Andrea shook her head. "I wouldn't worry about it. As I said, Tommallo isn't the sort to talk things over with his employees, and—"
"Not employees," Karl growled. "Let's at least keep it honest."
"They are so employees, stupid. Slephmelrad, to be precise."
Slephmelrad. Fealty servants. Walter shrugged. It had taken a while to get used to the way that oddities of the Erendra language awakened knowledge that he hadn't known he'd had, but it had become a frequent phenomenon. And, come to think of it, when I get some spare time it'd be worthwhile to run through every Erendra word I know, and try to integrate all that.
"Oh." Karl shrugged, smiling awkwardly at a slender girl who looked to be about thirteen; she deposited another clay bottle of wine on the table before leaving. "Just women?"
"No." Andrea smiled broadly. "Male servants, too. And one of them—"
"Enough." Walter rubbed at his temples. Granted, the two of them had had a good time together aboard the Ganness' Pride, but it hadn't been that good. And the way she rubbed Karl's nose in her right to—something had to be done about that.
You're a fine one to talk, Walter Slovotsky. You've never made any pretense with Doria that she was your one-and-only. "We'll talk about it later." Then again, that was different. For one thing, unless he was totally misreading Karl, and Andrea was a liar, those two had never gotten together. And, dammit, he didn't rub Doria's nose in it. Ever.
Complications . . . everything's got complications. And Jimmy was probably at the heart of one of the worst of them. Why hadn't he made a play for Doria? It was as clear as anything that the little guy wanted her—and here, it might work. Or would that be some sort of perversion, come to think of it? What would you call it, humanality?
He shook his head. It'd probably take Jimmy a while to work things out. If he slept with Doria, was he, Ahira, being queer for humans? And if he made it with a female dwarf, was James Michael—
The trouble with me is that, way down deep, I'm shallow. My best friend is finally in a situation where he can be a whole person, and all I worry about is whether that's a perversion of some sort.
And whether I have to sleep alone tonight. He caught Doria's eye, tilting and raising his chin in an unvoiced question. She glanced at Karl, then at Andrea, frowned, and nodded. Well, at least that's taken care of. That's the trouble with me, though—I'm just a slave to my hormones and digestive juices. He reached out and speared another slice of red, rare beef.
"Sewage system?" Aristobulus looked over. "You mean that little dragon?"
"How'd you hear about it?"
"I spent some time in the wizards' section of the Library, chatted with a few guild members taking a break from doing some research. Found out some . . . interesting things, between my reading and talking."
"Well?"
"Hmmm, I think I'll save it for later. There are some calculations I want to recheck. But for now . . . did you realize that this whole Guilds' Council thing is a sham?"
Karl frowned. "Wait a minute. I—"
"You didn't spend the afternoon with some of the people who really run Pandathaway, Karl. It's the wizards—the rest are just window dressing. Which is why we don't have to worry about—about our host's getting angry, even if he does find out what Andrea did." Aristobulus smiled smugly. "Assaulting any wizard is a capital crime—ditto an authorized cleric, member of any of the five recognized sects. Including"—he nodded to Doria—"the Hand, by the way." The wizard frowned and shook his head. "I'd leave you all right now, if it wasn't . . ."
Damn me. I've got a mind like a sieve. Ever since he had learned about the Great Library, Walter had worried that Aristobulus might choose to leave the group in Pandathaway. He hadn't said anything; nothing could be done about it. If Aristobulus wanted to go, he could. "And why won't you?"
Aristobulus took a long swig of wine before answering. "It's the damn spell books again." He drained the mug and slammed it down on the table. "I may be good, but I'm not a Wizards' Guild member."
"So?"
"So, if and when I apply for membership, I'll be better off having a set of books of my own. Otherwise, I've got to apprentice, of all things."
Walter chuckled. The notion of Aristobulus apprenticing to some other wizard was almost absurd. Ari was pretty far along as a wizard; it was unlikely that there were many others in Pandathaway as powerful as he was. But it was a certainty that there were plenty of wizards who could gang up on him and make him toe the line. "How long an apprenticeship?"
