“So great a responsibility to lie upon such slender shoulders,” Zakath said.
“It is her task,” Andel said simply.
The sick man seemed to fall again into a doze, his lips lightly touched with a peculiar smile. Then his eyes opened again, seemingly more alert now. “Am I healed, Sadi?” he asked the shaved‑headed eunuch. “Has your excellent Nyissan poison quite run its course?”
“Oh,” Sadi replied speculatively, “I wouldn’t say that you’re entirety well yet, your Majesty, but I’d guess that you’re out of any immediate danger.”
“Good,” Zakath said crisply, trying to shoulder his way up into a sitting position. Garion reached out to help him. “ And has the knave who poisoned me been apprehended yet?”
Sadi shook his head. “Not as far as I know,” he answered.
“I think that might be the first order of business, then.
I’m starting to feel a little hungry and I’d rather not go through this again. Is the poison common in Cthol Murgos?”
Sadi frowned. “Murgo law forbids poisons and drugs, your Majesty,” he replied. “They’re a backward sort of people. The Dagashi assassins probably have access to thalot, though.”
“You think my poisoner might have been a Dagashi, then?”
Sadi shrugged. “Most assassinations in Cthol Murgos are carried out by the Dagashi. They’re efficient and discreet.”
Zakath’s eyes narrowed in thought. “That would seem to point a finger directly at Urgit, then. The Dagashi are expensive, and Urgit has access to the royal treasury.” Silk grimaced. “No,” he declared. “Urgit wouldn’t do that. A knife between your shoulder blades maybe, but not poison.”
“How can you be so sure, Kheldar?”
“I know him,” Silk replied a bit lamely. “He’s weak and a little timid, but he wouldn’t be a party to a poisoning. It’s a contemptible way to resolve political differences.”
“Prince Kheldar!” Sadi protested.
“Except in Nyissa, of‑course,” Silk conceded. “One always needs to take quaint local customs into account.” He pulled at his long, pointed nose. “I’ll admit that Urgit wouldn’t grieve too much if you woke up dead some morning,” he said to the Mallorean Emperor, “but it’s all just a little too pat. If your generals believed that it was Urgit who arranged to have you killed, they’d stay here for the next ten generations trying to obliterate all of Murgodom, wouldn’t they?”
“I’d assume so,” Zakath said.
“Who would benefit the most by disposing of you and rather effectively making sure that the bulk of your army doesn’t return to Mallorea in the foreseeable future? Not Urgit, certainly. More likely it would be somebody in Mallorea who wants a free hand there.” Silk squared his shoulders. “Why don’t you let Liselle and me do a little snooping around before you lock your mind in stone on this? Obvious things always make me suspicious.”
“That’s all very well, Kheldar,” Zakath said rather testily, “but how can I be sure that my next meal won’t have another dose of exotic spices in it?”
“You have at your bedside the finest cook in the world,” the rat‑faced man said, pointing grandly at Polgara, “and I can absolutely guarantee that she won’t poison you. She might turn you into a radish if you offend her, but she’d never poison you.”
“All right, Silk, that will do,” Polgara told him,
“I’m only paying tribute to your extraordinary gifts, Polgara.”
Her eyes grew hard.
“I think that perhaps it might be time for me to be on my way,” Silk said to Garion.
“Wise decision,” Garion murmured.
The little man turned and quickly left the room.
“Is he really as good as he pretends to be?” Zakath asked curiously.
Polgara nodded. “Between them, Kheldar and Liselle can probably ferret out any secret in the world. Silk doesn’t always like it, but they’re almost a perfect team.
And now, your Majesty, what would you like for breakfast?”
A curious exchange was taking place in the corner.
Throughout the previous conversation, Garion had heard a faint, drowsy purr coming from Zith’s earthenware bottle. Either the little snake was expressing a general sense of contentment, or it may have been one of the peculiarities of her species to purr while sleeping. Zakath’s pregnant, mackerel-striped cat, attracted by that sound, jumped down from the bed and curiously waddled toward Zith’s little home. Absently, probably without even thinking about it, she responded to the purr coming from the bottle with one of her own. She sniffed at the bottle, then tentatively touched it with one soft paw. The peculiar duet of purring continued.
