The Coming Of Wisdom (9 page)

Then he started to turn and started to draw his sword. When he was facing toward Katanji, the novice whistled three notes to represent the trill of the sorcerer’s magic fife. Nnanji paused as he had been directed, arm raised but sword still sheathed, then crumpled realistically to the floor and thrashed a few times. Quili dropped to her knees beside him. Kandoru had tried to speak, she said, but then his eyes had rolled up . . . 

“That’ll do, I think,” Wallie said coldly. Nnanji scrambled to his feet again. “Draw your sword, novice.”

Katanji obeyed nervously.

“Put the point on the floor—no, never mind the wood—both hands on the hilt. Right! You stay here . . . Head up! You’re a guard. Let people in, but if anyone tries to leave without my permission, hit him with that sword, as hard as you can.”

Katanji went pale.

“Use the sharp side.” In stern fury Wallie headed for the fireplace, and the others trailed after him.

“What was the playacting for, my lord brother?”

The playacting might not have done any good at all—but it had. Wallie glanced at Honakura. “Well, old man? Did we learn anything?”

“Apparently, my lord.” He was grinning toothlessly. Swordsmen behaving unconventionally were a source of great enjoyment to the old priest, and he had just witnessed a World first, a reenactment of a crime.

“How did you know he was there, Nnanji?”

“Who?”

“Katanji—the sorcerer. You started to draw your sword and turn around before the music. That’s right, Apprentice Quili?”

She bit her lip. “I think so, my lord.”

Eyewitnesses in any world were never as reliable as they were in detective stories or the convenient fiction of legal process. Perhaps her memory was at fault—it could only have been a matter of a second or two. But the sequence of events seemed wrong, and the position of the body was significant.

Wallie had thought that his mission would require him to play hero in a barbarian epic, not detective in a whodunnit.

How do you kill a man with music, Holmes?

Elegantly, my dear Watson.

Elegant or not, it had been an ambush, and Lady Thondi had called Kandoru to the meeting.

Everyone except the petrified Katanji had gathered before the blazing fire. Damp clothes steamed, but there was still no sign of Lady Thondi.

“Brother Nnanji? Could you throw that chair through that window?”

Nnanji blinked and said he thought he could manage that.

“Then pray indulge me.”

Crash
! Vixini awoke with a yelp.

Wallie leaned against a life-size marble statue of a dancer, toppling it down on an exquisitely inlaid table—ebony, ivory, and mother-of-pearl.

Crash
!

“Your turn again, brother. Pick another window. Or try a little swordwork on those ropes holding the chandeliers . . . no! Wait—we have company.”

Once she might have had beauty, and, if so, it would have been spectacular. Now her body had thickened, and she leaned on a cane, and her height was lost in a dowager hump. She made a slow and impressive progress along the great room, while light flickered on moving jewels. Her gown was ruffled cobalt silk trimmed in silver lace, with thickly massed pearls concealing her neck and wrists. Another fortune sparkled in the high-piled white hair; fingers and ears and bosom were bright with treasure. Behind her came two self-effacing companions, a middle-aged Fourth and an attractive young Second, but no one was looking at either of those, not even Nnanji.

Her hair had always been white. She was an albino, and when she came at last to Wallie and stared up at him with a face of crumpled parchment, its lines etched deep by fury, he realized how accustomed he had already become to the smooth brown faces of the People. This uncanny pallor was shocking to him and must be much more so to anyone else.

“Vandal!”

“Murderess?”

He was younger and a visitor, but he was male and a swordsman. Without turning, she passed her cane to the Fourth behind her, and then made the salute to an equal: “I am Thondi, dancer of the seventh rank, and I give thanks to the Most High . . . ”

Wallie drew his sword and spoke the equally hypocritical reply. He then asked if he might have the honor of presenting Adept Nnanji, oath brother and protégé, and Apprentice Quili. Thondi acknowledged them tersely but did not offer to introduce her companions, nor did she deign to notice the rest of Wallie’s.

Her eyes were milky pink, filmed by age. There was no other color in the death’s-head face that now looked down at Quili—even the lips were the same ivory shade as the cheeks. “Did Adept Motipodi get hold of you, child?”

“No, my lady.”

