More to the point, you were the one mentioned in the Talisman prophecies. So anyone who’s looking for a way to stop us finding it is likely to make you the target. Now of course they know about Berin too and it won’t be long before they pick up on Tariska and Rasscu.”
“You mean they’re all going to be in danger because of me?”
“No, Caldar, they’re going to be in danger because of who they are, because what they’ll be doing is very important. Not everything in the world revolves around you, whatever Lazalis thinks.”
The mild rebuke caught the youth in an unexpectedly sore spot. He was only asking because he was concerned about the others; why did the Tinker have to make it sound as though he was only interested in himself? He took a big bite of his bread and cheese, while he let his annoyance subside. Then he changed to a safer topic.
“So is our teaching over now? We’re obviously not going back to Norleng and I don’t see what basket-weaving’s got to do with finding this Talisman.”
“Who knows?” the Tinker replied laughing. “You might need to earn your living along the way. But you know Idressin was teaching you more than that.”
“To use our attention, he said. But I don’t see how that’s going to help either.”
“Without control of your attention, nothing’s possible; it’s the foundation of everything you’ll ever learn. You’re right though, you’ll never have the luxury of going back to school the way it was at Hasban’s. Normally the training for a role such as yours would take many years, perhaps a lifetime.” Caldar gaped at him. “We don’t have that much time, so you’ll have to pick up what you can as we go along. The world is a very quick school, though a very dangerous one too.”
“School for what?” the youth persisted. Maybe after all this time he was getting close to the point of the years of teaching. “ To learn magic powers like you and Idressin?”
“Power is a burden, Caldar.” The Tinker suddenly sounded very old. “Don’t rush at it.”
“I can’t believe that. The things you do, I mean the way you cured Rasscu in the mountains, and when you rescued me in Suntoren while you were miles away, what’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong, I was just warning you that power has its price.” He paused for a long moment.
“But that’s …” Caldar’s objections were cut off by the Tinker’s raised hand.
“Hopefully the right kind of power will come your way in time. At the moment there are good reasons why you shouldn’t hurry the process. For a start you know nothing about power or its use and wielding it in ignorance is a quick way to disaster, like a blind man swinging a sword. And even if you’re lucky and things turn out well, you may harm yourself. Pay the proper price and it won’t harm you. Fail to pay it and the cost will be exacted from you anyway, but not in a way of your own choosing. Believe me, power is no plaything.”
As soon as the Tinker had said ‘power will come your way …’, Caldar had heard nothing more. Visions of himself performing miraculous cures, solving mysteries, surmounting dangers, all to the gratifying astonishment of his friends, filled his mind.
When he realised that the old man had finished, he asked without thinking, “And how do I get this power?”
The Tinker looked at him a little sadly. It would always be the same. To youth the dreams of power and magic were irresistible, and to a Perram who had had the scent of them, they were doubly so. He had warned Idressin how strong the Qihal was in Caldar and the tutor had done well to slow him down in Norleng: from now on it would be difficult. If he once developed the taste for power, it would cost him dear - cost them all - if he indulged it. The Qihal was already at work in the youth, the process irreversible: it was Caldar himself who had to be brought to the point where he could handle it. Handle it and put it aside until he learned what it really was.
Misreading the Tinker’s silence, the youth went on, “Power like yours I mean, to help people. I don’t…”
“It will come when it comes, Caldar; don’t give it too much thought. Come on, we’ve talked enough, time we were on our way. Get your things together and let’s be off.”
And that was that. The Tinker would talk no more. An hour later the high walls surrounding the Old City fell away behind them as they cut through the busy manufacturing suburbs that straddled the main south road and dived into the steady stream of traffic that filled the highway.
“Kulkin’s got some very good spies if they’ve spotted you among all these people,” the Tinker said cheerfully. “And Sand City’s even busier.”
“I thought it was just a camping place.”
“I suppose it is, but it’s a very big one and still growing. It’s not just the gateway to the Lake, it’s the main supply point on the whole Tarkus Graxi highway. They boast they’ve got everything a traveller could want on offer there.”
He pointed to a richly dressed man riding a splendid bay horse. "Now there's a flourishing trade. He's a gambler.” He caught Caldar's surprised look and went on, "I keep forgetting you've never been out in the wide wicked world before. See that big flashy money belt? He's a professional gambler, nothing like the sailors who play dice on the docks in Misaloren. His job is to set up a gambling game somewhere and then take the money people flock to give him." The Tinker sighed. "It's a wonderful profession. I often think it should have been my true path in life."
The varied travellers made the long dusty road continually interesting for Caldar and they camped with a different group every night, so the miles passed quickly. On the evening of the tenth day out from Suntoren they topped a low rise and found a shallow depression several miles wide in front of them, full of huts, tents, wagons, horses, oxen, and far away in the centre a grove of palm trees.