Then, perhaps because Sadi had not stoppered the bottle tightly enough or because she had long since devised this simple means of opening her front door, the little snake nudged the cork out of the bottle with her blunt nose. Both creatures continued to purr, although the cat was now obviously afire with curiosity. For a time Zith did not reveal herself, but lurked shyly in her bottle, still purring. Then, cautiously, she poked out her head, her forked tongue flickering as she tested the air.
The cat jumped straight up to a height of about three feet, giving vent to a startled yowl. Zith retreated immediately back into the safety of her house, though she continued to purr.
Warily, but still burning with curiosity, the cat approached the bottle again, moving one foot at a time.
“Sadi,” Zakath said, his voice filled with concern.
“There’s no immediate danger, your Majesty,” the eunuch assured him. “Zith never bites while she’s purring.”
Again the little green snake slid her head out of the bottle. This time the cat recoiled only slightly. Then, curiosity overcoming her natural aversion to reptiles, she continued her slow advance, her nose reaching out toward this remarkable creature. Zith, still purring, also extended her blunt nose. Their noses touched, and both flinched back slightly. Then they cautiously sniffed at each other, the cat with her nose, the snake with her tongue. Both were purring loudly now.
“Astonishing,” Sadi murmured. “I think they actually like each other.”
“Sadi, please,” Zakath said plaintively. “I don’t know how you feel about your snake, but I’m rather fond of my cat, and she is about to become a mother.”
“I’ll speak with them, your Majesty,” Sadi assured him. “I’m not sure that they’ll listen, but I’ll definitely speak with them.”
Belgarath had once again retired to the library, and Garion found him later that day poring over a large map of northern Mallorea. “Ah,” he said, looking up as Garion entered, “there you are. I was just about to send for you. Come over here and look at this.” Garion went to the table.
“The appearance of this Mengha fellow might just work to our advantage, you know.”
“I don’t quite follow that, Grandfather.”
“Zandramas is here at Ashaba, right?” Belgarath stabbed his finger at a spot in the representation of the Karandese mountains.
“Yes,” Garion said.
“And Mengha’s moving west and south out of Calida, over here.” The old man poked at the map again.
“That’s what Brador says.”
“He’s got her blocked off from most of the continent, Garion. She’s been very careful here in Cthol Murgos to avoid populated areas. There’s no reason to believe that she’s going to change once she gets to Mallorea. Urvon’s going to be to the south of her at Mal Yaska, and the wastes to the north are virtually impassable ‑even though it’s nearly summer.”
“Summer?”
“In the northern half of the world it is.”
“Oh. I keep forgetting.” Garion peered at the map.
“Grandfather, we don’t have any idea of where ‘the place which is no more’ might be. When Zandramas leaves Ashaba, she could go in any direction.”
Belgarath squinted at the map. “I don’t think so, Garion. In the light of all that’s happened in Mallorea -coupled with the fact that by now she knows that we’re on her trail‑ I think she almost has to be trying to get back to her power base in Darshiva. Everybody in the world is after her, and she needs help.”
“We certainly aren’t threatening her all that much,” Garion said moodily. “We can’t even get out of Cthol Murgos.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve got to persuade Zakath that it’s vital for us to leave here and get to Mallorea as quickly as possible.”
“Persuade?”
“Just do whatever you have to, Garion. There’s a great deal at stake.”
“Why me?” Garion said it without thinking.
Belgarath gave him a long, steady look.
“Sorry,” Garion muttered. “Forget that I said it.”
“All right. I’ll do that.”
Late that evening, Zakath’s cat gave birth to seven healthy kittens while Zith hovered in anxious attendance, warning off all other observers with ominous hisses. Peculiarly, the only person the protective little reptile would allow near the newborn kittens was Velvet.
Garion had little success during the next couple of days in his efforts to steer his conversations with the convalescing Zakath around to the subject of the necessity for returning to Mallorea. The Emperor usually pleaded a lingering weakness as a result of his poisoning, though Garion privately suspected subterfuge on that score, since the man appeared to have more than enough energy for his usual activities and only protested exhaustion when Garion wanted to talk about a voyage.