Wings of Omen

INTRODUCTION by Robert Lynn Asprin

The birds of Sanctuary are black. From the hawklike predators to the small seedeaters the native birds are black as the heart of a thief.

Hakiem, once the town's leading storyteller, had never paused to reflect on the coloration of the birds before. At moments like this, however, when the business of the Bey-sa's court was between members of the Beysib clans and conducted in their own incomprehensible tongue, there was little for the Empress's native adviser to do but fidget and reflect. Habits evolved during long years drinking at the Vulgar Unicorn had positioned him with his back to a wall and a clear path to the doors-coincidentally he had gotten himself an equally clear view out a window into the courtyard below. The movement of the birds caught his eye; he found himself watching their antics closely.

When the Beysib arrived in Sanctuary they brought, along with their gold and their snakes, a substantial flock of non-migratory seabirds they called the bey art-as they called their snakes beynit, their flowers beyosa and their goddess Mother Bey. Every day they threw bread and tablescraps into the courtyard to feed their winged allies. The birds of Sanctuary, who could not tell a palace courtyard from the back door of a Maze slophouse, swarmed to this easy feast and fought savagely among themselves-though the Beysib made sure there was enough for all. Some black birds cawed or shrieked to drive off new arrivals, while others took vengeful pursuit of any bird attempting to make off with a morsel too large to be consumed on the spot.

Two of the white beyari-the birds for whom the food was intended-soared majestically into the courtyard. In an instant all individual differences among the black birds were forgotten; they rose in a single, dark cloud to drive off the interlopers. No, not quite all, the storyteller observed. A few cleverer birds remained behind, hurriedly bolting food while their comrades and rivals were momentarily distracted.

The storyteller smiled to himself. From high to low everyone in Sanctuary behaved the same-even the birds.

A flicker of white on the roof across from the window caught Hakiem's eye. One beyari was perched beside a black bird half-again its size. There was an occasional flutter of wings and much head-bobbing, but neither bird was giving ground. The storyteller was no regular bird-watcher; it seemed unlikely that the two could mate-but they certainly weren't fighting. Perhaps-

"Hakiem!"

He jerked his attention back to the court, discovering that the business had been concluded and the parties dismissed. Shupansea, Beysa of the Beysib Empire, had risen onto one elbow from the supine position in which she traditionally conducted state affairs and was staring at him with her large, amber, and inhumanly unblinking eyes. She was young, not past her mid-twenties, slender, and fair-skinned with thigh-length blonde hair that cascaded onto the pillows in a way that only the finest of silks could hope to imitate. Her breasts were bare, in the Beysib tradition, and so firm with youth that even when she moved the dark, tattooed nipples regarded him as steadily as her eyes.

Of course, Hakiem was himself sufficiently advanced in age that such a sight left him unmoved-almost.

"Yes, 0 Empress?"

He gave a slight bow, cutting his thoughts, and his glance, short before either progressed too far. As a street storyteller he had always been polite to those who gave him a few coppers in return for his entertainments. Now, with the hefty stipend he was receiving in gold, he was a paradigm of courtesy. .

"Come, stand beside us," she said, holding out a dainty hand. "We fear we will need your advice in this next matter."

Hakiem bowed again and proceeded to her side with unhurried dignity. As he walked he took secret delight in the jealous stares directed at him from the other courtiers. During his short time at court, the storyteller and the Empress had developed a mutual respect for each other. More importantly, they found they liked each other, a condition which had brought Hakiem favored treatment. Privately he suspected that his elevated status was not so much a compliment to him as it was the Beysa's way of keeping her own clanfolk in line, but he reveled in the attention while he had it.

The next petitioners were ushered in and, dutifully, Hakiem directed his attention to the problems at hand. He did not know the three Beysib in the group save they weren't clan Burek aristocrats and therefore must be Setmur fishermen. The townspeople he recognized at once as the pillars of Sanctuary's fishing community: Terci, Omat, and the one everyone called the Old Man. Usually citizens of Sanctuary appeared at court in the company of Beysib clansmen when one group or the other had a serious grievance to air, but this group radiated no animosity at all.

"Greetings, Monkel Setmur, Clanchief," Shupansea intoned in the singsong pidgin Rankene which passed for a common dialect these days in the city. "Too long have you been absent from our presence. What matter have you brought before us today?"

The smallest, and perhaps the youngest, of the Beysib stepped nervously forward. "Greetings, 0 Empress. We... we have come before you this auspicious day to seek your favor and blessing on a project."

The Beysa nodded thoughtfully, though Hakiem glimpsed puzzlement in her manner. It was clear enough to him: requests for money sounded the same in any dialect. "Tell us more, Clanchief," she requested.

"It is well known that the arrival of our fleet has caused havoc among the local food sellers," the youth said carefully; he had plainly memorized his speech. "As the nearby farmlands were already overworked, it has fallen to the fishing boats to provide enough food to feed not only us, but the townspeople as well...."

"Yes, yes," Shupansea interrupted. "But what of your project?"

Monkel glanced at his colleagues for support, then straightened his shoulders. "We-that is, clan Setmur and the Sanctuary fishermen-wish permission, and financial assistance, for building a boat."

"A boat?" The Beysa swiveled into a sitting position. "We have fifty-odd boats rotting at anchor in the harbor. Use one of them if you need another boat."

