“A festival of flowers is nice enough,” Rodrick said. “But wouldn’t a festival of wine, women, and dice be better?”
“I’m sure the Vudrani have gods for all those things, too,” Hrym said. “They’ve got thousands of the things. I hear in some places in the country over there, the gods outnumber the people.”
Rodrick strolled through the streets around the High-Holy District, a fat purse jingling in his pocket, sipping another of those creamy-sweet concoctions he’d had the day before. The people of Jalmeray knew how to put on a festival. Invisible creatures overhead kept up a steady light rain of fragrant blossoms, which swirled away back to the heavens before they could accumulate in quantities sufficient to impede progress or commerce. Priests in robes in all the hues of a wildflower meadow danced and chanted and made offerings, and there were heaps of fruit free for the taking in front of many of the temples. Pretty girls with flowers in their hair danced by, along with laughing men with blossoms woven into their beards, and children with floral crowns. There was a great deal of music, though it was too dependent on reed flutes for Rodrick’s taste, and he stood for a while watching a parade composed of immense levitating flowers bobbing in midair, the buds opening to reveal men and women dressed in leaves and vines inside, waving to the crowd and tossing out sweets and coins.
“They should be careful they don’t attract enormous bees,” Hrym said. Rodrick had the jeweled scabbard on his hip, but Hrym was frozen to the outside of a more functional leather scabbard on Rodrick’s back, so he could take in the sights. They were both in good spirits, having come to an agreement about how to proceed, and as far as they could tell, they weren’t being spied on by any agents from the palace, though it was possible the watching eyes were just very subtle. They had to find local help, of course, but the festival was a great excuse to wander the streets and poke into various alleys and byways.
In early afternoon, Rodrick ducked into a tea shop that also sold flatbread and some sort of succulent bean paste for a bite, and found just the man he’d been looking for sitting at a table in the corner, peering sullenly into a cup. Rodrick clapped him on the back, startling the man and making him yelp, then dropped into a chair opposite him. “Kaleb, isn’t it? We met yesterday. You had a horse.” Rodrick drew Hrym—the conjurer watched the blade with wide eyes—and leaned him against the wall, point-down.
Kaleb swallowed. “I’m sorry about that. Elementals are tricky to control, if you don’t get the forms exactly right they’ll break free—”
“Think nothing of it. I thought the flaming horse was an impressive piece of work, before it tried to run me down, anyway. You didn’t deliberately try to kill me.” Rodrick leaned on the table, making sure his biceps bulged, and put on his toothiest, most menacing smile. “Then again, you did endanger my life by accident. I don’t suppose you want to make it up to me?”
The man—who was quite thin under those robes—tried to straighten up. “I can conjure fire. Do you really want to threaten me?”
“Hrym?” Rodrick said.
Kaleb yelped and released the cup before him as it was covered in a thin sheet of ice, the liquid inside freezing solid. After a moment, the cup itself cracked, loud in the silence.
“I have a magical sword of living ice,” Rodrick said. “I don’t worry about fire. At best, your magic and Hrym’s could fight each other to a standstill, which would leave me free to beat you over the head with a chair. Who do you think would get the better end of that interaction?”
Kaleb wasn’t cowed yet. “Try causing that kind of trouble here, or anywhere in Niswan, and the thakur’s men will clap you in irons—”
“Do you think that’s likely, Hrym?” Rodrick said.
“Can’t say I do,” the sword replied.
Kaleb flinched at Hrym’s voice. “It talks?”
“He not only talks, he has things to say I actually care to hear. A remarkable property, and an increasingly rare one. We are in Niswan as invited guests of the thakur—didn’t you notice we were being shown around the city by one of his chief advisors?”
“I … Yes. I recognized him from the palace.” Another little flare of defiance—maybe the fellow did have some fire elemental ancestry. “You see? I’ve been to the palace too.”
“I heard. As a performer. Did they let you eat in the kitchens? I quite enjoyed the dancers and acrobats at the feast held in my honor last night, but I suppose a fire-eater would have been amusing, too.” The bit about “in my honor” was stretching it a bit, but it seldom hurt to seem more impressive than you were. “Anyway, if it came to blows, I suspect my word would carry more weight than a penniless conjurer’s. Or do the pockets of your robe bulge with free festival fruits because they’re your favorite food, and not because that’s all you can afford to eat?”
Kaleb hunched down in his seat. “What do you want?”
