The Wicked and the Witless coaaod-5

by Hugh Cook

  'What, then, is the proper purpose of the Art?' said Sarazin.

  To read character,' said Madam Ix, 'to commune with the spirits, to speak with the dead, to tell the past and future both. To deal with the higher things and the greater purposes. Not to find lost boys, lost dogs or wayward debtors.' 'I tell you,' said Sarazin, 'Lod owes me no money.'

  'So you have said already,' said Madam Ix. 'But he owes others. If he's missing I have no doubt he's missing from choice. I vum he's lying low while his creditors hunt him. Now tell me, young Sarazin, before you go – have you seen Madam Sosostris yet?'

  'No,' said Sarazin. 'I went there with Lod, but she was sick so we couldn't get in.'

  'You must go again,' said Madam Ix, 'for I hear my col- league Sosostris has discovered a new book of prophecy.' 'I've no interest in prophecy,' said Sarazin.

  This book concerns a prince. A prince by name of Watashi.'

  Watashi?' said Sarazin. That is an ill name!' Indeed it was, for it meant, amongst other things, fear. Blood. And death. It was, for some reason, strangely familiar. Why? After a moment's thought Sarazin said: 'An ill name, yes, and the one you claimed that I myself would bear.'

  'So I did!' said Madam Ix, as if the thought had just occurred to her. 'I saw war, and saw you yourself named for war. Why, this is a strange coincidence!'

  'I hope this book's no forgery cooked up by grasping fortune tellers to gull a client,' said Sarazin, who also thought the coincidence strange.

  "No, no, it's no forgery,' said Ix. You'd see that in a moment. This is a text of great antiquity. Madam Sosostris claims the book most interesting. She thinks it may have a bearing on… on the life of a certain person whom politics makes it dangerous to name.'

  Ancient books, prophecies, a promise of politics – it made a most enticing mix.

  'Once I've found Lod, I'll look into it,' said Sarazin. 'But I don't have the time right now.'

  "There's one more thing you should know,' said Ix. 'Madam Sosostris has a new assistant. A female beauty from the Rice Empire. Her name is Jaluba.' Electrifying news!

  But Sarazin, fearing interest on his part would be communicated from Ix to Sosostris and would raise the price of admission, pretended a complete lack of interest.

  Well,' said he, working so hard on the business of acting casual that his hands trembled, I'll look into that, too, in due course. But for now, I have to go hunting for Lod.'

  However, on escaping into the street Sarazin went directly to the Sosostris lair. The hunt for Lod could wait. Jaluba was in town! Melon-fleshed Jaluba, she of the scented omphalos, the ticklish armpits. Mistress of the raptures, the joys, the delights.

  On his way to see Sosostris (and Jaluba) Sarazin dreamt dreams and saw visions. But his prospects for converting these dreams and visions to reality fell sharply when the gateman guarding the Sosostris lair asked him a ridiculous price for admission alone.

  'Once you get the price down to something reasonable,' said Sarazin, I'll think about it.' But the gateman proved reluctant to bargain.

  'I'll wait for you to see reason,' said Sarazin, 'I'm in no hurry.'

  And wait he did, drawing his good sword Onslaught to practise his weapon-work. Though the sky was clouding over, it was still hot; in fact, though the weather promised rain, this was the hottest day Sarazin had endured in Selzirk. He was soon sweating profusely.

  A small boy challenged him with a stick, and Sarazin indulged him by engaging in a slow-motion duel. While he was amusing himself thus, a palankeen came by. It halted, and a woman dismounted. Sarazin paid her no attention till she spoke to him. 'Do you think it will rain?' she said.

  Sarazin turned to examine the body which went with the voice, and found himself face to face with a veiled matron awash with scent. The child who had been duelling with Sarazin poked him in the gut with his stick and said 'Die!' Sarazin brushed the stick away, said 'Vanish!' in a tone which commanded instant obedience, then said: 'Madam Sosostris?'

  'Oh no, oh no,' said the perfume-drenched matron, with a girlish giggle which ill befitted her years. 'I am Mistress Turbothot. I have an audience with Sosostris, though. And you?' 'I'm just leaving,' said Sarazin.

  The Turbothot woman was obviously rich. Her silks, her rings and her gold-braided shoes told him that. The waiting palankeen, of course, also spoke of wealth. Whatever plans Madam Sosostris might have for Sean Sarazin, he was unlikely to command her attention when she had a client so wealthy waiting for her services.

