The Wizard of Anharitte (10 page)

Di Guaard’s scowl changed to an expression of intense consternation. ‘You mean the Tyrene came overland across T’Empte?’ He consulted his charts again and then threw them furiously back on the table. He rounded on Ren in a frightening blaze of anger.

‘Liar! What mischief are you selling, merchant? Dion-daizan keeps close watch on the inland waters. If any Tyrene were coming that way he’d have been sure to let me know.’

‘Listen to me.’ Ren let his voice grow loud for the first time. ‘While you watch for the Tyrene an even greater threat is growing right beneath your feet. Dion-daizan is educating slaves. If enough become educated there will be a revolution that will ruin us all more surely than any pirate raid.’

‘Really?’ Di Guaard’s face lit up with the malicious interest of a wolf about to tear apart a particularly succulent lamb. ‘And what makes an outworld merchant’s lackey presume to tell the lords of Anharitte what they should or should not do with their slaves? Dion’s more capable than most at controlling an uprising among his bondslaves. Dion’s more than capable of controlling anything.’ As he said this last phrase, Di Guaard’s voice fell to an unexpected wistfulness, as if even he acknowledged the power of the
Imaiz
.

‘I didn’t say he wasn’t,’ said Ren, suddenly forced on to the defensive. ‘My point was that his activities are likely to cause an uprising.’

The suggestion was wasted on Di Guaard, who was rounding the table with a maniacal expression of glee on his face. His gross hands were shaping themselves to fit Ren’s throat.

‘Shall I tell you, merchant, the real purpose of your visit? You’re an agent of the Tyrene trying to cause dissension and to divert my attention. You want to get your ships up the Aprillo while I turn my back to watch Thirdhill for the rising of a few slaves. Well, you’ve not succeeded. I’ve been watching you wily tricks too long. I know you—and I know you’re out there waiting for the chance to strike. Do you take me for a fool?’

Ren retreated uneasily before the big man’s advance. He was not sure but the fellow’s derangement might extend to his doing actual physical damage. And Ren did not dare to draw his blaster—circumstances might force him to use it. He could kill Di Guaard in self-defense, but the political repercussions would certainly end the Company’s tenure on Roget. He continued his protests while the madman stalked him with a grim and ferocious amusement.

Finally he realized that flight was the only sensible expedient. Gauging his distance carefully, he ran for the door and slammed it behind him. Something heavy and ceramic shattered to pieces against the wood inside the room. From the insane laughter that followed he deduced that Di Guaard was unlikely to continue in pursuit, but for Ren the incident was a humiliating failure. He was not going to gain from Di Guaard the support he needed.

In an alcove at the head of the stair Ren found Sonel Taw ostensibly waiting to escort him out of the establishment. Ren thought it more than probable that Taw had been listening at Di Guaard’s door and had been surprised by the sudden emergence of the visitor. Since the castellan would probably be called upon to account for why he had allowed a Tyrene spy to enter his master’s presence, Ren did not blame the man for seeking information in order to prepare his lies in advance. The life of a castellan in the service of Di Guaard could certainly be no sinecure.

This conjecture, however, was not an idle thought. If Sonel Taw took the trouble to keep himself fully informed of everything that took place in the castle he could probably be of more use to the company’s cause than Di Guaard himself. Ren decided to test the truth of this proposition. When they were safely out of the keep and crossing the inner bailey he turned to Taw meaningfully.

‘The Lord Di Guaard is plentifully supplied with information regarding the whereabouts and movements of pirates. I find this odd, since common consent has it that the pirates are no more.’

The castellan looked past him carefully.

‘It could be,’ he said, ‘that common consent is wrong, Agent Ren. Di Guaard has many spies. They report frequently and are rewarded with coin. It has been suggested that many of the things they tell are more than the truth, since they are well paid for what they say. But there’s another who tells much and yet asks nothing in return.’

‘Specifically who?’ asked Ren.

‘Your friend the
Imaiz
.’ Taw was craftily watching the agent out of the corners of his eyes. ‘He claims to keep watch over the inland waters and brings special reports regularly to Lord Di Guaard. Di Guaard is always much pleased to see him, and the wizard quiets his tantrums considerably. With so much impressive support for the existence of pirates, do you think it wise for you or me to disbelieve?’

