Liavek 5 Page 7

  Perhaps, Arianai thought, there was luck in her wrong turn after all. "Who makes these toys?" she said.

  "I do," said the black-haired man, "when I am not interrupted." Arianai was not certain if it was meant as a joke.

  She said, "I am looking for something for a child."

  "That is very usual in a toyshop." The man stopped his filing, but still did not look up. "Even if the child is oneself, many years late."

  "This is a child who cannot sleep," Arianai said.

  "Perhaps a music box," the toy maker said, examining the bit of puzzle in his fingers. "I have one that plays 'Eel Island Shoals' with a sound of waves as background, very restful. Or the flannel cat on the third shelf, beside the carousel…inside it are a cam and a spring; when wound up, it makes a sound like a beating heart. Some people find it quite soothing." The toymaker's voice had warmed. "Then again, all your child may need is something to hold. A woolen monkey, or a satin dolphin. A friendly caution—if the child has lost a pet, or greatly desires some particular animal, choose something different. Toys should not come with bad memories or unfulfilled promises attached."

  "Why have I never heard of you before?" Arianai said.

  The man looked up. His face was fine-boned, somewhat sharp, with hazel eyes of a remarkable clarity. "Why should you have?" The warmth was gone again.

  "I am Arianai Sheyzu."

  "Yes?"

  "The children's physician. My house is just around the corner."

  "Oh. Forgive me for telling you your trade, Mistress Healer. Please browse at your pleasure." He went back to his work.

  "The child—her name is Theleme—is afraid to sleep." The toymaker said nothing, but Arianai went on, the words just spilling out. "She fights sleep for as long as she can, sometimes for days, until she falls into an exhausted sleep. And then she screams. Chamomile and valerian are no use at all, and she has become too frail for stronger drugs."

  "I understand now why you were seeking Wizard's Row, Mistress Healer. I do hope that you find it."

  Arianai bit her lip. "I'm sorry, master…"

  "Quard."

  "I didn't mean to burden you with my troubles."

  "I never accept such burdens," Quard said. 'To the right, ninety paces."

  "Thank you." She turned to go.

  "Take the flannel cat with you," Quard said in a quiet voice. "It's wound through the seam on its left flank."

  Hesitantly, Arianai picked up the stuffed animal. As she moved it, she felt the springs inside loosen and the wooden heart pulse. Something in the mechanism purred softly.

  "No charge for the loan," Quard said.

  She looked at him. He was looking back, his eyes bright in his pale face like the eyes of a porcelain doll. Arianai tucked the cat under her arm, gave the man a hard stare back, and went out of the shop. Above her head, the sign-puppet kicked up its heels on a fresh wind from the sea.

  •

  Sen Wuchien was strolling through the Levar's Park when he heard the sentry call midnight. He paused for a moment, shivered, and felt an irrational impulse to touch the vessel of his luck. Instead he simply leaned slightly on his walking stick and thought on his vessel, drawing power into his bones to stop the chill. Foolish to have gone walking on such a chilly night, he thought, but the air was clean and pleasant, if damp. He would make tea when he got home, Red Orchid blend, and share it with his cat Shin; then all would be well.

  His magic warmed him. With his empty hand he stroked the air, as if Shin's head were there, and tightened his abdomen, pulling power up to his eyes. Around Sen, the landscape brightened, sharpened. The images of catsight reminded him of an ink-and-water drawing; it occurred to Sen that he had neglected his brushes of late. That was not good. New rituals kept the magic responsive, the power fluid.

  He stretched his vision, watched an owl gobbling a mouse, a badger waddling off toward its hole, a pair of lovers in deep consideration. He thought, amused, that he would do a pillowbook painting, the sort young people did, indeed the sort he had done as a young man in Tichen. And the text…

  Backs shape heaven's arches

  Dark hair braids with fingers

  As the tea grows cold.

  Sen realized that he was tracing the calligraphy in the air. It was idle, no light trailed from his fingertips; he had moved, but not invoked. He was old now but not yet so careless. He wiped the power from his eyes, let the magic flush of warmth drain away, and walked on.