He scowled. "Until my—get this—my master decides that I'm worthy." He shook his head. "And that's not the worst of it. All apprentices in the guild have to submit to being put under geas."
Now that was bad for Aristobulus, but good for the rest of them. A geas would rob him of his ability to disobey his master's orders. And it was unlikely that any master wizard would want to dispense with the services of someone with skills as developed as Ari's. Normally, the tradeoff between master and apprentice—in any profession—was that of training in the craft for doing all the trivial gruntwork. But Ari was capable of doing much more than preparing a potion under supervision; whatever guild wizard he'd be apprenticed to would quickly find his services indispensable.
But it was good for the group, at least. With a lifetime of apprenticeship to look forward to if he stayed in Pandathaway, Aristobulus was certain to stay with the group. At least until they reached the Gate, and Deighton. "You're assuming that Doc'll furnish you with another spell book or two."
"Very good." The wizard popped a ball of deep-fried prawns and garlic into his mouth. "And then I'll come back here, apply to the guildmaster, and live off my earnings and the stipend guild members get, just like all the others." He chuckled. "Including the extra earnings from selling phony charms, like the one that Tommallo has. The fool—why would the wizards bother to sell him a real protection when he can't tell the difference?"
As Karl reached for his third helping of beef, the wizard cocked his head. "I thought you're supposed to go light on food, before?"
"Before what?"
"The Games, stupid—the every-ten-days ones are tomorrow, aren't they? I thought that's what—" Aristobulus wrinkled his brow. "You mean you didn't bother asking anyone about them? I thought—"
Walter held up a hand. "We got distracted." And it's just as well that the Games are tomorrow, at that. The cops are going to be looking for Karl, Aristobulus is probably trying to figure out a way to swipe a set of books from a local, and—
And the simple fact is that I'm scared. He rubbed a thumb against the spot where Lund's henchman had cut him. I know I won't stop being scared until we get home. But will it stop, even then?
He stood. Somehow, the food didn't taste so good anymore.
* * *
Rubbing at his hair with a thick flannel cloth that served as a towel, Ahira decided that Tommallo hadn't been bragging. Their suite in the Inn of Quiet Repose was broad and spacious, oozing comfort from the deep crimson carpet that tickled his ankles, all the way to the chandeliers overhead, scores of candles burning almost smokelessly, dripping only a sweet fragrance into the common room. Beeswax, perhaps?
He sighed. And there was even half-decent plumbing—superior, by local standards. Granted, the hot water for his bath had been taken, bucket by bucket, from a copper kettle, but at least it had been hot.
He dropped to the floor next to his weapons and stretched out on his back, pillowing his head on his hands, letting his eyes sag shut. With a bit of luck, he could catch a nap before the others returned from dinner.
And it was good to be alone, without having to worry about where the others were, what the others were doing. . . .
The world slowly faded away into the warm twilight of oncoming sleep.
"Shh." Hakim's whisper boomed. "Don't wake him; he needs his rest."
Ahira opened his eyes. "Thanks for the thought, anyway."
As the others filed into the room, he shrugged, deciding against
slipping away to one of the sleeping rooms. There was much to talk about; they had to figure out what the next move was.
Karl stretched out on a fur-covered couch and patted at his belly. "Sorry. Hey, you missed one hell of a good meal, though. I don't think I'll be able to eat for hours. How was your bath?"
"Restful." Ahira forced himself to sit up. "Very restful. You all should try it, a bit later."
Doria sat beside him, hugging her knees. "Why not now? You go get some sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow, what with the Games and all."
"Tomorrow? Then never mind." He rubbed at his eyes. "All right, everyone, gather around. Let's get this over with."
Hakim sat down next to Doria, followed by Karl, then Aristobulus, then Andrea. Ahira could almost see bands of tension flowing between her and Karl; it was evident in the way he avoided looking at her, and in the curious little pursed-lips headshake that she would give every time she looked at him. Probably there was some intelligent thing to do, to get the two of them to agree to better than a coldly hostile coexistence.
