Fost stood, too, paused uncertainly, stuck out his hand to the banker. She shook it with strong, dry fingers. Then she came around the desk to hold open the door for him and Moriana.
'Great Ultimate!' Erimenes yelped as Fost passed through. 'Have you seen what they're doing on that hanging?'
Ostentation at the House of Omsgib-Bir went more than skin deep. Tulmen Omsgib faced his motley visitors across several acres of desk, nodded judiciously, and popped a jellied sweet into his mouth. His thin beard, long face, high-bridged nose and big, sad eyes made him look like a goat, an effect accentuated by the unconscious nodding of his head up and down as he chewed.
'It is a pleasure to see you again so soon, Your Highness,' he said in a voice so oily it might have been poured from a bottle.
'Let's not mince words, Omsgib,' snapped Moriana. 'You never expected to see me again when you sent me penniless from your door. You were so smugly sure my sister would win. And did you think she might reward you for failing to release the City's funds to me, the rightful ruler?' She laughed, a harsh, strident sound. 'I'm sure Synalon would have rewarded you amply. But in a coin other than you expected.'
His goat eyes took on a look of abject pain. Fost, who knew the banker by sight and reputation but had never seen him up close, halfway expected to see a goat's bar-shaped pupils peering forth.
'I'm sorry Your Highness fails to appreciate my discretion. Mine is a fiduciary trust; the welfare of my accounts is in my hands.' He held up brown claws dabbed with cornstarch powder to hide the age spots covering them. 'When you have acquired more of the mellowing and maturity that aging brings, you will understand that my caution was motivated by sincere concern for your best interests. I not only look after my client's account, I attempt wholeheartedly to take the welfare of that client into account, too.' He smiled at his small play on words.
Moriana looked as if she were about to spit on the deeply woven purple carpet. Dolefully, the banker ate another sweet. Fost shifted on the uncomfortable velvet upholstered stool a servitor had brought, and wished it had been Omsgib's table he'd rested his boots on. However, no sooner had they entered the elaborately graven portals of the House of Omsgib-Bir than they were ushered in to see the master himself, after first being courteously but firmly relieved of their weapons. Evidently, news of Moriana's victory in the Sky City, no matter how shortlived, had reached Omsgib's ears. Or maybe the goatlike gleam that came into his eyes whenever they fell on the swell of her breasts accounted for the solicitousness with which he'd greeted her.
'I don't see any need for further discussion,' Moriana said stonily, marking the direction of the banker's gaze. 'I am the Queen of the City in the Sky. I want the funds held in the City's accounts released to me. And I want them now. Any excuse for not releasing them I suggest you save for a court of arbitration.'
He looked aggrieved and tossed three more candies into his mouth, one after the other. 'I do wish you'd not take that attitude, Highness.'
'So you are going to try to weasel out!' She half-rose. Fost expected to see smoke rising from the roots of her hair, as had happened with Synalon when she was murderously angry. Omsgib flung up his hands, as if to protect himself. 'No, no!' he bleated. 'I mean – well, that is…'
'Yes,' Moriana finished for him. She permitted Fost to take her arm and draw her back into her chair. 'I believe…' started Omsgib, then his voice cracked. He ran a thick, pale worm of a tongue over bloodless lips. He sipped hurriedly from a silver goblet of wine at his elbow and cleared his throat. Seeing that he was in no real physical danger, his composure settled over him once again like a thick, greasy blanket. A small smile curled the corners of his mouth and his eyes regained their luster.
'I believe, Your Highness,' the banker started again, 'that on your last visit I pointed out that, from my standpoint as administrator of the Sky City's accounts, actual possession of the City accounted for more than legal niceties. A cruel fact, but a fact nonetheless, and as a responsible banker I must deal solely in facts.
'And the fact is, you are an exile, and therefore not properly Queen of the City in the Sky, any more now than before.'
Her eyes glowed wrathfully beneath scowling brows. Her fingers tensed into fists, then uncurled again. The princess forced herself to take several deep breaths before speaking.
