“Not quite the way the sword was meant to be used,” Gar said, “but it will do. An excellent improvisation, Feste. The rest of you, quickly! Into the chamber! Trade clothes with them and tie them up!”
“How?” Gianni shoved at the door. “It’s locked!”
“Yes, but not that strongly.” Gar grasped the handle, glared at it, and pushed. The lock groaned; then the door opened. The fugitives stared, then came alive and dragged their captives into the room. Feste turned about, hand on his hilt, the captain of the guard on sentry—go. Gianni shut the door—but as he did, he glanced at the lock. And shivered. The bar had sunk back into the wood, unbroken. Somehow, Gar had opened that lock as surely as though he had held the key!
No time to worry about it now—they were in darkness, except for a swath of moonlight through a small window that served to show them, at least, where a candle sat by a tinderbox. Gar’s shadow obscured the window and the candle for a moment; there was the scratch of flint on steel, then a soft glow that grew into a small flame. Gar held it to the wick, and the flame grew brighter. Then he closed the tinderbox, and the light was less, but constant. The candle flame showed them a circular room about twelve feet across with walls of mortared stone, a water stain where the roof needed patching, a table and chair near the window, where the candle stood.
And on that table, a low rounded shape that Gianni first took to be a giant egg. Then he saw that it had a curved handle on top and decided it must be a curling stone, such as the old men used for playing their unending lawn game on the village greens …
Until he realized the stone had a long, thin strip of light across its front, a strip with numbers on it. Beneath that, there were five circles, each a different color, and now that Gianni looked, the handle on the egg had a little wire wrapped around it, a wire that ran up the wall and disappeared into the roof. Gianni saw that Gar had followed its route, too, and asked, “The triple cross?”
Gar nodded. “Yes, and I think it’s a triple cross in more ways than one.”
“What is this?” asked Vincenzio. “An alchemist’s workshop?”
“Something of the sort. Don’t let it trouble you. We won’t stay here long.” Gar sat down and peered at the lighted strip. “Back up my memory, Gianni—it’s becoming moth-eaten. ‘Eighty—nine—oh—one M.H.’ ”
“ ‘Eighty—nine—oh—one em aytch.’ ” Gianni repeated dutifully. “What does it mean, Gar?”
“It means,” said Gar, “that our false-Gypsy friends have competitors they don’t know about.”
“Orzans!”
Gianni turned to look, and saw Rubio leaning over an open sack with jewels running through his fingers. “Orzans, hundreds of them! And there are four more bags like this one!”
Gar nodded, mouth a grim line. “I had thought as much. No wonder this room is stoutly guarded.” He turned back to the curling stone and touched the green circle. Gianni reached out to stop him, his heart in his mouth—then froze as he heard the stone say, in a strange, very thick accent, “Prince Raginaldi, please answer!”
“What is that?” Rubio cried, leaping to his feet. “Shush!” Gar hissed. “It’s only a magical memory, nothing more.”
The stone spoke again. “Since you do not appear to be near the far-talker now, Your Highness, I will ask you to call Zampar of the Lurgan Company when it is convenient. Thank you.” There was a chime, then silence.
The men stared at one another with wide, frightened eyes. “Sorcery!” Rubio hissed.
“No, just great cleverness,” Gar assured them. He touched some more colored circles, then said, “Gar to Herkimer. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Gar.” The reply was instantaneous; the voice was well modulated, cultivated, gentle. “I am glad to hear you alive and well.”
“Well enough,” Gar replied. “Herkimer, please start eavesdropping on—eighty—seven—oh—two, was that, Gianni?”
Gianni felt a chill. So soon? “Eighty—nine—oh—one em aytch, Gar.”
“Eighty—nine—oh—one m.H.,” Gar repeated. “Not so well as I might be, Herkimer; my brain may need an overhaul after this little jaunt. Check who uses that frequency, please.”
“The Lurgan Company, Gar. Since your departure, I have become aware of their activities through their transmissions.”
“The Lurgan Company, yes.” Gar’s lips were thin again. “What is it?”
“A semilegal syndicate who have been known to break laws designed to protect backward planets, Gar.”
“How can they be legal at all, then?” Gar growled. “By setting up their headquarters on planets that do not yet subscribe to the full I.D.E. code,” the voice told him. “When a host planet does agree to full enforcement of that code, the Lurgan Company moves to a newer planet.”
“Semilegal perhaps, but ethical not at all,” Gar growled. “What information do you have about orzans, Herkimer?”
This time there was a pause of several seconds before the voice answered. “They are extremely rare fiery gems that are found only on Petrarch, Gar. They begin as crystals grown from water laden with a rare mineral that dissolves out of impure limestone through seepage in caves; those that have been buried under rock for several centuries acquire the luster and clarity that makes them so prized as ornaments.”
Gar glanced at the gems in the big sack and hissed, “Put them back, Rubio.” He turned back to the stone. “Current market value?”
“A flawless one-carat specimen would pay the annual power bill for a small city,” the voice replied. “Consequently, the only market is on Terra and the older, very wealthy colonies, such as Hal IV and Otranto.”
“The playgrounds of the rich,” Gar muttered. “I thought they looked familiar.”
“Your great-aunt does have one such pendant, Gar, yes.”
Gianni felt as though his hair were trying to stand on end. Terra? Hal Four? Otranto? These were names from legend, names of fairy-tale realms!
“It’s all as I had thought,” Gar said. “Thank you, Herkimer. Please keep monitoring that frequency.”
“I shall, Gar. Be careful.”
The room was suddenly amazingly silent.
“Who was that?” Gianni whispered. “Your tame wizard?”
“Eh?” Gar looked at him, startled. “Well, yes, I suppose you might say that. Not a bad analogy at all, in fact.” Then he scowled at the other young merchant. “Leave the bag here, Rubio!”
“It’s a fortune, Gar,” Rubio protested, “the chance of a lifetime!”
“The chance of a hanging, you mean! Steal that bag, and Prince Raginaldi will never rest until he has found it again, and when he does, he’ll have you flayed to make sure you haven’t hidden any of them under your skin! Leave them, and he may forget about us. Which reminds me …” He turned to touch the colored spots again, muttering, “Eighty—six …”
“Eighty—nine—oh—one em aytch,” Gianni said quickly.
“Thank Heaven one of us has a memory,” Gar growled. He finished punching, then turned toward the door, not even looking as he said, “All of them, Rubio!”
“Only as many as were stolen from me, Gar!” the young merchant said stubbornly.
“I suppose that’s only just,” Gar sighed. “But not a fragment more, mind! Now outside, everyone, and silently!”
They went out, and Gar closed the door carefully; Gianni was sure he heard the lock turn, but with a tame wizard, why not?
“Not a tame wizard,” Gar whispered as they started down the stairs, and Gianni jumped; he would have thought the giant had read his thoughts. “More of a friend—well, an associate.”
“But still a wizard.” Gianni frowned up at him. “Does he appear in your dreams?”