Mobius

by Garon Whited

  I was offered a couch to sit on, a bowl of water and a small towel, a tray of fruits, my choice of water, wine, or juice, a hot towel, a cool cloth, and was there anything we might fetch you? I put the gold on the low table, washed my hands, ran the hot towel over my face, and flicked my fingers to dismiss the wall of servants. They disappeared efficiently.

  My teeth itched. I wanted to bite something. Servants make me edgy, especially when I’m not sure if they’re paid servants or owned servants. I don’t do well with slavery. Which is fair, I suppose, since slavery doesn’t do well with me.

  Two more servants entered the room. They were big, copper-colored men wearing not very much at all. Devlin followed them in and two more members of the Chippendale guild came in after her. I didn’t know the protocol. I know Hazir genuflected, but he reported to her. I figured standing up, at least, would show some level of respect. It must have passed muster. She seated herself, surrounded by the meat, and nodded for me to sit, as well.

  “Am I to presume this meeting involves the gold on my table?”

  “I would not ask you to presume. It involves the gold on your table. Your gold, in fact.”

  “This is far more than a single minak. I shall have to see Hazir punished.”

  “Hazir did as you instructed… mahrani. I have chosen to bring more.”

  “Oh?”

  “If I calculate this properly, it should be sufficient for fifteen weeks. If it is acceptable to you, of course, for me to pay in advance.”

  Devlin’s face was a pretty one—large eyes, small nose, slightly pointed chin, wide mouth—and it wore an expression of surprise as though unused to it. She gained control almost instantly, wearing a thoughtful expression, instead.

  “I see. Are you rich and stupid, or simply rich?”

  “I fail to understand your meaning.”

  “Obviously.”

  Alan Rickman did it better, but not by much.

  “If I may request enlightenment? Mahrani?”

  “You may not. What is your purpose with my mine?”

  “To reside there.”

  “As you say, it is a hole in the ground. Why?”

  “It affords me a measure of solitude.”

  “Yet, you routinely buy supplies for half a dozen men.”

  “I am a prodigious eater.”

  “No man of your stature can eat so much. Lie again and I will see you bleed.”

  “With respect, I have not lied. You are welcome to test my ability to eat, if it pleases you.”

  She glared at me with narrowed eyes for several seconds. I waited.

  “We will let it go. I wish to know what you do in my mine.”

  “I live there.”

  “And?”

  “Is a detailed explanation of my routine activities a condition of occupancy?” I glanced at the gold bricks. She didn’t miss it. Her expression soured.

  “I suppose not. All.”

  She rose, I rose, she left, I left. It worked out.

  Down in the outer hall of the building, I asked around some more. Hazir was the only person I knew who was there when we had the negotiations. I felt I was missing something, somehow.

  Somehow. Ha. I’m an alien from another world who relies on a translation spell and barely has enough subtlety to recognize a double entendre. It’s a wonder they don’t lock me away for being weird.

  Finding Hazir was harder. He kept moving around. It didn’t help to discover there were several men in armor wearing the same yellow tabard. The designs were all in red, but I paid attention and spotted at least four different patterns. This frustrated me to the point I finally found a toilet and some privacy. After ten minutes of concentrating on Hazir and some dramatic handwaving—I didn’t want to leave marks on the walls or attract attention with chanting—I finally managed a short-range locator spell. After that, it was only a matter of walking around the building until I got a hit.

  As an aside, the hallway does go all the way around the building, and the building is, in fact, circular. Bloody huge, to boot.

  Hazir was outside, in a public square. He looked surprised to see me, but he smiled. He turned back to his prisoner, signaled the strokesman, and finished the flogging. The bleeding man was then lifted and carried away. Hazir descended from the stone platform. Another yellow tabard and a prisoner ascended on the opposite side.

  There wasn’t much of a crowd. I gathered it was a fairly common event, possibly even routine. Nearby, there were other forms of punishment—stocks were popular, with a chalked board detailing each offense. Some people were simply manacled to a wall. One was manacled by one ankle, upside-down.

