Bazil Broketail (10 page)

Smilgax stared after him with burning eyes. As Relkin sidled past, Smilgax turned to glare at him. Relkin saw an unreasoning rage in Smilgax’s eyes. He knew that the hard green was under rules in the Dragon House after a couple of outbursts in the past few days. He had badly hurt his dragonboy in the last incident, breaking an arm and shoulder with a careless, angry blow.

Relkin kept going, refusing to run, though he felt Smilgax’s presence hot and strong behind him. With a snarling, crackling hiss, Smilgax turned and stalked morosely back to his own stall.

An hour or so later Relkin was surprised by the appearance of a stranger in the door of his and Bazil’s stall. The stranger was a man of medium height with dark hair, flashing black eyes and an extravagant moustache. The black cloak parted to reveal scarlet pantaloons and boots in bright green leather.

Bazil was asleep on his slab, slow gentle snores echoed in the stall.

“Greetings,” said the stranger with a little bow. He set down a black leather bag.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I am the veterinarian Herpensko, famous in Kadein and Monshago, well-known in Minuend and Karpensaka, in fact I have treated patients in every southern city. I am visiting friends here in Marneri, and when I heard that there was a dragon that had lost a tail tip I had to investigate.”

Relkin bristled, instantly disliking the fellow.

“Actually my dragon is perfectly well now, and resting, so I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”

“Ah, the time will be well spent, believe me. Besides, I haven’t touched a dragon in a while—I need to give myself a little refresher course. I will not even dun you for the costs. There, isn’t that a generous offer?”

The stranger darted into the stall and paused over Bazil’s tail.

“What a strange tip for a dragon’s tail. I cannot imagine how it healed thus.”

Relkin came up off his cot. His hand hovered close to the knife in his belt.

“Please keep your voice down. My dragon is sleeping, he needs a good rest today. Tomorrow is the day of the final combats and he needs all his strength. So, if you don’t mind, I must ask you to leave now. Unauthorized visitors are not allowed here anyway.”

“So you say,” muttered the stranger who gave an odd little shrug and fluttered his long fingers in front of Relkin’s face. Relkin gagged. He found it hard to breathe.

His knife was out; he swung at the man but missed.

Then the man had an arm around his throat and was pressing a pad laced with a strong-smelling chemical to his face.

Relkin struggled, but when he took a breath everything seemed to move far away. His struggles weakened.

The man was standing in front of him. He had taken away the knife. He was saying something in a low, harsh voice.

Something like a vise seemed to close on his chest— Relkin gasped, and then it was gone.

Completely befuddled, Relkin got up, wandered out into the hallway and stood staring down the line of doors and stalls. Some dragonboys were kicking a football around in the distance by the gate to the dragon yards. Relkin stared at them stupidly and wondered who they were.

Meanwhile the stranger had returned to his bag, from which he produced a red sack. With a knife he cut open the sack and produced a bright green fruit which he placed on the floor in front of Bazil. In a second the fruit began to wither and shrivel. The stranger pronounced a few words of power and the enchantment was complete.

Then the man chuckled and took up his bag and left the stalls. He passed the witless Relkin staring down into a rain barrel at the reflections, and disappeared out the door.

The tocsin announced sunset once more from the Tower of Guard. Windows were already shuttered across the city against a gusting wind, the forefront of a storm system that was leaving snow on the heights of the Blue Hills. The white trees along Foluran Hill were shedding their brown leaves and the wind was whipping them down and around the dominating mass of the Temple in the plaza at the bottom of the hill.

Evenings were the preferred times for funerals, and in the main chamber of the Temple the services were being performed for a merchant, Tahik of Bea, who had succumbed to a sudden fever in his eightieth year in his house on Ship Street. A crowd of relatives, sea captains, merchants, and bankers, was gathered there to pay their last respects.

And while the ground floor was thus occupied, a small but important meeting was taking place in a secret room in the crypt below. In this room, entered through a closet in the senior priestess’s vestry, were gathered the Insight Committee of the City of Marneri.

