'That is no ritual of magic,' Rosimar said. 'And the wand patterns were as ill-formed as those of a neophyte. No circles closed, and the cadence was off by at least half a beat. It takes perfection to perform magic, Holgon. I am surprised that your technique shows such a lack of grace. Is that what becomes of one who indentures himself to a trader instead of working in the security of a guild? Does he become a performer of street tricks that mimic magic and waste the watcher's time?'
'And I am still puzzled as well,' Augusta said. 'You speak of fortunes and futures, but Trocolar's desires are not enhanced if you give me a greater fee rather than none at all.'
'Yes, it would seem to be a conundrum for you, Augusta,' Trocolar agreed, 'a conundrum to be explained in its own due time. But as for me, it is quite simple. If my partner speaks false, then his tokens are forfeited to me. If his words are truth, ah, then, my scheming one, you will indeed have to worry about the cube.'
Augusta's eyes widened, but Trocolar did not explain further. He motioned for Holgon to follow and pushed through the others to the ladder leading upward.
'Send this one following after.' Rosimar pointed at Jemidon immediately after the trader's party had climbed to the top of the shaft. 'He deliberately sabotaged what has taken us months to assemble. Your investment is jeopardized and also my guild's.'
Augusta's face contorted in deep furrows. She rubbed her forehead while squinting her eyes closed. 'No, Rosimar, no more for today. Trocolar's threats are enough. For the moment, I wish only to think of the fact that his tokens are back and his fees as well. Perhaps this whole exercise is some elaborate charade just for my discomfort. Possibly his chance in the election is nothing but bluster, and he can do no more than torment me with his words.'
'You need a steady hand and experience to guide you through the next few days,' Rosimar said, 'not an incompetent who cannot perform the simplest magics.'
'You stated yourself that the ritual had a flaw,' Jemidon said. 'And your neophytes were none too eager to perform in my place.'
Jemidon drew a deep breath to say more, but Augusta placed her fingers across his lips. 'Hush, my dreamer. Do not bother to add your words to Rosimar's din. For now, let me be away so that I can rest. If you truly want to help, then try to understand what lies behind Trocolar's words. Does Holgon's pretty display have any real meaning, or is it merely a fantasy of the mind?'
She looked back at Rosimar. 'And with Trocolar's fee, we are better positioned than before. There will be time enough to plan for additional funding for your guild-time enough after the elections are over and we have won.'
Without saying more, Augusta glided past all who remained and began to climb the ladder.
Rosimar looked at Jemidon, grunted, and made his way to the tripods. 'If it provides her with reassurance, then it will be worth the effort,' he said.
Jemidon sighed with relief. His latest failure need not matter. He again could focus on tracking Drandor and Delia. He tried pushing the events of the morning out of his consciousness, back to the deep pit of memory where he hid the rest of the similar occurrences. With a shake of his head to clear his thoughts, he joined the magician in taking apart the tripods.
For over two hours, Jemidon and the magician examined the two boxes and their stands, looking for some trace of true magic, but finding only hidden latches and sliding panels.
'You were right,' Jemidon said at last. 'It is no more than a conjuring trick from the mainland.'
Rosimar started to reply, but the pump attendant approached and pulled at his sleeve. 'Master, I need assistance. I have tried all the variations that I know. The pumps! I cannot get them to restart!'
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Essence of Value
JEMIDON waited impatiently while Rosimar struggled up the rope ladder. The magician shook his head, perplexed.
'I thought I knew all the major rituals of perpetual motion,' he said, 'but apparently the inner mechanism of the pumps is one that I do not understand. And the casings were very strange to the touch, like ordinary metal with no aura of magic about them.'
Jemidon frowned. He was bothered about all the events of the day. First, he could not completely forget his inability to perform the simplest of steps in a ritual. Then there was the sensation of pulling anchor and temporarily floating free. And now the pumps were unable to restart after Holgon had performed what he claimed was a magic ritual.
'A token,' he said suddenly to the oarsman who had ferried them into the grotto. 'Fetch me one from the chests.'
'They cannot be removed, once the ledgers are marked. Only on Augusta's orders are the transfers made.'
'A single coin and for a moment,' Jemidon insisted. 'Your mistress is in peril.'
The oarsman hesitated, but finally turned from Jemidon's determined stare. He descended the passageway and in a moment returned with a small bag of jingling metal. 'From Trocolar's deposit, the most recent change.' Jemidon nodded and plunged his hand into the sack. He plucked out one of the smooth disks and his frown deepened. 'Cold,' he muttered, 'stone-cold. No doubt it will be the same with the rest.'
'Put away the distraction,' Rosimar said. 'The riddle is the failure of the pumps.'
'The problem is far more basic.' Jemidon shook his head. 'Look at what has happened to your craft.'
Before Rosimar could reply, Jemidon placed the disk against the wall and pushed it across the wet surface. He looked at the result, grunted, and tossed the coin to Rosimar.
The magician grabbed the token and examined it in his hand. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise. 'Scratched!' he exclaimed. 'Somehow Trocolar managed to slip in a counterfeit among the rest.'
'Check the others if you want,' Jemidon said, 'but, like the pumps, they pulse with magic no more.'
'I do not know what you mean,' Rosimar said. 'Magic items last for eternity. They are perfect. There can be no other way.'
'Augusta!' Jemidon ignored the puzzled tone. 'Don't you see? She must be warned. Quickly, Rosimar, let us speed to her aid.'
'But the pumps! And the rest of the tokens! Yes, we should carefully examine them all and see how many are bad.'
'There will be no time,' Jemidon insisted. 'To the skiff. I will explain as we go.'
Jemidon watched Rosimar disappear in the other direction through the waterfront crowd. He sensed that there was no time for further persuasion. Already shouts about worthless counterfeits rang from a stall down the way. The magician would be convinced soon enough, after he had tried some simple rituals with his guild. First sorcery and now magic had been struck down. Somehow the quest was more tightly entangled with Trocolar and Augusta than he had imagined.
Jemidon raced across the shoreline road and up onto the higher streets. He threaded his way though the adobes and past the iron and brick court where he had met Benedict. He breathed deeply as the slope steepened pushing harder to maintain his pace.
A flash of motion to the left caught his eye. A spicy odor filled his lungs. He looked to the side and saw a sheet of white linen stretched taut over a frame in front of a trader's stall. Painted on the cloth in lush reds and browns was a richly decorated leather sack. Small, translucent stones spilled out to sparkle in outstretched palms. No, it was not a painting, Jemidon decided as he stopped to look closer. The scene flickered. The hands seemed to move and clutch the pebbles in a sequence that repeated over and over.
Jemidon breathed the spicy aroma and felt a rush of pleasure fill his lungs. What did the sign say? Only two coppers for a small stone, three for a larger one. He blinked in surprise at the direction of his thoughts and turned back to the street. He had no time for such distraction. Too much of importance was at stake.