'That's as it may be. But there's no denying I'm the sole surviving heir of the royal family of the Sky City. On that basis you cannot deny me access to the funds.'
He placed his palms together like a mendicant goat. His expression told that he was beginning to enjoy this exchange of verbal sword thrusts and thought he had the winning blade.
'I could not deny you access to the funds,' he agreed sanctimoniously, 'were that the case.'
'Were that the case?' demanded Moriana, her face darkening with an inrush of angry blood. 'That you were the sole surviving heir.'
She lunged to her feet with such speed that her chair fell over and its back cracked on the floor. Her hands tightened into hard fists and she leaned forward onto the desk. Omsgib cowered back, even though she was a full desk's width distant. 'What nonsense is this?' she cried.
Fost had to admire the way the banker recovered to face the raging princess.
'What I mean,' Omsgib said, satisfaction in his oily voice, 'is that you are the second party in two days to come forward claiming to be sole and rightful heir to the City.'
'Who's the damned impostor?' Had her arms been long enough, Fost thought she would have reached across the desk to choke an answer from the banker.
'No impostor at all, or so I believe. She's a quite striking young lady, who goes to no pains to conceal her considerable personal beauty.' He looked meaningfully at Moriana's businesslike garb of tunic and trousers and boots. 'She's tall, like yourself, and as inclined to be overbearing. Her hair is as black as the soul of Darkness, if I may wax poetic. Her name…' He drummed thin fingers on the desktop while he studied the ceiling with one eye, the other closed. Moriana quivered with need to hear the name.
'Ah! I have it now,' said Omsgib, donning a crudely counterfeited expression of recollection. 'Her name is Synalon Etuul.'
Squinting in the bright sunlight cascading in through the translucent skylight, Fost peered into faces he had only expected to see again in a nightmare.
'You're looking well, Long-strider,' said Prince Rann Etuul, giving the peculiar Sky City inflection to Fost's Nevrym-given surname. 'You should thank whoever broke your nose like that. It gives you an impressively rakish air.' 'It was one of your damned lizard friends.'
'Indeed?' Rann replied, one slim eyebrow arching. 'I had no 'lizard friends.' If by chance you refer to one of the Zr'gsz, I might remind you it was your comrade Moriana who enlisted the Fallen Ones as friends.' He smiled, showing a hint of fine, white tooth. 'If that's the case, I sympathize. I narrowly escaped death from one of the reptile folk myself.'
Fost looked down at the tabletop, cursing himself for letting fear-spawned anger speak for him. Even in the most secure room of the most prestigious negotiation and intermediary firm in Tolviroth Acerte, with the company's armed guards standing by in case one of the parties attacked the other, Rann jockeyed for advantage. And letting emotion run away with him, Fost knew, gave Rann considerable advantage.
'We both made our pacts with the Dark Ones, sister dear,' said Synalon from where she lazily sprawled at Rann's side. 'And they both proved worthless. Let's leave the past and see what the future provides, shall we?'
For the first time since the Safesure Intermediary Company guards had escorted her into the room, color came to Moriana's face. 'I made no pact with the Dark Ones!' she flared.
'You bargained with Their chosen,' the dark haired woman pointed out. 'Surely, you didn't think that the Fallen Ones would do anything contrary to the interests of their masters?' It was Moriana's turn to avert her eyes and berate herself for giving advantage to a foe. She had thought exactly that, and she did not need the studied irony in Synalon's voice to tell her how foolish that thought had been.
Fost took a drink from the cup of wine at his elbow. One of the attendants, swaddled in white scale armor, looked to his sergeant, who nodded, and then stepped forth to refill the cup. The cup was of thin beaten silver, not for purpose of decoration but because a heavier one might be used as a bludgeon. Even one of ceramic might be broken to provide a sharp-edged, makeshift knife. Silver was too soft to hold an edge, and the flimsy cup would simply collapse if used to strike someone. The wine itself was scientifically diluted and its serving carefully overseen to produce a calming effect. Safesure took its responsibilities seriously, which was why Captain Arindin had recommended them so highly for this ticklish reunion. It was fortunate that the rival royal parties had encountered