Trouble is, I don't have a single idea what that intelligent thing to do is. Oh well—what cannot be cured, must be endured. "I'll go first," he said. "I know where the Gate is; I've got it right here" —he tapped a finger against his temple— "and I'll sketch out a map sometime tomorrow. Somebody pull a pencil and some paper from their pack. I don't have any."
"I do." Andrea nodded. "But how far is it?"
"Looks to be a fairly long haul from here—a month of traveling, easily."
Karl cocked his head to one side, a faint smile playing across his lips. "And once we get to Bremon, it'll be tougher, maybe. Almost certainly."
"What do you mean?" Ahira hadn't mentioned Bremon; he hadn't said anything about it since they'd all met at the fountain.
Karl rubbed his hand across his face. "I . . . had a talk with a friend. He says there's a big mother of a dragon under the mountain, guarding the Gate. Sleeping."
"A friend?" Andrea snapped. "What sort of friend?"
Hakim raised a palm. "Best not to talk about it—he's talking about the baby dragon that is—that used to be a part of Pandathaway's sewage system. But it's best to keep quiet about it. We'd just better get ourselves together and get out of here. Could be the authorities are looking for us, even now."
Karl shook his head. "I don't think so. We were down in the slums. The folks who live there probably won't be eager to talk to the . . . cops. Even if they saw us."
Walter sneered. "You ever live in the slums, genius? Sometimes you have to talk to the cops, even when you don't want to."
Aristobulus nodded his agreement. "And when the sewage starts rising around their ankles? You know who's going to have to take care of it, and they won't like it. Not at all."
Ahira didn't know what they were talking about, but the fact that Karl knew about Bremon—apparently knew more about Bremon than he did—was something that had to be explained. The best way, probably, would be to wait, to escape the worry of being overheard if they spoke in Erendra, or being labeled as strange if they talked in an unknown language like English. But too many precautions, too much paranoia, was in itself a chancy thing. "Just talk, Karl. Keep your voice low, by all means, but please tell me what the hell you're talking about."
Karl nodded slowly. "Fine. They have a funny sort of sewer system here. It dumps out into a pit, where the sewage used to be flamed into ash by a dragon, a young one."
"Used to be?" Andrea arched an eyebrow. "I take it it—"
"Doesn't anymore." Karl smiled. "They had the dragon chained there. I didn't like that, so I set him loose. End of story." He shrugged. "Probably not a big deal; all they'll have to do is get some high-ranking wizards down there, every now and then, to Fire the slop into ash."
Ahira shook his head. The brainless— "How long ago?"
"An hour or so before we met at the fountain. Why?"
Andrea spoke up. "Because probably the news is all over Pandathaway by now, and somebody is going to be looking for whoever did it, stupid. I thought that Walter was just joking before. Tell me, Karl, have you ever thought about the consequences of—"
"Shut up." That was from Doria, oddly enough. Her defending Karl made little sense. "Tell me, Karl: Did you think about the consequences?"
Karl didn't answer for a moment; he sat there tailor-fashion, his body relaxed and loose, his eyes misty like an absurdly overmuscled Buddha. "To be honest, I didn't. It . . . it was important enough that . . . consequences just didn't matter. I'm sorry if you're upset—"
"Upset?" Andrea was almost hysterical. "If they find out who did this, we all could get killed."
Doria's face clouded over. "He said that it was important enough, didn't he? I don't understand why—but maybe I don't have to. We all—"
Andrea threw up her hands. "That's the trouble with you," she shrilled at Karl, ignoring Doria, "you're always so damn intense about everything. That's why—never mind." She shook her head slowly, rubbing at her eyes. "It's done."
Ahira picked up on that. "Right. It's done." He turned to Karl. "Did anyone see you three?"
"No." Karl chewed on his lower lip. "And besides, around here, the three of us aren't all that unusual-looking. Maybe even if someone did see us, and somebody else links that to Ellegon getting away—"
"—it might not matter," Ahira finished. Well, that wasn't likely, but at least it was a possibility. "But let's not take chances. I don't want you three to be seen together in public until we're gone from Pandathaway. And we'd better arrange to get out of here soon. Soon as possible. And that means that you and I'd better do well enough in the Games tomorrow so that we can buy what we need quickly, and get out of here." He considered that for a moment. "Better: We buy just what we need to get to Aeryk, and finish outfitting ourselves there."
