Aftermath tw-10

by Robert Asprin

  A short time later, Hanse responded to Strick's request to visit. He met the young Lady Esaria on her way out. Neither recognized the other because neither knew the other.

  Somewhere, the goddess Eshi smiled.

  "Hanse," Strick said without any preamble at all, "a man needs your help. A client needs a service only you can perform."

  Hanse put on his face of sweet innocence. "I can't imagine what you mean."

  Strick's smile was cursory; dutiful, "A wall or two needs to be scaled. A house and a room or two need to be entered. An item needs to be fetched."

  "Ah! I've heard of just the roach you need. He's called Shadowspawn, I believe."

  "Do you think he will perform this service?"

  "Probably. He usually works for himself. But, if the price is right ..." Hanse gestured eloquently. "Tell me about this ... mis- sion."

  "The price is right," Strick said, and told him about the mission.

  "Oh, no! Not a sorcerer!"

  "Hanse! After your experiences with the real thing up in Firaqa, this boy will pose you no problem. True, he was apprentice to Markmor the Archmage, but Markmor was found dead even before I came here. A lot of mages have come and gone, Hanse."

  Hanse nodded. "I remember that big one with the blue star on his forehead ..."

  "Lythande," Strick said.

  "Lythande! Odd name for a man!"

  "That one will not be back, Hanse. Lythande does not like this town at all, and will never be back."

  "You know a lot, Strick. for a newcomer who's been here only a few months."

  Strick nodded. "Yes. I make it my business to learn things. Sanctuary is my business, now. And I, believe me, am here to stay. And we were discussing a certain venture concerning a roach and one Marype."

  "Oh but Father Us, how I hate sorcery!"

  Strick stared. "Perhaps you will refer me to a brave professional, then."

  "Bastard!" The professional thief made a show of his sigh. "What does he have that you want ... acquired?"

  Strick held out his hand. An earring gleamed brightly in his palm: a glowing black stone caged in good gold. "The mate to this. It was torn from its wearer's ear and now that swinish mage is using it to harm him."

  "Nadeesh," Hanse murmured, and sighed. He nodded, gestured.

  Strick told him a bit more. Reluctantly, Hanse named a price. Discon- certingly, Strick did not even bother to dicker. He rose, placed the ear- ring in Hanse's hand, bade him grip it and try to visualize its mate, and laid hands on the best cat-thief in Sanctuary.

  "Now. You will be able to find it, once you're in its proximity. If it is in a container, bring it that way. This is important."

  Once more Hanse sighed. "A sorcerer! Gods, how I hate sorcery!"

  Strick merely gazed at him.

  The younger man rose. "It will be done, Strick," Shadowspawn said casually, on his way out.

  Strick surprised him with the standard benison on a thief: "May the night-dark cloak cover you and your actions this night," Meanwhile the spellwright was thinking: How interesting. He keeps company with an ensorceled cat and wears a dagger that's the product of sorcery. Hates it, hmm?

  Hanse wandered his town, thinking and working to relax as he pre- ferred to do before an important reaching venture. He noted reconstruc- tion, a purse-cutting, the painting of various buildings, the large number of foreigners imported to handle the work. Occasionally he returned-or ignored-a startled greeting. He saw Beysib mingling with Ilsigi and Rankans. Near the marketplace he was surprised to see large dark eyes peeping at him; the girl he had thought of only as Mignue's little sister. He pretended not to notice. Beard of Us' Jileel! All grown up and seem- ingly smuggling watermelons-and still staring!

  Noise at a wall's reconstruction site attracted him. He ambled that way, seeing that it was a real uprising. While disgruntled Ilsigi laborers mutter-muttered, refusing to work, a big fellow harangued them. He was ranting loudly about the way these walls were wrecked, among other destruction and deaths, and how the gods were angry at Sanctuary, and why should "we fix and put back a wall for those damned oversea Beys occupying our palace!" Imported workers meanwhile stood away. Unin- volved, they performed that act known as honoring the strike, meaning they stood or sat around enjoying the break.