  People are lightly dressed, so I assume the temperature is high. If I have my personal thermostat running, I generally don’t notice. Still, being forced to be outside on a warm, sunny day doesn’t seem too terrible. Then again, how often are they fed or watered? Are they policed to a toilet? How many warm, sunny days are they going to sit there? It might be worse than I think. I know it would be worse for me.

  Hazir approached and greeted me. He held up his right hand as though to give me a high-five and waited. I held up my hand and he pressed his palm to mine. It wasn’t a bad greeting gesture. Gauntlets wouldn’t interfere, for one thing.

  “Al. Good to see you again. And so soon?”

  “Yes. I came to pay my rent.”

  “Walk with me?”

  “Gladly.”

  “I take it your payment was well-received.”

  “She seemed happy with it. I paid in advance for several weeks.”

  “You—I beg your pardon?”

  “I gave her about fifteen minaks of gold. I should be good—what’s wrong?’

  “You… you…” he choked, and finally laughed. I waited until he could speak again. “You didn’t!”

  “I did.”

  “Al! How could… no, never mind. Did you not know she… no, did you not know you…”

  “Hazir. I don’t know what you think I don’t know. Spit it out.”

  “Were you not offering her a bribe? She would have you flogged, but you offered her a bribe to get out of it and settle the matter. She would have taken your minak of gold—or shirak of silver—and thought no more about it. Did you not know you were offering her a bribe? Or do you truly bargain so honestly?”

  “I’m not used to bribing people,” I admitted. “I thought we were negotiating the rent.”

  “And you paid it?”

  “For fifteen weeks.”

  “Oh, my friend, you are the poorer in gold, but rich with integrity.”

  “No doubt. Do you think she’ll be after me to pay the rent again when this runs out?”

  “You’ve proven you can deliver fifteen minaks of gold. She’ll want more.”

  Firebrand?

  Don’t ask me, Boss. I was barely listening. At the time, she simply seemed pleased with the arrangement, aside from wondering what the hell you’re doing in her mine. You overpaid by a huge margin, so now she’s curious. As for bribe or rent, I didn’t look at her too hard. He’s right about her wanting more, though. I heard her greedy thoughts when you paid up. She was looking forward to more. It was almost draconic, Firebrand finished.

  Fair enough.

  “I see,” I said, aloud. “I should have offered to buy the damn thing.”

  “No doubt.” Hazir guided us away from the Hall of Ruling as we walked. Two streets away, his shield-flunky opened the door to a tavern. The sign over the door was both carved and painted, a sword and tankard, which gave me a clue about the place. Hazir took his shield and sword, slinging the one on his back and hooking the other at his belt. The flunkies went elsewhere while we went in.

  Inside, everybody but the staff was armed. Some wore full armor, but most settled for armor pieces—bracers, greaves, possibly a shirt of scales, those sorts of things. Many of them were women, which surprised me. The men tended toward the heavier weapons and armor, the women toward the scale armor or armor pieces. All the we
aponry was fairly similar, consisting of straight, pointed blades, good for piercing armor, from knife-sized to medium sword lengths, up to about three feet. Again, the women tended toward the lighter weapons, probably not so good for going through armor, but much faster. I didn’t see any curved blades, nor did I see anything in Firebrand’s weight class. On the other hand, everything in the room had a hilt and pommel at least equal to Firebrand’s fanciful dragon-head. My saber, therefore, was one of the lightest and definitely the least-adorned weapon in the room. Add to this my armor and cloak in basic black and curious looks were unavoidable.

  I should pay more attention to my color scheme. I never thought basic black would stand out so much.

  Hazir acknowledged a dozen greetings before we made it to the bar. He and I seated ourselves on tall stools—chairs were not popular among these sword-wearers—and were immediately presented with large, stein-like affairs made of metal. He gulped half of his immediately, so I emulated him.

