Stealers` Sky

OUR VINTAGE YEARS by Duane McGowen

Rumor had it that some measure of prosperity was once again gracing the streets of Sanctuary. The reign of terror that had lasted since the False Plague Riots had abated, as the various factions which had fractured Sanctuary into warring districts crumbled in upon themselves or left town for new frontiers or more profitable battles. The streets seemed to be peaceful and relatively calm recently, and business seemed to be returning to normal. "Seemed" being the operative word on both counts.

There could be no doubt, however, that commerce was on the up-andup these days. Beysib and Rankan invaders alike seemed to favor diplomacy over military action and turmoil. Terrorist activities by the PFLS, which had all but brought the business world to a standstill, were on the decline. If one were inclined to believe the wildest rumors, it was said among some that Zip, the former PFLS leader, was now in charge of assuring peace on Sanctuary's streets. Though many shook their heads in doubt at this bit of highly speculative information, there could be no denying that the nights were now free of terrorist raids, and that young toughs no longer came to the merchant stalls by day to collect "protection" money from bullied peddlers.

"Sanctuary is finally what Sanctuary should be," the merchant class agreed. For they were making the most profit out of the town's newfound prosperity. The masons, workers, and craftsmen who had poured into town to build the walls commissioned by Molin Torchholder were now plying their respective trades in the city at targe. The enriched artisans increased the wealth of the local merchants as buying and selling became the backbone of Sanctuary's upward-rising economy. The most shrewd entrepreneurs were looking into the future for wise and lucrative business investments. The town that had once been considered "the anus of the Empire" was now a place for people of that broken and war-torn Empire to come and rebuild their lives.

This was true of many refugees from troubled Ranke, who paid the caravan-masters handsomely to bring them across the desert to the port city under the rulership of the Rankan Prince Kadakithis and his Beysib consort, Shupansea. Some of these refugees had relatives in the Rankan populace who took them in and gave them shelter and comfort. Others, like Mariat, were not so lucky. Having no one else to turn to, Mariat had brought her three grandchildren, the surviving remnants of her once powerful and affluent family, to Sanctuary to rebuild their lives from scratch. With only her own determination and wit to rely on, she was still optimistic about the future.

Mariat drew her wagon to a halt at the entrance to the Bazaar. Behind her, the other wagon driven by her eldest grandson, Keldrick, also came to a stop. Keldrick and his sister, Darseeya, kept an alert watch to make sure that no one approached the two wagons without .warning. Though the boy was only fourteen and the girl twelve, the events of the past year had matured them beyond the normal bounds of childhood. They knew that no unscrupulous eyes should be allowed to view the contents hidden in the two covered wagons. For there lay the future of Mariat's family.

While her two older grandchildren kept watch and the youngest one slept in the back of her wagon, Mariat scanned the Bazaar for the safest, least crowded route through it to the residential parts of Sanctuary. Her little troupe formed an island of motionless calm in a sea of swirling activity. Around them danced the brightly colored skirts of the S'danzo. Merchants cried their wares and buyers bought them. Garrison soldiers strode boldly through the crowd with the seeming, if not the actuality, of purpose. Here and there, beggars begged and pickpockets dodged artfully from purse to purse. The bleating, baying, and neighing of the animals in their pens were almost indistinguishable from the noises made by the buyers, sellers, and thieves of the Bazaar.

It was not the first time in the past several months that Mariat realized she was out of her element. She passed a hand through her gray hair which had rapidly been turning white as the days dragged by since her former life had come to an abrupt and bloody close. It never even occurred to the middle-aged woman to dye her hair to the color of youth, as many of the women in her former social sphere had done. She bore her gray hair as a badge of honor which should rightly come with age. And her determination and positive outlook kept her face and bearing young and graceful, despite the horrors she had suffered recently.

She was a tall, stately, slim woman in her mid-fifties. Her posture was straight and perfect, and she exuded the cultured mannerisms and grace of a woman of station, which she had indeed been scant months before.

Mariat had been impressed with her first sight of Sanctuary: the city's tall new walls shining in the morning light. Now she was once again faced with nagging doubts, which nibbled like little demons at the back of her mind, as she surveyed the chaos and pandemonium of the Bazaar. It was an environment alien to a woman from the upper strata of Rankan society.

"Ah, there you are, madame," called a friendly and pleasant baritone voice which Mariat had come to love during her journey to this place.

She turned and saw the minstrel Sinn heading toward her through the crowd. As he squeezed between two fat merchants haggling over the price of a chicken, his hand deftly intercepted a street urchin reaching for his purse. The bearded, brown-haired bard looked at the quaking youth with mild amusement. The young beggar and thief was astonished at the quickness with which the man had caught him, and now fully expected to be turned over to the watch for due punishment. But Sinn merely smiled, and forced the boy's palm open. The minstrel inserted a silver piece into the urchin's hand, then closed the boy's fingers over it.

"Off with you now," the bard said, "and don't be telling any of your friends that I'm an easy mark, or I'll find you and nail your hide to the city wall."

As the minstrel let the boy go and watched the urchin disappear into the crowd, Mariat smiled and thought how typical such generosity was of the man called Sinn. She and her grandchildren had come to know and love him as he traveled with them in the caravan from Ranke to Sanctuary.

The bard had taken a liking to the three children, and had played with them and sung them to sleep every night. Mariat was glad, for he was the only positive masculine influence that the children had had since their own father, her son, had died suddenly and violently. For some reason, Sinn had attached himself to her family and looked after them during their caravan journey.

Now the bard approached her wagon. After giving the horses a reassuring pat on the nose, he turned and smiled up at the woman who held their reins in her hands.

"I believe I have found us suitable accommodations, madame," he said politely and cheerfully. Though Mariat could no longer make claim to her aristocratic station, Sinn still treated her with the grace and respect due a lady of substance. This not only endeared the charismatic minstrel to her even more, but was a constant source of strength and reassurance to her, planting and nurturing the seeds of belief in herself so that she could accomplish the task she had come to Sanctuary to fulfill.

"Come up then, friend," Mariat said, offering him the seat beside her on the wagon. "And lead us to the place you have found. I am parched and travel-sore, and I wish to take a decent bath and eat a decent meal."

