.?

  One of the other Grays approached the table, and Buster hastily wiped out the message.

  “Can you help me prepare these rare items?” Castor asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ll try, if I can get away.”

  Castor nodded and moved off. Numbly Buster resumed his preparation of Hazar’s dinner. Theories, schemes, and fears raced through his brain while his hands automatically chopped, sliced, and scraped. The addition of the tiny fragments of rot root to the stuffing had become almost an anticlimax.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Hazar made sure that the door to his office was secured. Satisfied that he would not be interrupted, he slouched back in his chair and allowed himself to relax. The bronze* hued face which, when animated, gave Hazar the appearance of mature vitality now, in slack-jawed repose, revealed something of the wizard’s true age. Deep furrows plowed the flesh between the mouth and the edges of the nose; a maze of wrinkles flanked each eye. When the head was turned just right small wattles of flesh bulged beneath the chin. Even the glossy black mustache which at first glance seemed a badge of vigor now appeared out of place, incongruous, as if it were an artifice employed by a slapdash thespian to give the appearance of youth to an aging performer.

  Hazar tried to force his spinning brain to rest, to marshal his energies for the spells which in the coming days he knew he must perform if his plans were to succeed. For the hundredth time he considered adding a second bloodstone to his gem-encrusted left hand. Each time, reluctantly, he had rejected the idea as being equivalent to slow suicide.

  Unbidden, new questions, schemes, and worries jostled for room on the stage of his mind’s eye. Rupert’s silhouette, grossly distorted, capered in a jungle of odd plants, sometimes trailing Greyhorn’s bumptious nephew,‘at others prancing with glee, his bloodstained hand adorned with the missing ring. An instant later Rupert stepped through the wall of plants to emerge on the other side as a Fanist who walked arm in arm with the wayward young Hartford. The two approached a gigantic pile of rocks and, at the last second, twisted sideways to melt between a crevice and disappear from sight.

  The face of the Ajaj leader Obron swam into view. The Ajaj’s words echoed unintelligibly. She held up a piece of paper covered with writing which, no matter how Hazar strained and twisted, he was nevertheless unable to read. A clatter arose in the background and terrified the Gray. She turned and ran for the shimmering tumbles, but before she reached them the scene faded away.

  Dimly background sounds at last penetrated Hazar’s conscious mind. Tap, tap. “My lord Hazar?” Tap, tap, tap. “My lord, are you there?”

  Hazar’s eyes snapped open. He lifted his body to sitting position. His muscles ached. His skin was clammy and beaded with sweat “A minute—cease that racket!” Hazar croaked.

  Removing a soft towel from his desk, Hazar dried his face and massaged the back of his neck. At last he rose, released the latch, and slid back the door. A nervous Derma, shuffling from one foot to the other, eyes fixed upon the floor, confronted him.

  “My lord, I…”

  “What is it, clerk? I told you I did not want to be disturbed.”

  “My lord, I am sorry, but some information has been received which could be important I thought you might want to know at once.”

  “Very well; come in. For your sake you had better hope that you did not disturb me unnecessarily.” Hazar settled again into his chair but now took pains to keep the weariness from his face. Ill at ease, Derma stood before the desk and made his report.

  “My lord, as you know, Saschim, the tailor of the second wall, is known to have some contact with the bandit Yon Diggery. For this reason, my lord, we have prevailed upon his apprentice Trecko to keep us informed of—”

  “I know all that, clerk! You don’t have to give me a lesson in who works for me. Get to the point!”

  “Yes, my lord Hazar. To go to the heart of the matter, then: Trecko reported that yesterday afternoon his master received a communication from Yon Diggery to the effect that a certain young Hartford in the company of a certain native had crossed the Weirdlands and was making for . Cicero. He prevailed upon Saschim to watch the Gate of Dread so that he might be informed if the two enter this vicinity. Not suspecting that Trecko is in my lord’s service, Saschim, this morning, conveyed this information and charged Trecko to implement the plan.”

  “What’s the rest of the message? What is Saschim supposed to do if he finds this Hartford?”

