“Why did you take it, then?”
“I didn’t want him to know that I didn’t know its value.”
“Sell it to somebody else.”
“How can I sell it if I don’t know what to ask for it? If I ask too much, nobody’ll talk to me; and if I ask too little, I’ll be laughed out of the Fair.”
Garion started to chuckle.
“I don’t see that it’s all that funny, Garion,” Silk said sensitively. He remained moody and irritable as they entered the pavilion. “Here’s the profit I promised you,” he told Mister Wolf somewhat ungraciously as he poured coins into the old man’s hand.
“What’s bothering you?” Wolf asked, eyeing the little man’s grumpy face.
“Nothing,” Silk replied shortly. Then he glanced over at Aunt Pol, and a broad smile suddenly appeared on his face. He crossed to her and bowed. “My dear Lady Polgara, please accept this trifling memento of my regard for you.” With a flourish he presented the perfume bottle to her.
Aunt Pol’s look was a peculiar mixture of pleasure and suspicion. She took the small bottle and carefully worked out the tightly fitting stopper. Then with a delicate gesture she touched the stopper to the inside of her wrist and raised the wrist to her face to catch the fragrance. “Why, Kheldar,” she exclaimed with delight, “this is a princely gift.”
Silk’s smile turned a bit sickly, and he peered sharply at her, trying to determine if she was serious or not. Then he sighed and went outside, muttering darkly to himself about the duplicity of Rivans.
Delvor returned not long afterward, dropped his striped cloak in one corner and held out his hands to one of the glowing braziers. “As near as I was able to find out, things are quiet between here and Vo Mimbre,” he reported to Mister Wolf, “but five Murgos just rode into the Fair with two dozen Thulls behind them.”
Hettar looked up quickly, his hawk face alert.
Wolf frowned. “Did they come from the north or the south?”
“They claim to have come from Vo Mimbre, but there’s red clay on the Thulls’ boots. I don’t think there’s any clay between here and Vo Mimbre, is there?”
“None,” Mandorallen declared firmly. “The only clay in the region is to the north.”
Wolf nodded. “Get Silk back inside,” he told Barak. Barak went to the tent flap.
“Couldn’t it just be a coincidence?” Durnik wondered.
“I don’t think we want to take that chance,” Wolf answered. “We’ll wait until the Fair settles down for the night and then slip away.”
Silk came back inside, and he and Delvor spoke together briefly.
“It won’t take the Murgos long to find out we’ve been here,” Barak rumbled, tugging thoughtfully at his red beard. “Then we’ll have them dogging our heels every step of the way from here to Vo Mimbre. Wouldn’t it simplify things if Hettar, Mandorallen, and I go pick a fight with them? Five dead Murgos aren’t going to follow anybody.”
Hettar nodded with a certain dreadful eagerness.
“I don’t know if that would set too well with the Tolnedran legionnaires who police the Fair,” Silk drawled. “Policemen seem to worry about unexplained bodies. It upsets their sense of neatness.”
Barak shrugged. “It was a thought.”
“I think I’ve got an idea,” Delvor said, pulling on his cloak again. “They set up their tents near the pavilions of the Nadraks. I’ll go do some business with them.” He started toward the tent flap, then paused. “I don’t know if it means anything,” he told them, “but I found out that the leader is a Murgo named Asharak.”
Garion felt a sudden chill at the mention of the name.
Barak whistled and looked suddenly very grim. “We’re going to have to attend to that one sooner or later, Belgarath,” he declared.
“You know him?” Delvor did not seem very surprised.
“We’ve met a time or two,” Silk replied in an offhand way.
“He’s starting to make a nuisance of himself,” Aunt Pol agreed.
“I’ll get started,” Delvor said.
Garion lifted the tent flap to allow Delvor to leave; but as he glanced outside, he let out a startled gasp and jerked the flap shut again.
“What’s the matter?” Silk asked him.
“I think I just saw Brill out there in the street.”
“Let me see,” Durnik said. His fingers parted the flap slightly, and he and Garion both peered out. A slovenly figure loitered in the muddy street outside. Brill had not changed much since they’d left Faldor’s farm. His tunic and hose were still patched and stained; his face was still unshaven, and his cast eye still gleamed with a kind of unwholesome whiteness.
