depths. He hauled on one of the ropes until a large bucket appeared. It was full of jugs made of red clay, all the width of a broad palm and standing a uniform eight inches high. Katal took one out and fetched it to Safar.
The young man pushed coins forward, but Katal shook his head, pushing them back. I'll buy this one, he said. My price for you today is talk, not copper. A Foolsmire special, if you will.'
'Done, Safar said. I'll listen to your advice hour after hour, my friend, if you'll keep my cup full.'
He sloshed wine into a wide, cracked tumbler. He stoppered the jug then held it up, studying it. Three years ago, he said, I helped my father make jugs like these. They were much better, of course. Glazed and decorated for a fine table. Not turned out in factories by the scores.'
Katal eased his old body into the bench seat across from Safar. I could never afford such a luxury, he said. If I had bucketsful of Timura jugs in my well I'd pour out the wine and sell the jugs. Think of all the books I could buy with the price I'd get!'
'I'll tell you a secret, Katal, Safar said. If you had Timura jugs you could make your own wine, or brandy or beer, if you prefer. My father makes a special blessing over each jug he produces. All you need then is some water, the proper makings for whatever brew it is you desire and you'll have an endless supply of your favorite drink.'
'More pottery magic! Katal scoffed. And this time water into wine. No wonder your teachers despair.'
'Actually, Safar said, there's no magic to it at all. My father would dispute that. But it's true. Part of the spell, you see, is that we pour spirits from an old tried and true brewing bowl into the new jug. We shake it up and pour it back. And the little animals left in the clay will produce spirits until the end of timeas long you don't wash the jug.'
'Little animals? Katal said, bushy gray eyebrows beetling in disbelief.
Safar nodded. Too small for the eye to see.'
Katal snorted. How do you know that?'
'What else could it be? Safar said. As an experiment I've made several such jugs. Some I chanted the spell over, but failed to use the brewing bowl liquid. Others got the liquid, but not the chant. The latter produced a good wine. The former nothing but a watery mess.'
'That still doesn't explain the small spirit making animals, Katal pointed out. Did you see them?'
'I told you, Safar answered, they're too small for the unaided eye to behold. I theorized their existence. What other explanation could there be?'
Katal snorted. Be damned to theory, he said. When will you learn that supposing doesn't make it so.'
Safar laughed and drained off his cup. Then you don't know anything about magic, Katal, he said, wiping his chin. Supposing is what sorcery is all about. He belched and refilled his cup. But that answer is a cheat. I admit it. It's scientific observation you were speaking of. And you were right to chastise me. I've never seen the little animals. But I suspect their presence. And if someone gave me money I could grind a glass lens so powerful I might be able to see them and prove their existence.'
'Who would give you money for such a thing? Katal said. And even if your proved your point, who would care?'
Safar was suddenly serious. He jabbed a finger into his chest. I would, he said. And so should everyone else. If we are ignorant of the smallest things, how can we know the larger world? How can we guide our fate?'
'We've had this argument before, Katal said. I say the fate of mortals is the business of the gods.'
'Bah! was Safar's retort. The gods have no business but their own. Our troubles are no concern of theirs.'
Katal glanced about nervously and saw no one in earshot, except his grandson, Zeman, who'd come out while they were talking and was brushing fig leaves off the tables on the other side of the patio.
'Be careful what you say, my young friend, Katal warned. You never know when one of the king's spies will be about. In Walaria the penalty for heresy is most unpleasant.'
Safar ducked his head, chastened. I know, I know, he said. And I'm sorry to be so outspoken in your presence. I don't want to get you in trouble because of my views. Sometimes it's difficult to remember that I must guard my tongue here. In Kyrania a man of twenty may speak his mind about any subject he chooses.'
Katal leaned close, a fond smile peeping out from his untidy beard. Speak to me all you like, Safar, he said. But discreetly, sir. Discreetly. And in well modulated tones.'