Aristobulus cocked his head to one side. "I'll still need another two days in the Library, at least. I've gotten one of my spells back, but I need the Fire spell, and I think, with a bit of effort, I could puzzle out the spell that would let me bring writing materials past the Glyph—"
"No." Ahira made that as final as possible. "We don't have time for all that. You and Andrea each have one spell to relearn—you do that tomorrow morning while we get ready to leave after the Games."
Hakim lifted his head. "I've got a better idea. We could have Ari Glow a blade or two—we ran into a smith who might pay nicely for it, if Doria handles the negotiations. And then he can relearn both that and his Lightning spell. That way . . ."
"Good." Ahira nodded. "And that's the way we do it. Where are these Games taking place?"
"Mmmm." The thief spread his arms, embarrassed. "To be perfectly honest, we got kind of dis—"
"At the Coliseum," Aristobulus snorted. "North side of the city. The oddsmakers set up their tables at dawn; contestants have to be there by midmorning. Anything else you need to know? It's fortunate that at least one of us spent some time asking questions—"
"Enough." Ahira cut him off. "Spilled milk. Doria?"
"Yes?"
"You and Walter take care of placing the bets on us. Don't go deep into our money, but if Karl and I are as good as I think we are, we shouldn't have any problem winning. And since we're new here, I bet—"
Doria nodded. "—that you'll be undervalued. Fine. How much should we put down?"
Karl spoke up. "That's not the way you gamble. Not if you know what you're doing. Figure out what we need, find out what the odds are, and then you'll know how much to bet."
Andrea stood and stretched. "Well, unless you've got something for me to do, I'm going to wash up"—she put her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn—"and then get some sleep. That meal's going to my head." She started to walk away, then stopped and turned. "One thing—what if you and Karl don't win?"
Ahira shook his head. "You're looking at it the wrong way. Now, Doria and Hakim, I want to go over what you've got to buy tomorrow, just at a minimum. That way, you can price it out, and kn
ow what you'll have to bet in order to make the kind of money we need."
Andrea scowled down at him. "What do you mean, I'm looking at it the wrong way?"
He sighed. She still hadn't worked it out? "Karl, tell her."
The big man shrugged. "Look at at it this way: We don't have enough money to buy what we need to get out of Pandathaway, and this is the only way I can see of making it in a hurry. And whoever's in charge of this place is probably looking for me right now, and isn't likely to think all that highly of the rest of you. So . . ."
"So?"
"So we'd damn well better win, hadn't we?"
Chapter Eleven
The Games
A man cannot be too careful in his choice of enemies.
—Oscar Wilde
Karl frowned. The place felt normal, but the chatter was strange. The swordsmen's pit beneath the right-hand limb of the Coliseum was a large bare room of gray stone, lit only by a few flickering oil lamps that dangled from the ceiling. The air was cold and damp; the reeking sawdust that covered the dirt floor should have been changed long ago.
But the conversation was positively merry.
"Bet I get past the second round without two marks on my hide, and you—"
"You serious? I put down a couple of silver on myself, but I only got thirty-to-one I make it to the finals. Who you betting with? I've been going to Antrius, that slimy son of a dungfly—"
"Well, of course Ohlmin's going to grab first. Nobody else can move near that fast. So I'm not holding back anything in the early rounds; I'll be satisfied if I can just get into the finals—"
"You're dreaming, friend. Or crazy. Dwarves are no damn good with longbows; they're just too short. Although the little buggers—"
A pinch-faced elf waved the hundred or so swordsmen—humans, elves, dwarves, and curious mixes that Karl couldn't quite identify—to a semblance of silence. Standing on a waist-high stone block in the center of the high-ceilinged room, he wore a light-blue tunic with matching leggings, a gold headband that marked him as an official of the Games, and a bored expression that proclaimed that being around a bunch of ill-washed swordsmen was not his ultimate pleasure in life.
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