by Andre Norton
Lyrtran’s apprentice finally worked his way to the rear of the stall and paused in front of a pile of rather average carpets. Here he became excited, yanking up the top three, one by one, and throwing them aside. The fourth, Zyk treated much differently. The young wizard froze for several heartbeats before reaching out a hesitant hand to caress it. He looked, for all the world, like a man gentling a skittish colt.
Puzzled, Gorandan watched silently. He was an astute-enough merchant, but he could see nothing special about this carpet. He recognized it easily enough. It was from a bale of exotic carpets from across the Western Sea that he had purchased scarcely an hour before the ship that had carried him to Ithkar had sailed. He had had no chance to examine his hasty acquisition before the Snow Bird had berthed. He had opened it for the first time the previous evening. By luck, only three of the carpets in that bale were even as low as average in quality. This was one of the three, and, by the Three Lordly Ones, the merchant could find nothing exciting about it.
Such was not the case for Zyk, however. He turned to Gorahdan, bowing and touching a hand to his forehead, a gesture from the mysterious east. “I salute you, merchant. Hiding such a valuable carpet so openly was a stroke of genius. Had I not been sensitized by my studies this morning, I would never have felt it as I walked by. And your tongue does not wag loosely, either. There has been no hint that a flying carpet would be for sale at the fair. You are, I believe, Gorahdan, the carpet dealer?”
The merchant nodded absently. He had always believed that in every merchant’s life would come an opportunity that, if properly handled, would ensure a life of wealth. And the idea that this was his opportunity had struck him with the
force of a thunderbolt. The fair had already gathered most of the wizards and great lords of the land. Offer them the carpet at auction, and they would be like wolves in winter. With trembling knees, he strove to answer in a normal voice. “Yes, Wizard Zyk, I am Gorahdan, dealer in the finest merchandise. How may I serve you?”
“In the matter of this carpet, of course.”
“I’m sorry, but that item of merchandise is not for sale at this time.” It sounded weak even to the merchant.
Zyk’s face became a mask. “You would not accept an offer now? No. I see not. How could you? It’s been over a hundred years since the last flying carpet was seen. Imagine the uproar when you announce the auction.”
The last was an arrow launched in the dark, but it was rewarded. Zyk saw the merchant’s face twitch as he thought of the heights to which the bidding could go. Naked greed burned behind those eyes.
The young wizard turned back to the carpet. He held his hands over it and muttered a spell. A ripple moved down the
carpet’s length, followed by another. Then it lifted slightly into the air. Gorahdan laughed, clapping his hands. Marvelous. Wonderful! It still looked like an average example of the weaver’s art, but it was much, much more. The merchant could hardly restrain himself from dancing.
Zyk eyed his handiwork approvingly, then turned to the merchant. “I go to fetch Lyrtran, my master. Accept no offers until we return, and things will go to your advantage.”
“Of course, Wizard Zyk. It is my fondest hope that I can make Lyrtran a satisfied customer.- He bowed the apprentice from the stall.
Humming, the merchant examined the carpet again. He marveled that it could look so ordinary. If Zyk had not left it suspended in air, it would bring no more than a silver coin or two. But it would not do, he realized, to leave this valuable carpet hanging in the air for any passerby to see. Theft was not unknown at the fair. He must hide it.
Grabbing two corners, Gorahdan tried to fold it. It was like trying to fold a board. He tried again, exerting his strength to the full. Nothing. Frowning, he pulled the carpet to the center of the stall, where it hung in the air waist high. Again and again he tried, but every effort was futile. He could not even crinkle a corner.
Angrily, he began to wrestle the thing around, even trying to crush it in a bear hug. Trying to crush a rock would have been as easy. The merchant’s face turned red, and exertion made him grunt like a rutting bull.
Finally, exhausted, he slid to the floor and lay there, panting. He was defeated. He tried to catch his breath, glaring all the while at the stubborn carpet. He was still on the floor when Daven, followed by two of his fair-wards, ducked into the stall. Gorahdan waved weakly at his friend.
But there was no friendship in the squad leader’s face. He took in the flying carpet with one glance, then pointed his staff at the prone man and thundered, “I arrest you in the name of Ithkar Fair. Men, take him into custody.”