The old man had been a kindly uncle to Safar since he'd arrived in Walaria some two years before. In that spirit Katal dipped into his robe and fished out a small cup. He cleaned it with a sleeve, then filled it with wine.
He drank, then said, Tell me what this is all about, Safar. If your family were here they'd be worried. So let me worry for them. I'll tell you what your own father would say. Which is that you've been drinking heavily for nearly a month. Your studies must be suffering as much as your finances. You've had no money for food, much less books. I'm not complaining, but I've been feeding you for free. I'd even be willing to forgo my usual rental fee for any books you required, if only I thought you'd make some use of them. There's an exam coming up. The most important in your career as a student. All the other second level candidates, except the sons of the rich whose success is assured by the fact of their wealth, are studying hard. They don't want to bring shame to their family.'
'What's the use? Safar said. No matter how well I do Umurhan will fail me anyway.'
Katal's eyebrows shot up. How can that be? he said. You're the best student Umurhan's had in years. Umurhan was Walaria's Chief Sorcerer. As such he supervised the temple and attached university where scholars, priests, healers and wizards were trained. He answered to no one but King Didima, ruler of the city and its environs.
'He's going to fail me just the same, Safar said.
'There must be some reason, Katal said. What did you do to earn his wrath?'
Safar made a sour face. He caught me in his library, he said, making notes on a forbidden book.'
Katal was aghast. How could you take such a chance?'
Safar hung his head. I thought it was safe, he said. I've slipped into his study before without being caught. I knew the risk I was taking. But I'm on the trail of something important, dammit! And I thought one more trip might turn up what I needed. I slipped in well before first light. Everyone knows old Umurhan likes his sleep, so there shouldn't have been any danger. But this time I'd barely entered the room and lit a candle when he suddenly appeared from the shadows. As if he'd been waiting there for me.'
'Did someone alert him? Katal asked.
'I don't see how they could, Safar said. It was a last minute decision. No one knew. My only guess is I left some clue on my last visit. And he's been waiting all this time to pounce.'
'You were fortunate he didn't expel you at once, Katal said. Or, worse, report you to Kalasariz as a dangerous heretic. Lord Kalasariz was Didima's chief spy. There were so many in his employ the joke was that in Walaria even the watchers were watched.
'Umurhan said the same thing, Safar replied. He said he could have me thrown into one of Kalasariz cells where I could rot for all eternity for all he cared. And the only reason he didn't call one of Kalasariz minions right then was because I was such a good student.'
'You see? Katal said. There is hope. You've completed four years of work in two. No one else your age has ever qualified to take the second level acolyte exams in so short a time. He indicated the wine jug. Now you're destroying the chance he's giving you to make amends.'
Safar grimaced, remembering Umurhan's wrath. I don't think that's possible, he said. The only reason I wasn't thrown out immediately is because my sponsor is Lord Muzine, the richest merchant in the city. Muzine was Coralean's friend, the man he'd said he'd call on to help get Safar admitted to the university. Umurhan doesn't want a scandal and he certainly doesn't want to offend Muzine. He'll fail me, then report the sad news to Muzine. It's the cleanest way to be rid of me.'
'Well I for one won't be sorry, came a voice. The two turned and saw that Zeman had worked his way across the patio and was now cleaning the table next to them. Zeman was about Safar's age and height. But he was so thin he was nearly skeletal. His complexion was bad, his face long and horse-like, with wall eyes and overly large teeth.
'It's leeches like you who keep my grandfather poor, Zeman said. You all eat and drink on credit, or for nothing at all. You rent books and scrolls and keep them as long you like without paying for the extra time. And it isn't only the students. What of that bitch Nerisa he's taken under his wing? A thief, of all things. No, I fear my grandfather is too charitable for his own good. And for mine. I go without as well because of your sort.'
He indicted his costumetight brown leggings, green thigh-length smock, slippers with curled toesa cheap imitation of what the fashionable lads wore. I'm forced to clothe myself in the alley markets. It's an insult to a young man of my class and prospects.'