"You shall have both and more," Sinn answered, laying his mandolin carefully between himself and Mariat to make sure it came to no harm. The instrument was, after all, the tool of his livelihood. Then he directed Mariat out of the Bazaar towards the inn he had located, and Keldrick followed behind with the other wagon.

Much later that night, Mariat relaxed on a comfortable bed in her own private room. It was the first real respite she had had in many weeks. The establishment Sinn had discovered for them was called the Warm Kettle. It was a quaint and charming inn, located in a decent part of town. "Decent" meaning it was not in Downwind or the Maze. Having only been in town one day, Mariat had already learned that honest people avoided those two thief-infested rat holes like the proverbial plague.

The proprietors of the Warm Kettle were a pleasant, elderly Ilsigi couple. Shamut and his wife, Dansea, had been in operation long before the Rankans took over, and their business went on undisturbed for the most part by any of Sanctuary's troubles. This was mostly due to the fact that they minded their own business and ran an honest establishment.

The couple asked no questions of their clients, and they expected no trouble in return. Shamut had been more than helpful in assuaging some of Mariat's foremost anxieties. The contents of her wagons, which she had guarded preciously across the mountains and through the desert, were now safely housed in the locked vaults of Shamut's cellars. The Ilsigi innkeeper had also been able to recommend merchants and tradesmen she could contact about business investments. Lastly, he had provided her with the name of the man to whom she would have to go to find out about the availability and price of land around Sanctuary: the city's foremost bureaucrat, Molin Torchholder-Rankan priest.

With her goods and her grandchildren safe for the moment, Mariat sought her first night of true, peaceful rest in months. However, as she unwound and let the sweet winds of sleep carry her into unconscious oblivion, the ghosts of her recent past were resurrected and met her on the threshold of nightmare,

She drifted back to her life of nine months ago. Her husband, Kranderon, had run the most successful and respected vineyard in all of Ranke-the Aquinta Winery. Aquinta was a western province of Ranke, and its soil yielded the most suitable grapes for fine wine. Kranderon's family had built a mercantile empire on their vintage, which was considered the finest, most superior wine in all the lands. It was the nectar of emperors and kings, and people of cultured tastes lauded its praises from as far north as Mygdonia to as far south as Sanctuary.

Mariat, who had come from a minor noble house of Ranke, had married the dashing young Kranderon, heir to the Aquinta wine empire. For nearly forty years her life had been easy, cultured, and aristocratic. She was accustomed to the finer things of life, to hosting balls and dinner parties and wine-tasting extravaganzas. The former Rankan Emperor, Abakithis, had visited their estate often to personally survey their stock for his own wine cellars. The Emperor had held Kranderon and Mariat in high esteem.

But, unfortunately, emperors have a way of dying and empires do change hands. The new Rankan Emperor, Theron, though a brilliant military strategist, had little appreciation for the finer points of culture and etiquette. His taste ran more towards large quantities of ale than the refined delicacies of vintage wine.

And Kranderon, though farsighted in business ventures and moneymaking opportunities, was shortsighted in the political and military arena.

As the Rankan Empire began to crumble in upon itself with intrigue, upheaval, and treachery, the former allies and friends of Abakithis fawned upon Theron, assuring him of their loyalties and disclaiming any allegiance or respect for the previous Emperor who had once embraced them as friends and peers.

Kranderon was not so quick to desert the memory of his old friend Abakithis. The wine merchant openly criticized Theron's administration, and insinuated that the new Emperor had committed treason in playing a part in his predecessor's assassination. His loyalty to the murdered Emperor cost Kranderon dearly.

As Ranke fragmented and languished in turmoil, many outlaw bands began to scourge the outlying province. Theron found excuses to conveniently withdraw Rankan troopes from Aquinta. Kranderon was not worried, however, for he felt that he and his men could hold their own against undisciplined outlaws and brigands.

One night nine months ago, however, a suspiciously orderly group of brigands attacked the estate. Though wearing the apparel and brandishing the weapons of outlaws, the men who raided Aquinta fought with the discipline and tactics of seasoned soldiers and veterans of many campaigns.

Kranderon and his men were overrun. The squire of Aquinta saw his only son fall, fighting valiantly to protect his young wife. Kranderon himself was taken prisoner, and forced to watch as the soldiers disguised as outlaws had their sport with his daughter-in-law, the mother of his three grandchildren, in view of her fallen husband's corpse. When they had finished with her, one man held her head back by her hair and slit her throat. The raiders laughed as her life's blood shot high into the air.

They slashed and burned a large portion of the vineyards, and they broke into the cellars and smashed open the aging vintage. Kranderon watched as a fortune in wine spilled across the floors of his home and mingled with the blood of its fallen defenders. Then the raiders hung the squire by the neck with one of his own supple young grapevines. As Kranderon slowly strangled, they fired arrows into nonvital parts of his body to increase his agony. Then they rode into the night, taking no plunder with them as brigands were wont to do.

The message was clear to all the other squires in outlying areas. Theron's wrath was keen and swift to vengeance. The other estate masters flocked to Theron's court to join the ranks of sycophants clinging to the last shreds of a rotted, corrupt Empire.

But the sacking of Aquinta had not been complete, Mariat had cloistered herself with her grandchildren-Keldrick, Darseeya, and five-yearold Timock-in the secret vaults hidden beneath the wine cellars. Those gloomy catacombs were known on!y to Kranderon and Mariat. It was there that they wisely hid their finest, most expensive vintage. Mariat's quick thinking saved herself and her grandchildren from the maelstrom of violence which descended on Aquinta that night.

The four surviving members of Kranderon's family left their hiding place and crawled through the wreckage of the once formidable estate. In the throes of initial shock, Mariat was able to organize the remaining servants and bury her dead. Over the next few days, she denied herself the luxury of grief, for she knew that she must act quickly to assure her family's survival. She retrieved her husband's cache of money (which was not small by any means) and arranged for a caravan to take her south, out of the reach of vengeful Theron.

