“She’s a good wench, though,” Beldin said, grinning. “When this is all over, I might just buy her.”
“That’s disgusting!” Ce’Nedra flared.
“What did I say?” Beldin looked contused.
“She’s not a cow, you know.”
“No. If I wanted a cow, I’d buy a cow.”
“You can’t just buy people.”
“Of course you can,” he said. “She’s a Nadrak woman. She’d be insulted if I didn’t try to buy her.”
“Just be careful of her knives, uncle,” Polgara cautioned. “She’s very quick with them.”
He shrugged. “Everybody has a few bad habits.”
Garion did not sleep well mat night, although the bed he shared with Ce’Nedra was deep and soft. At first he thought that might be part of the problem. He had been sleeping on the ground for weeks now, and it seemed reasonable that he was just not used to a soft bed. About midnight, however, he realized that the bed had nothing to do with his sleeplessness. Time was moving on inexorably, and his meeting with Zandramas marched toward him with a measured, unstoppable pace. He still knew little more than he had at the beginning. He was, to be sure, closer to her than he had been at the start—no more than a week at most behind, if the reports were correct—but he was still trailing after her and he still did not know where she was leading him. Darkly, he muttered a few choice oaths at the madman who had written the Mrin Codex. Why did it all have to be so cryptic? Why couldn’t it have been written in plain language?
“Because if it had been, half the world would be waiting for you when you got to the place of the meeting,” the dry voice in his mind told him. “You’re not the only one who wants to find the Sardion, you know, “
“I thought you ‘d left for good.”
“Oh, no, I’m still around.”
“How far behind Zandramas are we?”
“About three days.”
Garion felt a wild surge of hope.
“Don’t get too excited,” the voice said, “and don’t just dash off as soon as you find the trail again. There’s something else that has to be done here.”
“What?”
“You know better than to ask that, Garion. I can’t tell you, so quit trying to trick me into answering. “
“Why can’t you just tell me?”
“Because if I tell you certain things, the other spirit will be free to tell other things to Zandramas—like the location of the Place Which Is No More, for instance. “
“You mean she doesn’t know?” Garion asked incredulously.
“Of course she doesn‘t know. If she knew, she ‘d be there by now.”
“Then the location isn’t written down in the Ashabine Oracles?”
“Obviously. Pay attention tomorrow. Somebody’s going to say something in passing that’s very important. Don’t miss it.”
“Who’s going to say it?”
But the voice was gone.
It was breezy the following morning when Silk and Gar-ion set out, wearing long robes of a sober blue color. At Silk’s suggestion, Garion had detached the Orb from the hilt of his sword and carried it concealed beneath his robe. “Melcenes rarely wear arms inside the city,” the little man had explained, “and your sword is very conspicuous.” They did not take their horses, but rather walked out into the street to mingle with the citizens of Melcena.
“We might as well start along the waterfront,” Silk suggested. “Each wharf is owned by a different group of businessmen, and if we can find out which wharf Zandramas landed on, we’ll know whom to question for more information.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Garion said shortly, striding off toward the harbor.
“Don’t run,” Silk told him.
“I’m not.”
“You’re moving too fast,” the little man said. “People in Melcena go at a more stately pace.”
“You know, Silk, I really don’t care what the people here think of me. I’m not here to waste time.”
Silk took hold of his friend’s arm with a firm grip. “Garion,” he said seriously, “we know that Zandramas and her underling have come here. She knows that we’re after her, and there are people in Melcena who can be hired for various kinds of mischief. Let’s not make it easy for them by standing out in the crowd.”
Garion looked at him. “All right,” he said. “We’ll do it your way.”
They walked at an infuriatingly slow pace down a broad avenue. At one point, Silk stopped with a muttered oath.
“What’s wrong?” Garion asked him.
“That fellow just ahead—the one with the big nose—he’s a member of Brador’s secret police.”
“Are you sure?”
