'An easy enough tale to weave,' the trader spat out. 'No one could prove you wrong.'
'Exactly so,' Jemidon said. 'And why indeed should anyone of wit choose to disagree? Is it not in your best interest that the value of the token be restored?'
The trader squinted at Jemidon with beady eyes. Slowly he ran a hand across his chest. 'The tokens have not been restored to magic,' he said. 'There are probably some here on deck, and their tingle is gone. The masters of the guilds moan the loudest, because their craft is no more.'
'Only tokens, and only those in the grotto.'
'The token was the medium of exchange. How can it be that, buried under the slime?'
'As it was before,' Jemidon replied. 'Only rarely were they moved about as you conducted your trades. Far more often, it was pieces of paper that you exchanged-writs that certified the shifts in ownership and the new balances that corresponded to them. It is the ledgers all carefully kept that told the story of your wealth, not the pieces of metal hidden away.'
'But I had no deposits in Augusta's vault.' A second trader came forward. 'There is no gain for me to consider as truth what you claim.'
'Dump your tokens down the shaft to join the rest,' Jemidon said. 'When they hit bottom, consider their magic restored as well. Again the ledger books will reflect your true wealth. Things will revert to exactly as they were before.'
'It is too illogical to believe,' the second trader objected. 'Magic restored to the tokens in an inaccessible vault-there and nowhere else!'
'The consequence of not accepting the possibility is to continue the way things are now,' Jemidon said. 'The riots, the barter, perhaps the end of Pluton as a port of trade. But if everyone agrees to accept the tokens in the vault as they were before, then what difference does it make what truly happens with steel disks buried under the water?
'Indeed, if you agree in addition to pool the tokens from all of those who died in the grotto and then divide them up among those of you who survived, you will in fact come out all the richer from what has happened.'
The eyes of the first trader widened at the mention of additional wealth. 'The rates with the other commodities would be fixed as before,' he said slowly. 'I could buy from Tobruk and pay my debt to Demson with the usual exchange of writs.'
'And I could take the cargo from the ship that lies just outside the harbor,' the second mused. 'And credit the captain's account with some of my tokens so that he could buy from others for a return voyage across the sea.'
Jemidon quickly scanned the faces of the other traders. On some, the hints of smiles indicated their acceptance of his scheme to recover their fortunes. Others were blank with confusion, and a few were drawn in stiff lines of rebuttal. He sighed. It would take longer than he had first thought. But even arguing for hours was better than how the traders had suggested they pass the time.
Jemidon slumped down on the deck. Seventeen traders in all had needed convincing, and the last had been the most stubborn. But finally they all had agreed on the merit of his idea. They could find no better alternative.
'Call the rest of the faction together,' the first trader instructed the rest when the last had decided. 'We must send signals to the others so that they, too, can quickly agree. With that soft-voiced Melizar sailing with most of the mercenaries, almost everyone will have the sense to see that this is the only way to restore order' to the isle.'
'What about Trocolar's assets?' Augusta asked. 'I am in his debt for the pumps in my vault. And he threatened to make the sum due immediately rather than over a period of years, as is the custom.'
'Trocolar!' the trader snapped. 'He was the one responsible more than any other. His wealth will be pooled and divided just like the rest. And I doubt that anyone will be interested in carrying out his plans. The prudent will disassociate their inclinations from his faction as much as possible. I was a member of that faction, but my votes will be cast in another direction. There is little chance that one of his followers will garner anywhere near enough to win a position on the council.'
'Then, Jemidon, you have saved me indeed!' Augusta exclaimed and hugged him close. 'With Trocolar dead and none to follow in his steps, I can continue to run the vault as I did before.'
'And with considerably more influence.' The second trader eyed Augusta critically. 'The other vaultholders may still hoard gold and other metals that we will need for minor exchanges, but only you will receive the holding fees for all the tokens on the island. Congratulations, mistress of the grotto; your future prosperity seems assured.'
Augusta tightened her grip on Jemidon. 'The week is over, and your indenture is fully expired,' she whispered. 'It will appear unseemly for one partner in the vault to be the property of another.'
Jemidon looked at the group of traders. On every face was an expression of self-importance. Once they had all agreed, they were no longer paupers, but holders of great wealth and power. Augusta was no more the fugitive, but again the prestigious vaultholder. The fires on the shoreline, the dead in the grotto, and the realities of the outside world melted away. As long as there were tokens, the rest did not matter.
'But Melizar,' Jemidon said after a moment. 'The power that is at his command cannot be ignored. It is not for a peaceful intent that he leads men-at-arms into the rebelling wheatlands.'
'The mainland can be far away, if we choose to ignore it, Jemidon,' Augusta replied. 'Concentrate instead on what I have just offered-a partnership in what will become the wealthiest vault on the island. It is not something to be dismissed lightly, even by a dreamer.'
Jemidon felt Augusta press against him. Even through his fatigue, his pulse quickened. Perhaps this was to be the end of his quest. He had vindicated his worth with his first love. Now she was his for the taking.
After all, why had he pursued the robe of the master? Were not the arts the means to the end, the paths most likely to lead to success, despite his failures along the way? Now he could have them all-the gold, the nods of peers, the bows of servants, and adoration in a woman's eyes. A mantle of black was no longer necessary. There was no need to restore the art of sorcery, no reason to rescue a slave girl to prove that it could be done.
Or was there? Jemidon looked down at Benedict's changer. He pressed a lever, and a shower of brass and silver spilled into his hand. A single gold brandel gleamed on top of the pile. He picked it up and compared the sharp contours of the embossing with the dull indistinctness of the coin about his neck.
Jemidon stiffened. He ignored Augusta's suddenly questioning eyes. Did anything that she offered wipe away the guilt of his sister's death, the humiliation of failing the initiates' examinations time and time again, the frustration over the formulas that would not work, and the slight shake of Farnel's head when the glamour did not complete?
'No, they are not enough.' Jemidon surprised himself with the intensity which the words blasted forth. 'The prestige, the power, the wealth-I want them, yes. But if I could trade them all for my own self-respect, then gladly would I deal. I have the knowledge, the intuitive skills, and the deep understanding of the arts that few will ever possess. Dullards ten times my inferior have succeeded. By the laws, then, why can't I?'
Clumsily, Jemidon pushed Augusta away. With a booming thud, he crashed his fist down upon the rail. The taste of victory soured in his mouth. What did it matter that he had escaped the cube if he still must carry his burden?
'Gently, my sweet.' Augusta wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. 'The poisons of your exertions have not yet run their course. Be calm and fight inner demons some other day.'
'But I am not a master,' Jemidon exclaimed. 'I found the reason for the vanishing of sorcery and then I let it slip away.'
'No man can be a master solely from desire,' Augusta said. 'Each must have inherent aptitudes, as I am sure you have amply learned. But put the thought from your mind. You have shown me skills that I have found in no other.'
Jemidon gently pulled Augusta's arms from around his waist and turned to face her. He attempted a smile; but despite her words, he was not comforted. For a long moment, he pondered all that he had experienced.
'I have learned much, Augusta,' he said at last, 'and solved more than a single riddle-the vanishing of sorcery and magic, and their replacement by new arts heretofore unexpected.' He held out his hand and began to coil his fingers into his fist, one by one. 'But there is more still unanswered. First, why have I had the feeling of drifting? From where does it come? Second, it may indeed be that my tongue is ill-suited for sorcery, but what forced me to
