Vorcan nodded her slow agreement. ‘That is so.’ She glanced to him sidelong, pushing back her thick hair. ‘And you? What of you?’
‘I do not need to think anything over.’
He leaned to her and they kissed.
She bumped him with her bare shoulder and together they took in the view for a time. ‘So tell me,’ she said, after the silence, ‘how did he escape us? What was his last trick?’
Rallick’s eyes narrowed and he studied her from their very edges. He slowly shook his head. She cast him one quick look then let go a wistful sigh and rested her shoulder against his.
‘Well … had to try.’
*
A knock brought Barathol to the door; this time he came without any reluctance as the tapping sounded hesitant, almost respectful. He opened the door to see a worker there, a teamster. The man jerked a nod. ‘Was hired to deliver someone to this house,’ the fellow said.
‘Oh?’
The man motioned to the wagon. Someone was sitting hunched in the rear bed. A great wide figure of a man; he appeared to be studying the space between his feet.
Barathol’s breath caught in his chest and he took one hesitant step out. He approached slowly, silently, until he stood right before the big man, who caught sight of his feet and raised his gaze all the way up Barathol’s figure to his eyes, and a hugely wide smile broke there on his face and he said, ‘Thol!’
Barathol could not answer. He reached out to gently squeeze the man’s arm. Finally, he succeeded in clearing his throat to say thickly, ‘Chaur … welcome back.’
Smiling, nodding, the big man slipped from the wagon bed. He peered around eagerly like a child.
The teamster coughed. Barathol looked at him. ‘Got another job too,’ the man said.
‘Another?’
‘Yessir. On my way here. Was stopped by an odd little fellow. He hired me to take you out to your villa, now. If you wish.’
‘My … villa?’
‘Yessir. East of the city, up in the hills.’
His hand still on Chaur’s shoulder, Barathol turned to the row-house to yell, ‘Scillara! Get the lad! We’re going for a ride!’
*
In the middle of the night south of the city on the Dwelling Plain Scorch and Leff fought to secure a heavy man-sized bundle to a tripod and barrel winch set up over an open well. They knocked each other’s hands aside and fought and cursed one another as they wrestled with the heavy weight.
Every now and then the bundle, a contorted hunchbacked man wrapped in chains and gagged, exploded in a fit of writhing fury, struggling to escape and cursing them from behind the gag. His mismatched eyes bulged and his big mangled hands clawed at the chains. ‘Shut up, ya evil fiend!’ Leff yelled at the bound man. Then the two ducked and peered round nervously.
‘Quiet!’ Scorch hissed.
‘I am being quiet,’ Leff answered. ‘You be quiet.’ He yanked on the iron hook. ‘Got that on secure?’
‘’Course!’
‘Okay, so, what we do is take hold of the handles-’
Scorch pointed to the barrel. ‘Have to flip the latch thing first.’
‘No — you don’t have to do that. You just ease off on the handles slow like …’
‘No. The latch thingy has to be over.’
The bound man suspended over the well attempted to say something as he slowly spun. He repeated it louder and more urgently.
‘No — I remember succinctly how it went-’
‘Dissinctly. You mean you remember dissinctly.’
‘Don’t you pick apart my language — you just know I’m right.’
The hanging man yelled something unintelligible through his gag.
Scorch gave him a savage push. ‘Shut the Abyss up!’
The man swung and hit the side of the mouth of the well. The jerk shook the chain. The barrel winch rocked and the latch in its teeth slipped with a metallic ping.
The hanging figure disappeared with a hissing of rope as the barrel spun. A smothered roar echoed from the well, ending in a splash.
The two men had thrown themselves to the ground and now hesitantly rose to peer down into the darkness of the well. A weak groan sounded from below. They jumped to the handles and started rewinding the winch.
‘Y’know,’ began Scorch, ‘maybe one of us should go down first and the other lower ’im down to him.’
‘Sounds good,’ Leff grunted, heaving on the handle. ‘You go.’
‘No — you.’
‘Should be you.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Your idea.’
For a time Scorch chewed on that as he worked. Finally he grunted a curse under his breath. ‘I hate bein’ the idea man.’
The Seguleh established a camp on the coast just outside the city of Callows. The curious and the just plain gawkers from the city were so many that the mayor was forced to post guards at a respectful distance around the camp simply to keep the hordes away. The mayor was just thankful that so far no one had been killed and he hoped the vessels would be readied soon, for the disruption of the Seguleh’s presence to the city’s daily trade and business had been crippling.
On the third day Sall approached his father, Lo, where he stood facing the calm waters of the sheltered inlet. He bowed, requesting permission to speak.
‘Yes?’
‘Father … I have questions about what happened in the Great Hall …’
Lo slowly turned to face him more directly. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes.’ Sall drew a breath to steel himself. ‘Would you really have led us on a charge through the Moranth and on through the city — as you claimed?’
The tall slim man, extraordinarily slim even for the Seguleh, nodded his masked head as he considered the question. Seven hatch marks still marred the pale oval of that mask, as the First had judged that all challenges must wait until they were once more on the testing grounds at Cant. ‘It was a valid option. We would have finished the Moranth then passed on unharmed through the city, avoiding their fliers. Then we could have scattered into parties of two or three. Travelling only at night we would have reached the coast relatively unharmed. There was merit there.’
‘It was only chance, then, that it was the very option the First least wished to pursue. And because of that the mask did not come to you …’
Lo nodded again. ‘I merely presented the choice. Choices surround us every day, son. The test is in the choosing.’
Sall’s breath caught. ‘He passed your test.’
‘Yes. Sall, the truth of it is that once you are competent enough in your technique, or your speed is as great as it can be — then what differentiates those at the highest levels? The truth is that unquantifiable ability to read others. To enter into their skin. To be able to understand them so completely that you know what they will do before they do it themselves. A sort of complete empathy. Jan possessed that. We could not help but love him for it. Gall worshipped him. But Gall was a traditionalist and would not have followed the road Jan had chosen. And so Jan did what he had to do to ensure that the mask would not come to him. And Palla? Well, those two might as well have been husband and wife. She may never recover.’
‘And so it came to you — but you never challenged him!’
Lo’s voice took on an edge. ‘His entire life has been his test, Sall. That is my judgement.’
