Commandment
Page 35
“We must be wary of this faction, and the Seekers, of course,” Lakif muttered, more to herself than her hardened companion.
“So what say you now about returning?” Torkoth asked.
“I have no choice! It’s worth the risk! If trouble waits, let the chips fall where they may.” Lakif pulled more resolutely on his scales. Her partner grudgingly capitulated to the goading and lurched to his feet. “To be on the safe side, you can lure Jonas outside the gates.”
“How?”
“Wave that chicken wing!” She identified the gnawed bone he had discarded. “He’ll follow in a hypnotic trance!”
XXXIX
The Conference
AS LAKIF COULDN’T REMEMBER THE DATE OF HER APPOINTMENT WITH JONAS, the two set off with haste. Along the way she briefly outlined how she had originally met the rune chronicler, how she salvaged the ancient parchment from the tome, and the subsequent contract to translate it.
Torkoth decided that the fastest approach would once again be by the Leviathan. Lakif readily conceded, despite her reluctance to hazard the sauna pit. Both agreed that the Second Circle Station was probably closer, so they broke in that direction. After cantering for nearly an hour, they found themselves near the terminal.
As they neared the Second Circle Station, she caught a glimpse of the local Son of Man. It was every bit as awesome as its brethren. So preoccupied was she with reaching the Goblin Knight that she couldn’t remember the name of its local brother. She paid the architectural marvel, as well as details of the Station, little heed. Her mind was utterly wrapped around how they would track down the epicurean.
It was mid-dusk when the two drew close to the Goblin Knight. They decided it prudent for Lakif to remain hidden a safe distance away while the Half-man entered to scout out the scribe. Lakif estimated that they had at most an hour before the outer gates were closed. This should be sufficient time to locate the fellow and draw him out, should he still be around. She described the friar in impeccable detail, down to the crumbs in his beard, thus assuring that Torkoth could readily identify him. Lakif also handed over her chamber key. She hadn’t been able to return it in the customary manner the other morning, and hopefully Torkoth could slide it into the return box.
The Acaanan jittered uneasily in the wake of the Half-man’s exit. She rocked back and forth on a bench snuggled away in a cloistered court. Vines spangled with crimson roses painted one wall. They were curious inhabitants given the winter season. Snow salted their ruby petals. Even in this secluded area, she felt she wasn’t alone. Shadows were growing long, reaching out toward her. Somewhere in the dusk, a turtledove cooed her plaintive song. Above, the stars were winking into view one by one. Of note, the fallen star’s seat was still vacant. Tonight was well past the fortnight limit decreed by Capalos.
Trembling with anxiety, she fiddled with the ring on her left index finger. It was the same trick ring from the alchemist’s laboratory. Within, she had poured the red mercury powder. She wasn’t sure why she had done so. Perhaps it was just a safer place to keep the powder than a vial in her pocket, which was bound to get lost.
A movement jarred the settling shadows. Jonas stumbled out as if he had tripped. Torkoth followed in toe, prodding him forward like a reluctant prisoner. The scribe’s aspiratory gasps and flushed cheeks attested to his speedy exit from the tower. Lakif’s heart swelled at the sight of the waddling epicure.
“Jonas!” Lakif virtually assaulted the portly fellow.
“I should have known you were behind this!” Jonas huffed.
“I’m delighted to find you!”
“Our appointment was yesterday.” Jonas frowned.
“And if you weren’t still around, I was prepared to scour the neighborhood, chicken wing in hand!”
“I had rather hoped we would meet in the comfort of the inn.” Jonas snickered.
“Sadly, that’s not possible.” Lakif dismissed the idea.
“Fallen out of favor with the establishment? I should have known—it was only a matter of time. Wait a moment! The Seekers came a calling a few mornings past. Did that have anything to do with you?”
“I have no idea what you speak of. I had to leave on urgent personal business.”
Jonas tilted his round face toward Torkoth.
“And this thug? Two shekels hardly warrants hired muscle!”
“He’s protecting my investment. And that was three shekels! Enough of the warm greetings, how fared your diggings?”
“A mixed course, I’m afraid.” Jonas patted beading sweat off his brow with a pocket handkerchief.