The small man in official-looking clothes sighed, straightened up his shoulders and knocked on the one hundred and fifty second door of what had proved so far to be another long and fruitless day: complete failure and sore piles were not a happy combination. At least he had a hint to go on now. Should he be friendly or officious with this one? In this seedy quarter of Suntoren officiousness generally produced a quicker response. He composed his face into severity as the door opened to reveal a grey-haired woman, whose obvious timidity appeared to double at the sight of the large document he produced from his pocket. It was in fact a list of the rules and charges governing Suntoren harbour; but the prominent city crest at the top was sufficient to establish its authenticity in an area where few could read.
"I'm from the City Treasurer's department doing a survey on lodging houses. I understand you take in paying guests."
"Yes, mister. Yes, I do," the woman quavered.
"And I have also been informed that you've had several people staying here this past week." His informant had actually been uncertain of the exact house, but the man was adopting an 'I-know-you're-guilty' approach to save time. He wanted the reward for solving this one by himself. If he simply reported his information, the thing would be taken straight out of his hands and his boss would take all the credit.
"Why yes, mister." Her replies were so quiet he had to strain to hear, but at least he had a nibble. His interest quickened.
"How many? Age? Sex?"
"Five altogether, mister. Three men and two boys."
The little man forgot his piles. His informant had sent him to the right place. He held his excitement in check, while he verified his discovery.
"The boys now. About sixteen would you say? Tall thin one with dark hair and a small fair lad?"
"Yes mister, that's right."
Satisfaction flooded through him. The numbers were not right: he'd been told three, not five. But instinct told him that this was the right party. Time to try a little charm and extract more information.
"Well, that's extremely helpful, madam. And would you happen to know where these guests of yours are at this moment?"
"They've gone, mister. Yesterday morning."
His triumph congealed.<
br />
"Gone where?"
"I heard them say they was going to Graxi, mister. Taking the short cut through the Tesseri country."
"Damn, damn. Look madam, I have to go. Thank you for your cooperation. We may be back to . . . er . . . ask you some more questions."
With that he scurried off at a great pace. Back inside the house the grey haired woman's mouth curved into a smile. The search had found them sooner than she expected. Someone in the street had informed on them. No matter. The little group already had a few days start and the misinformation she had just fed to the investigator would buy them even more time.
She could feel all the Tinker's concerns, but the tall lad was promising; the farm upbringing written all over him gave little clue to the hidden intelligence. Yes, and his younger friend too, interesting and a packet of trouble. Ah well, they were the Tinker's and Idressin's charges for the moment. She would take part all in good time. She began to hum softly to herself as she went from room to room, checking that she had removed all personal traces of herself and her guests. A few minutes later the woman called Meruvai stepped out of the back door and walked quietly away from the empty house.
Sand City
"We'll wait awhile until it's full dark," the Tinker said settling himself on a rock some way off the road. "Here." He handed Caldar a long white cloth. "Wrap that round your head the way the desert people do. No, it goes like this. That's better. You can loosen it if you're too hot, but keep it over your face. I don't know how far Kulkin will have spread his net, but there's probably someone on the lookout for you here. If they can spot you in the dark with that head-dress on, they've got the sharpest eyes I've come across."
An hour later it was dark. The Tinker plunged confidently into the maze of unlit lanes and haphazard encampments.
"How can you hope to find anyone in all this confusion?" Caldar asked, skipping out of the way of a bad-tempered camel and pulling up abruptly to avoid a half-seen water-seller's cart. "Especially in the dark?"
"The larger caravans take pride of place here. There's a special area set aside for them just to the south of the Great Highway. That's where S’Bissi will be, if he's arrived on time. By the way, your name’s Sitch, ostler and general factotum to the party. For this journey Idressin's calling himself Harden and Berin will be Tupar. Don't be too familiar with your employers, even if Espars do have a reputation for cheek. And for heaven's sake no practical jokes, although Idressin tells me that he saw little evidence of your wicked past in Norleng. Don't tell me you've given it up."
"I was too tired even to think about it most of the time."
"Just as well. Anyway don't start now. Harden, by the way, is from Belugor and Tupar is a young relative who's learning the silk trade."
They traversed the whole width of the settlement to find that S’Bissi had recently arrived and was entertaining Idressin to supper in his large striped tent. The Tinker was invited in to join them, while Caldar was directed to a campfire behind the wagons, where he found Rasscu and Berin. They fed him and told him the news.
The caravan had arrived the night before, an enormous train of over four hundred wagons, accompanied by oxen, mules, camels and a large number of horses. Some of the wealthy traders like S’Bissi rode with an armed escort and owned several wagons; at the other end of the scale some poor tradesmen and their families were on foot, all their worldly possessions bundled on the back of a single donkey.
When Caldar enquired about Tariska, Rasscu told him that she was at a lodging house nearby. “A place for respectable ladies,” he added with a grin. “Not for the likes of us.”
Caldar was about to reply when a large man appeared quietly by their fire and announced that S’Bissi would be pleased if they would give him the pleasure of their company, the order plain behind the polite phrases.
They paused in the entrance of the merchant’s tent, startled by the bright lights and the opulence of the interior. Beautiful carpets ran from wall to wall, bright embroidered cushions were scattered around the central area, and there were several sleeping rooms curtained off in the background. A small fat man reclined on the cushions between the Tinker and Idressin.
