Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

Amantha did not accept his offering. 'Ah, so it is in love,' said she. 'Poor thing! Like a pig- dog in lust with the moon.' And all the retinue laughed.

'You know how to brawl,' said Tarkal, 'if not how to duel, but you'll never make a poet in a million years.'

'How dare you sneer at me?' said Sarazin. 'I beat you in fair combat!'

You came armed as if for a gutter fight,' said Tarkal, 'armed with a common brawler's weapon. How was I to know you would stoop so low?' 'I came with a weapon of war!' said Sarazin.

'Oh, indeed!' said Amantha. 'A weapon of war! Do you expect me to hold you in great wish when you try for your honour with a common soldier's bludgeon?'

'My blade's no bludgeon!' protested Sarazin. 'It's a weapon-sword true, a tooth of Stokos steel, the world's most expensive bladework!' 'Money,' said Amantha, 'never yet bought class.'

And, as Sarazin stood there, dismayed, his mouth agape, she flicked the reins of her horse and rode away.

Sarazin was devastated by Amantha's rejection of his poem. He had laboured on it long and hard, first writing it in Geltic, then translating it into Churl, then trying it out on Bizzie (no other critic being available).

Still, he could survive the rejection of his art. He knew genius creates the taste by which it is appreciated; this takes time, a commodity Amantha was not prepared to afford him. But the insult to his weapon was a more serious matter. Sarazin took his woes to his swordmaster. 'What's the problem?' said Thodric Jarl. They say my blade is that of a common soldier.' 'Who says?' 'The people from Chenameg.'

"Who heeds the defeated?' said Jarl, scornfully. This much I've learnt from a lifetime's campaigning: no loser was ever outclassed or outfought. The victor always bluffed, cheated or was aided by the weather. Thus speak the defeated.' 'But they-' They play at battle as if it was a game,' said Jarl.

'Duelling,' said Sarazin, with more than a touch of pomposity, 'has ever been a feature of the noble life.'

'Games,' repeated Jarl. Well, that's not what I was hired to teach you.' What have you taught me, then?' said Sarazin, unwisely.

'Death, not dancing. Survival, not style. If princes and such wish to charade with steel and call it combat – well, that's no business of mine. But – mark well! – you'll meet with no fighting for fashion's sake in a brothel brawl or a battlefield bloodbath.'

Sarazin had the impression he had heard all this before. As indeed he had. Six or seven times at least. 'So I was right to fight with my Stokos steel?' said Sarazin.

To stay alive? Of course! Whatever weapon serves, that's the one to use. Over the years, I've defended my life with everything from a dead cat to a full-charged chamber pot.'

'But I wasn't being fair to Tarkal, was I?' said Sarazin. 'I knew he wouldn't know the tricks of shieldwork. I knew my blade would likely break his.'

"You were right to fight on your terms, not his,' said Jarl. 'After all, he started it. Anyway, that's one of the greater parts of the art of war: forcing the enemy to fight on ground of your choosing.' 'But they laughed at me!'

They laughed, you lived,' said Jarl. 'I wouldn't complain too much about that.'

'What about my poem?' said Sarazin. 'They laughed at that, too. Amantha in particular.' 'That does you no lasting harm either,' said Jarl. 'But why did she laugh at my poem?'

'Ask the sun, the moon or the fish in the sea, but don't ask me. Poems are pretty enough, if you like that kind of thing, but one sounds much like another to me.'

Then, since Sarazin was on hand, Jarl launched him upon a session of sword-training.

One sweaty training session later, Sarazin surrendered his blade of firelight steel to Thodric Jarl and went hunting for Lod. Who was nowhere to be found. It was scarcely practical to quarter Selzirk entire in the hope of finding him by chance, so, after some thought, Sarazin went to ask Madam Ix for news of Lod.

Since Sarazin sometimes had his doubts about the efficacy of fortune telling he had often wanted to test the skills of the mystery workers on some practical problem. This looked to be the ideal opportunity.

I'm hunting for Lod,' said Sarazin, when he was admitted to the presence of Ix of the Mystery.

'Does this look like a brothel?' said Madam Ix. 'Or a booze barn? Or a gambling den? You'll not find him here. But just for interest's sake – how much money does he owe you?' "None,' said Sarazin, promptly.

On a little reflection, he was surprised to realise it was true. Jarl's lecturing must have taught Sarazin some wisdom, because he had never let Lod borrow money from him. Mind you: he had never really had money spare to lend.

Then,' said Madam Ix, 'if he owes you no money, what do you want him for? Have you decided you love him?'

"Nay,' said Sarazin. 'We exhausted love in our last incarnations when we were dogs in the street together. He's missing. I'm worried about him. If he's not here, can your Art find him?' 'Of course,' said Madam Ix, 'for the Art knows no limits.'

But the price she named was very, very high. Sarazin, entirely unable to meet such a price, asked:

'Pray tell, why is this service priced so high? Do you seek to avoid a true test of your Art by setting such a price?' 'Selzirk is a sewer,' said Madam Ix, 'and Lod a clod lost somewhere in that sewer. The price I set is the price for delving in unclean things. If you must use the Art for improper purposes you must pay the penalty.'

'What, then, is the proper purpose of the Art?' said Sarazin.

To read character,' said Madam Ix, 'to commune with the spirits, to speak with the dead, to tell the past and future both. To deal with the higher things and the greater purposes. Not to find lost boys, lost dogs or wayward debtors.' 'I tell you,' said Sarazin, 'Lod owes me no money.'

'So you have said already,' said Madam Ix. 'But he owes others. If he's missing I have no doubt he's missing from choice. I vum he's lying low while his creditors hunt him. Now tell me, young Sarazin, before you go – have you seen Madam Sosostris yet?'

'No,' said Sarazin. 'I went there with Lod, but she was sick so we couldn't get in.'

'You must go again,' said Madam Ix, 'for I hear my col- league Sosostris has discovered a new book of prophecy.' 'I've no interest in prophecy,' said Sarazin.

This book concerns a prince. A prince by name of Watashi.'

Watashi?' said Sarazin. That is an ill name!' Indeed it was, for it meant, amongst other things, fear. Blood. And death. It was, for some reason, strangely familiar. Why? After a moment's thought Sarazin said: 'An ill name, yes, and the one you claimed that I myself would bear.'

'So I did!' said Madam Ix, as if the thought had just occurred to her. 'I saw war, and saw you yourself named for war. Why, this is a strange coincidence!'

'I hope this book's no forgery cooked up by grasping fortune tellers to gull a client,' said Sarazin, who also thought the coincidence strange.

"No, no, it's no forgery,' said Ix. You'd see that in a moment. This is a text of great antiquity. Madam Sosostris claims the book most interesting. She thinks it may have a bearing on… on the life of a certain person whom politics makes it dangerous to name.'

Ancient books, prophecies, a promise of politics – it made a most enticing mix.

'Once I've found Lod, I'll look into it,' said Sarazin. 'But I don't have the time right now.'

"There's one more thing you should know,' said Ix. 'Madam Sosostris has a new assistant. A female beauty from the Rice Empire. Her name is Jaluba.' Electrifying news!

But Sarazin, fearing interest on his part would be communicated from Ix to Sosostris and would raise the price of admission, pretended a complete lack of interest.

Well,' said he, working so hard on the business of acting casual that his hands trembled, I'll look into that, too, in due course. But for now, I have to go hunting for Lod.'