Finder's Bane

by Novak, Kate

  “Pick a line,” Jedidiah told Walinda. “Of course, with your karma, any line you pick is going to be the one that moves the slowest.”

  “Why must we get in line?” Walinda asked.

  “Because all these people want what you want, to fill out the proper forms to gain an interview with a bureaucrat who will grant them permission to appear before the tribunal that determines whether or not to recommend to Yen-Wang-Yeh’s staff that they be allowed to use one of the portals. Since you’re not from Kara-tur, and you’re not dead, you’ll need special permission. Don’t cause any trouble while you’re waiting. Courtesy is everything to these people. Should you offend someone who turns out to be married to the cousin of the mother of the official we may later have to deal with, then we could end up waiting in lines until Gehenna freezes over.”

  A palanquin carried by four go-zu-oni lumbered past them. Reclining on the heavily scented pillows within the box was a horse-headed creature. Human servants ran before the conveyance strewing rose petals at the go-zu-oni’s feet, and others who followed behind gathered the petals back up.

  “Who was that?” Joel asked.

  “Some general of the animal kingdom whose mother got him his post,” Jedidiah muttered.

  “What are you going to do while I’m waiting?” Walinda demanded impatiently.

  “I?” Jedidiah asked with a shocked expression. “I will be finding a contact so you don’t have to wait in line. If all goes well, we’ll be in Sigil before the end of the week. Come along, Joel,” he said, turning and heading back up the staircase the way they’d come.

  Joel hurried after his god, following him through the hallways of another building, down another staircase, through another courtyard, through another building, then out a moon-shaped door onto a balcony overlooking a garden courtyard with a small pond. Joel dallied at the rail of the balcony, as he was sure one was meant to do, to take in the beauty of the garden and admire the serenity of the scene. Bees buzzed among the gardenias, carp glided through the water, and birds twittered in the trees.

  “Dawdle later,” Jedidiah called from behind him. The older priest had circled the balcony and started down a wide staircase into the garden.

  Joel hurried down the stairs, but Jedidiah held him back on the landing between the first flight of stairs and the second.

  Eight identical bronze statues, covered in a green patina, flanked the staircase. The statues resembled some creature halfway between a dog and a lion. Jedidiah rapped sharply on the third lion-dog on the right. A hollow clank rang out into the courtyard.

  A pale green light began to glow in the lion-dog’s eyes. “Finder!” a voice cried out from inside the bronze statue. “You’ve come back to visit!”

  “Just a short visit, Shishi,” the older priest replied. “We’re just passing through.”

  “Pooh,” the voice inside the lion-dog pouted. “You’re always just passing through. I suppose you want help.”

  Tin too old to wait in line, Shishi,” Jedidiah said with a tired smile, “and too impatient. I need three passes to Sigil.” “Ah. Not the usual destination of the dead. This may take a while. Will you sing for me tonight, Finder?” Shishi asked.

  “You know I will. Oh, but while I’m here, my name is Jedidiah—a priest of Finder.”

  The light in the lion-dog’s eyes blinked, giving the illusion that the statue blinked. “But you still look like Finder!” the voice said. “What sort of western custom is this?”

  “Humor an old barbarian,” Jedidiah implored, patting the lion-dog’s metal head. “I’ll be waiting in the garden.”

  The green light in the lion-dog’s eyes faded.

  Jedidiah motioned to Joel with a jerk of his head, and together they walked down into the garden. They crossed a tiny bridge to an island in the center of the pond and sat on a bench in a pavilion overlooking the water.

  “In case you hadn’t guessed,” Jedidiah explained, “Shishi is a spirit of a lion-dog. Even though he can’t actually drink, he’s a big fan of drinking songs of the western Realms. Gods only know why.”

  “Are you one of the gods who knows why?” Joel asked.

  Jedidiah chuckled and shook his head.

  “He’ll keep me up until dawn singing for him and four hundred of his equally invisible friends. Still, it beats waiting in line.”