  Ghastly stuff. If I hadn’t had years of practice at choking down anything too slow to escape, I might have sprayed. As it was, I took two good swallows and pretended it was enough. It was more than enough. I wasn’t even sure what it was. I had no desire to find out, either. Whatever it was, it fermented well enough to be comparable to beer, but it put me in mind of spoiled milk. Ghastly.

  “Have you eaten?” Hazir asked.

  “No, but I’m still turning metal into local money.”

  “They’ll take it,” he assured me. “They’re used to strange coins from other cities.” He signaled the man behind the bar and ordered something. Not seeing a menu, I told the waiter to make it two.

  His comment on coins made me wonder. The lecture he gave me on money said the assembled triangle of the currency had the Sarashdan symbol on it, divided among the denominations. Did other cities mint their own money? Was there a national currency? Was there some sort of currency in the less-advanced civilizations, and did they hire warriors?

  Perhaps more important, did any of this matter? I wanted a quiet place to flush an Orb. Maybe a nice place to work while I did some other experiments. It shouldn’t be too important as long as I didn’t stick around for long.

  “I wish to talk to you,” Hazir continued, removing his helm and placing it on the counter. “I find I have only one topic of interest, however, and should not discuss it here.”

  I put my own helmet on the counter and shrugged.

  “I understand. On the other hand, I haven’t been in Sarashda for long and have questions of my own.”

  “Of course. Welcome, by the way, if no one has offered it. What can I tell you of this fair city?”

  “I was wondering about the yellow tabard and the red design. I’m not familiar with them.”

  “There are a dozen mahrani who handle the governance of the city,” he explained. “I’ve hired on with Devlin.”

  “Who do the mahrani report to?”

  “In Sarashda, the Mazhani is Eregos Gosar. He is also the manzhani to the House of Gosar. He only recently came to hold the High Seat in the city, though, when the old Mazhani—Kaltos, House of Lyskari—went on to be purified and reborn. So, if you ever have the misfortune to be brought before him, address him only as Mazhani Gosar, as befits his station in Sarashda, rather than his station in his House. He’s a bit of a stickler about it.”

  I took another drink to cover my thoughts and regretted it. New vocabulary sometimes annoys me. I have mah-rani, who run the city, as well as the Ma-zhani, who is the local prince or mayor or whatever, and the man-zhani, who is head of a noble house. Mazhani, mahrani and manzhani. I’m going to have to pay attention or I’m going to get them confused. Will it get easier as I drink more of the language in? Or will context clues keep me sorted out? Maybe I can get away with asking the locals to repeat themselves. “Sorry, it’s my helm. Did you say Mazhani or manzhani?” They sound too much alike. No doubt they’re all derived from the same root word, but it’s damned annoying! I may wind up using more familiar terms, like king, duke, mayor, and patriarch. Trouble is, I don’t know what the mahrani-mazhani-manzhani terms really mean, yet.

  Learning a new language is a pain. I really need to drink more education. I suppose it doesn’t really matter in most cases. If the person is a mah-maz-man-something, they have some sort of authority. Someone will address them and I’ll use whatever term they used. I hope that’s good enough.

  Two high-sided metal plates clunked down in front of us, along with a board bearing a loaf of bread. Hazir started in, tearing a piece of bread off with his hands and using chopsticks for the main course. I picked up mine and wished for a knife and fork. I can use chopsticks, but they aren’t convenient.

  The mess in the plate was about half meat, half vegetable, and filled the gravy. Hazir used chunks of bread to soak up gravy as he ate. I did what he did and discovered the dish, whatever it was, tasted okay. I had to dial down my taste and smell pretty far, though. Around here, they like their spices the way they like their money—lots of it. With my taste and smell suppressed, whatever was in the mug was acceptable for washing the rest down.

  When we finished, the barman placed a small board with a pair of tiny, sweet cakes before us. Hazir took one, I took the other. I found it was flavored with honey and a bit of cinnamon. The barman left us a couple of cloths and took away the rest.

  I do like a culture with dessert and napkins. There’s something civilized about it. Plumbing still gets my vote for indicator of the level of civilization, but dessert and napkins are good signs.