Mariat loaded one wagon full with her husband's finest vintage. The bottles of wine which would have purchased a small kingdom before were now made priceless because Aquinta was no more. The tragedy which had devastated Mariat's family had also placed a fortune in the woman's hands. The irony was not lost on her.

In a second wagon she loaded the few possessions her family would take with them, along with a secret she and her most trusted servants had worked far into the night to harvest. This secret of Mariat's was her key to rebuilding a viable future for her family in Sanctuary.

So now she was here in the city of new hopes and opportunities. As dawn broke through the window other room in the Warm Kettle, Mariat threw off both the bonds of sleep and the chains of the past. She refused to let self-pity or grief deter her from her course. It was a new day in Sanctuary, and time for new beginnings.

In fact, Mariat thought, it would be a lovely day to take the children outside the city's walls for a picnic in the open lands.

It is often thought, but entirely untrue, that evil and ugliness always go hand in hand. In Bakarat's case, however, those two nonvirtues blended together in imperfectly perfect harmony.

He was called "the Toad" by his associates and others (though not to his face). One look at his person would abate any suspicions as to the veracity of the nickname.

His buttocks and gut were mammoth in proportion. Those who dealt with him often wondered if they would have to widen the doors of their business establishments to admit him. Atop those heaps and rolls of quivering flesh sat a hideous apparition of a head. As if in mockery of manly features, Bakarat's neckless head looked as though some insanely humorous god had sculptured in living flesh the likeness of a toad made human.

But Bakarat's mind was by no means as sluggish as his wobbly gait.

The Toad was known as the most successful merchant and entrepreneur in Sanctuary. Though all found the vision of his person revolting, none

could afford to offend the wealthy merchant.

The Toad had not attained his exalted economical status by entirely honest means, either. Next to the legendary Jubal, he ran one of Sanctuary's most sophisticated and complex information and crime networks. In fact, it was rumored that the only reason Jubal had not eliminated this potential rival was the fact that Bakarat paid him well to turn a blind eye to his clandestine endeavors.

But Bakarat was also known for his expertise and shrewd deployment of business ventures. And this was why Mariat had arranged an appointment to see him the day after she took the children outside the city walls.

It had been nice to get the children outside the city and into the clean country air for a while. But the day had been profitable in more ways than one for the wine merchant's widow. For the land she saw about Sanctuary pleased her very much, and she was certain that much that had lain untouched for many years could be put to good use.

Now the realities of the business world had brought Mariat reluctantly to Bakarat's doorstep. The disdain she felt for the sniveling excuse for manhood which offered her a chair in his office was expertly hidden behind her facade of genteel grace. Mariat was far too good a socialite to let her feelings and emotions show in her demeanor.

Bakarat was also unreadable as he sat down across from her at his desk. When she had asked his scribe for an appointment the evening before, the Toad had immediately put his information network into action to find out all he could about the Rankan woman. After all, it was not often a woman of her apparent stature would condescend to deal with a "Wriggly" merchant such as Bakarat.

What he found out, he thought he could put to good use to serve his own greedy interests. He now knew, through his grapevine which reached even into honest establishments such as the Warm Kettle, that Mariat was the widow of the famous and recently departed Kranderon, squire of Aquinta Winery. This meant that the woman was perhaps well moneyed, and Bakarat's mind whirled with the possibilities of cheating her out of her fortune. It was also a safe assumption that, like most Rankan women of station, Mariat was not the keen business person her husband had been. The Toad relished the idea of taking advantage of the woman's plight.

"Now, what may I do to serve you, madame?" the Toad intoned, being sure to address the woman according to her former station and thereby hopefully gain her trust. He had to make Mariat believe that he was concerned with her best interests in order to take full advantage of her.

"I have a proposal for you and your friends," Mariat said, coming straight to the point.

"Friends?" the fat man queried. "What friends are those? I am afraid I don't know what you are talking about." He smiled, approximating a look of ignorant innocence admirably.

"Come now, good sir, if we are to quibble over the realities of your business dealings we shall be here all day," Mariat countered, blunt but still pleasantly sociable. "And believe me, sir, with my busy schedule I do not have time to argue over trivial matters at the moment."

"But of course," the Toad said, beginning to re-evaluate the woman's business savvy, "However, I fail to see what my fellow merchants can help you with that I cannot. Perhaps you should tell me a little more about exactly what it is you are proposing?"

"Fair enough," Mariat said, relieved at getting the conversation back to the business at hand. "I want to make you and some of your trusted merchant associates an offer to take part in the most successful and elaborate business venture to take place in Sanctuary in recent years."

Bakarat raised a suspicious eyebrow,

"Really," he said with a slightly sarcastic drawl. "That is quite a grandiose statement. I trust you have some means other than high-flown words to persuade my associates and I of the soundness of this proposal?"

"Indeed," Mariat said, and she reached in her carrying bag and produced a corked and sealed bottle, which she placed delicately on the desk in front of the merchant. She carefully turned the bottle so that he could view its rich, red, full-bodied contents, and she made sure the label pointed in his direction so that he could read it.

The Toad looked even more like his namesake as his eyes bulged when he read the label. It was a bottle ofAquinta's finest vintage; ten years old and oak-barrel aged. Before the sacking of the vineyard, it would have brought at least a hundred gold pieces in the wine market. Now, being part of a limited edition of wine (the vineyard no longer being in operation), it might draw at least ten times that much in auction.

"Huh-uh-how many of these do you have, my good lady?" the fat merchant stammered. Mariat smiled, pleased at having taken Bakarat by surprise and gained the upper hand in negotiations.

The Rankan widow had not spent forty years as the wife of Ranke's foremost wine merchant and learned nothing. Her husband had taught her well the trade of doing business.

"Let us just say that I have enough to interest you and your associates. Perhaps now you would be so good as to arrange a meeting with them tomorrow afternoon in the common room of the Warm Kettle. I have rented that room from Shamut the proprietor, and he assures me that no one will disturb our business meeting."

She paused, smiling at the Toad's gaping maw. Bakarat was utterly surprised by the woman's quick-dealing business manner. However, he soon got control of himself as the engines of his devious mind went whirring into action, calculating how he could best turn this deal to his advantage.

