Liavek 2 Page 6

  Mefini gestured sharply. "Go on."

  "A magician loved you," Trav said, "a magician whom you convinced or forced to bind his or her luck into an object whose only purpose is to keep you alive." Trav leaned back further and crossed his legs in perfect ease. "The doll, of course. Rather embarrassing when your Liavekan dancing girl stole it, I imagine."

  Mefini shrugged. "I have it back. No matter." Then he grinned. "I appreciate your wisdom, Trav The Magician, yet here you are, my prisoner. Your luck has been freed, all your spells have failed, and two of my students are searching the famous Seventeen Wizard's Row at their leisure. But nothing shall be disturbed if you swear never to meddle in Tichenese matters." He pointed a ringed finger at the Scroll of Truth.

  "I told you before," The Magician said carefully. "No."

  "You have a rather foolish confidence, Colleague Trav."

  "That's probably true. But let me tell you a story."

  Mefini snorted, then smiled. "Very well, Colleague Trav. If you think it pertinent, I wish to hear it."

  "Decide when I finish." Trav cleared his throat. "In 2947, while Liavek warred with Saltigos, there was a young Liavekan named Marik whose luck was such that he had learned the ill-luck periods of seven of the mightiest Saltigan wizards. He stole the vessels of their luck and destroyed each one during its owner's ill-luck period, thus freeing each wizard's luck for all time. The Saltigans, reasonably enough, believed Marik's death was vital to their cause. The leader of these Saltigans thought further, and decided that to strip Marik of his power and parade him before Liavek's walls might so dispirit the Liavekans that they would surrender. So the SaItigans hired three Tichenese sorcerers of your Guild to aid them. Perhaps some form of the tale has come down to you?"

  "I almost recognize it," said Mefini. "Speak on."

  "The three sorcerers studied the stars and the tides and the entrails of many rare animals, and then they got one of Marik's servants drunk and learned the time of Marik's birth. But they could not learn what vessel he used to keep his luck, so, at the hour when Marik's luck returned from its vessel to his body, the sorcerers used a spell to cast him naked into a prison of their choosing, much as you have done with me."

  "Which is why you tell this story, I assume."

  "Yes. Their purpose was different than yours, and they had more time to prepare, or so I assume. You will not be insulted if I say that their prison was far cleverer than yours, Chiano Mefini?"

  "Oh?" Mefini frowned.

  "Indeed. They sent Marik to a place beyond our world where he floated in something like mist. His luck was within him then, full and powerful, yet there was nothing for him to invest it in, not even ground beneath him, and nothing for him to employ it on. After the time of his birth had passed, the Tichenese sorcerers brought Marik back to our world."

  Mefini raised his arms cautiously. "You are not saying we brought you here on your birthday? The odds of that are—"

  Trav laughed. "No, Chiano Mefini. I swear it on my luck. I have not been telling you tales to lull you while I reinvested my magic."

  "I see," Mefini said, though his shoulders were visibly stiff with tension. "Out of curiosity, Colleague Trav, was your luck in one of your bracelets? Wearing two is a common precaution."

  "Not the bracelets," said Trav. "But let me finish my story. It is almost over."

  "Very well."

  'The sorcerers had complimented themselves on their cleverness as they called Marik back from that dimension of perfect emptiness. They had heard, of course, the rumor that a very rare individual could invest his luck in his own body, but they did not believe that was possible, no more than I believe it today. And so they imagined poor Marik would arrive magicless until his next birthday, ready for delivery to the Saltigans who would pay a premium for a service perfectly performed."

  When Trav said no more, Mefini said, "And?"

  Trav smiled. "And Marik appeared before them, as naked as he had been imprisoned, as naked as I am now. In his left fist, he held his severed right hand, the hand that he had cut from his arm with his birth magic and invested with his luck. They say Marik laughed as he slew his captors. Liavekans remember him as Marik One-Hand, and they still celebrate his birthday. The street near my house was named for him."

  Mefini shuddered. "That's an ugly story. What's it have to do with us?"

