Stealers` Sky

TO BEGIN AGAIN by Robert Lynn Asprin

Without thinking, Hakiem took a long swallow of the sour, cheap wine his tankard held. Normally, he would have winced at the bitter impact of the taste, but today it passed down his throat without notice.

Leave Sanctuary!

Though the very core of his being recoiled from the idea, fighting desperately to eject it from his mind, it remained foremost in his thoughts, clinging stubbornly like some malignant parasite feeding on his brain. It had been this way since his talk with the Beysa, hounding him until he retreated to the Vulgar Unicorn, returning to his old haunt like a wounded animal seeking refuge in its lair. Even here, however, surrounded by the familiar darkness and darker half-heard conversations, there was no escape from the dread pronouncement.

Leave Sanctuary!

Lifting his tankard again, he was surprised to find it was empty.

Was that his third ... or fourth? No matter. It wasn't enough, which was all that counted.

A brief nod at Abohorr was all that was necessary to obtain another. That notable's attentiveness was a tribute to Hakiem's rise in position and status, a rise he had never had cause to regret ... until now.

Advisor to the Beysa, he thought with a grimace. At first it had seemed harmless, even desirable, to teach the ruler-in-exile the ways and thinking other new home. Sympathy had grown into friendship, however, until he was regarded as her most trusted confidant ... almost a surrogate father to the young girl stranded by circumstance in a foreign land. His duties had been light, and his rewards great. Then, without warning, this.

Lost in thought, Hakiem barely noticed the arrival of his fresh tankard, though from habit he was aware of the bartender slipping more than was his due from the pile of small coins on the table. Rather than take the offender to task for his greed, he chose instead to review the event which had led to his current state of mental confusion.

Visits from the Beysa were common enough, and more often than not, involving subjects of a trivial nature. Usually, all that was required of him was to listen while she complained or emoted about some new discomfort or minor slight, venting the hurts or frustrations her position would not let her acknowledge publicly. Thus, he was unprepared for the direction their conversation took.

"I have news for you, old friend," Shupansea announced after their normal exchange of pleasantries. "Both good and bad, I'm afraid."

Hakiem had already noticed that his royal visitor had seemed preoccupied and distracted, and was glad the cause was to be revealed without his having to draw it out of her.

"Tell me the bad news first, 0 Beysa," he said- "Then we can dispense with it quickly. If not, then perhaps the good news will'cheer us both."

"Very well. The bad news is that I am about to lose one of my dearest and most trusted friends."

Hakiem noted that no name was mentioned, and wondered if the omission was accidental or deliberate.

"That is sad news indeed." He nodded, silently speculating on who it might be that they were discussing. "Friends are always hard to come by and impossible to replace."

"Still, the same news is good," the Beysa continued, "as it represents a promotion for that same friend ... a chance for me to express my appreciation with a long-overdue reward."

"So you rejoice for your friend's good fortune even though it represents a loss to you, personally. As I have said before, 0 Beysa, your nobility of heart surpasses the nobility of your birth. I would wager that your friend has benefited from your friendship, however brief, just as I have, and will wish you well upon parting."

His comment was automatic, flowery politeness to fill his side of the conversation while he awaited further information. The effect of the words on Shupansea, however, was as profound as it was unexpected.

"Oh, I'm so glad you agree, Hakiem!" she cried, seizing his hand in an uncommon display of emotion, Beysib women being usually very selfconscious about touching males. "I was afraid you'd be upset."

"Upset? About what?" Startled by the turn of the conversation, he practically stammered out the question, though it was now painfully clear that he himself was the subject under discussion. "I ... I'm afraid

I don't ..."

"I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. It's so hard for me to remember court formalities when I'm talking to you."

She released his hand and stepped back, striking a regal pose almost mocking in its severity.

"Hakiem," she said in her solemn, court voice. "It is with great pleasure that we hereby appoint you Royal Emissary, our Trade Ambassador to the Glorious Home of Mother Bey ... such as it is."

Hakiem could not have been more stunned if she had suddenly struck him.

"Ambassador? Me?"

