It was still light out when sensibility returned to him. Having been gifted with an impressive headache, he found himself sitting up on the dry, bare floor of the deserted warehouse. Of preboxed, unfolded tavern and jovial customers there was no sign. Nor was the owner of the remarkable cube anywhere to be seen. That was hardly an unexpected development, the herdsman mused dourly.
Rising, he staggered slightly until he could confirm his balance. His belongings lay nearby, undisturbed by intruders real or imagined. No doubt one such as Haramos bin Grue regarded such poor possessions as unworthy of his attention, more bother than they would be worth in the marketplace. Or perhaps his avaricious nature had been wholly engaged with more promising matters.
Ahlitah was gone. There was no sign of the big cat, not on the floor where he had been lying nor back among the few crates and corners. Standing in silence, alone in a shaft of sunlight, Ehomba concentrated hard on recovering fragments of memory like scavenged tatters of old rags.
The men whom he recalled entering the warehouse just before he had blacked out had been carrying something between them. What was it? Shutting his eyes tightly, he fought to remember. Snakes? No—ropes. Ropes and chains. Not to rig a ship, he decided. Ehomba had never seen a cat like Ahlitah until he had rescued it from the angry spiraling wind. Half lion, half cheetah, his four-legged companion was unique. Haramos bin Grue was a self-confessed dealer in the unique.
Realizing where the cat must be, the herdsman went in search of his one other traveling companion.
He found him in a far corner, immobilized in the midst of an attempt to carry out an impossible act of physical congress with a beer keg. Half awake, half boiled, he was mumbling under his breath, a besotted smile on his face.
“Ah, Melinda, sweet Melinda. Melinda of the succulent ...”
Ehomba kicked the keg hard. It rolled over, sending its human companion tumbling. Finding himself suddenly on his back, Simna ibn Sind blinked and tried to stand. One hand fumbled for the sword slung at his side. The fingers kept missing, grabbing at empty air.
“What—? Who dares—? Oh, by Gwasik—my head!”
“Get up.” Reaching down, Ehomba extended a hand. Glum-faced and thoroughly abashed, the swordsman accepted the offer.
“Very effectively, too.” The herdsman was looking toward the door. It hung dangling from one hinge, ready to break free at the slightest touch. Doped or not, Ahlitah had evidently not been taken without a fight. “They have stolen away with our friend.”
“Not so hard!” he shouted. “Don’t pull so hard!”
Standing behind him, Ehomba held his friend erect with both arms under those of his companion’s. It took a moment or two before the stocky swordsman shook himself free. “I’m all right, Etjole. I’m okay.” He brushed repeatedly at his eyes, as if by so doing he could wipe away the film of indistinctness that lingered there. “By Ghophot—we were drugged!”
“What, the cat? Who’s taken him?” Simna stumbled slightly but did not fall.
“Our friend Haramos bin Grue. Our would-be guide. With the aid of others, whom he had waiting until the proper moment. But he did not lie to us. He never said anything about abducting our companion.” He regarded the nearly demolished door thoughtfully. “The black litah would be worth a great deal to a collector of rare animals. Visitors to the village have mentioned that in larger, more prosperous towns such individuals are not uncommon. I imagine there would be many such in a city as large and sophisticated as Lybondai.”
“Well, let’s go!” Trying to draw his sword, Simna staggered in the general direction of the doorway. “Let’s get after them!”
Reaching out, Ehomba put a hand on his friend’s shoulder to restrain him. “Why should we do that?” he declared softly.
Simna gazed blankly up at his stolid, unassuming companion. As always, there was not the slightest suggestion of artifice in the herdsman’s tone or expression. “What do you mean, ‘why should we do that’? The cat is our friend, our ally. He’s saved us more than once.”
The herdsman barely nodded. “It was his choice, a burden he decided to take on himself. If we three were starving, he would eat first you and then me.”
“Under similar circumstances, I’d eat him, though I’m not very fond of cat. Too stringy. But this situation isn’t that situation.”
“He is an acquaintance. I like him. But not enough to risk my life and the failure of my journey to burrow into a den of thieves to rescue him. Maybe you do not understand, Simna, but he would.”
