Swords: 06 - The Third Book of Lost Swords - Stonecutter's Story (18 page)

      
“Tadasu Hazara,” said Kasimir, after a pause to swallow. “That was the name he gave when he came to the inn, and talked to me about wanting to buy antique weapons. He must have thought that I was a genuine dealer, and was just making sure. Then he proved to himself that I was a fake.” The physician paused and looked at his companions. “How could Kovil have hoped to control such a man?”

      
“Kovil did not lack in confidence,” said Wen Chang dryly. He stood back from the blood and waved a hand about. “Old friend Almagro, this slaughter must of course be reported.”

      
“And am I to report also that Valamo of the Left Hand did it?”

      
“Yes, I think so. All the pressure that we can put upon that gentleman will not be too much. As for you, Kasimir.”

      
“Yes?”

      
“I want you to go back to the inn and rest,” said the Magistrate, surprising his hearer. “Rest, but do not sleep too deeply, for this Juggler may even now decide to pay us a visit there. And soon there will be another job for you to do.”

Chapter Sixteen

      
Kasimir returned to the inn, where Lieutenant Komi was waiting to greet him with eager questions about the most recent developments. Kasimir, not having been told to keep any secrets, brought the officer up to date as best he could.

      
Komi shook his head gloomily when he had heard the story of the double murder. “It sounds like bad news; I must find out what the Prince wants me to do now.”

      
“It certainly doesn’t sound like good news to me either. But be sure to leave a few reliable men here if you go off to the palace seeking orders.”

      
“I will. Don’t worry, my men are all reliable.”

      
Climbing the stairs wearily to his third-floor room, Kasimir lay down on his couch to rest. For a time, the cries of peddlers in the street outside kept him awake.

      
The peddlers moved on eventually to the next street, but by now Kasimir’s thoughts were disturbing enough to prevent his sleeping. He kept seeing the murdered men in the small stone building. Somehow the worst horror was the look of peace upon their faces; even the man in the cell, whose expression was unnatural, seemed to have died calmly. It was as if each of the victims in turn had welcomed the figure in whose guise death came upon them.

      
Neither of them appeared to have taken alarm before the end.

      
At last Kasimir fell asleep, and with sleep came strange dreams. Someone whose face was hidden in a gray hood was stalking after him with a great steel Sword, trying to coax him to put down his dagger and his cudgel. Then in his dream Kasimir looked down for his right hand, and saw that it was gone, lopped off along with his wooden club.

      
He awoke sweating and gasping, to find Wen Chang bending over him. For just a moment the horror and strangeness of the dream persisted, and then Kasimir realized that the frightening alteration he perceived in Wen Chang’s face was only a result of the Magistrate’s just having removed the outer layer of some kind of a disguise.

      
“What’s going on?” Kasimir demanded, almost before he was fully awake. There was something in his mentor’s attitude that made him think more action must be imminent.

      
Wen Chang was standing back now, regarding him calmly. “I have arranged another task for you to perform, my young friend—if you choose. It might help our cause immeasurably, but I must warn you that it is very dangerous.”

      
Kasimir sat up, scratching and rubbing his head. “Now—after we raided that warehouse—after you sent me into the Red Temple—now you think it necessary to warn me that our task is dangerous?”

      
The Magistrate had seated himself in a nearby chair. “Yes,” he said, “I do. There were certainly dangers in those places that you mention. But the risk to be faced now may well be of a different order of magnitude. The fact is that I have been able, through some difficult and indirect negotiation, to arrange a deal with the Watch-station murderer.”

      
Despite himself Kasimir was aware of a chill. “Well, I won’t argue that he doesn’t require a special warning. I suppose this deal involves the Sword?”

      
“Of course.”

      
“What makes you think that the Juggler has it now, instead of Natalia and her group?”

      
“You misunderstand, Kasimir. The fact is that our friend hopes and expects to obtain the Sword from us, in return for a down payment of cash, along with his pledge of cooperation in other matters.”

      
Kasimir, who had just got to his feet, slowly sat down again. “However did he get the idea that we have it?”

      
“I fear someone must have provided him with misleading information.” The Magistrate’s eyes twinkled slightly.