"I believe I know of five men who will be most happy to hear your proposal for the sale of this fine vintage. However, if you will permit me to act as your agent in this endeavor, I will be happy to relieve you of the unpleasant tasks of business arrangements," Bakarat said, conveying himself as the soul of virtue and goodwill.

"I thank you for your generous offer," Mariat replied just as sweetly, "but I really could not burden you with so weighty a responsibility on my account."

She rose quickly, holding up her hand to stop any further objection.

"Enough of these pleasantries, though," she said, collecting the bottle from Bakarat's desk and replacing it carefully in her carrying bag. "I have other things to attend to today. Thank you, good sir. I look forward to seeing you and your friends tomorrow at the Warm Kettle."

With that she took her leave from Bakarat's establishment, and he attempted to delay her no longer. He had already formulated his plan for handling this upstart Rankan bitch. He would show her the cost of doing business in Sanctuary, and he would by all means maintain the upper hand in the distribution of the wine.

"Bartleby," the Toad called his scribe into his office.

"Yes, sir," the thin, weedy, long-nosed scrivener whined as he entered his employer's domain.

"Get me Madame Mariat's itinerary for the rest of the day," the fat merchant ordered. "And then contact our good servant. Master Mange, and tell him to meet me with his associates at the Vulgar Unicorn tonight at dusk."

Bartleby swallowed, knowing that the name of Mange meant some skullduggery was afoot. He hastened to comply with his master's wishes.

Molin Torchholder was a very busy man. Over the past years since coming to Sanctuary, he found that most bureaucratic matters had fallen squarely upon his shoulders, and that many of the more mundane governmental duties had become his responsibility. This was primarily due to the fact that Prince Kadakithis could not be bothered with such technicalities. The youthful prince was far too busy pursuing his idealistic dreams for the unification of Sanctuary's varied peoples, not to mention his ongoing "task" of keeping the Beysa occupied, mollified, and satisfied.

However, when word came to the Rankan priest that a woman named Mariat wanted to see him, he put aside his scheduling and planning for the rebuilding and continuing edification of Sanctuary to arrange an appointment to see her. The Torch had known her husband by reputation and had even met Mariat once or twice back in the heyday of Ranke's splendor. He had heard of the tragedy which had struck Aquinta, and he was now curious to find out why Mariat had come to Sanctuary, and what possible business she could have with him.

A soft knock came at Molin's door. It was Hoxa, his secretary, letting him know that Mariat was there to see him. The priest nodded for Hoxa to let the woman into his office.

"Greetings, madame," Molin said, rising and coming to meet her as if she were an acquaintance he had not seen for many long years. In actuality, that was the case, though he had not known her well back in Ranke.

"Lord Torchholder." Mariat curtsied as the priest kissed her hand. "It has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of your company."

"Please accept my deepest sympathies and condolences on the recent deaths in your family," Molin said with unfeigned concern. "Kranderon was a fine man and an astute businessman. He will be sorely missed by all who knew him."

"My thanks for your kindness and thoughtfulness," Mariat said, as she accepted the seat Molin offered her. He himself chose a seat next to hers, rather than returning to the chair behind the desk which he had occupied before her entrance. The priest did this as a show of respect, treating her as a peer rather than a subordinate.

It also occurred to the Torch that the woman had been speaking the finest Court Rankene since she had entered his office. She spoke it so naturally that he had slipped into the court language himself without even realizing it. It was going to be a pleasure to hold discourse with someone so cultured and polite.

"And please accept my sympathies, for I believe that you lost your beloved wife not too long ago," Mariat continued.

"Yes," the Torch replied. "But my wife and I had been estranged for some time. Even still, I believe that we can both understand the poignancy of grief which death can bring."

Molin paused, and then continued, trying to get the conversation away from the intensely personal subject at hand.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this timely visit?" the priest asked, broaching the subject as politely as possible.

"I have heard so much about you, Lord Torchholder, since I entered Sanctuary. People say that you have done wonders for this town, rebuilding the city walls and restoring order," Mariat began, smiling sweetly and demurely.

Looking into her face, which was very handsome for a woman of her years, the Torch realized that it had been a very long time since he had exchanged pleasantries with a woman so near his age and station. This interview was turning out to be an enjoyable interlude for the worryladen priest.

"You are most kind, madame. I have labored to bring this thief-ridden town up to some measure of respectability. Your kind comments are a tribute to what little success I have had." the priest said modestly.

"It's been more than a little success from my vantage point, my lord. Why, I have even heard it said in some parts of the Empire that Sanctuary is a place to come to start life anew," Mariat returned, maintaining the air of grace and decorum.

"Is this your intention, to start your life over in Sanctuary? I am sure that Kranderon has left you sufficiently provided for. Perhaps a retirement to one of the uptown estates would be of interest to you. I am sure I can arrange a lease for a reasonable price, between friends." Lord Torchholder was finding himself hoping that the woman would indeed move uptown and become a part of his social sphere.

"Actually, I had something more audacious in mind, my lord," Mariat said, flirting gingerly with the priest. "In fact, I am formulating a business venture which will benefit Sanctuary's economy considerably."

That statement took even conspiracy-seasoned Molin by surprise. He blinked at her incredulously.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I think perhaps you would like to have your secretary join us, so he can take notes on what I am about to propose," Mariat said. Suddenly but smoothly the courtly lady transformed into a businesswoman.

The Torch rose and crossed over to the door of his office.

"Hoxa," he called. "Would you please come in here and bring pen and parchment?"

As the priest's secretary seated himself, Mariat laid out her plan for the future. Skeptical at first, Molin soon lost his cynical outlook and was drinking in her plan wholeheartedly. Hoxa was so dumbfounded by the brilliant simplicity of the plan that he stopped taking notes several times just to listen to the wine merchant's widow. Then, of course, they had to go back over the points he missed so they could have them recorded.

After obtaining information and the answers to certain questions from the priest, Mariat left Molin Torchholder with the latter's assurance that he would be in attendance at the merchants' meeting in the Warm Kettle the next day.

As Mariat left the palace complex which housed the priest's office, she felt light on her feet and much younger than her years. Everything seemed to be coming together beautifully.

