"I have?" Walegrin got to his feet.
"When the Beysib came to get us this afternoon, they said that they were following your orders. In truth, I doubted you then, and feared for the worst as they loaded everything into a great cart. When they led us through the gates we thought we were being sent into exile. Dendorat was wild; they struck him on the head and lashed him to the cart. But they took us to a cottage and said we could pay the rent with finished silk."
Walegrin nodded, trying to recall what, exactly, Wedemir said before being assured that there was nothing to worry about.
Theudebourga did not notice his changing expression, "We haven't met Lady Kurrekai yet. Imagine, the cousin of Beysa Shupansea taking all of us under her wing. You must have been very persuasive ... I knew from that first moment on the wharf that you were not one to leave us to our fate."
"Theudebourga-"
"Berge. Call me Berge, it's easier on the ear and tongue." He didn't call her anything. She looked at him, at the shock and sourness on his face. "Dear gods-" She lunged for the stool where she had fallen asleep. Her workbag had fallen on its side, the drop-spindle had rolled across the floor. Frantically, she grabbed for both. The thread broke and the spindle rolled behind the chest. "What use has a man like you for a withered spinster?"
Walegrin heard that she was crying. He wanted her to stop. He wanted to tell her the truth, but his thoughts were whirling too fast to form the words he wanted to say. So Walegrin stood, blocking the doorway and feeling like an ox, while Theudebourga grew more shamed and hysterical.
"Please let me leave," she pleaded.
She had a death-grip on the sack. Wisps of unspun silk squeezed out and were tossed about on their breath. Walegrin felt them clinging to the stubble on his chin, to his eyebrows, and the tip of his nose. He became what Illyra had Seen. His thoughts froze around a single paradox: did the accommodation of good fortune lie in letting her stay, or letting her escape? What did he know about women anyway, except that the ones he got attracted to were no good for him?
Theudebourga hunched her shoulders and tried to sneak past. Her intentions were no match for Walegrin's reflexes-though the commander hadn't counted on having her so close he could feel her heartbeat.
"You don't have to leave." He lowered his arm. "You surprised me, that's all. It never occurred to me that the door would open one night and my woman would be there to greet me."
"Don't mock me."
"I'm not mocking you."
Walegrin pushed the door shut. Berge did not object-
TO BEGIN AGAIN by Robert Lynn Asprin
Without thinking, Hakiem took a long swallow of the sour, cheap wine his tankard held. Normally, he would have winced at the bitter impact of the taste, but today it passed down his throat without notice.
Leave Sanctuary!
Though the very core of his being recoiled from the idea, fighting desperately to eject it from his mind, it remained foremost in his thoughts, clinging stubbornly like some malignant parasite feeding on his brain. It had been this way since his talk with the Beysa, hounding him until he retreated to the Vulgar Unicorn, returning to his old haunt like a wounded animal seeking refuge in its lair. Even here, however, surrounded by the familiar darkness and darker half-heard conversations, there was no escape from the dread pronouncement.
Leave Sanctuary!
Lifting his tankard again, he was surprised to find it was empty.
Was that his third ... or fourth? No matter. It wasn't enough, which was all that counted.
A brief nod at Abohorr was all that was necessary to obtain another. That notable's attentiveness was a tribute to Hakiem's rise in position and status, a rise he had never had cause to regret ... until now.
Advisor to the Beysa, he thought with a grimace. At first it had seemed harmless, even desirable, to teach the ruler-in-exile the ways and thinking other new home. Sympathy had grown into friendship, however, until he was regarded as her most trusted confidant ... almost a surrogate father to the young girl stranded by circumstance in a foreign land. His duties had been light, and his rewards great. Then, without warning, this.
Lost in thought, Hakiem barely noticed the arrival of his fresh tankard, though from habit he was aware of the bartender slipping more than was his due from the pile of small coins on the table. Rather than take the offender to task for his greed, he chose instead to review the event which had led to his current state of mental confusion.
Visits from the Beysa were common enough, and more often than not, involving subjects of a trivial nature. Usually, all that was required of him was to listen while she complained or emoted about some new discomfort or minor slight, venting the hurts or frustrations her position would not let her acknowledge publicly. Thus, he was unprepared for the direction their conversation took.
"I have news for you, old friend," Shupansea announced after their normal exchange of pleasantries. "Both good and bad, I'm afraid."
Hakiem had already noticed that his royal visitor had seemed preoccupied and distracted, and was glad the cause was to be revealed without his having to draw it out of her.
"Tell me the bad news first, 0 Beysa," he said- "Then we can dispense with it quickly. If not, then perhaps the good news will'cheer us both."
"Very well. The bad news is that I am about to lose one of my dearest and most trusted friends."
Hakiem noted that no name was mentioned, and wondered if the omission was accidental or deliberate.
"That is sad news indeed." He nodded, silently speculating on who it might be that they were discussing. "Friends are always hard to come by and impossible to replace."
"Still, the same news is good," the Beysa continued, "as it represents a promotion for that same friend ... a chance for me to express my appreciation with a long-overdue reward."
"So you rejoice for your friend's good fortune even though it represents a loss to you, personally. As I have said before, 0 Beysa, your nobility of heart surpasses the nobility of your birth. I would wager that your friend has benefited from your friendship, however brief, just as I have, and will wish you well upon parting."
His comment was automatic, flowery politeness to fill his side of the conversation while he awaited further information. The effect of the words on Shupansea, however, was as profound as it was unexpected.
"Oh, I'm so glad you agree, Hakiem!" she cried, seizing his hand in an uncommon display of emotion, Beysib women being usually very selfconscious about touching males. "I was afraid you'd be upset."
"Upset? About what?" Startled by the turn of the conversation, he practically stammered out the question, though it was now painfully clear that he himself was the subject under discussion. "I ... I'm afraid
I don't ..."
"I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. It's so hard for me to remember court formalities when I'm talking to you."
She released his hand and stepped back, striking a regal pose almost mocking in its severity.
"Hakiem," she said in her solemn, court voice. "It is with great pleasure that we hereby appoint you Royal Emissary, our Trade Ambassador to the Glorious Home of Mother Bey ... such as it is."
Hakiem could not have been more stunned if she had suddenly struck him.
"Ambassador? Me?"
"That's right." Shupansea grinned, abandoning her attempt at dignity. She was obviously delighted at her confidant's obvious surprise. "The appointment papers were just signed, and I raced the rumors through the palace so I could be the first to tell you."
"But, 0 Beysa, I have no qualifications! I'm no ambassadorl What would I do in a foreign court? Tell them stories?"
"You'll do what the people of this town do best," the Beysa informed him firmly. "Haggle. I can guarantee you the royal opponents you'll be dealing with will present little challenge to you after the training you*ve had here in Sanctuary."