Glen Cook - The Tyranny of the Night

"Then this discussion is moot. That nasty old man isn't going away anytime soon." Arguing against his own convictions.

"Play a game of what if with me, Pipe. What next if you was in charge?"

Else scowled. Was Ghort stupid enough to get involved in a conspiracy? "You're serious? Of course you are. You don't have the imagination not to be. Or so you'd like us to think. If I was in charge, what would I do? Exactly what we've been doing, Pinkus. Digging in, drawing the circle tighter, and not doing anything to get any of us killed stupidly. Maximum results for the least bloodshed. Our side and theirs. So what do you really want Pinkus?"

"I ain't blowing smoke, Pipe. I'm straight on. I think you're the compromise guy. And I don't agree about Drocker being in good shape."

"Now you've heard it Pinkus. Tell Doneto I'd go right on doing it Drocker's way. Letting time work. Like making wine. Though I might do a little more than he has to talk the Pramans into surrendering."

"You could shit a shitter, all right, Pipe. You ain't really told me shit that's worth snot."

"Pinkus, I don't know what more you want to hear."

Ghort growled and pretended to yank out his hair. "How come you can't just give me a straight answer to a straight question?"

"I did.”

"I bet the reason you left Duarnenia was, they ran you off on account of you've got a stick up your ass."

"I don't understand what you want."

Ghort demonstrated his characteristic flexibility by shrugging, saying, "Guess I lose. I thought I could get you to give me something. Hey. Guess who — or what — turned up? That nasty little sword swallower that used to polish Bishop Serifs's knob.”

Startled, Else blurted, "Osa Stile? The catamite?"

"I thought his name was Armand."

"You're right. Stile. Where did I get that? He's here? How did that happen?"

"He's hooked up with one of them Collegium characters. One of the really quiet, spooky, shadowy old ones." Meaning one of the more powerful Principatйs when it came to working the Instrumentalities of the Night. One of those men for whom the Night was a place of romance and adventure, not a realm of terror. Which suited Osa's spy role perfectly.

The Collegium was the stoutest bulwark that Sublime could place between himself and the ambitions of Johannes Blackboots. But his party held only that narrowest of edges there. Ferris Renfrew would want to keep a close eye on the Collegium.

"Watch him, Pinkus. There's more to that boy than meets the eye."

"Yeah. Any chance we'll do anything but sit here?”

Back to that. "Not if I can help it. If you're feeling suicidal, though, I'll give you a note introducing you to Starkden and Masant al-Seyhan."

"Bored is the word. Not suicidal."

"Bored? You don't have enough work to keep you busy?"

"I've got plenty. Don't go getting no silly-ass ideas about piling on. But I am a man of action."

"Pinkus, I’ve never seen you make the least effort to put yourself in harm's way."

"Yeah. But a guy does get antsy when all he does is sit."

"Sitting pays exactly the same as getting pieces chopped off."

"When you put it that way …"

"Bottom line, Pinkus. Final sums. Getting out of all this alive. Staggering under the weight of all the treasure. That's what I want."

"In that order, old buddy. Alive first, then rich."

"And after we're done here?"

"I go back to Brothe and be Doneto's number-one guy. You go be the Collegium's best boy. Maybe in charge of some permanent Patriarchal regiment. We're in, Pipe. Long as we don't fuck up."

"That's true. That is true." He had Drocker as his mentor and champion.

"You sigh, Pipe."

"I sigh. Because we're good soldiers. And nobody will remember that."

The weather softened. The Patriarchal troops left their shelters to resume work on raising a palisade just outside the reach of Praman artillery. Else wanted the circumvallation extended in both directions. King Peter appeared disinclined to come within sight of al-Khazen on his end.

Grade Drocker preferred to ignore the Direcian-Connecten army. Those people had done their part. And then they had snapped up way more than their share of the spoils. "If I had my way, we'd make the Connectens storm al-Khazen so they get used up."

Else did not venture an opinion. Later he enjoyed a tense discussion with Titus Consent. Consent had begun to understand his own value. And that had begun to go to his head.

"This isn't a threat," Else told him. "I don't do that. But the man in charge here does. And he has no love for anything Devedian. And isn't just hard and smart, but deep. He's watching you."

Not humbled, Consent said, "Your leaders have been complaining about us wasting food on the people who got driven out of the city."

"Ignore the whining. Those Deves helped us. A lot"

"As you command, Colonel."

"You don't like me way things are, take it up with the Brotherhood."

Titus Consent went away because Sublime's devoted Principatйs had found me commander of me city regiment.

Divino Bruglioni isolated Else. "There's something I've wanted to ask for some time, Hecht."

"Sir?"

"It's about the reward purse Paludan was supposed to give you before you came to the Collegium."

"Yes?" This would be about the ring.

"You know I gave him that to give to you?"

"Thank you, then. A man needs affirmation of his work — even if the only measure is coin."

“True. But… How do I phrase this? Straightforward is the only way. Did you find a ring in that purse? It would be plain gold, well worn, rather old. Nothing special. But of sentimental value to me. It came to me from my grandfather, who got it from his. I've been trying to find it for months. I know I had it when I made up that purse. I can't remember seeing it since."

"Ah." Else said, "There was a ring. A gold band. And some foreign coins. I sold it all to a money changer who said he'd resell everything to his nephew the goldsmith. He was making something for the Patriarch's mother."

Divino Bruglioni spat a curse. "That damned tiara!.. I know who… How could you? Sainted Founders! The Fates are heartless."

"What did I do, Your Grace?" A Prince of the Church whining about the cruelty of pagan forces?

"Hell, nothing. You couldn't know the ring wasn't part of your reward."

"You've lost me completely, Your Grace."

"No doubt. I fibbed. The ring was special. It was magic, in lay terms."

"Wow! Like in stories?"

"No. Not like in stories. I don't suppose the man you sold it to might be one of our Devedians here?"

"No. He was more exotic. I think he was Dainshau. And at least eighty years old. I needed a translator. He was from the old country."

"Dainshaukin all try to make you think that, Hecht. Their purported inability to speak the language gives them an edge. You'd be stunned at how fast they learn when there's money to be made."

"A magic ring? Really?"

"Really."

"I never believed in them." Else wondered how many times Polo had searched his things.

"Most people don't. Most urbanites have no idea what goes on in the wider world. They'd void their bowels if they were aware of a tenth of what they can't see."

"You're scaring me, Your Grace. What did the ring do?"

"Its main power is that it makes itself and whoever is wearing it hard to notice. By creatures of the Night. If I put it on I could stand amid a pack of Night wolves and they wouldn't notice me. But the ring also affects whoever uses it. You forget about it. Then you lose it."

"That's what happened to you?"

"Exactly."

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. I can see where that would be a handy trinket. I'll take you to see that Dainshau when we get back to Brothe. Just in case the ring didn't get melted down."