  Some of the bully's words made sense to Hanse Things were bad here when I left, and obviously got a lot worse. I hate these loudmouthed rabble-rousers, but ...

  Suddenly a lean, blond young man appeared, wearing a leather apron over his well-made blue tunic. He commenced working. Stone dust flew. Brave fellow, Hanse thought. Brave fool! Then he frowned, seeing the ranter pick up a jagged chunk of stone and take aim at the sole worker ...

  Almost out of sight, the three Beys sent by Shupansea to watch over her beloved drew bowstrings to slay the rabble-rouser in defense of Kada-

  And Hanse threw. His flat lozenge of knife rushed to slice across the back of the big fellow's hand so that he dropped the stone with a scream. Another scream followed: he had dropped it on his own foot. Laughter rose as he danced, simultaneously squealing and cursing.

  The Beysibs lowered their bows and went back to looking invisible while everyone watched the dark, wiry young man who came running into the work area, wearing a good green tunic and nice doeskin leggings. The daring young worker in the leather apron, having retrieved the thrown knife, stared while the newcomer faced the loudmouth.

  "Go away, Tarkle," Hanse shouted. "All that babble you've been giv- ing out is just that-everybody knows you just don't like to work."

  The big rabble-rouser with the bloody hand, once again discovering that bullying was becoming a more and more hazardous pastime, glowered and made surly noises. He also noticed the deadly eyes and several other knives on the person of a known expert he had thought was long gone from Sanctuary. Tarkle backed off-limping. Suddenly Hanse and leather-apron were exchanging stares of recognition:

  "Prince!"

  "Hanse!"

  Excited noises went through the assemblage along with the usual rum- ble-rumble as they watched the Prince-Governor himself pounce onto a high spot and extend a hand to Hanse.

  "See who works on the walls of Sanctuary?" Kadakithis called, in a loud clear voice. "A Rankan! See who saves him from a murderous bully who knows not what he's doing?-an Ilsig ... my friend."

  Hanse's eyes rolled. Oh blast! There goes my credibility!

  Kadakithis spoke on, startling all of them with his confidence and charismatic eloquence. They cheered! His people went back to work- with Kadakithis.

  Damn, Hanse thought cheerlessly, stooping to grasp a big cut slab of stone. I'm stuck! I can't just walk off and leave the Prince-Gov working like a Downwinder! But ... damn! Work! Me!

  Since Markmor's death, Hanse learned the following Eshday afternoon from one of the fixture/characters of the Maze, the street cleaner and trash picker called Old Thumpfoot, the quite young Marype had secretly set himself up in Lastel's villa, whether legally or otherwise.

  "How nice," Shadowspawn murmured, meandering along the Serpen- tine. He knew that well-appointed villa, and the late Lastel/One- Thumb's secret. All he had to do was use the tunnel connecting the house with a House; the brothel called Lily Garden. True, he had an idea about Cholly's dry-tack, but he'd try that another time. Cheered by that pros- pect, he dropped in to the Vulgar Unicorn for a piece of cheese and an apple. He'd eat a proper meal afterward, if his stomach agreed. He tar- ried, more than civil and almost loquacious to the surprise of a couple of old acquaintances. He left their company at sunset, taking a small pail of beer home to his new second-floor room. Notable was happy to see him and more than happy with the beer. He lapped with gusto while Hanse stretched out to rest and think.

  No question about it, entry will be like slicing pie. Now what am I likely to need? he thought, and his smile faded. Blast. Here previously, and up in Firaqa, he had grown accustomed to Mignue's warnings and direc- tions!

  Suppose I'm in and it turns out tha
t I should have brought a brown crossed pot, or a copper kettle, or ...

  "Gulp," he said aloud, trying to shame himself out of unwonted ner- vousness that was as uncharacteristic as his affability to the Vulg.

  Notable looked up from his whisker-grooming. " 'rraow?"

  "I said cats aren't supposed to belch, you beer-guzzling greedbag."

