Stulwig entered the throne room, and saw that gleaming-skinned black man sitting
on the throne chair. He bowed courteously- towards the throne. Whereupon Jubal
waved one large arm, beckoning his visitor. And then he sat scowling as Stulwig
told his story. ;,
Despite the scowl, there was no resistance, or antagonism, in the bright, wicked
eyes; only interest. Finally, as Stulwig fell silent, the merchant said, ‘You
believe, as I understand you, that one or another of my numerous paid informants
may have heard something at the time of your father’s death that would provide a
clue: information, in short, that is not even available from a sorceress.’
‘I so believe,’ acknowledged Stulwig.
‘And how much will you pay if I can correctly recall something that was said to
me in passing more than three long years ago?’
Stulwig hesitated; and hoped that his desperation did not show on that sunburned
face of his; it was the one thing the chapped skin was good for: sometimes it
enabled him to conceal his feelings. What he sensed now was a high cost; and the
best outward show for that was to act as if this was a matter about which he was
merely curious. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, in his best practical tone, ‘your next two
visits for healing free-‘
‘For what I remember,’ said the big black, ‘the price is the medium Rankan gold
piece and the two visits.’
Long, unhappy pause. All this trouble and cost for an innocent man who, himself,
had done nothing. It seemed unfair. ‘Perhaps,’ ventured Stulwig, ‘if you were to
give me the information I could decide if the price is merited.’