Magi'i of Cyador

LIII

THE SILVER CHALICE is a two-story structure hidden in the shadows of the second auxiliary warehouse of the Spuryl Clan, and stands a hundred cubits off Second Harbor Way West on an unnamed narrow way set between the Road of Perpetual Light and the Road of Benevolent Commerce. Behind the two archways that form a small portico are the agevarnished double doors to the Silver Chalice.

Lorn slides inside the right-hand double door, trying not to move too stiffly with the sabre inside his trousers and boottop. He wishes that he had the Brystan sabre, but it will not be ready for another two days, and if he is careful, no one will notice the difference. The Dyljani dagger remains behind the heavy blue leather of his belt.

The tile foyer offers three arches, and behind the center arch are most of those in the Silver Chalice-traders and full merchanters in blue, all men. To the left is a near empty small room with but a single bearded merchanter of indeterminate age with a woman also in blue, perhaps his consort or a cousin.

The muscular guard with the truncheon in hand nods to the right, immediately dismissing Lorn. Lorn takes in the near-empty side section where three young enumerators share one table, and a gray-haired enumerator and a woman in yellow sit in the corner. Then he moves slowly toward a table for two just beyond the arch, set so that the light from dim oil lamps will leave his face in shadow, yet from where he can watch both the traders in the larger center room, and those who enter.

The serving girl-in gray, not yellow, and not even so old as Myryan-looks down at him. “Same as last night?”

Lorn nods, and she turns toward the back. No one even close to Shevelt’s description is in the tavern, nor has anyone been on the half-score occasions over the past two eightdays when he has frequented the Chalice. His other investigations and observations have been more fruitful, for which he is grateful.

A woman in entertainer’s yellow staggers away from a merchanter, pulling her ripped gown up across her chest, then throws the contents of a mug in the man’s face. The man lurches to his feet, only to sit down as the bravo with the truncheon-nearly five cubits of silent muscle-appears before him.

Loud laughter rolls out of the center room as the merchanter sits down abruptly.

“ … got you, Fysl, she did … and Wosyl’ll have a silver for her gown, too, and more if you’re not watching your purse.”

The serving girl in gray appears from the back, angling toward Lorn, who leans back slightly, watching as she sets the mug on the table with a slight thump. He eases three coppers into her hand. With a smile she steps away.

Lorn lifts the mug, but barely tastes the cheap red swill that passes for table wine. His eyes flick across the foyer as another merchanter steps inside, but the man is slender, and bent, and turns to the left, where he joins the couple waiting there.

“Fellow … seen you around … you the other enumerator for the red bitch?” calls the brown-haired and round-faced enumerator from the table of three.

“Ryalor, you mean?”

“Ryalor-you really think there’s anyone but her?” The round-faced man laughs. “Her and two enumerators-that’s all anyone sees.”

“What about all the traders, Bercatl?” asks the man to the inquirer’s left. “Lots of’em, and they don’t trade’less there’s coins.”

Lorn shrugs and waits for a moment, until the men at the other table are silent. “Met her partner once. He’s quiet. She listens to him. Don’t know much about him.”

The round-faced enumerator asks, “You serious?”

Lorn nods. “Told me not to say much, but I figure it doesn’t matter if folks know he’s real. He travels a lot.”

The other two nod at their companion. “See. Told you, Bercatl. That’s why they get contracts. She’s safe here, and he’s greasing the wheels in the outports. That’s what they do in Tuylyn House, too, but they got teams that do the outports.”

… can’t …

“ … Eileyt bets the House is bigger than anyone knows …”

“ … cause he works for’em …”

“And who else’d know?”

Lorn looks past the three, politely, and the words die away. His eyes center on the archway, and the full merchants beyond.

Following an uneasy and lingering silence, the enumerators resume their conversation.

“ … Hamorians wouldn’t trade fair without the fireships …”

“ … pretty fair … coins talk, too.”

After a time, Lorn stands, leaves a copper by the goblet, and nods to the enumerators as he starts to leave the Silver Chalice. A few whispered words follow him.