As the fair-wards gave the carpet a wide berth, the merchant lifted a beseeching hand. “Daven, old friend, this is ridiculous. You know I’m no magic user. I couldn’t cast a spell to curdle milk, let alone make a carpet fly. Come, have some ale and forget this nonsense.”
“No friend of mine would sell magicked goods at the fair!” Daven roared. His two men jerked the carpet dealer to his feet. “You go before the fair-court, and may the Sky Lords grant you mercy.” He reached out and pulled Gorahdan from the grasp of his men. “Bring that along,” he ordered, indicating the carpet with a nod.
The rest of Daven’s squad was outside, and they all formed up and marched off toward the temple. Daven, stone-faced, led the way, gesturing the curious aside with his staff. Gorahdan came next, surrounded by four men who hustled him along. Last were two fair-wards, gingerly pulling the flying carpet. For the first time, Gorahdan began to be truly worried. He had finally remembered the story of Hanibar—the very story Daven had told him so recently. He felt ill.
If he had listened to the crowd as they passed, he would have felt even worse. They were all abuzz with speculation about his crimes. Many of them knew the carpet dealer and had known him for years. They were men he had been on good terms with sometimes for more than a decade. But their guesses as to the nature of his crimes ranged from being a votary of Thotharn to being a sex murderer, with the carpet as evidence of the deed. And they mentioned the possibilities calmly, too, as though they had known all along. Gorahdan, fortunately, never heard a word.
The march to the temple passed quickly. Almost before he could blink, the merchant found himself facing two judges (one priest, one wizard to signify the seriousness of the post), listening to Daven pronounce the charge.
“—accuse one Gorahdan, dealer in carpets and rugs, of offering for sale at Ithkar Fair a magic, flying carpet.” That brought a murmur from the spectators that was quickly silenced, and another, louder one when the carpet was brought forward. The fair-ward paused for a long moment, letting the carpet speak of its own illegality as it hung three feet in the air. “Acting on anonymous information, I took my squad to the stall of Gorandan, where I found the merchant and this carpet, which bears his mark. My duty was clear, and I arrested him, to place him before the court.”
The judges leaned forward, studying the carpet and Gorandan. Ialfen, a temple priest, was impassive. But the other, a wizard named Strakh, was dumbfounded. He peered at Gorahdan’s carpet in some consternation, then turned to the priest and started whispering urgently. Ialfen nodded often.
When Strakh finished, the priest turned his full attention to Gorahdan. “Have you any defense against this charge?”
The merchant looked at Ialfen’s cold, hard eyes and knew it was futile. The priest was old and dry, and only too aware of the value of Gorahdan’s stock, never mind the flying carpet, which would be forfeit to the temple. There would be no escape from this.
But trying would certainly not hurt; the situation could not get any worse. With a deep breath, he began, “Honored Judges, I beg the mercy of the court. I am but a humble seller of carpets and rugs. I had no way of knowing that a magic carpet was among my merchandise. I command no magic to test such things. In fact, I still would not know if an apprentice wizard named—”
Ialfen held up a hand to cut him off. “Speak to the point, Gorahdan. The pos
sible crimes of others are no defense for you.”
He inclined his head. “Of course, Your Honor. Then my plea must be ignorance. I had no knowledge of the magic properties of the carpet.” It was over. Gorahdan had hoped to distract the judges with Zyk’s use of magic to activate the carpet. It had been a faint hope, dashed in infancy. Ruefully, he realized who had provided the anonymous information to Daven that sent the fair-ward to his stall.
Ialfen conferred with his fellow judge. It took very little time.
“Gorahdan, your guilt is obvious. Your ignorance is no defense, and we have only your word for that, anyway. The laws are explicit: no article for sale may have its normal properties enhanced by magic. A flying carpet is certainly that.” Ialfen shook his head. “You brought this carpet to Ithkar Fair to sell it; it bears your mark. The court has no choice. But we will be as lenient as possible. All your goods are confiscated, and I name you outlaw. You have until sundown to leave Ithkar in safety. This trial is over.”