  Hanse directed his thoughts to Nadeesh, and from that unfortunate man to Strick. That man's going to make a Difference, he reflected. Al- ready has! Twice he shocked Notable by lurching up into a sitting posi- tion and snapping a throw. He had not told his landlord why he had grunted up here to his room with the old wooden wheel. It was inordi- nately thick and joined by pegs rather than nails. Braced against the wall farthest from the bed with the iron rim removed, it made a nice target. The throwing star he sent straight into the hub; the slender wafer of a knife from its sheath on his right upper arm missed by an inch.

  "Must be getting old," he muttered, swinging off the bed to retrieve both missiles. Pacing back to the bed, he whirled and threw. The flat, hiltless and guardless knife appeared in the hub. Tired of the violent nonsense, Notable said "rrawwrr!" and pounced.

  "Ouch! How'd you like to become my favorite target, Notable you dam' cat?"

  A couple of hours later he rose again and stripped, to change into his blacks; his work clothes. Notable seemed already to understand this rit- ual, whether or not cats saw colors: the big red animal pounced up onto the shelf under the window and looked from it to his human.

  "You're right," Shadowspawn said, double checking the lock on his door. "That's the way we go out tonight, m'friend."

  They did.

  An hour later, both of them had easily gained silent-entry to the large house formerly occupied by one Lastel/One-Thumb and now the lair of a young mage many thought dead. Hanse was sure they were wrong, al- though by now he had heard tales of the legions of walking and indeed wandering dead who had plagued Sanctuary's streets during his absence. No. Marype was alive. A look in the kitchen provided evidence of occu- pancy and recent cooking. A bed on the second floor had been used recently. In fact that bed looked as if Marype had lately entertained company. The tall cabinet-like press contained clothing. Not that of the departed Lastel, surely; expert eyes found membranous black gloves and noted that the thumbs of both were expanded by wear. On the point of keeping those nice thin gloves, the silent intruder decided against it. He'd steal nothing from the lair of a sorcerer; only that property of another which he was here to retrieve. He departed the bedroom without search- ing further, remembering the spellwright's words that he would know when he was nigh Nadeesh's earring.

  Soft-soled buskins as silent on good carpet as Notable's pads, a living shadow roamed dim corridors and stepped briefly into well-furnished chambers. Some had been long closed, he saw; he passed them without opening their doors. Man and cat saw no one and heard no sound. Nota- ble gave no indication that he scented any. Once he paused, head and one foot uplifted, and his companion went to the corridor wall like a shadow. A dark knife had materialized in his hand even as he squatted. Notable ambled over. Shadowspawn didn't touch the animal, waiting for any further indication of danger. Notable gave none. After several silent mo- ments his human tapped his back with the knife.

  "Dumbhead," Shadowspawn whispered, and Notable immediately commenced purring. "Shhh!" He rose and ghosted on, purring cat pacing close by.

  At last they came to a room containing a worktable and things that made the hair twitch on Shadowspawn's nape and writhe under his working blacks. Notable's purring stopped as if sliced. Ogods, how I hate sorce-

  Abruptly he knew that the earring was in that nice little mahogany casket. Nice work, Strick. On the point of opening the box, he paused, cocked his head, and stepped to one side. From there he flipped up the lid with the point of one of his knives. He heard the concealed trigger and watched the slender dart fling itself straight up into the ceiling with a tiny thunk of impact. Notable went into a low crouch while Shadowspawn nodded at sight of the little box's contents. Bloodstains, too. Still using the knife, he tipped the lid and waited alertly. Nothing happened save that the lid dropped almost noiselessly back into place. On the point of snatching it and departing this silent chamber whose contents made him horripilate, he spotted several strands of hair on the table. He popped them into the box, wrapped it in a nice strip of scarlet cloth off the table, and slipped it into his black upper garment. With rather unseemly haste, he vacated the chamber of Marype's sorceries.

  Easy as slicing pie. he reflected as he hurried down to the concealed entry to the old tunnel. Just as good as ever, without any help from Mignureal or anyone else!

