.”

  “Aye, no half empty ones either,” another added.

  Laughter erupted from around the table.

  “Gentlemen, this is Tad de Silva,” Janith said.

  The men eyed him closely. One man, bearing a bright red scar across his right cheek, nodded. “Well done, lad. Long live the king.”

  Tad felt a moment of confusion. “I thought you wanted to bring down the government.”

  “We do, lad, but the king is Terran and rules by right of birth. The Council is the dark fist behind the throne. It is them we wish to remove from power and put a representative body in their place, aiding the king.”

  Another spoke up. “We Terrans have got to stick together.”

  “Aye,” they all agreed.

  “Ask it lad,” the man with the knitted cap said.

  Tad glanced away. “Ask what?”

  “About me ear. I seen you eyeing it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tad stammered. “I tired not to stare.”

  “It’s okay, lad. It’s not that it was such a pretty ear to begin with.” He pulled off his cap. The top and one edge of his ear were missing, sliced cleanly as if by a sharp knife. The wound had scarred and puckered the flesh. “A snitch sliced it off during a bar brawl when I punched him in his fat stomach. Two of his friends held me down. They laughed as he whacked it off.”

  “A snitch? Why did you punch him?”

  The man chuckled. “A government spy. He called me a Warren Rat in a tavern. I had imbibed a few cups and was just drunk enough to feel invincible. I took offense at his attitude. I punched; he sliced. Bloody Geck got the best of the deal.” He rubbed his ear.