that, if there was more to be learned, it would most likely be there. And so, under the cover of nightfall, he, Jemidon, and Rosimar had rowed across the bay and landed unobserved where the green canopy came nearly to the shore.
'I will have the correct amounts in a moment,' Benedict whispered above the soft jingle of coins. 'My sorting device barely functions; the output from a single column is more often a scramble than not.'
'Why not carry a pouch the way everyone else does and dip into it, once the price has been settled?' Rosimar growled in irritation. 'The guards on the wall or some patrol will soon find us if you continue to fumble.'
'A full purse is no way to bargain for several favors,' Benedict said. 'You will empty it for the first and get no other. I acknowledge your mastery of your craft, Rosimar; respect my skill in mine. A divulgent prepares his cape with many pockets, each with but one coin or two.'
Benedict moved slightly, and Jemidon saw the glint of the coinchanger at the divulgent's waist. He watched as Benedict fingered the levers and scowled at the results in his palm. The divulgent selected a single coin from the pile to put in a pocket and returned the rest to the top of the device.
'I am ready at last,' Benedict said as the jingle stopped. 'The guard at the postern gate has told me much before, but never have I convinced him to let me enter. What we learn in Trocolar's private estate had better be of supreme value to justify our risk.'
'Then perhaps I should proceed alone,' Rosimar said. 'I would have expected something more from this skill of yours than a simple bribe.'
'A secret passage, perhaps,' Benedict snapped back. 'Or maybe a ring that levitates the bearer over walls. You are the magician. What do you bring to our agreement in addition to your razor-edged tongue?'
'Enough!' Jemidon waved his arms for silence. The muscles in his neck were knotted from anticipation. Keeping the other two from bickering was an added irritant that he could well do without. 'Enough. Just get us inside. The rest does not matter.'
'You are the least qualified to speak,' Rosimar said. 'Except in stealth, you cannot move about on Pluton at all. The mercenaries will make sure all frozen assets are properly impounded; their annual fee depends on how well they perform.'
'Our goal is to learn how the laws of magic and sorcery have been turned off,' Jemidon said. 'And, if the random factors align, how to reactivate them as well. With the tokens in Augusta's vault once more a well- regarded tender, she will be no debtor, and I can act as I choose.'
'But if not within two days, the election will be over and Trocolar will prevail,' Rosimar said. 'After that, it will not matter for you whether the craft is again operative or not.'
'If you see all outcomes so bleak, then why continue?' Jemidon asked. 'Return to your guild and wait out the storm. From the safety of your surrounding walls, try to convince Augusta of your aid in her behalf.'
Rosimar glared at Jemidon, then at Benedict. Finally he shrugged and folded his arms inside his robe. Benedict hesilated a moment, but no one said more. The divulgent nibbled on his lip and started to move farther into the shadows.
They traveled the rest of the way to the estate in silence, filtering among the trees. While Jemidon and Rosimar waited on the edge of the clearing, Benedict darted across to confer with the guard.
The moon was bright in a cloudless sky. Strong shadows of the roofline traced a jagged pattern across the naked landscape surrounding the keep. The structure was not large-two storeys with perhaps a half-dozen rooms in each-but the face work resembled that of a large castle from the mainland of Arcadia or even Procolon across the sea. Miniature bartizans budded from crenellated walls. Tiny loopholes dotted shallow bastions. Each row of square-cut stone was slightly smaller than the one upon which it rested, giving the illusion of greater height as one scanned upward.
While Jemidon watched, Benedict appeared out of the gloom of the small gatehouse, beckoning him and Rosimar to come forward. In a moment all three were inside, examining the dim walls and a grim-faced guard still clutching a fist full of coins.
'He says that they all are at their evening meal,' Benedict whispered. 'Including Trocolar's new partner, who spends most of his time in the dampness below.'
'Then to the dungeon,' Jemidon said softly. 'We may learn everything we need before they have finished their wine.'
