Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Intrigue

“Ours,” said Jill. “As you know perfectly well. I’m just trying to show you ways to save time with him in the long run.”

“Stop it, then. If your hints are worthwhile, I’ll find them out for myself. And who implied there was going to be a long run where’s he’s concerned? Make sure your loyalties stay clear. Do you understand me?”

“As long as you understand me ,” she said. “Is that clear?”

“Yes,” said Zhardann, “very well, yes. Oolsmouth, then. Definitely Oolsmouth.” He aimed a finger at me. “But if I find out you’re planning to set me up for some plot of your own, I’ll –”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “Okay. I get your message. Oolsmouth it is, then. You want to drink a toast or something or just hit the road? And do you want to discuss what we’re going to do with the ring when we find it now, or hold that until later, too? Remember, I’m the one who knows how to control it.”

I knew nothing of the sort, of course, or at least I didn’t think I did, but they’d presume I understood everything about the ring whenever they got around to thinking about it. I didn’t think their contemplation had taken them quite that far along the thought path just yet, though, so I figured I might as well toss it out on the table while it might still have some shock value. “I thought you’d decided you were no longer interested in the ring,” Jill commented.

“That was before you showed up,” I said. “Now you’ve got me interested in a lot of things.”

“Very well, then,” said Zhardann, “we will have to share the ring.”

“Right,” I drawled. “That was the same kind of arrangement that went sour on me last time. How dumb do you think I am, anyway?”

“We could set up a rotating escrow situation, couldn’t we?” said Jill. “Zhardann, shouldn’t your organization be able to handle something of that sort?”

“Perhaps,” Zhardann said. “Perhaps. If we -”

“We could just auction the thing off,” I tossed out. “For certain parties out there, having Pod Dall in their own pocket might be worth more to them than it is to us, hmm?”

Jill and Zhardann looked at each briefly, again conferring without words. I was going through this exercise not because it would actually give me a better chance of getting my share of the ring, but because they’d think something was fishy if I didn’t. Whatever agreement we reached now wouldn’t be worth a plugged ool, I knew. If they thought we’d dealt with the issue and I’d accepted the resolution, though, they might stop looking over their shoulders waiting for me to pull my double-cross. All bets were off once we had the ring, I think we’d all agree if we were being honest, but at least we might get that far with reasonable cooperation. What I knew that they didn’t, of course, was that the whole thing was a wild goose chase from the start, since I’d made up the entire story that was sending us charging off to Oolsmouth on the trail of this Pasook person.

“An auction might not be all that bad an idea at that,” said Jill. “I say we should tentatively plan on that for now, and revisit the question again once we’re on the way. Agreed?”

“Yes,” I said, “fine.”

It was finally time to go. I was fully aware that our departure was another milestone that would probably reveal my total ignorance of everything the well-turned-out god should take as second nature. I’d seemed to be doing okay so far, though, and perhaps I was getting a little carried away with my luck and the feeling I was on a roll. In any case, I was sort of looking forward to finding out what would happen when we were all supposed to depart however it is gods are supposed to depart. It would be a good idea to keep trying to test the limits of the data and experience feed I was apparently getting through the metabolic link, so I was waiting to see just what it was going to spring on me this time, when it thought my back was against the wall. I was particularly surprised, then, and a bit deflated at the anticlimax to boot, when Zhardann whistled up a few servants, left them to pack up, and ushered Jill and me toward the tent’s door-flap.

I was taken aback that we didn’t fly, or zap or something fancy like that, but I guess we weren’t in that much of a hurry, really, and the big flashy stuff soaks up so much energy that it’s not worth using unless it’s absolutely necessary, even if you are a god. All of a sudden I got a quick wave of the shakes, no doubt from the flood of good sense that was abruptly returning, and I decided it was just as well for another reason. If Zhardann had said, “Come on, let’s zap,” or words to that effect, what if the metabolic link or whatever didn’t kick in? What if Zhardann was Gashanatantra. after all, and this was just part of his cruel game to cut me off cold from my knowledge of what to do next? The thought of the two of them waiting for me to help them with whatever it was they were doing, which of course I wouldn’t have the slightest idea of how to accomplish, was not too appealing. It could have the positive result of having them disappear while I remained standing around behind, free to sneak back out the door and off into the crowd. On the other hand, the infinite variety of negative results seemed unfortunately much more probable, and I had to admit I didn’t quite feel like experiencing any of them at first hand right then and there.

At the moment, though, as I mentioned, all of these hypothetical cases remained just that, hypothetical, as we strolled out into the sun and let the servants help the tent fold itself up behind us. While we’d been inside bickering, a group of horses had been rounded up outside. Zhardann swung up onto one of them, obviously a fine specimen even though I’ve never paid much attention to horses, and Jill boarded another even snazzier-looking chestnut and white model. “I am assuming you didn’t think to bring your own transportation?” Zhardann said to me in his same sour voice.

“One of these will do just fine, thank you,” I told him. He muttered something else under his breath, probably “This is going to be a long trip” or its unprintable equivalent. I was just as pleased not to have heard his remark; I didn’t know how much abuse my mild temperament was going to be able to stand. As far as I was concerned, however long the trip was going to be for them was nothing compared to what it was going to be for me. Aside from the recurring goal of just staying alive, though, I thought I also stood to gain a lot more from this than they did. After all, they knew their own identities, or at least I presumed they did. If I stayed sharp, sharp and lucky that is, and kept my ears open, I thought I might be able to go a significant distance on the way to figuring out my own.

The air above the surface of the River Oolvaan was frankly more humid than Zalzyn Shaa found acceptable. He was standing on the deck of Haalsen Groot’s river-ship, the Not Unreasonable Profit , arms crossed and leaning on the starboard gunwale, watching stands of cottonwoods pass by on the west bank of the river. They had been out on the river now for three days, having left Max and Jurtan Mont to their overland route westward, and without any of them having uncovered the slightest clue to the detective’s disappearance. The departure had been a bit tiring with its flurry of activity, but since then it had been an uneventful three days. So far , Shaa reminded himself.

On the rises behind the bank were small areas of unpruned forest interspersed with cultivated fields. The sun was out, declining toward afternoon, and the behavior of the river was placid; all in all, it was a perfectly respectable day. Nevertheless, Shaa was not pleased. He was, in fact, in a grouchy mood, and resented the day for not giving him a convenient target against which to vent his spleen. “Excuse me?” said a voice from behind him. It was Tildamire. “I brought you some iced tea.”