Alchymist (70 page)

Irisis's
nape prickled. 'Someone's watching us,' she said under her breath, without
knowing how she knew it.

'Be
quiet.'

Her eyes
were drawn up the tower, all the way to the horns on each extremity. No, not
there. She followed the rough stone down to a point a little more than halfway
from the ground. A balcony projected straight out, a shaped slab of stone
without roof or rail. Someone stood there, or something, but she could not see
what it was.

A
lamp or glowing globe on the wall came on, outlining the figure from behind. It
was very tall, and man-shaped, but concealed by a greatcoat that swept to the
floor. The figure stepped to the edge.

'Begone,
whoever you are, back to where you came from. Visitors are not welcome here.'
It was human, a man with a mellow, carrying voice that bore more than an
underlying hint of steel. This man was master and no argument, Irisis sensed,
would sway him.

'I am
Xervish Flydd, surr,' the scrutator called up, respectfully. 'Scrutator for
Einunar —’

'Then
you've a long journey home, Scrutator Flydd. Begin it at once. You are not
welcome in Fiz Gorgo.'

'I
would, surr, but as you can see, our air-floater floats no more and cannot be
repaired today. I beg your indulgence until the morning.'

The
man shifted his weight. 'I am bereft of indulgence and every other form of
human weakness,' he said coldly. 'Take your abominable machine and begone!'

'It
can't be moved, surr, within twenty-four hours. We'll go if we must, but the
machine must stay where it lies. If you would care to inspect it. . .'

The
figure whirled, the light went out and a door slammed.

'Don't
say a word, unless he speaks directly to you,' Flydd said over his shoulder.
'If he does, confine your answers to yes or no. Venture no explanations.'

Before
them, up a few steps from the base of the tower, stood a set of doors so vast
that the cabin of the air-floater could have fitted between. The doors opened
silently and a blinding light shone through them, revealing that the yard was
paved in black stone. There was no living thing in sight. Not a single weed
grew inside the walls.

The
man appeared, greatcoat flapping. Illuminated from behind, he looked twice the
size of any normal man. He strode through the door and came down the broad
steps to the air-floater.

'Get
out!'

They
scrambled over the side, to congregate at the base of the steps. As he turned
to inspect the machine, the light fell full on him. He was no giant, but tall
and well proportioned -broad in the chest, slim hipped and with long, muscular
legs. He had a long, weathered face, frost-grey eyes and dark hair, worn long,
that was streaked with silver at the temples. He wore a grey shirt, grey
trousers and pale grey boots. His greatcoat was as black as the flagstones.

Climbing
onto the sloping deck, he inspected the structure, the controller, the torn
airbag and, last of all, the floater-gas generator. As he climbed down, Irisis
noted that he moved stiffly, as if an old injury troubled him.

'Very
well,' he said. 'You may stay until the morning. At first light you will repair
your contraption and remove yourselves.' He went up the steps, turning before
he went through the entrance. 'Bring that device to me.' He pointed to the
floater-gas generator.

'At
once,' said Flydd, motioning to Irisis and Flangers. 'Would you like to see the
controller too?'

'I am
familiar with its type,' said the man, and disappeared through the doorway.

They
gathered their gear. 'You'd better bring the contents of the larder,' said
Flydd. 'He doesn't seem a very hospitable fellow.'

Muss
collected the food, including the great haunch of venison. Nish and Flangers
carried the floater-gas generator, and little Inouye came behind with her
controller. It was her lover, her friend, her family, and the bond with it was
the only thing that kept her going.

Irisis
picked up her bag and followed. Fiz Gorgo was a grim place, strongly built but
undecorated. There were no tapestries on the walls, no rugs in the hall. What
furniture it had was of the plainest construction. The hall was high and wide,
the rooms large, square and barren of ornament save for time-worn patterns
etched into the stone. And it was quite as cold as the manufactory where she
had spent her working life.

Halfway
down the long hall, the man stood by an open door. 'You may stay here. There is
a stove. Water may be drawn from the small cistern out by your infernal
contraption. Good evening!' He nodded formally.

They
filed past, Irisis last, which gave her the chance to gain a better look at the
fellow. He appeared to be in hale middle age.

He
caught her gaze and turned, inspecting her from head to toe. Irisis was a tall
woman but he was almost a head taller. She looked him boldly in the eye as she
went past and knew that his gaze lingered. There was a strange, almost wistful
look in his eye. Then he was gone.

Flydd
chuckled. 'You'll do no good with that one.'

'I
have no intention of doing good, as you so charmingly put it.' she said
frostily.

'Who
is he?' said Muss, who had been silent for a long time.

'Oh,
come now,' said Flydd. 'You're telling me that you, my best spy, don't know?'

Muss
looked vexed. 'I've not done any work across the sea.'

'Surely
you know your Histories, man?'

'But.
. .'

Nish
spoke from behind. 'He, surely, is Lord Yggur, a great mancer who comes into
several tales, including the Tale of the Mirror. I thought he was dead long
ago.'

'So
did everyone,' said Flydd. 'He disappeared at the end of that tale, some two
hundred years ago, and has not been seen since. Everyone thought he was dead.
Well, almost everyone.'

'Why
did he come back to this miserable place?' said Irisis. 'He might have dwelt
anywhere on Santhenar.'

'I
dare say he likes it here,' Flydd remarked. 'But who knows where he has been?
For all we know he could have travelled seven times around the known world, and
the unknown. In his day, he had the best —’

'A
day long past,' said Nish. 'As I recall it, his courage failed him in the Tale
of the Mirror.'

'I'd
watch my tongue if I were you,' Flydd said coldly. 'He may be listening to our
every word. Besides, he was a great man once, and deserves your respect.'

Nish
glanced around uncomfortably.