“Would he, now? Would that we could ask him that question to his flat, furry face. Stay if you must—I’m going after him.” The swordsman turned and stumbled, albeit gallantly, toward the doorway.
“What about your pledge to me?”
Simna peered back over his shoulder. “It will be fulfilled—after I’ve rescued Ahlitah.”
“You will fail.”
“Has that been written? Who are you to interpret the pages of Fate before they’ve been turned? Do you think no one is capable of heroics except in your company?”
“Look at you! You can barely walk.” Was that an inkling of hesitation in the herdsman’s voice? Simna continued to weave an uncertain path toward the door.
“I’m better with a sword falling down drunk than any three warriors stone-cold sober.” He paused at the dangling door, frowning. “Didn’t this used to have a knob?”
“It does not matter.” With a sigh, Ehomba moved to rejoin his companion. “Give it a push and it will most likely fall off that last hinge.”
“Oh.” Simna did so and was rewarded with a crash as the creaking barrier fell to the floor. “So maybe there are certain pages of Fate you can decipher.”
“Fate had nothing to do with it.” The herdsman strode past him. “Right now I can see straight and you cannot. Come on.”
“Right!” Simna ibn Sind drew himself up. “Uh—where are we going?”
“To try and free the cat, if he has indeed been taken by the venal bin Grue. I do not mind leaving him behind, and I do not mind leaving you behind, but if you get yourself killed on account of my reluctance, I would have to carry that with me forever. My soul bears enough encumbrances without having to pile your stupid death on top of them.”
“Ah, you don’t fool me, Etjole Ehomba.” A wide grin split the swordsman’s face. “You were just looking for an excuse, a rationalization, to go after the litah.”
The herdsman did not reply. He was already out the door and heading for the waterfront.
Despite his boasts of commercial achievement, or perhaps because of them, they were unable to find anyone who had heard of Haramos bin Grue. Repeated questioning of touts, travelers, seamen and servants, merchants and mongers produced blank stares, or bemused head shakes, or indifference. Sometimes the latter was mixed with contempt for the questioners. Ehomba’s simple garb and Simna’s unindentured status sank them beneath the notice of the city’s privileged and elite. Those who replied to their polite inquiries were usually not in a position to know, and those who might be often did not condescend to respond.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” Simna was still determined, but discouragement was settling into his voice like a bad cold.
“Maybe we are going about it wrong.” Ehomba was gazing out to sea, a distant look in his eyes as he stared unblinkingly at the southern horizon. A ship corrupted his vision and he blinked. “Perhaps instead of asking individuals on the street, we should seek out one who can look by other means.”
“A seer?” Simna eyed his friend uncertainly. “But aren’t you a seer, long bruther? Can’t you do the far-looking?”
“If I could, do you think I would be discussing the matter now? When will you accept, Simna, that I am nothing more than what I say?”
“When prodigious abnormalities stop occurring in your company. But I accept that you cannot seer.” The swordsman turned to drink in the surging mass of humanity and other creatures who filled the waterfront with unceasing activity. “If these insipid folk cannot tell us where to find bin Grue, then maybe they can tell us where to find someone who can.”
They were directed to a tiny shopfront set in a stone building lined with narrow shuttered doorways, like vertical shingles. There was no name above the portal, which was embellished with many words written in scripts alien to Ehomba. The more worldly Simna recognized bits of two different languages, and by combining those words he knew from each, he was able to divine some meaning, like reconstituting juice from concentrate.
“‘Moleshohn the All-Knowing,’” he translated for his companion. “‘Comprehender of Worlds and Provider of Sage Mandates.’” He sniffed. “Let’s see what he has to offer.”
“How will we compensate him for his services?” Ehomba wondered.
The swordsman sighed. “After paying for our passage across the Aboqua I still have some Chlengguu gold left. More than enough to satisfy some substandard waterfront wise man, anyway.”
The door was not latched, and a small bell rang as they entered. The unpretentious front room contained a dusty clutter of incunabula, a table piled high with old books of dubious extraction, and a great deal of spoiling food and stale clothing. It did not look promising.
