disguises over the years, so I’m in a position to recognize genius when
I see it.
All right. Silk, don’t let it go to your head. I’ll freely admit that
you’re very good, but isn’t that what I hired you for?
“Radek of Boktor” drifted around the snowy streets of Tol Rane, and he
concluded a fair number of business transactions as he went. I stayed
in the background, so I couldn’t actually hear any of the details, but
I get the strong impression that
“Radek” sold a lot of things that he didn’t actually own that day. He
glibly promised delivery, however, and I’d imagine that he probably
made good on most of those promises. Silk isn’t above swindling people
on occasion, but he was still working very hard to establish “Radek’s”
reputation.
Eventually he worked his way across town to the district where the
Murgos normally stayed, and in the common room of an inn there he got
down to business. After he’d sold some things that he didn’t really
have title to, he made a few discreet inquiries. He was sitting at a
table with three scar-faced Murgos, and he leaned back, idly toying
with his tankard.
“If any of you happen to know a man named Asharak, you might pass the
word along that Radek of Boktor’s got a business proposition for
him,”
he declared.
“Why should I go out of my way to make Asharak richer?” one of the
Murgos countered.
“Because Asharak pays good commissions,” Silk replied.
“I’m sure he’ll make it worth your while. The proposition promises to
be very lucrative.”
“If it’s that good, I might be interested myself.”
“I don’t want to insult you, Grachik,” Silk said with a thin smile,
“but you don’t have the resources for this particular transaction. It
involves a commodity, and we all know how expensive commodity
transactions can be.”
“What kind of commodity?”
“I’d prefer to tell Asharak about that privately. Sometimes things
have a way of leaking out, and I have some competitors I’d sort of like
to keep in the dark. If they find out that Radek’s coming into the
market, prices are going to start climbing. That wouldn’t do either me
or Asharak much good.”
“Asharak isn’t here in Tol Rane,” Grachik told him.
“He left for Tol Borune two days ago.”
One of the other Murgos kicked the talkative Grachik under the table.
“Well,” Grachik amended quickly, “that’s what I heard, anyway. With
Asharak, you never really know. He has dealings all over Tolnedra, you
realize. For all I know, he could be in Tol Horb by now.” It was
pitifully transparent. Grachik had let something slip that he was
supposed to keep to himself.
“Asharak’s an elusive one, all right,” Silk agreed.
“I’ve been trying to track him down for two months now. The
proposition I have in mind is very large, and Asharak’s probably the
only man around who can afford it.
If you happen to know anybody who can get word to him, let him know
that I’ll be going back to Tol Honeth in a day or so. Tell him that I
usually stay in that large inn near the Drasnian embassy, and that if
he wants to double his money, he should look me up. I’m not going to
waste any more of my time looking for him.”
Silk talked with the Murgos for about another half hour, and then he
left. I stayed around long enough to hear the other two Murgos berate
Grachik for his slip of the tongue and long enough to see Grachik try
to cover his blunder by sending a pair of burly hirelings after my
little friend.
The Murgos were obviously willing to go to any lengths to keep
Asharak’s location a secret.
The pair of hired assassins caught up with Silk in a dark, snow-clogged
side street, but Silk clearly knew that he was being followed, and he
seemed to be confident that he could deal with the situation. I wasn’t
all that sure myself, so I stayed close enough to be able to lend a
hand if it became necessary.
It wasn’t. I’ve never seen anyone quite as agile as Silk can be in
tight quarters. The assassins were a pair of knockabout Tolnedran
footpads, and they were no match at all for my little Drasnian friend.
He spun on the two of them, pulled one dagger out of his boot and
another from down the back of his neck, and killed the pair of them in
the space of about six heartbeats. Then he kicked snow over the two
bodies and continued on his way. This boy was good!
I managed to reach our lodgings a couple of minutes before he did, and
I was sitting before the fire when he arrived.
“Well?” I said when he came in.
“Did you find anything?”
“The word I’m getting is that Asharak’s in Tol Borune right now. It’s
probably fairly accurate, because the Murgo who let it slip tried to
cover his mistake by having me waylaid on my way back here. That’s all
the confirmation we really need, isn’t it?”
“Probably so, yes. I guess we’d better go to Tol Borune, then.”
“Tonight, Belgarath. By morning that talkative Murgo’s going to
realize that his hired killers failed, and I don’t want to be looking
back over my shoulder every step of the way. Let’s get a running head
start, if we can.”
It took us about four days to reach Tol Borune, since Silk insisted
that we stay off the main highway. I thought that I knew most of the
country lanes in all the Western Kingdoms, but my sharp-nosed little
companion led me along roads I’d never even seen before. Just outside
Tol Borune, he reined in and changed clothes.
“New identity,” he explained.
“Word’s probably reached Asharak by now that a fellow named Radek is
looking for him.”
“Who are you this time?”
“Ambar of Kotu. Ambar’s a little less conspicuous than Radek, and they
don’t move in the same circles.”
“How many of these mythical Drasnians have you got up your sleeve?”
“I’ve lost count. I’m partial to Radek and Ambar, though. I’ve spent
more time with them, so I know them better. I dust off one of the
others now and then, though–just to keep in practice.”
“Is this what they teach you people at the academy?”
“They bring it up now and then, but I developed most of it on my own
even before I went there. I was born for this work, Belgarath. Shall
we press on?”
Since
“Ambar of Kotu” is a much shabbier-looking fellow than “Radek of
Boktor” is, we took a room in one of the rundown quarters of Tol
Borune, and Silk immediately took to the streets with assorted fictions
to conceal his real purpose. He came back late that night with that
pointed nose twitching.
“Something isn’t right here, Belgarath,” he told me.
“Oh?”
“Are you sure that Asharak knows that you’re after him?”
“Oh, yes. I’m like the wrath of God at this point, and he knows that
I’ll hunt him down, no matter where he tries to hide.”
“Then why isn’t he hiding? I located him in about two hours. I’m
good, but I don’t think I’m that good.”
I gave him a sharp look.
“Maybe we’d better go have a look at this fellow,” I said.
“I think I know you well enough by now to trust your instincts. If
you’re getting a whiff of something that doesn’t smell right, we’d
probably better investigate.”
He bowed with outrageous flamboyance.
“I live but to serve. Ancient One,” he told me.
It was nearly midnight, and a raw wind was blowing through the deserted
streets of Tol Borune as we went to the southern end of town where the
Murgos usually gathered. Silk led me to a blocky sort of inn, and then
we crept around to a bleary window made of cheap glass.
“That’s the one they tell me is Asharak the Murgo,” the little thief
whispered, pointing at a scar-faced fellow sitting back in a corner.
The man looked like Chamdar, and I’ll concede that the resemblance was
almost uncanny, but when I sent out a carefully probing thought to make
sure, my heart sank. The Murgo sitting in that corner was not Chamdar.
I started to swear.
“What’s the matter?” Silk whispered.
“That man’s not the one I’m looking for.”
“Belgarath, there are people in this town who know him, and they’re all
convinced that he’s Asharak the Murgo.”
“I’m sorry about that, but they’re wrong. We’ve been chasing an
imposter.” I swore some more.
“We’d better get back to Tol Honeth. I want to fill Javelin in on
this. The man everybody’s been watching isn’t Chamdar.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Chamdar’s a Grolim. That fellow at the table’s just an ordinary
Murgo. The resemblance is very close, but that fellow’s not the one we