“It’s Brill, all right,” Durnik confirmed. “He’s close enough for me to smell him.”
Delvor looked at the smith inquiringly.
“Brill bathes irregularly,” Durnik explained. “He’s a fragrant sort of a fellow.”
“May I?” Delvor asked politely. He glanced out over Durnik’s shoulder. “Ah,” he said, “that one. He works for the Nadraks. I thought that was a little strange, but he didn’t seem important, so I didn’t bother to investigate.”
“Durnik,” Wolf said quickly, “step outside for a moment. Make sure he sees you, but don’t let him know that you know he’s there. After he sees you, come back inside. Hurry. We don’t want to let him get away.”
Durnik looked baffled, but he lifted the tent flap and stepped out.
“What are you up to, father?” Aunt Pol asked rather sharply. “Don’t just stand there smirking, old man. That’s very irritating.”
“It’s perfect,” Wolf chortled, rubbing his hands together.
Durnik came back in, his face worried. “He saw me,” he reported. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“Of course,” Wolf replied. “Asharak’s obviously here because of us, and he’s going to be looking all over the Fair for us.”
“Why make it easy for him?” Aunt Pol asked.
“We won’t,” Wolf replied. “Asharak’s used Brill before – in Murgos, remember? He brought Brill down here because Brill would recognize you or me or Durnik or Garion – probably Barak too, and maybe Silk. Is he still out there?”
Garion peered out through the narrow opening. After a moment he saw the unkempt Brill half hidden between two tents across the street. “He’s still there,” he answered.
“We’ll want to keep him there,” Wolf said. “We’ll have to be sure that he doesn’t get bored and go back to report to Asharak that he’s found us.”
Silk looked at Delvor, and they both began to laugh.
“What’s funny?” Barak demanded suspiciously.
“You almost have to be a Drasnian to appreciate it,” Silk replied. He looked at Wolf admiringly. “Sometimes you amaze me, old friend.”
Mister Wolf winked at him.
“Thy plan still escapes me,” Mandorallen confessed.
“May I?” Silk asked Wolf. He turned back to the knight. “It goes like this, Mandorallen. Asharak’s counting on Brill to find us for him, but as long as we keep Brill interested enough, he’ll delay going back to tell Asharak where we are. We’ve captured Asharak’s eyes, and that puts him at quite a disadvantage.”
“But will this curious Sendar not follow us as soon as we leave the tent?” Mandorallen asked. “When we ride from the Fair, the Murgos will be immediately behind us.”
“The back wall of the tent is only canvas, Mandorallen,” Silk pointed out gently. “With a sharp knife you can make as many doors in it as you like.”
Delvor winced slightly, then sighed. “I’ll go see the Murgos,” he said. “I think I can delay them even more.”
“Durnik and I’ll go out with you,” Silk told his bald friend. “You go one way, and we’ll go another. Brill will follow us, and we can lead him back here.”
Delvor nodded, and the three of them went out.
“Isn’t all this unnecessarily complicated?” Barak asked sourly. “Brill doesn’t know Hettar. Why not just have Hettar slip out the back, circle around behind him, and stick a knife between his ribs? Then we could stuff him in a sack and drop him in a ditch somewhere after we leave the Fair.”
Wolf shook his head. “Asharak would miss him,” he replied. “I want him to tell the Murgos that we’re in this tent. With any luck, they’ll sit outside for a day or so before they realize that we’re gone.”
For the next several hours various members of the party went out into the street in front of the tent on short and wholly imaginary errands to hold the attention of the lurking Brill. When Garion stepped out into the gathering darkness, he put on a show of unconcern, although his skin prickled as he felt Brill’s eyes on him. He went into Delvor’s supply tent and waited for several minutes. The noise from a tavern pavilion several rows of tents over seemed very loud in the growing stillness of the Fair as Garion waited nervously in the dark supply tent. Finally he drew a deep breath and went out again, one arm tucked up as if he were carrying something. “I found it, Durnik,” he announced as he reentered the main pavilion.