“What’s the unfavorable dish?” Lakif asked, imitating the gastronomic allusions that so peppered the friar’s speech.
“I’ve identified the writing on the parchment.”
“Excellent!” Lakif vented with such force that it startled the informer. “I thought you said you had bad news!”
“I identified it. But the contents elude me. So I’m left dissatisfied, like a stifled burp.”
“Tell me what you do know,” Lakif said. “Coin offered accordingly.”
“I surmised it wasn’t an actual language, living or dead, but rather a code of some kind,” Jonas began. He was perusing Torkoth, apparently evaluating whether the Half-man was prepared to throttle him if his forecast wasn’t encouraging.
“Don’t worry about him. Give your thoughts form, man!” Lakif coaxed.
“Well, Acaanan, you have a significantly rare find here. This scroll is penned in Thieves’ Cant.”
“Thieves’ chant, you said?” Lakif had no idea what the scribe was referring to. “So it’s a song?”
“Pay attention! I said Cant.” Jonas mildly chuckled. “It’s an antiquated form of communication among thieves.”
“Why would a thief need such a contrivance? I imagine they couldn’t even read.”
“I’m not speaking about the ordinary thieves skulking around. The Thieves’ Cant was used by the venerable Thieves’ Guild of old. It was a secret form of communication, necessary to coordinate all their nefarious activities.”
The mention of the defunct Guild surprised the Acaanan. It was an esoteric institution alluded to in many an urban myth.
“Are you saying this document hails from the days of the Guild?” Lakif asked skeptically. “It must be three hundred years old!”
“I would say four hundred. And yes, I believe this document to be from that era. There would be little cause to utilize the Cant following the collapse of the Guild.”
“Then how do you explain the parchment’s excellent condition, given its antiquity?”
Jonas balanced the rolled up scroll between his parallel palms.
“Clearly, this is not ordinary paper. The Guild commonly treated important documents with a special elixir concocted by the alchemists.” Lakif rolled her eyes at the mention of those ghastly fellows. “This afforded the paper to which it was applied extra resistance to normal oxidation, yellowing, burns, and the like.”
“I see. You are well-informed,” Lakif complimented. Jonas certainly was caretaker to a wealth of information, both trivial and useful. “So we have to find a thief to decode it?”
Jonas shook his head.
“Since the Guild slaked, the Cant has become obsolete. The code to decipher it was said to be engraved on a tablet called the rosetta stone. This tablet was safeguarded by the Thieve Lords as dearly as their own blood. It was perhaps the most prized secret of the Guild. The tablet’s rules were the last teachings to a thief after he had mastered all the normal arts of thievery, such as picking locks, backstabbing, shadowing, and so on. This allowed the Guild time to ascertain if the rogue in question was reliable and worthy to adopt the Cant. The confidentiality of the rosetta stone was of utmost importance. Any thief caught revealing the code to an outsider would suffer the harshest of reprisals.”
“We can’t decipher this?” Lakif whined. All her hopes for the parchment were rapidly deflating.
The bon viv
ant shook his head. “Sadly, no. I’m afraid, for all practical purposes, the Thieves’ Cant died with its infamous masters.”
Lakif looked to her companion for support. Given the shroud of secrecy Torkoth preferred to maintain, Lakif half expected the guard to be a genuine thief already familiar with the code. Unfortunately, Torkoth was only mildly involved in the conversation. He was sniffing a plucked rose. Curiously, it was withered. The Half-man had the poor luck of picking the only tainted flower in the entire arboretum.
“So it’s worthless to us—another curiosity for the archives!” Lakif pouted. “But you said there was favorable news!”
“So I did. I have discovered another tidbit through active inquisition,” he stressed to accentuate his efforts. “Other manuscripts penned in Thieves’ Cant have surfaced from time to time over the decades. Rumor has it that more often than not they revealed the location of vast plundered treasures stashed by the Guild before its sudden collapse.”
“Rumor has it?” Lakif acted doubtful but was inwardly enthused at the lead. She couldn’t imagine where the scribe came by his intelligence. If all this business was true, Jonas could add super-sleuth to his list of qualifications.
“I say rumor because those who possessed the parchments were seldom forthright about their contents.”
“How were those other documents deciphered then, if to do so is such a chore?”