  He heard a musical whistle, turned his head. There was a figure sitting on a boulder, a long white pipe to its lips. Sen Wuchien wondered that he had not seen this one before—he was not indeed so careless. There was power involved here. Sen looked closer.

  The person wore a sashed full robe in the classical Tichenese style, all pure white with the sheen of silk, and white slippers. The face was smooth and finely featured, a young woman's or a beautiful boy's, Sen could not tell, with black hair in a long braid across one shoulder. The piper played a few notes, bowed slightly. Sen Wuchien bowed in return.

  Sen said, "I had supposed to meet you in Tichen."

  The piper gestured meaninglessly with the white flute, which Sen could see was made of a long bone. The bone of what? he wondered. It was too long to be a man's, or even a horse's. Sen said, "Pardon me. I spoke falsely without intent. I meant to say…" But he could no longer recall what he had meant to say.

  The person in white stretched out a slim hand, pointing the bone flute at Sen, and spoke in Tichenese. "Come, if you are coming."

  Sen smiled at the thought of having some option in the matter, and put his hand on the flute. It was very cold. Sen controlled his trembling without the use of his power, and looked into the face of the white piper.

  "Oh," Sen said, "it is you—"

  He looked at his hand. It glowed with a cool green light. He tried to let go of the bone flute, but could not. He reached for his power, but his mind was cold and would not move that far. Through the green haze that now wrapped his whole body, Sen looked again at the piper's face, understanding now why he had been offered a choice, and that in fact the offer had been real.

  But as the cold caressed his heart, Sen Wuchien thought that he had already made the choice, thirty years ago.

  The Levar's Park was large and not heavily patrolled; it was about an hour and a half before the two Guards came by on their rounds. They saw the glow long before they could see what it came from.

  •

  The next day was still gray, and drizzly as well. The puppet over the toyshop door seemed to clutch at himself and shiver in the wind, and there was a sad drip-drip from his nose and his toes.

  Lamps were lit inside the shop; Quard sat near a lamp with a large glass lens that threw light on the doll's face he was painting. As he stroked cobalt blue on the eyebrows, he said, "Did you find Wizard's Row?"

  "Yes," Arianai said, "and a strange thing happened there."

  "Most who seek Wizard's Row are disappointed if one does not. "

  "The Magician at Seventeen and Doctor Twist both recommended you."

  "As what?"

  "As one who knows something about dreams."

  Quard put down his work, wiped his brush with solvent. "In addition to an entire street named The Dreamers', the apothecary at Canalgate calls his boat Dreams. Maydee Gai at the House of Blue Leaves retails them fairly and to most tastes; Cimis Malirakhin is most to mine. Liavek has many splendid theaters, though I do not attend them. I'm a toymaker."

  Suddenly a chipmunk appeared from beneath the counter, nodding and chittering, a blue nut in its paws. "Yes?" Quard said to the animal, then, "I quite agree. She has made a mistake." Squeak, squeak? "Yes, Doctor Twist will probably refund her money, but Trav? Never. It would offend his moral principles."

  Finally Arianai realized that the chipmunk was a puppet on Quard's hand. "You do that very well," she said, "but I'm not so easily insulted."

  "No insult intended," Quard said, now sounding tired. "I only wished to get a po
int across. Sometimes puppets are better at that than people." He pulled off the glove-puppet and put it on the counter, where it looked rather unpleasantly like a dead real chipmunk.

  Arianai said, "You haven't even seen the child."

  "I assume that you have confidence in your own abilities as a healer. And you have already named the most noted sorcerer in Liavek, as well as the craziest. What is there for me to look at?"

  "It was the wizards who named you."

  "So you said. Perhaps I've upset them somehow. They are subtle and quick to anger, you know."

  "Surely you must care what happens to a child."

  "Because I'm a toymaker? Bad proof, mistress."

  "I think you did prove it to me. When you first spoke, about choosing toys."

  "As a children's healer, you must know a certain amount about lice and worms. Do you love them?"

  She stared at him. He had picked up the doll-mask, and turned the lamp lens to examine it.

  "She slept last night, master. With your cat in her arms, she slept for almost the whole night."

