No One bowed his head. "I meant no disrespect, Tarzaka. Take the rest of the cobit as my apology."
She took the remaining bread and pointed it at the mudball. "What is the purpose of that?"
"It my crystal ball; my door to the future." The fortune teller opened her mouth to speak. No One held up his muddy palms. "Wait!" His eyes looked up, toward the dark. "I see them. Yes! Now I see them!" He lowered his glance and looked at the fortune teller. "Your name is Tarzaka."
The fortune teller shook her head. "I told you that."
"True. True." He closed his eyes. "And... you come from Tarzak."
She snorted. "You are being foolish!"
No One smiled. "Did I speak truly?"
"That is my name!"
He nodded. "Ah, yes. I see. Please excuse my pitiful performance. I will try to do better." He studied the fortune teller for a long moment. "And there in Tarzak you studied under Shirly Smith, the Great Madam Zelda."
Tarzaka sighed. "Since the Great Zelda was the only fortune teller with the Old Show—"
"I know. I know." Again No One smiled. "The apologies I owe you mount so high I may never be able to repay them."
Tarzaka stretched out by the fire, leaned an elbow against the ground, and propped her head upon her open palm. "You are becoming quite tiresome, No One."
His shoulders slumped in exaggerated despair as his hands fell into his lap. "Ah, me." He cocked his head to one side, and smiled. "And there in Tarzak you live in secret with a roustabout named—"
Tarzaka sat bolt upright. "It is a lie! How—"
"It is no lie, Tarzaka." No One stared at his mudball. "And his name is Ahngarus. He is quite handsome, isn't he? Tall, strong, tanned skin, black hair and gleaming teeth. And his arms. So strong. And his body..."
The fortune teller looked at the mudball, then back at No One. "You cannot know this."
No One smiled. "Your parents would have you marry Vidar the cashier from Sina. He is wealthy; a good catch. But in the secret of the night you and Ahngarus slip away—"
"Enough!" The fortune teller's wonder turned to anger as she placed her palms to her burning face. "You are quite a trickster, No One. But gossip is not fortune telling."
No One grinned. "I see that I fail again. Shall I tell you how he kisses you, or—"
"I am tired of this, No One!"
The bullhand studied the fortune teller. "In your mind you call yourself sham. The lines on hands you know to be nothing more than wrinkles; your cards nothing but paper; your crystal nothing but polished quartz to focus a point of light to keep your customer's mind off of your knees rattling the table."
She stared at him. In her eyes the hate of being discovered was burning.
"But when you were a little girl, the Great Zelda told you many times that bunking the rubes is the entire art of fortune telling. You, of course, remember your first time with a customer. You held his attention while Zelda went through the man's belongings, signaling to you the things that were there."
Tarzaka's color drained from her face. "How many coppers did my fortune bring?"
No One shook his head. "No coppers. He paid you in tungberries. As your master Zelda took half. You exchanged your berries for coppers in the Tarzak market that afternoon. In exchange for the berries, you were paid twenty-one Movills. The Great Zelda ate her berries." No One stared into the fortune teller's eyes. "Is my performance improving, Tarzaka?" He did not wait for an answer. "No? Then let me try again. When you were fourteen, traveling with your father down the Slowdown Cliff Cut, you fell from your horse and were injured. Ever since you have had sharp pains in your belly. You are here tonight because you are returning south from Dirak where you had heard that a healer..."
Tarzaka stood, her eyes wide. She slowly backed away from No One.
He raised his brows. "Am I not improving?"
"You are a devil!"
He held out his hands. "I see that I am not improving." He reached out and picked up the mudball. "Poor Tarzaka." He looked up at her. "There was nothing the healer could do, was there?" He looked back at the mudball. "There is a future for you in my crystal ball, Tarzaka. Do you wish to hear it?"
"A future?" Her voice was rough; her back was against the rock wall of the roadcut.
No One looked back at his mudball. "Of course a good future will take the surprise and wonder out of your life; a bad one will hang a pall of doom over whatever breaths remain to you." He looked up at her. "Shall I tell you your future, fortune teller?"
She turned and ran from the fire, into the darkness of the road toward Miira. She heard No One scream at her back. "Do not stop, fortune teller! The ghosts of Snake Mountain are at your back! Run! Run! Run!"
At the fire, No One looked into the dark, then down at the mudball in his hand. He flung the ball against the rocks and watched it splatter. He sat next to the fire, wrapped his arms around his knees, rested his forehead against his arms, and wept.
The dawnlight had tinted the sky above his head, but it would be almost noon before the rays of sunlight would creep down the eastern wall, warming the bottom of Snake Mountain Gap. No One's head rose from his arms, and he looked at the slit of sky above the gap. Dark clouds were building to the north. He looked at the clouds, finding in them a sense of identity—a reflection of his soul. He looked down at the black wall of the gap opposite the fire. "There, too, is a reflection of my soul!"
He spat into the fire and turned his head to pick up some wood for the dying fire. He saw the fortune teller's pack. Next to the pack was a sling-mounted jug of sapwine. He picked up a few pieces of wood, tossed them on the fire, then reached out his right hand and pulled the jug by its sling until it was next to his leg. He spoke to the jug.
"Shall I now become thief as well as exile?" He placed the jug between his knees and pulled the wooden stopper. Lifting the jug, he placed the opening in the neck to his lips and drank deeply. He lowered the container to the ground. "No." He shook his head. "The exile is Johnjay. And he... is dead. I am No One." He took another drink. "And Tarzaka did not give me fair exchange for my performance."
He stood, holding the jug up by its neck, then he shouted at the opposite wall of the gap. "No One is a thief!" He drank again, and giggled. "And if No One is a thief, then no one can be held accountable."
He laughed at his joke as thunder from the north rumbled through the gap. "Bang! Boom! Bang!" He sang with the thunder, laughed, and drank again. As he lowered the jug from his lips, he walked to the edge of the road and looked down the chasm at the water far below. He felt splatters of rain on the back of his neck and he looked up at the sky. The drops fell on his face, then the deluge began. His eyes closed, and he stood there feeling the chill wetness reaching his skin. The full impact of the wine reached his head. He held out his arms and began to sway to the sounds of the rain, his feet dancing slowly in the mud of the roadbed. "No One is a thief; No One is a thief."
A flash of lightning followed immediately by a crash of thunder made him shy from the edge of the chasm. Suddenly he felt very cold. He looked back at the still-burning fire. Far above it a rocky overhang protected the place below. He took another swallow from the jug, then weaved his way to the dry place. The fire was hot and he tried to dry his gray and maroon striped robe by rotating in front of the flames. On one of his turns, he paused to drink again. As he lowered the jug, he saw the fortune teller's pack. He staggered next to it, squatted, and placed the jug at his side. He studied the pack for a moment, then laughed. "No One's thievery knows no limits."
He reached, undid the pack's ties, and opened the flap. At the top were folds of heavy blue cloth. He pulled it from the pack. It was a fortune teller's robe. And it was dry. "And why not? Am I not a great teller of fortunes?"