Their pause in the square had been brief, and only moments later Wen Chang and his associate were being escorted through a rear gate and into a narrow yard behind the palace itself. There all dismounted, leaving their riding-beasts in the care of grooms.
Inside the palace the Hetman was awaiting them in an audience chamber of moderate size, two floors above the ground. A number of other people were also already present, including Captain Almagro, who looked grim and bone-weary.
But most of the small gathering turned actively hostile gazes toward Wen Chang as he entered. The High Priests of both Red and Blue Temples, each accompanied by his own small retinue of advisers, stopped talking and glared at the newcomers on their arrival.
Kasimir was surprised to see that Robert de Borron was also present. Last night Kasimir had reported to Wen Chang that the artist was probably dead following his tumble down the elevator shaft. And indeed, de Borron was in bad shape, with one leg and one arm splinted, and bruises evident on his face.
The silence of the Red Temple’s High Priest was only momentary. As soon as that official had recognized Wen Chang and his associate, he immediately accused them in a loud voice of not only taking part in the raid on his establishment the previous night, but of organizing the attack as well.
And of carrying off Stonecutter. “The Sword of Siege is ours by rights, and I demand that you return it to us at once!”
For once the glowering artist gave every evidence of being in complete agreement with what the High Priest said.
That official went on: “I shall make the charges more formal and specific.” He grabbed a scroll from an aide and began to read from it. The Magistrate and his associate were accused of conducting a raid last night upon the Temple of Aphrodite and Eros, particularly the House of Flesh, and there conniving in the attempted murder of the sculptor Robert de Borron, and also conspiring with person or persons unknown to steal and sell a treasure of incalculable value.
Wen Chang, who still had not responded, waited calmly until the string of accusations should be finished; this took some time, as the Blue Temple people, unwilling to wait, were trying to get in their own accusations and arguments at the same time.
Meanwhile the Hetman had been sitting silently in his place at the head of the table, evidently willing to let the uproar run its course for a time, in the hope that some facts constituting useful information might emerge. Presently it was evident that nothing of the kind was likely to happen, and he drew his dagger and pounded on the table with the pommel. Almost instantly he was granted the boon of silence.
Kasimir had never heard any personal name for the current ruler of Eylau, and he had gathered that lack was a usage established by tradition as long as the person was in office. The Director of Security at the Blue Temple was operating under a similar rule or tradition.
The present Hetman, whatever his name, was a short, stout man, dressed in an elaborate style that Kasimir considered as bordering on the effeminate. There were rings on almost all his pudgy fingers and his coloring was muddy and unhealthy looking. About forty years of age, he looked as if he might at one time have been very strong physically, but had let himself go to seed. As Kasimir observed him throughout the meeting, the impression he gave was one of fading moral strength as well as physical, of an overriding, undermining insecurity.
Kasimir like all other thinking observers knew that the position of the city-state governed by this man was insecure as well. Eylau was chronically beset and buffeted by the larger powers surrounding it, and sometimes also by international entities like the great and well-nigh universal temples.
The silence obtained by the Hetman’s dagger-pounding was of brief duration. He allowed the silence he had won to stretch on a little too long, and the Blue Temple people took advantage of this leniency to burst into verbal action.
What they wanted, they said, was protection against robbers. This danger, they said, had escalated almost infinitely, now that a tool like Stonecutter was in the city, in unknown criminal hands.
“No one’s property anywhere will be safe, as long as that Sword is in the hands of irresponsible people!”
Before the Hetman had decided how to respond to that-or Wen Chang could formulate a reply-the Red Temple had seized the floor again, its leaders protesting that they were the ones who had actually been robbed, and had a real grievance to present.
The Hetman, exasperated at last, gave up all effort at a dramatic pause, all pretense at judicial calm, and shouted hoarsely for order. His voice, or something in the way he used it, was even more effective than his earlier dagger-pounding, and he was granted his wish immediately.
This time the silence lasted somewhat longer. As it endured, Kasimir found it possible to hear, faintly, the continual hammering from out in the square where the reconstruction of the scaffold was still in progress.
“Now,” said the ruler of the city, looking around the room. He had a bold, commanding voice when he wanted to make it so; but despite the tone and the determined look Kasimir had the definite impression that the Hetman was uncertain of just what ideas he ought to present to the orderly attention of his audience, now that it had been granted him.
It was with a subtle appearance of relief that the Hetman’s gaze at last came to rest upon Wen Chang. The voice of practiced boldness asked: “And you are the famed Magistrate?”
“I am, Excellency,” replied the lean man, bowing. There was no pretense of any particular modesty in the answer, and the bow was the movement of an experienced diplomat.
“Good.” The direction of the Hetman’s attention shifted slightly. “And I suppose you are Kasimir the physician?” “Yes sir, I am.” Kasimir bowed in turn. The stout man sitting in the elevated chair drew in a deep breath. “As you have just heard, it is charged against you both, among other things, that you have conspired to steal a piece of property belonging to the Red Temple. Very valuable property, too, I might add. What have you to say to this accusation?”
Wen Chang replied smoothly. “Only two things, Excellency. In the first place we have stolen nothing, and we do not have the Sword. And in the second place, the property in question-I assume the Sword of Siege, one of the Twelve Swords of the gods, is meant-does not belong to the Red Temple. It never has.” Raising his voice, Wen Chang overrode protests from that direction. “Not only are we innocent of the theft of Stonecutter, but we are engaged on behalf of the rightful owner to recover his property for him. The Red Temple has no more legitimate interest in that Sword than does the Blue, or than the people who have it now.”
The protests emanating from the Red Temple delegation only increased in violence and noise.
Wen Chang needed help from the Hetman, in the form of more dagger-pounding on the table, before he could regain the floor.
When a semblance of order had been re-established, and the Magistrate granted silence in which to proceed, he said: “It is true that Doctor Kasimir, acting as my agent, was inside the Red Temple last night. He entered legitimately, as a paying customer. He was not trying to kill or injure anyone, or to steal anything. His only purpose-in which, regrettably, he failed-was to recover the Sword for its rightful owner.”
“Ah,” said the Hetman. “You keep coming to that point. Who is this rightful owner?”
Wen Chang continued smoothly. “My immediate client, Excellency, is Prince al-Farabi of the Firozpur tribe.” That created a stir of surprise in the room. The Magistrate went on: “Not many days ago, the Sword we seek was stolen from the Prince’s camp in the desert, some three days’ journey from Eylau.
“But the Sword of Siege, as Prince al-Farabi will be first to admit, was only his on loan-a matter, I am told, of Stonecutter’s powers being needed to root out some bandits from a particularly inaccessible desert stronghold. The true and rightful owner of the blade is Prince Mark of Tasavalta, with whom I am sure Your Excellency is well acquainted, if only by reputation.”
“Of course,” said the Hetman after a brief pause. He acknowledged some kind of acquaintance with the well-known Prince almost absently, as if his mind were running on ahead already, assessing what the implications of this claim were likely to be if it was true. Tasavalta was not a next-door neighbor, but rather many kilometers to the north of his domain. Nor was it a particularly large country. But the Tasavaltans were said to be formidable in war; the reputation of their ruler had spread farther across the continent than this.