"That's right." Shupansea grinned, abandoning her attempt at dignity. She was obviously delighted at her confidant's obvious surprise. "The appointment papers were just signed, and I raced the rumors through the palace so I could be the first to tell you."

"But, 0 Beysa, I have no qualifications! I'm no ambassadorl What would I do in a foreign court? Tell them stories?"

"You'll do what the people of this town do best," the Beysa informed him firmly. "Haggle. I can guarantee you the royal opponents you'll be dealing with will present little challenge to you after the training you*ve had here in Sanctuary."

"But I'm just a storyteller. It takes more than fine clothes to make an aristocrat!"

"That's what Kadakithis said ... but he eventually came around to my way of thinking. It's just as well, too. The trade ship has been ready to sail for nearly a week while we argued about who the ambassador would be."

"Trade ship?"

The enormity of what was being proposed suddenly swirled up around Hakiem like a fog. Until now, he had been arguing theoretically about a preposterous idea. The mention of a ship, however, brought home the reality of what was being discussed.

"You mean I am to leave Sanctuary? Make a new home in a foreign land?"

"Well, you can't very well be a trade ambassador from here." The Beysa laughed. "Oh, I know it sounds frightening ... but it's what I had to do when I came ... What is it, Hakiem?"

The storyteller had suddenly collapsed into a chair, his face a mask of despair.

"0 Beysa ... I ... I can't do it."

The smile slipped from the Beysa's face as she stiffened into a posture that had no trace of the mockery shown earlier.

"I don't recall giving you a choice," she said coldly, then softened instantly. "Oh, what's wrong, Hakiem? You've never refused me before."

"You've never asked me to leave Sanctuary before," he responded, shaking his head. "I'm not a young man ... too old to learn new ways. I've had to change my life completely twice already. Once when ... I first came to Sanctuary, and again when I became your advisor. I cannot make such changes again. You sec me as shrewd and wily, but that's only because I know this town and the people in it. Take me out of familiar surroundings, and ..."

"I thought I'd find you here."

Prince Kadakithis was framed in the doorway.

"Well, let me add my congratulations to those you've already received, Hakiem." There was no effort to shake hands, but the prince's smile was warm and sincere.

"He doesn't want the position," Shupansea blurted.

"Oh?" The smile faded as Kadakithis cocked an eyebrow at the storyteller. "I should think you'd find it an honor, Hakiem .' . . not to mention a noticeable improvement in your station ... and income."

"My place is here in Sanctuary," Hakiem insisted stubbornly, his desperation making him bold in the face of royalty. "From what I understand, you yourself have questioned my effectiveness in such an assignment."

"You see?" Shupansea cried in exasperation. "I try to reward his service and do him a favor at the same time, and this is the thanks I get!" "Highness ..." Hakiem began, but the prince cut him short.

"I'm sure we can reach some kind of an agreement here," he said soothingly. "Let me talk with our new ambassador for a moment."

"All right."

"Alone, if you don't mind, dear."

"But ... Oh, all right!"

The Beysa swept angrily from the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

"There's been a lot of water under the bridge since we first met, hasn't there, storyteller?" the prince said, making a show of inspecting the room's decor.

"That there has. Highness."

Hakiem was wary of this private audience, but he had to admit the prince had changed since that dusty afternoon he had tossed a poor storyteller a few pieces of gold- The regal brow was marked with worry lines that had not been there when he'd first arrived in Sanctuary, but he spoke and moved with a new sureness and confidence that had also been lacking in those early days.

"I'll admit I opposed the idea of your appointment when Shupansea first proposed it," the prince continued, "but after giving it considerable thought, apart from my fiancee's insistence, I arrived at the conclusion that you were not only acceptable for the post, but that there was no one better qualified for the position."

"Highness?"

The storyteller was taken aback at this revelation.

"Think about it, Hakiem," the prince said earnestly, turning to gaze directly at his subject. "In your capacity as the Beysa's advisor, you have made yourself familiar with the Beysib culture and people, both the high and the low. In fact, you speak their language better than any non-Beysib in the town or the court."

He paused while the ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"While you may not have formal experience as an ambassador, your years as a storyteller will serve you well, as the bulk of diplomacy is making the untrue or unlikely sound plausible, if not desirable. These things count in your favor, but there are two points that outweigh all others.