  An old woman in orange pants and robe came across the bridge and set down a tray just outside the pavilion. She bowed low to Jedidiah, then recrossed the bridge and disappeared behind a tree.

  The tray held a pot of green tea, two cups, and a plate of almond cookies.

  “Shishi is also a perfect host,” Jedidiah said.

  They took their tea in companionable silence, but when they’d finished, Jedidiah stood up and began pacing. His head twitched once, the way it had shortly after they’d left Ilsensine’s realm.

  “Are you all right?” Joel asked.

  Jedidiah shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems to me I had an idea, a plan, but I don’t remember it now. I forgot it before I took note of it, if you get my drift.”

  Joel nodded. “I do that all the time,” he said.

  “But you’re not a god.”

  “Oh. Do you think Ilsensine stole it?” Joel asked.

  Jedidiah’s head twitched again. Then he shrugged. “I just don’t remember. It’s like a tickle in my brain.” He sighed.

  “Was it some way to get back the finder’s stone without giving up the Hand of Bane?” Joel asked hopefully.

  “There’s an awful thought.”

  A small green ball of light zipped across the bridge and hovered before Jedidiah’s face—Shishi, Joel supposed. The spirit reminded him a little of the firestars of Daggerdale.

  “Chief Stellar Operator Pan Ho will take a bribe for a one-time use of the portal to Sigil,” said the lion-dog spirit. “I would suggest something green. We should visit Pan Ho immediately. She’s going to lunch within the hour and will be gone for a week.”

  Jedidiah bent over and plucked a newly blossomed gardenia from a bush. “Lead on, O wise Shishi.”

  Shishi went zipping back across the bridge, through the garden, and up the staircase. It waited patiently at the top of the steps for Jedidiah and Joel to catch up.

  “That spirit is four hundred years my senior, and it still leaves me eating its dust,” Jedidiah grumbled.

  Miss Pan Ho was a grumpy dumpling of a woman who eyed Jedidiah with some distrust until he presented her with the gardenia “to brighten the efficient austerity of her office.” A small but flawless emerald shimmered in the heart of the flower. Miss Pan Ho sniffed at the flower with a smile on her face. After pocketing the blossom, she rummaged through a drawer filled with keys and drew out a large one made of lead. She handed it to Jedidiah. There was a tiny slip of paper attached to the key, printed with symbols in the Kara-Tur language.

  Then Miss Pan Ho locked her drawers and left the room. Throughout the entire exchange, she never said a word

  The paper attached to the lead key, Jedidiah explained, instructed the holder of the key that Door Number of the Hall of Confused Dreams was to be locked when people left at noon to eat and rest. The opposite side explained that if anyone found the key it should be slid under the door of Room of the Hall of Confused Dreams.

  “So we’re supposed to use the key when no one’s there and leave it in the room?” Joel guessed.

  “Very good,” Jedidiah replied. “A little practice and you could master the fine art of bribery, Kara-Tur style. I’ll spend the evening with Shishi, then we’ll leave for Sigil in the morning.”

  With Shishi riding on Jedidiah’s shoulder, Joel and Jedidiah returned to where Walinda waited. If the lines had moved, it wasn’t by more than three feet. Walinda glared all around her with annoyance.

  Jedidiah sauntered up to the priestess. “You won’t need to wait anymore. I obtained access to the portal from a friend.”

  “Good,” Walinda replied, stepping out of the line.

&n
bsp; Almost instantly the line moved up ten feet.

  The three adventurers followed Shishi back to his garden.

  The old woman who’d served them tea brought them a dinner of fish, pickled cabbage, and something Jedidiah called noodle soup.

  After they’d eaten, Shishi assigned them each a tiny room overlooking his garden. Each room held a woven straw mat with blankets, a wooden pillow, a silk robe, and a low writing table.

  Jedidiah announced that he was going off with Shishi to “sing for their supper.” Joel offered to accompany him, but Jedidiah suggested quietly that the young bard remain behind in case Walinda needed company.

  Joel thought that highly unlikely, since the priestess had remained completely silent throughout the meal, but the young bard nodded in agreement. Immediately after Jedidiah and Shishi left, Walinda retired to her room to rest.