The texts of the Weal of Cunfshon lay open in the center of the table, a guide to the rules of argument, if they were required. And after twenty minutes of argument there was a good possibility that they might be. Appeal to the texts was rare in such a situation, but tempers were already frayed to the breaking point.

The Insight Committee was drawn from the highest ranks of the civil and military services in the city. Its job was to exchange information with the Office of Insight itself, which was run from Cunfshon. The committee also formed a useful forum for arguments between groups that normally lacked a place for venting complaints or presenting ideas to each other.

The forces in contention were set along the usual lines; the Legions, run by men for the most part, against the Temple, run by women almost exclusively. The royal Administration Services and the representative for the commercial and merchanting houses were set between the two extremes of Legion and Temple, torn in different directions by each strand of the argument.

Across the wide, circular table Generals Hektor and Kesepton glared at High Priestess Ewilra, Abbess Plesenta and the Princess Besita. The Chamberlain Burly sat to the right of Kesepton with Police Warden Glanwys on his right. Opposite them sat the merchants, Javine and Slimwyn, a pair of very stout gentlemen dressed in suits of black and green wool. Finally there was Lady Flavia of the Novitiate, included because of the renowned strength of her intellect and her innate common sense.

Despite her complete lack of a power base, it was to Flavia that many decisions were passed, usually by deadlock among the others. Princess Besita, included because she was in fact the High Priestess of the Charitable Effort in the dominions of her sire, often set up these deadlocks by abstaining from the debate. Besita hated making decisions.

At this moment, the High Priestess Ewilra had risen to counter criticisms of the security failures of the Day of Fundament made by General Hektor.

“The Greatspell has been re-knit, the city walls are safe once more. Your words are an unjust calumny upon our Temple.”

General Hektor was unmoved; he barely blinked.

“I give thanks to the witches of Marneri for their skillful work,” said Abbess Plesenta hurriedly to ease the silence.

“But how did someone perform fell magic inside the city during Fundament Day?” pressed the general.

“They killed the guardsman there, and everyone else was at the festival.”

“There are supposed to be five guards at each gate,” said Merchant Javine.

Ewilra grew flustered and sat down.

“Exactly,” said Hektor. “Things have grown lax in Marneri. Instead of five there was one, and he was slain.”

Glanwys fought down an angry retort.

Burly, the chamberlain, shrugged angrily. “I resent the attempt to put the blame on the king’s guards. These are the finest men in the city.”

“Enough, Burly, we know the quality of the Guard. The fact is that four of the complement from the Gate of Afo were absent and this allowed the evildoers to do their vile work.”

Ewilra glared. “Men are weak-willed creatures governed by crude passions. Men can be bought for little more than a few pieces of gold and silver.”

Generals Kesepton and Hektor exchanged glances. “Men” was it? Ewilra was clearly feeling defensive today.

“It seems to us that enough is spent on the police function and the Temple witches to ensure that such things cannot happen at all,” said Hektor.

“And I would like to add,” said Kesepton, “I have always been a strong supporter of the police function in this city. Have I not, Glanwys?”

Glanwys gave him a weak smile. Ewilra bristled again.

“And who is this telling us that too much is spent on the policing of Marneri?” Ewilra was furious. “I’ll tell you who. It’s the general that spends forty crowns a head on his legionnaires for beer at the last Fundament festival. You dare to criticize the Temple finances when you waste our farmers’ hard-earned wealth every day of the year!”

Hektor rolled his eyes. “My dear High Priestess, I was not criticizing the Temple finances, only—”

He was cut off as his senior, old Kesepton, rose to reply in barely suppressed fury. “By the treaties that bind together the realms of the Argonath it is stipulated that Marneri shall keep two legions under arms. In addition it must keep them from starvation. The wages for the men of the First Legion have been slow to reach Fort Dalhousie. Why is this? Why are the men expected to do without, while all around them in the colony cities they see men and women living in prosperity.”

“They are given enough!” said Plesenta. “And it is important for you to realize how much it costs to keep our forces in the field. The legions are not our only contribution. Marneri keeps eight great ships, half of them at sea at all times, suppressing piracy in the Bright Sea.”

