The price of victory- - Thieves World 13 (110 page)

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clear that he himself was the subject under discussion. "I . . . I'm afraid

I don't . . ."

"I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. It's so hard for me to remem ber court formalities when I'm talking to you."

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She released his hand and stepped back, striking a regal pose almost mocking in its severity.

"Hakiem," she said in her solemn, court voice. "It is with great plea sure that we hereby appoint you Royal Emissary, our Trade Ambassador to the Glorious Home of Mother Bey . . . such as it is."

Hakiem could not have been more stunned if she had suddenly struck

him.

"Ambassador? Me?"

"That's right." Shupansea grinned, abandoning her attempt at dignity. She was obviously delighted at her confidant's obvious surprise. "The appointment papers were just signed, and I raced the rumors through the palace so I could be the first to tell you.'*

"But, 0 Beysa, I have no qualifications! I'm no ambassadorl What would I do in a foreign court? Tell them stories?"

"You'll do what the people of this town do best,'* the Beysa informed him firmly. "Haggle. I can guarantee you the royal opponents you'll be dealing with will present little challenge to you after the training you*ve had here in Sanctuary."

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"But I'm just a storyteller. It takes more than fine clothes to make an

aristocrat!'*

"That's what Kadakithis said . . . but he eventually came around to my way of thinking. It's just as well, too. The trade ship has been ready to sail for nearly a week while we argued about who the ambassador would be."

"Trade ship?"

The enormity of what was being proposed suddenly swirled up around Hakiem like a fog. Until now, he had been arguing theoretically about a preposterous idea. The mention of a ship, however, brought home the reality of what was being discussed.

"You mean I am to leave Sanctuary? Make a new home in a foreign

land?"

"Well, you can't very well be a trade ambassador from here." The Beysa laughed. "Oh, I know it sounds frightening . . . but it's what I had to do when I came . . . What is it, Hakiem?"

The storyteller had suddenly collapsed into a chair, his face a mask of
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despair.

"0 Beysa ... I ... I can't do it.'*

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The smile slipped from the Beysa's face as she stiffened into a posture that had no trace of the mockery shown earlier.

"I don't recall giving you a choice," she said coldly, then softened instantly. "Oh, what's wrong, Hakiem? You've never refused me before."

"You've never asked me to leave Sanctuary before," he responded, shaking his head. "I'm not a young man . . . too old to learn new ways. I've had to change my life completely twice already. Once when ... I first came to Sanctuary, and again when I became your advisor. I cannot make such changes again. You sec me as shrewd and wily, but that's only because I know this town and the people in it. Take me out of familiar surroundings, and . . ."

"I thought I'd find you here."

Prince Kadakithis was framed in the doorway.

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"Well, let me add my congratulations to those you've already received, Hakiem." There was no effort to shake hands, but the prince's smile was warm and sincere.

"He doesn't want the position," Shupansea blurted.

"Oh?" The smile faded as Kadakithis cocked an eyebrow at the story teller. "I should think you'd find it an honor, Hakiem .' . . not to men tion a noticeable improvement in your station . . . and income."

"My place is here in Sanctuary," Hakiem insisted stubbornly, his des peration making him bold in the face of royalty. "From what I under stand, you yourself have questioned my effectiveness in such an assign ment."

"You see?" Shupansea cried in exasperation. "I try to reward his ser vice and do him a favor at the same time, and this is the thanks I get!"

"Highness . . ." Hakiem began, but the prince cut him short.

"I'm sure we can reach some kind of an agreement here," he said soothingly. "Let me talk with our new ambassador for a moment."

"All right."

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"Alone, if you don't mind, dear."

"But ... Oh, all right!"

The Beysa swept angrily from the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

"There's been a lot of water under the bridge since we first met, hasn't there, storyteller?" the prince said, making a show of inspecting the room's decor.

"That there has. Highness."

Hakiem was wary of this private audience, but he had to admit the prince had changed since that dusty afternoon he had tossed a poor storyteller a few pieces of gold-The regal brow was marked with worry lines that had not been there when he'd first arrived in Sanctuary, but he

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spoke and moved with a new sureness and confidence that had also been lacking in those early days.

"I'll admit I opposed the idea of your appointment when Shupansea first proposed it," the prince continued, "but after giving it considerable
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thought, apart from my fiancee's insistence, I arrived at the conclusion that you were not only acceptable for the post, but that there was no one better qualified for the position."

"Highness?"

The storyteller was taken aback at this revelation.

"Think about it, Hakiem," the prince said earnestly, turning to gaze directly at his subject. "In your capacity as the Beysa's advisor, you have made yourself familiar with the Beysib culture and people, both the high and the low. In fact, you speak their language better than any non-Beysib in the town or the court."

He paused while the ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"While you may not have formal experience as an ambassador, your years as a storyteller will serve you well, as the bulk of diplomacy is making the untrue or unlikely sound plausible, if not desirable. These things count in your favor, but there are two points that outweigh all others.

"First, you are honest and loyal."

The prince quickly held up a hand to restrain the storyteller's protests.

