by Gary Gygax
"So the insurgents build strength and wait for something, a general uprising when their forces in the hills are strong enough to come into the open and fight."
"You know the whole plan?"
The magister bent forward to push the three coins to her, sat back, raised his hand as if taking an oath, then lowered it while saying, "What I just told you is the way of all revolutionaries everywhere. I don't have to see the documents to know the details. What's more, I believe that I fully support it. Whether it will succeed or not is another matter. Yet even there I suspect I might be influential. Come, Braji. Let us go to your room."
That shocked her. "You want to have sex now?"
"No. You are like a friend to me now. But we must go to your lodging place to make sure that anyone who might be a spy for the maharajah thinks that is what I am after. Is it nearby?"
Braji nodded. "It is a little room on the fourth floor of the building next door. Come on." She got up with a false smile on her face and held onto the magister. She gave the barman, Upura, a wave as they left. He returned a knowing smile. "If he bought it," she murmured, "anyone else watching did." They walked the short distance to the entrance to the adjacent structure and climbed up the long sets of steps to arrive at her door. "Sorry for this place," she said. "It is the best I can manage."
Setne entered, and when she had closed the door he sat on the bed. "Can you take me around the city—especially to places where the rebels might be present?"
"I can, but..." Again Braji made her unconscious gesture, fingers over pitted and scarred face. "Let's be realistic. If I'm not recognized as a whore, my looks will cause trouble for you. I think you need another guide."
"Could you do it otherwise?"
"Maybe, I'm not sure," the girl admitted.
Inhetep reached into his shawl-like upper garment and pulled out a little box. "You know I have powers," he said. "Here is something I want you to use now, an unguent for your skin. Smooth it on wherever you have scarring, but be sparing. A little is good, a lot wasteful. There is enough for seven applications, understand? That will help you to judge how much you need to use each time after this."
Braji's eyes brightened with a flash of hope, then clouded. It was something she didn't dare consider. While this stranger seemed a good man, had given her over a hundred annas, not betrayed her as a traitor to the crown, trust and hope both were foreign to her thinking. Like love and caring, to survive in her environment all such potentially weakening emotions had to be shut out. "Ill use it, but you'll have to pay me a chuckrum," she said in her hard, business-like voice.
"Here," the magister replied, tossing a coin through the air. "Maybe this will finally convince you. Even if it doesn't, you need it far more than I." His voice was absolutely neutral. There was neither pity nor judgment in his words or expression.
Braji noted that even as she caught the spinning coin. It was gold. "You throw me a lakh as if it were nothing?" She looked at it closely, bit it to see if it were a counterfeit. "Did you conjure this? Will it soon vanish?" she asked with a mixture of wonder and suspicion. When he shook his head, Braji believed him. The man's eyes denied all duplicity. "Why . . . ?"
"Never mind. Take it—and stop wasting my time. Use the salve. Hurry up. The morning is almost gone, and there's a whole city for you to show to me."
Without hesitation, she put her fingers into the box, touched the pale green stuff inside. The contact made her whole hand tingle. Jaw set, she pressed gently, took the salved digits out, up to her left cheek, then repeated the process on the other. Braji pretended she was applying a beauty creme, that her skin was perfect, that she was the lovely daughter of a wealthy merchant, a Vaisya maid readying to be presented to a dozen handsome suitors. After all, she was but a girl and still had some bit of dream hidden in her heart.
"That's fine." The words snapped her out of her reverie. "Do you have a mirror?" When Braji said she didn't, he swore, then told her, "You'll have to wait a bit then to see the effect. I think you 11 be pleased," he added cryptically. "Just make sure you apply the unguent once a day for the next six days. Don't use it more often, and don't miss a day, hear?"
She shrugged, nodded. When he wasn't around, she would do as she pleased. "Is this a paste which hides my scars?"
"You'll soon see. Now let's get out of here. Are we likely to run into anyone on the stairs?"
"Not at this time of day. Too early by half. I was out only because I had no money and nothing to eat."