  "Much," said Trav, rising smoothly to his feet and pointing with his left hand at the crate where Mefini's doll lay. In the shadows, something like a large spider scuttled to the doll and embraced it. "You see," said Trav, bringing the stump of his right arm from behind his back, "I am Marik One-Hand, and I hold your life in my palm."

  The two magicians stared at each other. The air in the basement seemed warmer and more humid than it had moments before. At last, Mefini set his hand on the Scroll of Truth and said sadly, "I swear to forfeit my life and my power if ever I meddle in the affairs of Liavek, or let anyone learn from me the secrets of Marik One-Hand, or use my knowledge in any way to harm Marik or Liavek. Will that suffice?"

  "I could require more," Trav said. "But it will do."

  "What of my students?"

  Trav laughed. "My front door let them into a maze of mirrors. My cats have been amusing themselves by chasing your students through it for the past hour."

  "Your cats?"

  "Chaos and Disorder. They are a lioness and a tiger, at present."

  "I...see." Mefini frowned. "Aren't the names redundant?"

  "You have never kept cats." The Magician stepped to the crate where Mefini's doll was still in the severed hand's grip. As he fitted his right wrist to the hand, he glanced toward a door at the rear of the room and called, "Gogo!"

  The door opened. Mefini's eyes grew wide in surprise as his students stumbled through it with two great cats snarling at their thighs. The hall beyond was brightly lit and seemed to be made of glowing diamonds set under glass. A short woman in a white tunic stood smiling in the doorway.

  Trav told the cats, "That's enough," and they quit chasing the students in order to rub against his legs. "You can stop being affectionate; I'll feed you soon enough," he said. The cats continued, which almost made him fall several times as he carried Mefini's doll to the sorcerer. "It is hard to have cats and dignity," he said.

  "I...suppose so," Mefini agreed, accepting the doll. The Magician's right wrist was ringed with a tiny scar, but otherwise appeared normal.

  "Our powers didn't work in there!" one of the students gasped.

  "No," Trav agreed. He glanced at Mefini. "I assume you'll be leaving Liavek soon?"

  "Yes."

  "Give my greetings to your colleagues in the Guild Of Power."

  "If I do, they'll guess that you were responsible for my leaving, no matter what I may or may not say."

  "Yes," Trav said. "Farewell, Chiano Mefini." He stepped into the bright hall with his cats, and the short woman kissed him, saying, "Hi, Baldy," as the door swung shut.

  Mefini and his students stared at the basement door for several minutes. At last, the tall woman said, "Shall I?"

  Mefini nodded. The woman went to the door and cautiously opened it. The dusty stairs to their embassy lay beyond.

  •

  In the long hallway of many doors that was sometimes found in The Magician's house, Gogo said, "You know, you might as well have declared war on Tichen's sorcerers."

  "Yes," Trav answered.

  "Good. Just so you know. What'll you do when the children come tomorrow?"

  "I doubt the boy'll return. When Mefini's memory spell fades, the boy'll go to the embassy for payment. Once he learns that the ambassador left suddenly for Tichen, he'll stay far away from Wizard's Row for some time, I suspect."

  "And the girl?"

  "I only agreed to seek the doll."

  "Trav..."

  "Maybe we can make her a doll that looks like the one she lost?"

  "She lives on the city streets, you know. With no more friends than that boy, who will probably a
bandon her if he can think of no more schemes in which to use her."

  "There is the Levar's Orphanage, Gogo."

  "I was thinking of Tel Jassil on the Street of Old Coins. He's kind, and he has no children. If you made her adoption a part of the price for the S'Rian coin—"

  "He'd pay me half its value, then!"

  "Yes." She kissed him. "Poor Trav."

  As they stepped into his study, he said, "I will never be rich."

  Gogo laughed and put her arm about his waist. "But you'll live well."

  "The Fortune Maker" by Barry B. Longyear

  IT WAS THE Thirteenth of Flowers. As he studied the tangle of yhinroot fibers at the bottom of his cup, Elmutt the garbage picker was thinking that there was something different about this day. It was more than Tavi being absent. The little troll always made himself scarce when Elmutt was in Almantia's presence. It was something else. There was something different about Elmutt.

