As Safar had hoped, the negative bit of information about his leaving helped sway Olari's decision.
'I think I can manage that load easily enough, the young nobleman said. I'll do as you asked. Meet me at the Foolsmire tonight.'
Safar thanked him and they shared a few drinks from the jar.
'I wish I could persuade you to stay, Olari said. Things really will be different when we get rid of this lot.'
'I'm sure it will be, Safar said. But I worry about you. You've caused them no end of grief of late. Big demonstrations that have nearly turned into riots. Broadsides condemning them spread all over the city. What if they tire of it? Or worse, what if they suddenly think you are a great danger to them?'
'I want them to, Olari said. That's my intent. How else can we achieve change?'
'I understand that, Safar said. But you know, times really have been troublesome the past two years. And you can't blame it all on the Unholy Trio, as you call them. The weather has become increasingly unpredictable. As have the harvests. And there's been locust swarms and outbreaks of flux and plague. Not just in Walaria, either. It's happening all over Esmir.'
Olari shrugged. The gods are in charge of those things, he said. And since it's their responsibility, what can I do? Besides, times will get better. They always do. History tells us that. And things aren't really so bad as you say. Deaths have been few. There's no mass starvation. Actually, many people live in relative plenty. And there's good news in the land as well. What of Iraj Protarus? He's our age. And look at all he's doing to change Esmir for the better.'
'I don't call wars and raids on other people's kingdoms change for the better, Safar said.
Olari gave him a puzzled look. I thought you two were friends?'
'We are, Safar said. Or were, anyway. But that doesn't mean I agree with him.'
Olari chuckled. It seems Protarus and I have both had the same experience with you, he said. You give us your friendship but not your company in our cause.'
'I suppose you're right, Safar said. But I've never been enamored of causes. Politics don't interest me. Only the science and history of magic.'
'I suppose you'd like to put that interest to real use someday, Olari said. To help people, for instance. To better their lot, their condition, with your skills.'
'I'll admit I've thought of such things, Safar said.
'That's a cause isn't it? Olari said. Your cause, of course. But a cause just the same.'
'I suppose it is, Safar said.
'So why do you shun my cause, and the cause of your friend Protarus. We're all the same age. We all have similar ideals. It's time for a change, dammit. A massive change. We've lived under the heels of old men for too long.'
Safar couldn't say he theorized change might already be occurring. But it was a change on a scale much greater than two young men who wanted to be king.
Instead he said, Allow me my delusions, Olari. I'm sure you and Iraj will soon prove me to be a blind fool. And I hope you forgive me when that time comes.'
'You're forgiven already, my friend, Olari said. Just make sure that when the time comes you know which way to jump.'
'That's wise advice, Safar said. I'll remember it. But I hope you'll also remember mine. Be careful of Kalasariz. I have a feeling he's becoming anxious.'
'What if he does? Olari said. What can he do to me? The brutal truth of the matter is that there are two kinds of people in Walaria. Those who have reason to fear Tulaz blade. And those who do not. And I, my bookish friend, belong in the first category by reason of my birth and my father's fortune.'
Just then Gundara whispered in Safar's ear. The spy approaches!'
Safar held up a hand to silence Olari. A heartbeat later they heard Ersen's sarcastic voice. Do I hear sounds of merrymaking within?'
Ersen ducked into the room and saw the wine jar in Olari's hand. What a greedy lot of beggars, he said. Keeping the wine for yourself when your poor friend Ersen is nearly dying of thirst.'
Olari laughed and handed the jar over. Ersen took a long drink, then sat on a mattress. What are you fellows up to? he asked. Plotting the overthrow of the world as we know it, is my guess.'
Ersen was not a member of Olari's group. He was too much of a jester to be welcomed. Still, Safar was worried that Olari would say too much. He made a hidden gesture of warning, then said to Ersen:
'You found us out, you canny devil. We've been sitting here for hours planning our revolt. We're thinking of starting with Didima. I've got a recipe we can slip into his food that'll make him limp as a wet rag.'
'That's a good start, Ersen said. What about Kalasariz? I've heard he doesn't have a tool at all.'
'Exactly what I've been telling Timura, Olari said. We have to come up with something different for him.'
'Well, I'm just your man, Ersen said. See if you can find another jar of wine in there, Timura. There's a good fellow. Conspiracy makes thirsty work.'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was just after Last Prayer and the Foolsmire was filling up with thirsty students. Inside the shop Zeman kept an eye on the alley entrance while he handed out books and collected rental fees. The word had come down from Kalasariz that Safar was expected to visit tonight in order to meet with Olari and his group of malcontents. Zeman's orders were to learn the purpose of that meeting and to report back what he found.
Zeman was vastly pleased with himself. His grandfather had been away when the letter from Iraj Protarus had arrived for Safar. Soon as he saw it Zeman thought his fortune was made. As anxious as he'd been to pass it on to the spymaster, he'd first taken time to examine the opportunity from every angle.
He'd been in Kalasariz employ for over a year. He had a small copper chest under his bed filled with money earned from all the information he'd passed on to the spymaster. The Foolsmire was an ideal place to pick up gossip from wine-soaked students and learn of their crimes; past, present, and planned. It was a task Zeman found himself ideally suited for. His awkward ways, bad manners, and sly, short-changing habits had made him an object of derision among the young customers. He'd suffered their mocking remarks for years. Like most insensitive people Zeman's own feelings were extremely delicate and the remarks wounded him deeply. His reaction had been to become more abrasive and to cheat them every chance he had. Once he became a paid informer, however, the jibes no longer injured him. As an informer he was a man of power who secretly repaid every insult with a report that put a black mark next to their names. Also, except for the jibes, no one paid any attention to Zeman when he came near. The students thought so poorly of him they spoke freely in his presence, unaware all they said was being passed on to Kalasariz.
Safar was one of the few regulars who never joined the others in the game of Zeman-baiting. Zeman hated him for it. He saw condescension, not kindness, in Timura. He also strongly believed Safar had designs of his own on the Foolsmire. Look at how he toadied up to Katal, pretending he actually liked the old man and cared what he thought. Zeman saw his grandfather as a crazy, irresponsible old man who lived in a dreamworld where food for thought was more important than food for the table. Katal had the audacity to tell him some months ago that when he died he'd made arrangements for two small bequestsone for Timura and the other for that little thiefbitch, Nerisa.
Zeman had been scandalized by the news. The old man was giving away what rightfully belonged to his grandson. He became convinced the bequests had been Timura's goal all along. Safar was stealing Katal's affection and if Zeman didn't put a stop to it soon the old man would end up handing over all his worldly goods to Safar, leaving Zeman with nothing. As for Nerisa, why it was as plain as a full moon on a cold night that she was in league with Timura. Look at how she played on the old man's weaknessespretending to be a helpless orphan but all the while cozening up to Katal so she could win a place in his home and at his table. Zeman also believed her relationship with Timura was scandalous. He was certain they were sleeping together, which made Nerisa a child whore and Timura a whoremaster who probably traded her around to other decadent men who savored the flesh of children.