Silk nodded. “I’ve known him for quite some time.” The little man squared his shoulders. “Well, there’s no help for it, I guess. He’s already seen us. Let’s move along.”
But the man with the large, bulbous nose moved forward to stand in their path. “Good morning, Prince Kheldar,” he said, bowing slightly.
“Rolla,” Silk replied distantly.
“And your Majesty,” Rolla added, bowing more deeply to Garion. “We weren’t expecting you to appear here in Melcena. Brador will be very surprised.”
“Surprises are good for him.” Silk shrugged. “An unsurprised man gets complacent.”
“The Emperor was most put out with you, your Majesty,” Rolla said reproachfully to Garion.
“I’m sure he’ll survive it.”
“In Mallorea, your Majesty, it’s the ones who offend Kal Zakath who need to be concerned about survival.”
“Don’t make threats, Rolla,” Silk warned. “If his Majesty here decides that your report to the Chief of the Bureau of Internal Affairs would be embarrassing, he might decide to take steps to keep you from ever writing it. His Majesty is an Alorn, after all, and you know how short-tempered they can be.”
Rolla stepped back apprehensively.
“Always nice talking with you, Rolla,” Silk said in a tone of dismissal. Then he and Garion walked on. Garion noticed that the big-nosed man had a slightly worried look on his face as they passed him.
“I love to do that to people,” Silk smirked.
“You’re easily amused,” Garion said. “You do know that when his report gets to Mal Zeth, Zakath’s going to flood this whole region with people trying to find us.”
“Do you want me to go back and kill him for you?” Silk offered.
“Of course not!”
“I didn’t think so. If you can’t do something about a situation, there’s no point in worrying about it.”
When they reached the harbor, Garion tightened his grip on the Orb. The pulling of Iron-grip’s sword had sometimes been quite strong, and Garion had no desire to have the stone jump out of his hand. They walked northward along the wharves with the salt tang of the sea in their nostrils. The harbor of Melcena, unlike that of most of the port cities in the world, was surprisingly clear of floating garbage. “How do they keep it so clean?” Garion asked curiously. “The water, I mean?”
“There’s a heavy fine for throwing things in the harbor,” Silk replied. “Melcenes are compulsively tidy. They also have workmen with nets in small boats patrolling the waterfront to scoop up any floating debris. It helps to maintain full employment.” He grinned. “It’s a nasty job and it’s always assigned to people who aren’t interested in finding regular work. A few days in a small boat full of garbage and dead fish increases their ambition enormously.”
“You know,” Garion said, “that’s really a very good idea. I wonder if—” The Orb suddenly grew very warm in his hand. He pulled his robe open slightly and looked at it. It was glowing a sullen red.
“Zandramas?” Silk asked.
Garion shook his head. “The Sardion,” he replied.
Silk nervously tugged at his nose. “That’s a sort of dilemma, isn’t it? Do we follow the Sardion or Zandramas?”
“Zandramas,” Garion said, “She’s the one who’s got my son.”
“It’s up to you.” Silk shrugged. “That’s the last wharf just up ahead. If we don’t pick up the trail there, we’ll go on and check the north gate.”
They passed the last wharf. The Orb gave no indication of interest.
“Could they have landed on one of the other islands?” Garion asked with a worried frown.
“Not unless they changed course once they were at sea,” Silk replied. “There are plenty of other places to land a ship along this coast. Let’s go have a look at the north gate.”
Once again they moved through the streets at that frustratingly leisurely pace. After they had crossed several streets, Silk stopped. “Oh, no,” he groaned.
“What is it?”
“That fat man coming this way is Viscount Esca. He’s one of the senior members of the Melcene Consortium. He’s bound to want to talk business.”
“Tell him we have an appointment.”
“It wouldn’t do any good. Time doesn’t mean that much to Melcenes.”
“Why, there you are, Prince Kheldar,” the fat man in a gray robe said, waddling up to them. “I’ve been looking all over the city for you.”