winced in pain as heavy boots trampled the backs of his legs. Scooping his arms around Augusta, he rolled to the left under the table, which had been banged against the outer wall. He reached out between the impatient feet that were stomping and kicking to get ahead and pulled in her legs. Together, they huddled in a tight ball.
The press of the crowd funneling through the doorway strained against their shelter. Someone fell next to the table and then another went down. Like building blocks toppled by a single swat of the hand, a whole row staggered to its knees. The ones behind pushed these closer to the floor and scrambled over their backs. The doorway jammed in a squirming mass of entangled arms and legs. Cries of pain and panic began to mingle with the shouts of anger.
The table planking groaned from the pressure, and then suddenly one pair of legs collapsed, confining Jemidon and Augusta to a small triangle. Jemidon looked quickly about. The table would not long withstand the load. They had to get out before they were trampled. He examined the wall planking-long vertical boards, each secured to a crossbeam at his feet. He decided what he must try.
Slowly he maneuvered his back to block the growing press of bodies threatening to squeeze into their shelter from the side. Then, still coiled in a ball, he raised his feet from the floor and centered them on one of the planks.
With a deep grunt, he strained to straighten himself against the unyielding constraints on both sides.
The board shook. Then, with a high-pitched grating, it moved a fraction of an inch. Still firmly secured near the ceiling, it curved in a gentle bow. Jemidon relaxed, breathed deeply, and renewed his efforts. With each thrust, the force required was greater as the plank curved more and more from a plane.
After half a dozen attempts, his leg muscles began to tremble. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and blood vessels throbbed in his neck. Another body crashed against his back; flailing arms boxed his neck and ears. Across the room, an ear-piercing scream rose to a crescendo, then abruptly stopped. With a final gasp, Jemidon ignored the pain of protesting tendons and thrust with his last reserve of strength.
The plank vibrated with resistance, then abruptly swung free, creaking about the nails which still held it to the upper crossbeam. 'Out,' Jemidon said without pausing for another breath. 'Squeeze through the hole while there is still time.'
Augusta disengaged from Jemidon and snaked through the narrow opening, ripping her gown in a dozen places where it caught on the rough, splintery wood. Jemidon ducked to follow; but as he did, the mass of bodies behind him suddenly heaved and buckled. Two tumbled into the small shelter over the backs of the ones struggling below. Jemidon was dashed to the floor and pinned under the writhing mass.
He reached for the opening with both hands and tried to squirm loose, but found he could barely move. He heard the table creak and then a sharp crack as the other, legs gave way. Desperately, Jemidon pulled against the wall, thrusting his head out into the afternoon light. Gripping the walls as an anchor, he brought one leg slowly up along his side. The weight above pressed relentlessly, and his hip ached from the strain. When he could push his knee no higher, he muscled his foot outward in a slow arc until it butted against something soft yet unyielding.
Jemidon tensed the muscles in his back and arms for one final shove. He filled his lungs as best he could. With a shout, he kicked savagely and grated across the floor. Gathering momentum, he crashed through the opening and skidded across the rough ground outside.
Jemidon scrambled to his feet, not bothering to notice the scrapes and splinters on his face and arms. 'Safe,' he exclaimed. 'I did not reach you any too soon. A run on the vaults was the logical consequence, once it was learned that tokens no longer hold special value.'
He looked at Augusta, expecting her to reply, but found her staring at the street and the vault offices across the way. Everywhere the scene was the same. Crazed crowds carried out what small stores of wealth they could find. In frenzied fighting, they squabbled over what little there was.
'Safe,' she echoed vacantly. 'Safe. What has happened, Jemidon? I do not understand.'
'It is the same for all the vaults, Augusta. All across the island, Arcadia, and Procolon. Magic is no more.'
'All the vaults?' Augusta asked, shaking herself out of a daze. 'Then none of the holders will have a basis for any votes. Those who have deposited will all demand their due. We are debtors one and all.'