'The stair is on the south wall.' Benedict motioned with his head. 'But the guard will not escort us down. And the entry is barred and locked, besides.'
'A simple lock will not stop us.' Jemidon felt his excitemment begin to rise. 'Come along. I will show you how it is done.'
Without waiting to see if the others would follow, Jemidon turned and ran down the steps. It felt good to move quickly after all the cautious stealth. The passage was narrow, dirty, and hung with cobwebs. Just enough light to guide his feet flickered down from torches set high in the wall.
On the landing below, Jemidon paused a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He saw a single short passage leading to heavy wooden doors barred by a single beam chained in place. From his cape, he pulled a finger-length shaft of metal with a narrow flange on one end and inserted it in the lock. After a few experimental probes, he rotated it a quarter turn to the left, and the hasp snapped open. Just as Rosimar and Benedict came up behind, he carefully pushed the bar aside and motioned them to enter.
The doors opened onto one vast room, the view interrupted only by stout posts that supported the beams and planking of the ceiling above. In each corner, small alcoves projected off at odd angles, their entrances barred by grates of iron. Each was filled to overflowing with sacks, barrels, and wooden boxes. Stuffed in crannies were heaps of chain, shafts of steel, shields, pikes, and bowls of polished copper. More goods cluttered the main floor- piles of linen, bins of grain, huge leather volumes bound in groups of six, and rough tarpaulins covering stacked crates and lumpy mounds. In the very center, barely separate from the piles which pushed in from all sides, was a small anthanor with its coals still smoldering. Next to it was an array of large sacks, one tipped to the side, spilling hundreds of small, translucent stones on the floor. The smell of cinnamon mingled with the musty and humid air. Pokers and tongs lay scattered about, and pushed to one side was a large lattice of wires and beads.
'Drandor!' Jemidon exclaimed, forgetting the hushed tones he had used before, 'I knew I would track him down. And this time we will examine his wares with far more care to learn what secrets they possess.'
Jemidon eagerly moved across the room toward the lattice. He looked up at one of the supporting beams and saw the familiar form of the guarding imp asleep in its bottle. Staying far enough away not to excite the sprite, he slowly began to examine the structure, looking for any differences since he had seen it last.
'Why is it so important?' he muttered aloud. 'So important to Drandor that Delia took it rather than anything else when she fled? If only she-'
Jemidon stopped and looked around the room. Except for Benedict peering curiously into one of the alcoves and Rosimar standing in the entrance, there was no one else there.
Jemidon grimaced in disappointment. Although he had never expressed it consciously, he had evidently envisioned Delia to be with the rest-a daring confrontation and a final rescue. But what if he could find the secret of how the trader suspended the laws of sorcery and magic and be away before anyone returned? He would have all that he needed to obtain the robe of the master. Why then track down Drandor to ask what he had done with a slave girl? Jemidon's scowl deepened with his hesitancy. He tried to force himself to examine the lattice, to focus on what was most important before being distracted by anything else.
Tentatively, he took another step closer to the structure, but stopped in midstep as a chorus of footfalls echoed down the passageway leading above. Benedict dropped the book he was examining, flung open the grating in front of him, and squirmed into the alcove behind. Jemidon looked back at Rosimar and saw the master standing rigidly erect, making no attempt to hide himself.
Jemidon ran back across the room. 'Quickly,' he said. 'Into one of the side rooms. Apparently the iron gates are unlocked.'
'Too small,' Rosimar moaned feebly. k'Too small. The gloom, the musty walls. I cannot. The room, it confines. I must be away.'
Jemidon looked into the sweating face and dazed eyes. He had seen the same expression when Rosimar had ventured into the grotto. The noises outside became louder. Jemidon stepped to the doors and pulled them shut. He turned back to Rosimar and grabbed him about the shoulders. 'This way,' he commanded. 'Control your feelings. We must hide without delay.'