“ … more than an enumerator. Walks like a bravo ….”

“Looking for someone, he is ….”

“ … wouldn’t want to be the one he finds.”

“Wouldn’t want to be him if he finds what he’s looking for, either ….”

“For a little house … got some scary folk there …”

Lorn hopes they continue to think so as he slips out.

He stops by his parents’ dwelling, the lower garden only, to cache the sabre and the golden dagger, before hurrying back along the Road of Perpetual Light and thence downhill toward Ryalth’s. The western sky is still partly greenish purple when he reaches Ryalth’s quarters and rings the small trade bell.

Ryalth doesn’t bother with the privacy screen, but opens the door and takes his hand. “You’re later tonight.”

Lorn offers an embarrassed smile. “Father hasn’t been the same since the Ocean Flame explosion. I stayed and talked to him for a bit. He protested that I wasn’t spending much time with the family.” All of what he says is true, but he is aware of how close to his fingers he sharpens his blade, particularly given that Ryalth is far more sensitive than most merchanters.

She closes the door, and they walk toward the table. “I fixed some emburhka. It’s warm, still.”

“Thank you. It will be good.” He smiles as he seats himself. “I wish I could have come earlier. I really do.”

“I can tell that.” She returns the smile. “Sometimes, I can sense how you feel.” She pauses, and the smile fades. “Sometimes, it’s as if you put up a screen to keep me fromknowing anything.” She fills the goblet before him with an amber vintage. “Try this.”

“Habit … when you grow up in the Quarter of the Magi’i … you try not to reveal much. There’s too much that people know or can find out anyway.” He takes the goblet, sniffs, and breaks into a grin. “Alafraan! How did you get this?” The smile breaks. “You didn’t pay a fortune for it, did you?”

She shakes her head, and her eyes dance. “Enjoy it. There’s not as much market for it here as you might think.”

Lorn takes a small sip, enjoying the mixture of fragrances, and the clean taste that calls up both spring and autumn.

Ryalth follows his example. “I wouldn’t have known about it, except for you. I think we can also make some coins from it.”

“Oh? How?”

“It’s too delicate for the Magi’i …”

Lorn frowns.

“ … and too dear for the lancers, and too refined for most of the merchanters.”

“It sounds like there’s no one who can afford it who wants it,” Lorn says. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Too much chaos surrounds the senior mages, and they’re the ones who have the golds, and chaos off-puts the bouquet. That was what Esydet told me.”

“So … what idea do you have in mind?”

“Send it by coaster to Lydiar. The Lydians will pay; we’ll probably get three good cargos, two if we’re unlucky before one of the big houses discovers the profit.”

“So … after two, go to them and ask if they want shares, large shares, for their investment.”

“I haven’t wanted to let them know much about us ….”

“There’s already talk,” Lorn temporizes. “Let them think you’re a facade for someone else.”

“That’s dangerous … especially with Shevelt pressuring me.”

“I know.” Lorn sighs. “I know. Maybe we can think of something else in the next few days. Either way, you can make some more golds from the Alafraan before … whatever ….”He laughs. “Is that life? Making of it what you can before … whatever?” His thoughts drift back to Jerial, Myryan, and his parents.

“You look so sad.” Ryalth ladles the emburhka onto his platter, then sets the small basket of bread between them.

“I was thinking about my parents.”

“You can’t make everyone happy, Lorn. You can’t live for them.”

He sighs again, and feels every emotion in the sound. “I know. I won’t. You know that. But … I’m not too sure how long father will live. Mother’s keeping the chaos of age at bay. She is a healer, but …”

“They’ll die at close to the same time?”

“I really don’t know. So long as your body stays in balance, you can give a lot of balanced order-chaos force.”

“But does she want to?” asks Ryalth, her voice softening.

“I don’t know that, either.” He snorts. “There’s so much I don’t know.”

“That’s true of everyone.”

Lorn nods, then smiles at the warmth in her eyes, lifting the goblet to her.

She lifts hers as well.