Indeed, my overseer himself had always insisted that a merchant must stand by his word.
Now, however, he jutted his jaw stubbornly. “The men won’t do it,” he repeated. “They’ll leave your service first.” Then he added, “I’ll leave it myself. We’re decent folk, all of us. We’ll have nothing to do with necromancy.”
Had I been of a less dignified temperament, I would have groaned aloud. Here was a choice for which I had no taste thrust upon me. The prospect of informing Sher Abener that I must decline his requirements appeared unpleasant in the extreme. At the same time, I had no answer for the threat of Tep Longeur’s defection. I was entirely dependent on him. I could no more have filled his place myself than survived a contest of necromancy. If he abandoned me, I would be forced to rebuild my entire merchantry. And that burdensome task might prove impossible. If men who had grown fat in my service refused my commands, others would likely do the same.
Wracked by concerns I did not enjoy, I concluded eventually that my need for Tep Longeur’s forthright service outweighed other considerations. Sher Abener must take his requirements elsewhere. He was a reasonable man, was he not? Doubtless he would be vexed by my decision—but he would accept it. And I could offer him a number of valuable compensations. I alone controlled the price of my goods, regardless of their cost of procurement, or their exotic origins. Surely he would not disdain to profit at my expense?
This decision contented me in the privacy and comfort of my villa. Unfortunately, I began to doubt it when I ventured forth to announce it to Sher Abener in person. His reputation for darkness, like the memory of his bitter visage, contrasted uncomfortably with the gracious avenues along which I strolled in the direction of his walled manor. Benedic, the seat and chief municipality of our Thal’s demesne, was a sun-drenched and soothing town. Locust trees overarched the avenues, shaping the sun’s kindness with an artist’s hand. Whitewashed villas nearly as attractive as my own gleamed among their grounds and gardens on each side. Ladies and courtesans displayed their gowns and charms in open phaetons drawn by the fine steeds which were the source of the Thal’s personal wealth. Prosperous laborers tended the walks and intersections, the gates and carriageways. And above my head a flawless sky held Benedic like the setting for a rare and grace-bedizened gem. I conceived that I had been born for the enjoyment of such days in such a place, and images of Sher Abener’s dour countenance disturbed my satisfaction.
His manor was of grim granite, undressed, naked of plaster, and high-walled to foil any unwelcome attention. As it stood, it formed a blot on one of Benedic’s most harmonious vistas, and I wondered as I approached why the Thal had permitted it to be built as it was. The light of the sun shunned it, and the locusts leaned askance. Its stone spoke of secrets and practices dangerously protected. Indeed, it appeared strangely ominous, as though it threatened the whole of the town. Nearing it, I became concerned that its owner and architect might not prove as reasonable as I desired.
I had with me no more retinue than one servant and a guard. Considering the nature of my errand, I had no wish for ostentation. Yet I found now that I would have preferred a greater company around me. I would have liked Sher Abener to know that I was not a man to be threatened or harmed, despite my compliant nature.
But these were fancies, I assured myself, suggested by the hard stone and unfamiliar style of the manor. Thoughts of threat and harm had no place in such sunlight, under such a sky. Benedic was not a municipality in which a man of my wealth, charm, and pleasantness need fear the ill will of his fellows. Surely the Thal would not have granted Sher Abener leave to dwell among us if his arts or his intentions were as dread as his abode.
Assuming a good face, I sent my servant to announce me at the manor’s portal.
The gates opened before us, though I saw no servants drag them aside. A dreary voice instructed us to proceed to the doors of the manor itself, but I saw no speaker. And when we gained the doors, we found them wide, despite the fact that they had been unmistakably shut, and we had not seen them move.
“Sher,” my guard murmured to me, “this is an unwholesome place.” A pallor had come over his plump features. Sweat stood on his brow. “Do not enter.”
I wished to scoff at his apprehensions, but I found that my own assurance had sunk too low. Turning to bid my servant advance ahead of me, I saw only the miscreant’s back and heels as he fled between the portal gates at a run.
“Sher—” my guard quavered piteously.