The magister opened the door, looked out, saw no one. "It is as you said. Now, dear niece, after you. I am your Uncle Chandgar from Alwar, and you are going to show me the capital. But first you'll need a more suitable sari, and a few other things too. You see, I have a very dear companion who happens to also be a beautiful woman like you will grow to be."
Despite her puzzlement at all this, Braji didn't believe a word of that. Beautiful indeed. At least she would get a new dress. If he made her take him into dangerous territory, she'd give this Chandgar, or whoever he really was, the slip. Maybe she'd do that before they got to a shop. After all, she was now holding over a thousand annas. Never press your luck, a wise old harlot had once advised.
—— 13 ——
ALL AROUND THE TOWN
The magister kept a tight hold on her arm as she led him out the back way of the building and along a filthy alley to a busy street. He maintained that grip until they came to a shop selling small objects for the household. "Well go in here for a minute, Braji. I see they have decorative things for sale."
"What?"
"Decorations. Look there, see the pretty frame around the little mirror which hangs just there? Look, see if you'd like it to hang in your room."
Of course she had no mirror there. Nor did she want one. She hated to see herself. Braji tried to avoid his suggestion by playing along with his proposed charade and saying, "No, Uncle . . . Chandgar. I like the brass incense burner over there ever so much better."
It was time to make her stop being what she had become. "The mirror, dear niece!" Inhetep actually used his strong fingers to cause her a little pain as he squeezed her bicep. Braji winced and went to stand before the mirror where it hung. Her attitude showed that it might have been a spider or venomous snake from her perspective. The magister was there, close to her, forcing her to finally look at her own reflection.
"Oh!" was all she said when she saw herself. She pulled back as if stung, then moved forward, cautiously, little by little so as to view only a bit of her face at a time. "It is a miracle," she whispered, as she finally stood squarely before the glass, fingertips of both hands playing across her forehead, slowly traveling down her cheeks to her neck.
"You want to buy that mirror?" the puzzled proprietor demanded in a half-querulous tone as if her careful inspection in the looking glass would somehow wear it out.
"Yes!" Braji cried excitedly. Then she caught herself and looked at Inhetep as if he might refuse.
He chuckled. "Here, fellow, my young niece wants your second-rate goods, so I give you a rupee. How much change do I get?" The bargaining which followed was only half-hearted on the magister's part, and he ended up paying twenty annas for it.
Braji was scandalized. "It is worth no more than fifteen, tops," she said as they walked out of the shop. "I will do the bargaining from now on—with your permission, of course, Uncle Chandgar."
It was almost as if she believed they were niece and uncle now, so filled with the wonder of her unscarred face was this girl who minutes before had schemed like the hard tart she had survived being. "You are doing much better now, Braji, much better. Ill certainly allow you to haggle with the owner of the shop in which we select your new clothes. Let us find such a place." She took his hand and tugged him along, for the girl knew exactly where she wanted to buy her clothes, a place which had saris fit for a princess. "Don't you have anything to say about what the unguent did?" Inhetep asked as they hurried along one street after another.
"
Thank you!"
"No. I appreciate that, but I meant do you have questions about how it works?"
"Magick. You said you were like a swami, and I think you are the greatest, most wonderful one in all Delhi—the world! I will use the ointment faithfully each day for six more days, just as you said. Is there more?"
She was smart, no question. "You might notice a coarsening of your skin, and enlargement of the pores or something like the return of the pock marks by tomorrow morning. You must not use the stuff then, though. Wait until about the same hour to apply it again—an hour before midday or so."
"Yes, uncle." She said nothing more, trusting him fully now in at least the matter of the unguent, possibly more. "Here is the shop. Let's go in!" Before she suited her actions to her words, however, Braji stopped abruptly. Inhetep almost collided with her.
"Is something wrong?"