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"Oh, I know you folk from Sanctuary pride yourselves on deception and shady dealings . . . which will also help you as an ambassador . . . and I have no doubts that you would have no compunctions about pad ding a deal or slitting a throat if you set your mind to it, but in your current position you've had many opportunities to betray the Beysa for spite or personal gain, yet to my knowledge you have not taken advan tage of any of them. To my mind, that makes you trustworthy . . . notably more so than many of the advisors I've had assigned to me or appointed myself

"Even more important, however, is the unmistakable fact that you love this town. While your feelings for Shupansea or myself might wax and wan, I cannot imagine your knowingly doing anything or agreeing to anything that would not be in Sanctuary's best interest.

"It may seem ironic or contradictory, but I firmly believe that you can best serve the interests of this town by leaving it ... by being our eyes and ears, our watchdog, if you will, in the Beysib court during this cru cial period. Will you do that for me ... or better yet, for Sanctuary, storyteller?"

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.iakiem grimaced into his wine at the memory.

Do it for Sanctuary.

If the prince ever decided to abandon his royal calling, there was a real future for him as a swindler or confidence man. While the request may have had the appearance of free will, there was really only one answer that could be given. Hakiem had had no more choice than a member of an audience having a conjuror "force" a specific card on him for the purposes of a trick or illusion.

Of course, the prince could have simply ordered him into service. In that case, Hakiem would have had the choice of leaving Sanctuary as an honored ambassador, or leaving it as a fugitive of the prince's wrath. It would seem, however, that Kadakithis had learned the value of a willing volunteer . . . however unwilling that volunteer might be in reality.

Absently, Hakiem noted the contradictory, circular nature of that ob servation as a gauge of the effects the wine was having on him, and was not displeased at his progress.

"May I join you, old man? ... Or are you too busy with the 'prepa rations' for your voyage to spare me a few of the miTlions of words you spend so freely on others?"

Hakiem gaped with astonishment, uncharacteristically at a loss for
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words. None seemed required, however, as his visitor pulled up a chair and settled at the table like some huge black bird coming to roost.

"Jubal?" the storyteller managed at last, blurting out the question as if requiring confirmation for what his eyes already told him. "Are you . . . I mean, is this wise?"

He tore his gaze free to glance nervously about the tavern's dim inte rior, but no one seemed to be taking notice of the figure in their midst.

"I've found that I've been out of view long enough that no one remem bers what I look like." Sanctuary's crime lord smiled without humor.

"Especially with the 'changes' I've undergone since I was a 'public fig ure.* If anything, a disguise would draw attention to me rather than avert it ... especially in the Vulgar Unicorn. Like this, I'm just another old man . . . like yourself."

While it appeared Jubal was correct in his analysis, Hakiem nonethe less felt distinctly uncomfortable . . . enough so to banish any effects of his earlier drinking. As long as they had known each other . . . actu ally, as long as Hakiem had been in Sanctuary . . . Jubal had main tained an air of secrecy about himself. Originally, he would not have left his mansion without a cloak and one of the blue hawk masks to disguise his features, and after the aging caused by the spell hired to help him heal from the wounds suffered during the Stepsons' raid on his holdings, he
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had not appeared in public at all. Ergo, sitting next to an ex-slaver in the

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Vulgar Unicorn, bereft of any effort to mask his identity, had Hakiem feeling that he was in close proximity to a target on one of the military's firing ranges.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've heard about your new assignment," Jubal said, his dark lips tightening into a flat smile. "Good news travels slower than bad in this town, but it still travels."

"I already gathered that from your first comments. What I want to know is why it drew you into the open. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you're here solely to wish me safe voyage, but in the past the only times you've sought me out is when it somehow benefited you or your operations. Of what import is my appointment to you?"

The crime lord gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head.

"Your time in court has certainly sharpened your tongue, old man, but then I guess neither of us has ever had much tolerance for small talk when it came to business. Very well, I'll come straight to the point."

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He shot a quick glance around the room, then leaned forward, lower ing his voice

"I have a proposition for you. Simply put, I want to accompany you on your new assignment."

"That's absurd!"

The words slipped out before Hakiem had a chance to consider them. He did, however, have time to consider Jubal's sudden scowl at their impact.

"What's absurd about it?" the ex-slaver demanded harshly. "Is my company so repellent to you, or my advice so worthless that . . ."

"No!" the storyteller interrupted hastily. "I meant you already have everything here in Sanctuary . . . money, power . . . what possible reason could you have for even considering giving it all up to travel to a foreign land, one where you are unknown and would have to start build ing again from nothing? rAof's what I meant was absurd . . - the whole idea's preposterous."

He gave a bitter snort, reaching for his tankard.

"It's preposterous for anybody to willingly give up their life ... to
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gamble everything on the unknown. If/had a choice . . . but I don't. I have to go ... for the prince, for the Beysa, for Sanctuary, What's the comfort of one old storyteller compared to that?"

"It depends on how highly you value what you're leaving," Jubal said easily, ignoring Hakiem's self-pitying comments. "It's strange that you should think I have everything here, but then you've always taken for granted the one thing that's always eluded me."

"And that is ... ?" Hakiem urged, curious in spite of himself.

"Respect." The crime lord shrugged. "I thought I had it when I won my freedom from the gladiator arena, only to find polite society viewed me as little better than an animal. I couldn't find work that would earn me the kind of money necessary for the kind of life-style I aspired to, so I took to stealing it."