"You've got the same poison in your own stomach?" the other man asked with astonishment.
"I'm quite safe," Haldor said. "My emotions never get the best of me."
Radan's convulsions had grown weaker. His heels beat at the stones with a rapid pattering sound; then he stiffened, gave a long, gurgling sigh, and died.
"I don't suppose you've got any of the drug left, do you?" Haldor's friend asked thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to pay quite a bit for something like that."
Haldor laughed. "Why don't we go to my house, and we'll talk about it? Over a cup of wine, perhaps?"
The other man threw him a startled glance; then he laughed too, although a bit nervously. The two of them turned and walked away, leaving the dead man sprawled on the stones.
Garion stared in horror at them and then at the black-faced corpse lying so grotesquely twisted in the center of the marketplace. The Tolnedrans near the body seemed to ignore its existence. "Why doesn't somebody do something?" he demanded.
"They're afraid," Silk said. "If they show any concern, they might be mistaken for partisans. Politics here in Tol Honeth are taken very seriously."
"Shouldn't someone notify the authorities?" Durnik suggested, his face pale and his voice shaking.
"I'm sure it's already been taken care of," Silk said. "Let's not stand around staring. I don't think we want to get involved in this sort of thing."
Aunt Pol came back to where they were standing. The two Cherek warriors from Grinneg's house who had been accompanying her were loaded down with bundles and both of them looked a little sheepish about it.
"What are you doing?" she asked Silk.
"We were just watching a bit of Tolnedran politics in action," Silk said, pointing at the dead man in the center of the square.
"Poison?" she asked, noting Radan's contorted limbs.
Silk nodded. "A strange one. It doesn't seem to work unless the victim gets excited."
"Athsat," she said with a grim nod.
"You've heard of it before?" Silk seemed surprised.
She nodded. "It's quite rare, and very expensive. I didn't think the Nyissans would be willing to sell any of it."
"I think we should move away from here," Hettar suggested. "There's a squad of legionnaires coming, and they might want to question any witnesses."
"Good idea," Silk said and led them toward the far side of the marketplace.
Near the row of houses that marked the edge of the square, eight burly men carried a heavily veiled litter. As the litter approached, a slender, jeweled hand reached languidly out from behind the veil and touched one of the porters on the shoulder. The eight men stopped immediately and set the litter down.
"Silk," a woman's voice called from within the litter, "what are you doing back in Tol Honeth?"
"Bethra?" Silk said. "Is that you?"
The veil was drawn back, revealing a lushly endowed woman lounging on crimson satin cushions inside the litter. Her dark hair was elaborately curled with strings of pearls woven into her tresses. Her pink silken gown clung to her body, and golden rings and bracelets clasped her arms and fingers. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, and her long-lashed eyes were wicked. There was about her a kind of overripeness and an almost overpowering sense of self indulgent corruption. For some reason Garion felt himself blushing furiously.
"I thought you'd still be running," she said archly to Silk. "The men I sent after you were very professional."
Silk bowed with an ironic little flourish. "They were quite good, Bethra," he agreed with a wry grin. "Not quite good enough, but very good, actually. I hope you didn't need them anymore."
"I always wondered why they didn't come back." She laughed. "I should have known, of course. I hope you didn't take it personally." "Certainly not, Bethra. It's just part of the profession, after all."
"I knew you'd understand," she said. "I had to get rid of you. You were disrupting my entire plan."
Silk grinned wickedly. "I know," he gloated. "And after all you had to go through to set it up - and with the Thullish ambassador, no less." She made a disgusted face.
"Whatever happened to him?" Silk asked. "He went swimming in the Nedrane."
"I didn't know that Thulls swam all that well."
"They don't - particularly not with large rocks tied to their feet. After you'd destroyed the whole thing, I didn't really need him anymore, and there were some things I didn't want him mentioning in certain quarters."
"You always were prudent, Bethra." "What are you up to now?" she asked curiously.
Silk shrugged. "A little of this, a little of that."
"The succession?"