That was probably enough stick. On to the honey. “I want to give you money.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a glittering ruby the size of his thumbnail and put it on the table. He’d pried the jewel off the scabbard that morning, and had already bought a glass gem to replace it so it wouldn’t be apparent that he was chopping up the thakur’s generosity for parts. “That would buy you rather a lot more tutoring in the mystical arts, wouldn’t it?”
“I assume it’s not a gift?”
“You could call it a gift. Assuming you were inspired to give me a gift in return. Are you truly an illusionist as well as a pyromancer?” Nagesh had said so, but Rodrick needed to be sure.
Kaleb nodded. “I was trained as an illusionist in Absalom. It’s not my true passion, but I’m quite capable.”
Rodrick nodded. Something was bothering him, and in a rare burst of candor, he decided to simply ask. “If you’re so talented, why, precisely, are you so poor?”
Kaleb sighed. “In Absalom I could make a nice living, it’s true. But here? Throw a stone and you’ll likely hit a wizard. Though I don’t recommend performing the experiment—wizards don’t like being hit by stones. The well-established locals, the famous names of ancient standing, get all the worthy work on the island, leaving me to pick up what I can here and there. Moreover, I came here to learn, to discover magics that are all but unknown in the lands around the Inner Sea, and good teachers cost money. I came here with a chest of gold. A few months back, I was reduced to selling the chest for food.”
“I see.” Rodrick liked dealing with people who were desperate for money—their rates were so reasonable, and they seldom asked awkward questions. “I’ve seen your skill with fire. How are you with ice?”
Kaleb frowned. “What did you have in mind?”
“I’d like to make a replica of Hrym here. Can you enchant a sword to make it into an exact copy of him?”
“Not exact—it wouldn’t have your sword’s ability to ruin my cup of tea. But I could make a sword look like it—him—and maybe generate a bit of cold, too, to make the copy more convincing. I could even make it capable of uttering a few simple phrases, though nothing you could have a conversation with. More like talking to one of those parrots you see sometimes.”
“That would be fine. Hrym’s conversation tends toward the non sequitur anyway.”
“I never liked the look of walruses much, I must admit,” Hrym said, as if by way of demonstration.
“Okay.” Kaleb dug into his robes and pulled out a well-chewed nub of pencil and a scrap of parchment. “Here. Write down a few examples of the sort of things he’d say.”
Rodrick did so, then handed the paper back.
“I’ll need to buy a longsword to use as a base,” Kaleb said, “and some other components, so there will be expenses—”
“Take them out of the ruby.” Rodrick flicked the jewel across the table, and Kaleb scrambled to scoop it up. “I’ll give you another when it’s done. I need the sword by tomorrow morning. Oh, and while you’re at it, work up an illusion to make Hrym here look like an ordinary longsword. Nothing too fancy, something good but practical.”
“And you want this by tomorrow? I’d have to work through the night!”
“You’d better order some strong black tea, then, to help you stay awake. Good. That’s settled. Don’t think of running off with the advance payment, or I’ll have Hrym freeze your blood the way he did that tea. And if you fight him off with fire, well, I can always hit you with that chair we talked about.”
“I do what I say I’ll do.” Kaleb was all haughtiness now that he had a ruby in his pocket.
“Excellent. I do as well. Don’t tell anyone about this commission—it’s a surprise for a friend. Now show me where you’re staying, so I know where to pick up your work in the morning.”
The conjurer led them down through the steep streets, out of the High-Holy District. Rodrick wasn’t convinced that Niswan had any “bad” neighborhoods, considering how richly even the slaves were dressed here, but this was the closest he’d seen—the gilt on the buildings was chipped, bits of paper and rubbish occasionally marred the red stone walks without being swept up by djinn or eunuchs, and there were a lot more non-Vudrani faces than usual.
“The foreigners’ quarter,” Kaleb said, making a face. “In the worst part of the Harbor District. We are, of course, welcome to take rooms wherever they’re available—but they only seem to be available right around here. I think the Vudrani like to keep us where they can find us. They still talk about how ‘mainlanders’ will try to move into a place that doesn’t belong to them if it’s left unattended for a moment, as if the occupation by the Arclords happened just last week. On the other hand, there are a couple of places here where you can get decent food and wine like they have back home, and hear people speak familiar languages.” He stopped at a narrow building three stories tall and opened the front door with a key. “I’m on the top floor. I should get to work if you’re really coming back tomorrow morning.”
Since the man’s key had opened the door, Rodrick felt fairly comfortable that this was actually his real home, and not a trick. It was always possible he’d take the ruby and flee without doing the work, which would be inconvenient, but Rodrick thought the man really did want to finance his studies further. Life was full of risks and chances, but this one didn’t strike Rodrick as too big a gamble.
