The Gods Awaken

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The old goat strained wearily at the harness, hauling a little cart over the broken pavement. Aboard the cart was a legless beggar dressed in the rags of a soldier. Crying, "Baksheesh! Baksheesh for the blessing of the gods!"

The beggar was moving through the tawdry harbor district of the Syrapian town of Xiap, so his pleas for alms went unheeded. A drunken sailor spat at the beggar when he offered his bowl, a single coin rattling against the battered tin sides. A syphilitic whore mocked his injuries, wondering aloud what else he had lost besides his legs.

But the scar-faced beggar ignored the insults, switching the goat's flanks to keep moving. And all the while he cried his plaintive, "Baksheesh! Baksheesh for the blessing of the gods!"

He was making his way along a pot-holed freight road that ran alongside the docks. Out in the Bay of Xiap were twelve of the thirteen tall ships that made up the Kyranian naval force. Several lighters were moving toward the docks, ferrying sailors on liberty to a night of debauchery.

If a suspicious man had been following the beggar he might-just might-have caught the slight jerk of the wounded veteran's head when he noted the missing ship.

And if that same distrustful fellow had stayed close to the cart after that he'd have seen the beggar switch the goat into a quicker pace. Making straight for a seedy waterfront tavern-still rattling his bowl, still crying his cry, but with much less intensity.

The beggar pulled up in front of the tavern, anchored the goat with a rope tied to a heavy stone and hoisted himself off the cart onto knee stumps padded with leather. He had brawny arms and muscular shoulders, so he hopped up onto the porch with ease-bearing his weight on blocks of wood clutched in each fist.

A moment later he was through the door and swinging himself familiarly along a narrow passage between the rough, ale-stained tables.

The place was nearly empty and he had no trouble picking out his favorite spot. He grabbed the edge of the bar and swung himself up onto a stool with acrobatic agility.

The laconic barkeep grinned at him through blackened stumps of teeth. "Mornin', Tabusir. Bit early for the grog today, ain'tcha?"

"Thirst don't know tha€™ time oa€™ day, Hazan," Tabusir said. "'Sides, tha€™ pickin's been sweeter'n a whore's smile on payday."

He slapped a silver coin on the bar. "Got this one right off," he said. Tabusir shook his purse. Hazan's eyes glittered at the jingling music of minted coin. "Primed tha€™ pump for six, seven more."

Hazan grew friendlier still, filling a tankard to the brim and planting it before Tabusir. "Yer the luckiest beggar I ever seed," he said in most respectful tones. "Most of the lads get nothina€™ but empty bellies in these parts."

"It's me charmina€™ ways," Tabusir laughed. "Plus I spin a good yarn a€?bout how I lost me legs in tha€™ service of tha€™ good King Rhodes. Fightina€™ Hanadu's enemies and all."

He shrugged. "Course, it don't hurt that tha€™ yarns be mostly true."

Tabusir rapped the coin on the bar. "Yer lookina€™ thirsty, too, Hazan. Buy one fer yerself outta this."

Hazan poured one for himself with pleasure. "Yeah, yer sure did yer share, Tabusir," he agreed.

"Nobody can deny it. Least, not in front of me, they can't. I'd box their ears for insultina€™ such a good friend."

Tabusir nodded toward the open door-and the harbor waters beyond. "Speakina€™ of tha€™ enemy,"

he said, "better start waterina€™ down the ale. Saw a whole mess of a€?em headina€™ out from tha€™ fleet."

Hazan grinned broadly. "Music to a hard-workina€™ barkeep's ears," he said. "Lads musta got bonuses, or somethin'."

The barkeep shouted up the stairs to wake the whores and bargirls. Then he turned back to Tabusir. "I wouldn't tell this to nobody else, Tabusir," he said in low tones. "But beina€™ as yer such a good friend

… I ain't that sorry that the Kyranians took over this here port.

"We was sewer-dirt poor when Rhodes was still runnina€™ things in Xiap. But ever since the blockade, why, times have shined, they have. Paid all the bills, got a nice line of credit with them tight-fists suppliers.

And I'm even thinkina€™ of knockina€™ out some walls and puttina€™ in more tables."

He nodded at the stairs, where the women were already tromping down, sleepy-eyed and cranky at being awakened so early. "And some more beds, too. Lots more beds!"

Tabusir pounded the bar and laughed as if Hazan had just told the greatest jest. "Ain't that tha€™ truth,"

he said. "Only goes to show that sometimes it pays to lose tha€™ war!"

Hazan joined in the laughter. Then they heard the loud voices approaching and a moment later the first wave of enemy sailors burst into the room. And they kept coming. And coming. Until Hazan and the women were hard pressed to keep up with the various desires of all the lusty, thirsty sailors.

Tabusir made himself companionable. Buying drinks, telling jokes, nodding in sympathy when the sailors griped about their officers who overworked them without mercy. Most of them said they preferred their previous lives as pirates. Although they allowed the pay in their former careers wasn't as good-and was certainly more chancy.

"But at least a pirate's a free man," one sailor said. "And he's got a say in how the ship's run. But all we do is drill and train and patrol. Like we was in a real navy, or somethin'."

The name that seemed to come up the most was that of Lord Coralean-a name well-known to Tabusir.

