The Ship Who Won (22 page)

then Nokias. Keff offered a few polite words to each. IT

was working overtime processing the small talk it was picking up, but it gave him the necessary polite phrases slowly

enough to recite accurately without resorting to ITs

speaker.

"I feel like a trained monkey," Keffsubvocalized.

As he straightened up, Carialle got a look at his audience. "That's what they think you are, too. They seem

surprised that you can actually speak."

Chaumel turned him away from his two important

guests and.tilted his head conspiratorially close.

"You see, my young friend, I would have preferred to

have you all to myself, but I can't refuse access to the pre-eminent magis when they decide to call at my humble

home for an evening. One climbs higher by power . . .

(power-plays, IT suggested) managed, as ordered by the

instructions left us by our ancestors. Such power-plays

determine ones height (rank, IT whispered). Also, deaths.

They are most facile at these."

"Deaths?" Keff asked. "You mean, you all move up one

when someone dies?"

"Yes, but also when one makes a death," Chaumel said,

with an uneasy backward glance at the high mages. Keff

goggled.

"You mean you move up when you kill someone?"

"Sounds like the promotion lists in the space service to

me," Carialle remarked to Keff.

"Ah, but not only that, but through getting more secrets

and magical possessions from those, and more. But Femgal of the East has just, er, discarded..."

"Disposed of," Carialle supplied.

"... Mage Klemay in a duel, so he has raised/ascended

over Mage Nokias of the South. I must incorporate the

change of status smoothly, though"-his face took on an

exaggerated mask of tragedy-"it pains me to see the

embarrassment it causes my friend, Nokias. We attempt to

make all in harmony."

Keff thought privately that Chaumel didn't look that

uncomfortable. He looked like he was enjoying the dis—

comfiture of the Mage of the South.

'This is a nasty brood. They make a point of scoring off

one another," Carialle observed. 'The only thing that har-monizes around here is the color-coordinated outfits and

chariots. Did you notice? Everyone has a totem color. I

wonder if they inherit it, earn it, or just choose it." She giggled in Keffs ear. "And what happens when someone else

has the one you want?"

"Another assassination, I'm sure," Keff said, bowing and

smiling to one side as Femgal made for Ilnirs group.

As the black-clad magimans circle drifted off, Noldas's

minions spread out a little, as if grateful for the breathing

room. Keff turned to Potria and gave her his most winning

smile, but she looked down her nose at him.

"How nice to see you again, my lady," he said in slow

but clear Ozran. The lovely bronze woman turned pointedly and looked off in another direction. The puff of gold

hair over her right ear obscured her face from him completely. Keff sighed.

"No sale," Carialle said. "You might as well have been

talking to her chair. Tsk-tsk, tsk-tsk. Your hormones don't

have much sense."

'Thank you for that cold shower, my lady," Keff said,

half to Potria, half to Carialle. "You're a heartless woman,

you are." The brain chuckled in his ear.

"She's not that different from anyone else here. I've

never seen such a bundle of tough babies in my life. Stay

on your guard. Don't reveal more about us than you have

to. We're vulnerable enough as it is. I don't like people

who mutilate and enslave thousands, not to mention capturing helpless ships."

"Your mind is like unto my mind, lady dear," Keff said

lightly. "That one doesn't look so tough."

Near the wall, almost hiding in the curtains behind a

rose-robed crone was the last magiwoman Chaumel had

bowed into the room. IT reminded him her name was

Plennafrey. Self-effacing in her simple primrose gown and

metallic blue-green shoulder-to-floor sash, her big, dark

eyes, pointed chin, and broad cheekbones gave her a

gamine look. She glanced toward Keff and immediately

turned away. Keff admired her hair, ink-black with rusty

highlights, woven into a simple four-strand plait that fell

most of the way down her back.

"I feel sorry for her," Keff said. "She looks as though

she's out other depth. She's not mean enough."

Carialle gave him the raspberry. "You always do fall for

the naive look," she said. 'That's why it's always so easy to

lure you into trouble in Myths and Legends."

"Oho, you've admitted it, lady Now I'll be on guard

against you."

"Just you watch it with these people and worry about

me later. They're not fish-eating swamp dwellers like the

Beasts Blatisant."

Keff had time to nod politely to the tall girl before

Chaumel yanked him away to meet the last of the five high

magimen. "I know how she feels, Cari. I'm not used to

dealing with advanced societies that are more complicated

and devious than the one I come from. Give me the half-naked swamp dwellers every time."

"Look at that," Potria said, sourly. "My claim, and

Chaumel is parading it around as if he discovered it."

"Mine," Asedow said. "We have not yet settled the question of ownership."

"He has a kind face," Plennafrey offered in a tiny voice.

Potria spun in a storm of pink-gold and glared at her.

"You are mad. It is not fully Ozran, so it is no better than

a beast, like the peasants."

Remembering her resolution to be bolder no matter

how terrified she felt, Plennafrey cleared her throat.

"I am sure he is not a mere thing, Potria. He looks a true

man." In fact, she found his looks appealing. His twinkling

eyes reminded her of happy days, something she hadn't

known since long before her father died. If only she could

have such a man in her life, it would no longer be lonely.

Potria turned away, disgusted. "I have been deprived of

my rights."

"You have? I spoke first." Asedows eyes glittered.

"I was winning," Potria said, lips curled back from gritted white teeth. She flashed a hand signal under Asedows

nose. He backed off, making a sign of protection. Plenna

watched, wild-eyed. Although she knew they wouldn't dare

to rejoin their magical battle in here, neither of them was

above a knife in the ribs.

