The price of victory- - Thieves World 13 (111 page)

"And earned a certain type of respect in the process." The storyteller smiled.

Jubal frowned at him. "Don't patronize me, Hakiem," he said. "It ill becomes you. I have never been respected in this town. Feared, to be sure, but we both know that's different than being respected. You can't buy respect, or force it at sword point. You have to earn it."
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"So why not earn it here?" Hakiem frowned.

"Do you think I haven't tried?" The ex-slaver grimaced. "The trouble here is that too many people know me of old, and that knowledge makes them assume the worst. I'll tell you, just as an example, I've been trying for months to get an audience with your prince."

"Kadakithis? What business could you have with him?"

Jubal shot a glance around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"I was going to offer him the services of my intelligence network. It's worked well enough for my criminal activities in the past, and I thought he might appreciate its value as an aid for governing this town."

"And he refused?" Hakiem frowned. "That doesn't sound like the prince."

"I never got to see him," the crime lord said. "It seems the consensus among those who control the prince's schedule is that the only way I will see him is if he presides at my trial, I tried more roundabout methods, applying leverage to a certain . . . 'friend' of the prince's who is un known to most, but even there I was thwarted. Everyone believes it's better to buy me off than to go along with whatever I suggest or request.
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It's become clear to me that my organization will be more effective and be more acceptable if I disassociate myself from it-That's why I'm inter ested in accompanying you."

It occurred to the storyteller that, by employing dubious methods in his efforts to gain respectability, Jubal was proving everything his ene mies believed about him. He also realized, however, that the ex-slaver had a quick temper, and that it would be wisest not to argue with him. Prematurely aged or not, the ex-gladiator was a force to be reckoned with when it came to disputes of a violent nature.

"Do you expect it will be any easier to find respect in the Beysib Empire, surrounded by a people who are physically different than us?" he asked, tactfully shifting the focus of the conversation.

"Who knows?" Jubal shrugged. "It can't be any worse than here. At

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least there I won't be carrying my past around my neck like a leper's bell. It will be a fresh start for me in a land where no one knows or cares anything about what I've been or done before."

"Of course, that also means they have no idea of what to guard against either," Hakiem observed drily.

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The slaver flashed a quick grin in response.

"A land of opportunity, no matter how you look at it."

"Not if those opportunities cause problems for the ambassador," the storyteller warned. "I can't have a ... Excuse me, what capacity were you proposing you accompany me in, anyway?"

"I had been thinking of traveling as your personal manservant," Jubal said, "but I'm open to other suggestions. I imagine that, whatever my official capacity, I will be serving as a confidential advisor to you."

Hakiem's eyebrows shot up.

"Advisor? Excuse me, but I didn't think you knew any more about the Beysib than I do."

"Think again, old man." The crime lord chuckled darkly. "Your bat tlefield of choice is the courts with carefully chosen words and argu ments. My arena is the back alleys, gathering information from the sorts either ignored or hunted by your aristocrats. If anyone, you should know the value of a bit of street-level information when operating in a new town."

The storyteller stared thoughtfully, seriously considering Jubal's pro
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posal for the first time. It was true that the crime lord would be a valu able ally . . . especially if none of the Beysib knew to watch or suspect what appeared to be an aged servant. Still, it was hard to believe Jubal was willing to take part in such a venture, much less accept a role sub servient to Hakiem.

As if sensing the storyteller's hesitation, the ex-slaver pressed on.

"There's another thing which can make me a priceless secret weapon, old man."

"And that is ... ?"

Jubal leaned forward, grinning smugly as he whispered.

"I've built an immunity to the bite of those snakes the Beysib women favor so."

"You have?" Hakiem's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know that was possible . . . except for those who were conditioned from birth, that is."

"It's a secret that cost me dear." The crime lord smiled. "Far dearer than obtaining the solvent for the latest witches' brew of glue going round town. More important, I'm willing to share that secret with you if you'll include me in your plans."

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"Me? I really don't think that's necessary . . . though I appreciate

the offer. I've gotten used to having the snakes around, and they're harm less as long as you give them lots of room."

Jubal stared at him for a few moments, then shook his head ruefully.

"I don't know if it's the wine or your time in court that's clouded your thinking, old man. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that those snakes are perfect tools for murder?"

"You mean assassination9 But I'll be an ambassador. They wouldn't dare!"

"I wouldn't bet my life on that, if I were you," the ex-slaver snorted.

"You're going to be trying to establish trade with the Beysib Empire, right? That means you're going to be stepping on someone's livelihood. Whether you're providing better or cheaper goods, you'll be diverting money to Sanctuary that would normally go to someone else, which is going to make that someone your mortal enemy. They may not be able to attack you openly, but it's always possible to arrange a convenient 'acci dent.' The Beysib aren't that different from us."

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It had not occurred to Hakiem that there was potential danger in his mission, yet Jubal's words had the irrefutable ring of truth to them. Strangely enough, however, rather than adding to his reluctance, the possibility of an attack on Sanctuary's trade ambassador aroused in him an angry indignation which had him looking forward to the mission for the first time since it had been proposed.

If some of the Beysib thought they could block trade with Sanctuary by disposing of some court fop of an ambassador, they were in for a rude surprise.

Fast on the heels of this thought, of course, was an added awareness of the desirability of Jubal's company on this assignment.

"Well, how about it, old man?" the crime lord said, catching the change in the storyteller's attitude. "Do we have a deal?"

"Possibly," Hakiem responded warily. "At the very least, your idea is interesting enough to discuss further . . . perhaps in more private sur roundings?"

"Very well then, let's go," Jubal announced, rising to his feet. "Time is short, both for decisions and planning. Tell me ... I assume there will be some sort of bodyguard assigned to you . . . have you been offered your choice for that position?"

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"It was offered," the storyteller admitted, also rising, "but I really don't have a preference."

"You might want to reconsider that."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Hakiem's face.

"I really don't think I can get you approved in that capacity, Jubal."

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"I wasn't thinking of myself . . . you don't have to tell me how unac ceptable I am to the prince. No, I was thinking about Zaibar."

"Zaibar?"

"One of the original Hell-hounds that arrived with the prince," Jubal explained-"We've had - . . dealings together in the past, and I'd trust him to guard my back . . . assuming, of course, he felt it was within his rather narrow concept of duty. Besides, like me, there's nothing left in Sanctuary for him now, and he might welcome the assignment."

Hakiem was listening with only half an ear.

As Jubal spoke, the storyteller was looking around the Vulgar Uni
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corn, trying to permanently brand every detail in his mind. It had sud denly occurred to him that this might be the last time he ever saw the place, the scene of the start and/or ending to so many stories over the past years. Even if he returned to Sanctuary, this tavern, as well as the town itself, would be different. As he knew all too well, each new begin ning is also an ending, and on the road of life, there is no turning back.
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