“No? Well, he has been busy. But my son has changed his mind. He has agreed to accept your suggestion about new slave barns. Motipodi will be seeking your help in pacing them out and planning better sanitation.”

Wallie watched Quili’s reaction with interest. Thondi had bought her once, could she do so again? The priestess flinched and then said quietly, “That is good news, my lady.”

Thondi held out a hand without looking, and the cane was placed in it. She headed for a chair.

“When will construction begin, my lady?” Quili asked softly. “As soon as the work in Ov is completed?”

No answer.

“And what work might that be?” Wallie inquired.

“The sorcerers’ tower, my lord.”

Garathondi was a builder of the Sixth. There was the motive! Good for Quili!

Lady Thondi seated herself stiffly and settled both hands on her cane. She fixed her inhuman pink-pearl eyes on Wallie. The two other woman huddled in behind her chair, as if wanting to be protected from the swordsmen. “You have a strange way of seeking hospitality, Lord Shonsu.”

“All I seek from you is justice.”

It was an extraordinary face. Momentarily the eyes flickered contempt over Nnanji. “I am to be denounced? When a woman is brought to trial, it is customary for her nearest male relative . . . my son is in Ov at present. But by all means, let us hear the charge.”

Two young toughs should have no difficulty in terrorizing one old woman—not when the toughs were armed, and all her menfolk were absent—but this evil old hag was apparently not frightened at all. She was even flaunting a vast fortune in jewelry before the intruders. Wallie’s skin crawled in sudden recollection of Nnanji’s tales of invisibility. Were there sorcerers present already? Or were the jewels a stupendous bluff?

“For technical reasons my oath brother and I cannot bring a formal denunciation.”

“So you will slay me out of hand? Should I kneel?”

“You summoned Swordsman Kandoru here to his death.”

“Rubbish.”

Time was short, and the evidence clear. Wallie should not let himself be delayed by argument, but he was fascinated by her cold nerve. “Then perhaps you will relate your side of the story?”

A pink worm of a tongue ran along the bone lips. “The facts are indisputable. Rathazaxo of the Sixth came calling with some—”

“A sorcerer?”

“Certainly. A cultivated gentleman, a patron of the arts.” She glanced momentarily at the rubble and firewood Wallie had created.

“And he had his man kill your guard.”

Lady Thondi wrinkled her nose in disgust. “His honor required assurances that no rebel or fugitive swordsman would be sheltered on our lands. Of course my son and I agreed, and we wished to instruct our retainer accordingly. He was to be allowed to continue his duties here, on condition that he not wear his sword beyond our boundaries. We sent for him. As soon as he walked in that door, he drew and attacked one of our guests. Naturally the man defended himself. It was unfortunate. It was embarrassing.”

“It was murder. He did not draw his sword; it was still in his scabbard.”

“He was an arthritic old ruin.”

“Apprentice, where was his rheumatism, legs or arms?”

“His hips, my lord.” Quili was holding her head up defiantly, standing close by Wallie.

“He did not charge across the room. It is a poor swordsman who cannot draw faster than he can turn, especially one with a sore hip. He was attacked from behind. You had a sorcerer concealed just inside the door.”

“Where you presently have that boy.”

Exactly! She was a formidable opponent, and Wallie no longer felt guilty about bullying an old woman. “And you send your male employees away to clear land in this downpour? Is that the act of an innocent woman?”

“You are a better butcher than farmer, Lord Shonsu. Try uprooting gorse bushes in dry weather sometime.”

Wallie would be enjoying this tussle of wits if he were not himself in urgent danger. “I do not believe you, my lady. I think you are playing for time, until your sorcerer friends arrive.”

The albino’s eyes narrowed within their enshrouding wrinkles. “I have no need to play for time, Lord Shonsu. If you plan to kill me, then please go ahead and try.”

“I would not dirty my sword,” Wallie said, and Nnanji growled angrily behind his left shoulder.

At that, a thunderclap of hope hit Wallie. He swung around and smiled at his incensed, quivering young oath brother. “The third clue!”

“What?” said Nnanji blankly.

But Wallie turned back to face Thondi. Now he knew what he needed from this vicious hag. Could he somehow wring cooperation from her?

“I cannot hold a proper trial, so I shall leave you and your son to the justice of the gods, Lady Thondi. But a swordsman was killed in this house. I am going to burn it to the ground.”