"Oh, no." He laughed. "I know better than to get involved in that. Which side are you on?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?"
Silk looked around, his eyes narrowing. "I could use some information, Bethra - if you're free to talk about it, of course."
"About what, Silk?"
"The city seems to be awash with Murgos," Silk said. "If you're not presently involved with them, I'd appreciate anything you could tell me."
She smiled at him archly. "And what would you be willing to pay?" she asked.
"Couldn't we just call it professional courtesy?"
She smiled wickedly at him; then she laughed. "Why not? I like you, Silk, and I think I'll like you even more if you owe me a favor."
"I'll be your slave," he promised.
"Liar." She thought for a moment. "The Murgos have never really shown all that much interest in trade," she said. "But a few years ago they began arriving in twos and threes; and then late last summer, whole caravans started coming in from Rak Goska."
"You think they want to influence the succession?" Silk asked. "That would be my guess," she said. "There's a great deal of red gold in Tol Honeth suddenly. My coin chests are full of it."
Silk grinned. "It all spends." "It does indeed."
"Have they picked any one candidate?"
"Not that I've been able to determine. They seem to be divided into two different factions, and there's quite a bit of antagonism between them."
"That could be a ruse, of course."
"I don't think so. I think the antagonism has to do with the quarrel between Zedar and Ctuchik. Each side wants to get control of the next Emperor. They're spending money like water."
"Do you know the one called Asharak?"
"Ah, that one," she replied. "The other Murgos are all afraid of him. At the moment he seems to be working for Ctuchik, but I think he's playing some game of his own. He owns the Grand Duke Kador out right, and Kador's closest to the throne right now. That puts Asharak in a very powerful position. That's about all I really know."
"Thank you, Bethra," Silk said respectfully.
"Are you planning to stay in Tol Honeth for long?" she asked. "Unfortunately no."
"Pity. I was hoping you might be able to come by for a visit. We could talk over old times. I don't have many close friends anymore - or dear enemies, like you."
Silk laughed dryly. "I wonder why," he said. "I don't imagine I could swim much better than the Thullish ambassador did. You're a dangerous woman, Bethra."
"In more ways than one," she admitted, stretching languidly. "But your life's not really in any danger from me, Silk - not anymore."
"It wasn't my life I was worried about." Silk grinned.
"That's another matter, of course," she admitted. "Don't forget that you owe me a favor."
"I hunger for the opportunity to repay my debt," he said impudently. "You're impossible." She laughed, then gestured to her porters, and they lifted her litter to their shoulders. "Good-bye, Silk," she said.
"Good-bye, Bethra," he replied with a deep bow.
"Absolutely disgusting," Durnik said in a voice strangled with outrage as the porters marched away with the litter. "Why is a woman like that even permitted to stay in the city?"
"Bethra?" Silk asked in surprise. "She's the most brilliant and fascinating woman in Tol Honeth. Men come from all o
ver the world just for an hour or two with her."
"For a price, of course," Durnik said.
"Don't misunderstand her, Durnik," Silk told him. "Her conversation's probably more valuable than-" He coughed slightly with a quick glance at Aunt Pol.
"Really?" Durnik questioned in a voice heavy with sarcasm.
Silk laughed. "Durnik," he said, "I love you like a brother, but you're a terrible prude, do you know that?"
"Leave him alone, Silk," Aunt Pol said firmly. "I like him exactly the way he is."
"I'm only trying to improve him, Lady Polgara," Silk explained innocently.
"Barak's right about you, Prince Kheldar," she said. "You're a very bad man."
"It's all in the line of duty. I sacrifice my more delicate feelings for the sake of my country."
"Of course!"
"Surely you don't imagine that I enjoy that sort of thing?" "Why don't we just let it drop?" she suggested.
Grinneg, Barak, and Mister Wolf returned to Grinneg's house not long after the others had arrived.
"Well?" Aunt Pol asked Wolf as the old man came into the room where they had been waiting.
"He went south," Wolf said.
"South? He didn't turn east toward Cthol Murgos?"
