Conan leaned back against the log wall, his thumbs hooked into his studded belt, his fingertips drumming out a rhythm on its polished surface.
'When I came hither,' the Cimmerian began, 'I sought only information. I thought to find naught but cowed oxen working in this place. Now I have some hope. Tell me; if I were to stir up things in Sicas and bring about there such chaos that the royal authorities would have no choice save to intervene, would you aid me?'
'Foreigner,' said Bellas, 'if you can but find the place where they keep our women and children, you can leave all the killing to us. Xanthus set Lisip's men to watch us because Ermak's men think themselves above such duty. But the old miser miscalculated there, for Lisip's dogs are too lazy and too stupid to do a good job of it. Mostly they stay up in the guard shack, sodden with drink much of the time. They never bother to make a careful search of the village or of the mine workings. We have been forging every bit of iron we could spare into weapons, and now we have enough to arm every man here.'
'Can you use them?' Conan demanded.
Instead of answering, Bellas dipped his hand into a basket behind him and brought it out holding something round, which he tossed to Conan. 'This is what we have been living on.'
Conan caught the object and examined it. It was a turnip, plain and round and as hard as a stone. He tossed it back. 'Poor fare for men who must work as hard as you. And you did not answer my question.'
'We have not weakened on this fare,' Bellas said, studying the tuber in his hand. Abruptly, his hand tightened into a fist. Near-liquid pulp shot from beneath his fingers for several feet. Conan blinked. He accounted himself among the strongest of men, but this was an astonishing display. 'When the time comes,' Bellas said, 'you will not find us wanting.'
'Excellent,' Conan said. 'I will try to send word ahead, but if not, come when the uproar starts, and come armed. Will you know when things begin to break in Sicas?'
'Some of our old people go marketing every day. They miss little. Tell me something, foreigner.'
'What would you know?' Conan asked.
'What is your stake in all this? You are not from here. You are neither guildsman nor royal official, yet you wish to help us. Why?'
Conan rose from the bench. 'I am like everybody else in Sicas,' he said. 'I am here to grow wealthy.'
Bellas grinned, but there was no mirth in his face. 'You are more likely to be killed, but men die poor as easily as they die rich, and the gods will love you for robbing the likes of Xanthus and Bombas.'
'I care nothing about the gods,' Conan said, 'and those you named are just two among the villains of Sicas.'
He rode back to town whistling. This was turning out to be even better than he had hoped. So, the rich man and the Reeve were both skimming from the royal share? Robbing a king was a risky game, even when the king was a weak fool like Numedides. Surely there must be something here that he could turn to account. Now that he knew Bombas and Xanthus were partners in this particular bit of knavery, the question of their enmity became doubly intriguing.
The sun had all but set when he returned to the inn. After caring for his horse, Conan went to the common room and ate ravenously, for he had not eaten that day. He was given much space at his table, for word had spread that he was a dangerous man who made enemies readily.
He examined his quarters but found no further sign of intruders. Brita was nowhere to be seen, and Conan mentally cursed the woman's single-minded determination to locate her sister, no matter the hour or the danger. Still, there was nothing he could do about her at the moment, but he was not through seeking answers for the day. He went down the stairs and out into the street. This time he directed his footsteps toward the Street of the Woodcarvers.
Above the sign of the Sunburst, a square of white cloth was draped from a window. He ascended the stairs and knocked at a stout door. 'Who is it?' called a voice from inside.
'Conan,' he answered. A small panel slid aside and a blue eye studied him. The panel shut and there was a sound of sliding bolts before the door opened. Delia stood aside and gestured for him to enter.
'Come in, Cimmerian. I wondered how long you would take to come and visit me.'
Conan stepped within. The room beyond was a cluttered mess, but its furnishings were expensive. It was illuminated by a dozen candles and half as many oil lamps. On a table stacked with unwashed dishes, a black-and-white cat lapped milk from a silver
bowl.
'Welcome to my abode, Conan.' Delia scooped a striped yellow cat from a chair. 'Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Few men have been honoured with an invitation to my home.'
Conan sincerely doubted that the woman's favours were as exclusive as she implied, but he accepted the chair vacated by the striped cat and propped his booted feet on a hassock.
'I am honoured,' he said with a straight face.
She took a pair of silver goblets and a chased pitcher of the same metal and poured both cups full, spilling some wine in the process. Clearly, she had been making inroads on the wine before. Conan arrived. He took the offered cup and drank. It was an excellent vintage. The woman was as prodigal with drink as she was with illumination. He wondered what Maxio thought of his woman's spending habits.
'I knew you could not stay away from me for long,' Delia said, slurring her words slightly. 'Once a man has taken my eye, I will see to it that he comes to me.'
'It is not my way to chase another man's woman,' Conan said. 'What of your Maxio?'
'Maxio!' she said indignantly. 'He does not appreciate me. I am too good for the likes of him. Do you not find me beautiful?'
'I'll not deny it,' Conan assured her.
