The Wizard of Anharitte (4 page)

‘I’m not even convinced there is any threat. A man who owns slaves must always be on guard against rebellion—and I fancy Dion runs less risk of this than most. But above all, the law must be neutral—or it ceases to be law and becomes tyranny. Let it not be said that a prefect of Anharitte used his position to persecute others on the word of an outworld merchant’s agent.

‘If you think you have a grievance against Dion-daizan you can have recourse to the supreme court in Gaillen. Or you can attempt to achieve satisfaction through the services of a society. But let them advise you on tactics. The societies know how to operate with discretion. If your feud moves .Into the ‘public realm I shall act—and act decisively and without favor. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Would you also move against the
Imaiz
if the necessity arose?’

‘The lords of Anharitte have certain rights of arms. Outside those, whoever destroys the peace of Anharitte will be forced to account to me. That goes for the
Imaiz
, for the other lords—and most especially for you, Ren. Agent you may be, but if you assume the role of
agent provocateur
, then you’ll not find us so hospitable.’

Ren scowled with disappointment. ‘I doubt the other lords would condone your tolerance toward the activities of Dion-daizan and his slaves.’

The prefect exploded in anger. ‘You’re an outworlder, Ren. Don’t try and tell me what Di Rode and Di Guaard and the Lady T’Ampere would or wouldn’t think. I was raised with these people. I know what they think better than they know it themselves.’

‘But you weren’t raised with the
Imaiz
,’ said Ren coldly. ‘Because the suggestion is very strong that he’s a Terran. Don’t tell me that doesn’t offend your precious law?’

For the first time Di Irons seemed unsure of himself.

‘You have evidence to support that statement?’

‘No positive proof as yet. But I will have. Don’t you query the rights of the claimants to your aristocratic Houses?’

‘Query?’ Di Irons was grimly amused. ‘Do you think I would dare look closely at the credentials of Di Rode or Di Guaard—or they at mine? How many murdered infants do you suppose would be found in the moats? Which unfortunate son went alive into his tomb behind the new wall in the tower? Whose mother is that demented crone who has sat in chains for thirty years in the dungeon? The rights of the title go to the claimant with the ability to survive at the top. The state acknowledges the title of the House—the holder of the title declares himself.’

‘I understand all that,’ said Ren patiently. ‘But surely the position is different if the occupant of the title is an outworlder?’

‘It would be—if the matter could be proved. Then I would have to act. But you’ve admitted you don’t have the evidence. Until you do, I submit you’re playing a very dangerous game.’

‘Dangerous in what way?’ asked Ren.

‘I know Dion well. He’s shrewd, resourceful—and his information is impeccable. What do you think he’ll be doing while you wander the countryside trying to stir trouble against him? I strongly advise you to guard your back, not to visit dark places alone and to engage a taster to test your food. If you were to die—I’m sure I’d have a hard time trying to hang the responsibility on Dion-daizan.’

‘I’ll remember that. But in the meantime think over what I’ve said. I doubt even you would refuse a quarter of Magda’s share of the income from the spaceports concession.’

‘I prize some things above money,’ said Di Irons. ‘And one of them is life. Nobody in his senses provokes a needless quarrel with a man as far-reaching and formidable as Dion-daizan. I know it’s not fashionable among Free Traders to speak of magic and superstitions, but some of the works of the
Imaiz
are well beyond the powers of man.’

‘That I must yet have proved to me,’ said Tito Ren. ‘For the moment I prefer to regard him merely as an academic Terran adventurer with no supernatural powers.’

‘It would be churlish of me,’ said Di Irons, ‘not to wish you a successful venture. If what you’ve told me is true I stand to gain or lose as much as you. But I would need more reason than you’ve given before I raised my hand against the wizard of Anharitte. Take care, merchant. You’ve chosen a stronger enemy than you think.’

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. A watchman came in, apologized for the intrusion and handed Di Irons a note. The latter read it, looked questioningly at Ren for a moment—then his face broke into a wry smile.

‘It appears I spoke more truly than I knew. Don’t tell me after this that you don’t believe in the powers of the
Imaiz
.’

‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘You rent a bonded oil and spirit warehouse on the quayside of Firstwater?’

