One Quest, Hold the Dragons

by Greg Costikyan

  The booth was a bit crowded for them all, so Kraki went to take a chair from one of the tables in the middle of the room. The chair was bolted to the floor. Kraki looked puzzled when it did not move at first, then ripped it up with a crash and carried it over, fragments of oak flooring sticking out from the ends of the chair legs.

  The waiter watched this with serene unconcern, as if itwere an everyday happening, and said, "I'll just add the repairs to your bill, shall I, messieurs et madame?"

  "Yes, yes," said Timaeus, waving a hand. "Do you have a wine list?"

  "I shall send over the sommelier," said the waiter. "In the meantime, perhaps you would care to study the carte d'lrotel." He handed over the menus. Kraki, perched on his chair, took one and held it upside down. Sidney leaned over, took it from his hands, turned it right side up, and handed it back. The waiter bustled away.

  Suddenly, from across the room, a woman shouted, "Felicia, thou strumpet! The lad hath plighted me his troth! Wherefore dost thou bestow such lascivious caresses upon his person, thou jade, thou jezebel?" The speaker posed menacingly in front of a booth across the bistrot, clad in a flounced yellow dress, a rapier at her side, long brown hair in a ponytail down her back. A low murmur came from within the booth, where Felicia, a pale woman in peach velvet and a pillbox hat, sat with several companions. Felicia stood slowly and left the booth to stand before the woman in the yellow dress. Whatever Felicia said did not mollify the other, who drew forth her blade and lunged. The reason for bolting the chairs to the floor became instantly apparent; Felicia dodged aside and grabbed a chair, no doubt intending to use it as a weapon.

  People exploded from three nearby booths. Felicia, thrown off-balance by the chair's failure to lift from the floor, might well have been skewered by her foe's next thrust, but two men grabbed the woman in yellow, holding her arms. "This is dishonorable," one shouted to her. "She has no weapon to defend herself." At that, the woman in yellow ceased struggling, looking mortally annoyed.

  The claim was not wholly true; Felicia had produced a long hatpin, but she too was now surrounded by friends, who both shielded and argued with her. The tableau held for a long moment, the woman in yellow relaxing from rage. Then, Felicia said in a loud and biting voice, "Quite right. The baseborn lad is not worth the bother," and, adjusting her hat, restored the hatpin to its place.

  The woman in yellow, peaceably turning toward another booth, twitched at this, but did not turn back. The object of their quarrel, a young man with his hair in ringlets, went with her, looking rather shamefaced. Quiet was soon restored.

  While Timaeus and the others watched this exchange with interest, Sidney, seated on the inside of the booth, heard a faint buzzing; at first she took it for an insect and waved a hand, but the rhythm of the noise, it came to her, was the rhythm of conversation. Curiously, she looked about, and noted a hole in the bench on which she sat, where it met the wall—a hole that pierced the back of her bench and, apparently, the bench in the next booth over. It was circular, about an inch in diameter, and appeared as if it had been drilled through the wood at some point in the considerable past, as the wood of the hole was stained with age. She was, she realized, overhearing the conversation taking place in the next booth and, curious, leant back to listen.

  ". . . Stantz," said a voice.

  "It is true, then? The Spider intended to kill the Lord Mayor?" said a second.

  "Isn't it obvious? Who else would dare?"

  "But do you have proof?"

  "Not such proof as could be displayed in court."

  "You've had seven days to find proof."

  "Look at this," said the first voice. There was a shuffling of paper.

  "The bastard," said the other voice. "Stantz has gone too far this time."

  "Are you with us, then?"

  "Well, I—"

  "Are you ready to order?" said the waiter. He stood expectantly behind Kraki, pad at the ready. Sidney missed something of the conversation through the hole, and moved her ear toward it. "Listen to me! The Scepter of Stantius is glowing!" said the hole.

  "What would you recommend?" asked Timaeus.

  "The rollatine de veau aver une sauce greepoise is very nice."

  Irritably, Sidney turned away from the waiter, trying to concentrate only on eavesdropping, but the discussion about her made it impossible. She caught mere snatches—including, once, the word "statue," which alarmed her.

  "Une sauce greepoise, eh? let me guess," said Jasper, slightly sarcastically. "Greeps are a kind of, oh, insect, are they not?"

  "Sir? Why, certainly not! Would the Bistrot Scholari serve bugs to its customers? No, no, greeps are a form of—"

  "Stop!" shouted Timaeus. "I forbid you to tell us what greeps are."

  The waiter was taken aback. "Sir?" he said.

  "We are ascetics, every one of us," declared Timaeus, "wholly uninterested in cuisine. We have not the slightest interest in greeps of any form. I will have your plainest loaf of bread, and a glass of water."

  "Ah," said the waiter, "but our greeps are like to tempt even a palate such as yours, my good sir. Dug fresh from the—"

  "Stop!" shouted Timaeus. "If you say another word, we shall instantly leave."

  The waiter put on a sour expression. "Very well, sir," he said. "Will you be having arsenic or strychnine with your water?"

