Cholly puffed at his pipe, weighing the idea. Finally he asked, “What will it be, gentlemen? Will you take a vow to stop seeking the medallion and to leave me in peace?”
Strick touched the staff to Markmor’s head. He nodded. When it touched Marype’s head he too nodded. Markmor growled into his tankard.
“I’m going to free Markmor first. This will taste awful, and it will sting, but it will free your lips in a couple of minutes.”
Cholly reached under the table and withdrew a leather satchel. From it he removed a stoppered bottle and a brush. He kept brushing the liquid from the bottle onto the sorcerer’s lips until they were freed from the tankard. The Staff of Truth rested upon his head.
“Faugh! What was that unholy liquid?” he sputtered.
“Trade secret. Just be glad it worked. Are you ready’to give me your name?”
“Yes, damn you.” Markmor gave his secret name.
“Now, do you swear, upon that name you have just spoken and by your powers, to never again seek the Theban Talisman and to leave me and mine forever in peace?”
“I so swear.”
“Say it, all of it.”
He said his name once more and swore on it and his powers.
Marype was more difficult, mainly because he had drained his tankard and was not entirely sober.
Finally Markmor growled, “Oh, for Anen’s sake, take his bloody oath so we can get the hell out of here!”
Cholly freed the younger man and received his vow and name.
“May we leave now?” Markmor asked impatiently.
“In a minute. I just thought you ought to know that if your fair-haired boy there had simply come to me this morning and made me a reasonable cash offer before I found out what it could do, you could have bought the talisman outright. Too bad you didn’t try straight dealing, because when somebody tries to push me around I have this tendency to push back. You can go.”
Markmor’s face was almost as scarlet as his silks. “You mean you never made the man an offer?! You mindless dungheap, where was your brain? You were dealing with a businessman. What do you think he does?
He buys and sells things, that’s what he does. At times like this I could almost justify destroying you, talented or not. Brain damaged is what you are. Brain damaged . . .”
He was still ranting as he and Marype faded from view, leaving their clothing still glued to the booth.
Tears were trickling down Ahdio’s red cheeks and Strick was gasping for breath. Three big bellies jiggled with uncontrollable laughter.
Ahdio was able to speak first. “I haven’t laughed so hard in ages. Did you see the look on his face when he found out he could’ve bought it for a few soldats?”
“Yes, and when he sobers up the silver-haired one is going to catch seventeen hells,” Strick added.
“Couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow,” Cholly giggled.
“I have a special bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a special occasion. Share it with me. This calls for a celebration,” Ahdio declared.
Strick asked Cholly, “If they hadn’t agreed, would you have killed them?”
“No, but there was no way they could know that. I let them worry once I brought up the possibility. As soon as Markmor put himself in my place he was convinced I would kill them both. It’s only human to think other people would act the same way you would in the same situation. Since Markmor would kill me without a second thought, of course he believed I would do it, just more reluctantly. After all, he had already seen me split his pet demon’s skull.”
“So it was all a bluff,” Strick marvelled. “What if he called you on it?”
“I’d have waited him out. He wasn’t going anywhere. Sooner or later he would have to give in. That’s lot of beer in those mugs,” Cholly chuckled.
“Remind me never to gamble with you.”
Three large bellies began shaking with laughter.
Eventually the gluemaker asked, “Is that Staff of Truth for real, or was it a bluff too?”
“Does it matter? Markmor believed it was real.”
“How am I going to clean up this mess?” Ahdio wondered aloud.
‘There’s several bottles of solvent in my satchel. We can toss the demon out the back door and I’ll pick him up in the morning. I wonder how good a glue he’ll make.”
THE PROMISE OF HEAVEN
Robin Wayne Bailey
Tiana struck a brazen pose, turning her back to the small bust of the Rankan goddess Sabellia on its stone pedestal. The full moon shone overhead through a break in the trees, filling the small garden niche with a sublime light that revealed her full, pale breasts as they strained against the too-tight fabric of her green dress; a light bright enough, she also hoped, to lend luster to her deep green eyes so carefully kohled and her lovely red tresses.
She rumpled her hair with one hand and thrust her hip a bit further to the side, feeling the perfect vixen. She stretched, lifting her arms until the material of her bodice threatened to rip. She faked a yawn and dared another glance down the white-pebbled pathway that snaked through the Promise.
The man still stood there. She knew he’d seen her. What was wrong with him, anyway? Didn’t he like women? Maybe he was one of those Stepsons, there were a few left in town; that would be just her luck.
She stepped back into the niche out of his sight and bit a fingernail. Perhaps she should have chosen a darker spot tonight. With the moon so full maybe he could see how faded her dress realty was, how the rose in her cheeks was only rouge, how skinny and bone-rough she’d become, despite the size of her juggles. Curse the fates that had brought her to this miserable town, and curse the lying, womanizing stonemason who had lured her here with his promises and sweet words, only to throw her into the streets the moment he found someone prettier.
She had no experience at this kind of work. She had to eat, though, and desperation emboldened her. This stranger down the path seemed to be the only man in the park tonight. He’d better have coins, though. Just last evening some wine-soaked fool had offered her a bundle of smelly hides for her service. What was she supposed to do with hides?
Tiana stepped onto the path again. The pebbles were smooth and cold under her bare feet. The air felt crisp; she would have to earn enough for shoes and a cloak, and soon. Food, too. She couldn’t afford to let this man get away. Feigning an expression of boredom she rubbed her right breast, teasing the nipple. Then, she looked down the path.
Damn, damn, damn! He was gone’ Into the bushes with some other woman? Her shoulders slumped, and tears welled in the comers of her eyes. She looked down at her toes, pushed a few of the milky stones around. Hadn’t he liked her looks? Maybe she’d acted a little too whorish.
But gods, she was so hungry! How did the other women in the park do it? What was the knack she lacked? A whole week in this sad, silly place, and she had yet to break into the ranks of the professionals!
Tiana squeezed her stomach, trying to ease the emptiness as she leaned against Sabellia’s pedestal and slowly sank down to sit on the grass at its base. Pressing her back to the fluted stone, she drew her knees close and hugged them.
She feared the night. The quiet solitude seemed like a menacing thing. The darkness engulfed her, swallowed her in a black maw, chewed and choked her down all in a preternatural silence. Even the gods whose busts and statues lined the walkways held their tongues in this unfortunate park.
She looked up into Sabellia’s face. The moon itself seemed a weak and helpless emberglow in the vaster dark.
Tiana felt small and alone. She wanted to go home, but that, too, took money. She thought again other stonemason lover who had lured her so far from Ranke, He had treated her kindly and promised her heaven.
Well, he’d given it to her. That was what the locals called this park where she now tried to ply her charms: the Promise of Heaven.
She rested her head back against the pedestal and at last let go the tears she’d held in check for so long. Each one seemed a precious thing to her, a fragment of her heart. She caught one on her finger and held it up to see. It gleamed like a tiny crystalline moon, a very piece of her goddess.
Even through her fear she felt the shadow fall over her. She sniffed once, then quickly wiped the moisture from her face, giving no thought to the rouge and kohl that turned to a smear. She scrambled to her feet as fast as her dress allowed and faked her best smile.