‘I do.’ Ren was half on his feet. ‘What’s the trouble?’

‘It’s on fire,’ said Di Irons. ‘You had best get down there. I think this will not be the last conversation we’ll be having on the matter, so you have my permission to proceed. But tomorrow I’ll be asking questions. I don’t tolerate the destruction of property in a private feud—and if I find proof that either you or Dion-daizan has done this deliberately, an accounting will have to be made.’

‘I’m not likely to set fire to my own warehouse,’ said Ren bitterly.

‘And Dion’s not stupid enough to indulge in ordinary arson,’ said Di Irons. ‘Or in any event, I’ve never been able to prove he is. If you find me some proof, Ren, I’ll guarantee to lay it where it belongs.’

Ren thought of returning to his chambers for his cushion-craft. Then he realized that the poling of the vehicle by stavebearers through the city streets and down the Trade Road would be a slow and tiresome business. A mule cart would be quicker—but not much. The total distance from the prefecture to Firstwater was no greater than two kilometers and much of the way lay down the slopes of Firsthill into the valley formed with Thirdhill on the other shore. Overall he calculated he could make the journey more quickly on foot and he set out at a labored jog—with complete disregard for lack of dignity or sweat.

He had barely cleared the fringes of the buildings and come out at the end of the Trade Road overlooking Firstwater when he became aware of the broad smoke column rising into the sultry air. If he had thought the fire might only be a minor one his surmise was soon corrected. Even through the dense smoke cloud he could see the bright seat of the flame—and its visibility at this distance told him that the conflagration must be total as far as his installation was concerned.

The Trade Road was easy to negotiate. Such carts as were on it were also moving downhill, laden with spectators eager to witness the fire. Most of these vehicles, braked with iron wedges and chains against the slope, were easily overtaken, and his urgent running raised a great deal of amused comment. On the Via Arena the crowds thickened and the road to Magda Crossing was nearly impassable in the direction of the river. Fortunately a group of Pointed Tails met him and forged him a path through the mobs to a point near the burning warehouse.

The Pointed Tails’ fire appliance was there—with all its hand-cranked absurdity. It was so obviously inadequate against the roaring inferno that it had not been put into even token use. Two other societies had also brought their appliances, but these were equally useless and stood well clear of the outer perimeter fence, where they would not be affected by the intense heat.

The fire itself was overwhelming. The whole building, with walls of massive stone blocks, vibrated with the tremendous roar of the furnace within. The structure had no windows, and the two exterior doors jetted streams of angry flame like enormous blowlamps. The roof, once a structure of heavily tarred wood, was completely gone. Surmounting the walls was a continuous crown of fire, which produced such intense heat that the spectators had to move back repeatedly to avoid being scorched.

The warehouse had two perimeter fences, one contained within the other, but it was now impossible to approach the building nearer than the confines of the outer fence. Here Ren found Catuul Gras, his face heavy red from the heat. Catuul was watching the progress of the conflagration with frank disbelief. His expressive glance at Ren suggested both physical and mental agony. He gestured toward his own useless fire appliance.

‘I took the liberty of calling on the spaceport for emergency assistance. I hope I did right.’

‘Exactly right,’ approved Ren. ‘How did the fire start?’

‘We don’t know. No goods have moved in or out of the warehouse for fifteen days. Everything was secure on the last round of the society guards and the picket between the fences has been strictly maintained. The fire started behind locked doors and we’re certain that nobody could have entered.’

‘Could some sort of time fuse or incendiary mechanism have been placed inside?’

Catuul grimaced. ‘I know of no device obtainable hereabouts with such a long delay. But if you’re thinking this is the work of the
Imaiz
you pose a paradox. Those doors were sealed several days before your quarrel with Dion-daizan became actual. You could only suspect his hand if you were prepared to credit him with the magical powers you deny he possesses.’

‘Nevertheless, the timing’s too perfect to be a matter of coincidence. Even Di Irons hinted he suspected that the
Imaiz
was behind it. Well, if it is Dion’s work and there’s any evidence left to prove it, it will give us a good start for our harassment. Di Irons is all set to string up the
Imaiz
by the thumbs if he’s found responsible for the destruction of property during a private feud. All he needs is proof—and here come the boys who can give it to us.’

