Robert Asprin - Storm Season

"... and then I was promoted to be under-warden of the great Temple of Savankala in Ranke." The Archpriest Arbalest settled a little more comfortably in his chair, and Lalo's sensitive fingers, responding, adjusted a line.

"An excellent position, really, right at the heart of things. Everybody who is anybody pays homage there eventually, and whoever transmits their petitions to the god can gather quite a lot of useful information in time." Smiling complacently, the Archpriest smoothed the brocaded saffron folds of his gown.

"Mmnn-very true-" murmured Lalo with the fraction of his mind that was not mesmerized by his work.

"I wish you would let me look at what you are doing!" the priest said petulantly. "It is my face you are immortalizing, after all!"

Shocked into awareness, Lalo stepped back from the easel and looked at him.

"Oh no, my Lord, you must not! It has been strictly ordered that this picture shall be a surprise. None of the sitters is to see it until the entire painting is revealed to the Emperor. If you try to look I will have to call the guard. Indeed, it is as much as my life is worth to let anyone see the picture before its time!"

And that, at least, was perfectly true, thought Lalo, daring to look at the canvas with conscious eyes at last. Against the crude backdrop of a pillared hall had been sketched the rough outlines of five figures. The one on the far left had been filled in yesterday with the picture of Lord Raximander, the first of the Commissioners to serve as model here. He looked like a pig- complacently self-indulgent, with just a hint of stubborn ferocity in the little eyes.

Lalo wondered that the Commissioners had consented to it. Since they came they had been busy with inspections and meetings, and listening to interminable reports. Perhaps they were glad of a chance to sit still. Or perhaps they feared the consequences of refusing to contribute to a gift for their Emperor, or possibly they really were eager to have their visit to this outpost of Empire immortalized. Raximander, at least, had appeared to take the sitting as tacit agreement from Lalo to paint another portrait which the Commissioner would be allowed to see.

Now the picture of the Archpriest was almost complete beside Lord Raximander's. If the thing had been meant seriously, Lalo would have wanted several hours more to work on the finishing of the gown and hair, but it was already sufficient for the Vizier's purposes. Lalo looked at it with normal vision for the first time and repressed a sigh.

Why had he dared to hope that just because the man was a priest he would be virtuous? But Arbalest was not a pig-more of a weasel, Lalo thought, noting the covert cunning of his gaze.

"If you are tired we can end the sitting now." He bowed to the priest. "I will not need your presence for what remains."

When the priest had gone Lalo refilled his mug from the pitcher of beer provided by Coricidius. Aside from the infamous manner of the commission, the Vizier had not treated him badly. Having blackmailed him into painting, the old man was at least allowing him to do so in comfort. They had set aside a pleasant room on the second floor of the Palace for his use-at the front next to the roof garden so that windows on three sides gave him light-working conditions, at least, were ideal.

But the painting was an abomination. Lalo forced himself to look at it again. He had sketched in columns and a carven ceiling just in case someone should catch a glimpse of the canvas from far away. But the faces with which he was filling the foreground made the rich surroundings seem a travesty.

Everyone at the Palace appeared to believe the tale that the painting was a bribe to the Emperor, and some, believing that this must give Lalo some influence, were already toadying to him. Even to Gilla, Lalo had had to pretend that the midnight arrest was a mistake and the commission real. But if she did not believe him, for once she had the sense to let the subject alone.

Would others do the same? What if the project became so famous that people insisted on seeing the picture? What if one of his sitters proved nimble enough to get a good look before Lalo could call the guard?

Lalo sighed again, drained his mug, and told the Hell-Hound currently on duty to bring the third subject in.

Lalo sat oh a low stool next to the table where he had laid out his painting things, waiting, like them, for the fourth of the Commissioners to arrive for his sitting. He supposed that he had been lucky to get in Arbalest and the royal relative yesterday-he glanced at the third picture with distaste. "Something oxis," the man's name was, but already he had trouble remembering. Not surprising-his portrait revealed a bovine complacence that avoided evil mainly through lack of energy.

And these are the pride of Ranke? thought Lalo. He found himself almost grateful to Coricidius. I would never have known-he grimaced at the painting again-I would have uprooted my family to seek my fortune in the capital, innocently certain it must be superior to Sanctuary. But there, the evil is only better disguised....

From the courtyard below he could hear the even tramp of bullhide sandals-the Prince's Guard was drilling again. These days, even the City garrison marched and polished their armor, but whether it was in hopes of being sent to the war or the opposite, he did not know. Nor, at this moment, did he care. He found it hard to believe that any new invader could make things any better, or worse, in Sanctuary.

Still, the incessant marching made him nervous, as if his former certainties were illusions, and just around the corner lay some new threat that he could not see. Restlessly he paced to the window, and was just turning back when the guard brought the fourth sitter in.

"My Lord Zanderei!" Lalo bowed to the man to whom he had spoken at the reception. "Please be seated-" he indicated the sitter's chair.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Master Limner," the man said plaintively, settling himself. "I was detained at the warehouses. There seems to be some confusion regarding the grain supplies set aside for the war ..."

Lalo busied himself with his paints to hide a grin. He could well imagine that the web of bribes, kickbacks, substitutions and out-and-out shortchanging characteristic of business in Sanctuary would make "confusion" an understatement. Why had they sent such a clerkly little mouse to deal with the situation here? Glancing at him again, Lalo realized that Zanderei had one of the least remarkable faces he had ever seen.

I suppose it comes of a life-time of deference, he thought. The man displayed no individuality at all. But for the first time in this project Lalo found himself eager to set brush to canvas, knowing that once he did, no dissimulation could hide the truth of the man from him.

"Am I posed correctly? I can turn my head the other way if you like, or fold my hands ..."

"Yes, clasp your hands-your head is very well as it is. You must relax, sir, and think how near your business is to its conclusion..."Lalo poured thinner into the cup and dipped his brush.

"Yes," Zanderei echoed softly. "I am almost done. A week or less will show me if I have accomplished all I was sent to do. The conflict draws very close to us now." His thin lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

Lalo's eyes narrowed. He drew his brush through the light ochre and began.

A half hour went by, and an hour. Lalo worked steadily without really being conscious either of the passage of time or of what he was doing. Zanderei was light and shadow, color and texture and line-a problem in interpretation. The artist adjusted to the changing light and even gave his model permission to move from time to time without emerging from the trance which was his art and his spell.