The individual who emerged from a back room popped out to greet them like a badger winkling its way free of a too-small burrow. Moleshohn the All-Knowing’s appearance reflected far more prosperity than did his environment. Short and slim, he had a narrow face, bright ferret-eyes, a goatee that appeared to have been grafted onto his pointed chin from a much larger man, flowing gray hair, and more rapid hand movements than a professional shuffler of cards. The air in the modest room was stagnant until he entered. His ceaseless, highly animated waving stirred both it and innumerable dust particles into torpid motion.
“Welcome, welcome, progenitors of a thousand benevolences! What can I do for you?” He did not so much sit as throw himself into the chair behind the table. Ehomba thought the worried wood would collapse from the impact, but the seat and back held. “You need a cheating lover found?” The seer smirked knowingly at Simna. “You seek gainful employment in Lybondai? You want to know the best inn, or where to find the sauciest wenches? The nature of mankind troubles you, or you have acquired some small but embarrassing disease that requires treatment?”
“We have lost something.” Ehomba did not take a seat. Given a choice, herdsmen often preferred to stand. There was only one other chair in the room anyway, and Simna had already requisitioned it.
“Do say, do say.” As he spoke, Moleshohn was rapidly tapping the tips of his fingers against one another.
“To digress for just a second,” a curious Simna responded, “but what is the nature of mankind?”
“Confused, my friend.” The seer extended an open palm. “That will be one half a gold Xarus, please.”
“We are not through.” Ehomba frowned at his companion, who shrugged helplessly.
“I always wanted to know that.”
“I am no oracle, Simna, and I could have answered that question for you.” Looking back at their host, the herdsman explained their purpose and their need.
“I see, I see.” Moleshohn’s fingers tapped a lot faster now that he had something of substance to consider. “Very large, is it, with the legs of a different sort of great feline altogether?”
Ehomba nodded. “That, and it can speak the general language of men.”
“A remarkable animal, to be sure, to be sure. And you say it was taken from you, abducted, by this Haramos bin Grue?”
“He’s a slick bastard,” Simna informed the seer. “But this all happened only yesterday, so we don’t think he can have gone far. Not with Ahlitah as unwilling freight.”
“I would think both would still be in the city.” Ehomba seemed mildly indifferent to the proceedings, but Simna knew his friend better. “It would take time to find the proper buyer for something like the litah. Nor would a trader as clever as bin Grue accept the first offer to come along. He will seek to get the best price for his acquisition.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, you are in luck.” The diminutive diviner was beaming. “You have come to the right man. Not only am I familiar with the name of Haramos bin Grue, but for a small fee I can have this feline re-abducted and returned to you! Your lives will not be put at risk. There are many men of daring and greed in this city who can be induced to participate in such an enterprise for a pittance. If you will but wait here, relaxing with my books and objects of interest, I will arrange for everything.” He rose from his seat. “Your purloined friend shall be returned to you this very night!”
“As Gouyoustos is my witness,” declared Simna, “I applaud your initiative, All-Knowing One!” His expression darkened slightly and his voice fell. “What exactly will this ‘enterprise’ cost us?”
The All-Knowing named a figure, which struck the swordsman as pretty much all-draining. But if the seer could deliver on his promise, it would save them both danger and difficulty. Moleshohn sealed the pact by assenting to accept half payment now, so that he could hire the necessary individuals, and the rest upon safe return of Ahlitah.
It was agreed. They would remain in the cramped but cozy shop until their host returned with their four-legged friend.
“You are not afraid of this bin Grue?” Ehomba put the question to Moleshohn as he was about to depart.
“I know his reputation. Because of ... certain goods ... that he deals in, he is known to be more than a mere trader.” The oracle winked twice. “But I am the All-Knowing, and as such, I know how to deal with men like him. Do not fear for me, Cosigner of a Solemn Bargain. I can take care of myself.” He opened the door, his fingers rapping excitably on the jamb. “I will be back before the turn of midnight with your companion, and for the rest of my money.” He shut the door resoundingly behind him. Moleshohn the All-Knowing did everything resoundingly.