"No," Wolf said. "He's probably trying to avoid a meeting with Ctuchik's people. He'll look for a quiet place to slip across the border. Either that or he's headed for Nyissa. Perhaps he's made some arrangement with Salmissra. We'll have to follow him to find out."
"I met an old friend in the marketplace," Silk said from the chair in which he lounged. "She tells me that Asharak's been involved in the politics of succession. It appears that he's managed to buy the Grand Duke of Vordue. If the Vorduvians get the throne, Asharak's going to have Tolnedra in the palm of his hand."
Mister Wolf scratched thoughtfully at his beard. "We're going to have to do something about him sooner or later. He's beginning to make me just a little tired."
"We could stop over for a day or so," Aunt Pol suggested. "Attend to it once and for all."
"No," Wolf decided. "It's probably best not to do that sort of thing here in the city. The business is likely to be a bit noisy, and Tolnedrans get excited about things they can't understand. I'm sure he'll give us an opportunity later - in some less-populated place."
"Do we leave now, then?" Silk asked.
"Let's wait until early morning," Wolf told him. "We'll probably be followed, but if the streets are empty, it will make things a little more difficult for them."
"I'll talk to my cook, then," Grinneg said. "The least I can do is send you on your way with a good meal to help you face the road. Then, of course, there's still that barrel of ale to be dealt with."
Mister Wolf smiled broadly at that, then caught Aunt Pol's reproving frown. "It would only go flat, Pol," he explained. "Once it's broached, you have to drink it up fairly quickly. It would be a shame to waste it, wouldn't it?"
Chapter Eighteen
THEY LEFT GRINNEG'S HOUSE before dawn the next morning, dressed once more in their traveling clothes. They slipped quietly out a back gate and proceeded through those narrow alleys and back streets Silk always seemed able to find. The sky to the east was beginning to lighten when they reached the massive bronze gate on the south end of the island.
"How long until the gate opens?" Mister Wolf asked one of the legionnaires.
"Not much longer," the legionnaire told him. "Just as soon as we can see the far bank clearly."
Wolf grunted. He had grown quite mellow the evening before and he was obviously troubled by a headache this morning. He dismounted, went to one of the packhorses, and drank from a leather waterskin.
"That isn't going to help, you know," Aunt Pol told him a bit smugly. He chose not to answer.
"I think it's going to be a lovely day today," she said brightly, looking first at the sky and then at the men around her who slumped in their saddles in attitudes of miserable dejection.
"You're a cruel woman, Polgara," Barak said sadly.
"Did you talk to Grinneg about that ship?" Mister Wolf asked.
"I think so," Barak replied. "I seem to remember saying something about it."
"It's fairly important," Wolf said. "What's this?" Aunt Pol asked.
"I thought it might not be a bad idea to have a ship waiting off the mouth of the River of the Woods," Wolf said. "If we have to go to Sthiss Tor, it would probably be better to sail there rather than wade through the swamps in northern Nyissa."
"That's a very good idea, actually," she approved. "I'm surprised it occurred to you - considering your condition last night."
"Do you suppose we could talk about something else?" he asked somewhat plaintively.
It grew imperceptibly lighter, and the command to open the gate came from the watchtower on the wall above. The legionnaires slipped the iron bar and swung the ponderous gate open. With Mandorallen at his side, Silk led them out through the thick portal and across the bridge that spanned the dark waters of the Nedrane.
By noon they were eight leagues south of Tol Honeth, and Mister Wolf had somewhat regained his composure, though his eyes still seemed a bit sensitive to the bright spring sunlight, and he winced now and then when a bird sang a bit too near.
"Riders coming up behind," Hettar said. "How many?" Barak asked.
"Two." "Ordinary travelers, perhaps," Aunt Pol said.
The two figures on horseback appeared from around a bend behind them and stopped. They spoke together for a moment or two and then came on, their bearing somewhat cautious. They were a peculiar pair. The man wore a green Tolnedran mantle, a garment not really suited for riding. His forehead was quite high, and his hair was carefully combed to conceal his encroaching baldness. He was very skinny, and his ears stuck out from the side of his head like flaps. His companion appeared to be a child dressed in a hooded traveling cloak and with a kerchief across her face to keep out the dust.