Back in the Torch's office, Hoxa also commented with optimism, "I think she can really pull it off. She actually sees Sanctuary as a place to build, not to tear down." He turned to his superior and asked: "Could it be that this is no longer the same city you came to years ago?"

Molin Torchholder sighed and said, "Perhaps we have done some good after all."

As the stranger entered the Vulgar Unicorn, he took in the scenery with one sweeping glance. Though he had been in his share of dives and bars all across the Empire, never had he seen so despicable an assemblage of depraved and unsavory individuals. The denizens of the Vulgar Unicorn made the street slime of the Bazaar look like saints and princes in comparison. There was not an honest face or an untainted soul in the place.

The stranger made his way over to one of two free tables against the barroom's west wall. He sat down and waited to be served. He shivered as he contemplated the night dangers of the Maze he had just braved to come to this place.

He did not have long to wait, for soon the barmaid made her way over to his table.

"What'll it be, luv?" she said, with a disinterested glaze in her eyes. Those eyes widened in disbelief at his answer.

"Just a cup of boiling water, if you would be so kind, my girl," the stranger said. "I have some herbal tea which I think I'll take before sampling your establishment's finest."

"Water costs the same as ale," the barmaid said tartly. "That's the rule of the barkeep, Abohorr the One-Thumbed."

"Please be so kind as to tell that august personage of monodigitation that I will pay just such a price," the stranger retorted with a sophisticated air.

He watched bemused as the wench tried to work out the meaning of the words.

"That means I'll pay!" he said in mock exasperation. "So just bring me the water, and make sure it's boiling hot."

As the barmaid left to fulfill his request, a heap of filthy rags detached itself from the bar and shambled in the stranger's direction. As it approached his table, the man saw that the rags housed the even filthier body of a wizened old man. Out from the cow! peered a withered and ruined face, across which a deep and ugly scar cut diagonally, in and out of a black and dirty patch over the unfortunate's right eye.

"Spare a few coppers for a man down on his luck," the old beggar wheezed, blowing a noxious fume in the other man's direction.

The stranger, however, proved to be no soft touch or easy mark,. He pulled his cloak aside to show not a purse, but weaponry that had heretofore remained hidden. At his side was a stylish, basket-hilted short sword. Across his left breast was a belt housing several feathered, steel darts.

"If you would like to eke out the rest of your miserable existence, I would suggest you move along. Otherwise, I could arrange for you to make an early withdrawal from this hellhole." The stranger was being sarcastic, but there was enough menace in his eyes to warn the old beggar off.

As he returned to his place at the bar, the old man muttered under his breath, "Gettin' pretty damn difficult to earn a decent living these days. Nobody respects the beggin' class anymore."

The barmaid brought the stranger his boiling water, and he brewed himself a cup of tea with it. It was a special krrf derivative which would enhance and heighten his artistic senses, though it would dull his practical perspective somewhat. The drug was often used to supplement the working of his trade, that being the singing of songs and the weaving of tales.

As the stranger sipped his tea, a more familiar figure waddled into the Vulgar Unicorn. It was Bakarat, called the Toad, one of the most affluent men of Sanctuary's merchant class. The fat man waded through the crowd to the remaining free table on the west wall. As he seated himself, ignoring the stranger at the next table, three other seedy characters left their stations at the bar and slid (or more appropriately slithered) into the seats opposite the Toad. They began their devious conniving, trusting the noise of the barroom to cover their clandestine plan-making.

"I have a job for you, Mange," Bakarat said, addressing the oldest of the three men across the table from him.

Like the Toad himself, the man he spoke to fully warranted his nickname. Mange was a bounty hunter. And on one too many nights of sleeping on the forest floor of the swamps, he had picked up a rare scalp disease which caused his hair to fall out in patches. Hence the unkind name "Mange."

"What is it?" the patchy-headed man replied. "The boys and I are always happy to be of service to you."

Mange referred to his two companions. Bakarat knew their reputations from his previous dealings with Mange. The big, muscle-bound, lanternjawed oaf was named Wik. He was the bounty hunter's muscle. Wik continued drinking ale, paying little attention to the bantering of Mange and the Toad. Decisions and plan-making were the work of those better suited for it mentally. Wik was happy to take his orders and spend the money he got buying a few moments of even more ignorant (if that were possible) bliss in drunken stupor.

The third man was a skinny, snotty-nosed youth named Speido. He aspired to the thief's profession and had a particular talent for stabbing unarmed and unsuspecting people in the back.

"Listen up, we don't have much time," Bakarat ordered his three companions. Then he laid out the plan that they were to apply their special talents to.

"An old woman named Maria! will be returning to her rooms at the Warm Kettle shortly. She'll be bringing her three grandchildren with her, and they will be returning from an interview at the Scholar's Guild where she was hiring the kids a tutor."

"How do you know when she'll be getting back to the Kettle?" Speido sneered. "Surely she won't be walking the streets at night with those brats."

"I have paid to have her delayed," the Toad replied in an aloof manner. "My connections in the Scholar's Guild will make sure she leaves at the time appointed."

Mange smiled as the merchant put Speido in his place. The young bravo had a lot to leam when it came to dealing with men of Bakarat's caliber. It never occurred to the bounty hunter to question that what the fat man told them would transpire exactly as planned.

"You three are to kidnap the children," Bakarat continued. "And make sure that you do not harm them. Then take them to the normal holding place and wait for further instructions." Bakarat finished his orders with giving the men Mariat's description. Then the trio of bandits rose and left the Vulgar Unicorn to fulfill their errand.

After they left, Bakarat called one of the local harlots over to his table. As the fat man was distracted with her attentions, the stranger seated behind him slid off his chair and wove his way through the crowd to the door. Progress was slow and cumbersome, due to the crowded conditions, the krrf tea the man had drunk, and the anxiety which was quickly overcoming him.

As he moved through the room, his cloak fell to one side, revealing a mandolin which was slung across his shoulder.

Seeing it, one of the tavern patrons cried for the minstrel to give them a song. Although the man had originally come to this dive in hopes of such employment, he turned it down now as a far more important matter possessed his mind.

