“Sure. And the azoth. A nice azoth ought to bring a couple thousand cards, Patera. Maybe more. If you want to sell it, I can steer you to somebody who’ll give you a lily price.”
“I can’t, because it isn’t mine. Hyacinth intended to lend it to me, I’m sure. As I told you, I had told her that I was borrowing those weapons, and I promised that I would return them when I no longer required them. I feel certain she would not have sent the azoth to me by Doctor Crane if I had not said that earlier.”
When Auk did not reply, Silk continued miserably, “Two thousand cards, if I actually received that much, would be an appreciable fraction of the twenty-six thousand that we require. More than five percent, in fact. You’ll laugh at me—”
“I ain’t laughing, Patera.”
“You should. A thief who can’t bring himself to steal! But Hyacinth trusted me. I cannot believe that the—that any god would wish me to betray a friendless woman’s trust.”
“If she lent it to you, I wouldn’t sell it either,” Auk told him. “Just to start out, she’s there in Blood’s house, and if you’ve got yourself a friend on the inside, that’s not anything you want to fight clear of. You got any notion why this doctor would take on something as risky as that for her?”
“Perhaps he’s in love with her.”
“Uh-huh. It could be, but I’ll bet he’s got some kind of lock. It’d be worth your while to find out what it is, and I’d like to hear about it when you do. I’d like to see this azoth you got from her, too. Suppose I come around tomorrow night. Would you let me see it?”
“You may look at it now, if you like.” Silk pulled the azoth from beneath his tunic and passed it across the table to Auk. “I brought it to Orchid’s today because I feared I might require some sort of weapon.”
Auk whistled softly, then held the azoth up, admiring the play of light along its gleaming grip. “Twenty-eight hundred easy. Might bring three thousand. Whoever gave it to her probably paid five or six for it.”
Silk nodded. “I believe I may have some idea who that was, although I don’t know where he could have gotten that much money.” Auk regarded him quizzically, but Silk shook his head. “I’ll tell you later, if it appears that I may be correct.”
He held out his hand for the azoth, which Auk returned with a final grunt of admiration.
“I want to ask you about Hyacinth’s needier. Blood took out the needles before he gave it back to me. Can you tell me where I might buy more without a brevet?”
“Sure, Patera. No problem at all. Have you got that with you, too?”
Silk took Hyacinth’s engraved needier from his pocket and passed it to Auk.
“The smallest they make. I know ’em.” He returned the needier and rose. “Listen, can you get by without me for a minute? I got to—you know.”
“Of course.” Silk directed his attention to his chops; there had been three, and hungry though he was, he had thus far eaten only the first. He attacked the second without neglecting the tender dumplings, buttered squash with basil, and shallots in oil and vinegar that the eating house had provided (apparently at no additional charge) to accompany them.
Mere worry, mere concern, would not save the manteion. It would be necessary to devise a plan, and that plan need not necessarily involve stealing twenty-six thousand cards. Enlisting the sympathy of some magnate might do as well, for example, or …
Silk was discovering that he had devoured his third and final chop without realizing he had finished the second when Auk returned.
SILK FOR CALDE
Doctor Crane shut and bolted the door of his infirmary. It had been a hard day; he was glad to be back again, very glad that Blood (who had put in a grueling day as well) would not entertain tonight. With luck, Crane thought, he might get a good night’s sleep, an uninterrupted night’s sleep, a night in which the cats clawed no one, Musk’s hawks refrained from footing Musk and his helper—most of all, a night in which none of the fools that Viron called women decided that some previously unnoticed mole was in fact the first symptom of a fatal disease.
Shuffling into his bedroom, which had no door to the hall, he closed the door to the infirmary and bolted it as well. Let them call him through the glass, if they wanted him. He removed his shoes and flung his stockings onto the pile of soiled clothing in a corner, reminding himself again that he must take those clothes to the laundry in the other wing.
Had he put the black stocking he’d cut off that fellow Silk in there? No, he’d thrown it away.
In bare feet, he padded to the window and stood staring out through the grille at the shadowy grounds. The weather had been fine all summer, glowing with the hot, dry heat of home; but it would be autumn soon. The sun would dim, and the winds bring chill, drenching rains. The calendar called it autumn already. He hated rain and cold, snow, and coughs and runny noses. For a month or more, the thermometer would fluctuate between ten and ten below, as if chained to the freezing point. Human beings were never intended for such a climate.
When he had pulled down the shade, he glanced at the calendar, his eyes following his thought. Tomorrow would be Scylsday; the market would be closed, officially at least, and nearly empty. That was the best time for turning in a report, and the trader would be leaving on Hieraxday. There were still five of the little carved Sphigxes left.
He squared his shoulders, reminding himself that he too was a trooper of a sort, brought out his pen case, the black ink, and several sheets of very thin paper. As always, it would be necessary to write in a way that would not reveal his identity, should his report be intercepted.
And to report sufficient progress to prevent his being withdrawn. Tonight that would not be difficult.
Not that he would not like to go home, he told himself, and particularly to go home before the rains arrived, though they said that home had once been as wet as this place. Or rather, as wet as this place normally was.
He chose a crow quill and meticulously touched up its point. “There is a movement to restore the Charter. It is centered upon one Silk, a young augur of no family. He is said to have been the object of miracles, attributed to Pas