  “Diggery charged the tailor to lure the Hartford into his apartments, there to drug him and cut off his hand. This accomplished, the body is to be hidden and the hand conveyed outside the walls and delivered to Yon Diggery.”

  “Yes, and what does the tailor get out of all this?”

  “Upon delivery of the hand, my lord, he was promised ten golds plus a call on the bandit for future favors in time of need.” .

  “Ten golds—a handsome price for a mere hand, provided you don’t know the value of what you are selling. What of the Fanist who reportedly accompanies the Hartford? What were Diggery’s instructions concerning him?”

  “None specific, my lord. The tailor was given a free hand to do as he pleased provided he accomplished his primary goal.”

  “An interesting story, I’ll admit—but why, why? Oh, stop fidgeting, clerk; you were right in bringing this to my attention.”

  Hazar transferred his attention to an oddment of metal and bone which rested on his desk. Idly playing^with the instrument, Hazar mused over the possible motives for Gran tin’s trip.

  “Why of all places would he come here? At first I thought that sanctimonious old fool Obron was making up the story about a human and a Fanist entering the tumbles. Now I’m not so sure. If that is Greyhorn’s addlebrained nephew, Cicero should be the last place he’d visit; Why not return to Hartford lands or even remain in Grenitch Wood? Why come here, and with a Fanist yet? What could he want here? Money, riches? Not likely. I can’t believe he wishes to join our society. Do you suppose his uncle sent him here? But no, not with the ring. Greyhorn would never part with the ring.”

  “Perhaps he knows someone here, someone who he thinks will help him,” Derma suggested meekly. “Or perhaps it is the Fanist who has business in Cicero, and for lack of a better purpose the human is merely accompanying him.”

  * “Even Greyhorn’s nephew would not be foolish enough to come here as a mere tourist; and as for meeting someone, that’s impossible. He knows no one in Cicero. He’s never been out of the Hartford lands in his life. Except for myself and perhaps a few of the other lords, none of us have penetrated the Hartford boundaries. Only…” Hazar dropped the demarcator as if it were red-hot and riveted his gaze upon Derma. “…only Mara has visited his homeland. He’s met Mara, for a fact!”

  “You think, then, my lord, that they are planning—”

  “Don’t be a fool, Dermal He doesn’t have the brains to plan anything like that, or the courage. Now his uncle—No, that’s not possible. Grantin has the ring, not Greyhorn. The old reprobate would never let the stone go voluntarily. I wonder if it could be love?”

  “Love, my lord?”

  “She’s an enchantress, isn’t she? She prepared herself to enchant him when she delivered the ring, only she ran off before she could find out how successful she was. That little witch has laid a spell on him and doesn’t even know it. By Satan, he’s come here to find her!” Hazar pounded his fist on his desk.

  “Derma, take down these commands: First, have twenty of my guards surround the tumbles, quietly. The Grays are not to be bothered, but Grantin and the Fanist are to be kept there at all costs. The men are to stay out of sight until further orders. Next, call my overdeacons, Croman, Jasper, and Wax. They are to commence at once to call up a Firebird, one big enough to carry a full-grown man and strong enough to last through an entire night. They must use all their energies. I want the demon readied for my commands by the second hour.

  “Lastly, call my body servants; have them prepare my bath. Get my masseuse and have fresh garments laid out. Tonight I will thwart my enemies and make ready the attack.”

  The period of indecision was over, the questions banished from Hazar’s mind. Hazar’s lassitude had fled with his doubts. Now he knew what to do; a plan of action had presented itself. His energies renewed, he strode to his private chambers while Derma raced off to implement his lord’s commands. -

  Later, bathed, his skin massaged to an invigorated tingle and coated with a thin, glistening coat of scented oil, Hazar joined Mara in the parlor. The ministrations of his servants had soothed Hazar to the point that while reclining on the masseuse’s table he had enjoyed his first peaceful sleep in days. Now, somewhat past the first hour A.D., Mara the enchantress rose nervously to greet her lord.