  "Elmutt?"

  He looked up from his cup, not quite letting his gaze fall on Almantia's face. It was not that he found her face disagreeable. Quite the contrary. His eyes could not bear to tease his heart any further with the impossible.

  "Elmutt? Will you answer me?" There was a note of impatience in her words. But it was the kind of note a parent plays for a beloved child. In his heart he felt something between anger and despair. Almantia was barely old enough to wed, and Elmutt was no child.

  "My sorrow, good lady. My mind was wandering."

  "They say that if one lets the mind wander, one might lose it." She gestured with her hand at the loaf and pot. "I asked if you would care for some more tea."

  He looked into her face. She had an uncommon fairness about her complexion and features. A kind of beauty Elmutt secretly suspected her grandfather, the wizard Yolik, must have created for her. No one, he thought, was ever that beautiful. How can she talk about tea? Can't she hear my heart dying?

  "Yes, if it pleases you."

  She talked as she poured the vaporous liquid from the pot into Elmutt's cup. "Do you remember the first time we had tea?"

  "Yes. Three years ago today."

  She grinned. "I'm surprised you remembered." She pointed at his cup. "Hurry, drink up before it gets cold."

  Elmutt lifted the cup and sipped at the brew, the ribbons of sweet and bitter alternately caressing and flogging his tongue. Of course he remembered. He had been picking among the infrequently visible refuse of Wizard's Row, Tavi nagging from his shoulder, searching for things that might aid him in breaking his luck. She had appeared before him, her delicate olive face a jewel in the setting of her white and silver gown and veil. Of course he remembered. The moment she appeared, Tavi had vanished. It had been the first time since he could remember that he had been free of the troll, not by the creature's choosing. Tavi was afraid of the wizard's granddaughter.

  Almantia had said to him, "Picker, I have some cleaning and errands I want done. Could you use a few extra coppers?" There was a terror in his heart. Instantly he loved her and, at the same time, forbade himself to feel his love. Such a love would be too easy a target for Tavi's scorn. It would be a ridiculous love—a woman of such station and an insect from Dung Alley? Ridiculous. A wizard and a lame garbage picker? Ridiculous. Existence had already placed upon his shoulders more weight than he could carry. Elmutt refused to carry the additional burden of being ridiculous.

  He did the work that she wanted, and over the next three years she hired him many times to scrub steps, take away refuse, purchase things for her, deliver messages. But he never spent any of the coppers that she paid him. He could not bear the thought of parting with the coins, for Almantia had touched them.

  When he had finished his errands that first day, she had invited him into her gold and white tiled kitchen for yhinroot tea. Taking tea together had become a regular ritual. He disliked yhinroot tea, but it was a small price to pay to be near her.

  As they sipped from their cups she would talk to him, telling him of her magic studies, her hopes and her dreams. Sometimes she would fill the moment with idle gossip. At other times she would describe the seemingly endless parade of handsome, wealthy suitors that desired her, the gifts with which they showered her, the performances and ceremonies to which they brought her, every word both a treasure and a wound to the garbage picker.

  Sometimes she would ask his advice about small things. Sometimes she would flirt with him, touching his face with her hand, winking at him, once even giving him a kiss on his cheek.

  He raised his hand to his cheek where her lips had innocently touched it with eternal mischief. He heard her voice.

  "Elmutt, you are not listening. Is something wrong? You look very strange."

  He brought his thoughts back to the present and lowered his hand. "Again, my sorrow." He chanced a look at her face. Her brow carried a hint of genuine concern. His gaze touched her eyes and darted away in the fear that his own eyes might reveal his longing, his pain. He did not think he could survive her laughing at his love. He picked up his cup and pretended to be intensely interested in its contents.

  "Elmutt, you aren't thinking of investing your luck, are you? I know you once entertained such a thought. I warned you about trying such a thing then."

  Automatically he shook his head in the negative. "No, good lady. If one learned in magic, such as yourself, is not considered sufficiently prepared to attempt investiture, I would be a fool to try."