The two travelers were left to their own resources, perusing their host’s collections by the soft light of well-fueled oil lamps. Somewhat to Simna’s surprise, Ehomba revealed that he could read, though his learning was restricted to only the general language of men. Simna could boast of a knowledge of many tongues, though his fluency was frequently restricted to those words not usually to be found in the scholarly tomes of which their host was fond.
In this manner they passed a fair many hours, during which time the sun surrendered the day to the moon, and the noise of the waterfront, though never passing away completely, was much reduced from that of the busy day.
“I wonder if it is after midnight.” Ehomba looked up from the book of many pictures he was perusing. “It feels so.”
“There’s a clock on that shelf over there.” Simna pointed. “Can’t you see by its face that it’s after midnight?”
“A clock?” Closing the book, Ehomba rose to have a look at the strange device. “So that is what this is. I wondered.”
Simna gaped at him. “You mean you’ve never seen a clock before?”
“No, never.” Standing before the shelf, Ehomba gazed in fascination at the softly ticking mechanism. “What is a ‘clock’?”
“A device for the telling of time.” The swordsman studied his friend in disbelief. “It’s a peculiar sort of sorcerer you are, that doesn’t know the functioning of a clock. How do you tell time?”
“By the sun and the stars.” The herdsman was leaning toward the shelf, his nose nearly touching the carved wooden hands that told the hour and the minute. “This is a wonderful thing.”
“Hoy, sure.” A disappointed Simna found himself wondering if, perhaps, just perhaps, in spite of all they had seen and survived, Etjole Ehomba was in truth little more than what he claimed to be: a humble herder of food animals.
There was a noise at the door and both men turned to regard it expectantly. “Moleshohn!” Simna blurted. “About time. We were beginning to get a trifle concerned about—”
The door burst inward, thrown aside by a brace of Khorog. They were a large, beefy folk, with warty, unkind faces, who were much in demand in the municipalities and kingdoms of the Aboqua’s northern shore as mercenaries and bodyguards. They could also, it was abundantly and immediately evident, be employed for less noble purposes. Clad in light chain armor with heavy solid shoulder- and breastplates, they wielded weapons of little refinement, weighty war axes and ponderous maces being the manglers of choice.
Simna had his sword out and had leaped atop the table in a trice. “No wonder Moleshohn the Deceiver wasn’t afraid of bin Grue! He’s sold us out!” As he flailed madly with his sword, using his superior position to slow the first rush of assailants and keep them momentarily at bay, he shouted frantically. “Do something, bruther! Slaughter them where they stand! They’ll be too many through that door and all over us in a moment!”
In the surprise and confusion of the initial assault, Ehomba reached behind his back to grab for the sword of sky metal. Instead, his hand wrapped around his long spear. With no time in which to adjust for the mistake and with grunting, murderous Khorog swarming through the open door, he was forced to thrust with the weapon at hand instead of the one of choice. This despite knowing that the consequences could be as deadly for the spear holder as for those on the receiving end of its inherent inimical qualities.
He knew that the cramped chamber was too small to contain the spirit of the spearpoint, but he had no time in which to consider another action. The grunting, homicidal Khorog were right on top of them. What burst forth from the tooth that tipped the end of his spear expanded not simply to dominate the room, but to fill it.
“Out the back way, quickly!” He could only shout and hope that the swordsman could respond rapidly enough as the dead spirit of the tyrannosaur ballooned to occupy the entire room. The massive, switching tail barely missed him as he grabbed for his backpack and dove through the rear portal.
Those Khorog who were not crushed instantly beneath the weight of the reconstituted carnivore suffocated themselves as they tried to squeeze back through the narrow front door. More were slain, devoured by the rampaging demon as, seeking space to move about and breathe, it burst through the storefront and the outer wall of the building. Its terrible roars and bellows resounded across the waterfront, sending hitherto placid pedestrians running for their lives or plunging into the harbor to escape. Surviving Khorog scattered in all directions, throwing down their cumbersome weapons in their haste to flee. The tyrannosaur’s spirit pursued them, snapping at would-be assassins and blameless citizens alike.