  "Then you have no further need for me. You may keep the cat."

  After a moment Arianai said, "The girl is dying."

  "So are we all, Healer—with all due respect to your profession."

  For several minutes there was no sound in the shop. Then Quard said, "Did Trav tell you I'd be difficult?"

  "Who?"

  "The Magician."

  "He did not tell me you would be hateful. "

  "Trav is like that. Bring Theleme tomorrow at five hours past noon."

  It took her a moment to realize what he had said. "There's a long night between now and then."

  "True. Five tomorrow."

  She felt puzzled and relieved—too much of both to be really angry. "Tomorrow, Master Quard. Thank you."

  •

  The wizard Gorodain sat in his attic room, contemplating a tabletop. The wood was covered with a disk of glass, etched with a six-pointed star and inscriptions in the language that had centuries ago evolved into the S'Rian tongue. From each of the points of the star, a line led to the center of the disk; above the intersection was a small, darting green flame that burned without fuel or ash. One of the points was empty. Small objects rested on the others: a small bronze mask on a chain, a leather shoelace coiled in a complex knot, an arrowhead, a wooden doll, a silver dagger with a wickedly curved blade and an emerald in the hilt.

  The previous night all the points had been filled, a little paper scroll on the sixth.

  Gorodain examined the objects on the glass as a man might look over a crucial position in a game of shah—which, after a fashion, this was. The creation of the board, the collection of the pieces, had occupied most of thirty years. This was no time to rush the endgame.

  He picked up the mask. It had horns, and finely crafted eyes that were chips of carnelian in onyx. He put it down again on its point, looked out the garret window at the moon rising through torn clouds. It was nearly eleven o'clock. Time to start.

  Gorodain concentrated on the vessel of his luck, reached out with an imaginary hand, closed fingers of power on the bronze mask. He began to push it along the cut-glass line, toward the flame in the center.

  He met resistance. He concentrated again, pushed harder. The mask wobbled but did not move. Gorodain felt his strength draining away. He ceased to push.

  He raised his right hand, brushed his smallest finger against the boss of the ring he wore. A small blade, no bigger than a fingernail trimming, flicked out. He drew back his left sleeve, spoke some words, and nicked the skin of his arm. A drop of blood fell into the green flame.

  The flame guttered, flattened, pooled on the glass. A darkness appeared, and Gorodain looked into it. He saw a man with pale skin, lying on a narrow bed, one arm thrown out straight, the hand clutching the bedpost.

  So, Gorodain thought, the key was not yet fully in the lock, the door was closed to him tonight. It was possible still for him to send another nightmare, perhaps force the issue. But that would cost more of his already depleted magic, and the ritual of feeding the flame was exorbitantly costly. There would be time. He had waited thirty years; he could wait another day. He made a gesture and the flame went out.

  •

  It had rained all day, and by five in the afternoon showed no sign of stopping. Arianai and Theleme met no one on the street except a pair of cloaked and disgruntled City Guards, who looked after them as if bewildered that anyone would take a child out on a day like this.

  They sloshed and bustled down the side street—it didn't seem to have a name posted anywhere—to the sign of the dancing puppet, which now stood nearly still, just shivering in the wet.

  There was no one in the front of the shop, though lamps were lit. "Master Quard?" Arianai said. There was no answer. A small light came from a door behind the long counter.

  Arianai took the damp cape from Theleme's shoulders. The girl was five, or perhaps six, but her face was ancient, hollowed under cheekbones and dull, unfocused eyes. "Wait right here, Theleme," Arianai said. "I'll be back in just a moment. Don't go anywhere, now."

  Theleme nodded. Arianai went behind the counter. "Master Quard?" she said into the dimness beyond the doorway.

  "No farther," Quard's voice carne back softly. "How did the night go?"

  "The cat did help," Arianai said. "She slept for a few hours—but then she began to scream again."

  "All right. Go back to her. I'll be out."

  Arianai did so. She saw that Theleme was slowly looking around the walls of the shop, at the toys. Perhaps, Arianai thought, they had made an opening; perhaps the key was in the lock.

