Cholly removed the chain from his neck and handed the medallion to Strick.
“I am a simple gluemaker- Each morning my apprentice and I take a wagon through town to pick up the bodies left from the night before. I make glue from them. It’s all legal; I have a charter giving me the right to pick them up and dispose of them for the city. This medallion was on one of the ones we took in this morning. Since then I have had two attempts on my life, I have been followed every step I take, and I have discovered that when 1 wear it I can see through a magic spell. What I want to know is: just what is it, really?”
Strick handed back the medallion. “Do you know of the goddess Theba? According to legend she declared that nothing, not even gods, should be immortal. Gods, you see, live on many planes at once. If they die they still live on all the other planes. That’s what happened to Vashanka-gone from here, but not dead. Now it seems Theba was ambitious and didn’t want to pursue her rivals through the infinite planes, so one night she called down a star from the sky. It fell like a blazing comet, and in its heart was a lump of unearthly gold. Theba took the white hot nugget in her bare hands, she shaped the medallion, then inscribed it with her fingernail, and quenched it in the blood of a virgin.”
“Sounds like a real sweetheart.”
“That, says legend, is how the Spell of No Spells was cast, a spell that cancels all magic. Perhaps antimagic is the proper term. Its power nullifies all spells and powers. It is the supreme defense against magic. There is one catch. It also cancels any magic the wearer possesses. Spells, blessings, curses; all are useless.”
“Let me see if I can take it from there. Immortality is a supernatural gift, right? So, if a god had the medallion, he’s no longer a god; he’s mortal, and can die like anybody else. Right?”
“Yes, but even Theba was appalled when She felt her rival die the one, true death. She threw Her tnnket away, and ‘t fell into mortal hands. Most mages-including myself-want nothing to do with it: Its risks outweigh any possible rewards. But there are always a few like Theba, caught in the blind throes of ambition, greed or jealousy.
“Be careful, Cholly. At least one mage, maybe more, wants Theba’s medallion and knows you have it. Because of what it is, because of what he is to want it in the first place, and because as long as you wear it no one can tell for certain if you’re a powerful wizard or an ordinary gluemaker-because of these, you’re a marked man, my friend.”
“Thanks for the information. How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing. I could not help you with your problem, and I charge only for services rendered.”
“Well, I feel I owe you something for telling me about the talisman. I’ll tell you what: the next time you need to mend anything, send word to me what you are working on, and I’ll send over the right compound for the job with my compliments. How about that?”
“You are a fair man, gluemaker. I have enjoyed meeting you, and I hope you solve your problem.”
Cholly stopped by the shop and paid the boys their weekly bit of copper. Sambar would spend all his at the bakery and sweets shop. Give him another year or two and he’d be paying for sweets of the same sort as Aram. Father Us but that lad was randy! It was only blind luck the boy hadn’t yet contracted a dose- Ah, youth!
Before he left in his best clothes Aram said, “Some fellow was in here looking for you. The first time was the middle of the afternoon, then he came back a little while ago. He didn’t say what he wanted, just that he wanted to speak to you. Special pickup, I guess.”
“Did he leave a name? What did he look like?”
“No name, but he’s easy to recognize. He’s got all this silvery hair and he dresses like a magician. Know him?”
“In a way. I think I’ve seen him. How would you like a bit of extra pocket money?”
Aram’s eyes lit up.
“Go run ahead to Ahdio, at Sly’s Place, and tell him I’m going to need his backroom for a while. And tell him to ask his friend Strick to join usDo that and I’ll give you an extra week’s pay.”
Aram was gone like an arrow. Cholly walked down the rows and picked out jars of glue and solvent. From beneath the counter he took a satchel of several brushes.
He hoped this wouldn’t take long. He was already late, and Ineedra would have his head on a salver. He’d better take her to Hari’s or the Golden Oasis to unruffle her feathers once this business was over with.
Ahdio didn’t recognize any of the trio who strutted into the crowded tavern, and he usually remembered faces. One of them, the youngest, did have a flowing silver mane, so these must be the ones he was watching for.
The squat, broad red-faced one asked Throde, “Hey, Gimp’ You seen Cholly da Gluemaker in here? We was s’posed to meet up wit’ ‘im.”
“Not that I recall, but we’ve been pretty busy. Ask Ahdio,” Throde replied, nodding at the mountainous man in the mail vest. He smiled and hobbled away to deliver his tray of beers, giving Ahdio a wink in passing.
Again it was the toadish one who spoke. “You Ahdio?”
Ahdio smiled. “What will you have, gentlemen?”
“You seen Cholly da Gluemaker? We’ll make it worth ya while. We got bidness wit’ ‘im, see?” said the red-faced man, bouncing a coin on his palm.
Ahdio held out his hand. “Maybe.”
The man tossed the coin onto Ahdio’s broad palm. Ahdio neither spoke nor moved his hand until several copper coins were stacked there.
“He’s in the back room. Follow me.”
Cholly was watching the door. He noticed the argent hair at once, then he stared at the others. The dark one in red damask silk was the obvious leader, a man accustomed to power as his due.
“What the hell is that?” he wondered, seeing the last of the trio enter through the doorway.
It was shaped sort of like one of the rendering pots in the shop, squat and rotund with thick stubby legs ending in homed, splayed, webbed three-toed feet. It had ears like a donkey, little beady rat’s eyes, and a wide froggish mouth full of long yellow-green teeth. Its thick muscular arms hung down so low its knobby knuckles dragged the ground. Its matted, scraggly feathers were the color of iron rust. Topping it all off was something resembling a coxcomb. It had no head or neck per se.
It was ugly.
He gestured for the two men to sit opposite him in the booth. He asked Ahdio to bring a chair and three large beers for his guests.
“Nothing personal, you understand. I’d just rather not sit where I’m hemmed in. We haven’t been introduced. My name is Chollandar. And you?” He spoke to the black-bearded man.
“No offense taken. I am called Markmor. This young fool is my apprentice, Marype.”
“Does the demon have a name?”
“I’d forgotten you can see his true form. I’m afraid I can’t tell you his real name. He does answer, however, to ‘Rubigo.'”
“Rubigo it is then.” He took a sip of his Baladach wine.
“How much will you take for it?” Marype asked,.
Markmor glared at him. Rubigo snickered at such a breach of manners. Even he knew better.
“I never discuss business until after a sociable drink. I wouldn’t think of doing business with a man who won’t have a friendly drink with me first. You seem to have some breeding, Markmor. Surely you understand. Perhaps in time your impatient apprentice will learn. If he’s like my two, it may take a while.”
After what seemed an eternity with the demon standing sullenly by the door, Ahdio returned with a chair. Throde followed with a serving tray. Upon the tray were three pitcher-sized tankards holding perhaps a half gallon of Red Gold each, possibly more. Rubigo plopped down and hoisted a pewter tankard, chugging it into his mouth with hedonistic glee. Throde set the tray down and left.
Cholly sipped his wine and asked, “Is beer all right? It’s the best brand he carries. I forgot to ask.”
‘This is fine,” Markmor answered, taking a tankard in both hands. Marype did likewise.
Rubigo drained his in one long, gurgling, slurping pull. When he went to set the tankard down he made a startling discovery-the tankard was stuck to his lips and hands. He squealed in anger. When he tried to rise he found his feathers glued to the chair.