“Clearly, the owner of the parchment either had access to the rosetta stone or consulted with another who could break the code. That brings us to the titillating news. There seems to be one who collects such documents penned in Thieves’ Cant. I have learned that on at least one other occasion, he has paid handsomely to acquire one.”
“Do you think he has access to the rosetta stone?” Lakif was thrilled by this point.
“It seems doubtful, but there must be some reason for his keen interest in the documents.”
“Who is this man?” Lakif asked, hope buoying her tone. “Where can I find him?”
“First, we have a score to settle?” The scribe petitioned her with an open palm.
Lakif quickly forked over the three shekels. She was dejected to see only a couple of coins left in her pouch. But the scribe had so thoroughly whetted her appetite that she would have emptied her entire savings just to have him continue.
“Out with it. I bleed for each word!” She grabbed hold of the lead.
“I dare not say more!” Jonas cried melodramatically.
“Why?”
“It is said he guards his name most jealously. To casually speak it is tantamount to blasphemy!” Lakif rolled her eyes. Was the scribe playing up some angle to extort more coin from the Acaanan—to prime the pump for a tip?
“But there is no one here!” Lakif cried.
“Except us fools,” Torkoth added his two cents. He had been listening more than he let on.
Lakif surveyed their surroundings. The court was cool and quiet. The twin moons appeared on the horizon, and the shadowy roses painted images of splattered blood.
“Come here!” Lakif grabbed the scribe’s arm and led him to the base of the flowery ivy. As they crouched, she continued.
“Here we sit, sub-rosa, where no secrets leak out.” Lakif plucked a rose. “May he or she who squeals have their heart plucked out and wither like this flower. No, let Artemis turn him into a stag to be fed to the Calydonian boar! No, better yet—”
“Enough!” Jonas seemed satisfied. “I know not his real name, but he is known to all and sundry as Mammon.”
With that, the scribe stopped as if this alone was sufficient.
“And?” Lakif’s voice rose expectantly.
“You haven’t heard of him?”
“Should I have?” Lakif asked the pundit plainly. She looked to Torkoth for help, but her guard merely shrugged his shoulders.
Jonas looked shocked, even galled, at the Acaanan’s ignorance.
“He is the owner of the Transportation Guild, the corporation that controls all traffic through Thanatos! Mammon is the name he publically uses, but many say he guards his true name as carefully as his privacy. Few have ever actually seen him, and thus rumors abound. He lords from on high in the fabulous Palace Tantalin, seated in the clouds above Thanatos. The rumors of his life are surpassed only by those of his unimaginable wealth.”
“I see…” Lakif replied. Palace Tantalin! Although Lakif had never heard of it, the name conjured up intoxicating images of splendor. She knew that Thanatos was the district east of Grimpkin, although she had never visited it. But Jonas spoke of a palace in the sky above Thanatos! She remembered Bael’s suggestion that warlocks fly like dragons. Such an ethereal region was ideally positioned to be called on by an ambitious drake like herself. The gears of the Acaanan’s ever crafty mind were already tumbling and grinding, churning out plans.
“By heaven I charge thee, speak on.” Lakif beckoned her partner to come forward and huddle. “Jonas, fill our ears with stories of this marvelous place!”
The End
Maldiveria will be continued in Book III:
Enmity
Table of Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
I The Lam
II The Ecstasy
III The Inquisitor
IV The Wager
V The Titan
VI The Tabernacle
VII The Analyst
VIII The Circle
IX The Blacksmith
X The Pathos
XI The Clout
XII The Hospice
XIII The Gallows
XIV The Reunion
XV The Prince
XVI The Scroll
XVII The Necklace
XVIII The Seignoir
XIX The Mount
XX The Reconciliation
XXI The Trench
XXII The Leper
XXIII The Reconnoiter
XXIV The Heist
XXV The Recovery
XXVI The Underworld
XXVII The General
XXVIII The Wheel
XXIX The Bard
XXX The Deal
XXXI The Flight
XXXII The Pilgrimage
XXXIII The Church
XXXIV The Furnace
XXXV The Ritual
XXXVI The Maelstrom
XXXVII The Aftermath
XXXVIII The Farting
XXXIX The Conference