Devoutly, I desired the man to display more fortitude. He had accepted good coin in my service for years, and had been asked little or nothing in return. I felt entitled to his courage. At the same time, however, I considered it unseemly for a man of my stature to appear more timorous than his underlings. Cursing the honorable intentions which had brought me to this discomfort, I took pity on him and ordered his return to my villa.
Perhaps he would spread the tale of my courage, beneficence, and forbearance, and Benedic’s esteem for me would be enhanced by this otherwise distressing adventure.
Escorted by that cold comfort, I entered Sher Abener’s disconcerting abode alone.
As outside, so within—my host appeared to have no servants or retainers, and need none. The manor doors admitted me to a vestibule as remarkable for its emptiness of occupants as for its dreariness of design. To one side a vast stair rose toward regions too ill lit to betray the use their master made of them. They appeared so clenched with gloom, however, that my fancy unwillingly supplied hosts of fiends pouring from them to assail me. Yet the prospect opposite the stair was hardly more pleasing. There beyond a heavy archway one featureless chamber succeeded another into the obscurity, each apparently more vacant and unadorned than the one before it. Sher Abener had scant use for windows—or the light of day. His rooms gathered darkness as a well does water.
Again an unseen speaker addressed me. “This is the present dwelling of Sher Abener in exile. His friends may enter freely. Others may not. Reveal your name and purpose.”
The dour tones appeared to issue from the walls themselves—an utterance of the very stones. Once more I wondered why our Thal had permitted such an edifice to be constructed. It shed a chill into the marrow of my bones.
Striving to portray an assurance I lacked entirely, I replied, “I am Sher Urmeny. I wish to speak to Sher Abener concerning his recent trans-actions with my merchantry.”
“Very well,” assented the walls, or some other unnatural agency. “You may approach Sher Abener as he breaks his fast.”
No one appeared to guide me—and I did not relish the notion of simply blundering about the manor until I chanced upon my host. After a moment or two, however, a lamp in the chamber beyond the immediate archway appeared to take light of its own accord. Finding the darkness dispelled to that extent, I ventured beyond the vestibule toward the source of illumination.
The room in which I found myself was indeed featureless—naked of adornment and windows, or of any lamps save the one now blazing necromantically before me. Yet as I neared it, another lamp took flame in the next chamber. And when I approached that light yet another announced itself ahead of me. Clearly, this unnatural display was intended to lead me to Sher Abener.
I obeyed. But I disliked progressing in that fashion. I disliked it extremely. Its impersonality and power diminished me. And what was worse, it heightened my sense of alarm. I found now that I distrusted my host. A man who treated his neighbors and associates thus violated the social ease and graciousness which characterized Benedic, and upon which I depended for much of my pleasure in life. Our Thal had erred grievously when he had granted Sher Abener a place among us. Virtuously, I resolved to tell the Thal this in person at my earliest convenience.
Such intentions steadied me somewhat, but they could not quell my growing apprehension. As I advanced through the manor, I became quite certain that its master was not a man who would respond reasonably to disappointment.
I reached him after I had cro
ssed some eight or ten chambers which varied only in their size and in the height of their ceilings. By then I was positively relieved to discover him engaged in an activity as ordinary as breaking his fast. Truth to tell, I was even relieved by the sight of the plain trestle table at which he dined, the stool on which he sat, the blunt plate and mug which held his food and drink. During my trek, my fancies had conjured the image of a man who feasted on the dead and drank from the veins of sheep. At another time, I might have said that his rejection of physical comfort and service was both absurd and ostentatious, but in my relief I was simply glad to discern that his meal was not monstrous.
“Sher Urmeny.” He inclined his head to me without rising. “It is not your custom to visit your friends in order to discuss a merchant’s trans-actions. I fear you have come with bad tidings. What is amiss?”
Without realizing that I had stopped and fallen silent, I stared at him as though we had never met before. He was Sher Abener and no other—not a man who might be mistaken for someone else—and yet he appeared to have altered himself in some fashion. The urbane citizen of Benedic who had brought his requirements to my merchantry was gone. A stranger had assumed his face and name.
