‘That’s worth a quarter of a point right there.’
‘I thought so myself, your Highness.’ Vetter laughed suddenly. ‘Oh, one other thing, Prince Kheldar. We have this investment opportunity.’
‘Oh?’
‘Actually, it’s more in the nature of a charitable contribution.’
‘I gave at the office,’ Silk said with an absolutely straight face. Then his nose twitched slightly. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to hear about it, though, I guess.’
‘There’s a very grubby little alchemist at the university,’ Vetter explained. ‘He absolutely swears that he can turn brass into gold.’
‘Well, now.’ Silk’s eyes brightened.
Vetter held up a cautioning hand. ‘The cost, however, is prohibitive at this time. It doesn’t make much sense to spend two pieces of gold to get back one.’
‘No, I wouldn’t say so.’
‘The little clubfoot maintains that he can reduce the cost, though. He’s been approaching every businessman in Melcene about the project. He needs a rich patron to underwrite the cost of his experiments.’
‘Did you look into the matter at all?’
‘Of course. Unless he’s a very skilled trickster, it appears that he actually can turn brass into gold. He has a rather peculiar reputation. They say that he’s been around for centuries. He’s got a bad temper and he smells awful—the chemicals he uses, I understand.’
Belgarath’s eyes suddenly went very wide, ‘What did you call him?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t believe I mentioned his name, Ancient One,’ Vetter replied. ‘He’s called Senji.’
‘I don’t mean his name. Describe him.’
‘He’s short and mostly bald. He wears a beard—though most of his whiskers have been singed off. Sometimes his experiments go awry, and there have been explosions. Oh, and he has a clubfoot—the left one, I believe.’
‘That’s it!’ Belgarath exclaimed, snapping his fingers.
‘Don’t be cryptic, father,’ Polgara said primly.
‘The prophecy told Garion that somebody was going to say something to us in passing today that was very important. This is it.’
‘I don’t quite—’
‘At Ashaba, Cyradis told us to seek out the clubfooted one because he’d help us in our search.’
‘There are many men with clubfeet in the world, father.’
‘I know, but the prophecy went out of its way to introduce this one.’
‘Introduce?’
‘Maybe that’s the wrong word, but you know what I mean.’
‘It does sort of fit, Pol,’ Beldin said. ‘As I remember, we were talking about the Ashabine Oracles when Cyradis told us about this clubfoot. She said that Zandramas has one uncut copy, Nahaz has another, and that this clubfoot has the third—he knows where it is.’
‘It’s pretty thin, Belgarath,’ Durnik said dubiously.
‘We’ve got time enough to chase it down,’ the old man replied. ‘We can’t go anywhere until we find out where Zandramas is going anyway.’ He looked at Vetter. ‘Where do we find this Senji?’
‘He’s on the faculty of the College of Applied Alchemy at the university, Ancient One.’
‘All right, I’ll take Garion and we’ll go there. The rest of you might as well get ready to leave.’
‘Grandfather,’ Garion protested, ‘I have to stay here. I want to hear the word about Zandramas with my own ears.’
‘Pol can listen for you. I might need you along to help persuade the alchemist to talk to me. Bring the Orb, but leave the sword behind.’
‘Why the Orb?’
‘Let’s just call it a hunch.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Beldin said, rising to his feet.
‘There’s no need of that.’
‘Oh, yes there is. Your memory seems to be failing a bit, Belgarath. You forget to tell me things. If I’m there when you locate the Oracles, I’ll be able to save you all the time and trouble of trying to remember.’
Chapter Seven
The University of Melcena was a sprawling complex of buildings situated in a vast park. The buildings were old and stately, and the trees dotting the close-clipped lawns were gnarled with age. There was a kind of secure serenity about the place that bespoke a dedication to the life of the mind. A calm came over Garion as he walked with the two old sorcerers across the green lawn, but there was a kind of melancholy as well. He sighed.
‘What’s the problem?’ Belgarath asked him.
‘Oh, I don’t know, grandfather. Sometimes I wish I might have had the chance to come to a place like this. It might be kind of nice to study something for no reason except that you want to know about it. Most of my studying has been pretty urgent—you know, find the answer, or the world will come to an end.’