  Timaeus goggled. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Ah," said the waiter. "Foreigners, I see. It is the custom in our fair city to take poison with one's repast—a sublethal dose, to be sure."

  "You're kidding," said Nick.

  "No, sir," said the waiter. "I am in earnest. To build up an immunity, you see. Especially among the upper classes, a certain resistance to poison is useful in extending one's life span—"

  "Is assassination so common?" asked Sidney, interested despite herself.

  "Alas, no longer so common," said the waiter nostalgically. "These are decadent times. Why, in my grandfather's day—"

  "No poison, please," said Timaeus, interrupting hastily. "I assume that can be arranged?"

  The waiter looked sour again. "Yes, of course, sir," he said. "I'm afraid there will be an additional charge."

  "For omission of the poison?" said Timaeus Mcredulously.

  "Unpoisoned food requires special handling," said the waiter disdainfully. "Will anyone else be dining this evening?"

  Sidney ordered the bangers and mash. Jasper ordered the veal cutlet. Farther Mortise ordered the steak and fries. "And you, sir?" sneered the waiter to Kraki.

  "I take vone of each," said Kraki.

  "Sir?" said the waiter.

  Kraki's finger stabbed blindly at each line on the menu. "Vone of that," he said. "And vone of that. And vone of that. And vone of—"

  "I follow you, sir," said the waiter. "This is a considerable quantity of food, you realize."

  "Good," said Kraki, pulling up his tunic to scratch his hairy belly. "I hungry."

  "Quite," said the waiter. "No poison all around, I take it?"

  They assented. The sommelier had arrived while theywere ordering, but had stood aside while the waiter took the last orders. As the waiter left, he said, "Good evening. I assume you'll be wanting a red wine with—"

  "Bin twenty-one," said Timaeus offhandedly.

  The sommelier blinked. "Sir?" he said. "But that's a maderized—"

  "Bin twenty-one," said Timaeus testily.

  The sommelier shrugged, and disappeared.

  "You don't even know what wine's in bin twenty-one," said Jasper. "How do you—"

  "I'm tired of being patronized," said Timaeus.

  "You're in a foul mood, I must—" said Jasper, but Sidney shushed him loudly. She had her ear pressed to the hole again.

  "What've you got?" asked Nick.

  She shushed again. The others shut up and watched her listen.

  "What do you mean?" said one of the voices from the hole.

  "You are mistaken," said the other voice.

  "How do you
mean mistaken?"

  "I do not have the files."

  "But if you don't, then Freitag was lying!"

  "Correct."

  "And that means—"

  "That means the end."

  "The end? Finis? Is that all I've ever meant to the gens?"

  "You were a useful tool. Now you are broken."

  There was a choking sound. "You—you bastard," said the second vice hoarsely. "The wine—"

  "Was poisoned."

  And there was a thud.

  A moment later, a man left the booth and strode across the room. He was the very image of a chevalier: spurred boots, épée with ornate hilt, ruffled sleeves, a ragged scar up one cheek. At the bistrot's door he paused, took a snuffbox from his sleeve, opened it, and inserted a pinch in his left nostril while scanning the room. He noted Sidney's eyes—and those of the others-upon him, sneezed delicately into a lace handkerchief, and left.

  "Should I follow him?" asked Jasper.

  "I don't—no, I suppose not," said Sidney.

  "What is it, Sidney?" asked Timaeus.

  She showed them the hole and described the conversation. As she did, a waiter peered into the adjacent booth, then hurriedly departed.

  "So an attempt has been made on the Lord Mayor's life," said Jasper.

  "Von Kremnitz didn't know," said Nick.

  "Or didn't bother to tell us," said Sidney.

  "Could it have been von Grentz?" asked Jasper.

  "They seemed to think it was someone they called Stantz, or the Spider," said Sidney.

  "Ah," said Timaeus. "The Hamsterian Minister of Internal Serenity."

  Sidney stared at him. "How do you—?"

  "I do follow the international news, my dear," said Timaeus, somewhat patronizingly. "What did they say about the statue?"

  "I didn't catch that part," said Sidney testily. "You were too busy harassing our waiter."

  The waiter who had peered into the booth returned with the maitresse d' and a busboy. Under the woman's direction, they entered the booth, reappearing a moment later carrying a body, that of a heavyset man in checked hose and crimson doublet. They carried him across the floor and out of the bistrot. Several customers watched them go, then returned unconcernedly to their dinners.

  "If it were my restaurant," said Nick, "I'd worry that the customers might think the food was to blame."

  "Perhaps it was," said Jasper. "Perhaps the chef .had too heavy a hand with the arsenic shaker."

  Timaeus chuckled. "Everyone does seem remarkably blasé," he said.