Simna had just avoided being stepped on and smashed to a pulp. Only his familiarity with his friend’s unexpected stratagems had enabled him to react with a minimum of shock and flee before it was too late. Now he let himself be led, following the herdsman as they stumbled out into the alley behind the shop and hurried back toward the harborfront.
“Wait a minute!” he yelled breathlessly. “Why are we going this way? The monster you let loose is out there!”
“I know.” Ehomba’s tone was as equable as ever, but the swordsman thought he might have detected just a hint of suppressed passion. “But I am hoping there may also be a smaller one slinking about.”
Sure enough, they found Moleshohn lying in a small pinnace tied to the main quay, cowering beneath loose canvas as he sought to hide from both the raging prehistoric spirit and the surviving angry Khorog. When the canvas was pulled back to expose his startled face, the All-Knowing appeared something less than omnipotent.
Simna shoved the point of his sword against the seer’s throat until he was forced to lean back over the side of the small sailing craft. Eyes wide, their erstwhile host found himself hanging inches from the dark water. Both hands clung to the rail to keep him from tumbling over into the depths, the fingers tapping out a panicked ostinato on the smooth wood.
Teeth clenched, Simna ibn Sind pushed harder with the sword. “I’ll give you a choice, oracle. That’s more than you gave us. Tell us where to find Haramos bin Grue, and I’ll only cut your face instead of your throat!”
“I don’t—” the failed prophet began, but Ehomba, looming behind the tense swordsman, silenced the incipient protest with his eyes.
“You betrayed us to him. I should have at least suspected, but I am used to dealings among the people of my country, where souls and manhood are not bartered for gold. Being the All-Knowing, you knew where he was, and what he would pay to be rid of us. Being the All-Knowing, you know that I speak the truth when I tell you that if you do not reveal his whereabouts to us within your next heart’s breath, it will be your last.”
Simna’s sword drew blood from the slim, wrinkled throat.
“Yes, yes, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you!” So loudly and hard were the smaller man’s fingertips rapping nervously on the gunwale of the pinnace that they had begun to bleed. “He—he has a place of business on Zintois Street. The house is behind. Are you going to kill me?”
Simna grinned wolfishly. “You mean you’re the All-Knowing and you don’t have the answer to that? Maybe you should change your title to the Maybe-Guessing.”
Leaning forward, Ehomba put a hand on the swordsman’s shoulder. “Let it go, Simna. If we are going to make the effort to free Ahlitah, we should hurry.”
Breathing hard, his friend hesitated. “There is the small matter of the money we paid. In good faith for information, not betrayal.” Palm up, he extended a demanding hand.
A trembling Moleshohn fumbled with a hidden pocket. Straightening, he passed the swordsman a fistful of coin. Counting it while Ehomba waited impatiently, Simna had a few choice final words for their betrayer. “If you’re lying to us, or have given us the wrong address, we’ll find you. My friend is a great sorcerer, a true sorcerer. Not a cheap storefront fake like yourself!”
Moleshohn managed to summon a sufficient reserve of inner strength to protest feebly, “I am not cheap!” before the swordsman fetched him a solid blow to the forehead with the hilt of his sword. The All-Knowing became the Wholly Unconscious and fell back onto the floor of the boat. Tossing the canvas over the body, Simna followed Ehomba back onto the quay. His blade made short work of the hawser that secured the pinnace to the dock. Nodding with satisfaction, he watched as the little boat began to drift slowly out into the harbor.
“When he wakes beneath that heavy cover, maybe he’ll think he’s dead. A good fright is the least the old scoundrel deserves.”
“Come.” In the distance, the sounds of destruction and screaming were beginning to fade. The spirit of the tooth could only stalk the earth for a finite amount of time. Meanwhile, a few small fires had erupted in the wake of the two-legged monster’s rampage. These would keep the locals occupied for a while, and the few surviving Khorog were in no condition to respond to questions. Content that they faced no pursuit, the two travelers hurried from the scene of confusion.