‘Universities are overrated places,’ Beldin said. ‘Too many young men attend simply because their fathers insist, and they spend more time carousing than they do studying. The noise is distracting to the serious student. Stick to studying alone. You get more done.’ He looked at Belgarath. ‘Have you got even the remotest idea where we’re going to find this Senji?’
‘Vetter said that he’s a member of the faculty of the College of Applied Alchemy. I’d imagine that’s the place to start.’
‘Logic, Belgarath? You? The next question that pops to mind is where we’re going to find the College of Applied Alchemy.’
Belgarath stopped a robed scholar who was walking across the lawn with an open book in his hand. ‘Excuse me, learned sir,’ he said politely, ‘but could you direct me to the College of Applied Alchemy?’
‘Umm?’ the scholar said, looking up from his book.
‘The College of Applied Alchemy. Could you tell me where I could find it?’
‘The sciences are all down that way,’ the scholar said, ‘near the theology department.’ He waved rather vaguely toward the south end of the campus.
‘Thank you,’ Belgarath said. ‘You’re too kind.’
‘It’s a scholar’s duty to provide instruction and direction,’ the fellow replied pompously.
‘Ah, yes,’ Belgarath murmured. ‘Sometimes I lose sight of that.’
They walked on in the direction the scholar had indicated.
‘If he doesn’t give his students any more specific directions than that, they probably come out of this place with a rather vague idea of the world,’ Beldin observed.
The directions they received from others gradually grew more precise, and they finally reached a blocky-looking building constructed of thick gray rock and solidly buttressed along its walls. They went up the steps in front and entered a hallway that was also shored up with stout buttresses.
‘I don’t quite follow the reason for all the interior reinforcement,’ Garion confessed.
As if in answer to his question, there came a thunderous detonation from behind a door partway up the hall. The door blew outward violently, and clouds of reeking smoke came pouring out.
‘Oh,’ Garion said. ‘Now I understand.’
A fellow with a dazed look on his face and with his clothes hanging from his body in smoking tatters came staggering out through the smoke. ‘Too much sulfur,’ he was muttering over and over again. ‘Too much sulfur.’
‘Excuse me,’ Belgarath said, ‘do you by any chance know where we might find the alchemist Senji?’
‘Too much sulfur,’ the experimenter said, looking blankly at Belgarath.
‘Senji,’ the old man repeated. ‘Could you tell us where to find him?’
The tattered fellow frowned. ‘What?’ he said blankly.
‘Let me,’ Beldin said. ‘Can you tell us where to find Senji?’ he bellowed at the top of his lungs. ‘He’s got a clubfoot.’
‘Oh,’ the man replied, shaking his head to clear his befuddlement. ‘His laboratory’s on the top floor—down toward the other end.’
‘Thank you,’ Beldin shouted at him.
‘Too much sulfur. That’s the problem, all right.
I put in too much sulfur.’
‘Why were you shouting at him?’ Belgarath asked curiously as the three of them went on down the hall.
‘I’ve been in the middle of a few explosions myself.’ The hunchback shrugged. ‘I was always deaf as a post for a week or two afterward.’
‘Oh.’
They went up two flights of stairs to the top floor. They passed another door that had only recently been exploded out of its casement. Belgarath poked his head through the opening. ‘Where can we find Senji?’ he shouted into the room.
There was a mumbled reply.
‘Last door on the left,’ the old man grunted, leading the way.
‘Alchemy seems to be a fairly dangerous occupation,’ Garion noted.
‘Also fairly stupid,’ Beldin growled. ‘If they want gold so badly, why don’t they just go dig it up?’
‘I don’t think that’s occurred to very many of them,’ Belgarath said. He stopped before the last door on the left, a door showing signs of recent repair. He knocked.
‘Go away,’ a rusty-sounding voice replied.
‘We need to talk with you, Senji,’ Belgarath called mildly.
The rusty voice told him at some length what he could do with his need to talk. Most of the words were very colorful.
Belgarath’s face grew set. He gathered himself up and spoke a single word. The door disappeared with a shocking sound.
‘Now that’s something you don’t see around here very much,’ the grubby little man sitting in the midst of the splintered remains of his door said in a conversational tone. ‘I can’t remember the last time I saw a door blow in.’ He started picking splinters out of his beard.
‘Are you all right?’ Garion asked him.