The fair-wards almost dragged him from the courtroom, shoving him out into the streets of Ithkar. Blinded by tears, the merchant stumbled along. Twenty years of hard and honest labor, destroyed in a morning. The crowds parted before him. News had traveled fast. People watched him silently, and from as far as they could manage. Anything else might tempt the Three Lordly Ones to visit them with a similar tragedy.
Gorahdan slowly regained control. And noticed the man who paced at his side. It was Zyk. “You,” he blurted, drawing back a pace.
He bowed. “My master wishes to see you, merchant.”
Gorahdan started to sputter an angry reply but swallowed the words. Anger was useless. What kind of revenge could a carpet dealer take on a wizard? “I do not wish to see Lyman, but there is little else to do. Lead on.”
Zyk took him to a pavilion near the outer boundary of the fairgrounds, politely holding open the entrance flap for the carpet dealer. Inside, Gorahdan automatically appraised the large chamber he found himself in. Rich, but not gaudy. Lyrtran had taste, and only the finest would appeal to him. It was too bad he had nothing to show the wizard.
“Please wait here,” Zyk said, “while I fetch Lyrtran.” He disappeared through an opening in the far wall. Gorandan passed the time wondering why he had come. He was still pondering idly when Zyk returned with Lyrtran.
“Greetings, merchant.”
Gorandan replied in kind.
Lyrtran immediately came to the point. “I’ve heard much, today, of your troubles, Gorahdan, and you have my sympa-thies and apologies. My pupil was overzealous and will be disciplined. But his actions are my responsibility. His meddling, and its results, have placed an obligation on me in your behalf. I must repair things as best I can. So I have booked you passage aboard the Snow Bird, which sails downriver at sunset. In addition, I have placed all the merchandise from your stall aboard her, too.”
The merchant was stunned. He could feel nothing; too much had happened. He had gone from uncounted wealth to the depths of poverty and back to affluence while the sun rode across the sky. He stammered thanks to Lyrtran, the Sky Lords, and even to Zyk.
The wizard stopped his burblings with a raised finger. His face grew stern as he said, “Remember well the lessons you’ve learned today. Zyk reacted to your greed. He saw that you had no idea of the value of the magic carpet. We could have cheated you, but we would not have. You, however, tried to cheat us.
“Our knowledge without the carpet was worthless. Your carpet without our knowledge was worthless. There are obligations beyond the coin. Using our knowledge to gain a true idea of the value of that carpet placed an obligation on you which you tried to ignore. You can see the results.”
Gorahdan listened humbly. The words were true enough. He nodded. He could see the depths of his folly.
But there was something, still, that nagged at the edge of his mind. A tiny doubt that would not go away. His merchandise, that was it. It would take a day or more to pack his carpets for shipment. How had Lyrtran managed it in less than an hour? Gorahdan had the awful feeling that the wizard had used his magic to accomplish that feat. And even as far out as the pavilion was, they were still within the fair, where the use of magic in any form was forbidden.
The thought was more than frightening, it was terrifying. Gorahdan had just been convicted of using magic, and the court had confiscated his goods and named him outlaw. What would the penalty be if they learned of this? Why, he had circumvented the first penalty completely by the use of even more magic. “Did you use magic?” he asked in a hushed voice. The wizard nodded, smiling faintly. The merchant was suddenly very interested in boarding the Snow Bird.
But there was one last question to ask. “Wizard Lyrtran, what of the flying carpet? You didn’t send it to the Snow Bird, did you?” He was afraid the answer might be yes, and he was afraid the answer might be no. And he wasn’t sure which he was more afraid of.
Lyrtran smiled. “No. I’ll buy it from you.” He pulled a purse from his robes, the largest and heaviest Gorahdan had ever seen.
“But the temple confiscated it. I don’t have it anymore.” Tossing the purse to the merchant, he nodded. “True, but you have a moral claim which I choose to honor.”
Gorahdan slowly tucked the purse away. “Very well, but I don’t know how you’ll take possession.”
“I’ve already taken care of that.” The wizard made a summoning gesture, and the carpet drifted through the opening in the far wall.