Zintois Street was situated away from the waterfront and deeper within the city proper. Neatly paved with cobblestones, it wound its way up a small hill, providing those fortunate enough to have their businesses located near the crest with a pleasant view of the harbor and the surrounding city. The storefronts here were large and impressive, bespeaking a wider commercial success than what had been achieved by the lowlier waterfront merchants.
The house of Haramos bin Grue clung like a he-crab to its mate, rising behind and above the street-facing offices. A high stone wall encircled and protected the compound. Its parapet was lined with large shards of broken glass, as beautiful as they were deadly, spiked into the rounded mortar. On the walls and within the compound, as well as on the dark street itself, all was quiet.
“I see no signs of life.” Ehomba frowned slightly. “Do not the wealthy folk of these foreign lands set someone to keep watch over their homes and possessions?”
Crouching as he ran, Simna was edging along the wall toward the front door. “If someone is powerful enough, or ruthless enough, their reputation can act as adequate protection. It’s cheaper, and can be just as effective. That seems to be the case with our friend bin Grue.”
Stretching to his full height, Ehomba tried to see over the wall. “I would expect the merchant to keep a property as valuable and difficult to manage as the litah somewhere in the back of his establishment, out of sight and hearing of random visitors.”
Simna nodded agreement. “I don’t like going in through the front door, but it might prove the easiest way. If ordinary thieves are afraid to enter, it may be protected by nothing more than a simple lock.”
The herdsman looked down at his friend. “Are there such things as simple locks?”
Simna grinned knowingly. “To someone who has made the aquaintance of many, yes.”
True to his word, the swordsman made short work of the keyed entrance while Ehomba kept watch on the street. No one was abroad in the much-esteemed neighborhood at that late hour save a few stray cats. Two of these lingered to enjoy Ehomba’s earnest attention, waltzing back and forth beneath his soothing palm as he stroked their backs and smoothed out their tails as if they were candle wicks.
“Will you stop that?” whispered Simna urgently as he finished with the lock.
“Why?” Ehomba wondered innocently. “I cannot help you in your work. I can help these cats.”
“Well, you’re wasting your energy. They’ll never be able to help you.”
Rising, the herdsman moved closer to the door. “You do not know that, my friend. You never know when something you meet may be able to do you a service. Better to show respect to all Nature’s creations.”
“I’ll remind you of that if we ever find ourselves lost in a cloud of mosquitoes.” At his gentle but firm push, the door gave inward, squeaking slightly. “There. We’re in.”
Ehomba followed him through the doorway. “Do you usually find yourself breaking into other people’s property?”
“No. Usually I find myself breaking out.” Simna squinted as they advanced inward. “Shit!” He jerked back sharply, then relaxed. Something small and fast skittered away into the shadows. “Just a rat.”
There was barely enough light to allow them to find their way between high desks and wooden cabinets. A back door led to a small storeroom that was piled high with exotic goods. It smelled wonderfully of fragrant spices and packages of incense, of fine silks and cloths brought from the far corners of the world. There were jars of aromatic liquids and wooden crates bound with hammered brass and copper. Clearly Haramos bin Grue was no dealer in baskets of fish or wagonloads of vegetables. If his tastes reflected his clientele, he would be likely to have powerful friends.
All the more reason, Ehomba knew, to conclude their business and depart as quickly as possible.
They found the big cat at the very back of the inner storeroom, slumped on his side in a cage walled with steel bars that crisscrossed in a herringbone pattern. In the dim light Simna tiptoed forward to whisper urgently at the sleeping feline.
“Ahlitah! It’s Etjole and Simna, come to rescue you. Get up, cat! This is no time to nap.”
Silent as a shadow, Ehomba peered past him. “He is not sleeping. He has been drugged. It is what I would do if I had to try and keep something like a black litah under control.”
Searching for a way in, the swordsman located a half-height door at one end of the cage. It was secured with the largest padlock he had ever seen, a veritable iron monster the size of a melon. Its dimensions did not trouble him. The fact that it took three keys to unlock it did.
“Can you solve it?” Ehomba had never seen such a thing. The Naumkib had no need of such devices.
“I don’t know.” Simna had his face pressed right up against the heavy appliance, trying to peer within. “The biggest problem is that the multiple locks are most likely sequenced. If I solve the wrong set of tumblers first, it could cause the others to freeze up. Then we’ll never get it open.”
