suggested.
‘It’s not the same,’ Hakiem insisted. ‘You are a part of this town. like the
Bazaar of the Maze. Now I deal with strangers, and I’ll not spy against my home
for mere gold.’
The ex-crimelord weighed this carefully, then poured them each another round of
wine.
‘Listen to me, Hakiem,’ he said at last. ‘And think well on what I say. Your old
life is gone. You know you could no more return to being an innocent storyteller
than I could go back to being a slave. Life moves forward, not backward. Just as
I’ve had to adapt to my sudden advance in age, you must learn to live with your
new station in life. No. Hear me out.
‘What you tell the invaders, they would learn whether you supplied it or not. As
a fellow gatherer of information, I swear to you this is true. There is always
more than one way to learn any fact. If, however, you were not there, if they
chose someone else to advise them, there would be a difference. Another would be
too swelled with his own importance, too in love with the sound of his own words
to hear and see what was actually going on around him. That, storyteller, is a
weakness you have never had.
‘What goes on in that court, and the logic that the newcomers use to arrive at
their decisions, can be of utmost importance to the future of our town. It
worries me, but not so much as it would if anyone but yourself were monitoring
their activities. Trading information we know for that which we do not is a fair
enough bargain, especially when what we gain is so valuable.’
‘All this talk comes very smoothly, slaver,’ the talesmith scowled. ‘Perhaps