Suddenly, she felt a wall of force intrude between the

combatants. The thought of a possible incident must also

have occurred to Nokias. Asedow and Potria retreated

another hand-span apart, continuing to harangue one

another. Plenna glanced over at the other groups of mages.

They were beginning to stare. Nokias, having been disgraced

once already this evening, would be furious if his underlings

embarrassed him in front of the whole assemblage.

Asedow was getting louder, his hands flying in the old

signs, emphasizing his point. "It is to my honor, and the

tower and the beast will come to me!"

Potrias hands waved just as excitedly. "You have no

honor. Your mother was a fur-skin with a dray-beast jaw,

and your father was drunk when he took her!"

At the murderous look in Asedows eye, Plenna warded

herself and planted her hand firmly over her belt buckle

beneath the concealing sash. At least she could help prevent the argument from spreading. With an act of will, she

cushioned the air around them so no sound escaped past

their small circle. That deadened the shouting, but it didn't

prevent others from seeing the pantomime the two were

throwing at one another.

"How dare you!" Zolaikas chair swooped in on the pair,

knocking them apart with a blast of force which dispelled

Plennas cloud of silence. "You profane the sacred signs in a

petty brawl!"

"She seeks to take what is rightfully mine," Asedow bellowed. Freed, his voice threatened to shake down the

celling.

"High one, I appeal to you," Potria said, turning to the

senior magess. "I challenged for the divine objects and I

claim them as my property." She pointed at Keff.

Keffwas taken aback.

"Now just a minute here," he said, starting forward as he

recognized the words. "I'm no one's chattel."

"Hurt!" Zolaika ordered, pointing an irregular, hand-sized form at him. Keff ducked, fearing another bolt of

scarlet lightning. Chaumel pulled him back and, keeping a

hand firmly on his shoulder, offered a placatory word to

Potria.

"She's not the enchantress I thought she was," Keff said

sadly to Carialle.

"A regular La Belle Dame Sans Merci," Carialle said.

'Treat with courtesy, at a respectable distance."

"Speaking of stating one's rights," Femgal said as he and

the other high magimen moved forward. He folded his

long fingers in the air before him and studied them. "May

I mention that the objects were found in Klemay's territory, which is now my domain, so I have the prior claim.

The tower and the male are mine." He crushed his palms

together deliberately.

"But before that, they were in my venue," the old

woman in red cried out from her place by the window. Her

chair lifted high into the air. "I had seen the silver object

and the being near my village when first it fell on Ozran. I

claim precedence over you for the find, Femgal!"

"I am no ones find!" Keff said, breaking away from

Chaumel. "I'm a free man. My ship is my magical object,

no one else's."

"I'm mine," Carialle crisply reminded him.

"I'd better keep you a piece of magical esoterica, lady, or

they'll kill me without hesitation over a talking ship with its

own brain."

La Belle Dame Sans Merci raised a shrill outcry.

Chaumel, eager to keep the peace in his own home, flew

to the center of the room and raised his hands.

"Mages and magesses and honored guest, the hour is

come! Let us dine. We will discuss this situation much

more reasonably when we all have had a bite and a sup.

Please!" He clapped his hands, and a handful of servants

appeared, bearing steaming trays. At a wave of their master's hand they fanned out among the guests, offering

tasty-smelling hors d'oeuvres. Keff sniffed appreciatively.

"Don't touch," Carialle cautioned him. "You don't know

what's in them."

"I know," Keff said, "but I'm starved. It's been hours

since I had that hot meal." He felt his stomach threatening

to rumble and compressed his diaphragm to prevent it

being heard. He concentrated on looking politely

disinterested.

Chaumel clapped his hands, and fur-faced musicians

strumming oddly shaped instruments suddenly appeared

here and there about the room. They passed among the

guests, smiling politely. Chaumel nodded with satisfaction,

and signaled again.

More Noble Primitives appeared out of me air, this time

with goblets and pitchers of sparkling liquids in jewel colors. A chair hobbled up to Keff and edged its seat sideways

toward his legs, as if offering him a chance to sit down.

"No thanks," he said, stepping away a pace. The chair,

unperturbed, tottered on toward the next person standing

next to him. "Look around, Cari! Its like Merlins household in The Sword in the Stone. I feel a litde drunk on

glory, Cari. We've discovered a race of magicians. This is

the pinnacle of our careers. We could retire tomorrow and

they'd talk about us until the end of time."

"Once

you, Keff, what they're doing isn't magic. It can't be. Real

magic shouldn't require power, least of all the kind of

power they're sucking out of the surrounding area. Mental

power possibly, but not battery-generator type power,

which is what is coming along those electromagnetic lines

in the air."

"Well, there's invocation of power as well as evocation,

drawing it into you for use," Keff said, trying to remember

the phrases out of the Myths and Legends rule book.

Carialle seemed to read his mind. "Don't talk about a

game! This is real life. This isn't magic. Ah! There it is:

proof."

Keff glanced up. Chaumel was bowing to something

hovering before him at eye level. It was a box of some kind.

It drifted slightly so that the flat side that had been

directed at Chaumel was pointing at him. Looking out

from behind a glass panel was a man's face, dark-skinned

and ancient beyond age. The puckered eyelids compressed

as the man peered intently at Keff.

"See? It's a monitor," Carialle said. "A corn unit. Its a

device, not magic, not evoked from the person of the user.

He's transmitting his image through it, probably because

he's too weak to be here in person."

"Maybe the box is just a relic from the old days," Keff

said, but his grand theory did have a few holes in it. "Look,

there's nothing feeding it."

"You don't need cable to transmit power, Keff. You

know that. Even Chaumel isn't magicking the food up

himself. He's calling it from somewhere. Probably in the

depths of the dungeon, there's a host of fuzzy-faced cooks