“Really?” she said blandly. “How endlessly interesting. Why don’t you wear it, then?”
“The power can’t be transferred,” he told her, taking interest in her disinterest. Was there something she was trying to hide? “In fact,” he continued, “it might have a calamitous effect if I were to try it on.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, looking at it now with a certain misgiving and holding it farther away from her. Pryce smiled, noticing how the eyes of each militiaman they passed followed them with only their eyes.
“I’m sure there’s no danger to you,” Pryce told her, trying to ignore the disconcerting way one militiaman’s eyes would stop at the right side of his sockets and the eyes of the one next to him would start. “I totally agree with you. No girdle should mar the perfection of your form.”
He watched her reaction carefully. Her eyes shifted toward him with a moment of suspicion, then mutated into a look of pride and pleasure when she decided he wasn’t being vulgar. “Thank you, Mr. Blade.” He could see she was still waiting for him to poison the conversation with an ill-chosen, licentious reply.
So he didn’t even attempt a “Call me Darling.” Instead, he said, ‘That was quite a humorous misunderstanding back there.” “When?”
“When I approached.” “Oh?”
“Yes, and talked about the girdle.” “Oh! Oh, yes.”
“I actually haven’t had a chance to fraternize much. I’ve been too busy studying. I leave all the socializing to Gamor Turkal.”
He might as well have said “Call me Darling,” for the reaction he got. Sheyrhen did not show disappointment, but she grew distant without moving a millimeter away from him. “Gamor,” she repeated flatly.
‘Yes,” he said. ‘You knew him, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes… I knew him.”
Pryce kept walking beside her, but turned his head toward the ceiling. “Ah, yes, Gamor. He always had an eye for a beautiful wench, serving or otherwise. I always think of them as people first and waitresses second. He always thought of them as… as
“As chattel?” Karkober said coldly. He looked at her in surprise. However, she did not avert her gaze or soften her retort. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blade, but I didn’t like your… friend… Gamor Turkal. He never once looked at me with anything approaching humanity. If I wasn’t a vessel for his fantasies, I was little more than a piece of furniture bringing him his ale.” Only then did she lower her head sadly. “Is that so terrible?”
“No,” Pryce assured her, looking calmly ahead. ‘That’s not nearly as terrible as the other thing we’ve been doing since I first introduced the subject.”
She looked at him with surprise and just a touch of misgiving. “What’s that?”
“Speaking of him in the past tense,” he revealed with a cheerless smile. “Excuse me, would you?” Pryce hastened his stride to move down the passageway until he approached Azzo Schreders.
Unlike his serving wench, Schreders seemed honestly glad to see him. “Blade! Let me say how honored I am to be chosen to even touch, let alone carry, such valuable magical items. I’ll be telling my grandchildren and great-grandchildren about this! Eh, eh?”
“And hopefully even your not-so-great grandchildren, unless they’ve been sent to bed early,” Pryce quipped feebly. Before the barkeep could summon up a forced laugh, Covington continued. “How could I have thought of anyone but the man who makes Lallor run? Everyone knows that if you need refreshment or information, Azzoparde Schreders is at your service.”
The man’s wordless acknowledgement was lacking a bit of his previous bonhomie. Pryce continued, unabashed. “How did you secure such a superlative establishment in the first place? Prices must have been prohibitive, especially a building with such an extensive liquor grotto. What’s your secret, Azzo?”
The man looked stunned by the questions and more than a bit concerned. “Come, come, Azzo,” Pryce said with genuine amusement. “You can tell me. After all, I’m the great Darlington Blade.”
“Sir,” the tavern master started slowly, losing all familiarity and licking his lips, “I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details of my education, training, and experience as a manager of eating and drinking establishments.”
“Of course not,” Pryce agreed. “But I would like to know, in all seriousness, how a man of your education, training, and… what was the third thing again?”
“Experience.”
‘Yes, thank you. Experience… What was I saying?”
“In all seriousness… a man of my experience…” “Ah, yes! Tell me, Azzo, how could you not know about these caverns?”
Azzo blinked, swallowed, and replied, “I did.” “Yes?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Blade, certainly!” Azzo practically burbled in his rush to confess. “I knew about them all along. This area is attached to my grotto by a small opening high on the rear wall. I knew they were here, but as you can see, I would have had to do extensive renovating to make them suitable for my liquor cellar. Besides, I had no idea where they led to and had no desire for all manner of creatures having access to my liquid refreshments. So I placed a large wine cask over the opening to seal it off.” His smile was tentative. “I even filled the cask with our least distinctive vintage.”
“Really?” Pryce replied with appreciation. “Not much chance of that particular cask being drunk dry, then, eh? Eh?”
Schreders chuckled nervously at Pryce’s imitation of his verbal habit. “You’d be surprised,” he said with forced friendliness. “Why, it was the favorite brew of many, shall we say, less discerning palates?”
Pryce chuckled back. “Like Gamor Turkal’s?”
Schreders stopped chuckling. He even went a little pale. “Why, yes… come to think of it… it’s the only thing Gamor ever drank.”
Pryce nodded. “How endlessly interesting,” he commented, quoting the nervous serving wench. ‘Thank you, Azzo. You’ve told me what I needed to know. Excuse me, won’t you?” He quickly bounded over to where Asche Hartov was heading up the retinue. “Ah, Asche, leading the way, I see.” The mine owner didn’t reply. Pryce tried again. “Spellbooks,” he said, glancing at the volumes the man carried.
‘You have a solid grasp of the obvious,” Hartov said coldly.
“Still angry at me about the false name?”
“Angry? No, not angry. Offended.”
“Come now, Asche! You know very well that the nature of our business discussions would have changed had you known I was Darlington Blade!”
“Not at all!”
“Now who’s fooling whom?” Pryce exclaimed. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t have droppedor hiked, depending upon your moodthe price if you had known you were negotiating with the great Darlington Blade? That you wouldn’t have at least checked your sources and contacts to see what possible edge you could discover? If you even think of telling me that, then you’re not the businessman I respect or know.”
While he talked, Pryce could see that Hartov was trying to smother a growing smirk, but he managed to contain his acknowledgment of the truth long enough to say, “Respect?”
“Certainly!” Pryce said expansively, putting out his arms. “Everyone from the top of Mount Alue to the tip of Githim knows the name of Asche Hartov, purveyor of high-quality ore.” He put his arm around the mine owner’s shoulder and spoke directly and quietly into his ear. “In fact, when I saw you in Schreders’s tavern the other night, and again the night before that, I couldn’t help thinking, Now, what is Asche Hartov doing in Lallor? He doesn’t have a vacation home here. And who, in such an exclusive retreat, would be interested in buying ore even Teddington Fullmer wouldn’t touch?”
Hartov looked at Pryce’s smiling face in surprise, then with a trace of concern.
“Worried that I really am Darlington Blade?” Pryce wondered aloud. “Think I might be able to see right through that thin forehead of yours?” He removed his arm from Asche’s shoulder and stepped away. The retinue suddenly stopped, all eyes on the mine owner. The inquisitrixes and militiamen watched intently as Pryce pointed at Hartov.