Of course Lith’rian himself must be still unaware of all the good things being done on his behalf. The imps proposed leaving the felons to marinate in jail for a few weeks while a message went to Hub. The elves insisted that the rituals must be followed exactly, and Rap should be sent immediately to Lith’rian’s enclave, the sky trees of Valdorian.
And the warlock was not available to sign and seal. Bankers could advance the necessary funds upon suitable security, but all bankers were imps, more or less by definition. Few elves were wealthy, and Quip’ reported that every elf in the city was having to mortgage all he owned to provide the necessary bond. Rap glumly concluded that an agreement might be attainable when the last groat was pledged, and that did seem to be what happened.
Just after sunset, Quip’rian and a jurist came down to the cells and joyfully informed Rap that he was to be sent to Ilrane, to be judged by the ancient ceremony he had invoked.
Rap stayed on the floor. “How about my friend?”
“Noon tomorrow, I’m afraid.”
Rap used some nautical expressions that neither Quip’ nor jurist would have met before. “Both of us or neither,” he added, in case of misunderstanding.
The exhausted negotiators upstairs were just starting to leave when a horrified Quip’rian came rushing up to break the news. The bargaining started all over again.
It went all night and most of the next day. Rap would not leave his cell voluntarily, so he was hauled out bodily and dragged before the lictor. He was warned that this was his last chance to avoid a terrible death. He refused to accept better treatment than his fellow felon. As he had spent a whole day and night in the dungeons, his mere presence could contaminate even the largest of rooms. He was quickly returned whence he came and thereafter the visitors came to call on him, speaking through the judas hole.
Elves came, pleading both the impossibility of fitting a jotunn into the traditional ceremonies and their inability to raise any more money. The jurists came, muttering that the procedure was highly improper and if word got out then it would have to be stopped. The lictor himself, the families of the injured, representatives of the city . . . all came to argue and beg and be turned down. He was denied food and water. Two stalwart jailers came with boots and other hard things. Still Rap refused. He wasn’t certain just what leverage he had, but apparently he must travel voluntarily, and both ancient ritual and underhand dealing had now gone so far that they had taken on a life of their own and could not be reversed. So he did have leverage, somehow. The graft seeped steadily upward until it reached the praetor himself, and then the cost rose enormously. By now, of course, the imps knew that they had stumbled into a gold mine, and the elves were hopelessly trapped.
When the first round of appeals failed, they all came back and tried again, including the two jailers.
Rap stopped talking altogether.
He knew he was being crazy. He was tormented by the thought that he was breaking his word to Ishist, but he could not bring himself to desert Gathmor.
He could have used mastery to convert the visitors to his cause, but that use of power might alert any sorcerer in town and the goodwill would evaporate soon after they left his presence; so he tried not to, although he did ease the beatings a bit. Even Gathmor started telling him he was crazy.
Rap told him to shut up, he wasn’t helping much.
One elvish worthy called him a stupid troll, and another a brutish jotunn. The imps said he was being as stubborn as a faun. Quip’rian broke down and wept, then explained apologetically that he always reacted to the smell of blood like that. And he had not slept the last two nights. None of them had.
When the second round of visits failed, everyone came round a third time.
In the end they all just succumbed to exhaustion, and Rap had won.
They also serve:
. . .thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.
— Milton, On His Blindness
TEN
Moaning of the bar
1
Late afternoon, and the fine harbor of Ullacarn was teeming with ships, a magnificent sight. Kade loved ships—sailing on them or even just looking at them. That was the jotunn in her, of course.
In her brief stay she had seen only a tiny part of the city, but she had certainly approved of that much. Bouncing along in an open carriage with Inos and Frainish, she had almost wished that she were staying longer, to see more. The streets were wide and clean, the many parks overflowed with flowers. The natives were djinns, and yet they all dressed in impish style in public, and with their height and slender build they mostly looked very good in it, better than the heavyset imps themselves ever could. Kade had long since noticed the same thing about the jotnar in Krasnegar, for while she herself had inherited jotunn coloring from her so-entangled family tree, her figure was as impish as imp could be. Still, she must not let the Gods think she was ungrateful or unmindful of Their many blessings. After all, she had viewed Ullacarn tinted with magic gold and filtered through draperies of silks and laces, velvets and poplins; to linger might let realities dispel the illusion. No, it was time to go. Time to board Dawn Pearl and sail away.
Time to head for Hub! Kadolan said another small silent prayer of thanks. Her instincts still insisted that Inosolan would have been wiser to have remained in Arakkaran, under the sultana’s protection, but ancient knots could never be untangled, and a chance to visit the Imperial capital was a most uplifting prospect.
Inosolan was hunched in the corner of the carriage, morosely ignoring even the exciting dock sights and the harbor view. A pity she had not yet learned to let the future wait. That was a lesson that only age could teach.
Frainish was almost falling out in her excitement. Frainish was very young, a descendant of Sheik Elkarath, and had been sent along as lady’s maid. The personable and deferential Master Skarash would also accompany them, as far as Qoble. The sheik had been very kind, no matter who his ultimate master. Inosolan really should have been more gracious when saying farewell.
And now the ships were very close, as the carriage jingled along the quay. Frainish was twittering questions, making Kadolan rack her old brains to try to answer. Caravels and dhows were easy, but she could not remember the difference among a galley, a galleon, and a galleas. What splendid vessels, though! Vastly larger and more beautiful than the little cogs that had carried her so many times between Krasnegar and Shaldokan.
As Kadolan was still trying to parry the child’s questions, the carriage clattered to a halt alongside a ship that was very large indeed. It must be their destination, for here was Skarash, pulling down the step, offering a helping hand. So this beauty was their vessel, Dawn Pearl, and the noisy mill of people around the gangways was clear evidence that departure was imminent.
She let Skarash guide her through the throng, as he could see over heads much better than she could, while she kept an eye on Frainish, who was short enough to disappear completely in such a crowd. Inosolan could look after herself.
Kadolan caught a glimpse of Azak’s head above the surging sea of shoulders. His face was surly and enraged. Then Skarash made room for her to step forward, and she was already at the gangplank. She paused halfway up and peered back, regardless of the line of persons following her, locating Azak’s red head again. He was the only djinn who towered over the crowd like a jotunn sailor or a troll porter. The imps present seemed squat by comparison. Inosolan was beside him, within a squad of legionaries. Azak was probably being awkward. He had been in a bad mood ever since the day the soldiers had beaten him, and although Elkarath had cured his broken bones and bruises on that occasion, he had probably incurred no thanks. Azak was one of those people who enjoyed making things difficult for themselves, and thus for everybody else, as well. That sort of behavior Kadolan could never comprehend.
Realizing suddenly that the vulgar shouting was being directed at her, she resumed her progress up the plank with suitable dignity. She stepped through a doorway into Dawn Pearl. Galleon or galleas, it was easily the largest ship she had ever boarded.
She was astonished by her stateroom, large and luxurious beyond anything she could have imagined on a ship, with a proper bed instead of bunks, with real windows along the aft wall. Plump, elderly ladies would only get in people’s way, so she decided to wait there, knowing that Inosolan would find her. She sent the excited Frainish off in Skarash’s care to explore, and to watch departure from the deck. Unpacking could wait.