Stealers' Sky tw-12

by Robert Asprin

  "Off with you now," the bard said, "and don't be telling any of your friends that I'm an easy mark, or I'll find you and nail your hide to the city wall."

  As the minstrel let the boy go and watched the urchin disappear into the crowd, Mariat smiled and thought how typical such generosity was of the man called Sinn. She and her grandchildren had come to know and love him as he traveled with them in the caravan from Ranke to Sanctuary.

  The bard had taken a liking to the three children, and had played with them and sung them to sleep every night. Mariat was glad, for he was the only positive masculine influence that the children had had since their own father, her son, had died suddenly and violently. For some reason, Sinn had attached himself to her family and looked after them during their caravan journey.

  Now the bard approached her wagon. After giving the horses a reassuring pat on the nose, he turned and smiled up at the woman who held their reins in her hands.

  "I believe I have found us suitable accommodations, madame," he said politely and cheerfully. Though Mariat could no longer make claim to her aristocratic station, Sinn still treated her with the grace and respect due a lady of substance. This not only endeared the charismatic minstrel to her even more, but was a constant source of strength and reassurance to her, planting and nurturing the seeds of belief in herself so that she could accomplish the task she had come to Sanctuary to fulfill.

  "Come up then, friend," Mariat said, offering him the seat beside her on the wagon. "And lead us to the place you have found. I am parched and travel-sore, and I wish to take a decent bath and eat a decent meal."

  "You shall have both and more," Sinn answered, laying his mandolin carefully between himself and Mariat to make sure it came to no harm. The instrument was, after all, the tool of his livelihood. Then he directed Mariat out of the Bazaar towards the inn he had located, and Keldrick followed behind with the other wagon.

  Much later that night, Mariat relaxed on a comfortable bed in her own private room. It was the first real respite she had had in many weeks. The establishment Sinn had discovered for them was called the Warm Kettle. It was a quaint and charming inn, located in a decent part of town. "Decent" meaning it was not in Downwind or the Maze. Having only been in town one day, Mariat had already learned that honest people avoided those two thief-infested rat holes like the proverbial plague.

  The proprietors of the Warm Kettle were a pleasant, elderly Ilsigi couple. Shamut and his wife, Dansea, had been in operation long before the Rankans took over, and their business went on undisturbed for the most part by any of Sanctuary's troubles. This was mostly due to the fact that they minded their own business and ran an honest establishment.

  The couple asked no questions of their clients, and they expected no trouble in return. Shamut had been more than helpful in assuaging some of Mariat's foremost anxieties. The contents of her wagons, which she had guarded preciously across the mountains and through the desert, were now safely housed in the locked vaults of Shamut's cellars. The Ilsigi innkeeper had also been able to recommend merchants and tradesmen she could contact about business investments. Lastly, he had provided her with the name of the man to whom she would have to go to find out about the availability and price of land around Sanctuary: the city's foremost bureaucrat, Molin Torchholder-Rankan priest.

  With her goods and her grandchildren safe for the moment, Mariat sought her first night of true, peaceful rest in months. However, as she unwound and let the sweet winds of sleep carry her into unconscious oblivion, the ghosts of her recent past were resurrected and met her on the threshold of nightmare,

  She drifted back to her life of nine months ago. Her husband, Kranderon, had run the most successful and respected vineyard in all of Ranke-the Aquinta Winery. Aquinta was a western province of Ranke, and its soil yielded the most suitable grapes for fine wine. Kranderon's family had built a mercantile empire on their vintage, which was considered the finest, most superior wine in all the lands. It was the nectar of emperors and kings, and people of cultured tastes lauded its praises from as far north as Mygdonia to as far south as Sanctuary.

  Mariat, who had come from a minor noble house of Ranke, had married the dashing young Kranderon, heir to the Aquinta wine empire. For nearly forty years her life had been easy, cultured, and aristocratic. She was accustomed to the finer things of life, to hosting balls and dinner parties and wine-tasting extravaganzas. The former Rankan Emperor, Abakithis, had visited their estate often to personally survey their stock for his own wine cellars. The Emperor had held Kranderon and Mariat in high esteem.