‘Of course, just a little surprised is all. When you’ve been blown up as many times as I have, you sort of get used to the idea. Does one of you want to pull this door off me?’
Beldin stumped forward and lifted the remains of the door.
‘You’re an ugly one, aren’t you?’ the man on the floor said.
‘You’re no beauty yourself.’
‘I can live with it.’
‘So can I.’
‘Good. Are you the one who blew my door in?’
‘He did.’ Beldin pointed at Belgarath and then helped the fellow to his feet.
‘How did you manage that?’ the grubby little man asked Belgarath curiously. ‘I don’t smell any chemicals at all.’
‘It’s a gift,’ Belgarath replied. ‘You’re Senji, I take it?’
‘I am. Senji the clubfoot, senior member of the faculty of the College of Applied Alchemy.’ He thumped on the side of his head with the heel of his hand. ‘Explosions always make my ears ring,’ he noted. ‘You—my ugly friend,’ he said to Beldin. ‘There’s a barrel of beer over there in the corner. Why don’t you bring me some? Get some for yourself and your friends as well.’
‘We’re going to get along fairly well,’ Beldin said.
Senji limped toward a stone table in the center of the room. His left leg was several inches shorter than his right, and his left foot was grotesquely deformed. He leafed through several sheets of parchment. ‘Good,’ he said to Belgarath. ‘At least your explosion didn’t scatter my calculations all over the room.’ He looked at them. ‘As long as you’re here, you might as well find something to sit down on.’
Beldin brought him a cup of beer, then went back to the corner where the barrel was and filled three more cups.
‘That is really an ugly fellow,’ Senji noted, hauling himself up and sitting on top of the table. ‘I sort of like him, though. I haven’t met anybody quite like that for almost a thousand years.’
Belgarath and Garion exchanged a quick look. ‘That’s quite a long time,’ Belgarath said cautiously.
‘Yes,’ Senji agreed, taking a drink from his cup. He made a face. ‘It’s gone flat again,’ he said. ‘You there,’ he called to Beldin. ‘There’s an earthenware jar on the shelf just above the barrel. Be a good fellow and dump a couple handfuls of that powder into the beer. It wakes it up again.’ He looked back at Belgarath. ‘What was it you wanted to talk about?’ he asked. ‘What’s so important that you have to go around blowing doors apart?’
‘In a minute,’ Belgarath said. He crossed to where the little clubfoot sat. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked. He reached out and lightly touched his fingertips to the smelly man’s bald head.
‘Well?’ Beldin asked.
Belgarath nodded. ‘He doesn’t use it very often, but it’s there. Garion, fix the door. I think we’ll want to talk in private.’
Garion looked helplessly at the shattered remains of the door. ‘It’s not in very good shape, grandfather,’ he said dubiously.
‘Make a new one then.’
‘Oh. I guess I forgot about that.’
‘You need some practice anyway. Just make sure that you can get it open later. I don’t want to have to blow it down again when the time comes to leave.’
Garion gathered in his will, concentrated a moment, pointed at the empty opening, and said, ‘Door.’ The opening was immediately filled again.
‘Door?’ Beldin said incredulously.
‘He does that sometimes,’ Belgarath said. ‘I’ve been trying to break him of the habit, but he backslides from time to time.’
Senji’s eyes were narrow as he looked at them. ‘Well, now,’ he said. ‘I seem to have some talented guests. I haven’t met a real sorcerer in a long, long time.’
‘How long?’ Belgarath asked bluntly.
‘Oh, a dozen centuries or so, I guess. A Grolim was here giving lectures in the College of Comparative Theology. Stuffy sort of fellow, as I recall, but then, most Grolims are.’
‘All right, Senji,’ Belgarath said, ‘just how old are you?’
‘I think I was born during the fifteenth century,’ Senji replied. ‘What year is it now?’
‘Fifty-three seventy-nine,’ Garion told him.
‘Already?’ Senji said mildly. ‘Where does the time go?’ He counted it up on his fingers. ‘I guess that would make me about thirty-nine hundred or so.’
‘When did you find out about the Will and the Word?’ Belgarath pressed.
‘The what?’
‘Sorcery.’
