The largest room on that level, located across from the staircase, was the central living area. Iolanthe entered with Raistlin trailing behind her, keeping his hood over his head, his face in shadow. The room was furnished with a couple of broken-down couches, several wobbly-legged chairs, and a few small tables and storage chests. Three Black Robes—human males, well into their middle years—descended upon Iolanthe, all talking at once.
“Gentlemen,” she said, raising her hands for silence. “I will deal with your concerns in a moment. First, I want to introduce Raistlin Majere, a new addition to our ranks.”
The three Black Robes differed only in that one man had long gray hair and one had sparse gray hair and one had no hair at all. They were alike in that they loathed and distrusted each other, and all believed that magic was nothing but a tool to satisfy their own needs. Whatever souls they might have once possessed had been gnawed away by ignorance and greed. They were in Neraka because they had nowhere else to go.
Iolanthe named the three swiftly. The names passed in and out of Raistlin’s head. He did not consider it worth taking the time to learn them, and as it turned out, he had no need to know. The Black Robes were not the least interested in him. Their only interest was themselves, and they bombarded Iolanthe with questions, demanding answers, then refusing to listen when she tried to give them.
They crowded around her in a suffocating circle. Raistlin remained on the outside, listening and observing.
“One of you—one of you,” Iolanthe repeated sternly when they all seemed about to talk, “tell me the reason for this uproar.”
The reason was given to her by the eldest mage, a seedy-looking old specimen with a crooked nose who had, Raistlin was to learn, eked out a living selling vile charms and dubious potions to peasants until forced to flee for his life after poisoning several of his patrons. According to Hook Nose, as Raistlin nicknamed him, they had all heard the rumor that Nuitari had broken with Queen Takhisis, that Ladonna had been killed, and that they were all doomed.
“The Nightlord’s guards will be breaking down our door at any moment!” Hook Nose said in panicked tones. “They suspect us of working for Hidden Light. We’ll all end up in the Nightlord’s dungeons!”
Iolanthe listened patiently and gave a light and airy laugh. “You may rest easy, gentlemen,” she said. “I, too, heard these rumors. I was myself uneasy, and so I sought out the truth. All of you know that the eminent wizardess Ladonna was my mentor and sponsor.”
The old men apparently knew that and were not impressed, for they said loudly that anything involving Ladonna would only add to their problems. Raistlin, who had not known it, wondered what it might mean. Was Iolanthe loyal to Ladonna?
“I spoke to her only last night. The rumor is completely false. Ladonna remains subject to Takhisis, as does her son, Nuitari. You have nothing to worry about. We may continue with business as normal.”
Seeing the old men glower, Raistlin guessed that “business as normal” was not all that great. In confirmation, Iolanthe drew out her silken purse and removed several steel coins stamped with the five heads of the Dark Queen. She rested the coins on a table.
“There you are. Payment for the services performed by the Black Robes of Neraka.”
She reeled off a list that included such tasks as rodent removal for a tailor’s shop and mixing potions as ordered by Snaggle. Raistlin thought privately he would rather use a potion mixed by gully dwarves than anything those three old coots had concocted. He would later learn from Iolanthe that she poured the potions into the Neraka sewer system. She funded the Tower herself.
“Otherwise,” she told Raistlin privately, “these buzzards would go seeking work on their own, and Nuitari knows what sort of trouble they would bring down on me.”
The old men were reassured by the sight of the coins far more than by Iolanthe’s words. Hook Nose latched onto the coins, as the other two watched him jealously, and they began a lively discussion on how the steel was to be divided, each claiming that he deserved the largest share.
“I hate to interrupt,” Iolanthe said loudly, “but I have a bit more business to conduct. I have introduced you to Raistlin Majere. He is a—”
“—a mere student of magic, sirs,” said Raistlin in his soft voice. Keeping his head humbly bowed and his hands in his sleeves, he kept to the shadows. “I am still learning, and I look to you, my esteemed elders, for teaching and advice.”
Hook Nose grunted. “He’s not planning to live here, is he? Because there’s no room.”
“I have taken other lodging,” Raistlin assured him. “I would be glad to work here, however—”
“Can you cook?” asked one. His double chin and large belly showed clearly where his interests lay. Raistlin named him Paunchy.
“I was thinking I might be of more use to you if I cataloged the books and scrolls in the library,” Raistlin suggested.
“We need a cook,” countered Paunchy testily. “I’m sick to death of boiled cabbage.”
“Young Master Majere has an excellent idea,” Iolanthe said, taking Raistlin’s cue. “Since the rest of you are busy with far more important work, we can assign the library to our novice wizard. Who knows? He may discover something of value.”
Hook Nose’s eyes gleamed at that and he agreed, though Paunchy still grumbled about needing a cook, not a librarian. Raistlin was a fairly good cook, having prepared meals for himself and his brother when they were left orphaned as teenagers, and he promised to assist in that capacity too. Having satisfied everyone, he and Iolanthe departed.
“My robes stink of cabbage!” Iolanthe said, after the two of them left the three old men arguing how to spend the steel. “That horrid smell permeates everything. I will have to go home to change. Will you join me for supper? No cabbage, I promise!”
“I need to move my things into the inn—” Raistlin began.
Iolanthe interrupted him. “It’s growing late. The streets of Neraka are not safe to walk after dark, especially in the Outer City. You should spend another night with me, move into the inn tomorrow. After all,” she added in her mocking tone, “we have yet to play our game of marbles.”
“Thank you, but I have imposed on your hospitality enough,” said Raistlin, ignoring the remark about the marbles. “It will be safer for me to transport my things after darkness, don’t you agree? Especially the staff. And I do not fear walking the streets after nightfall.”
Iolanthe eyed him. “I suppose you are right. I have no doubt that you can take care of yourself. Which makes me wonder what you were up to back there. You—a mere student of magic! You can cast circles of fire around those old bastards. I think only one actually took the Test. The others are low-level, just about capable of boiling water.”
“If I proclaimed my true skill, they would view me as a threat and would constantly be watching me, on their guard against me,” explained Raistlin. “As it is, they will take me for granted. Which brings me to a question of my own: Why did you lie to them, tell them the rumors were not true?”
“They are terrified of the Nightlord. I know for a fact that one or all of them are informing on me,” Iolanthe replied calmly. “If I had told them the rumors were true, they would have knocked me down to be first out the door with the news.”
“Which is why you pay them,” said Raistlin in sudden understanding.
“And why I tell them what I want the Nightlord to hear,” said Iolanthe. “You must understand,” she added somberly. “When Ladonna and the other Black Robes first came to Neraka, we had grand schemes and plans. We traveled here to make our fortunes. We were going to build a magnificent Tower of High Sorcery, the Tower of your dreams,” she said, glancing at Raistlin with a rueful smile and a sigh.
“It soon became apparent to Ladonna and the others that wizards were not welcome in Neraka, not wanted. At first there were clashes with the Church; then the persecutions began. Three wizards—those who had been loud in arguing our cause—were assassinated in the night. The Church denied all knowledge, of course.”