Hektor shrugged with visible impatience.

“Look, you’ve got it all wrong. First of all, it was forty crowns between the legionnaires on duty that day. I mean, think about that for a moment will you? Forty crowns per man! Beer sells for a flagon a penny. There are one hundred pennies in a crown. How much beer do you think a legionnaire requires? Enough to bathe in, eh? How can you believe in such nonsense for long enough to repeat it? Forty crowns bought four thousand flagons of beer for the brigade on duty. That’s four flagons per man for the whole day!”

Plesenta was amused, Ewilra flushed with embarrassment. Hektor ploughed on, determined to hammer home the point.

“Kesepton is absolutely correct, things have reached a scandalous point. The legions have always been given just enough to keep body and soul together. It’s been a scandal, but it never attracted much attention here because our hungry men are in Kenor, five hundred miles away. The men have put up with it, dragons and horses have gone hungry. But now the funds are coming a full three months late. The legions in Kenor are actually starving this month.”

High Priestess Ewilra responded with considerable passion in her voice. “We have had a difficult season, there have been outbreaks of banditry all over the Blue Hills. Bandits that the legions have been slow to act against! Seek no further than your own indolence in this matter!”

The generals glared at her with rigid eyes. They spluttered in indignation: “Indolence!”

Flavia of the Novitiate sighed inwardly. This was going to be a difficult session of the committee. And they had yet to hear the bad news from the distinguished visitor.

Flavia noted that Besita was being unusually quiet. Normally Besita would have been at the forefront of the attack on the legions. But today Besita had her eyes on the door. Waiting for the arrival of their mysterious guest.

Flavia was well aware of the importance of this visitor, who doubtless brought them more bad news from the depths of the continent.

The door opened. Lessis of Valmes, wearing a plain grey sari, entered the room accompanied by Viuris of the Office of Insight, who also wore plain grey without adornment.

“Greetings, Lessis, on behalf of everyone here may I welcome you to our council,” said Besita.

Flavia looked up again in surprise. Besita was rarely heard to praise the expenses of the Offices of Insight. Indeed, she was one of those who often bewailed the entire practice of the offices in their secretive war with the enemy, behind the scenes, out of public view.

“Thank you, Besita,” said Lessis in a quiet voice, which nonetheless was clearly heard by everyone present.

Flavia felt again that extraordinary sense of presence or immanent power that enveloped Lessis like an invisible aura. This quite ordinary-looking woman, who dressed in the simplest costume and, it was said, owned nothing of her own whatsoever, was one of the three greatest adepts in the Empire of the Rose. A Great Witch beyond the rest, with high rank within the Temple hierarchy of Cunfshon itself.

Once more she puts us under her spell
, thought Flavia as Lessis charmed them, exerting her spell of attraction with practiced ease. Appearing in her simple grey sari, her head covered, she seemed as if she were no more than a perfectly ordinary, poor woman of middle age.

“Greetings to you all.” Her eyes glittered, reflected in Flavia’s. “I won’t waste time with formalities—we know each other do we not?”

Oh, Flavia knew the witch well—too well.

“I have a great deal to tell you, and therefore I’ll get on with it right away.”

Lessis took her seat. She moved, as always, with an easy compact grace. Flavia could imagine her as a dancer, or a gymnast. Flavia imagined the woman was deadly with a knife as well.

Lessis continued speaking.

“It has been a year or more since I was last here, too long I’m afraid. Always do I love to return to the white Queen of the Bright Sea.” She paused, and seemed to contemplate something most distasteful before continuing.

“But once again I am here, and I bring the most appalling news.”

Ewilra seemed to shudder. Always, always, the Grey Sisters brought bad news. Everyone shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

Ewilra could not hold it back.

“As usual, when the Sisters of your office come to Marneri they bring bad news.”

“And with the news some urgent need of money, it is always the same,” agreed Chamberlain Burly.

Lessis turned upon them a simple smile. They protected themselves from what they knew was a subtle spell. Burly merely closed his eyes and thought of sex. Damn witches! But sex always worked for him in keeping the stuff out.