Movement among the watchers on the road signaled the arrival of the cushion-craft emergency tender from the spaceport. Behind it came two more tenders containing compound foam and chemicals. They were deftly manipulated into place. In complete contrast to the laughable native fire appliances, these three vehicles, normally reserved for spacecrash emergencies, were magnificently equipped and manned by trained and competent crews. Within seconds the great pumps were working and hoses were being run ‘out as far as the river to bring in the additional water necessary to complete the work of the foam coverage.

Pictor Don, the spaceport’s emergency commander, spared neither Ren nor Catuul a glance as he deployed his facilities for maximum effect. The foam from the hoses hit the side of the building and whatever it touched it solidified into glass slag and instantly formed an air-excluding seal that was also an impressive heat-reducing barrier. The properties of the solidifying foam were such that it could easily withstand the temperatures involved, while its noncommunicating cellular structure was light, yet strong enough to prevent the collapse of all but the heaviest parts of buildings. In dealing with a fire of these proportions the shell of the building could literally be filled with foam in a matter of minutes with a hundred per cent expectation of complete extinction of the fire.

The radiated heat fell away dramatically as the foam blanket coated the walls and the forecourt. Ren and Catuul followed the fire team nearer as the work of filling the building’s shell with foam began. After a short while, however, they became aware that something was wrong—the flames in the interior, instead of yielding, had become concentrated in one central spot and now roared like a volcano. The flare hurled large pieces of congealed foam high into the air to fall at a distance, to the intense consternation of the onlookers.

Finally Pictor Don dropped down from his command point and came over to Ren.

‘What have you got in there, Tito? Rocket fuel?’

The agent shook his head. ‘No. Mainly high-grade crude oils and essential oils waiting shipment offworld to Rance for refining.’

‘But the oxidants,’ protested Don. ‘You should know better store oxidants with flammables.’

‘There are no oxidants there. In fact, no tonnages of oxidants are available on Roget.’

Pictor Don shook his head. ‘That foam can extinguish anything up to and including a blazing well-head without trouble. But you’ve got something in there that could have put the whole building comfortably into orbit had the jet been pointed down instead of up. A few tons of liquid oxygen would do the trick with your high-grade oil—but without oxygen you couldn’t produce a flare like that in a million years.’

‘No oxygen,’ said Ren. ‘There’s not a liquid oxygen plant within sixteen light-years of Roget and it’s a dead certainty that oxygen is not imported.’

A cry from a member of the fire team indicated that the situation was changing. Pictor Don returned to his post and saw the bright plume of flame above the building gradually diminish and finally become extinguished by the solidifying foam. The fire was out.

‘What happens now?’ asked Catuul.

‘First they extract the heat from the surface by cooling the mass with water. Then they progressively add alkali to the water and this slowly dissolves the foam. By control of what they spray they can stop the process at any point to allow the removal of potentially dangerous masonry or to inspect for signs of arson before,the evidence is too much disturbed.’

The fire team was now spraying river water from its hoses, but such was the heat-insulating effectiveness of the cellular mass that very little of the intense heat still trapped below the surface was available to be carried away by the water. Pictor Don mounted a hydraulic hoist and climbed from it to the surface of the foam filling the building’s walls. The strength of the glasslike substance was such that his weight barely dented the surface. He scrunched over almost the entire area of the warehouse on a quick tour of inspection.

He ordered alkali to be applied. About a thirty-centimeter layer of the foam was stripped from the surface by chemical leaching. Newly exposed fragments of the building were cooled with water and a second round of inspection followed.

Then the emergency commander approached the edge of the building and called over the wall. ‘Get Tito Ren up here—and that Pointed Tail fellow.’

Somewhat reluctantly Ren and Catuul Gras allowed themselves to be conducted to the hoist and raised to the top of the wall. There was something unnerving about stepping onto a layer of foam that had been a sprayable liquid such a short time before. The surface felt alarmingly fragile. Overcoming their fears, however, the two walked across the crunching surface toward Pictor Don. At a certain point he cautioned them to stop.