"I . . . well . . . This is a very fancy place, you see." She looked sheepish and crestfallen. It took no genius to tell she was ashamed of herself. "I have been inside once. They ask a fortune for their things. Perhaps we should go somewhere else. You have already paid me too much money, given me that which is worth more than all the gold in the world to me." Suddenly her face lit up again. "No. I have it! Ill use the lakh you gave me and buy a dress with it!"
The magister frowned and shook his head. "No. You'll need that to find new lodgings, get a new start."
"You are right. Let us go to shop where ordinary women get their clothes." Braji meant it. She was already starting to head off in another direction.
"Just a moment, niece. Do they have things which aren't too conspicuous here? Something nice but in good taste?"
She stopped. "I am not sure," she admitted.
"I have longed for the dresses which are like those a rani might wear, but I don't recall everything that they sell."
"Seeing that you know you like the goods in this shop, Braji, I think we should go in and look around. I have only so much time, you know." She was pleased, of course, agreeing readily. It was not entirely a lie, either. Inhetep did want to go many places before the day ended. He had much to learn, and that meant he had to visit all the quarters of Delhi and speak with the right people in each.
At first the woman who greeted them was cool. The two didn't look like they were able to afford the merchandise sold in the shop, and her voice told them as much. Inhetep spotted a couple of garments which were day wear, not blatantly expensive, and seemed tastefully pretty as well. "Which of these two do you like the best, niece?" he asked. "Because it's your birthday, I will buy whichever one you choose." That made the clerk hasten to attend Braji. The magister stood back while the two chattered, looked at his selections, and drifted away to look at others elsewhere. "We have much to do today," he called. Perhaps it hurried her a little.
'This one. Uncle Chandgar." Braji held up a lovely sari of pale turquoise, its edges trimmed in fine silver stitching. "It is the prettiest—outside those suitable for nighttime parties and such. ..." Her voice was wistful.
"There you have it. A shawl to go with it, and new sandals." He said it quickly so as to make her forget the fancier things which wouldn't do at all. "How much?"
"Don't talk so loud or look as if you will positively buy; and never, never appear to be in a hurry." With that Braji left him to his own devices while she selected the other things. It took her surprisingly little time to do that, and to strike a bargain with the woman helping her.
"No more?" Inhetep asked with some surprise. She smiled, told him that was the price agreed to, and he handed her some coins. With that they left the dress shop and went off to the part of Delhi which was principally that of the medial castes. "Now listen, Braji. Here is what I want to see." After reeling off a long list, the magister added, "and we should find somewhere which serves food, too. Make it a nice place that the well-to-do frequent."
They ate a good lunch, sipped tea afterwards. The priest-wizard seemingly listening to her chatter while actually paying attention to conversations going on around them. Sometimes, in fact, he used other means to overhear. After an hour he grew tired of it, settled their check, and the two departed.
"Thank the gods," Braji breathed as they hurried off to the next place on the tour he had set. "I was beginning to run out of polite things to say! Can't you do something other than respond with, 'How nice,' or 'Is that so?', or 'Of course'? Carrying on a one-way conversation and trying not to attract attention isn't easy, you know."
"You will certainly go far, dear Niece Braji, in your new circumstances," Inhetep said to avoid the matter. "What do you plan to do?"
"Why, be a courtesan, naturally," she replied instantly. "I can get ever so much for my favors now that I am beautiful. Then I'll save enough to buy a house, hire other women to work in it, and be the richest madam in Delhi." Braji looked up at him, smiling brightly.
Not knowing if she were serious or having him on, the magister changed the subject once again. He would not try to influence her values. "So now we go where?"
"To the big bazaar where everybody congregates. From there I'll take you to the avenue where most of the temples are located. Next will be the Street of Arms, then the Street of Smiths—it's right next to the armorers, and has everything from brass and copper workers to silversmiths and goldsmiths." She took a breath, mentally went over what she had said, then added, "Not too far away from there are several good places to eat supper, and after that well go to the tavern I know of where the latest ballads are sung."
