The Demon of the Air

6

“You get in there and stay put,” the steward snarled as he shoved me through the doorway. “I’ve got to talk to Rabbit.”

Rabbit was a large, dim man who had been in my master’s household since boyhood and had risen eventually to the menial position of litter bearer. He had had the misfortune to cross our path as the steward was dragging me back to my room, and had been ordered to come with us. The steward had no intention of spending the rest of a winter’s night huddled in the open courtyard watching my doorway, and thought poor old Rabbit would be the ideal deputy.

I slumped against the wall in a corner of my room, with all thought of sleep gone. I had come home that evening with my mind in turmoil.

Why had a message bearing my name been left on the body? Did it have something to do with the sorcerers? I felt that it must, but could not see what.

There had been something about the dead man himself-but I would have to see his body again to be certain, and I could hardly do that, I told myself gloomily, while I was confined to my room.

And I suspected that by the time they came to let me out of here it would be too late.

“So what have you done this time? And what’s Rabbit doing out there?”

On any other night I would have dreaded the sound of Costly’s voice, but tonight it was a relief to hear he was awake. It gave me a chance to share my troubles instead of brooding on them. The old slave lived for gossip and devoured every word eagerly.

As soon as I had finished he said astutely: “So let me guess. You think the body in the canal might be one of those sorcerers the old man’s so anxious to get his hands on, is that right?”

“It could be,” I said. “I’d need to look at it again-and that still wouldn’t tell me why it had my name on it.” I growled in frustration. “But I can’t do anything about it from in here, can I? How do I get past Rabbit?” I could picture the litter bearer on guard opposite our doorway, no doubt wishing he was curled up on his own sleeping mat rather than squatting in this chilly courtyard, but wide-awake nonetheless and not about to let his master down.

“Rabbit?” the old man scoffed. “I’ve known him since he was a boy. You leave him to me. Let’s just get him in here, shall we?” Before I could react he had raised his voice to a loud croak and was calling the litter bearer’s name.

A suspicious-looking face appeared in the doorway. “What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything,” responded Costly cheerfully. “We just thought you might be more comfortable in here with us than freezing your balls off out there in the courtyard!”

Rabbit scowled. “What’s it to you if I would?”

“Oh, come on.” Costly put on an air of hurt innocence. “We all know it’s nothing personal between you and Yaotl.” That was true enough: I had never thought of the litter bearer as anything other than an amiable buffoon. “You just had the bad luck to get picked on by the steward. But if you’re going to keep an eye on Yaotl, you might as well do it in comfort from where you can see him, don’t you think?”

The face in the doorway took on a puzzled frown as Rabbit tried to work out what Costly was after. “I’m not sure …” he began.

“So where’s the harm? Besides,” the old slave added, lowering his voice mischievously, “I’m fed up with hearing Yaotl’s problems. You could tell me yours, for a change. Say, how are things between you and the wife now?”

This appeared to have a disastrous effect. It was followed by the briefest of pauses and then the single word “Fine,” and Rabbit’s head vanished.

“You idiot!” I hissed, but Costly seemed unperturbed. “So the old trouble hasn’t come back, then?” he called out after the other man.

A moment later Rabbit was back. He took two steps into the room and growled at Costly: “No, it hasn’t! And I’ll thank you not to mention it in front of him!”

The old slave cackled lewdly. “Oh, don’t worry about Yaotl. He used to be a priest, and you know they never do it at all-he hasn’t the faintest idea what we’re talking about!” I kept silent. “Still, I’m glad to hear everything’s working properly now. It’s funny, though: I was thinking about you just the other day, and remembering when I had the same trouble myself. I had to go to a curer for some medicine …”

“Did it work?” The eagerness in the litter bearer’s voice told its own story.

“Work? It was like walking around with a lump of hardwood between my legs! I never even had to use it all. Probably still got some, somewhere.”

I could not believe even Rabbit was stupid enough to fall for a simple ruse like this, but he was obviously desperate. “I don’t suppose it still works, though,” he said nonchalantly.

“Oh, I should think it’s gone off by now,” the old slave agreed. “And it probably never would have worked in the first place unless you invoked the right gods when you took it. It wouldn’t be muchuse to me now, anyway! But if you had still been having problems-well, I’m just glad to hear you aren’t.”

There was a long, awkward silence. Then Rabbit said nervously: “Look … I mean … I’m fine now, no problem at all, but if it ever came back, well …”

“Actually, come to think of it, the stuff might even be poisonous by now. No, forget I mentioned it ….”

“How much do you want for it?”

“I wouldn’t dream of selling it to you.”

“How much?” Rabbit demanded again, this time with an edge to his voice.

Costly sighed. “I told you, I can’t sell it to you. But look, at your own risk …” I could not see what he was doing in the darkness of his corner of the room but I could hear him rummaging for something beside his sleeping mat, followed by the faint sloshing of liquid in a gourd. “I’ll give it to you. But I really think …”

“Thanks!” Rabbit almost snatched the gourd from him. “If this works, I owe you one!”

A moment later he was gone and the old slave’s body was heaving up and down on his mat in time to his convulsive wheezing laughter.

“Was that what I thought it was?” I said.

His mirth brought on a fit of coughing. “That moron!” he spluttered when he could draw breath. “He’ll drain it to the dregs! By midnight his bowels will be flowing like the aqueduct! You’ve got all the time you need, now.” The laughter overcame him again. “Oh dear!”

I like to remember Costly that way-laughing so much he could hardly breathe.

It helps me to forget what happened afterward.