He led her out to the courtyards to meet more people. They joined a group at the table and ate a meal. Soon after that, Ingeld materialized like a red and gold haystack beside them.
'Fabia, I must show off my gorgeous daughter-in-law-elect to some people. Benard, have you spoken to Thod?'
'Not yet.'
'Do so.' She whisked Fabia away into the mob.
¦
Thod was wearing a green and orange cloak with a wreath of yellow flowers, which he was probably flaunting before his friends down on the lowest level. But Sugthar the potter was sure to be at the guild heads' table, and Benard should ask him first anyway.
Sugthar was a wizened little man, burdened with too many children and too many unsold pots. His wife was much larger than he, with an ugly mouth and bitter, suspicious eyes. They were chatting with Sagrif the seal maker.
Benard tapped the potter's shoulder and knelt down behind him to open negotiations. 'Master, I wish to make you a gift.'
The potter's wife said, 'It is wrong to talk of trade at a feast.'
'A gift of ten measures of best-quality silver.'
'Eh?' barked the seal maker from the far side. 'Who's that?' Like his father and grandfather before him, Sagrif could see nothing beyond the end of his nose, although he created miracles of art too small for anyone else to appreciate.
'That is most wonderfully generous of you, master artist,' Sugthar said. 'But what can I possibly give you in return to show you my gratitude?'
'You know my apprentice, Thod—'
'A fine lad,' the potter said. His wife's mouth grew even grimmer.
'Indeed he is,' Benard said. 'He is eager beyond measure, most adept and quick to learn, although I think he might be better off serving holy Hrada than my own lady Anziel. He is greatly enamored of your daughter, the lovely Thilia. I had in mind that you might take Thod as your apprentice and her betrothed.'
'Only ten measures of silver?' Thilia's mother barked. 'Why, we have turned down offers—'
'Be quiet!' her husband snapped, to her evident astonishment 'Your gift is exceedingly generous, Benard! Far too generous! Of course, Thilia will not be fourteen until next year, but she does look with favor on Thod. He is agreeable?'
'I'm sure he will be. Haven't had time to discuss it with him. Here is the silver. I know you are an honest man. In fact, take two more measures as a wedding gift for them. I must rush. Please keep the arrangement quiet for a few days. And give them both my best wishes, won't you? My thanks, master, mistress ... twelve blessings ...'
Leaving them openmouthed, Benard took his leave.
'Twelve measures of
¦
Benard gave up looking for Thod. The stars moved slower than fingernails grew. Had the satrap gone looking for his wife yet? Would Ingeld be able to slip away unnoticed? Suppose Guthlag had failed to find a boat! Saltaja Hragsdor was in the palace, supposedly resting, but definitely a danger. Fabia seemed to have disappeared.
'Master Artist Benard?'
He looked up at a weary adolescent eye.
'You shouldn't grow so fast, Keev. It's unhealthy.'
The page grinned. 'I'm trying to give it up! Bena, I was told to tell you to go to the Bull Concourse to learn something important.'
'Told by whom?'
'I was told not to say.'
Benard dismissed the boy with a nod and absentmindedly crumpled the drinking beaker in his fist into a nugget while he pondered. He was not in the mood for any impromptu trysts, and no one had dropped any hints, so far as he had noticed. But the message might have come from Ingeld or Guthlag, so he decided on a cautious reconnaissance.
The great and gloomy corridor still seemed to be uninhabited. He could hear none of the give-away sounds of low-jinks in progress. He walked about a third of the way along it before a voice spoke his name from the shadows. White-draped and anonymous, a Witness of Mayn stood in an alcove between two gigantic winged bulls. She was spinning, of course.
He did not go close. 'How do I know you're genuine?'
'The shapeless lump of metal in your fist was a pewter beaker until very recently. Convinced?'
'No.' He slid his other hand behind his back. 'How many fingers am I holding out?'
'Three. Now four.'
'So you're a seer. Seers serve the satrap. I don't trust you.'
'We serve unwillingly. My name is Mist.'
Something about her made his skin creep. 'What do you want of me?'