He reached the door and miraculously avoided any brawls caused by bumping into the Unicorn's uncouth clientele. He escaped into the night and paused briefly to breathe the unpolluted air outside- Of course, the three men he was looking for had already disappeared.

Taking a deep breath, Sinn took off in a run to make his way out of the Maze.

As he wound his way back through the alleys and twisting turns of the portion of town called the Maze, Sinn cursed his krrf-muddled senses.

Part of his success as a minstrel was due to the fact that he etched every detail of everywhere he went indelibly into his mind. Now, however, he was in a state of panic, fearing for the lives of his friends. And the drugged tea he drank was no help as he struggled to remember the course out of this rat hole. His heart sank as he realized that the thugs would probably reach the Warm Kettle long before he would have a chance to get there and warn Mariat of her danger.

He swore for the one-thousandth time to kick the habit of taking krrf. This time, he had an impetus which he felt might make his oath stick, The bard skidded to a dead halt at an unfamiliar intersection. He looked around him bewildered, his heart leaping up into his throat and its very beat screaming accusations of ineptitude at him.

Then he spotted a familiar landmark, a house with red-painted shutters down the right-hand road. He took off again and passed through a shadowy lane. His hopes were just beginning to rise when a figure leapt out of the shadows. Catching him by the arm, it spun him around to face the bare steel of an unsheathed stiletto.

"Since you're in such a hurry," the thief whispered, his rank breath rich with garlic and beer, "you won't mind if I relieve you of the heavy burden of your purse. That way, you can get where you're going much faster." The thief sneered as he motioned with the knife for Sinn to give him what he wanted.

The sudden shock of the confrontation cleared the bard's head. As the drug's effects dissipated, he drove the reason-freezing panic from his mind.

Sinn nodded condescendingly and reached slowly into his cloak. The thief licked his lips, expecting a nice haul from one so richly dressed as the minstrel was.

To his surprise, the thief suddenly found himself looking down the blade of a fancy short sword. The moonlight gleamed wickedly off its sharpened edge, promising death.

The minstrel's quick and deft movement had been a single blur of motion. Now Sinn had the upper hand on the situation.

"Out of my face, damn you," the bard cried. "Or I'll nail what little brains you have to the back of your skull!"

The thief gulped, turned, and ran, disappearing quickly into the shadows of the Maze.

Sinn forgot him instantly and took in his surroundings- He was now completely disoriented and had no idea as to which way he should go to get out of the Maze and make it back to the Kettle.

With a silent prayer for inspiration and direction to whatever gods would listen, the bard fled up the street and into the night.

Mariat let out a gasp of relief as she rounded the street comer and saw the friendly, familiar lights of the Warm Kettle just ahead. It was neither wise nor safe to be walking the streets at night, even in this relatively calm section of Sanctuary. The empty streets and sidewalks she had traveled on her way from the Scholar's Guild attested to that fact.

She cursed those idiot scholars and their paper-shuffling nonsense. She would have had the children home long before dark if they had not batted her around from person to person, like a ball in some children's game. After the runaround she had received, she would have walked out on them, were it not for the fact that there were not too many educated people in Sanctuary. Her grandchildren needed tutors, and they deserved the best. She would simply have to overlook the inconvenience caused by the inept clerks.

The Kettle was only four blocks away when a man stepped out of a dark alley and blocked her path. Mariat drew back suddenly and pulled the children close around her.

"What do you want?" She fought to keep fear from showing in her voice. Being an educated woman, she knew that animals were more likely to attack when they sensed fear. And men who harassed women and children were no better than rabid animals.

The man was peculiar-looking. His head looked as though his hair had been torn out in patches, rather than balding naturally. He smiled luridly.

"It's not safe for a woman of quality to be walking the young lads and lassie alone at night with no protection," he sneered. "Perhaps you'll allow me to be your escort."

"I recommend that you step out of our way and leave us alone," Mariat said, addressing the ruffian in such a way as to put him in his place. "I will call for the watch if you do not leave us immediately."

"Oh, now, that ain't polite," Mange drawled, "nor is it particularly wise. My friends behind you might do some injury to your kiddies before those sleeping dogs on the watch got here."

Mariat now whirled and looked behind her. Sure enough, two more figures detached themselves from the shadows and moved to block her retreat. One was a large, hulking brute. The other was a slim, sinister youth. Both looked like they would just as soon slit her throat as talk to her.

"Now," continued Mange, "the boys and I will just take these beautiful children to a place of"-he paused and winked at her-"safekeeping. Later on you'll be notified as to where you can pick them up, and how much their room and board will cost you."

"Kidnapping," Mariat whispered, under her breath. "And ransom ... who is putting you up to this?" Her voice rose as anger began to take possession of her.

"Shhh. Quiet. Madame Mariat," Mange said, and smiled when he saw the shock register in her eyes as he used her name. "We wouldn't want to wake up the good people of this neighborhood, would we? My, but that could turn into nasty, bloody business, couldn't it, boys?"

Wik and Speido snorted in amusement.

"And some little children might not get to grow up," Mange concluded menacingly. "Wouldn't that be a shame, Grandma?"

Mariat swallowed, and the paralysis of fear and panic crept slowly through her body. In all her scheming, she had never planned on the lifethreatening situation which now faced her. She had been hoping to avoid the more unsavory aspects of living in Sanctuary altogether. Now she knew that was not possible, and some things never changed. Though more prosperous, Sanctuary was still a thieves' world. She hoped that this schooling would not cost her the price of her grandchildren's lives. They were the only family she had left. They were her only reason for living.

"That's better now," Mange was saying as he moved forward. "Nice and compliant, like a good old Rankan bitch."

What happened next caught everyone by surprise, including Mariat. Incensed with rage at hearing his grandmother addressed so, young Keldrick broke free of his fear. He leapt forward with a kick, putting all the weight of his body into it, which slammed with a sickening thud into Mange's groin.

The bounty hunter screamed in surprise and pain, and fell to the ground, rolling in agony and clutching at his crotch.

Wik grabbed hold of Keldrick and lifted the boy high into the air, shaking him. Speido sprang forward and backhanded Mariat across the face, knocking her to the ground. Then he scooped up Darseeya and Timock into his lanky arms.

