probably be too ashamed. There are some new ones on the chair. What do you think, will dark colors suit you?”
I usually leave rhetorical questions unanswered. In any case, For knows perfectly well that it’s handier to work in dark clothes at night and—let’s be frank about it—far less dangerous. Only a madman would dress up in white to enter the houses of rich men who would probably spot him from a hundred yards away and arrange a warm welcome, followed by a hard poke with something very sharp.
The clothes were a good fit, except that the shirt was a bit tight in the shoulders, but that was only a minor problem. My gaze fell on a table beside the window set with food and my stomach gurgled in craving.
“I see that your nocturnal stroll has not damaged your appetite, so perhaps it’s time we sat down at the table and thanked Sagot for another day of life?” said For, putting the book down and getting up out of his chair.
“When did you start reading old books on magic?” I wasn’t aware that my old friend had developed a new interest.
“I wasn’t really reading it,” For said with a shrug as he walked toward the table. “Merely a cursory valuation of the goods. You could get three or four hundred for both books. I can suggest a buyer; I still haven’t lost my old contacts.”
“I don’t need gold just at the moment,” I muttered, sitting down at the table.
The warm rays of the setting sun pierced the elegant wooden lattice on the windows like lances and fell on my face. The evening sky was blazing like incandescent steel.
“But you hold on to the books in any case, someday I might have to sell them,” I said.
“All right,” For agreed with a nod.
He had an interest in the deal as well—twenty percent of the selling price. The money would always come in handy for Sagot’s shrine.
“But just what do you think you’re doing sitting there? You ought to wash your hands at least, you dirty swine, honestly!”
“I washed my hands, I washed my hands,” I growled, but I got up obediently and went to the washstand.
I really was dirty, and I needed a wash. I only grumbled for form’s sake, because of the hellish tiredness that I still felt even after sleeping all day long.
“And have a shave while you’re at it! You look like a real bandit, kid!” For’s voice said behind me.
I mechanically ran one hand over my three-day stubble.
“It’ll do as it is. I’m not going to the royal ball, after all!” I snorted, lowering my hands into the water. “There’s no time. I still have to deal with a whole gang of horse breeders.”
“Well, you know best. Anyway, tell me what it was like in there. We ought to record it for the chronicles and future generations.”
“So you’ve become a chronicler as well now? The things you discover about your old teacher!” I said, going back to the table.
“The old knowledge is slipping out from our world very rapidly. A lot has already been lost.” For sighed. “You must agree that your story could help a lot of people, especially as this is primarily for the chronicle of the shrine of Sagot.”
“I have no objections,” I said with a shrug. “Why not? You don’t mind if I talk and eat at the same time, do you?”
“Of course not, kid, of course not. Carry on, and after your story, I’ll tell you a bit about the papers you retrieved.”
“Is there anything important in them? I just grabbed what was there at hand.”
“There is, but we’ll get to that later, there’s no hurry. Come on then, don’t keep me on tenterhooks.”
He didn’t have to persuade me, especially since I had plenty to talk about and a lot of impressions to share. And I needed to get it all out, otherwise my adventures that night could easily drive me mad.
I started my story from the moment I first arrived at Stark’s Stables. For listened without speaking—my teacher had always been a good listener. To judge from his face, what bothered him most were the thieves who had been hired by some unknown individual. He didn’t seem particularly impressed by the Jolly Weeper or the long- dead archmagician.
“Someone’s following the same road as you are, kid. True, he’s always too late, but how long can that go on for? How long can you go on making a fool of the Master by keeping one step ahead of him? I made inquiries, looked through our archives. Not a thing. Not a single mention. As if he didn’t even exist and all this was just a fantasy of yours.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You just eat that roll. I believe you. But what amazes me is that such secrecy is possible. Something always has to surface somewhere.”
“But not this time.”
“Right. It’s not the Nameless One, but I think you’ve already realized that. The wizard from the Desolate Lands doesn’t have the power to release all the demons. So who is this Master, if he possesses such great might, long life, and extensive knowledge?”
“A god?” I chuckled.
“Don’t talk nonsense. Although . . . he is worshiped and served by all different sorts of people. Let’s try pulling on that chain. The Duke Patin, no mean figure in Valiostr, served the Master. So does Markun and, consequently, at least half his henchmen in the guild as well. Who else? Magicians? Royal officials? Courtiers? And