  Her hand reached across the table and closed over his. "If you tried, Elmutt, you would sicken and die." Her hand withdrew as she laughed. "I would hate to lose my dear little picker."

  He tossed down his tea, the scalding of his gullet nothing compared to the fire burning upon the back of his hand. He put down the cup and pushed himself up from his cushion. "I must be going, good lady. Will you need me tomorrow?"

  She stood and began gathering the things from the table. "No. I will be away tomorrow, but come the day after and see."

  "Very well. The day after tomorrow, then."

  She turned from the basin stand and gave the picker a gentle look. "Be kind to yourself, Elmutt."

  "I will…. My thanks."

  He bowed out of the kitchen, the words choking him, and fled to the street as fast as his crippled leg would allow. Once outside he reached for his picker's bag, noticing that Tavi was not waiting for him. For the moment he would at least be spared his creature's abuse. Elmutt put the bag over his shoulder and looked back. Almantia's house had already vanished. The picker sighed and began the limp back to Dung Alley.

  •

  It was evening, the harsh, reedy sounds of the snake flutes mixing with the smells of spice and decay. As Elmutt entered the north end of Dung Alley he paused to let his gaze rest once more upon the Skull. Again, there was that strange feeling. It was not the helpless silent rage that usually choked him. It was different. Something much calmer, yet bearing more strength. A curious feeling.

  He lowered his sack of pickings, still staring at the place that had been the closest thing to what he could ever call home. The building was not unusually tall for the city of Liavek. There were other structures much taller. Its four floors and spired roof, however, stood like a mast above the hovels lining the filth-strewn path in Old Town called Dung Alley. On the alley, they called the landmark Narkaan's Skull, referring both to the ancient god of ghosts and the gaping holes carved in the structure by weather, time, and vandals.

  Viewed from the proper direction, it did look like a skull. The missing walls on the third and fourth floors formed the great gaping eye sockets and nose hole, the grinning teeth formed by a crumbling balcony. From any other angle the building looked to be nothing more than a ruin. From where Elmutt stood, it looked like a skull.

  Beneath the structure was Ghaster the garbage picker's cellar. There he collected, cleaned, repaired, stored, displayed, and sold the minor treasures Elmutt gleaned from Liavek's waste. And there Ghaster would isolate himself and cancel the profit he had made by dri
nking an endless river of Dragonpiss. Where there had once been fear of the old fat man there was now a numbness in Elmutt's heart.

  Ghaster's cruelty was legend on Dung Alley. The story had often been told of the time when the picker's bond child, Elmutt, was three or four years old, standing at the top of the cellar's long flight of stone stairs. Ghaster had stood at the bottom of the stairs and had called to the boy to jump into his open arms. The boy had squealed with glee, jumped, and Ghaster had simply stepped out of the way, allowing Elmutt to crash to the stone floor. Those who witnessed the event heard Ghaster tell the boy, "That is to teach you never to trust anyone." The fall injured Elmutt's left leg, giving him the limp that he still carried.

  Elmutt looked down at his crippled leg. It was the visible manifestation of one of the scars that he carried on his heart. But Ghaster at least was predictable. The beatings, the verbal assaults, the brief glimpses of a rapidly eroding humanity, were as familiar to Elmutt as the times of the sun, the moon, and the tides. As familiar as Tavi's taunts.

  He thought of her. Almantia was much different.

  He straightened as another scar on his heart opened, flooding him with shame, anger and pain. Elmutt held his hand to his cheek. She only kissed him in fun, because she was young, alive, and she found amusement in seeing the picker embarrassed. It was no more than that. It could never be more than that.

  The image of Narkaan's Skull blurred and Elmutt realized that his eyes were filled with tears. Almantia's kiss hadn't embarrassed him. Her lips had shattered his heart.

  "Move on, picker!"

  He turned to his right, expecting to see Tavi. Instead he saw the hag, Cankera, standing amidst her evil-smelling piles of used clothing. "I have as much right to stand in this alley as anyone, hag."