  Wait, wait, don't go!' said Mistress Turbothot, as Sarazin turned to go. 'Or, if you must, tell me at least this – who are you, darling boy?'

  'I am no boy but a warrior,' said he. 'I am Sean Kelebes Sarazin, son of the kingmaker Farfalla.' 'Oh, a prince!' she said, in tones of unabashed admiration.

  While Sarazin liked the title, he saw no point in smallchat with a woman older than his mother and twice the weight, so without further ado he departed for Jone to search for Lod amongst the streets of the poor and the ruthless.

  Now that the prospect of an immediate interview with Jaluba had vanished, Sarazin finally began to think. And realised he had indeed a lot to think about. Obviously, Ix and Sosostris already knew of his lust for Jaluba. The wench must have told them her past. But this was a strange coincidence, was it not? -Too much of a coincidence. -It must be conspiracy!

  Madam Ix and Madam Sosostris must have learnt Sarazin's past from Lod – who had, after all, introduced Sarazin to these practitioners of the Art. They must have sent all the way to Voice for Jaluba. Hoping for – for what? Money?

  – Perhaps Lod told them I'm rich. Perhaps he gulled them completely. As a joke, perhaps.

  – Or it could be that this is political. Perhaps they think I've influence over my mother.

  Either way, the really intelligent thing would be for Sarazin to forget about Jaluba. Because, one way or another, he would surely be made to pay heavily for the privilege of bedding the woman. Sarazin knew this. But could not help himself. – The world would be well lost for such a woman.

  Then Sarazin reminded himself that he was wrong to be thinking thus, for he was in love with a princess. Yes, his true love was Amantha of Chenameg, who came complete with a kingdom, whereas Jaluba owned little more than a giggle.

  Sarazin diligently conjured with visions of Amantha (and of power, of fame, of fortune) as he strode on towards Jone.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Benthorn: Sarazin's half-brother, son of Fox and Bizzie. The owner-operator of a dung cart who has an uncom- monly keen interest in the Constitution and other matters political.

  In Jone's bars and taverns, in brothels and wharfside gambling pits, Sarazin saw no sign of Lod. But he did meet several people whom Lod would usually have seen on a typical visit to the quarter. All averred that Lod had certainly not been in Jone that day. By evening, Sarazin was thoroughly frustrated. Lod was the key to his life. Lod alone would know how he should pursue Amantha now that the lady had left Selzirk. Should he write her letters, send her poems? Or saddle a horse and ride to Chenameg in person?

  Sarazin also believed Lod might also be able to help him work out a strategy for securing admission to Jaluba's charms without paying exorbitant amounts of money to Madam Sosostris. Yet he had no idea where he should look next.

  On his way home, Sarazin had to pass through Libernek Square, the site of the Voat Library where the old man Elkin worked as Archivist. Sarazin wondered if his tutor could help him. Epelthin Elkin had a very organised intel- lect. Any problem discussed with him automatically became clearer, even if it did not necessarily become soluble.

  Without further ado, Sarazin invited himself into the library and was shortly discussing his woes with the elderly scholar. Who told him, of course, what he would have been told by Thodric Jarl, or Bizzie, or his father or mother. Namely: to go home, get to bed, and forget Amantha and Jaluba both. And not to waste so much as another dorth on fortune-tellers!

  'Fine advice!' said Sarazin, unimpressed by Elkin's litt
le homily. 'But it hardly helps me find Lod.'

  'You want Lod, do you?' said Elkin, rummaging around for a map. 'Very well,' he said, one map-stabbing finger striking. This is Selzirk. And this?' The Velvet River, of course,' said Sarazin.

  'Where, no doubt, you'll find young Lod,' said Elkin maliciously. 'Floating downstream with his throat cut.' 'Some help you've been!' said Sarazin, rising to go.

  Elkin showed him to the door. The night was dark and clouded, and Sarazin would not be surprised if the weather broke on the morrow. He was weary, and could smell his own body. He wanted a wash. Then bed. Sleep. Dreams. It had been a long, long day.

  'Well,' said Sarazin, 'I'll tell you this, I wouldn't pay much for your advice.'

  You're not being asked to,' said Elkin. 'But-' He broke off. Peered into the dark, suddenly intent. Then said, in a loud voice: You! Yes, you! Come here!'

  Someone came forward into the lamplight spilling from the library's open door. It was Benthorn.

  What were you doing lurking around out there?' said Elkin.