"First, you are honest and loyal."

The prince quickly held up a hand to restrain the storyteller's protests.

"Oh, I know you folk from Sanctuary pride yourselves on deception and shady dealings ... which will also help you as an ambassador ... and I have no doubts that you would have no compunctions about padding a deal or slitting a throat if you set your mind to it, but in your current position you've had many opportunities to betray the Beysa for spite or personal gain, yet to my knowledge you have not taken advantage of any of them. To my mind, that makes you trustworthy ... notably more so than many of the advisors I've had assigned to me or appointed myself-

"Even more important, however, is the unmistakable fact that you love this town. While your feelings for Shupansea or myself might wax and wan, I cannot imagine your knowingly doing anything or agreeing to anything that would not be in Sanctuary's best interest.

"It may seem ironic or contradictory, but I firmly believe that you can best serve the interests of this town by leaving it ... by being our eyes and ears, our watchdog, if you will, in the Beysib court during this crucial period. Will you do that for me ... or better yet, for Sanctuary, storyteller?"

Hakiem grimaced into his wine at the memory.

Do it for Sanctuary.

If the prince ever decided to abandon his royal calling, there was a real future for him as a swindler or confidence man. While the request may have had the appearance of free will, there was really only one answer that could be given. Hakiem had had no more choice than a member of an audience having a conjuror "force" a specific card on him for the purposes of a trick or illusion.

Of course, the prince could have simply ordered him into service. In that case, Hakiem would have had the choice of leaving Sanctuary as an honored ambassador, or leaving it as a fugitive of the prince's wrath. It would seem, however, that Kadakithis had learned the value of a willing volunteer ... however unwilling that volunteer might be in reality.

Absently, Hakiem noted the contradictory, circular nature of that observation as a gauge of the effects the wine was having on him, and was not displeased at his progress.

"May I join you, old man? ... Or are you too busy with the 'preparations' for your voyage to spare me a few of the miTlions of words you spend so freely on others?"

Hakiem gaped with astonishment, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. None seemed required, however, as his visitor pulled up a chair and settled at the table like some huge black bird coming to roost.

"Jubal?" the storyteller managed at last, blurting out the question as if requiring confirmation for what his eyes already told him. "Are you ... I mean, is this wise?"

He tore his gaze free to glance nervously about the tavern's dim interior, but no one seemed to be taking notice of the figure in their midst.

"I've found that I've been out of view long enough that no one remembers what I look like." Sanctuary's crime lord smiled without humor. "Especially with the 'changes' I've undergone since I was a 'public figure.* If anything, a disguise would draw attention to me rather than avert it ... especially in the Vulgar Unicorn. Like this, I'm just another old man ... like yourself."

While it appeared Jubal was correct in his analysis, Hakiem nonetheless felt distinctly uncomfortable ... enough so to banish any effects of his earlier drinking. As long as they had known each other ... actually, as long as Hakiem had been in Sanctuary ... Jubal had maintained an air of secrecy about himself. Originally, he would not have left his mansion without a cloak and one of the blue hawk masks to disguise his features, and after the aging caused by the spell hired to help him heal from the wounds suffered during the Stepsons' raid on his holdings, he had not appeared in public at all. Ergo, sitting next to an ex-slaver in the Vulgar Unicorn, bereft of any effort to mask his identity, had Hakiem feeling that he was in close proximity to a target on one of the military's firing ranges.

"What are you doing here?"

"I've heard about your new assignment," Jubal said, his dark lips tightening into a flat smile. "Good news travels slower than bad in this town, but it still travels."

"I already gathered that from your first comments. What I want to know is why it drew you into the open. Forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you're here solely to wish me safe voyage, but in the past the only times you've sought me out is when it somehow benefited you or your operations. Of what import is my appointment to you?"

The crime lord gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head.

"Your time in court has certainly sharpened your tongue, old man, but then I guess neither of us has ever had much tolerance for small talk when it came to business. Very well, I'll come straight to the point."

