Ellen Under The Stairs (24 page)

"And the reason you are here, in my
Band?"

An odd thing to ask since, according
to earlier messenger birds, the king of Realgar knew of John's
mission. Had invited him to come. Did this mean there was little or
no communication around the Band? For that matter, what was this
"my Band" business?

"I was under the opinion we would be
welcomed here."

"Possibly. Possibly." The man settled
back. "There is the difficulty."

"What? I've apologize for hitting your
wharf. A navigational problem with an experimental ship. An
unintended error, I assure you."

The grossly fat Mage waved off John's
explanation. "I refer to the known fact that, as there cannot be
two kings in any band, there cannot be two Mages."

What was he talking about?

"I have no wish to be a second Mage in
Realgar, nor have I ever thought of such a thing."

Again the wave of nullification. "I
refer to the other Mage who journeyed to this land, the first Mage
of Stil-de-grain, calling himself Pfnaravin."

So, that was it. Time -- past time --
for the truth. "Pfnaravin is a Mage. But not, as he may have
claimed, of Stil-de-grain. Did you see his Mage-Disk?"

A nod. At least John thought it was a
nod -- the man's neck buried in all that blubber.

"If you will remember, Pfnaravin's
Disk was green."

Again the almost nod.

"Pfnaravin is Mage of Malachite,
sometimes pretending to be Mage of Stil-de-grain. As you have seen,
my Disk is the gold of Stil-de-grain. If a messenger bird could be
sent to your King, I am sure any confusion on this point can be
eliminated."

"And the reason you venture into
Realgar? It could not be trade, I think."

"No. We seek this same Pfnaravin. And
his woman companion."

"True, there was a woman with him.
Under Mage restraint, so not accompanying him
willingly."

The fat man wasn't a dummy.

"Pfnaravin is a criminal. As proof,
has stolen the woman. We are here to right a wrong and desire your
help in doing so. Hearing by Messenger Bird that our interests and
yours correspond, we ask for supplies to continue our search for
this evil Pfnaravin. We also need directions so that we may hunt
him."

"What you ask presents difficulties."
The man sighed a great, fat jiggling sigh. "For recently, again by
messenger bird, we have been required by the king of Malachite, to
detain the one he has described as the false Mage of
Stil-de-grain."

"It was my understanding, that it is
Pfnaravin who has proved himself to be a false friend of your King.
That, wherever he goes, treason is ...." John almost said in the
wind, wind a meaningless concept here, as elsewhere in this world.
"...in the air."

"There is some truth to what you say.
And I would order done what you suggest: provide you with supplies
for your continued journey. Willingly so, had the difficulty
between the two of you affected none other than yourselves .....
But there has been this change ...."

"If I may ask, what
change?"

"I have been told that ships were
attempting to intercept you, your reaching Realgar waters with our
help."

"Yes." Where was this
going?

"Even now, Malachite troop transports
approach our shores in The Claws, demanding, by messenger bird,
that we apprehend you and your party. As for that request, as for
your own, we wish nothing but to avoid entanglements."

So that was it. The fat Mage wanted to
duck out of what he saw as other people's problems. Though the King
might have been of more help, it was clear that his second in
command wished, above all else, to maintain the status
quo.

"The Malachite problem is not yours,
but mine. I agree. So let me make a suggestion. Provision us, as
you surely did Pfnaravin, then show us the way to go to arrest this
evil Mage. Do this immediately before Malachite soldiers threaten
your Band. In that way, the struggle remains between two, foreign
Mages, Pfnaravin of Malachite and John Lyon of Stil-de-grain.
Treating combatants equally is the only way Realgar can claim
neutral status."

"A wise suggestion -- had not the
Malachites sent so many troops."

"You allowed Pfnaravin to travel
through your Band ...."

"More across than through."

"And did you supply him for this
trip?"

The almost imperceptible
nod.

"All I ask is for the same support.
Let me summarize. Currently, the band of Stil-de-grain and that of
Malachite are in conflict. It is also my understanding that Realgar
wishes to remain a neutral Band."

"You have stated my meaning with these
many words."

"Neutrals are ... neutral. If a
privilege is granted to one, it should be given to the
other."

"And that would be?"

"Allow us to take the same road as
Pfnaravin."

"That would be the silk road," said
the Mage, casually, as if he said something of little importance.
"And when the Malachites arrive?"

"Tell them both Mages slipped away
before you knew of Malachite's request that you
intervene."

"If, as you say, you are here to
pursue Pfnaravin, will the Malachite troops not demand to follow
you?"

"Let them."

"Wise advise from one so young. I will
make your request known to our King, who will make the decision
about what to do.

"Meanwhile, avail yourself of this
opportunity to rest. I will inform you of the King's decision
regarding your person."

They were dismissed, a new set of
soldiers taking them back to their rooms.

John's party now installed in their
quarters, the military remaining in the hall, the door shut, the
Stil-de-grain group gathered to sit at John's end of the table,
Coluth on John's right, Golden to the left.

"Not much of a welcome," John said
dryly.

"Are we prisoners here?"
Golden.

"A possibility. As you heard, the
situation has changed between the time we set out and our
arrival."

"Malachite troops coming behind us."
Coluth.

"Yes."

The sailors said nothing, looking to
John and to Coluth for leadership.

"Are we agreed that the rulers of
Realgar want to stay out of any conflict that might
develop?"

Coluth nodded.

"Then, as I see it, it's our job to
help them do that."