  Hazar detected the tense set of her muscles, the slight quiver of the tendons in her neck, the contracted tight black pupils of her eyes. Her attitude could be due to a number of factors: concern over Hazar’s tardiness in appearing for their dinner engagement; fear that he might have planned some rebuke or punishment because of her failure on her mission to the Hartfords. Possibly, just possibly, Mara’s uneasiness might be due to more personal factors. Was she interested in forming a liaison with him? Could she be planning on using her charms on him in the hope of obtaining an advantage? If that were the case she would be disappointed. Mara was far too old for Hazar’s tastes.

  They had barely exchanged greetings when a servant’s knock announced that dinner was ready. With Hazar in the lead the two entered the dining room.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  A little after the first hour A.D. Castor and Buster carried the steaming dinner to Hazar’s quarters. A moment after the guard knocked, an eye appeared at the spyhole. It studied the supplicants, then reluctantly slid back the panel. Derma admitted the two Ajaj and one of the guards while the other soldier positioned himself outside the hallway door. The Grays conveyed the dinner service to Hazar’s table and set three places, one for Hazar, one for Mara, and the last for the food taster.

  Hazar’s clerk, Derma, examined the dishes, then silently pointed to first one item, then another. In response to these directions Buster cut off a fragment of fish, a spoonful of tubers, a splash of wine, a portion of dressing, and conveyed each to the taster’s plate.

  From behind a curtain appeared a pale, sickly boy. The young man’s cheeks were sunken and sallow. Dull brown hair hung thin and limp over his forehead. Selected for his susceptibility to disease, the food taster was kept in a constant state of ill health. A vigorous specimen might fight off the effects of a deleterious substance, whereas someone like this boy would easily be pushed over the line to sicken and die.

  “You may eat, Martin,” Derma directed.

  Somewhat diffidently the young man seated himself before the plate and commenced stuffing his cheeks with food. Lord Hazar did not wish his dinner to grow cold while the taster savored the meal.

  The rot root, not having been activated by the appropriate spell, caused the young man no discomfort. Five minutes later the meal was pronounced safe. Hazar feared no slow-acting poison, for his magic and that of his subordinates was powerful enough to counteract any harmful substance provided he was given adequate time.

  Martin left the room and Castor removed his plate. Now it was up to the girl. If she successfully performed the spell Hazar would die. In the confusion Castor might even be able to deliver Grantin’s message.

  Immediately upon his passing, Hazar’s overdeacons as well as the remaining four lords, together with the inhabitants of the second wall, would all begin plotting to take his place. There would be no lack of candidates to bear the responsibility of his death. Nefra, in fact, already planned to focus the blame on Greyhorn and thus divert attention from his own machinations.

  Leaving the Ajaj under the watchful eye of the guard, Derma returned to the dining room. He crossed to the parlor door and knocked politely on the panel three times. Upon hearing Hazar’s call Derma slid back the door.

  “My lord, my lady, dinner is served.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Platters and cups of hot delicacies steamed on a table draped in glossy black cloth. Places had been set with fire-glazed scarlet plates, crudely handsome, twisted clear glass goblets, and utensils of silver and black enamel.

  Hazar dismissed the guard and ordered the Ajaj to serve the meal. By long custom Gogol lords preferred the service of the Grays to that of humans. Being viewed as a cowardly and downtrodden race, the Ajaj presented less of a physical danger to their masters than a possibly traitorous or high-spirited human servant.

  Secondly, the Ajaj by their very natures were deft and so judged less likely to spill hot soup in their masters’ laps. Further, should such an unfortunate event occur a human servant might create an unseemly display, while an Ajaj would meekly endure his fate. Should the crime be severe enough to require the ultimate penalty, the Ajaj’s cured pelt would provide a minor recompense for the inconvenience.

  Castor noted with satisfaction that Hazar seemed to be in fine appetite, demanding large portions of almost every dish, including the tainted stuffing. Mara commanded smaller portions which she sampled sparingly, except for the stuffing, which she tasted not at all.

  During the meal Hazar waxed expansively upon his plans for conquest. The more he spoke, the more Hazar’s hunger seemed to be satisfied by the emotions to which he now gave full vent. Ten minutes after filling Hazar’s plate Castor noted that the Gogol had eaten only a few bites. The stuffing had been left almost untouched.