The castellan was purposely mocking his own words, hinting at the existence of a conspiracy—a development Ren had already deduced for himself. If Di Guaard was mad enough to believe that the Tyrene plunderers still functioned, others could gainfully manufacture evidence in support of the belief. For some the incentive was obvious—a purse full of money. For others, such as Sonel Taw and members of the castle household, support of the myth probably meant the continuance of their livelihood and possibly their lives. But what had Dion-daizan to gain from the charade?

‘Do you know why I came to see Di Guaard today?’

Sonel Taw shrugged. His wizened old face wrinkled with guile. ‘Anharitte is full of the news that you and the
Imaiz
have joined in feud. It’s reasonable to assume that you came here looking for an ally.’

‘A fair assumption.’ Ren looked at him searchingly. ‘But I didn’t find one. At least not in Delph Di Guaard. But now I ask myself about you.’

‘To help you in a feud against the
Imaiz
?’ Sonel Taw was obviously worried by the suggestion.

‘Not actively, of course,’ Ren reassured him. ‘But I need information about Dion-daizan. I need to know why he humors Di Guaard and what he might gain from such a curious association. I’d like to be informed of when he visits Castle Di Guaard—at what hour he’s likely to return from such visits and what routes he’ll most probably use. In short, I need to know anything about Dion-daizan that might conceivably be turned to his disadvantage. And if your ear is as well affixed to locks as it appears to be, you’ll already know that the Company has an excellent history of rewarding its friends for their time and vigilance.’

‘I’ve often heard as much,’ said Sonel Taw. ‘And that’s the type of friendship a man could learn to appreciate. But if someone made this information available to you—would it be certain that no news of it ever got back to Di Guaard?’

‘All information is treated in the strictest confidence. Nothing can ever, be traced back to its source through me. Nor do I keep records of what moneys have been paid. Or to whom.’

‘Then I think you may have gained another friend,’ said Taw. ‘Not that I would hold any man of Di Guaard’s household capable of subversion—but should a messenger be received—claiming to have been sent by me, it would seem reasonable that he might be believed. And if a friend might bless my savings so that they multiply, I should not, through humility, be offended.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Ren said. ‘I’m a believer in humility’s achieving its just rewards. You know, talking with you has been an education. I’m sure my knowledge of events in Castle Di Guaard will improve.’

They had passed from the inner bailey to the outer during this conversation and were now entering one of the two formidable gatehouses that gave access to the town. Upon Sonel Taw’s approach the guard sprang meticulously into action. Taw had merely to wave his hand to initiate the raising of the portcullis. In the roof of the gate tunnel were slits through which nil kinds of merciless fire and bolts could be discharged. Beyond it, the gate of heavy wood plated with iron lay between the overseeing flanking-towers. Farther still the outward path was confronted by the outworks of the barbican tower.

Ren made a mental note that nobody could enter or leave without Sonel Taw’s permission and the cooperation of the guards. By a mental inversion he decided that the walls and gates, being impregnable to all save modern technological assault, not only formed a rare defense position but would also make a very secure prison. He had no immediate use for this information, but he stored it in his mind for future reference. There were some advantages in being all outworlder—it gave him a unique perspective on installations traditionally designed for specific local purposes. Ren felt that his tenure in Anharitte, as elsewhere, was bound to generate some new values and he was determined to be the first not only to recognize but also to apply these altered truths to the Company’s and his own advantage.

As he walked back past the wayward, half-timbered houses of the quaint alleys and streets, Ren’s speculations were soon eclipsed by a more immediate concern. His recent conversation with Alek Hardun had shaken him severely. Hardun had been introduced as a professional trouble shooter, Ren now felt that Hardun’s real function was that of a professional troublemaker. The equipment in the space-going laboratory that was the battle cruiser was directed primarily to one end—the sophisticated extermination of people.