  Joel enjoyed the solitude of the garden. With the banelich in another plane, all his worries seemed far away. He tried to compose something on his birdpipes that expressed the harmony he felt in this place of the dead, but jarring notes continued to block the melody. In his head, he knew that this was just the calm before the storm. Sooner than he wished, he and Jedidiah would be confronted with the dilemma of the Hand of Bane. He continued to worry about what choice Jedidiah would make.

  When darkness fell upon the garden, the bard retired to his room. He left the door open to the perfumed night air and sat down on his mat. He pulled off his tunic and began unbuttoning his shirt. He wasn’t yet tired enough to sleep, but there was nothing else for him to do. He felt suddenly very lonely.

  Someone rapped lightly on the wooden frame of his open door. Joel looked up. Walinda stood there, looking as aimless as he felt. She wore nothing but the red silk robe she’d found in her room. She had shed her haughty expression with her armor, and only her facial tattoos and the gem in her forehead served as a reminder of her tyrannical beliefs.

  “Do you wish to be alone?” she asked.

  “Not really,” Joel said with a smile, although the priestess wouldn’t have been his first choice of company. “Come on in.”

  The priestess of Bane slid gracefully into the room. She carried a pottery flask with two small china cups. She set them down on the table and then sat down beside Joel on the mat. She settled to the floor with a little less grace, almost a fall. Joel pulled away a few inches. “What’s this?” he asked, nodding at the flask.

  “Something to drink,” Walinda explained. “It’s quite good. Try some.”

  Joel leaned over and poured a little of the beverage into one of the cups. The liquid was clear and very warm. He brought it up to his lips and sniffed. There was a strong odor of alcohol. He sipped the drink. It was strong and a little acrid.

  “Where’d you get this?” the young bard asked.

  “The old slave brought it for me,” Walinda said. She leaned over and poured herself a full cup.

  Joel wondered if Walinda had somehow asked for the drink, or if the servant woman had brought it of her own volition. Of course, there was also the possibility that Jedidiah had recommended to Shishi that it be provided to the priestess.

  Walinda held up her cup. “What shall we drink to?” she asked.

  Joel thought for a moment. They still didn’t have much in common. “To Shishi’s hospitality,” he suggested.

  Walinda nodded and took a drink from her cup. She closed her eyes and exhaled.

  Joel took another cautious sip. The beverage was far stronger than anything he was used to drinking.

  “What song were you playing in the garden?” Walinda asked.

  “I was just trying to compose something. The melody wouldn’t come out right.”

  ‘Tour god is not with you tonight,” Walinda said with a knowing nod, leaving her head hanging down so that she stared into her cup.

  “You might say that,” Joel replied, trying to hide his grin.

  The priestess was oblivious to the bard’s amusement. “It is worse for me. I have been with Bane, and now his absence is like a rent in my heart.”

  “I didn’t know you could miss abuse,” Joel said caustically.

  “Bane is the embodiment of power, of strength. For him to allow any to question his authority would be a demonstration of weakness. The feel of his power is like this drink, sharp and strong. When he shared his power with me, I was happy. Now that he is in another plane, cannot call on him for power.”

  “You can’t cast any spells unless he’s near?” Joel asked.

  “He is strong, but he is only the essence of the god,” Walinda explained. “He cannot send his power across the astral void.”

  “He doesn’t know half of what Jedidiah knows about anything. He’s just a banelich using you for his own mad schemes.”

  Walinda set her hand down on Joel’s knee and leaned in closer to the young bard. “My lord Bane said you would try to sway my belief in him, Poppin. He knows you are jealous of his power. He is wise as well as powerful.” Her fingers tightened on his knee, her nails poking into his flesh. The scent of the wine about her was cloying.

  Joel lifted her hand away and set it on the table. “I couldn’t care less about his power. You were the one who came in to talk to me,” he pointed out. “Could it be that you have your own doubts? Could it be that you’re tired of being the slave of a heartless lich?”