      
“How?”

      
There was no answer.

      
“So he wants Stonecutter from us. What do we hope and expect to get from him?”

      
“I have told him that we want a thousand gold pieces as a down payment, and a pledge, plus his co-operation in future operations.”

      
“And what do we really want?”

      
“I want his head,” said Wen Chang simply.

      
There was a little silence. “I see what you mean,” said Kasimir at last, “about the danger.”

      
“Yes; about that. Understand, Kasimir, that I would not ask this of you if I thought the part I wanted you to play was truly suicidal. But I will think none the less of you if you—”

      
“Oh, yes, you would.” The physician got to his feet. “That’s all right. I, on my part, would think something the less of myself if, having come this far, I were to fail to see this matter through to a conclusion. Tell me what you want me to do.”

      
The Magistrate, smiling and obviously relieved, leaned forward to exchange a firm handclasp with his younger associate. Then he sat back in his chair.

      
“Seldom have I made any plan for the express purpose of killing someone. But I think that in this case it is essential. I have already spoken to Almagro on this matter and he sees no objection. I have spoken also to Lieutenant Komi, as Prince al-Farabi’s deputy, and he agrees with me. You and I will have help—but so will the Juggler, who has obviously recruited people from the underworld of Eylau.”

      
“I am sure our allies are at least as capable as his. Tell me what you want me to do.”

      
“You will have a special part to play tonight. You will carry to our meeting with Valamo a wrapped bundle of the proper size and shape to persuade him that we are indeed bringing the Sword. He insists on seeing it at our first meeting, before our negotiations are carried any further. There are good reasons why I cannot undertake to play the part of the Sword-carrier myself, but be assured that I shall be nearby.”

      
“I had assumed you would be.”

      
“Almagro and Komi and myself, with additional help, are going to be as close as we can. But we cannot guarantee your safety should our enemy become suspicious.”

      
“Which he can hardly fail to be. But I understand. I tell you I mean to see this business through.”

      
At this point Lieutenant Komi appeared at the head of the stairs. The officer was carrying under one arm a weighty bundle, definitely the wrong shape for a Sword. When this was placed on a table and unwrapped, it proved to be a mail shirt, the steel links as finely wrought as any Kasimir had ever seen.

      
“This is for you to wear tonight, sir,” Komi informed Kasimir, somewhat grimly.

      
“Indeed. Under the conditions, I think I will not refuse.”

      
In response to Kasimir’s questions, the officer informed him that the garment belonged to Prince al-Farabi himself, but Komi did not think his master would mind its being loaned out in the present circumstances. Komi also stated that the mesh of the shirt, magically reinforced, was so fine and tough that it ought to be able to turn the point of even the sharpest poniard.

      
While Kasimir was preparing to try the garment on, he asked Wen Chang curiously: “How did you manage to establish communications with Valamo?”

      
“Only indirectly, and with considerable difficulty.” The Magistrate was spreading out a coarsely woven, dull-brown cloth almost the size of a blanket upon the largest table in the apartment. Kasimir’s view of this operation was cut off for a moment as Komi helped him pull the mail shirt over his head; then he could see the Magistrate holding up a sword in a plain leather sheath.

      
“Also borrowed,” he said, “from our friend the Prince.” The weapon had a brown wooden hilt and an ornate guard; its overall size looked the same as Stonecutter’s, but no one able to get a good look could mistake this blade for one of the Twelve forged by a god.

      
Wen Chang put the sword on the table and began to bundle it up carefully in the brown cloth.

      
Kasimir asked: “Do we expect the Juggler to accept his treasure without taking a close look at it?”

      
“We expect, if all goes well, to complete our business with him before he has had a chance to do so.” The Magistrate tied his bundle lightly shut and stood back, surveying the effect. Then he hoisted it in one hand, as if testing the weight. “As long as the bundle remains closed the likeness is certainly good enough.”

      
“Where is the meeting scheduled to take place, and when?”

      
“The time is tonight. The place is the small bazaar at the end of the Street of the Leatherworkers. Rather, that is where you are to carry the Sword, and await further instructions.”