  'Just waiting for Sarazin,' said Benthorn. 'I didn't want to disturb you.' You waited all this time?' said Elkin. 'Why?' 'Oh, it's nothing, nothing, just a personal thing.' 'Come inside,' said Elkin. 'Sorry,' said Benthorn, "but I don't have time.'

  'All night to play shadows but not a moment to spare for me? Don't give me that nonsense. Inside!'

  Reluctantly, Benthorn came into the library, bringing with him a pervasive smell of dung. Out in the streets his condition could pass without notice, since there were so many stinks and smells in Selzirk. But in enclosed spaces he was positively offensive.

  'Did you know Benthorn was waiting for you?' said Elkin. 'No,' said Sarazin. 'So how did he know you were here?' said Elkin. Why, he

  … I… I don't know…' 'Is he psychic?' said Elkin.

  'My best beloved Benthorn?' said Sarazin, looking his half-brother in the face. Why, no, I don't think so.' Therefore what follows?'

  'He… why… perhaps he was following me.' 'Perhaps? Of course! What do you want with Sean Sarazin, boy? Why were you following him? Speak!' Benthorn said:

  'I haven't been following Sarazin, but I have been looking for him. I've been hunting for him all over Selzirk. At last I thought of the library here. A servant departing told me he was within. I did not care to disturb him, for my news is for his ears, not all ears.' 'Speak!' said Elkin. Benthorn was silent.

  'I've had a long day,' said Sarazin. 'I'm tired, I want to go to bed. I've no time for plots, plans, conspiracies or revela- tions. If my best beloved Benthorn wishes to say something unfit for Elkin's ears them I'm in no mood to hear it.'

  Whereupon Benthorn blurted out the truth. Tarkal had kidnapped Lod. Servants had seen Lod – dragged and unconscious – being bundled on to one of the baggage wagons which were going east to Chenameg with the embassy.

  'He'll likely be killed!' said Sarazin in alarm. 'He told me often that Tarkal meant to kill him.'

  "Now, now,' said Elkin, 'don't over-react. I've heard myself that King Lyra wants Lod back in Chenameg. This is a small city, you know. News travels. Doubtless Tarkal's used methods somewhat underhand simply to get the young scallyway to conform to his father's wishes. We've no proof that murder comes into it.'

  "No proof!' said Sarazin. What then is proof? A corpse? Lod's been kidnapped! We must turn out the Watch!'

  You cannot,' said Elkin. There is such a thing as diplomatic immunity. Have you never heard of that?'

  'It gives no licence for kidnapping,' said Sarazin. We can still rescue Lod, even if we cannot prosecute Tarkal.'

  We can do neither legally,' said Benthorn, 'for the law of Selzirk is specific. No person can move against an embassy on any provocation without prior written per- mission from the kingmaker.'

  'But that's absurd!' cried Sarazin. 'My mother's gone to Androlmarphos. Tarkal goes east, she goes west – the thing's impossible.'

  'By law, yes,' said Benthom. 'But there is another way. I've mustered some friends, good people who owe all manner of debts. We're ready to ride in pursuit. Do you join us?' 'Of course he won't!' said Elkin. But Sarazin said: They left at noon. Could we possibly catch them?'

  "My informants say the embassy will have halted for the night at the village of Smork,' said Benthom. "We can be there long before dawn. We can win Lod's freedom tonight. With swords.' 'Good,' said Sarazin, rising to leave. Then let's be gone.' Elkin caught hold of him.

  'Are you both mad?' said Elkin. You're not going anywhere!' 'Are you threatening us?' said Sarazin.

  There are ways of handling this old man if he's a danger to us,' said Benthorn.

  In the company of youths so reckless and ruthless,' said Elkin, 'I feel like a man environed with dragons. Yet speak I must, regardless of fear. To rush off blindly-'

  This has nothing to do with you!' said Sarazin, giving way to his anger. 'Stay out of it, or you'll get hurt. Badly!'

  No sooner had he spoken than his body began to grow heavy. He could not see properly. Mists of darkness veiled his eyes, as if the world had become a dream. A millstone was crushing his chest. In panic he kicked and flailed. But his limbs refused him obedience. Then, slowly, the darkness cleared. 'How do you feel?' said Elkin.

  'I don't know,' said Sarazin, surprised to find himself on the floor. He got up, slowly. 'I had – I had some kind of turn. I almost felt as if I was going to pass out.'

  You did,' said Elkin. You were unconscious long enough for me to have boiled an egg, had I been so inclined.'