I had not noticed in our previous dealings that his voice was abrasive, as rough to the ear as new rope to the touch. Not had I observed that the sleek beard lying tightly along his cheeks and jaw appeared to have been oiled with blood and clotted in place. A look in his eyes which I had earlier taken for pleasantry now seemed feral and avid, eager to demonstrate its strength.
A moment passed before I understood that I had not answered him. I had lost my voice. Indeed, I could hardly swallow. On the instant, I determined to assure him that all his needs would be met. If this displeased Tep Longeur and my caravaneers, I would replace them as best I could. The utter ruin of my merchantry and fortunes appeared less fearsome than Sher Abener’s displeasure.
Yet my resolve failed as quickly as it formed. It was impossible. Without Tep Longeur—without his honest service, and the support of men who believed as he believed—I was helpless to satisfy Sher Abener. Then I would be forced to deliver the same tidings I now bore. And the necromancer’s ire would not be made less by delay.
Therefore I performed what I considered the most difficult action of my life. I swallowed my fear.
“Sher Abener,” I began awkwardly, “pardon my discourtesy. I find myself disconcerted by your manor.” I did not add, And by your person.
“That is its intent.” His manner was grave, but also ominous. “I find that disconcertion inspires truthfulness in those who approach me.”
His response suggested a criticism which irked me. My own manner stiffened.
“Then I will be truthful, Sher. As you surmise, I come with tidings which will be as unpleasant for you to hear as for me to relate. Recently you honored my merchantry with several small requests. I regret that I will be unable to satisfy them.”
At this my host arose from his stool. I had not previously marked that he was so tall—for some reason, I had thought him shorter. Now, however, he appeared to impend over me. And the grim displeasure in his gaze only served to augment his stature.
“Sher Urmeny,” he pronounced with fatal care, “that is not acceptable. I am precluded from obtaining in person the items I have requested. Therefore you must obtain them for me.”
My heart quailed within me. I was inclined to accept his view of the circumstance. He was precluded. Therefore I must. His looming darkness conveyed conviction.
With some difficulty, I replied, “I am saddened on your behalf. I have no wish to distress or inconvenience you. However, I have encountered a difficulty I cannot surmount.” I sought to phrase my dilemma delicately. “It appears that the objects and potencies you desire disturb those who serve my merchantry. They decline—” I shrugged to communicate my discomfort.
“That does not concern me,” the necromancer retorted. “The unhappiness of your slaves and lackeys signifies nothing.”
Despite the difficulties of my situation, I found that I was shocked. My host’s comportment ill suited the good grace which characterized transactions in Benedic, and on which I had long relied. Yet his manner was not less incondite than the disdain it expressed. From the reports and gossip of my caravaneers, I was naturally aware that in some lands beyond the demesne of our Thal human flesh was considered a commodity, to be bought and sold for profit or sport. I had thought as little on the notion as possible, however. It afflicted me with queasiness, like the taste of tainted meat.
I may have attained a moment of indignation as I answered, “There is the difficulty, Sher. They are not ‘slaves and lackeys.’ They are men such as yourself—”
“Surely not,” Sher Abener interposed blackly.
“—citizens of Benedic,” I insisted, “and if they do not choose to do a thing, they cannot be compelled to it. We are a civilized people, Sher. We do not possess each other, either men or women.”
Much to my chagrin, I saw a yellow light, which I took to be tongues of flame, lick at the corners of the necromancer’s eyes. His ire verged on conflagration. In haste, I added, “Since I cannot satisfy you, I offer recompense. I cannot obtain that which you desire—but I can obtain much. And the cost does not concern me, since I consider that you have been ill-used. Name other wishes, Sher Abener, and I will endeavor to ensure that you are not again disappointed.”
Thus I strove to appease him. He could hardly complain of me now. He might well enjoy his own displeasure—at that moment, he appeared dire enough to revel in any perversity—but he would not be able to accuse me of defalcation.
At first, his mouth twisted on the taste of bitter ruminations. The hint of flame in his gaze did not abate. He regarded me as he might have scrutinized a noxious rodent. Then, however, he nodded at the outcome of his thoughts.