Irisis
packed kindling into the stove, shrugging Fiz Gorgo and Lord Yggur away. 'I've
been looking forward to this dinner for a long time.'

She
had been thinking and dreaming about food for weeks. Among her many skills
Irisis was a brilliant cook, and in times past she'd cooked for herself, and
friends, when she could no longer bear the muck provided by the manufactory.
Since leaving there last spring she'd had few meals worth thinking about, and
most of those had been with Flydd in Gospett. In the past month the food had
been horrible, and there had been little enough of it. In Jibstorn she had
spent a fortune buying the best of everything. Tonight was going to be a meal
to remember.

'How
much longer are you planning to torment us?' said Nish, several hours later.
The smells arising from the stove were glorious. Even Flangers, deeply
withdrawn since she'd forced him to remit his life to her, had a gleam in his
eye.

Irisis
smiled inwardly. Food always served, if there'd been lack of it for long
enough. 'Not long now. Why don't you set up the trestle?'

By
the time that was done, dinner was ready. She gave one of her sauces a gentle
stir. A shadow drifted down the hall, hesitated for a second outside the door,
then went on. A minute later it came past again, glanced across to the stove
and continued. Irisis pretended not to notice.

She
served up the platters, and no one seemed to notice that an extra one contained
some of the choicest portions. While everyone was sitting down, she took up the
platter and slipped out the door. Irisis could not have said why, only that she
was curious about the master of Fiz Gorgo.

It
did not take long to find him, for Yggur sat at a big table in a room at the
far end of the hall. He was reading and did not look up as she approached. The
floater-gas generator sat on the table beside him, in pieces. There was a faint
smell of liquorice in the air, and several slices of peeled root on a dish.

Irisis
stood in front of the table, feeling more than a little foolish.

'What
do you want?' he growled, still with his head in the book.

'I
thought you might be hungry, Lord Yggur.'

At
the sound of her voice his head snapped up and the book fell shut. 'Ah, the
artisan,' he said. 'I am no lord, and outside this place I don't go by the name
Yggur. The past is dead and I prefer it to stay that way.'

'You
called me artisan. How do you know me, surr?'

'"He
may be listening to our every word,"' he quoted. 'I know everything that
goes on in my own realm. I presume your scrutator has sent you to cozen me?'

Irisis
blushed, which she found embarrassing. 'Since you've overheard everything we
said, surr, you would know I'm going against his direct orders. It's just that,
well, you were so kind as to provide us with a roof for the night, and I wished
to repay you in what small way I could.'

His
lips twitched and Irisis felt as though he could read her mind, the bad as well
as the good. In truth, she had no idea why she had done it, though it was not
attraction to Yggur. She'd chosen her man and had no interest in any other.

'Very
well. Put it on the table. Your own dinner will be getting cold.'

She
bowed and turned to the door, feeling his eyes boring into her back and
resisting the urge to run away. A disturbing man. And then, sitting down at the
trestle with the others, she ate the entire glorious meal without tasting a
thing.

They
slept the sleep of the truly exhausted that night, and not even Flydd noticed
when Yggur slipped into their chamber in the pre-dawn hours. Conjuring ghost
light with his fingers, he inspected each in turn. His gaze lingered longest on
three: the scrutator, Nish and Irisis. As he turned to go, Yggur almost
stumbled over the little pilot, who lay by herself in her sleeping pouch,
tossing and groaning. Bending down, he placed the glowing light to her temples,
left and right. She rolled over onto her side and slept soundly, and Yggur
withdrew.

They
went to the machine at dawn and began to repair the tear in the airbag. 'Work
slowly,' said Flydd. 'We don't want to leave today.'

Though
they dawdled as much as they reasonably could, the airbag was repaired before
midday. Inouye installed her controller and Flydd sent Nish to find Yggur and
recover the floater-gas generator.

Nish
went to the room at the end of the corridor where Yggur sat at the table,
writing. The reassembled generator was at his right hand.

'Take
it,' said Yggur, his nib looping across the page.

Nish
reached out, rather gingerly, and lifted the heavy generator in both hands.

As he
turned to go Yggur said, 'You are Cryl-Nish Hlar, weapons artificer, son of
Jal-Nish Hlar. Your life is now at a crossroads. Women have been your weakness
and you believe that lack of courage is mine.'

Nish
flushed. 'I'm sorry, surr. Last night I was tired and hungry and afraid.
Sometimes I speak without thinking.'

'Honest,
at least,' Yggur said grudgingly. 'Put the generator down for a moment.
Cryl-Nish, why have you come here?'

Nish
sat it on the table and rubbed his aching arms. 'Scrutator Flydd brought us,
surr. I don't know his reasons, though he's looking for help and can't find it
anywhere else.'

'Not
surprising, since he's a renegade who has been cast out and condemned.'

'The
scrutators are fools, surr, who cannot —’

The
black brows knitted. 'Who are you to judge the mighty, lowly artificer that you
are?' Yggur thundered.

Once
Nish would have slunk away, but he stood fast. 'I have eyes to see, surr. And,
since you've been listening to our talk, you'll know that I've seen many great
deeds done, and terrible ones too, on both sides of the world. My late father
—’

'Do
you tell me that Jal-Nish Hlar is dead?'

'He
was killed at the great battle near Gnulp Landing, a few weeks ago. Killed and
eaten by the lyrinx.'

'I'm
out of touch, living here,' said Yggur. News travels slowly to Meldorin, if at
all.'

'I'm
a dutiful son, surr. I mourn my father, though he was an evil man who was
prepared to do anything to gain a position as scrutator on the Council,
including sentencing his youngest son to a miserable death as a slave.'

Yggur
sat up at that. 'Oh?'

Nish
briefly related that tale.