"How?" Golden.

"By finding a way to get out of here.
After that, follow this 'silk road' the man mentioned so casually.
My guess is that Helianthin was thinking even as he spoke; that he
mentioned the direction we should take because he'd be pleased to
see us gone. Doubly pleased if we take out Pfnaravin. After all,
our earlier communications indicated bad blood between Pfnaravin
and their King.

"On the other hand, the Mage speaking
of 'my Band' could mean competition between Mage and King,
Helianthin wanting nothing so much as to keep from fouling up. (At
"fouling up," John saw men's eyebrows raise -- but no matter.)
"What came through," John pushed on, "is that he wants to preserve
what, in the politics of my country, is called "deniability," that
is, to be able to maintain his innocence should something go wrong.
Right now, the eventual winner in the Stil-de-grain/Malachite
conflict would seem to be Malachite. Their Mage is on the loose.
Troops are coming, and we're too few to make much of a show. The
situation remains fluid, however, a fact he must
consider.

John thought this over. "It could even
be that Helianthin sees the winning strategy as holding us here
until he can turn us over to the Malachites. Our capture would mean
a Malachite win, Helianthin taking credit for finding the only safe
way through this muddle."

Muscled forearms on the table, hands
clasping and clasping, Coluth nodded.

"On the other hand, if we 'escaped'
...."

Again, the Coluth nod.

"We are not helpless," Golden said. "I
have certain skills ...."

"And I'm counting on them, Golden,"
John agreed. "Though few in number, we're also stronger then these
fat folks. And we know from previous communications that Pfnaravin
is disliked. It's my guess that one of the reasons Pfnaravin was
given assistance to continue his "cross band" trip was to get rid
of him."

"We need food, clothing," Golden said,
more to himself than to John. "Packs. As for weapons
....?"

"If we could get out of here, we might
be able to pass ourselves off as traders. Buy supplies down the
trail." John had also begun to think ahead. "For now, we've got to
make our escape. After that, find this silk road."

"I know of that road," Coluth said, so
quietly he could have been speaking in his sleep.

"What?"

"Long ago, I traveled the silk road.
With my crew and pack ponies. Leading cross band from the third
Claw."

John did seem to remember Coluth
talking about that. "Was that the time you went to
Cinnabar?"

A shudder passed through the Admiral
as it often did when people mentioned the outer band of Cinnabar --
generally called "The Cinnabar."

"You were trading for silk, if I
remember right."

"Yes. When I was younger. At the
border, I stepped into The Cinnabar." Said as someone forced to
cross a mine field.

It was coming back to John. "You
called the people of Cinnabar 'the flyers,' I believe."

"Yes."

"Because they can fly?" Cinnabar had
the reputation of being the weakest gravity band of them all,
gravity in this place going from heaviest in the center, to
lightest at the rim. Beyond Cinnabar was what people here called
"down-land" where the unwary could fall off the edge of the world.
"Did you see them fly?"

"No. No one sees them. It is that they
... know. When a trader comes, he finds bundles of silk on a stone
trading floor ... just within The Cinnabar. Take the silk, leave
behind items for payment, and there will be silk bundles for
further trade at a later date. That is what is said, though I do
not know of my own experience. It is for men braver than myself to
venture twice into The Cinnabar." Again, the involuntary shudder.
"If a trader leaves too little in value for the silk taken, the
cheater will find no silk on the trading floor when he returns --
forever and forever."

"So the supposition is that the
Cinnabarians -- or however they call themselves -- have a way of
knowing who is a cheat and who is not?"

The Admiral nodded, Coluth as sober as
John had seen him; grave, an even better word to describe his
demeanor, every sea-weathered line in his broad face
sagging.

"You think the citizens of Cinnabar
must be flying overhead, to observe trade transactions?"

"There are birds that fly so high, no
man can see them."

"Your theory is that, because the
gravity is almost non-existence in Cinnabar, its people can
actually fly?"

While Coluth didn't nod yes, he didn't
nod no.

"It does seem that Pfnaravin and Ellen
are headed there." No one disagreed. "Why?"

"Unwelcome here, Pfnaravin must leave.
With us blocking his way to Sea Minor, where else could he go?"
Golden.

John thought about that. "He could
have traveled around the band; gotten to some place where people
didn't know him, then doubled back into Stil-de-grain."

"Taking passage on a stolen ship, the
crew seeming to have deserted him here, he is alone with only the
woman, and she unwillingly. He might feel safer in The Cinnabar,
few with the courage to follow him there." Common sense from
Coluth.

"Sounds reasonable. Is it agreed,
then? That we make a run for it?"

Nods all around.

"After down-light, I will provision
us." Golden, getting back to practical matters.

"You still know the way to this silk
road, Coluth?" John.

"Yes."

"Then if Golden can 'appropriate' what
we need for the trip, we leave at first light!"

* * * * *

His orphaned life lived by thievery,
Golden had learned the layout of most buildings, public and
private. Food was to be found in kitchens, pantries. Clothes stored
in closets, chests, and laundry rooms. Weapons locked in
strongholds close to soldiers' billets.

When foraging for what he needed,
Golden generally started with a disguise, the better to slip past
others on his way to round up useful items. This time, of course,
the first thing he must do was get past the two "honor" guards the
Realgar Mage has left outside the door as a "courtesy" to the
foreign guests, Golden opening the hall door to indicate by nods
and gestures -- down-light settled in -- that he was going to the
necessity room down the hall.