And the drunker the sailors got the more they cursed the caravan master. As near as Tabusir could make out, Coralean was generous with his gold, but was entirely too domineering for these men-all criminals who'd fled Coralean's brand of regimentation long ago.

"It's even worse since he cut out the Nepenthe and sent it off on some godsforsaken mission," said one sailor, who sounded a little more educated than the others. "Now we have more area to patrol and they're working us like slaves."

Although he didn't show it, Tabusir was most interested in this bit of information. It answered the question about the missing ship. He plied the man with more drink and when the fellow tried to hire the services of a pretty whore and came up short of cash, Tabusir kindly made up the difference.

In return, he learned some things that turned those few coppers into a fat purse of gold.

Miser though he was, King Rhodes did not begrudge a single coin of the eventual reward he gave the handsome young spy. Why, it was easily worth half his treasury.

Although he certainly didn't tell Tabusir that when he stood tall and straight before him, delivering his news.

"I confirmed the report in several other taverns," Your Majesty," Tabusir assured him. "And then I went up the coast to visit some other ports and the story was the same."

Kalasariz stirred in his nesting place within the king. Press him some more, the spymaster said to Rhodes. Safar Timura is a very cunning man. It could be one of his tricks.

"My only hesitation," Rhodes said to Tabusir, "is that you seem to have come by this information so easily. This isn't just a leak of the Kyranian plans, but a damned big floodgate you have opened."

Tabusir nodded. "That's a good caution, Your Majesty. And I thought the same thing myself. Which is why I visited those other places, instead of coming directly here. The thing is, Majesty, these sailors have no loyalties. They're for hire to the highest bidder. And no matter what their superiors might say, they don't feel beholden to any master or cause."

Kalasariz mental-whispered: Even so…

Rhodes took the cue. "Even so, the events you described could have been staged for our benefit. And purposely leaked to the sailors."

Tabusir shook his head. "Forgive me, Majesty, but I don't believe so. The story was given out by Lord Coralean that Nepenthe was only assigned a different mission-a mission that still involved the blockade.

The idea was that the Nepenthe would become a roving ship, going wherever the captain thought necessary to stop any supplies or weapons getting through to us.

"However, one of the Nepenthe' s crew was badly injured shortly after she took sail. The captain thought the sailor was dying anyway and sent him back."

Kalasariz wasn't satisfied. That's pretty damned humane, of the captain, don't you think, majesty?

Rhodes agreed. "Why didn't the captain just let him die?" he asked Tabusir. "And throw the body over the side. That's what I'd do, rather than risk security."

"So would I, Your Majesty," Tabusir said. "But sailors are very superstitious. Especially this lot. I think the captain didn't want to spook the rest of the crew. Or, maybe it was Coralean. In either case, they thought it best to accept the risk. The injured man looked near as dead. How could they know he'd have a miraculous-and, for them, unlucky-recovery?

"In fact, Majesty, the man was a malingerer and a coward. First, he hears that the Nepenthe is sailing away from Syrapis for parts unknown. Then the Kyranian airship joins them. Coward though he might be, the man's no fool. It's obvious to him that if the Kyranian land forces are willing to part with the airship, something desperate-and quite dangerous-must be in the wind.

"So he injures himself-but not that badly-and takes a potion to give him a fever. So he'd look like he was at death's door. It's an old sailor's trick-well-known to this band of criminals.

"Then the moment he's returned to the fleet he takes an antidote. Recovers. And then goes off with his companions to drink and talk like, well … like a drunken sailor, Majesty!"

Kalasariz mental whispered: Admirable logic!

Rhodes nodded. "Well done!" he said to Tabusir. He took a heavy, gem-encrusted ring from his finger and gave it to the young spy. "Take this to the Treasurer," he said with a wide smile. "And turn it in for whatever it's worth."

Tabusir was well pleased. He dropped to the floor and knocked his head against the pavement, thanking Rhodes profusely. Then he took his leave.

But just before the guards escorted him out, he turned back.

"Pardon, Majesty, but there's one other thing…"

"Yes?" Rhodes asked.

"There's a tavern at the port run by a man named Hazan."

"What of him?" Rhodes wanted to know.

"He's a traitor, Majesty," Tabusir said. "And no friend of Hanadu's."

Rhodes shrugged. "What do I care what a lowly tavern keeper thinks, or does?"

Tabusir nodded. "I understand, Majesty. Only … I was thinking … if you were to quietly do away with him … then substitute one of your spies … Well, the tavern is an excellent place for intelligence, Majesty, and…"

He let the rest drift away. It was too obvious, in to his mind, and might bore the king.

"That's good advice, young Tabusir," Rhodes said. "I'll think on it." And he waved a hand, dismissing him.

Tabusir bowed low and exited.

Kalasariz said: I quite like the cut of that fellow. Reminds me of myself when I was just gettingstarted in the spy business.

Rhodes said, "Should I promote him?"

Yes, yes, Kalasariz replied. An excellent idea. But we should keep him close to us, hmm? He'd beuseful for, shall we say, very personal errands?

The king thought this excellent advice. Then, armed with Tabusir's intelligence, he descended the long dark stairs to consult his mother.