Suddenly, the feathered shafts of two darts sprouted from Wik's right shoulder. The big oaf bellowed and dropped Keldrick to the ground. Then Wik spun around tugging at the hated sting in his back.

Sinn came roaring out of the night like a demon released from hell. Behind him ran the street urchin to whom, two days before, he had given a silver bit in the Bazaar. The boy, named Jakar, had seen Smn wandering lost in the Maze and had returned the bard's generosity by leading him out of the tangled streets and to the Warm Kettle.

Speido dropped the children he was holding and pulled his dagger. Mariat staggered to her feet and screamed.

"Murder! Murder! Help!!" She prayed desperately for the watch to hear and answer her cry.

Sinn pulled up short and drew his weapon on Speido. When the sniveling youth saw that his dagger was facing a short sword, he lost all heart for the fight and tried to turn tail and run for it.

Speido only made it a few feet before Keldrick threw himself across the thief's path. Speido tripped and sprawled headlong on the ground, and Jakar leapt immediately on his back and battered the thief into unconsciousness with a small cudgel.

Mange was still lying on the ground clutching himself and watching the world spin around. But Wik, having pulled the darts from his shoulder, roared like a bull as he plowed into Sinn, bowling the minstrel over with the sheer bulk of his weight.

As the giant pinned Sinn to the ground, the bard felt his breath quickly leaving him. He worked his sword arm free and slammed the flat of the blade against the big man's skull. Had he known Wik any better, he would have aimed for a more vital part of the man's anatomy.

Wik rose from the ground like the personification of wrath. In his upraised hands, he lifted the man who had interrupted a simple, uncomplicated assignment. The big brute ignored the old woman and children clinging to his massive frame who were trying to deflect him from his purpose. He hurled the minstrel at the nearest wall with all the force he could muster.

Sinn felt some of his ribs crack and give way as he slammed into the building. As he crumpled to the ground in a mangled heap, he strove to fight off the darkness which was insisting on overwhelming him. He could not leave Mariat and the children undefendedBut as he lost his grip on the conscious world, he heard at last the unmistakable voice of the watch.

"Halt in the name of the prince!!" they cried.

Then oblivion took him.

Bakarat shifted his massive bulk uncomfortably in his seat. He looked disdainfully at his five fellow merchants seated in the common room of the Warm Kettle. The chairs Shamut had provided for the meeting were quite comfortable for them, but a man of the Toad's prestigious girth needed something more accommodating to his size.

He was about to call for Shamut to give him something more comfortable, when Mariat made her entrance into the room.

The fat merchant regarded her with hate. Somehow, she had made his plans last night go awry. He had learned from his underground network of informants that Mange and his cohorts had failed in their task. Bakarat did not worry about them implicating him. He had too many friends in high places. But he was exceedingly aggravated at having to enter this meeting without leverage over the woman Mariat.

The Rankan widow cleared her throat and called the meeting to order.

"Gentlemen," she began. "My thanks to you for taking time out of your busy and pressing schedules to come to this little get-together. I promise you I will make it worth your while."

Bakarat smiled to himself as he glanced at his business associates and saw the skeptical looks on their faces. Although none of them would ever sink to the depths of criminal intrigue at which the Toad operated, they were all shrewd businessmen who looked cynical of the fact that a woman could have something of interest for them to consider, other than her body-

"First," Mariat continued, "allow me to make two special introductions."

As she spoke, a young boy in his early teens entered the room. He brought with him a clean slate upon which he began to draw a map.

"This is my grandson Keldrick, who has recently proved himself man enough to take part in this assembly."

The merchants shifted uncomfortably, not quite understanding what she meant. Bakarat was becoming more and more agitated as the scene developed according to Mariat's plan.

"And may I also introduce Lord Molm Torchholder, who has come to hear and appraise our proposal as well."

Now the men in the room were absolutely stunned. ,They sprang to their feet, knocking over some of their chairs, in order to give due deference to the Rankan priest whom all knew by reputation. Bakarat was embarrassed to find that his chair followed him when he stood up to bow to the Torch. With his fat rump squeezed against its sides, the chair had a grip on him like a vise.

"Please be seated, gentlemen." Lord Torchholder waved all of them back to their chairs. "Let us hear what Madame Mariat has to say to us."

The merchants sat themselves down and now gave their alert attention to the Rankan widow. The presence of Lord Torchholder gave immense credibility to Mariat. Now they were willing, even eager, to hear what she had to say. All of them except the Toad.

"Thank you, my lord," Mariat acknowledged Molin's statement. "And now to the business at hand."

"All of you are aware that Aquinta wine was the most sought-after vintage in all the Empire. In fact, I have been informed by Lord Torchholder that only the wealthiest of Sanctuary's elite have ever been able to sample its famous bouquet."

"That's true," said one of the merchants, "but what is that to us? We have all heard what happened in Aquinta. There will be no more wine forthcoming from those fields."

"That is sadly all too true," Mariat continued. "But I have called you gentlemen here today to inform you that I possess an entire wagonload of Aquinta's finest vintage, and I have it safely housed right here in Sanctuary!"

The implications of the announcement were not lost on this group of men. Being merchants, they all knew that one or two bottles of the precious, now priceless wine would bring an unbelievable price at auction. To tell them that an entire wagonload was available was like telling someone that a mountain of gold is waiting in his backyard, ripe for the taking. Even Bakarat, who knew the purpose of the meeting (or so he thought), was taken aback.

"So you're coming to us to back the auction of your merchandise?" one of the other merchants asked hopefully.

"Yes, but that is not the end of it," Mariat said. Now was the time to present her plan-her whole reason for coming to Sanctuary. She said a silent prayer as she prepared to reveal her proposal to these men of business and profit.

Bakarat was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. First the woman had thrown in an ace in the hole by inviting the Torch. Now she was introducing an entirely new scheme. He felt control of the meeting slipping from his already shaky grasp.

"Just a moment," the Toad objected. "Either you want us to help you sell the stuff, or you don't. Which is it? I wish you would get to the point because our time is very valuable."

"Very well," Mariat replied, staying calm and showing much more common sense than the fat merchant was displaying.