That was credible.

That hurt.

She snarled at him, opening a pink mouth in the blanched face, showing yellow stumps of teeth. The jewels on her fingers flashed as she gripped her cane more tightly. So she was vulnerable. There were no unseen demons hovering overhead.

“The smoke will bring your servants hurrying back. I shall empower them as a posse—”

“Ambush!” Nnanji whooped with excitement. In theory it would be possible. Although the craft was a closed shop, the sutras allowed a swordsman to arm civilians in an emergency. An isolated settlement like this would surely have a supply of swords somewhere. But in practice it would not work—not in this case—and Thondi saw that at once.

“My men will hardly be enthusiastic.”

Sane men prefer to be on the winning side. Sorcerers apparently slew swordsmen as easily as spitting grape seeds.

“You will be hostage for their cooperation, my lady.” Wallie gestured toward Katanji, still guarding the door. “That boy will have a sword at your throat.”

“Madness!”

Wallie shrugged and headed for the fireplace, Jja moving out of his way, wide-eyed at his behavior. He lifted a blazing log with the tongs and walked toward the nearest drapes. “When sanity fails, then madness must suffice. It is my only hope—” He glanced back at the old woman. “—for there is no escape route, is there?”

A flicker.

“Yes, there is,” said a new voice. “And we had better take it quickly, my lord. The sorcerers will soon be here.”

††††††

Wallie threw the log back in the fireplace and turned to meet the youth who was striding along the room, wiping his hair with a muddy towel. His legs were still wet and very dirty below short leather breeches of a type Wallie had seen muleskinners wear. His feet were bare and dry, so he had removed riding boots before he came in. There were still smears of mud on his face, chest, and arms.

Lady Thondi was rigid with fury, pink blotches like bruises blooming on her cheekbones.

The newcomer stopped before Wallie, dropping the towel. He waited. In vain.

“Present me, Grandmother!”

“I will not own you, idiot!”

The lad shot her an angry glance, his youth making it seem more petulant than dangerous. He was short and slight, with curly hair and a narrow, pinched face. He was probably no older than Nnanji, but much shorter and even bonier . . . and extraordinarily young for his rank. Being athletes, swordsmen gained promotion much earlier than other crafts, yet this boy’s brow already bore three arches. He raised hands in salute. “I am Garadooi, builder of the third rank . . . ”

“I am Shonsu . . . ” Wallie’s suspicious mind was dancing with many dark possibilities. A sorcerer materializing in time to save the house from vandalism? A cleverly prearranged double cross? This newcomer’s arrival smacked of miracle, and Wallie had been warned not to expect miracles. Yet he had already seen that flicker in Thondi’s eyes—there was a way out, and she would probably have shown it to him herself, had he agreed to spare her house.

As he sheathed his sword, the old harridan growled, “There is your hostage, Shonsu!” Surrender confirmed.

“How many grandsons does she have, builder?”

“Only me, my lord. Maybe none tomorrow—my father will disown me or bury me in a foundation somewhere.” He grinned somewhat ruefully, but also proudly.

‘Then I must question your motives.”

A shadow fell. “I had a good friend named Farafini, my lord. My best friend . . . ”

“And?”

“He was a swordsman. The demons ripped him to pieces.” He turned to regard his grandmother with defiant contempt. “Also, I am ashamed at what was done to Kandoru of the Third in this house. I was not here, but I heard.” He looked back at Wallie. “I would make amends, if She will permit it. You are Her servants.”

“Young idiot!” Thondi thumped her cane on the floor. “You meddle in affairs that do not concern you. Be silent!”

“What do you suggest, builder?” Wallie asked.

“There are sorcerers coming. She . . . ” He gestured at his seething grandmother. “She sent word of you to the tower. The messenger came to the house afterward. I went straight to the stables, but the sorcerers were already on the road. A dozen of them, I was told.”

Wallie kept his face as impassive as he could, but a dozen sorcerers sounded like more than enough. Yet, if they were so powerful, why so many? Were they not confident? Then he remembered that the first reports of swordsmen being sighted would not likely have included their numbers. The sorcerers had been prepared to send a dozen against a force of unknown size—plenty confident. By now they must have intercepted a second message, telling them that they need only worry about Nnanji and himself. Would some have turned back?