  But, unfortunately, emperors have a way of dying and empires do change hands. The new Rankan Emperor, Theron, though a brilliant military strategist, had little appreciation for the finer points of culture and etiquette. His taste ran more towards large quantities of ale than the refined delicacies of vintage wine.

  And Kranderon, though farsighted in business ventures and moneymaking opportunities, was shortsighted in the political and military arena.

  As the Rankan Empire began to crumble in upon itself with intrigue, upheaval, and treachery, the former allies and friends of Abakithis fawned upon Theron, assuring him of their loyalties and disclaiming any allegiance or respect for the previous Emperor who had once embraced them as friends and peers.

  Kranderon was not so quick to desert the memory of his old friend Abakithis. The wine merchant openly criticized Theron's administration, and insinuated that the new Emperor had committed treason in playing a part in his predecessor's assassination. His loyalty to the murdered Emperor cost Kranderon dearly.

  As Ranke fragmented and languished in turmoil, many outlaw bands began to scourge the outlying province. Theron found excuses to conveniently withdraw Rankan troopes from Aquinta. Kranderon was not worried, however, for he felt that he and his men could hold their own against undisciplined outlaws and brigands.

  One night nine months ago, however, a suspiciously orderly group of brigands attacked the estate. Though wearing the apparel and brandishing the weapons of outlaws, the men who raided Aquinta fought with the discipline and tactics of seasoned soldiers and veterans of many campaigns.

  Kranderon and his men were overrun. The squire of Aquinta saw his only son fall, fighting valiantly to protect his young wife. Kranderon himself was taken prisoner, and forced to watch as the soldiers disguised as outlaws had their sport with his daughter-in-law, the mother of his three grandchildren, in view of her fallen husband's corpse. When they had finished with her, one man held her head back by her hair and slit her throat. The raiders laughed as her life's blood shot high into the air.

  They slashed and burned a large portion of the vineyards, and they broke into the cellars and smashed open the aging vintage. Kranderon watched as a fortune in wine spilled across the floors of his home and mingled with the blood of its fallen defenders. Then the raiders hung the squire by the neck with one of his own supple young grapevines. As Kranderon slowly strangled, they fired arrows into nonvital parts of his body to increase his agony. Then they rode into the night, taking no plunder with them as brigands were wont to do.

  The message was clear to all the other squires in outlying areas. Theron's wrath was keen and swift to vengeance. The other estate masters flocked to Theron's court to join the ranks of sycophants clinging to the last shreds of a rotted, corrupt Empire.

  But the sacking of Aquinta had not been complete, Mariat had cloistered herself with her grandchildren-Keldrick, Darseeya, and five-yearold Timock-in the secret vaults hidden beneath the wine cellars. Those gloomy catacombs were known on!y to Kranderon and Mariat. It was there that they wisely hid their finest, most expensive vintage. Mariat's quick thinking saved herself and her grandchildren from the maelstrom of violence which descended on Aquinta that night.

  The four surviving members of Kranderon's family left their hiding place and crawled through the wreckage of the once formidable estate. In the throes of initial shock, Mariat was able to organize the remaining servants and b
ury her dead. Over the next few days, she denied herself the luxury of grief, for she knew that she must act quickly to assure her family's survival. She retrieved her husband's cache of money (which was not small by any means) and arranged for a caravan to take her south, out of the reach of vengeful Theron.

  Mariat loaded one wagon full with her husband's finest vintage. The bottles of wine which would have purchased a small kingdom before were now made priceless because Aquinta was no more. The tragedy which had devastated Mariat's family had also placed a fortune in the woman's hands. The irony was not lost on her.

  In a second wagon she loaded the few possessions her family would take with them, along with a secret she and her most trusted servants had worked far into the night to harvest. This secret of Mariat's was her key to rebuilding a viable future for her family in Sanctuary.