“Very well, Urmeny.” His neglect of my honorific suggested scorn. “You say that you do not possess men or women. That inconveniences me. In time, I will see the lack amended in this land of fops and sycophants. But for the present, a few ‘slaves and lackeys’ will suffice to deflect my wrath from your foolish head. Deliver to me half a dozen, three male, three female—adult, but young—and I will forget that I have been ill-used.”
To my dismay, he shocked me further. In an instant, I saw my vaporous hopes for his acquiescence dissipate.
“Have I understood you, Sher Abener?” My own voice had become an unseemly croak, but I could not master it. “You wish me to procure slaves? You mean to practice that custom here?”
A sneer curled his lip. “You will find it salutary. It will teach you to spend your days otherwise than on trifles.”
Trifles? Had the fitted stone of the floor shifted beneath my feet, I would not have felt more distress. How otherwise should a man conduct his life, except as I did?
“Sher—” I cast about me for some refuge, but none was apparent. “The Thal will not permit it. He will be outraged. In his demesne, such practices are shunned. Indeed, his own wives and consorts—” I faltered to silence under the bale of my host’s burning censure.
“You are mistaken,” he snorted. “Your ‘Thal’ will propose no objection. He has learned already that it does not profit him to thwart me.”
Now indeed the plain stone failed to provide an adequate foundation. I was quite unable to doubt the necromancer’s word. The suggestion of flame in his gaze, hinting at destruction like a blaze glimpsed within the windows of a villa, convinced me entirely. I did not believe that Sher Abener would err at any point which touched upon his arts.
“Then, Sher—” With an effort which wracked me, I swallowed at the dry dread clogging my throat. “Sher Abener, I am outraged. The purchase and sale of men or women is not a transaction I am inclined to countenance. You presume too far upon my goodwill.” In desperation more than daring, I concluded, “Perhaps if you were sold and purchased yourself you would consider the matter in another light.”
At this rebu
ff, my host spread his hands. Disdain sharpened his bitter mouth. From his eyes, the impression of fire began to gather and spill as though it were tears.
“If you imagine that you have the strength,” he sneered, “I invite you to make the attempt.”
Off his cheeks and beard, slow flame ran to his chest. He opened wide his jaws, and fluid fire bubbled in his gullet to drain past his teeth. Across his shoulders it spread in consuming runnels, and thence along his arms to his hands. There it pooled and blazed, mounting higher as it fed.
Flinching, I recoiled involuntarily. Though I stood five paces from him, his heat seemed to scorch my features, and I feared for my beard and brows. Around me, the chamber appeared to contract as darkness gathered against the light.
In the voice of a furnace, Sher Abener roared, “Begone from my sight! Obey me! Satisfy me! If you do not, I will render the marrow from your bones, and drink it while you die!”
Raging, he raised his arms to fling fierce shafts of conflagration at my defenseless head.
Until that moment, I had not considered myself a coward. My valor had never been tested. Therefore I had no cause to doubt it. In that instant, however, all illusion fell from me. My folly and weakness became plain. I had no substance of any kind—no wealth, no position, and no courage—which might enable me to stand against a man whose eyes and mouth and hands held flames of ire. Forgetting the dignity and comportment which but a short time ago I had foolishly deemed inherent to my station, I fled for my soul.
Unable to think, for my mind held only fear, I ran headlong through the unadorned chambers toward the manor’s vestibule. Yet I did not flee unaccompanied. Shouts which issued from no human throat harried me on my way, as if the very stones uttered their master’s displeasure.
“Obey!” the walls commanded with the lost urgency of ghouls. “Satisfy!” And the floors and ceilings echoed, “You must!”
Fortuitously, the manor doors remained open, as did the portal gates. Had I found them closed, I might have lost my wits altogether. Heedless of how I might be regarded by the passersby beyond the walls, I ran in frenzy and despair until my lungs could no longer support my exertions. And still I seemed to hear the wailing of Sher Abener’s rooms, although they were now some way behind me.
Reave the Just and Other Tales Page 36
