Thieves World Part 9

'Maybe your present palate is at fault, sir,' Cappen suggested. He did not add that the tongue definitely had a bad case of logorrhea. It was an almost physical torture to sit stalled, but he had better humour the mage.

'Yes, quite probably. Nothing has tasted good since - Well. To business. On hearing that One-Thumb was inquiring about last night's incident, I sent forth certain investigators of my own. You will understand that I've been trying to find out as much as I can.' Enas Yorl drew a sign in the air. 'Purely precautionary. I have no desire whatsoever to cross the Powers concerned in this.'

A wintry tingle went through Cappen. 'You know who they are, what it's about?'

His tone wavered.

Enas Yorl wagged a finger. 'Not so hasty, boy, not so hasty. My latest information was of a seemingly unsuccessful interview you had with Illyra the seeress. I also learned you were now in this hostel and close to its landlord.

Obviously you are involved. I must know why, how, how much - everything.'

'Then you'll help - sir?'

A headshake made chin and jowls wobble. 'Absolutely not. I told you I want no part of this. But in exchange for whatever data you possess, I am willing to explicate as far as I am able, and to advise you. Be warned: my advice will doubtless be that you drop the matter and perhaps leave town.'

And doubtless he would be right, Cappen thought. It simply happened to be counsel that was impossible for a lover to follow ... unless - 0 kindly G.o.ds of Caronne, no, no! - unless Danlis was dead.

The whole story spilled out of him, quickened and deepened by keen questions. At the end, he sat breathless while Enas Yorl nodded.

'Yes, that appears to confirm what I suspected,' the mage said most softly. He stared past the minstrel, into shadows that loomed and flickered. Buzz of talk, clink of drinking ware, occasional gust of laughter among customers seemed remoter than the moon.

'What was it?' broke from Cappen.

'A sikkintair, a Flying Knife. It can have been nothing else.'

'A-what?' - Enas focused on his companion. 'The monster that took the women,' he explained.

'Sikkintairs are an attribute of Ils. A pair of sculptures on the grand stairway of his temple represent them.'

'Oh, yes, I've seen those, but never thought -'

'No, you're not a votary of any G.o.ds they have here. Myself, when I got word of the abduction, I sent my familiars scuttling about and cast spells of inquiry. I received indications ... I can't describe them to you, who lack arcane lore. I established that the very fabric of s.p.a.ce had been troubled. Vibrations had not quite damped out as yet, and were centred on the temple of Ils. You may, if you wish a crude a.n.a.logy, visualize a water surface and the waves, fading to ripples and finally to naught, when a diver has pa.s.sed through.'

Enas Yorl drank more in a gulp than was his wont. 'Civilization was old in Ilsig when Ranke was still a barbarian village,' he said, as though to himself; his gaze had drifted away again, towards darkness. 'Its myths depicted the home of the G.o.ds as being outside the world - not above, not below, but outside.

Philosophers of a later, more rationalistic era elaborated this into a theory of parallel universes. My own researches - you will understand that my condition has made me especially interested in the theory of dimensions, the subtler aspects of geometry - my own researches have demonstrated the .possibility of transference between these different s.p.a.ces.

'As another a.n.a.logy, consider a pack of cards. One is inhabited by a king, one by a knight, one by a deuce, et cetera. Ordinarily none of the figures can leave the plane on which it exists. If, however, a very thin piece of absorbent material soaked in a unique kind of solvent were laid between two cards, the dyes that form them could pa.s.s through: retaining their configuration, I trust.

Actually, of course, this is a less than ideal comparison, for the transference is accomplished through a particular contortion of the continuum -'

Cappen could endure no more pedantry. He crashed his tankard down on the table and shouted, 'By all the h.e.l.ls of all the cults, will you get to the point?'

Men stared from adjacent seats, decided no fight was about to erupt, and went back to their interests. These included negotiations with street-walkers who, lanterns in hand, had come in looking for trade.

Enas Yorl smiled. 'I forgive your outburst, under the circ.u.mstances,' he said.

'I too am occasionally young.

'Very well. Given the foregoing data, including yours, the infrastructure of events seems reasonably evident. You are aware of the conflict over a proposed new temple, which is to outdo that of Ils and Shipri. I do not maintain that the G.o.d has taken a direct hand. I certainly hope he feels that would be beneath his dignity; a theomachy would not be good for us, to understate the case a trifle. But he may have inspired a few of his more fanatical priests to action. He may have revealed to them, in dreams or vision, the means whereby they could cross to the next world and there make the sikkintairs do their bidding. I hypothesize that the Lady Rosanda - and, to be sure, her coadjutrix, your inamorata - are incarcerated in that world. The temple is too full of priests, deacons, acolytes, and lay people for hiding the wife of a magnate. However, the gate need not be recognizable as such.'