  So now she was here in the city of new hopes and opportunities. As dawn broke through the window other room in the Warm Kettle, Mariat threw off both the bonds of sleep and the chains of the past. She refused to let self-pity or grief deter her from her course. It was a new day in Sanctuary, and time for new beginnings.

  In fact, Mariat thought, it would be a lovely day to take the children outside the city's walls for a picnic in the open lands.

  It is often thought, but entirely untrue, that evil and ugliness always go hand in hand. In Bakarat's case, however, those two nonvirtues blended together in imperfectly perfect harmony.

  He was called "the Toad" by his associates and others (though not to his face). One look at his person would abate any suspicions as to the veracity of the nickname.

  His buttocks and gut were mammoth in proportion. Those who dealt with him often wondered if they would have to widen the doors of their business establishments to admit him. Atop those heaps and rolls of quivering flesh sat a hideous apparition of a head. As if in mockery of manly features, Bakarat's neckless head looked as though some insanely humorous god had sculptured in living flesh the likeness of a toad made human.

  But Bakarat's mind was by no means as sluggish as his wobbly gait.

  The Toad was known as the most successful merchant and entrepreneur in Sanctuary. Though all found the vision of his person revolting, none

  could afford to offend the wealthy merchant.

  The Toad had not attained his exalted economical status by entirely honest means, either. Next to the legendary Jubal, he ran one of Sanctuary's most sophisticated and complex information and crime networks. In fact, it was rumored that the only reason Jubal had not eliminated this potential rival was the fact that Bakarat paid him well to turn a blind eye to his clandestine endeavors.

  But Bakarat was also known for his expertise and shrewd deployment of business ventures. And this was why Mariat had arranged an appointment to see him the day after she took the children outside the city walls.

  It had been nice to get the children outside the city and into the clean country air for a while. But the day had been profitable in more ways than one for the wine merchant's widow. For the land she saw about Sanctuary pleased her very much, and she was certain that much that had lain untouched for many years could be put to good use.

  Now the realities of the business world had brought Mariat reluctantly to Bakarat's doorstep. The disdain she felt for the sniveling excuse for manhood which offered her a chair in his office was expertly hidden behind her facade of genteel grace. Mariat was far too good a socialite to let her feelings and emotions show in her demeanor.

  Bakarat was also unreadable as he sat down across from her at his desk. When she had asked his scribe for an appointment the evening before, the Toad had immediately put his information network into action to find out all he could about the Rankan woman. After all, it was not often a woman of her apparent stature would condescend to deal with a "Wriggly" merchant such as Bakarat.

  What he found out, he thought he could put to good use to serve his own greedy interests. He now knew, through his grapevine which reached even into honest establishments such as the Warm Kettle, that Mariat was the widow of the famous and recently departed Kranderon, squire of Aquinta Winery. This meant that the woman was perhaps well moneyed, and Bakarat's mind whirled with the possibilities of cheating her out of her fortune. It was also a safe assumption that, like most Rankan women of station, Mariat was not the keen business person her husband had been. The Toad relished the idea of taking advantage of the woman's plight.

  "Now, what may I do to serve you, madame?" the Toad intoned, being sure to address the woman according to her former station and thereby hopefully gain her trust. He had to make Mariat believe that he was concerned with her best interests in order to take full advantage of her.

  "I have a proposal for you and your friends," Mariat said, coming straight to the point.

  "Friends?" the fat man queried. "What friends are those? I am afraid I don't know what you are talking about." He smiled, approximating a look of ignorant innocence admirably.

  "Come now, good sir, if we are to quibble over the realities of your business dealings we shall be here all day," Mariat countered, blunt but still pleasantly sociable. "And believe me, sir, with my busy schedule I do not have time to argue over trivial matters at the moment."

  "But of course," the Toad said, beginning to re-evaluate the woman's business savvy, "However, I fail to see what my fellow merchants can help you with that I cannot. Perhaps you should tell me a little more about exactly what it is you are proposing?"

  "Fair enough," Mariat said, relieved at getting the conversation back to the business at hand. "I want to make you and some of your trusted merchant associates an offer to take part in the most successful and elaborate business venture to take place in Sanctuary in recent years."