“You have to try. Which one feels like the first?”
Employing the same small knife he had used to pick the lock on the front door, the swordsman sweated over the three keyholes, trying to decide where to begin.
“Trust your instincts,” Ehomba advised him.
“I would, if I were dealing with three women instead of three locks. Metal gives you no clues.” Taking a deep breath, he prepared to ease the tip of the small blade into the middle keyhole. “Might as well try here as anywhere else.”
“A good choice. Your friend is right, swordsman. You have excellent instincts.”
Whirling, they found themselves confronted by a wide-awake Haramos bin Grue. The trader was standing before an open portal where none had appeared to exist. He had gained entrance to the storeroom via a secret door set in a blank wall, a not uncommon conceit of suspicious merchants. In one hand he held a small lamp that threw a halo of light around him. That their nocturnal visit had caught him by surprise was proven by the fact that he stood there in his elegant one-piece sleeping gown. The fingers of his left hand were curled tightly around some small object. On his right shoulder, chittering away as madly as any pet parrot, was the scruffy, naked-tailed rat Simna had nearly tripped over in the outer offices.
As Simna continued to fumble with the lock, a solemn-faced Ehomba turned to step between him and the trader. Oblivious to the strained confrontation, the black litah slept on.
“We have come for our friend,” the herdsman explained quietly.
“Have you now?” Bin Grue was not smiling. “In the middle of the night, by breaking into my rooms?”
“A thief has no claim on the protection of the law.”
Now the merchant did smile, a slight parting of the lips that was devoid of humor. “I thought you were an expert on cow dung. Now I see that you are secretly a philosopher.”
“What I am does not matter. Unlock the enclosure and let our companion go.”
“The exceptional cat is my property. I already have three potential buyers bidding against one another for the rights to it. Their agitation as they frantically drive up the price is wonderful to behold. Naturally you must understand I could not give him back to you now.” He gestured with the lamp, making the only source of real light in the room dance according to his whim. “Why so much concern over the fate of a mere animal? So it speaks the language of men. A good horse is more valuable, and I have yet to encounter one that can speak even a single word.”
“Do not be so quick to judge value until you have talked to the horse,” the herdsman replied calmly. “I was not so concerned for the litah as you think. In fact, as my friend can attest, I would have left him to his fate but for one thing.”
Bin Grue was listening intently. “What one thing?”
In the uneasy shadows Ehomba’s dark eyes might have glittered ever so slightly with a light that was not a reflection of the trader’s lamp. “You tried to have us killed.”
Bin Grue did his best to shrug off the accusation. “That was Moleshohn’s doing.”
“Some men are easier to take the measure of than others. The All-Knowing would not have taken that step without your direction, or at least your approval.”
“I deny having given it, and having denied it, I offer my apology if you insist on believing otherwise.” He smiled broadly, encouragingly. “Come now, herdsman. Why should we let something that reeks mightily and sprays indiscriminately come between us? Allow me to bribe you. I will cut you a fair piece of the action. Why not? There will be plenty to satisfy all. Consent with me, and I promise that you both will leave Lybondai with new clothing, sturdy mounts, and money in your pockets. What say you?”
“I say—that these clothes suit me fine, and that I will not shake the hand of one who acceded in trying to have me murdered.” Behind him, Simna’s fingers flew over iron as the agitated swordsman tried to work faster. But the bloated padlock was proving as obstinate as a teenage daughter refused permission to attend the annual Fair of Crisola the Procreant.
On the trader’s shoulder, the watchrat crouched low, digging its tiny claws into the material of bin Grue’s sleeping gown. The merchant’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry to hear that, lover of sheep dags. It means that I will be forced to finish what the helpful but lamentably ineffectual Moleshohn was unable to do.” Extending his left arm, he opened his fingers to show what he was holding.
Ehomba eyed it emotionlessly. Behind him, Simna ibn Sind looked up from his so far futile efforts. His eyes widened slightly, then narrowed. Initially wary, he quickly now found himself more perplexed than fearful.
It was another box.