'Yet he treats me like some cheap woman of the streets whose
looks came from a paint pot and whose hair rightfully belongs to some barbarian woman who sold her yellow tresses to the wig-maker!' She took a long drink of the wine, as if she needed it to extinguish an internal blaze. 'Why do I waste my love and loyalty on a man like that?' She finished the cup and poured herself some more, then offered the same service to Conan, but he shook his head.
'You have told me of the enmity that lies between Maxio and Bombas,' Conan said. 'But there is something deeper between the Reeve and Xanthus. Know you anything of this?'
'What kind of man are you?' she demanded sulkily. 'Why do you want to talk about those dreary men? Wouldn't you rather talk about me?'
'First the Reeve and Xanthus,' Conan said. 'Then, perhaps, we shall talk about you and about me.'
'Oh, very well.' She ran her fingers through her splendid hair, then noticed that her cup was empty once more. Quickly, she rectified the situation. 'I know little of the matter, and I doubt that any do, save the two men themselves. Many years ago, when both were young men, they were close partners. But they fell out, over a woman.'
'A woman!' Conan laughed. 'Those two?'
'Even old men were once young,' she asserted, 'and young men value nothing so highly as women, and rightfully so. Anyway, the story is that they both pursued the same woman but were too cowardly to fight for her. At any rate, she died. Perhaps she killed herself. Each blames the other for her death, and black enmity has lain between them ever since.'
'What a pair!' Conan said. 'Divided by ancient hatred, yet bound together by guilt and villainy.' He thought over the implications for a while. 'Tell me, Delia, who is the town's main fence? All the thieving hereabouts must mean that there is a receiver for stolen goods. Or do the fences here fight one another as everyone else does?'
A cat sprang into Delia's lap and she stroked it. 'In the Pit
there is an old Temple of Bes, an Ophirean god. Bes has few worshippers here, but he has the richest temple in Sicas, because the priest is the town's most prosperous fence. He used to be the only one, under Lisip's protection, but now there are others.'
'Is the temple near one of the rivers?' Conan asked.
'Yes. It is built against the Fury wall. Why do you ask?'
'I just like
to know about these things,' Conan said.
'Are you planning a job?' she asked. Her look grew sly, although she was having difficulty in keeping her eyes focused. 'Because if you are, I know of something being planned that you might get in on. There will be a big pay-off, and not much risk.'
'I am interested,' Conan said.
'Well, Maxio and his boys plan to break into the royal storehouse. It's up near the north end of town, not far from the wall. It's where the town's tax yield is stored, along with the king's share from the silver mine. Maxio plans to make a fabulous haul and get out of town.'
'If he robs a royal storehouse, he should get out of Aquilonia entirely,' Conan commented. 'Isn't it heavily guarded?'
She laughed. 'Oh, aye. By Bombas's men. How much trouble can they be to deal with?'
'I see. When is the raid to be, and how does Maxio plan to move his loot out of town?'
She yawned hugely, all but dislocating her jaw. 'What did you say? Oh, yes. I don't know when it will be, exactly. In the next few days. And he didn't tell me his escape plans. It almost seems as if he doesn't trust me any more, the sneaking rat!'
'He is unworthy of you,' Conan said.
'That is very true.'
'When you know that Maxio is about to make his move, will you tell me?'
She was not too drunk to remember her greed. 'That is the sort of information I expect to be paid well for. After all, it will gain you a great deal of loot, and Maxio never gives me anything!'
'I promise to be generous,' Conan assured her.
'Well, then, all right...' Slowly, her head nodded, her eye-lids dropped, and she began to snore.
The Cimmerian rose. Before leaving, he thoughtfully extinguished all but a single candle. Between the woman and her cats, he thought, it was a wonder the block had not been burned to the ground.
VIII
Lilac Perfume
When the Cimmerian returned to the inn, all was silent. The last of the late drinkers had vacated the common room, and when he entered the courtyard, his was the only shadow cast by the silvery moon overhead. Swiftly, he climbed the steps to the third Boor, and for all his bulk, he ascended as silently as a ghost.
Outside his door he paused. Another man might not have noticed, but his sensitive nose detected a scent of lilacs. Brita had not used scent since he had encountered her. He drew his dagger and thrust the door open. The inside of the room was inky black.
'Come out, Piris,' Conan commanded.
'How did you know I was here?' asked the breathy, tremulous voice.
The Cimmerian laughed. 'Piris, somehow I just do not need the evidence of my eyes to know you in the dark, even through a closed door.' His voice hardened. 'Now, tell me why you are in my room hiding instead of calling upon me by daylight, like an honest man.'
The little man came out onto the balcony. Even by moonlight, his robes were lurid. 'I did not reach town until after nightfall. The gate guard told me where you lodged, and I came hither immediately. Was it my fault that you were out somewhere when I arrived?'
'And who let you in?'
Piris reached into his robes. His hand emerged holding a small ring of tiny tools. 'This let me in. These inn locks are childishly simple to open.'
Conan had to smile at the man's shamelessness. 'And you saw no point in standing outside the door in the dark, eh?'
'There, I knew you to be a reasonable man. You do understand.'
'Fetch us a candle, and we will go inside and talk.'