  In that musty old tunnel he heard a rat and saw another and then he saw ghastly eeriness. Ghost images seemed frozen, locked in eternal com- bat. It looked like-could that be old One-Thumb? Surely not, he thought, and that was when the rat pounced.

  It was big, a rat the size of a normal cat, which Notable was not. Shadowspawn was only just able to duck, flailing. The cat had already pounced at the rat with a long ugly "Rrrawwwww," and Hanse smiled in anticipation of a swift squeaky massacre. A flurry of action wiped away his smile and brought a grunt from his throat; a big red shape went hurtling backward to flop loosely on hardpacked earth.

  "Notable!"

  Shadowspawn slammed a throwing knife into the rat, then another. His eyes went wide and he felt his nape hairs stir again at sight of both blades passing through the creature, bloodlessly. Shock immobilized him long enough for the rat to leap upon him and sink its fangs into his arm. Hanse groaned and bit his lip while he clamped the unnaturally heavy beast with his right hand. The rat felt just as strong as he. Its fangs were like thick needles and the pain was awful when he tried to pull the huge rodent away. Sweat coated him in seconds. Despite the fact that the other knives had accomplished nothing against what was obviously sorcery, he could not give it up. Even as the rat-thing gnawed him and his brain began to stagger in a red haze of pain, a terrified Shadowspawn drew Cholly's dagger and stabbed, slashed.

  With a shriek and a horrid jolt that made him cry out, the sorcerous thing vanished. So did the pain in Hanse's arm and the mark there. Yet his glance showed him a satisfying smear of blood on the dagger's silver- inlaid blade. Pouncing to take up the unconscious Notable, Shadow- spawn ran.

  I didn't name Strick a high enough price!

  Emerging like the shadow of a ghost into the Lily Garden, he ducked an amorously entwined couple who never saw him. A downward glance showed him that the big heavy cat in his arms had one eye slitted open. It gazed greenly up at him.

  "Oh, Notable, you omery faker! See who gets the beer after this night's work!"

  Notable made a distinctly unpleasant remark. Hanse tarried to be cute with the Lily Garden's proprietor, Amoli, but not for long.

  A few minutes after his departure, Amoli was bustling along the tunnel to tell Marype a few things ...

  Early Anenday morning Strick himself arrived at the home ofNadeesh the leech. Using the earring with its brown-stained post, Strick easily "cured" the physician- Nadeesh upheld his bargain: he agreed to sell the Vulgar Unicorn (which he wanted to get rid of anyhow!) to Strick tiFiraqa. Strick kept the sorcerer's box and the few strands of human hair. Marype's hair.

  "There, Snapper Jo. Do you have any further doubts that I have power over you?"

  The cowering demon shook its hideous head.

  "Good," the new owner of the Vulgar Unicorn said. "You've just been replaced. Go find other employment."

  By the following night a native Ilsigi had been installed as night bar- man at the Vulg; seeing that former carpenter Abohorr had lost a digit, everyone immediately delighted in calling him One-Thumb. Later that evening those same patrons were astonished and proud to see in their favorite haunt here in the very heart of the Maze: the white spellmaster Strick and Lady Esaria (with two bodyguards, of course). They seemed to have a nice time. Even drunks were sensible enough to say
nothing untoward to the spellmaster's lady.

  No one knew that Strick owned the place. As a matter of fact hardly anyone knew that Nadeesh had owned it. Most patrons did like the new serving girl. Silky, with her odd accent.

  That same Moondy night Hanse ambled along, richer by quite a bit and actually trying not to swagger. As he passed an alley he was hit by a stagger spell, grabbed by three large toughs, punched, drugged, bound, gagged, and popped into a big cloth bag. Callous men hurried him to the waterfront. Their bagged burden thought of the stories he'd heard of slavers, right here in Sanctuary. Groggily he recognized one voice among the three: Tarkle. In the rope-bound sack, Hanse was boosted onto the ship Asienta and tumbled into the hold with a mild splash. He listened to the hatch being screwed down tightly. Groggily he heard that the ship sailed tomorrow for the far Bandaran Islands.

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