  I paid for both, since I liked Hazir and felt it was the least I could do for his help. As promised, the barman didn’t even blink at my metal. He weighed it and gave me change in local coins. No doubt the exchange was poor, but he couldn’t assume the purity of the metal. Maybe it was the hot meal, maybe it was the economic reality, but I didn’t mind.

  “I don’t know you.”

  Now I know why they have mirrors behind the bar—or why they should. I tilted my stool slightly to put it on one leg and pivoted it around to turn. The man behind me was in heavy armor, inscribed and inlaid with intricate designs. His tabard was a light, silky thing in green with a lot of white embroidery and a cooling spell. A heavy sword hung from his belt, of the medium-length variety. The hilt was well-worn and sculpted to resemble twining serpents with emerald eyes.

  I looked him up and down, pointedly. His expression dropped into a sneer as he looked down his nose at me. I took a mild dislike to him.

  “And I don’t know you,” I replied. His sneer devolved into a snort. He turned on his heel and stalked away. Hazir let out a breath.

  “You live dangerously.”

  “Oh? Who is he?” I asked, swinging my stool around again.

  “Tobar, of the Ak’anthai. He’s one of the First.”

  “First what?”

  “First among the warriors?”

  “Oh! I thought you mean first among his House,” I covered. “So, he’s the best?”

  “One of them,” Hazir agreed. “He’s on the Council of Nine. I think he wanted to meet you, since you wear the armor of a First.”

  He was trying to get an introduction, Firebrand informed me. He said he didn’t know you. It’s an invitation, sort of, to introduce yourself. He was being a little rude, though. You can either tell someone you don’t know them, or you can state your name and rank.

  You could have mentioned this ten seconds ago!

  Yeah, but he could have picked a fight. That would be more fun.

  My sword is more bloodthirsty than I am.

  And the “armor of a First?”

  You’re in the heavy, plated stuff.

  So it marks me as being on his level?

  I think so. He wanted to know who you are. He didn’t like a First he didn’t know. I think it’s a pecking order thing.

  Great.

  You know, picking a fight would sort it all out, Firebrand pointed out.

  First, I have nothing to pr
ove. Second, I don’t care. Third, given my current temper, if I get into a fight with him, I’ll kill him. I have not had a good week. Month. However long it’s been.

  Spoilsport.

  “Would it help if I took it off?” I asked, aloud.

  “How would anyone know you are a warrior?” Hazir asked. More quietly, he added, “You might wish to take service with a lesser House and wear their tabard, if for no other reason than to have colors other than…” he trailed off.

  “Thank you for the reminder. All right. How badly have I insulted him?” Hazir shrugged.

  “It was impolite to respond as you did, inviting him to introduce himself first. He does not know your true station. At least he didn’t challenge you. You’ve made him lose face, though, in front of everyone in earshot. He won’t forget it.” Hazir shrugged. “He’s that kind of man.”

  I muttered something about oversensitive masculine insecurities.

  “Should I go over and introduce myself?” I finished.

  “It will be seen as weakness.”

  “Yeah, but is it worth it?”

  Hazir almost replied, checked himself, and considered. No doubt he was considering how my supposed situation might be affected.

  “I don’t think so,” he decided, finally. “Try to be polite and respectful in the future and he might choose to ignore it with no more than some minor vindictiveness.”

  “I doubt I’ll have occasion.”

  “No? Then you are not coming to the warmeet?”

  “You’re having a war?”

  “No, the warmeet.”

  Firebrand?

  It’s a meeting of warriors. He’s thinking of a lot of men beating on each other. Reminds me of your lunatics in armor.

  Well, damn.

  “Oh, the local warrior-work. When is it?”

  “In Sarashda, we have one on the third day of the week.”

  “All day?”

  “Yes, of course. There are too many of us to handle quickly.”

  “It is a large city,” I agreed. “Maybe you should show me where. I wouldn’t want to get lost.”

  Hazir swept his gaze across the room. A number of people dropped their eyes. He didn’t like it, for some reason.