  Bakarat raised a suspicious eyebrow,

  "Really," he said with a slightly sarcastic drawl. "That is quite a grandiose statement. I trust you have some means other than high-flown words to persuade my associates and I of the soundness of this proposal?"

  "Indeed," Mariat said, and she reached in her carrying bag and produced a corked and sealed bottle, which she placed delicately on the desk in front of the merchant. She carefully turned the bottle so that he could view its rich, red, full-bodied contents, and she made sure the label pointed in his direction so that he could read it.

  The Toad looked even more like his namesake as his eyes bulged when he read the label. It was a bottle ofAquinta's finest vintage; ten years old and oak-barrel aged. Before the sacking of the vineyard, it would have brought at least a hundred gold pieces in the wine market. Now, being part of a limited edition of wine (the vineyard no longer being in operation), it might draw at least ten times that much in auction.

  "Huh-uh-how many of these do you have, my good lady?" the fat merchant stammered. Mariat smiled, pleased at having taken Bakarat by surprise and gained the upper hand in negotiations.

  The Rankan widow had not spent forty years as the wife of Ranke's foremost wine merchant and learned nothing. Her husband had taught her well the trade of doing business.

  "Let us just say that I have enough to interest you and your associates. Perhaps now you would be so good as to arrange a meeting with them tomorrow afternoon in the common room of the Warm Kettle. I have rented that room from Shamut the proprietor, and he assures me that no one will disturb our business meeting."

  She paused, smiling at the Toad's gaping maw. Bakarat was utterly surprised by the woman's quick-dealing business manner. However, he soon got control of himself as the engines of his devious mind went whirring into action, calculating how he could best turn this deal to his advantage.

  "I believe I know of five men who will be most happy to hear your proposal for the sale of this fine vintage. However, if you will permit me to act as your agent in this endeavor, I will be happy to relieve you of the unpleasant tasks of business arrangements," Bakarat said, conveying himself as the soul of virtue and goodwill.

  "I thank you for your generous offer," Mariat replied just as swe
etly, "but I really could not burden you with so weighty a responsibility on my account."

  She rose quickly, holding up her hand to stop any further objection.

  "Enough of these pleasantries, though," she said, collecting the bottle from Bakarat's desk and replacing it carefully in her carrying bag. "I have other things to attend to today. Thank you, good sir. I look forward to seeing you and your friends tomorrow at the Warm Kettle."

  With that she took her leave from Bakarat's establishment, and he attempted to delay her no longer. He had already formulated his plan for handling this upstart Rankan bitch. He would show her the cost of doing business in Sanctuary, and he would by all means maintain the upper hand in the distribution of the wine.

  "Bartleby," the Toad called his scribe into his office.

  "Yes, sir," the thin, weedy, long-nosed scrivener whined as he entered his employer's domain.

  "Get me Madame Mariat's itinerary for the rest of the day," the fat merchant ordered. "And then contact our good servant. Master Mange, and tell him to meet me with his associates at the Vulgar Unicorn tonight at dusk."

  Bartleby swallowed, knowing that the name of Mange meant some skullduggery was afoot. He hastened to comply with his master's wishes.

  Molin Torchholder was a very busy man. Over the past years since coming to Sanctuary, he found that most bureaucratic matters had fallen squarely upon his shoulders, and that many of the more mundane governmental duties had become his responsibility. This was primarily due to the fact that Prince Kadakithis could not be bothered with such technicalities. The youthful prince was far too busy pursuing his idealistic dreams for the unification of Sanctuary's varied peoples, not to mention his ongoing "task" of keeping the Beysa occupied, mollified, and satisfied.

  However, when word came to the Rankan priest that a woman named Mariat wanted to see him, he put aside his scheduling and planning for the rebuilding and continuing edification of Sanctuary to arrange an appointment to see her. The Torch had known her husband by reputation and had even met Mariat once or twice back in the heyday of Ranke's splendor. He had heard of the tragedy which had struck Aquinta, and he was now curious to find out why Mariat had come to Sanctuary, and what possible business she could have with him.