  Three waiters approached with platters of food. "Bon appétit, " said Timaeus, glumly examining his loaf of bread and his glass of water. Moments later, the sommelier appeared with a bottle of wine with a label in Dwarven. He presented it to Timaeus, who blinked; he had known that there were dwarven wines, but had never tasted one. He suspected this was a bad omen; the dwarves ran more to stouts and porters. With a flourish, the sommelier cut off the lead with a small knife, then drew the cork. He poured a finger of wine into a glass and proffered it to Timaeus, who took a taste, rolled it about in his mouth, and looked pleasantly surprised. "Very nice," he said—and it was. It seemed to be some relative of sherry. Upon Timaeus's approval, the sommelier poured each of the other diners a glass. Kraki drained his instantly and said, "More ale."

  "I shall send over your waiter," said the sommelier contemptuously, disappearing into the dim recesses of the bistrot.

  Nick elbowed Kraki in the ribs. "Read us the label," he said.

  "Vhat?" said Kraki through a mouthful of pork cutlet.

  "Thought you were a dwarf," said Nick.

  "Ho ho," grunted Kraki sourly, and began plowing through the sauerbraten. For a time, the only sounds were those of clattering silverware, mastication and, in the case of Kraki, several extended bass belches.

  "I'm not entirely sure I trust von Kremnitz," said Sidney, who had barely touched her sausages. "Maybe we ought to try to find the statue on our own."

  "He did offer us the Lord Mayor's aid," said Jasper.

  "You think we can trust the Lord Mayor any better than Pablo?" asked Nick.

  "A point," said Jasper. "On the other hand, the politics of this city seem more than a little labyrinthine. Without a local patron, we might all too easily find ourselves in the municipal hoosegow."

  As Jasper spoke, there was a clatter, a thump, and a swishing noise. Sidney peered out into the restaurant dimness; the noise was that of a chandelier, moving on its runners. And indeed, a chandelier hurtled toward them from across the room, candle flames fluttering with the motion, a booted man in flared trousers, an épée at the ready, hanging from its rod.

  The chandelier slammed to a halt at the end of its rail, lit candles toppling onto the floor. The man let go at the last instant, landing dramatically atop their table, one boot in Sidney's mashed potatoes and the other toppling a stein of ale into Kraki's lap. The point of the épee rested against Timaeus's throat.

  "I have you now, Greiblitz!" the swordsman shouted. "There'll be no more of your li—I say. You're not Greiblitz."

  With a roar, Kraki erupted from his seat, grabbed one of the swordsman's legs, and yanked him from the table. The épée went flying across the .oom. The two wrestled briefly; when the flurry of motion ceased, the swordsman's feet were kicking in midair, his face turning purple as Kraki gradually crushed his esophagus. "You spill my ale!" shouted Kraki.

  "Just what we need at this point," said Sidney, "to murder one of the locals."

  "What's the problem?" said Nick. "Nobody's likely to mind. I mean, if people get poisoned every day—not to mention killed in duels—"

  "Still,". said Timaeus, "put him down, Kraki, there's a good chap."

  "My ale," said Kraki dangerously.

  "I imagine he'll stand you another," said Timaeus. Kraki grunted, and reluctantly set the swordsman down.

  The swordsman panted for a moment, rubbing his neck, then said hoarsely, "Awfully sorry. Glad to replace your ale. And your dinner, miss, if I may. Don't suppose you've seen Greiblitz about? Well-dressed chappie, scar on one cheek, sports an épée, partial to snuff?"

  "Yes, yes," said Timaeus. "Poisoned a fellow the next booth over, and left, oh, ten minutes ago. Now do run along, there's a good chap."

  "Poisoned a fellow?" said the swordsman in alarm. "Merciful heavens, I'm too late to save poor Grünwald. Marlene will never forgive me." And he ran off toward the bistrot's door, scooping up his sword along the way.

  "Well," said Jasper. "Welcome to Hamsterburg."

  "My ale!" shouted Kraki after the departing swordsman. Frowning mightily, he sat down and pulled over a plate of schnitzel. "Should have let me kill him," he complained.

  "But what about von Kremnitz?" demanded Sidney: "We still haven't decided—"

  "Speak of the devil," said Jasper, putting down his dwarven wine. Indeed, von Kremnitz was walking across the bistrot toward them, one hand on the hilt of his épée, peering rather fiercely into each booth in turn, as if he expected to come under attack at any moment. "I say, Leftenant," said Jasper loudly, the green light zipping back and forth in an attempt to attract attention.

  "Ah," said von Kremnitz, "here you are, my friends. I have good news. My master, Hamish Siebert, Lord Mayor of this Most Serene Republic, will grant you an audience as soon as you can come to the Maiorkest."

  Guismundo Stantz, Minister of Internal Serenity, the Spider, whose web spanned the world, who drew the unwary inward to their final destruction, master of a hundred plots, the ears behind a thousand walls; Guismundo Stantz, secret master of Hamsterburg, was resting. "Just. resting my eyes," he would have said, if anyone had asked him what he was doing. That might, to an impartial observer, have seemed an inadequate description. He was slumped far back in his chair, his head dangling at an angle that would inflict a crick in his neck upon awakening, a line of drool suspended from a slack mouth, vast flesh vibrating with his snores. "Snores," too, might be thought inadequate; he roared, a sle
epy lion.