Cappen controlled himself with an inward shudder and made his trained voice casual: 'What might it look like, sir?'

'Oh, probably a scroll, taken from a coffer where it had long lain forgotten, and now unrolled - yes, I should think in the sanctum, to draw power from the sacred objects and to be seen by as few persons as possible who are not in the conspiracy -' Enas Yorl came out of his abstraction. 'Beware! I deduce your thought. Choke it before it kills you.'

Cappen ran sandy tongue over leathery lips. 'What ... should we ... expect to happen, sir?'

'That is an interesting question,' Enas Yorl said. 'I can but conjecture. Yet I am well acquainted with the temple hierarchy and - I don't think the Archpriest is privy to the matter. He's too aged and weak. On the other hand, this is quite in the style of Hazroah, the High Flamen. Moreover, of late he has in effect taken over the governance of the temple from his nominal superior. He's bold, ruthless - should have been a soldier - Well, putting myself in his skin, I'll predict that he'll let Molin stew a while, then cautiously open negotiations - a hint at first, and always a claim that this is the will of Ils.

'None but the Emperor can cancel an undertaking for the Imperial deities.

Persuading him will take much time and pressure. Molin is a Rankan aristocrat of the old school; he will be torn between his duty to his G.o.ds, his state, and his wife. But I suspect that eventually he can be worn down to the point where he agrees that it is, in truth, bad policy to exalt Savankala and Sabellia in a city whose tutelaries they have never been. He in his turn can influence the Emperor as desired.'

'How long would this take, do you think?' Cappen whispered. 'Till the women are released?'

Enas Yorl shrugged. 'Years, possibly. Hazroah may try to hasten the process by demonstrating that the Lady Rosanda is subject to punishment. Yes, I should imagine that the remains of an ancilla who had been tortured to death, delivered on Molin's doorstep, would be a rather strong argument.'

His look grew intense on the appalled countenance across from him. 'I know,' he said. 'You're breeding fever-dreams of a heroic rescue. It cannot be done. Even supposing that somehow you won through the gate and brought her back, the gate would remain. I doubt Ils would personally seek revenge; besides being petty, that could provoke open strife with Savankala and his retinue, who're formidable characters themselves. But Ils would not stay the hand of the Flamen Hazroah, who is a most vengeful sort. If you escaped his a.s.sa.s.sins, a sikkintair would come after you, and nowhere in the world could you and she hide. Your talisman would be of no avail. The sikkintair is not supernatural, unless you give that designation to the force which enables so huge a ma.s.s to fly; and it is from no magician, but from the G.o.d.

'So forget the girl. The town is full of them.' He fished in his purse and spilled a handful of coins on the table. 'Go to a good wh.o.r.ehouse, enjoy yourself, and raise one for poor old Enas Yorl.'

He got up and waddled off, Cappen sat staring at the coins. They made a generous sum, he realized vaguely: silver lunars, to the number of thirty.

One-Thumb came over. 'What'd he say?' the taverner asked.

'I should abandon hope,' Cappen muttered. His eyes stung; his vision blurred.

Angrily, he wiped them.

'I've a notion I might not be smart to hear more.' One-Thumb laid his mutilated hand on Cappen's shoulder. 'Care to get drunk? On the house. I'll have to take your money or the rest will want free booze too, but I'll return it tomorrow.'

'No, I - I thank you, but - but you're busy, and I need someone I can talk to.

Just lend me a lantern, if you will.'

'That might attract a robber, fellow, what with those fine clothes of yours.'

Cappen gripped swordhilt. 'He'd be very welcome, the short while he lasted,' he said in bitterness.

He climbed to his feet. His fingers remembered to gather the coins.

Jamie let him in. The Northerner had hastily thrown a robe over his ma.s.sive frame; he carried the stone lamp that was a night light. 'Sh,' he said. 'The la.s.sies are asleep.' He nodded towards a closed door at the far end of this main room. Bringing the lamp higher, he got a clear view of Cappen's face. His own registered shock. 'Hey-o, lad, what ails you? I've seen men pole-axed who looked happier.'

Cappen stumbled across the threshold and collapsed in an armchair. Jamie barred the outer door, touched a stick of punk to the lamp flame and lit candles, filled wine goblets. Drawing a seat opposite, he sat down, laid red-furred right shank across left knee, and said gently, 'Tell me.'

When it had spilled from Cappen, he was a long span quiet. On the walls shimmered his weapons, among pretty pictures that his housemates had selected.