      
“I suppose I am to go alone?”

      
The Magistrate shot him a glance of amusement, tempered with concern. “You would be willing to do that? No, fortunately our rivals in this matter are too realistic to demand any such foolish behavior on our part. You will have two companions when you arrive at the bazaar, and for some time thereafter. We must expect that at some point an attempt will be made to separate you, the sword-bearer, from your escort.”

      
Kasimir sighed. “Naturally I suppose we must expect treachery from the other side.”

      
No one bothered to answer that. Komi was making certain adjustments in the shirt, which hung with a depressing weight upon Kasimir’s shoulders.

      
“And speaking of treachery,” Kasimir insisted, “how do we plan to effect our own?”

      
“The details of that must wait upon events,” said Wen Chang. “Your responsibilities will be, first, to carry this.” The brown-cloth bundle was thrust suddenly into Kasimir’s grip. “Second, to take direction from me; and third, should that no longer be possible, to use your own wits to the best advantage possible.”

* * *

      
Two hours after sunset, flanked by the Magistrate and a sturdy Firozpur sergeant, Kasimir was standing at the south end of the Street of the Leatherworkers, where an intersection with two other busy though narrow thoroughfares had created a square of modest size. One of the city’s innumerable open-air markets had grown up in the space thus made available, and was doing a thriving business on this evening, despite the occasional brisk shower and the threat of a real downpour conveyed by heavy background thunder. Again Kasimir found himself in a part of the city no more than a hundred meters, he estimated, from the Tungri and the energetic life that clustered around the river and the docks.

      
“Why did you decide to give this thing to me to carry?” he asked in a low voice, turning his head slightly toward the Magistrate, who stood at his right hand. “Not that I am unwilling—but I should have thought you’d prefer to have it in hand yourself.”

      
“At the most crucial moments of negotiation,” said Wen Chang, “I prefer to have both hands free. Also I chose you because I consider you—after myself—the most quick-witted person available … ah. Here, if I am not mistaken, comes our next contact.”

      
An urchin only a little older and bigger than the child who had carried Natalia’s message was approaching them steadily through the random traffic of bodies in the bazaar. His eyes were fixed on Kasimir, who held the sword-shaped bundle in his hands. In a moment, as soon as the boy was sure that Kasimir was watching him, he turned sharply and led the way down Leatherworkers’ Street.

      
“Slowly and calmly,” said Wen Chang. “After him.”

      
Moving single file with Kasimir in the lead, his bundle held tightly under his left arm, the three men followed.

      
They were led beneath the flaring oil-lamps of Leatherworkers’ Street, and into another bazaar at the other end of the short, crooked thoroughfare. Kasimir, glancing up just as they reached this second marketplace, saw something that almost made him stumble—a small, dark shadow flitting just above the brightness of the nearest lamp. It had to be one of Komi’s—or someone’s—winged messengers. The lieutenant must be nearby, and must be somehow trying to use one of the creatures to follow their progress through the maze of streets.

      
On entering the second bazaar their youthful guide had suddenly turned aside, darted under one of the vendors’ carts, and in an instant disappeared from view. It was not to be thought of that men of affairs carrying a Sword would follow him in this maneuver; the trio came to an uncertain halt, watching and waiting for further instructions.

      
The smells of dough frying, and of meat and peppers roasting on a skewer, enlivened the air here. Somewhere in the background, men clapped hands to the rhythm of a drum, and female dancers whirled in torchlight. A small caravan of laden load beasts urged other traffic momentarily out of the way of their slow progress.

      
Then, unexpectedly, their guide was back, walking out of the kaleidoscopic churn of moving bodies, coming from the direction of the dancers. This time the urchin moved past the three men purposefully, and walked straight on through the outer gateway of a low stone building at the start of the next street. Once inside the gate he paused, looking back just long enough to make sure they were following. Then he walked on into the building’s courtyard.

      
The Firozpur sergeant, hand on his sword hilt, followed. At Wen Chang’s gesture Kasimir followed two or three paces behind the sergeant; and he could hear Wen Chang’s soft footsteps coming along at an equal distance behind him.