"The prime vintage was not the only treasure I have brought to this city." Mariat paused. She had them completely in her grasp. They were all wondering what else could possibly match the revelation of wealth she had already made. All of them were on the edge of their chairs, except for the Torch, who already knew of her plan.

"In another wagon, I brought with me five hundred saplings of my hardiest vines from Aquinta. They have been stripped and prepared for travel, but within six months of their planting they will yield fruit from which we can begin pressing wine. Within three years, we will have the first fine vintage ready. In the meantime, we will slowly auction off the wine I have brought from Aquinta for capital."

She paused to let her proposal sink in. The Torch, she knew, was already willing to back her. The other five merchants were looking at each other thoughtfully. But the Toad was shaking with beet-faced rage. He looked like he might literally croak. He could not accept the fact that he was being outmaneuvered by a woman.

"You're insane," he said, rising and knocking the chair off his huge butt. "And the rest of you are insane if you're going to seriously consider this cockeyed plan. She wants you to pour your money into this ridiculous scheme of hers, and for what?" He turned to Mariat again. "What do we get in return for our investment? Three years of waiting and then nothing when it falls apart'"

"Please, To-1 mean, Master Bakarat, calm yourself. My plan is as wise an investment as most. I am putting my entire life's savings into this venture, and I am opening up this proposal to let some of you in on it from the beginning. All I need is the capital to buy the land, the proper equipment, and hire the laborers. I supply the vines and the supervision of the vineyard. I offer the investors a forty percent share of the first five years' profits, after the wine becomes sellable. In the meantime, I offer the same percentage for all the existing wine we sell over the next three years. Gentlemen, you cannot lose."

"What makes you think you're qualified to run a vineyard?" Bakarat exclaimed.

"The fact that, with my husband, I operated the most successful vineyard in the Rankan Empire-the Aquinta!" Mariat countered the fat merchant. "Who do you think helped my husband all through the years with the operation of the winery? I even ran it alone when he was gone for long periods on business."

It was obvious that the other merchants were rapidly becoming convinced.

"This is madness, I tell you," Bakarat continued, oblivious of all reason himself. "There is no place to plant a vineyard in Sanctuary!"

"No, not in the city proper," Mariat agreed. "But outside the walls there lies tillable land that has lain fallow for years. I have examined the land and the soil, and found plots in the hills and the upper swamps which will be suitable for grapes, given the proper drainage and irrigation."

She pointed to the maps that Keldrick had drawn, and showed the men where she planned to set up the winery.

"That's government land," the Toad shouted. "You won't be able to buy that for the price of your entire stock of vintage!"

"As a matter of fact," Molin Torchholder interceded, "she will be able to purchase it for the price of its back taxes. As the minister in charge of land development, I see no reason why this land should be unused. I have heard Madame Mariat's proposal, and I am ready to enter into an agreement with her on behalf of the prince. Who is with me?"

The merchants all stood and shouted their willingness to participate.

Bakarat was absolutely livid.

"I warn you," he threatened his associates, "if you enter into a pact with this woman, you will regret it."

"Master Toad," Mariat said in disdain. The merchant whirled on her, not believing that she would dare to address him so.

"This brings me to a bit of unpleasant business which I had hoped to delay until after the meeting. However, your arrogance and threats leave me no choice."

She opened the door and called into the hallway.

"Commander Walegrin, would you be so kind as to step in here, please?"

Mariat played her final card as the officer in charge of the city garrison strode into the room. Walegrin was followed by two of his men, one of whom was supporting the weak-looking figure of Sinn the minstrel.

"Commander, please perform your office." Mariat stepped back as Walegrin approached the completely dumbfounded Bakarat.

"I hereby place you, Bakarat the merchant, under arrest for conspiracy to commit kidnapping and extortion."

Fear struck the Toad for the first time.

"You can't do this to me," the fat man whined and objected. "You've got no evidence, no proof."

"Master Sinn," Walegrin asked, "would you be so kind as to affirm that you witnessed a conversation between Bakarat and three ruffians we now have in custody, in which the said Bakarat contracted their services to kidnap Mariat's grandchildren?"

"I do confirm it." Sinn managed to grate out the words between painclenched teeth. Though his broken ribs had been set and taken care of, he was not supposed to be up and about for another few weeks. He had insisted on coming, however, to play his part in the Toad's arrest.

Bakarat finally realized he was beaten, for the moment. He bowed his head in silence as Walegrin's guards bound his wrists. But as he left the room, the Toad lifted his ugly head to give Mariat one final, withering look of hatred and malice.

His glare said better than any words that he would not rest until he had paid her back for this indignity.

"Don't worry about this dung heap, madame," Walegrin said as he shoved Bakarat out of the room. "He's going to be keeping the rats in the dungeon company for a very long time. I hope they won't be offended by his moving in on them."

Walegrin and his men left the room with their prisoner, and Dansea, the innkeeper's wife, came in and helped Sinn back to his room.

Mariat turned to the merchants.

"Well, friends, are we ready to drink a toast to the Aquinta Cartel?"

They all agreed heartily. Darseeya and Timock came in on cue, bringing a bottle of fine Aquinta vintage, and the pact was sealed with a drink.

Later, Lord Torchholder witnessed the more formal written agreement as the merchants signed their names to support Mariat's proposal. And so the Aquinta Cartel was formed and officialized.

It was a beautiful day in the spring of Sanctuary as Mariat and her three grandchildren overlooked the land recently purchased by the Aquinta Cartel.

"There is so much work to be done," Mariat said to Keldrick, Darseeya, and Timock. "And we must never shirk from hard work. For on this land, we will build the new Aquinta."

"Keldrick," she said, bringing the boy around to face her. "You are the man of this family now. You must learn to lead as you have learned to be a man. I know you can, for you are the true son of your father and grandfather."

She paused and looked down at the run-down farmhouse which would soon be refurbished to be their home on the winery, in addition to the uptown mansion Lord Torchholder had arranged for them.

"Children, this is home, where we will spend our vintage years. This is where we build anew, from the ground up."

It was an entirely new kind of day dawning in Sanctuary. A day of hope.