Piris ducked back into the room and emerged with the candle, which he carried a few paces to a torch that sputtered dimly in a sconce overhanging the courtyard. The Cimmerian stepped into the chamber and stood silent for a few seconds. No sound came from the next room. Either Brita had left again or she had no! returned. The silly fool was probably wandering around in the Pit, calling her sister's name.
Piris returned with the candle and set it into its pewter holder. Conan divested himself of weapons and armour and stretched himself upon the bed. Piris took the room's single chair.
'Now tell me,' Conan said. 'Where have you been?'
'I would have arrived sooner,' the little man said, 'but I was clapped into a dungeon in Belverus!' His voice quivered at the injustice.
'How came that about?' Conan asked.
'As I left the city, I was detained at the guardhouse and my belongings were searched. Clearly, someone had told the guards to watch for me. In my baggage they found an exquisite amber necklace belonging to a certain priestess of the city. An enemy had planted the thing on me and tipped the guard!'
'Are you quite certain that it was planted?' asked Conan, scepticism tingeing his voice.
'Sir!' Piris said indignantly. 'Credit me with some wit. I
would never leave a town by the main gate while carrying stolen property.'
' 'And just who was this enemy who treated you so treacherously?' Conan queried.
'I cannot be certain, but I believe it was a woman named Altaira, with whom I had dealings. The wench is an accomplished thief and quite capable of such a thing. We had had a... a dispute, and she was looking to revenge herself upon me.'
'Describe her.' Conan said.
'A black-haired bitch who paints her nails and lips the most shocking shade of scarlet. She has the manner of a she-wolf and much the same reputation. She has slain many men who crossed her. Have you seen such a woman here?' The little man shuddered at the thought.
'None like that,' Conan said. 'How did you get out of the dungeon?'
'When they locked me up, they took everything from me, but I had secreted some valuables, ah, very privily upon my person. With a small jewel, I bribed a keeper to return my clothes, complaining that the dungeon was very cold and damp. This the fool did, not knowing that I had my little ring of tools concealed cunningly within the padding of my sash. With this I let myself out just before dawn, when all were snoring unsuspectingly. I recovered my belongings and left by way of a window, then lowered myself over the city wall by means of a rope. I could not recover my horse, naturally, but I acquired another.'
'You are very resourceful,' said Conan, who had graced many a dungeon himself, including the one in Belverus.
'And how have you fared here?' Piris asked.
'You were not wrong when you said that this is a wicked city,' Conan said. 'It is divided among a half-score of rival gangs. Authority is contested between a corrupt Reeve named Bombas and a crooked old miser named Xanthus. The main hangout of the rogues is an area called the Pit, at the south end of town, but now the whole place is wide open. The principal fence is a priest
of Bes, whose temple is in the Pit.' Conan saw no reason to tell Piris of his doings since his arrival.
The little man rubbed his palms together. 'This sounds like a place where one can do business.'
'Speaking of business,' Conan said, 'you have yet to explain ours. You said you would tell me when you joined me here. Do so now. I have had a long day, and I must sleep sometime.'
'Very well. Know, then, that I come of a very ancient and prominent family of Shadizar. For a hundred generations, we have been counsellors to kings and benefactors of the great temples of our land. We are a priestly family, and I myself am an initiate of the Third Order of the Servants of Asura.' If he expected Conan to be impressed by this revelation, he was wrong. The Cimmerian yawned.
'At any rate,' Piris went on, 'as a result of our prominence, my family is the custodian of many famed treasures. Deep within the vaults beneath our palace in Shadizar is kept the vase, carved from a single huge ruby, containing the sacred oil with which every Zingaran monarch is anointed upon accession. Our border fortress in the Kezankian mountains houses the great idol of Sutra, which will cure the afflictions of any petitioner who will but ascend the nine thousand steps up the mountainside upon his knees. Many a bloody-kneed supplicant has found solace at the feet of this god, whose sole priests are members of my family.'
'Will you not get to the point, man?' Cona
n asked impatiently.
'As you will. In my own house in Shadizar is a small temple, dedicated to a god so ancient that none remembers his name. The temple, which lies far underground, is far more ancient than the house, which is tolerably old itself, about seven hundred years. Within the temple crypt reposed one of the family treasures. This treasure was stolen some years ago, and I have pursued it ever since, unable for shame to return to my family. I cannot return to take up my rightful station in life until it is within my hands once more.'
'And the nature of this treasure?' Conan asked, sensing where his was leading.
Piris drew a deep breath, as if about to impart something both vital and secret. 'It has the likeness of a scorpion with the head of a beautiful woman, carven from a stone like obsidian.'
Somehow, Conan was not surprised. He was glad of the flickering, deceptive light cast by the lone candle, for Piris would not be able to read the many expressions he knew to be crossing his countenance in rapid succession, consternation and amusement predominating.
'And what is it that makes this stone insect so valuable?' Conan asked.
'For my family, its value is incalculable. Our fortunes are bound up with it, and it has long been held that should we lose it, our house would surely fall. I shudder to think what may be happening to my kinsmen this very moment, occasioned by its loss. But if I can restore it to its pedestal beneath my house, likewise will our fortunes be restored.'
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