For all his merchant-acumen and ambition, Ren still had reservations about the deliberate taking of life. His worldliness had inured him to the fact that some extremes of provocation could only be resolved by bloodshed, In self-defense or fair fighting, losers were apt to have to pay the irrevocable penalty. This was a fact of life and Ren accepted it, but Hardun’s projected subtle poisoning of dozens—if not hundreds—of people who would be mainly unaware that they were the subjects of an attack stuck in Ren’s throat. This he regarded as an atrocity, a treatment suitable for the extermination of lice and vermin but not to be confused with the humane waging of a battle.

Alek Hardun had chided Ren for expressing these sentiments.

‘You’re confusing the issues, Tito,’ he had said. ‘You were born several centuries too late. We know the ancients used to impose rules on warfare, presumably to prolong the enjoyment of the game. But the brutal fact is that we’re not here to fight—we’re here to win. I’ve offered you a dozen virtually foolproof ways of winning and you’ve rejected them all because of some romantic notion that the enemy deserves a chance.

‘Do you think the bowmen stood a chance when the cannon was invented? Do you think the artillery stood a chance against the introduction of nuclear weapons? Within the whole spectrum of devices for furthering man’s inhumanity to man, you have the temerity to stop at some arbitrary point and say: “Death devices on the left are sporting and humane while those on the right aren’t.” Such a stand is neither logical nor intelligent. And if you can’t bring yourself to do the job you’ve started to do, I’m damned if I won’t finish it for you.’

There had been more, a lot more. Ren had become increasingly angry and Hardun had become more professionally cruel and taunting. He had effectively dismantled Ren’s plans to conduct a campaign against the
Imaiz
and had produced alternative suggestions which Ren could only regard with horror. The effect of that conversation had lingered a long time in Ren’s mind and he was determined to compare the strength of his convictions with those of the director. Vestevaal, unfortunately, had been away for several days, making a tour of Company trading installations, and Ren had’ been left with the question festering in his mind.

When Ren reached his office chambers the director still had not returned. Ren found instead that his computer printout terminal had been busy. In it lay the precious list of slaves carefully culled from reconstructed histories to show those who could most possibly be agents of the
Imaiz
. He scanned the list anxiously, but the names meant nothing to him. For Catuul Gras, who knew everyone and everything in Anharitte, the situation would be different. Ren stuffed the list into his pocket and hastened to the Lodge of the Society of Pointed Tails.

As usual, the senior scribe was expecting him. Ren speculated that there must be very few movements of importance of which the Pointed Tails were unaware, such was the superlative nature of their spy web in Anharitte. He laid the list before Catuul, who examined it carefully. For some unstated reason his enthusiasm was not apparent.

‘I’ll have our slave masters investigate this without delay—but discreetly. No word of it must get out until we’re sure. If the suspects became suspicious it would be easy for them to desert back to Magda.’

‘I’ll leave it to you,’ said Ren. ‘But it’s still action only in a negative sense. It’s a defensive move. What I must have from you is some scheme with a positive effect.’

‘And you’ll have it, friend Tito. I promised you a scheme of feud and harassment against Dion-daizan and this has now been prepared. To your outworld eyes it may seem a little superficial—but believe me, in terms of effectiveness in Anharitte its cumulative value is equivalent to a major disaster.’

‘I’ll accept that you know what you’re doing. But time’s becoming critical, Catuul. I’m under pressure to destroy the influence of the
Imaiz
and to do it fast. If your scheme can’t produce results quickly we’ll be forced into taking a more direct line and attacking Dion-daizan himself.’

‘What sort of time-scale did you have in mind?’

‘I think a couple of weeks only. Hardun is already campaigning with the Free Trade Council for permission to take a tougher line. I think I can stall them for a while, but we mustn’t miss any opportunity to hit Dion hard.’

.‘You’re worried about something, aren’t you, friend Tito?’ The scribe was suddenly questioning.

‘Yes, I am. I’ve come to have a great deal of respect for your culture, Catuul. As a Company man I can’t afford to risk losing access to the spaceport, but outside of that proviso I believe you’ve a right to settle your problems in your own way and without your society’s becoming unduly contaminated by outworld interference. But I’m afraid that if you don’t settle the
Imaiz
soon, a more ruthless faction among the Free Traders will bring such pressures to bear that Anharitte will never be the same place after.’