"Good day to you," the skinny man greeted them politely as the pair drew alongside.
"Hello," Silk returned.
"Warm for so early in the year, isn't it?" the Tolnedran said. "We noticed that," Silk agreed.
"I wonder," the skinny man asked, "do you have a bit of water you could spare?"
"Of course," Silk said. He looked at Garion and gestured toward the pack animals. Garion dropped back and unhooked a leather waterskin from one of the packs. The stranger removed the wooden stopper and carefully wiped the mouth of the skin. He offered the bag to his companion. She removed her kerchief and looked at the skin with an expression of perplexity.
"Like this, your-uh-my Lady," the man explained, taking the skin back, raising it in both hands and drinking.
"I see," the girl said.
Garion looked at her more closely. The voice was familiar for some reason, and there was something about her face. She was not a child, though she was very small, and there was a kind of self indulged petulance about her tiny face. Garion was almost certain he had seen her somewhere before.
The Tolnedran handed the waterskin back to her, and she drank, making a small face at the resinous taste. Her hair was a purplish black, and there were faint dark smears on the collar of her traveling cloak that indicated that the color was not natural.
"Thank you, Jeebers," she said after she had drunk. "And thank you, sir," she said to Silk.
Garion's eyes narrowed as a dreadful suspicion began to grow in his mind.
"Are you going far?" the skinny man asked Silk.
"Quite a ways," Silk answered. "I'm Radek of Boktor, a Drasnian merchant, and I'm bound to the south with Sendarian woolens. This break in the weather destroyed the market in Tol Honeth, so I thought I'd try Tol Rane. It's in the mountains, and it's probably still cold there."
"You're taking the wrong road, then," the stranger said. "The road to Tol Rane lies off to the east."
"I've had trouble on that road," Silk said glibly. "Robbers, you know. I thought it'd be safer to go through Tol Borune."
"Yes," Silk admitted. "Quite a coincidence." "Perhaps we could ride along together." Silk looked doubtful.
"I don't see any reason why not," Aunt Pol decided before he could refuse.
"You're most kind, gracious lady," the stranger said. "I am Master Jeebers, Fellow of the Imperial Society, a tutor by profession. Perhaps you've heard of me."
"I can't really say so," Silk told him, "although that's not too remarkable, since we're strangers here in Tolnedra."
Jeebers looked a bit disappointed. "I suppose that's true," he said. "This is my pupil, Lady Sharell. Her father's a grand master merchant, the Baron Reldon. I'm accompanying her to Tol Borune where she's to visit relatives."
Garion knew that was not true. The tutor's name had confirmed his suspicions.
They rode several miles further, with Jeebers babbling animatedly at Silk. He spoke endlessly about his learning and continually prefaced his remarks with references to important people who seemed to rely on his judgment. Although he was tiresome, he appeared to be quite harmless. His pupil rode beside Aunt Pol, saying very little.
"I think it's time we stopped for a bite to eat," Aunt Pol announced. "Would you and your pupil care to join us, Master Jeebers? We have plenty."
"I'm quite overcome by your generosity," the tutor said. "We'd be delighted."
They stopped the horses near a small bridge that crossed a brook and led them into the shade of a thick clump of willows not far from the road. Durnik built a fire, and Aunt Pol began to unload her pots and kettles.
Master Jeebers' pupil sat in her saddle until the tutor quickly stepped over to help her down. She looked at the slightly marshy ground near the brook unenthusiastically. Then she glanced imperiously at Garion. "You-boy," she called. "Fetch me a cup of fresh water."
"The brook's right there," he told her, pointing.
She stared at him in amazement. "But the ground's all muddy," she objected.
"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" he admitted and then quite deliberately turned his back on her and went over to help his Aunt.
"Aunt Pol," he said after several moments of debating with himself. "Yes, dear?"
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