“Well, he sat back and he told me a story, which he made me promise not to repeat to anyone—and naturally, I promised, since I am a man of my word, and—”
The crowd had burst into laughter, thinking that old Stoor had reached a punch line of sorts. He could not, of course, tell the robot’s story because there was no robot. A tall tale, then, to be enjoyed by all.
“Wait a minute! You got this one wrong! This ain’t no story. . . .”
But everyone continued to laugh and wink at each other, nodding their heads knowingly. Several of the number drifted off to refill their steins, others turned to each other for smaller, more private conversations. As if by some unspoken signal, Stoor’s turn in the spotlight had come abruptly to an end. The old man stared at his short, dark-haired companion. They shrugged at one another, stood up, and headed toward the bar.
As they passed the table of Varian and Tessa, the merchant marine touched the old man’s sleeve.
Stoor looked down at him quizzically.
“I believe you, old man,” said Varian.
“You want an award, maybe?” Stoor turned to go but was stopped by the hard, fast grip of the young sailor.
“Please,” said Varian. “I am serious. I know you tell the truth . . . about the . . . the robot.”
Stoor smiled and looked at Raim. “And how might you know that?”
“The Guardian,” said Varian. “He came to me, and he told me about the Guardian.”
The expression rapidly changed on Stoor’s face from amusement to shock, then quickly to acceptance. Sitting down on the bench next to Varian, Stoor looked quickly from Varian to the young woman, then back.
“It’s all right if she knows,” said Varian.
“Knows what?” said Tessa, grabbing his wrist.
“You tell me what you know,” said Stoor, his eyes boring into Varian with the intensity of a trapped animal.
“I shall tell you everything,” said Varian.
And he did.
Chapter Four
Needless to say, after listening to Varian’s tale, Stoor and Raim were convinced of several things: that Cartor Fillus and Kartaphilos were one and the same, that the robot’s story was consistent down to the smallest detail, and that it might be a good idea to set out in search of the mysterious Citadel.
There were, however, some “terms” which would have to be worked out.
Stoor’s primary objection was the presence of Tessa in the group, not because she was a woman—Stoor had always been a great admirer of women—but rather her lack of any skills that might assist their expedition. Her facility for language was her saving grace, and Varian repeatedly used this in her defense. It was a valuable asset to have someone who could communicate with practically anyone they might encounter.
There was another reason, however, why Varian wanted to include Tessa on the expedition. He was falling in love with her. Varian Hamer—no stranger to women—was able to admit to himself that it was happening. He thought that perhaps the present situation forced the issue, but it did not matter. The idea of not being with Tessa, or leaving her behind in some strange and hostile city, was unthinkable. Therefore, it must be love. So be it.
If old Stoor suspected any such motive, he kept silent about it. Either he respected the sentiment, or he was afraid of offending a man such as Varian. No matter.
The other thing to be decided was the object of the entire mission. Stoor and Raim had been soldiers of fortune for many seasons, and they had difficulty in thinking in terms of anything but money and its attendant mercenary aspects. In the past, all their expeditions were financed by an outside party; their part in the plan, a given, a guarantee. But in this new plan, there was a total risk. To bring in yet another member to the expedition would divide the spoils, plus risk competition (or worse) from unknown parties.
All these things were discussed at length in the bars of Ques’ryad, in its courtyards and plazas, and its sumptuous inns and liveries.
It was decided that passage by ship would be a very bad idea. A sailing vessel is a microcosm in which secrets are hard to keep, especially when they are held by more than one person. As convenient and safe and quick as a ship might be, it was ruled out. The first mate of The Courtesan was thus notified that Varian and the galley helper, Tessa, would not be making the trip back to Mentor.
The prospect of covering the known World on foot, or even on horseback, was a dizzying one, however; and Stoor set about solving this problem by contacting a wealthy Zend Avestan merchant, who owed several “favors” to Stoor of Hadaan. It seems as if, in past years, Stoor had been employed to find First Age artifacts for the merchant’s collection and private museum, located on his villa overlooking the Grünewald Bight. There were many times when Stoor had been requested to bring back very specific items, and when he succeeded, the merchant offered to reward him with special bonuses; Stoor had always declined, knowing that someday he would be able to “collect” on the owed favors.
The time to collect had come.
Ten years previous, Stoor had uncovered a First Age machine under the shifting sands that lapped upon the barricades of the Maaradin Fortress. It was a personnel carrier: semiarmored, fully treaded, light armament, and completely functional. It had somehow escaped destruction long enough to be interred by the ever-changing landscape, thereby preserved in the ultradry climate. The carrier had been a momentous discovery and regarded as a marvel of the First Age. It was in excellent condition, although the moving and electronic parts of the engine and ancillary equipment were corroded, even deteriorated to some extent. In other words, it would not run.
But if it
