Mayer Alan Brenner - Spell of Intrigue

The whole thing had only taken a few seconds - Zhardann’s final pronouncement over Sapriel, his unleashing of the Curse of Namelessness and its prompt action in ripping Sapriel’s consciousness apart, followed by Zhardann’s brief pause in thought. He turned toward Soaf Pasook.

Soaf Pasook was gone.

Then so was my own view of the scene. The gray transport mist was back, shrouding my body, deadening my senses, blocking my vision. I had been thinking it was time to go, but had I actually managed to summon the transport field? I didn’t think I’d done a thing. The metabolic link had shown itself to be unpredictable, though, and it was worth remembering that I still didn’t know how the transport effect had appeared the first time, when we’d arrived at the meeting, so -

The mist lifted. The cataleptic state that I hadn’t realized was holding me motionless withdrew. I was still sitting in an armchair, the disguised sword Monoch resting on the floor and leaning up against my knee. The armchair was in a sitting room. The sitting room, though, was different.

I didn’t think the room was different because someone had redecorated the place while we’d been out. No, it was a different room . It was smaller, and lacked a fireplace, and had a single window on a single wall instead of the two adjoining walls with their multi-pane vista, and although there were indeed artworks on the walls, the style and subjects were entirely different. The main item of furniture in the room was a billiard table.

Jill and Zhardann were nowhere in sight. Across from me, though, was a single chair. Regarding me from it was Soaf Pasook. “That Sapriel,” Pasook said. “A simple fellow, at heart.”

Pasook was different, too. As I’d known him over the recent hours, he’d behaved as a supplicant, as someone trying to make something better out of an awkward position; as someone who was being acted upon, rather than a prime mover. In manner, he had worn a coat of sheepishness. Now, peering out beyond the sheep was something else entirely.

The idea I’d thought was too loopy to consider when I’d glanced on it earlier had suddenly moved to center stage. Pasook had a jeweled cup at his side. He took a drink, smacked his lips, set it aside. “May I see Monoch, please?” he said.

“You’re not Pasook,” I said. “You’re Gashanatantra.”

“Cast off!” ordered the captain. Zalzyn Shaa, shorn of his own nautical outfit, leaned back against the stern gunwale, keeping his mouth shut. The one-time captain, one-time mate had reassumed his rightful role, although his beard would no doubt take longer to grizzle its way back out to its accustomed station. The captain eyed him now, shifting his attention momentarily from the activities of the crew, probably making sure that Shaa was clear on who was again whom, and what was what. Shaa gave him an approving nod and a small salute. The captain grunted noncommittally and looked away. “Raise sail,” he said.

“Raise sail, aye,” went the repeated cry.

Shaa turned and looked across at the retreating dock.

Haalsen Groot stood on the wharf end with Julio, Julio waiting more impatiently than Groot. Well, Julio would be the one stuck with most of the legwork involved in getting Haalsen Traders rolling again, after all; it was no surprise that he would want to get back at it as soon as he could. Then, too, there was Groot’s new controlling interest in the recently disenfranchised Bank of the New Dawn.

The Great Karlini leaned himself on the rail next to Shaa. “When Groot said he was sorry he couldn’t accompany us,” Shaa said, “did you have the feeling he was entirely sincere?”

Karlini didn’t bother to respond. He had more than enough experience with Shaa’s straight-faced statements to know which ones were designed for rhetorical effect. “What about that iceberg, then?”

“Still a loose end as far as I’m concerned.” Back on the dock, Julio’s fidgeting finally took its toll on Groot, and the two of them turned and headed away. “We had too many independent actors running around hatching their own schemes, as usual,” Shaa mused, “but everything has somehow managed to come together in the end, at least as far as friend Groot and the greater good of Oolsmouth are concerned. Former Councillor Dooglas, currently languishing in a continued daze under the watchful eye of Groot’s erstwhile turnkey, Warder Clang, in the basement of the Hall of the People, may have a different point of view.” The gods, too, having fled the scene, most likely had their own angle on things as well, but they weren’t talking. Neither was the Creeping Sword. From the few vague hints he had let slip, he might have been in a position to clarify a good deal, since he had obviously covered a lot of ground since they had last encountered him back in Roosing Oolvaya, but he had been spending his time consumed with his own thoughts. Without even turning to look, Shaa could feel his presence behind them, pacing distractedly on the main deck. He hadn’t been out-and-out muttering to himself, but he had clearly been examining scenes that were not those of the ship and river before his eyes.

I couldn’t get it out of my mind. All the developments of the past days had come back at me, sure, all the ins and outs and turns and twists, since I hadn’t had the leisure to kick back while it was happening to figure out what was really going on, but the one thing running especially through my thoughts was that last bit. “You’re not Soaf Pasook,” I’d said. “You’re Gashanatantra.”

“In fact,” he’d said easily, “I am both, in a manner of speaking.” He held out his hand for the walking stick, and I handed it to him. When I’d first seen him, as Pasook, in the study back at Zhardann’s place, Monoch had started to quiver like a puppy returned to the guy who usually took him for a walk; Monoch had recognized him even if I hadn’t. Gash muttered the activation word and the sword flamed into life in his hand. As he communed with it, sweeping it through the air, he decided to continue talking to me. “The real Soaf Pasook, I’m afraid, has reached the end of his line. I thought Sapriel was remarkably unconvincing when he told that story about torturing poor Pasook to death, surprisingly so in fact, since it happened to be true. Of course, Sapriel’s sad performance may have had something to do with my presence; I can be quite convincing in a role, I don’t mind emphasizing. You haven’t done uncreditably yourself.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said sarcastically, although “Thanks for nothing” would have been closer to the literal truth as far as I was concerned.

“Don’t be so negative,” Gash said. “This hasn’t been a waste of time for you, I’m certain. What you have learned is more than adequate compensation for my continuation of your employment. Nevertheless, I am in a magnanimous mood. Sapriel was a recurring thorn I am pleased to now have out of my path, and without my own personal implication in his departure. This pleases me. My pleasure is your good fortune.”

“Oh, really?”

He fixed me with the gaze of a dead fish. “You are a loose end.”

Oh. A loose end. By rights, I was something he should be tidying up. Instead, he was going to let me live, or at least I hoped that was his implication. “In that case,” I told him, “thank you very much.” I was hoping he wasn’t going to remember the heavy backlash I’d hit him with when I’d siphoned his power through the metabolic link back at the climax of the mess in Roosing Oolvaya; if that did occur to him right now his mood might abruptly change. I didn’t want to tempt him into getting aggravated at me but I didn’t want him to start thinking about nasty stuff like that either, so I figured I’d better try to steer the conversation. I didn’t have to hunt for a topic - the assembly we’d just left was preying on my mind. Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t fit.