‘Is that what you call it?’ Senji pondered a bit. ‘I suppose the term is sort of accurate, at that,’ he mused. ‘I like that. The Will and the Word. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’
‘When did you make the discovery?’ Belgarath repeated.
‘During the fifteenth century, obviously. Otherwise I’d have died in the normal course of time, like everybody else.’
‘You didn’t have any instruction?’
‘Who was around in the fifteenth century to instruct me? I just stumbled over it.’
Belgarath and Beldin looked at each other. Then Belgarath sighed and covered his eyes with one hand.
‘It happens once in a while,’ Beldin said. ‘Some people just fall into it.’
‘I know, but it’s so discouraging. Look at all the centuries our Master took instructing us, and this fellow just picks it up on his own.’ He looked back to Senji. ‘Why don’t you tell us about it?’ he suggested. ‘Try not to leave too much out.’
‘Do we really have time, grandfather?’ Garion asked.
‘We have to make time,’ Beldin told him. ‘It was one of our Master’s final commandments. Any time we come across somebody who’s picked up the secret spontaneously, we’re supposed to investigate. Not even the Gods know how it happens.’
Senji slid down from the table and limped over to an overflowing bookcase. He rummaged around for a moment and finally selected a book that looked much the worse for wear. ‘Sorry about the shape it’s in,’ he apologized. ‘It’s been blown up a few times.’ He limped back to the table and opened the book. ‘I wrote this during the twenty-third century,’ he said. ‘I noticed that I was starting to get a little absent-minded, so I wanted to get it all down while
it was still fresh in my memory.’
‘Makes sense,’ Beldin said. ‘My grim-faced friend over there has been suffering from some shocking lapses of memory lately—of course, that’s to be expected from somebody who’s nineteen thousand years old.’
‘Do you mind?’ Belgarath said acidly.
‘You mean it’s been longer?’
‘Shut up, Beldin.’
‘Here we are,’ Senji said. Then he began to read aloud. ‘“For the next fourteen hundred years the Melcene Empire prospered, far removed from the theological and political squabbles of the western part of the continent. Melcene culture was secular, civilized, and highly educated. Slavery was unknown, and trade with the Angaraks and their subject peoples in Karanda and Dalasia was extremely profitable. The old imperial capital at Melcene became a major center of learning.”’
‘Excuse me,’ Belgarath said, ‘but isn’t that taken directly from Emperors of Melcena and Mallorea?’
‘Naturally,’ Senji replied without any embarrassment. ‘Plagiarism is the first rule of scholarship. Please don’t interrupt.’
‘Sorry,’ Belgarath said.
‘“Unfortunately,”’ Senji read on, ‘“some of the thrust of Melcene scholarship turned toward the arcane. Their major field of concentration lay in the field of alchemy.”’ He looked at Belgarath. ‘This is where it gets original,’ he said. He cleared his throat. ‘“It was a Melcene alchemist, Senji the clubfooted, who inadvertently utilized sorcery during the course of one of his experiments.”’
‘You speak of yourself in the third person?’ Beldin asked.
‘It was a twenty-third-century affectation,’ Senji replied. ‘Autobiography was considered to be in terribly bad taste—immodest, don’t you know. It was a very boring century. I yawned all the way through it.’ He went back to reading. ‘“Senji, a fifteenth-century practitioner of alchemy at the university in the imperial city, was notorious for his ineptitude.”’ He paused. ‘I might want to edit that part just a bit,’ he noted critically. He glanced at the next line. ‘And this just won’t do at all,’ he added. ‘“To be quite frank about it,”’ he read with distaste, ‘“Senji’s experiments more often turned gold into lead than the reverse. In a fit of colossal frustration at the failure of his most recent experiment, Senji accidentally converted a half ton of brass plumbing into solid gold. An immediate debate arose, involving the Bureau of Currency, the Bureau of Mines, the Department of Sanitation, the faculty of the College of Applied Alchemy and the faculty of the College of Comparative Theology about which organization should have control of Senji’s discovery. After about three hundred years of argumentation, it suddenly occurred to the disputants that Senji was not merely talented, but also appeared to be immortal. In the name of scientific experimentation, the varying bureaus, departments, and faculties agreed that an effort should be made to have him assassinated to verify that fact.”’
The Malloreon: Book 04 - Sorceress of Darshiva Page 13