At last he asked low, 'Have you quit?'

'I don't know, I don't know,' Cappen groaned.

'I think you can go on aways, whether or no things are as the witchmaster supposes. We hold where I come from that no man can flee his weird, so he may as well meet it in a way that'll leave a good story. Besides, this may not be our death-day; and I doubt yon dragons are unkillable, but it could be fun finding out; and chiefly, I was much taken with your girl. Not many like her, my friend.

They also say in my homeland, "Waste not, want not".'

Cappen lifted his glance, astounded. 'You mean I should try to free her?' he exclaimed.

'No, I mean we should.' Jamie chuckled. 'Life's gotten a wee bit dull for me of late - aside from b.u.t.terfly and Light-of-Pearl, of course. Besides, I could use a share of reward money.'

'I ... I want to,' Cappen stammered. 'How I want to! But the odds against us -'

'She's your girl, and it's your decision. I'll not blame you if you hold back.

Belike, then, in your country, they don't believe a man's first troth is to his woman and kids. Anyway, for you that was no more than a hope.'

A surge went through the minstrel. He sprang up and paced, back and forth, back and forth. 'But what could we doT 'Well, we could scout the temple and see what's what,' Jamie proposed. 'I've been there once in a while, reckoning 'twould do no hurt to give those G.o.ds their honour. Maybe we'll find that indeed naught can be done in aid. Or maybe we won't, and go ahead and do it.'

Danlis- Fire blossomed in Cappen Varra. He was young. He drew his sword and swung it whistling on high. 'Yes! We will!'

A small grammarian part of him noted the confusion of tenses and moods in the conversation.

The sole traffic on the Avenue of Temples was a night breeze, cold and sibilant.

Stars, as icy to behold, looked down on its broad emptiness, on darkened buildings and weather-worn idols and rustling gardens. Here and there flames cast restless light, from porticoes or gables or ledges, out of gla.s.s lanterns or iron pots or pierced stone jars. At the foot of the grand staircase leading to the fane of Ils and Shipri, fire formed haloes on the enormous figures, male and female in robes of antiquity, that flanked it.

Beyond, the G.o.d-house itself loomed, porticoed front, great bronze doors, granite walls rising sheer above to a gilt dome from which light also gleamed; the highest point in Sanctuary.

Cappen started up. 'Halt' said Jamie, and plucked at his cloak. 'We can't walk straight in. They keep guards in the vestibule, you know.'

'I want a close view of those sikkintairs,' the bard explained.

'Um, well, maybe not a bad idea, but let's be quick. If a squad of the watch comes by, we're in trouble.' They could not claim they simply wished to perform their devotions, for a civilian was not allowed to bear more arms in this district than a knife. Cappen and Jamie each had that, but no illuminant like honest men. In addition, Cappen carried his rapier, Jamie a claymore, a visored conical helmet, and a knee-length byrnie. He had, moreover, furnished spears for both.

Cappen nodded and bounded aloft. Half-way, he stopped and gazed. The statue was a daunting sight. Of obsidian polished gla.s.sy smooth, it might have measured thirty feet were the tail not coiled under the narrow body. The two legs which supported the front ended in talons the length ofJamie's dirk. An upreared, serpentine neck bore a wickedly lanceolate head, jaws parted to show fangs that the sculptor had rendered in diamond. From the back sprang wings, bat-like save for their sharp-pointed curvatures, which if unfolded might well have covered another ten yards.

'Aye,' Jamie murmured, 'such a brute could bear off two women like an eagle a brace of leverets. Must take a lot of food to power it. I wonder what quarry they hunt at home.'

'We may find out,' Cappen said, and wished he hadn't.

'Come.' Jamie led the way back, and around to the left side of the temple. It occupied almost its entire ground, leaving but a narrow strip of flagstones.

Next to that, a wall enclosed the flower-fragrant sanctum of Eshi, the love G.o.ddess. Thus the s.p.a.ce between was gratifyingly dark; the intruders could not now be spied from the avenue. Yet enough light filtered in that they saw what they were doing. Cappen wondered if this meant she smiled on their venture.

After all, it was for love, mainly. Besides, he had always been an enthusiastic worshipper of hers, or at any rate of her counterparts in foreign pantheons; oftener than most men had he rendered her favourite sacrifice.

Jamie had pointed out that the building must have lesser doors for utilitarian purposes. He soon found one, bolted for the night and between windows that were hardly more than slits, impossible to crawl through. He could have hewn the wood panels asunder, but the noise might be heard. Cappen had a better idea. He got his partner down on hands and knees. Standing on the broad back, he poked his spear through a window and worked it along the inside of the door. After some fumbling and whispered obscenities, he caught the latch with the head and drew the bolt.