  Walinda chuckled. “But the banelich does have a heart, Poppin,” she confided with a drunken certainty. She slid her hand into his shirt. “He keeps it here in a small silver box.” She pressed her fingers against his breastbone and slid her hand along his ribs.

  Joel grabbed at her wrist and once again pulled her hand away from his body, then released it.

  Walinda jerked her head up and breathed in deeply. “I am prepared to admit,” she said with the exaggerated enunciation of an offended drunk, “that the banelich who holds my lord’s essence is not perfect. It has its weaknesses. The fool has borne your mentor’s insolence because it is afraid we will not succeed without his help. Desperation and fear are weaknesses not to be tolerated.” She downed the rest of the drink in her cup and set it down on the table.

  “So why are you helping this weak thing become Bane?” Joel asked.

  “When Bane is resurrected, the banelich will not matter. I will be Bane’s chosen priest,” she whispered excitedly. She put both hands on his face and leaned forward.

  Joel clenched his jaw, determined to show no reaction to the priestess’s kiss. But Walinda did not kiss him. Instead, she bit him on the lower lip, not too hard, but not gently either.

  More than a little frightened, Joel grabbed both her wrists and pulled away. “How do you know Bane won’t choose the banelich for his priest?” he asked. “Suppose it really is Bane’s essence that’s desperate and afraid? Suppose you’ve enslaved yourself to a weak god who is jealous of your own strength? What kind of weak, desperate fool does that make you?”

  Walinda stiffened. “My Lord Bane is power and strength. I will not tolerate your blasphemy.” She rose unsteadily to her feet and strode to the door, bumping her shin on the table as she passed. She turned in the doorway. “My only foolishness was expecting you might wish to share in my triumph. When we find the Hand of Bane, you will witness my god’s resurrection and see me exalted as his most loyal servant. Then you will know what true power is. I will ask Lord Bane to take you to your god, Poppin, so that you may see what a poor, cheap thing your Finder is beside my lord.”

  Then she spun about and strode out the door toward her own room.

  Joel picked up his cup and held it up. “Here’s to you, Finder, you poor, cheap thing,” he toasted, then drained the cup. Finder, he knew, would laugh at the irony.

  Joel couldn’t remember falling asleep. He awoke in a dark place, with a throbbing headache, and realized he was bound hand and foot and slung over the shoulder of some great monster. His insides churned, and he heaved the contents of his dinner and Walinda’s liquor down his captor’s back.

>   The creature growled some unknown word, no doubt a curse, and set Joel down, none too gently, on the ground. A lamp shone somewhere in the distance, silhouetting Joel’s captor. The bard gasped. The monster was one of the bull-headed soldiers of the Celestial Bureaucracy, a go-zu-oni. The bard wracked his aching head trying to figure out what had happened, why he was being carried off.

  The go-zu-oni pulled off its cloak and wiped off the garment with the bottom of Joel’s shirt. Joel cried out, and the go-zu-oni stuffed a rag in his mouth, then swung him back over its shoulder.

  Joel couldn’t see where he was or where they were going. He was having trouble breathing and only wished that the go-zu-oni would set him down again soon. Joel passed out.

  He regained consciousness to the sensation of ice-cold lingers stroking his face. He was lying on the ground. Someone holding a lantern hovered over him. Joel squinted in the light, trying to make out the someone’s face.

  “Yes. This is the one,” a familiar voice said.

  Joel’s eyes widened. It was the banelich who held the lantern. The undead creature’s lipless smile, which exposed its brown teeth and yellow tongue, was horrible to see. The young bard shuddered.

  The banelich set the lamp on the ground and turned away from Joel to address the go-zu-oni who stood behind him. “You’ve done well.”

  “Now you will pay me what you promised,” the go-zu-oni demanded.

  “Accept your reward,” the banelich whispered and reached out to touch the giant creature.

  The go-zu-oni gasped and fell to the ground, its face very near Joel’s. The creature’s eyes were open but unblinking. Blood ran from its mouth, nose, and ears, The banelich had killed it with a touch.