He shot a quick glance around the room, then leaned forward, lowering his voice-

"I have a proposition for you. Simply put, I want to accompany you on your new assignment."

"That's absurd!"

The words slipped out before Hakiem had a chance to consider them. He did, however, have time to consider Jubal's sudden scowl at their impact.

"What's absurd about it?" the ex-slaver demanded harshly. "Is my company so repellent to you, or my advice so worthless that ..."

"No!" the storyteller interrupted hastily. "I meant you already have everything here in Sanctuary ... money, power ... what possible reason could you have for even considering giving it all up to travel to a foreign land, one where you are unknown and would have to start building again from nothing? rAof's what I meant was absurd . . - the whole idea's preposterous."

He gave a bitter snort, reaching for his tankard.

"It's preposterous for anybody to willingly give up their life ... to gamble everything on the unknown. IfIhad a choice ... but I don't. I have to go ... for the prince, for the Beysa, for Sanctuary, What's the comfort of one old storyteller compared to that?"

"It depends on how highly you value what you're leaving," Jubal said easily, ignoring Hakiem's self-pitying comments. "It's strange that you should think I have everything here, but then you've always taken for granted the one thing that's always eluded me."

"And that is ... ?" Hakiem urged, curious in spite of himself.

"Respect." The crime lord shrugged. "I thought I had it when I won my freedom from the gladiator arena, only to find polite society viewed me as little better than an animal. I couldn't find work that would earn me the kind of money necessary for the kind of life-style I aspired to, so I took to stealing it."

"And earned a certain type of respect in the process." The storyteller smiled.

Jubal frowned at him. "Don't patronize me, Hakiem," he said. "It ill becomes you. I have never been respected in this town. Feared, to be sure, but we both know that's different than being respected. You can't buy respect, or force it at sword point. You have to earn it."

"So why not earn it here?" Hakiem frowned.

"Do you think I haven't tried?" The ex-slaver grimaced. "The trouble here is that too many people know me of old, and that knowledge makes them assume the worst. I'll tell you, just as an example, I've been trying for months to get an audience with your prince."

"Kadakithis? What business could you have with him?"

Jubal shot a glance around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"I was going to offer him the services of my intelligence network. It's worked well enough for my criminal activities in the past, and I thought he might appreciate its value as an aid for governing this town."

"And he refused?" Hakiem frowned. "That doesn't sound like the prince."

"I never got to see him," the crime lord said. "It seems the consensus among those who control the prince's schedule is that the only way I will see him is if he presides at my trial, I tried more roundabout methods, applying leverage to a certain ... 'friend' of the prince's who is unknown to most, but even there I was thwarted. Everyone believes it's better to buy me off than to go along with whatever I suggest or request. It's become clear to me that my organization will be more effective and be more acceptable if I disassociate myself from it- That's why I'm interested in accompanying you."

It occurred to the storyteller that, by employing dubious methods in his efforts to gain respectability, Jubal was proving everything his enemies believed about him. He also realized, however, that the ex-slaver had a quick temper, and that it would be wisest not to argue with him. Prematurely aged or not, the ex-gladiator was a force to be reckoned with when it came to disputes of a violent nature.

"Do you expect it will be any easier to find respect in the Beysib Empire, surrounded by a people who are physically different than us?" he asked, tactfully shifting the focus of the conversation.

"Who knows?" Jubal shrugged. "It can't be any worse than here. At least there I won't be carrying my past around my neck like a leper's bell. It will be a fresh start for me in a land where no one knows or cares anything about what I've been or done before."

"Of course, that also means they have no idea of what to guard against either," Hakiem observed drily.

The slaver flashed a quick grin in response.

"A land of opportunity, no matter how you look at it."

"Not if those opportunities cause problems for the ambassador," the storyteller warned. "I can't have a ... Excuse me, what capacity were you proposing you accompany me in, anyway?"

"I had been thinking of traveling as your personal manservant," Jubal said, "but I'm open to other suggestions. I imagine that, whatever my official capacity, I will be serving as a confidential advisor to you."

Hakiem's eyebrows shot up.

"Advisor? Excuse me, but I didn't think you knew any more about the Beysib than I do."

