“Boys, you’ll have to be forgetting about lynchings and such. There’s better ways to handle the situation, and besides, in case you hadn’t noticed, Shelyid’s making it pretty plain he’ll stand by the mage. What’re you going to do? Restrain the kid while you string up Zulkeh? Shelyid might be harder to restrain that you think—he’s a lot stronger than he looks, and I’m telling you, the lad’s got the making of a chokester. Besides, the snarl might be hanging around, lurking in the shadows like.”
A moment followed, in which the united glare of Les Six was met by the strangler’s calm stare. Les Six looked away. Greyboar then turned to the wizard.
“Now, as to you: I hope you’ve got plenty of money, because you’ll need to be hiring some idiots to carry your sack. The kid’ll be staying here.”
At this last statement, Zulkeh raised his head, began to protest. But the sight of Greyboar’s face stopped him. And it was odd, how the strangler’s gaze could have this effect upon people. For there was not a hint of anger, not a trace of a clenched jaw, not a blink of an eye, not even the slightest flush on the cheeks. Just—impossible to describe!
Of course, in the time to come, the wizard would describe it often.
” ‘Destiny’s Glime,’ ’tis called in Begfat,” he would explain to a rapt audience. “In the Crapaude, le Visage Impitoyable, or simply ‘l’Implacable; in the bustling streets of Ozar proper, ’tis ‘the Mirror of Mortality,’ but in the slower-paced Ozarine as a whole, ‘the Mirror of Imminent Mortality’; in the mystic land of Sundhjab it has many names: most common among warriors is the terse ‘Kismet,’ but the higher castes prefer ‘the Contemplation of the Endless Round of the Wheel,’ which is shortened by the fellah classes to ‘the Window on Infinite Pain’; in Grotum itself, these elaborate terms are discarded in favor of the simple ‘Basilisk.’ But”—here he would wag his finger solemnly—”I have personally experienced the phenomenon, and I can assure you that none of these names—though they each capture some aspect of its essence—approaches in exactitude the phrase which is universal in Greyboar’s own homeland of Sfinctria, I speak, of course, of ‘the Time to Reconsider.’ ”
But we leap ahead of our tale. Greyboar continued to speak as follows:
“Magrit, you can put the kid up, at least for a while. Your place is plenty big enough, and I’m sure Shelyid’ll be helpful around the house.”
“Hell, I’ll take him on as my apprentice. Won’t be able to teach him all that high-falutin’ stuff, but he’ll get a lot more practical education. And if it turns out the kid decides he doesn’t really want to be a warlock”—here she looked pointedly at Les Six—”I’m sure the lads here can set him up in a suitable trade.”
” ‘Tis a certainty!” boomed the first.
“Any one of a hundred!” cried the second.
“The possibilities are endless,” added the third, “shoemaker, baker, turner, drayer, forgeman, welder, blacksmith, ironmonger—”
” ‘Course these’ll be but the means to pay the rent,” interrupted the fourth.
“While the lad learns his true and proper profession,” explained the fifth.
“The art of insurrection,” concluded the sixth.
“Here’s to the new comrade!” bellowed Les Six in unison, rising to their feet, clenched fists held high like hams in a smokehouse.
Then Ignace spoke.
“Before you all start planning out the kid’s life,” he snarled, “why don’t you ask Shelyid what he wants?” Surprised, all stared at the agent. The little redhead’s face was flushed and angry. “You all remind me of my aunts and uncles!” he shrilled. “‘Do this, Ignace! Do that, Ignace! You’ll make a right proper little whatever, Ignace!'” He glared furiously. “Poor guy’ll wind up like I did—take to the streets just to get away from it all.”
“He’s got a point,” rumbled Greyboar. He looked over to Shelyid, who was still standing next to the mage. Zulkeh remained in his chair, his head bent.
“Well, Shelyid?” asked the strangler.
The dwarf’s face was a study in uncertainty. Uncertainty but, it soon became clear, not confusion. He placed a hesitant hand on the shoulder of the wizard.