  The epilepsy!' said Benthorn, in dread. That's what it is! The epilepsy!' T)on't look so scared,' said Elkin. If he did have a touch of the epilepsy, that's nothing to worry about. It's not contagious.' 'But it is!' said Benthorn. 'Fearfully so!'

  Benthorn, like most people in Selzirk, believed the epilepsy to be a disease akin to that which sets mad dogs on the growl in the streets with jaws foaming. But Elkin knew better, and managed to assuage Benthorn's fears. Slightly.

  'I hope it wasn't the epilepsy,' said Sarazin, not one jot reassured himself. Seeking a more favourable verdict, he said: 'Perhaps it was a stroke. Or a heart attack.'

  "You're too young for strokes or heart attacks,' said Elkin. Maybe it's just something you ate. I wouldn't bother about it. Off you go!'

  Then – for Sarazin, at least – the world dimmed again. And when it cleared he found himself leaning against the wall. Legs weak, ears ringing, chest tight.

  'Perhaps I'd better sit down for a bit,' said Sarazin, for he was trembling, his heart was tottering, and there was sweat cold on his brow. He was afraid he was truly having a heart attack. It no longer seemed so preferable to epilepsy. 'On your bike!' said Elkin.

  Or, to quote him in the Galish he used: 'Sam tarn jertotham.' Meaning, literally, 'ride quick this stolen camel'. 'Where's Benthorn?' said Sarazin. Your brother's waiting for you out in the street.'

  'How did he get out there? He was standing here just a moment ago. Did I – did I pass out again?'

  You did,' said Elkin. If you have another such turn it may be the death of you, particularly if you're riding a horse at the time. But that's your problem, not mine.'

  With that, Elkin showed Sarazin out to the street, where Benthorn was indeed waiting. 'Are you all right?' said Benthorn. 'I think so,' said Sarazin. Then let's be going,' said his brother.

  And off they went. Sarazin, though unsteady on his feet, durst not complain, lest complaint be taken as proof positive of cowardice.

  At Farfalla's palace, half a dozen of Benthorn's friends were waiting, already armed, saddled up and ready to go. It was dark, and Sarazin was introduced to none of them. Yet one betrayed himself by his voice. Qid! Yes, Qid, the man of the Watch who had earlier tried to tangle Sarazin in conspiracy.

  A horse was brought for Sarazin and he mounted up. Then they were challenged by a voice from the dark: What's going on here?'

  At first, Sarazin thought the voice belonged to Bizzie's husband, Hof-Gof. Then, startled, realised it wa
s Fox who was speaking. Already, Benthorn was explaining. About Tarkal, Lod, Smork. Fox heard him out, then said: You can't do this! It's lunacy! Sarazin! Where are you?' 'Here,' said Sarazin. 'Get off that horse!' said Fox.

  'I ride for my friend and my honour,' said Sarazin. 'I'll not be turned from this venture.'

  Then Fox tried to use force, but some of Benthorn's men overpowered him before he could grapple with Sarazin. What shall we do with him?' said Qid. TCill him,' said Benthorn, curtly. "No!' cried Sarazin.

  He spoke without thought. Fox was a peasant, true, a breeder of bastards, a political madman and a fool to boot. But Fox was still his father.

  'Sarazin, be reasonable,' said Benthorn. 'He's a danger to us. There's nine of us here and he's but one. What if he betrays us to the law?'

  'Let him ride with us,' said Sarazin. That then makes him as guilty as us.'

  'A pretty thought but a foolish one,' said Benthorn. 'He needs but shout once as we exit the gates to doom us all dead.'

  'His word will bind him,' said Sarazin. 'Let him swear himself to our cause. If he won't, why, then kill away. But if you'll not give him the chance then my sword will claim you before yours claims his.'

  So saying, Sarazin drew his stout blade Onslaught, hoping he would be able to tell Benthorn from his comrades in the dark if it came to a matter of killing.

  'I don't know about this,' said Benthorn. 'Can we trust Fox if he gives his word?' 'Fox,' said Qid, impatiently, 'what say you?'

  'I still say you're all mad,' said Fox. Then, to Sarazin's surprise, his father laughed, and said: 'But something in your madness makes me glad. As a sword against princes – yes, if I must die, that's a good way to go. I'll ride with you tonight, aye, ride hard, then fight by your side when we get to Smork.'

  'Fox has a reputation for honour,' said Qid. 'I trust him to live to his word. Get him a horse. Have we spare weapons? Good! Give him one…'