  “More wine—our cups are dry. More wine!” Castor scuttled forward. “Zaco’s clerk brought word today that my stones are almost ready,” Hazar said to Mara, “an announcement for which I suspect you are in large part responsible. In that you have done well.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I have done my best.”

  “Not always, not always. You made a serious error in failing to follow my instructions concerning Greyhorn’s courier, but in light of your recent success I am disposed to overlook that incident. It is of little importance now anyway.”

  “Thank you, my lord. You believe, then, that the wizard Greyhorn will remain loyal to your plan?”

  “Nonsense; trust no one; No, I have solved the problem in a different way entirely. With Greyhorn out of the way his assistant Maurita will take command of his associates. Of her loyalty, for the time being at least, I am assured. In any event there will be no one in that portion of the Hartford lands to oppose me.”

  “My lord’s magic is great to overcome Greyhorn in spite of the ring he possesses.”

  “The ring he does not possess. You don’t know how sadly your mission went awry, do you, Mara? There is no harm now in telling you. It was indeed Greyhorn’s nephew to whom you delivered the ring.”

  “But he put it on…” >

  “Exactly. He put it on his finger and then couldn’t get it off. His noble uncle should have chopped the digit off, but be botched the job. The lad escaped. Greyhorn has no more than his ordinary powers with which to oppose me, and he dare not denounce the scheme for fear of implicating himself. I will bring him here tonight and under rigorous interrogation extract what advantage I can for the coming battles against the Hartfords.”

  “But what about the nephew with the ring? Could he not turn its powers against you? Where is he now?”

  “That is where you come in, my dear. That is the marvelous humor of this whole series of events. You did your job better than either of us realized. You enchanted young master Grantin without even realizing it.”

  “I…?”

  “Yes, the idiot’s come here to find you. Isn’t that delightful? The report came in this afternoon; he’s hiding in the tumbles east of the city. At this very instant my guards have the area surrounded.”

  In the comer Castor clamped his jaws together and cursed his fate. The significance of Grantin’s hiding in his quarters could hardly be missed. Unless Hazar ate the stuffing all would be lost. Would Mara go through with the plan and perform the required incantation?

  Castor studied the female. It seemed to him that Hazar’s news had brought her near a state of shock. Mara put down her fork and dropped all pretense of enjoying her meal. Her fingers played idly with the napkin while she struggled to regain her composure.

  “But, my lord, if he’s there, hidden in the tumbles with that ring, won’t it be difficult to capture him? Will not his powers do great damage to your men, perhaps even enough to allow his escape?”

  “Certainly, if I were a fool. If I chose to send in twenty or thirty armed men to flush him from hiding I have no doubt some lives would be lost. Not that I quail at bloodshed, but I need Grantin alive, at least until I can separate him from his ring. But really, Mara, the answer to your question is so simple I’m disappointed that you haven’t seen it for yourself.”

  “I don’t understand, unless—you don’t mean…?”

  “Ah, I see that you have figured it out at last. Don’t be so upset; it is the simplest thing in the world. The young fellow has come all this way to find you, and I don’t think we should disappoint him. You and one of the Grays—this fellow here will do as well as any other,” Hazar said, gesturing to Castor—“will be directed to the Hartford’s hiding place by the Ajaj Obron, who is even now in the company of the captain of my guards.

  “You will contrive some way to embrace the fellow. I am sure that you can think of something along those lines.

  When he’s in your arms you will scratch the back of his neck with the edge of this ring. He will immediately fall into a deep sleep. You will then signal my guards to come and remove his body.”

  Mara looked at her plate and tried to organize her swirling thoughts. One thing was clear: if Hazar survived this dinner his plan would probably work. For a moment Mara considered abandoning her conspiracy but realized that she had no option. If she failed tonight Nefra would take his own vengeance on her. At best, her fate would be delayed until Nefra fell under Hazar’s sway and bargained away the secret of her participation in the plot in exchange for some benefit to himself. Forcing herself to eat, Mara stabbed a light-brown morsel with her fork.