Karen Lord - Redemption in Indigo

He raised the crumpled paper in his fist and laughed as he shook it in the direction of the House of the Sisters.

Grant him this one theatrical moment. It is going to be of extremely short duration.

His laughter choked off as he saw before him not a human fist, but the sharp-tipped, bristly leg of a spider. He blinked in horror and tried to reassert his image, but nothing happened. The postboy, who had been waiting in case an immediate reply needed to be sent, stared at him in frozen terror.

The Trickster pulled himself together. ‘There is nothing to worry about,’ he told the boy as reassuringly as he could manage. ‘These things happen. Just run along and deliver the rest of your letters.'

Other powers remained intact, for the postboy paused in confusion, nodded peacefully, and then went off to complete his work.

The Trickster gnashed his mandibles in irritation. The power over memory worked best when used on those whom one would rarely see. It was perfect for large and busy towns or cities, and for short interactions, but in a small village like Makendha he would end up having to destroy the short term memory of half the inhabitants to sustain his disguise.

He smoothed out the crumpled note and read it through carefully with a feeling of grudging admiration. Not many people managed to trick the Trickster, but when they did he was willing to give credit where credit was due. Well, he was not going back to Ahani without his secondary power of disguise intact. With a little less elegance than his previous employer, he waved a forelimb in the air and stepped through the crack in space and time—out of his own tent and into the House of the Sisters.

Sister Elen was the first to see him. She started to scream, but he raised a leg wearily.

'This is all your doing, so don't fuss. Who do I have to deal with to get my disguise back?'

She stared at him. ‘Deian!’ she yelled.

The Dreamer came running. On her head was a cap made of the same fabric that covered the cushion she had given to Paama. The Trickster looked at her and observed the immunity to mind tampering.

'No need to be so defensive,’ he said, trying to make soothing gestures with his forelegs, and failing miserably. ‘I realise that perhaps you didn't know what was beneath the disguise when you decided to block my power to maintain it, but now I'm sure we can both agree that it would be better for all concerned if I looked a little less??ntimidating.'

'Where's Paama?’ demanded Sister Deian.

'I honestly have no idea. I'm not really involved. Trust me, none of my kind would wish to get caught up in this matter.'

He was afraid that they would think he was lying, but, both Dreamer and Reader looked at him, their faces showed disappointment at the truth of his words.

'But that has nothing to do with me. Won't you let me have back my disguise?'

Sister Elen had the pained expression of someone who was thinking very very quickly. ‘You have to agree to leave Makendha and never return again.'

'Never?’ he said, dismayed.

'Never,’ she reiterated firmly.

He nodded, pretending to be resigned, but secretly he thought that there were always ways to get around ‘never'.

'And since you and your ... kind cannot—or will not—help us find Paama, you must go to Ahani and hire us the best tracker you can find,’ she went on bravely.

'I can do that,’ he acknowledged. ‘And you will let me have my disguise back, so that I can carry out this mission?'

'No. You can have it back only when the tracker reaches the House and is approved by us,’ said Sister Elen.

'And has found Paama,’ added Sister Deian.

'You bargain shrewdly. You must have heard about me before,’ he smiled. Unfortunately, this movement showed itself as an ominous clicking of the mandibles, which caused the two Sisters to jump back in fear.

'No, no, I will do as you say. I will find you a tracker and stay in Ahani. You can return my disguise to me from a distance?’ he asked pleadingly.

'Yes, once the terms are all met,’ said Sister Deian.

'Agreed, then.'

The spider-man backed away cautiously so that no sudden move of his might startle them, waved a foreleg gently in the air in farewell, and vanished.

the spider in his parlour and a very eager fly

And so we return to a familiar scene—the spider-man sitting in a bar, observing and choosing his victims. If his seat was a little farther back in the darkness than usual, and if the bar was less cheerily lit than his previous haunts, we can understand why. He was a little nervous about having no disguise to fall back on.

The thought crossed his mind that he did not have to put up with this. Although he had long borne the spider shape, he could yet retire it and craft a less remarkable shadow. It would take a little time to do it, but the change might do him good. Perhaps??erhaps indeed it was time to put aside the legend of the Trickster with one last trick.

Then he relented. Better to start a straight trail with an honest deed.

Other honest deeds had been faithfully carried out. Alton's writings, the first part of a great work, had been sent by courier to an agent. Neila's orders for fabric and other wedding paraphernalia had been delivered to the appropriate stores, and the goods were being shipped directly to Makendha. Alton's household was being managed by a temporary majordomo, a junior looking for advancement hired from the chief's staff in Makendha. He thought it was temporary, but the Trickster knew that a permanent offer was just around the corner.

The Trickster sighed. All he needed was for one more thing to go right.

The first adventurer he approached with a free drink (alcohol definitely helped his situation), was a big man of middle years who had recently suffered an injury and was trying to return to full marketability. The spider-man recognised another trickster when he saw one, and this man was hiding the fact that he had lost his nerve after the accident that had nearly maimed him permanently. It was a common characteristic among the warriors—no fear of death, and only pride for their scars, but little thought of all that could happen in between those two extremes.

Then there were a few who were more brag than bravery, youngsters who had little or no experience who were travelling the world to find themselves. There were others who, having unfortunately found themselves, were seeking a way to get lost again. All these the Trickster turned away. He knew something about the business of tracking, and it required single-mindedness, not self-absorption.

Precious days were lost in this way, and he began to think that perhaps it was time to be less picky. Then, at last, the perfect tracker found him. He was a thin man of medium height, with light scars tracing his left cheek just below his eye. There was an expression of muted amusement on his face, as if he thought he was part of some grand joke and was glad of it. The Trickster found his face naggingly familiar, which was surprising, because he knew he had never met him before. But we have met this stranger, oh yes, a long trail back. More than mere coincidence had brought him to the Trickster. Certain information had come to him, making him realise that there was unfinished business on his karmic plate.

'You've been looking for me,’ he proclaimed to the spider-man who, as usual, had tucked himself discreetly into the darkest, farthest corner of the room.

Then he added audaciously, ‘Aren't you going to buy me a drink?'

'That depends,’ said the Trickster cautiously. ‘Who told you I was looking for you?'

The newcomer shrugged. ‘There are many answers to that. I could say that the word is out in Ahani that someone is sifting through the city's entire allotment of trackers to find the very best. In fact, I think that is the best answer for now.'