He was pleased. "Just the ticket, girl! Nothing important missed. Tell me the way to get to the market." She pointed him in the right direction, and Setne took over from there. Although the population of the city was great, its size was compact. Delhi was packed into its crowded walls. Because this was the hottest time of the day, however, the traffic wasn't impossible. There were plenty of carts being pushed or pulled along by donkey power. Buffalo and oxen were too big and slow to be used inside the city, horses too dear for common work. There were even a few human mules bearing big burdens along to some destination or another. Other sorts of traffic were at a minimum. Many shops and outside stalls were shut down. Peddlers and other vendors were not active. Shoppers were at home, workers busy inside their places of employment. Even the soldiers who were commonly seen patrolling in pairs or sections seemed to have slipped off to some cooler place to rest.
"You don't mind this heat?" Braji was a little breathless.
"Pish! It is nothing. In /Egypt's deserts, girl, it gets hot!" the magister said sotto voce. He slowed his pace a bit, though. Just ahead the street widened dramatically into a large plaza. "Good. We're at the bazaar, and it isn't too crowded." He handed her a few coins. "We will split up but stay in sight of one another. While you are using eyes and ears to find what I am seeking, use these to buy some small thing or another. We must not appear to be spying." A minute later, they separated.
It proved to be a fruitless exercise. Perhaps those he sought for were avoiding the blaze of early afternoon as did normal citizens and soldiery alike. Discrete inquiries were out of the question in such a place. Inhetep let slip a muttered curse aimed at the throne here, some treasonous hint in what he said there. Besides getting an odd look or two, and making several sellers nervous in the extreme, he got nowhere. No sympathetic agreement, no rebel recruiter, nothing. An hour was all he could allow, and that time was gone. The girl was nearby, so he went to where she was intently examining braided shoulder bags and similar items. "Let us be off, niece," he said to Braji.
She smiled and nodded. "As you wish. Uncle Chandgar." Then, when they were out of earshot of everyone, the girl said, "I saw no one I recognized, heard no voice speaking of rebellion. But look, I managed to find a pretty little ivory necklace and earrings. I also bought a little bag to keep things in as we walk around."
"Later, Braji. I'm sure the things you found are nice, but I can't waste time looking at them now. We must hasten on to where armor and weapons are offered."
"We are almost there, Chandgar—Uncle Chandgar," she replied, taking his arm and giving it an affectionate little hug. "I took a route through the bazaar which brought us to the side which leads to the Street of Smiths."
Inhetep was not surprised to find that a number of the places there were closed and sealed, a sign proclaiming that the owner had been arrested and the shop seized by order of His Resplendent Majesty Guldir Maharajah Sivadji. Some weapons and armor makers remained open, arms were offered for sale, but there were few customers in evidence. The magister stopped in at each place, examining the wares, chatting a little about this and that. Again he tried his best but learned nothing. In the process, he found an unusual dagger of fine workmanship which he purchased as a gift for Rachelle. Oddly, he was treated suspiciously when he paid over the rather hefty sum the weapon sold for.
When Braji asked about it as they went on, he told her it was for a friend who was an enthusiast of such things. "Your magick is more potent than such tools," she observed, "but better still I think is influence through emotion or even ideas. It is the means most natural for people. In the end, it will prove more powerful than even enchantments, I think."
The magister looked at her speculatively. Such insight for a young and uneducated girl was unusual—disconcerting, in fact. He began to wonder what he had loosed by his well-intentioned assistance. "Possibly, niece," he allowed. "Forget about all that now. Concentrate on finding some insurgent talk, or better still one you recognize as a rebel. And by the by, we will not be making any purchases from the silversmiths and goldsmiths. Your 'Uncle Chandgar' is not made of money!"
"I would never dream of so much as suggesting such a thing, Chandgar."
"Easy to say, but when women see things which they believe enhance their attractiveness, apparent status, or financial security, such intentions often fly off as does a loosed bird." He harumphed a little to underscore his point, for just ahead was the place where precious metals were shaped into forms which only the wealthy could afford.