The Clanchief nodded; he had expected this response. "0 Beysa, our boats were built for long sea voyages and the safe transport of passengers and cargo. They are ill-suited for chasing schools of fish. For months now we have put to sea in our scout-craft beside these native fishermen and learned much of the waters here. Our friends here, with their keelless boats, cannot chase the fish to deep water where they feed in greater numbers; our scout-craft reach the deep water, but have no holds for the fish. We will make a new type of boat-as big inside as a Sanctuary boat and as seaworthy as our scouts. We ask your permission to lay the keel... and, er, for your support."

"But why can't the big boats...?"

Hakiem cleared his throat noisily. Shupansea paused and waited for her adviser to speak. "The Beysa will require time to consider your proposal and will consult with Prince Kadakithis before making a decision. Return tomorrow for your answer."

Monkel looked at his Beysa with glazed eyes-totally shocked by the impropriety of a commoner speaking for the Avatar of Mother Bey-but she simply nodded and waved her hand in dismissal. "Thank you, 0 Empress," he stammered while bowing and backing away from her. The others of his party duplicated his actions.

A short time later, after dismissing all the other courtiers, Shupansea patted the comer of her divan and called Hakiem to join her. "Tell us. Wise One," she said with a smile,"what do you see in this determination of the Setmur to build another boat that we do not see?"

The storyteller sank heavily onto the cushions; formality disappeared, as it usually did when they were alone. "When one reaches my age one learns to appreciate the value of time. One of the few advantages of being an empress, or even a prince, is that you rarely have to make a decision in a hurry. In short, I was afraid that in your haste to determine if the boat were truly needed for fishing you might overlook the greater problems involved here."

"You're speaking in riddles," the Beysa scolded. "We have always been frank with each other. Is this new boat necessary?"

"I haven't any idea, though I suppose I'd trust the opinion of those who make their living catching fish. My point is that, needed or not, the boat should be built if you are to begin solving your greater problems."

"That is twice you have mentioned these greater problems. Speak plainly, Wise One; after a day with our courtiers and subjects we have no patience for riddles."

Hakiem rose and began pacing. "The greatest problem is the friction between our peoples. There is far too much killing and hating going on; every day it gets a little worse, not better. If we are going to live together in Sanctuary without destroying the town and ourselves, there must be peace, and peace must begin somewhere."

Shupansea leaned back, regarding him with hard, staring eyes that were old beyond their years. For a moment she was the Beysa again, the Avatar of the goddess Bey, and not a young woman. "We did not expect garlands and parades when we came here," she explained flatly. "The Set-mur have a saying: 'New fish are bought with blood.' We knew there would be hardship, maybe death, wherever we went; Beysib themselves are slow to change and slower to accept change they do not want. That is why we have restrained our retribution when our people have been slaughtered. We had hoped gold would be enough; but if it must be our blood, then it will be-and theirs as well."

Hakiem hawked and spat on the polished floor. The Beysa did not threaten often, nor well. "We have a saying too," he retaliated. "'Never pay the asking price -even if you can afford it.' Don't be blind to the first positive sign I've seen wander through this room. Didn't you look at that delegation? Beysib and Ilsig and Rankan, together, proposing a joint action other than slitting each others' throats! Who cares if the boat is necessary-just let them build it!"

The shapely breasts rose and fell in a great sigh. "Ah... we see your point. Yes, the boat shall be built regardless of the cost or need."

"Nonsense," Hakiem said with a grin, "never pay the asking price. Make them submit an accounting; question every board and nail on it. They'll cheat you anyway, but there's no sense in letting them think you don't care about money; they care very much about it. But you must discuss the matter with the Prince."

"Why?" She was sincere, and that pained Hakiem even more.

"Wood is scarce in Sanctuary, and the building of a new boat will require the felling of trees. For generations the Governor has been the protector of our little forests. If you have truly left Kadakithis as governor, then he must issue die edict about the trees-or you should not pretend that he is governor of anything."

The Beysa smiled as she nodded her understanding of the situation, and was about to say something else when the Prince strode into the room.

"Shupansea, I was wondering if... Oh, hello. Storyteller."

"Your Highness," Hakiem responded, bowing as low for the Prince as he did for the Beysa.

The Prince and his entourage were currently living in the Summer Palace, a half -finished rambling structure out beyond Downwind, having surrendered the Governor's palace to the Beysa two days after the fleet arrived. Hakiem tried to close his rumor-sensitive ears to the signs of ever-increasing familiarity between the Prince and the Beysa, but it was almost impossible. The Prince was never at the Summer Palace and never more than a few moments away from Shupansea; his courtesans had been spirited back to the capital, and Molin Torchholder, who should have been above such things, seemed to be encouraging the entire affair.

"Just one little matter, then we can be alone," Shupansea told Kadakithis with a radiant smile. "Tell me, you don't care if a few trees are cut down if it will get the townspeople and my people working together, do you?"

"If trees are what you want, take them all," the Prince said with a casual shrug of his shoulders and an equally radiant smile.

"I think, then, that I should withdraw now, 0 Empress. The matter seems to be settled now."

Hakiem paused outside the Presence Chamber, trying to control the irritation and, yes, the dread that had been generated by the exchange. Was the Prince so infatuated with Shupansea's overly obvious charms that he had thrown away what little judgment and free will he possessed? Was Sanctuary a Beysib property now, completely and without any recourse? The storyteller liked the Beysa and always advised her honestly, but he was Sanctuary's proudest citizen. It grieved him beyond speech to see what they were doing to his city.

He was suddenly aware that the room behind him was perfectly quiet now; the lovers had escaped. His eyebrows went up as his lips tightened. Perhaps the white bird could mate with the black one. And if they did, what became of all the other birds who were left?