'Hoosh, you missed your trade, I'm thinking,' said the Northerner as he rose and opened the way.

'No, burglary's too risky for my taste,' Cappen replied in feeble jest. The fact was that he had never stolen or cheated unless somebody deserved such treatment.

'Even burgling the house of a G.o.d?' Jamie's grin was wider than necessary.

Cappen shivered. 'Don't remind me.'

They entered a storeroom, shut the door, and groped through murk to the exit.

Beyond was a hall. Widely s.p.a.ced lamps gave bare visibility. Otherwise the intruders saw emptiness and heard silence. The vestibule and nave of the temple were never closed; the guards watched over a priest always prepared to accept offerings. But elsewhere hierarchy and staff were asleep. Or so the two hoped.

Jamie had known that the holy of holies was in the dome, Ils being a sky G.o.d.

Now he let Cappen take the lead, as having more familiarity with interiors and ability to reason out a route. The minstrel used half his mind for that and scarcely noticed the splendours through which he pa.s.sed. The second half was busy recollecting legends of heroes who incurred the anger of a G.o.d, especially a major G.o.d, but won to happiness in the end because they had the blessing of another. He decided that future attempts to propitiate Ils would only draw the attention of that august personage; however, Savankala would be pleased, and, yes, as for native deities, he would by all means fervently cultivate Eshi.

A few times, which felt ghastly long, he took a wrong turning and must retrace his steps after he had discovered that. Presently, though, he found a staircase which seemed to zig-zag over the inside of an exterior wall. Landing after landing pa.s.sed by - The last was enclosed in a very small room, a booth, albeit richly ornamented - He opened the door and stepped out - Wind searched between the pillars that upheld the dome, through his clothes and in towards his bones. He saw stars. They were the brightest in heaven, for the entry booth was the pedestal of a gigantic lantern. Across a floor tiled in symbols unknown to him, he observed something large at each cardinal point - an altar, two statues, and the famous Thunderstone, he guessed; they were shrouded in cloth of gold. Before the eastern object was stretched a band, the far side of which seemed to be aglow.

He gathered his courage and approached. The thing was a parchment, about eight feet long and four wide, hung by cords from the upper corners to a supporting member of the dome. The cords appeared to be glued fast, as if to avoid making holes in the surface. The lower edge of the scroll, two feet above the floor, was likewise secured; but to a pair of anvils surely brought here for the purpose. Nevertheless the parchment flapped and rattled a bit in the wind. It was covered with cabalistic signs.

Cappen stepped around to the other side, and whistled low. That held a picture, within a narrow border. Past the edge of what might be a pergola, the scene went to a meadowland made stately by oak trees standing at random intervals. About a mile away - the perspective was marvellously executed - stood a building of manorial size in a style he had never seen before, twistily colon-aded, extravagantly sweeping of roof and eaves, blood-red. A formal garden surrounded it, whose paths and topiaries were of equally alien outline; fountains sprang in intricate patterns. Beyond the house, terrain rolled higher, and snow-peaks thrust above the horizon. The sky was deep blue.

'What the pox!' exploded from Jamie. 'Sunshine's coming out of that painting. I feel it.'

Cappen rallied his wits and paid heed. Yes,Warmth as well as light, and ... and odours? And were those fountains not actually at play?

An eerie thrilling took him. 'I ... believe ... we've ... found the gate,' he said.

He poked his spear cautiously at the scroll. The point met no resistance; it simply moved on. Jamie went behind. 'You've not pierced it,' he reported.

'Nothing sticks out on this side - which, by the way, is quite solid.'

'No,' Cappen answered faintly, 'the spear-head's in the next world.'

He drew the weapon back. He and Jamie stared at each other.

'Well?' said the Northerner.

'We'll never get a better chance,' Cappen's throat responded for him. 'It'd be blind foolishness to retreat now, unless we decide to give up the whole venture.'

'We, uh, we could go tell Molin, no, the Prince what we've found.'

'And be cast into a madhouse? If the Prince did send investigators anyway, the plotters need merely take this thing down and hide it till the squad has left.

No.' Cappen squared his shoulders. 'Do what you like, Jamie, but I am going through.'

Underneath, he heartily wished he had less self-respect, or at least that he weren't in love with Danlis.

Jamie scowled and sighed. 'Aye, right you are, I suppose. I'd not looked for matters to take so headlong a course. I awaited that we'd simply scout around.

Had I foreseen this, I'd have roused the la.s.sies to bid them, well, good night.'