The carpet dealer bleated.
Lyrtran laughed. “There is more magic than the wizards of this land understand.”
For Gorahdan, this was the final straw. He looked wildly around, expecting fair-wards to be bursting through every entrance. But no one was there, and he bolted from the pavilion as though Thotharn himself were at his heels. Nor did his pace slow until he was aboard the Snow Bird. But even on the ship, he did not draw an easy breath until sunset, when she slipped away from the docks and rode the current downstream.
Gorahdan watched Ithkar fall safely behind, sighing with relief. Thinking over the events of the day, he decided he was well out of the city. He was not even dismayed over lost opportunities. Running afoul of the law and mixing in the affairs of the powerful were worth a man’s life. This time, he had been lucky. He thought about the bales in the Snow Bird’s hold.
Sunset was a dim red glow in the west, and Ithkar was far behind now. Gorahdan, leaning on a rail and looking aft, vowed never again to buy merchandise without examining it first. No matter how good the price. He felt a cool evening breeze on his face and thought again of the bales in the hold. It was time to start planning his next stop. There were far worse things than not being wealthy.
The Amiable Assassin
A. C. Crispin
“Please hold a moment, Master Renkath, while I read this back to you,” said the youth with the shaggy brown hair, squinting at the ragged rectangle of parchment. “It would never do for me to make a mistake. For your own weaponry, that’s one gold-hilted sword with an eye-agate set into the pommel, one dueling knife hilt bound with silver wire. For your assistant, one dueling knife, hilt inset with jade. No sword. For your two bravos, one iron-bladed pikestaff apiece, one plain-hilted sword each, and two common dueling knives. Correct?”
The gem master nodded curtly, shifting from one foot to the other in his impatience. Evening was stealing through Ithkar Fair, and the smells of food and sounds of revelry were enough to make any newly arrived traveler grudge the necessary but boring business of checking his weapons. “Correct, Alven lad,” he said, his deep voice issuing from a cavern of mustache and beard so thick and black they nigh hid his lips, until one almost wondered if he’d spoken at all. The last gleams of sunset doubly reddened the huge garnet brooch securing his dusty ebon travel cloak. He was a massive man, thick of shoulder, thigh, and waist. Even the jewel-encrusted rings studding his short, powerful fingers were bulky.
“Well then, Master Renkath, here is your receipt and your bin numb
er in the weapons house,” Alven said, extending a quill-marked parchment with one hand while filing a copy under “R.” “As you know, you must next stop by the wizard-of-the-gate to have your wares inspected. A mere formality in your case, sir, but . . .” He trailed off with a shrug. Master Renkath had been coming to Ithkar Fair for the four years Alven had served as weapons clerk and was known far and wide for the excellence of his gems—he had no need to enhance questionable goods with magic. Still, rules were rules. He gave the merchant his best professional smile. “Enjoy your fairing, master, and good business to you.”
“And to you.” The man nodded courteously before turning away, followed by his thin-flanked, sallow-cheeked assistant and the two hired bravos, both looking as though they felt insufficiently clothed without their weapons.
Alven hurried to place the collected arsenal into the assigned bin. He finished just as the final crimson curtain of sunset was yielding to night blue. The fair gates were closed until dawn on the morrow—those arriving late would have to bed down beneath the wooden shelters of their traveling wains or, if they had come afoot or riding, beneath the stars.
Now for a passing glance at the new Quintka animal show that came in today, he thought, then a quick sup and an ale at the Joyous Goblet. I’ll be home in time to help with the ironing. Mother can’t possibly object to that. After all, I worked hard all day.
But he couldn’t help feeling uneasy about his decision.
“Good evening, Alven!”
Alven turned from locking up the weapons house at the cheerful hail, breaking into a wide smile as he saw his visitor. “Jenilyn! What brings you out so early? On your way to an evening’s work? If so, ‘twill be his money’s worth he’ll be getting. The sun just now set.”
The dark-haired young woman with the gray skirt and silver bodice lacings laughed heartily. “No, your mother sent me to fetch you, Alven. She wants you to hurry home so you can take over in the laundry while she picks up a few coppers telling fortunes.”
