There was a sizzling noise, and then a flash curved up into the air and froze in a banner of slowly blossoming sparks. He had taken a firestar and thrown it up into the vaulted roof of the vast underground cavern, and now it hung there, somewhat dimmer than usual, but still giving plenty of light for Paama to see around her. Ages of water had carved out this place, and the trickle that now wet her feet was the last remnant of the ancient torrent. The desert above would soon take even that as the sand dunes on the horizon marched on and covered the date palms and the grass.
Then, as she looked a little more closely, she saw evidence of human presence high on the banks of the underground waterway. There were edges in the ground that suggested half-buried crates or boxes, an unnatural colour sticking out of the earth that at a closer glance proved to be cloth dyed purple. She stepped up and out of the water, and there, plainly, were human bones, the long bones of a leg still dressed in the fragments of a half- decayed leather garment, the remainder of the skeleton scattered, as if carried along by random surges of water at the seasonal flood peak.
A clinking noise distracted her from the bones. There was the djombi, very pragmatically filling a sack with gold coins extracted from one of the boxes. Its lock remained intact, but it had been driven against a rock and was split open so that its contents spilled out into the mud.
'What is this place? Who were these people?’ she asked.
He stiffened, and then continued to gather up coins as he answered. ‘Thieves. Mercenaries. Murderers. They raided and destroyed that place whose ruins you saw above.'
'Why?'
He tied off the sack and said coolly, ‘Wars are expensive. Their master had sent them out to get their own wages. The town was not his, and he did not care what happened to it.'
'Then what happened to
He looked around the cavern. With his superior sight, the view must have been more terrible; all the bones below the mud were visible to him, and he could glance back in time to see how they had settled there, where they had swept in from, how they had been crushed by rocks and tumbled by water while still in living bodies screaming for help and for mercy.
'I might have got a little carried away,’ he murmured.
He seemed to feel Paama's horrified stare, for he turned to her and looked at her sternly. ‘I was assigned a very heavy duty. A request had been made that the wealth of this town would never be put to any use that would destroy human life. There was a chance of a thousand-year flood—well, such a flood will not be seen again in this region for tens of thousands of years—and the raiders happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when the waters broke through an ancient dam. Chance again brought them and their spoil underground so that now their final tomb is within sight of the town they plundered and desecrated.
Paama transferred her shocked gaze to the Stick. ‘Is that the sort of thing this can do?'
'Yes. Hardly the kind of power to be placed in human hands, is it?'
She looked at his alien eyes and the expression of mild contempt in them which had become as constant as a habit, and she felt the need to defend humanity.
'
As a jibe, it failed to have any effect. He walked towards her with the sack of gold in one hand and took hold of her wrist with the other. His gaze was not contemptuous but compassionate, as if he did not expect her to be capable of understanding, and recognised that this was not her fault.
'I am sure that they all, boy and army, got exactly what they deserved,’ he said.
The firestar woke up from its slow-motion death and gave one last, brilliant splutter before going out for good. Paama felt herself rising, light as air, until the ground was once more under her feet and the blinding sunlight in her face. Before she had a chance to blink twice at the searing brightness, he had released her wrist and was once more making that gathering motion of his hand that warned of another jump to another place.
'I know now what I need to do to you to make you return my power to me,’ he remarked almost casually.
And then they were gone again before Paama had time to begin to feel frightened at his words.
15
a lesson on chances and choices
On the night of the firestars, all at first was bliss. Alton felt certain that he was indeed a merchant prince, for never before had he taken so much from life's table. The comfort of riches, the sweetness of love, and the beauty of his poetry ravelling out, word by perfect word—it all pointed to a divine will that had blessed him completely. He went to sleep late, crafting couplets to the memory of Neila's kisses.
He awoke the next day in terror and confusion.
'It is only I, my lord.'
Bini approached the bed, breakfast tray held level as he glided smoothly over the thick carpets.
Alton sat up and stared at the vaulted canvas ceiling and the damasked and gilded hangings about his mattress. Had he always bedded down in such luxury? His memory struggled with the vague image of a meagre, dew-damp bedroll flung over small rocks and spiky, tufted grass. Then he raised his puzzled eyes to Bini's calm gaze, and the bothersome vision disappeared.
'Last night was truly a success, my lord. Already we have had several orders for firestars, tapestries, and carpets,’ Bini said, his voice as unemotional as ever.
Unable to find a response, Alton watched him set the tray on a low table and pour the breakfast chocolate. The hot liquid spluttered out of the narrow spout of the pot, releasing a welcome fragrance of sweet, cinnamon- rich cocoa. Alton reached out a hand to probe a napkin-lined basket and found warm rolls and pastries tucked inside. He broke off a morsel and ate. Bini finished pouring and stepped back very slightly, hovering with the air of someone anticipating a command. Alton looked at him worriedly.
'Bini,’ he asked. ‘Have I been ill?'
'Why do you ask, my lord?'
Alton rubbed his head experimentally. It didn't hurt. ‘I didn't drink too much last night, did I?'
'I don't know what you mean, my lord.'
'I mean,’ said Alton slowly, ‘that this all seems??nreal. I know I'm a poet. I've never had a talent for business. Why am I surrounded by prosperity?'
Bini's level gaze did seem to flicker at that point. ‘Has my lord forgotten the legacy inherited from his illustrious godfather?'
'N-o,’ Alton replied uncertainly.
'The excitement of the engagement has been too much for you. A little more rest?’ Bini suggested soothingly.
'Engagement! That memory is true and firm at least!’ He threw back the covers energetically, his face illuminated with joy, and came to his feet with a spring.
'My lord, do you have orders for me?’ Bini asked gently.
'Orders?'
'For the day's work, the week's operations, the month's pre-planning. Orders.'
Alton's spine lost some of its steely temper. ‘I??hat do I usually?'
'You usually have breakfast, freshen up, and dress, and then I tell you what new things require attention,’ Bini said kindly. There was a hint of a twinkle about his expression, which was very odd considering that his eyes appeared as dead as ever.
That was how Bini began to ease Alton into his new life. He lacked the puppeteer's power of his indigo counterpart, but he had something equally effective—that trickster knack, which was now turned to the benign task of fooling Alton into believing in himself. He mused at the irony; if he did his job well, Alton would never know how