"Come in, come in." The small man waved a limp jewelled hand at them as they hesitated. "I am S’Bissi."
Idressin beckoned them in and named them as they came forward. "Rasscu, our Tesseri driver. My nephew Tupar, travelling with me to learn the trade.” Idressin put his hand on Berin’s shoulder, then indicated Caldar with a brief nod. “And this is Sitch, the ostler we brought along. He can help with your animals as well.”
“Good, Nexi’s always complaining he could do with more help.” He waved a languid hand at the tent wall behind him. “He’s out there somewhere, G’Shenni will show you. Nexi Res Fando,” he explained to the tutor without any visible enthusiasm, “brother of my sister’s husband. He’s come along as a packer, looks after the horses and the pack mules and the camp stuff.”
"S’Bissi’s an old friend," the Tinker broke in. "We place complete trust in him and in G’shenni his steward, trust we wouldn’t extend to anyone else in the caravan.” The old man emphasised ‘anyone’ and eyed the young trio meaningly.
The fat merchant giggled at the Tinker's commendation. He displayed a whole range of small affected gestures from the way he lifted his wine glass to the constant stroking of his neatly barbered beard, but his dark brown eyes were watchful and instinct warned the boys not to take this man lightly.
Introductions made, the three were ushered outside again by G’Shenni and returned to their fire. Inside the tent S’Bissi gave his guests a roguish glance across the rim of his glass and commented, “I'm not sure I believe this story of an ancient relic, Tinker; I smell a lot of money in this affair. It's so intriguing, a whole party of you in disguise, setting out on a long journey in such dangerous times. I’d probably turn round at Tarkus myself, if I wasn’t expecting to make such a profit on this trip. Political trouble always makes currencies unstable and there’s nothing like diamonds to settle the nerves of rich folk at times like this."
“What’s the latest news from the Empire?” the Tinker asked at once. “Come on, S’Bissi, it’s time you brought us up to date. The caravan’s a gossip factory and you’ve got the sharpest ears I know.”
“Ah, but you wanted more than gossip, hard information you said, and the genuine thing is so expensive these days.” The merchant sighed heavily. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve laid out to get a full picture for you. Of course I’m not asking for payment.” He waved away such a distasteful idea. “High Heaven, no! Just a partnership in this little enterprise of yours. Or a percentage?” His eyes flicked quickly over the Tinker’s face. “A small percentage? Just a mere token in recognition of my efforts, to encourage me to be more diligent than ever…….”
The Tinker laughed. "You're incorrigible. Most of the profits in your business come from contacts I gave you. Yet you're asking us to pay for our own wagon and our own stock on this trip. And on top of that, you want a cut? Some things never change."
"It's true. It's all true, what you say, Tinker. And yet, surrounded with such dangers on all sides, even here in Sand City, think how much more alert I will be if I have a nice little slice of this treasure to look forward to."
"It’s true I've never seen anyone sharper when there was money to be made." The Tinker paused as if considering. "Well, no percentages, but I promise you that you’ll profit from the successful outcome of our venture. And for that," he said pointedly, "I expect maximum effort. Now tell us what news you have from the Empire or anywhere else of interest."
"Well, this pointless war's slowly coming to the boil, as you know. Slowly enough that I'm gambling I'll be through and clear of the Empire again before there's any open fighting. The silly thing is there's little obvious cause for it, a few trade violations, a few raids, though the Ferrets say they've proof of an Empire plot to assassinate members of the Central Assembly - delicious thought, they'd be doing us al
l a favour. It's all very thin. In my judgement the push is coming from the Quezma side; someone in the Republic wants a war and it's so annoying that I can't work out who or why."
"It must be so difficult to maintain profits amid such uncertainty," the Tinker commented cynically.
"Precisely," the merchant responded, ignoring the sarcasm. "However, our fine Republic's of little interest to you, you're going west. The first thing is the Borogoi are out. Not the whole horrid horde obviously, but raiding parties have been reported several times west of Graxi. There’s even rumours of Outriders here in Sand City and of a raid between here and Tarkus, though nothing definite. People are getting jumpy, you’ll have noticed all the extra guards about. We'll be safe, never fear, the Grand Caravan's too big a target, too many witnesses. Even those yellow-eyed devils wouldn't violate the Highway Treaty unless they could snatch a small party and leave no evidence."
"How recent’s your information, S’Bissi?" Idressin asked.
"From the west? From Tarkus two weeks old," the merchant replied with precision. "From Karkor I get the main events in a month, general news in about six weeks." He nodded in reply to the tutor's raised eyebrows. "Yes, birds. I use a splendid agent in Tarkus who runs a birdline to Karkor and sends his reports on by courier."
"I'm impressed," the tutor conceded.
"You should know better than to say that to this human calculator," the Tinker groaned. ""You've just doubled his price."
"He knows I didn't mean it," Idressin laughed. "Anyway, you're paying and when did S’Bissi last get the better of you?"
The Tinker contented himself with a loud 'hmmph' and turned his attention to the merchant.
The Tears of Sisme Page 27