  Quard came out. He wore a long robe of blue and yellow, with a matching skullcap. Without a word, he went to the windows and lowered the blinds. The lamps were already lit. Then he bowed low to Theleme, and settled down to sit cross-legged on the floor before her, his clothes billowing around him. The effect was at once clownish and impressive.

  "You would be Mistress Theleme," Quard said in a respectful tone.

  Theleme nodded.

  "I am Quard Toymaker, Quard of Dancing Wood, and your friend the healer Arianai has brought you to me, through the storm and the cold and the wet, because I need your help in a thing."

  "Yes, master?"

  "Sit down, mistress." Quard spread his arms above his lap. Theleme looked at Arianai, who nodded. Theleme sat down, cradled on Quard's knee.

  "Now, mistress," he said, "do you know of the Farlands? The Countries of Always-Cold?"

  "Anni has told me stories."

  Quard shot a curious glance at Arianai, then said, "There is a princess in the Farlands—just about your age."

  "What does she look like?"

  "I have never seen her," Quard said, "but they tell me she has yellow hair like yours, and violet eyes like Mistress Anni's, and the pale skin of all Farlanders."

  "Like yours?"

  "There you have it. Now, mistress, the princess is to have a birthday soon. Lean close to me." He whispered in Theleme's ear, and she nodded gravely.

  Quard said, "Now you understand how important this matter is?" Theleme nodded again. Any Liavekan, even the youngest, understood the seriousness of revealing a true birthday.

  "Now, mistress, comes my problem. The princess must have a gift for her birthday. But there are so many things in my shop, and I know them all so well, that I cannot choose one for her. Do you think you can help me?"

  Theleme put a finger to her mouth. She turned again to Arianai, who smiled and nodded.

  Quard helped Theleme stand up again, and she began to wander around the shop, looking wonderingly at the toys. She put out a hand hesitantly, drew it back.

  "Please touch," Quard said. "You will not break them."

  Theleme searched among the toys for a third of an hour. Arianai caught herself fidgeting; Quard just sat, smiling crookedly, his hands crossed in his lap.

  Arianai noticed that the backs of Quard's hands were entir
ely smooth, without a single hair. His face was just as bare below his eyebrows, without the shadow of a beard. Was Quard a woman? she wondered. The flowing robe made it difficult to tell. Not her business, she supposed. If this succeeded, she did not care if Quard was a troll.

  Theleme had picked up a toy and was bringing it to Quard. It was the soft camel-and-rider Arianai had seen on her first visit. Quard held out his hands and received the doll. "Why, this is it, Mistress Theleme; that is just the present for the princess. I never would have guessed it." Quard stood up in a fluid motion, holding the stuffed toy in both hands. "Perfect, perfect. I must arrange at once to send this to the Farlands."

  Theleme looked up at him, still as a sculpture, watching with dead eyes as the toy camel left her.

  Quard turned away, then spun full circle, his robe floating out. "Wait," he said, and sat down again. "Come closer, mistress."

  Theleme did so. Quard said, "My eyes are not what they once were, you know. Will you look closely at this toy, very close, and tell me if anything is wrong with it? A princess's gift must be perfect, you know."

  Theleme took hold of the toy, began to minutely examine it. As she did, Quard reached slowly to the back of her neck, began to rub it. Theleme leaned over the soft camel. Quard stroked downward. Theleme's head tipped forward and was pillowed on the camel's hump.

  Surprised and a little alarmed, Arianai said, "What did you—?"

  "Let nature take its course," Quard said softly, and then pressed a finger to his lips. He leaned close to Theleme and said, "They will ask me why, you know. Not the princess—she will be delighted, I am sure—but all the lords and ladies at court, they will want to know, 'Why that toy? Why a camel?' Surely you know how lords and ladies are, when they see something that is special to you. They always want to know Why."

  Eyes still shut, Theleme said, "Yes, Master Quard."

  "Tell me what the princess should say to them."

  Theleme said, in a startlingly clear voice, "The green man is there. He has to go away."

  "Is the green man bad? Is that why he has to go?"

  "He wants to hurt the princess. He wants her to die."

  "Do you see the green man, Theleme? Is he here?"