Rodrick strolled around the foreigners’ quarter, pausing at a couple of cafes and wine shops that had outdoor tables, but they were populated by scholarly types talking animatedly about ancient history or scribbling notes. A couple of discreet inquiries about where a man might find a dice game eventually led him to a staircase that disappeared belowground. “Sorry, Hrym, it’s in the scabbard with you. The sight of you would distract the honest, simple souls down there.”
“I bet the rajah wouldn’t shove me in a scabbard.”
Hrym unfroze himself from the outside of the leather scabbard, and Rodrick slid him inside the golden sheath. He wished for a mirror—he needed to look just right, rich yet not entirely reputable—but you couldn’t have everything.
The steps were cracked and unswept, and the basement room at the bottom—calling it a filthy rum-pit would be giving it too much credit—had the combination of darkness and muttering sullen occupants he’d hoped for.
There were Vudrani here among paler faces from the north side of the Inner Sea, but their clothes were less rich than those he’d seen elsewhere, their eyes more narrowed, or else their smiles were too wide and their jewelry too flashy. Every city had places where unsavory types gathered, and Rodrick always felt at home in those. He sidled up to the bar and asked for an ale—“Something that tastes like it was made on my side of the Obari Ocean, if possible”—and the bartender slid him a tankard. Rodrick laid a thick gold coin on the bar. “Drinks for anyone else who wants them until this runs out, too.”
The bartender, a woman who looked like she had a touch of orc in her ancestry, raised one eyebrow and said, “That starts with me, then.” She poured herself a shot of something from a bottle she took down from a very high shelf. Some of the others overheard his offer and crowded around, muttering thanks and looking at him frankly or sidelong depending on their natures.
“You’re new here,” a Vudrani man with an oiled beard said, ordering a glass of some bright-red cordial on Rodrick’s coin.
“I am,” Rodrick said. “I heard of the wonders of Jalmeray and thought I’d come see them for myself. I must admit, the place is nice enough. I might pick up a few souvenirs to take back home, if I can find the right ship to carry me back.”
“What kind of ship might that be?”
“One where the captain doesn’t inquire too closely about who I am, or what I’m carrying with me. Only because I value my privacy, you see.”
The fellow stroked his beard. “A man like me might know a man who has a ship like that.”
“There could be coin in it for someone who points me toward a helpful captain.” He sipped his ale, which was terrible, but it was always terrible in places like this, in every country Rodrick had ever visited. “Of course, someone who thought to take advantage of my good nature might not get gold, or silver, or even copper. They might get paid in steel instead.” The man frowned, and Rodrick sighed. “What I’m saying is, if you try to cheat me or lure me somewhere to steal my purse, I’ll put a sword through your neck.”
The man’s expression smoothed out. “Ah, of course. That’s just good business sense. I could … make a few inquiries. Though that takes time, and effort…”
“I’m not showing you the color of my coin on a promise,” Rodrick said. “Order another drink on me and call that your advance, all right?”
The man nodded slowly. “Meet me back here this time tomorrow?”
“That works. If you have a friend with the kind of discreet ship we talked about, bring him. We might have things to talk about, and I’ll pay for his time, and a finder’s fee for you.”
The man bowed and slid away, disappearing up the stairs. More risks. Maybe the man was an informant working for the thakur, but if so, Rodrick would just claim it was a misunderstanding—he was only trying to arrange passage home to avoid infringing further on the thakur’s hospitality, he had no idea he was talking to a criminal, let alone a man who knew smugglers—and hope his charm would see him through. It had done so often enough before. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d need a smuggler’s help getting off the island, but he wanted to have access to transportation that wasn’t arranged by the thakur’s people, just in case. Better to have the contingency in place. Such plans had saved him more than once.
He finished his drink and went back upstairs, continuing to saunter through the streets, getting a feel for the city, and coincidentally figuring out the most efficient route to get from the vicinity of the palace down to the docks. When Hrym complained, Rodrick drew the blade and froze him to the outside of the scabbard on his back. After a few minutes, Hrym said, “Someone’s following us.”
Without breaking stride, Rodrick said, “Dangerous thug? Sneaky agent of the palace? Terrifying djinn armed with scimitars? Street urchin with aspirations to purse-snatching?”
“Woman dressed in leather,” Hrym said.
“Ooh,” Rodrick said. “That sounds promising.”