She looked at Jemidon, her eyes growing wide. 'Yes, we are safe-safe until the election. Until Trocolar has his way.'
'Misfortune is based the same as yours,' Jemidon said. 'And so is that of everyone else. It is unclear who will be judged the richest, if tokens no longer matter.'
'Not all his wealth is in the vaults,' Augusta said. 'He owns ships, men, and warehouses full of goods. Bolts of silk, barrel staves, links of heavy chain, seedcorn, and flour, A thousand items that he can barter for advantage. He is well prepared to make profit on whatever strikes the speculator's fancy. Why, on the way back from the grotto, he bragged that he even had acquired a boatload of citrine and amethyst to add to his holdings.'
'But at least his threat cannot be the shrinking cube,' Jemidon said. 'That device now functions no better than the rest.'
'Then chains and hot needles.' Augusta shrugged. 'He will think of something else to-'
'Citrine and amethyst,' Jemidon interrupted. 'You say that Trocolar is the one with the gems?'
'They cannot matter,' Augusta said. 'Trocolar showed me some samples. At most, they can be made into inexpensive baubles for the wide-eyed visitors from the mainland. He would need a powerful glamour to entice one with any knowledge to pay more than a copper for a barrelful.'
'But, like magic, sorcery is no more. No one can mouth a working cantrip. The words have no resistance.' Jemidon paused while his thoughts raced. 'And yet, if not an enchantment, what compelled me on the way here? Yes, now that I think on it, the displays on the street were like the projections in the storm and the presentation hall-moving images on a screen that somehow shaped one's thoughts. Drandor! His strange animations. The smiling trader and Trocolar. There is a connection. It is too great a puzzle, and the solution can wait no longer. I must find out, Augusta, regardless of the fee.'
'Wait, where are you going?' Augusta called out as Jemidon bolted for the street.
'Come. I will take you to Rosimar's guild for safety,' he called back as thoughts of Delia formed with a renewed intensity in his mind. 'Then I will see Benedict, the divulgent, to ask him how he fared with his purchase of the stones. And this time I will not leave until I have negotiated the exchange of information.'
'My blade is small, but I warn you, it bites deep, nonetheless.'
'As before, I am here to trade.' Jemidon looked at Benedict, who was huddled in the far corner of his cubicle, clutching his strongbox with both arms to his chest. Jemidon's sense of urgency had been growing ever since Augusta had been left at the guild. The cries in the street made it clear that little time remained before a complete collapse of order. But the divulgent could prove to be of value. Jemidon willed himself into the appearance of non- chalant calm and slowly motioned Rosimar to enter behind him as he sat on one of the stools.
'A copper,' Benedict said. 'And two more for a guest.'
'What I have for you is worth far more than three coppers,' Jemidon replied. 'Even more than the tokens you would charge for the contents of that now-worthless box.'
' 'Perfection is eternal' indeed!' Benedict spat. 'A stronghold impervious to the dent of the mightiest hammer, so I was told. Look at it now. No more than a tray with a well-hinged lid. And no hasp for an ordinary lock, at that. Even a child could flip it open and seize the contents if I did not stand on guard. It is as worthless as the tokens that you offer to pay.'
'Let us be gone,' Rosimar said behind Jemidon'sback. 'This is an affair of magic, not gossip of the harbor. If Augusta had not wished that I come along, I would be elsewhere, employing my skills as a master.'
'There is no time to learn everything that we must know,' Jemidon said. 'The knowledge of a divulgent may save us many a step.'
'His brain is clearly addled.' Rosimar moved to Jemidon's side and waved across the high table. 'He can only impede what I must do.'
'I plan to convince him that our goal is the same,' Jemidon said. 'That we can work to the benefit of us all.'
'No, not of us all!' Rosimar suddenly thundered. 'By no means will we all achieve what we seek.' His face flushed; with a deep glower, he raised his fist in the air. 'This time I will not be haunted by your memory, Jemidon. This time there can be no doubt about the value of what I provide. This time there will be gratitude without