"Think again, old man." The crime lord chuckled darkly. "Your battlefield of choice is the courts with carefully chosen words and arguments. My arena is the back alleys, gathering information from the sorts either ignored or hunted by your aristocrats. If anyone, you should know the value of a bit of street-level information when operating in a new town."

The storyteller stared thoughtfully, seriously considering Jubal's proposal for the first time. It was true that the crime lord would be a valuable ally ... especially if none of the Beysib knew to watch or suspect what appeared to be an aged servant. Still, it was hard to believe Jubal was willing to take part in such a venture, much less accept a role subservient to Hakiem.

As if sensing the storyteller's hesitation, the ex-slaver pressed on.

"There's another thing which can make me a priceless secret weapon, old man."

"And that is ... ?"

Jubal leaned forward, grinning smugly as he whispered.

"I've built an immunity to the bite of those snakes the Beysib women favor so."

"You have?" Hakiem's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know that was possible ... except for those who were conditioned from birth, that is."

"It's a secret that cost me dear." The crime lord smiled. "Far dearer than obtaining the solvent for the latest witches' brew of glue going round town. More important, I'm willing to share that secret with you if you'll include me in your plans."

"Me? I really don't think that's necessary ... though I appreciate the offer. I've gotten used to having the snakes around, and they're harmless as long as you give them lots of room."

Jubal stared at him for a few moments, then shook his head ruefully.

"I don't know if it's the wine or your time in court that's clouded your thinking, old man. Hasn't it ever occurred to you that those snakes are perfect tools for murder?"

"You mean assassination9 But I'll be an ambassador. They wouldn't dare!"

"I wouldn't bet my life on that, if I were you," the ex-slaver snorted. "You're going to be trying to establish trade with the Beysib Empire, right? That means you're going to be stepping on someone's livelihood. Whether you're providing better or cheaper goods, you'll be diverting money to Sanctuary that would normally go to someone else, which is going to make that someone your mortal enemy. They may not be able to attack you openly, but it's always possible to arrange a convenient 'accident.' The Beysib aren't that different from us."

It had not occurred to Hakiem that there was potential danger in his mission, yet Jubal's words had the irrefutable ring of truth to them. Strangely enough, however, rather than adding to his reluctance, the possibility of an attack on Sanctuary's trade ambassador aroused in him an angry indignation which had him looking forward to the mission for the first time since it had been proposed.

If some of the Beysib thought they could block trade with Sanctuary by disposing of some court fop of an ambassador, they were in for a rude surprise.

Fast on the heels of this thought, of course, was an added awareness of the desirability of Jubal's company on this assignment.

"Well, how about it, old man?" the crime lord said, catching the change in the storyteller's attitude. "Do we have a deal?"

"Possibly," Hakiem responded warily. "At the very least, your idea is interesting enough to discuss further ... perhaps in more private surroundings?"

"Very well then, let's go," Jubal announced, rising to his feet. "Time is short, both for decisions and planning. Tell me ... I assume there will be some sort of bodyguard assigned to you ... have you been offered your choice for that position?"

"It was offered," the storyteller admitted, also rising, "but I really don't have a preference."

"You might want to reconsider that."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Hakiem's face.

"I really don't think I can get you approved in that capacity, Jubal."

"I wasn't thinking of myself ... you don't have to tell me how unacceptable I am to the prince. No, I was thinking about Zaibar."

"Zaibar?"

"One of the original Hell-hounds that arrived with the prince," Jubal explained- "We've had - . . dealings together in the past, and I'd trust him to guard my back ... assuming, of course, he felt it was within his rather narrow concept of duty. Besides, like me, there's nothing left in Sanctuary for him now, and he might welcome the assignment."

Hakiem was listening with only half an ear.

As Jubal spoke, the storyteller was looking around the Vulgar Unicorn, trying to permanently brand every detail in his mind. It had suddenly occurred to him that this might be the last time he ever saw the place, the scene of the start andIor ending to so many stories over the past years. Even if he returned to Sanctuary, this tavern, as well as the town itself, would be different. As he knew all too well, each new beginning is also an ending, and on the road of life, there is no turning back.