"But I'm just a storyteller. It takes more than fine clothes to make an aristocrat!"
"That's what Kadakithis said ... but he eventually came around to my way of thinking. It's just as well, too. The trade ship has been ready to sail for nearly a week while we argued about who the ambassador would be."
"Trade ship?"
The enormity of what was being proposed suddenly swirled up around Hakiem like a fog. Until now, he had been arguing theoretically about a preposterous idea. The mention of a ship, however, brought home the reality of what was being discussed.
"You mean I am to leave Sanctuary? Make a new home in a foreign land?"
"Well, you can't very well be a trade ambassador from here." The Beysa laughed. "Oh, I know it sounds frightening ... but it's what I had to do when I came ... What is it, Hakiem?"
The storyteller had suddenly collapsed into a chair, his face a mask of despair.
"0 Beysa ... I ... I can't do it."
The smile slipped from the Beysa's face as she stiffened into a posture that had no trace of the mockery shown earlier.
"I don't recall giving you a choice," she said coldly, then softened instantly. "Oh, what's wrong, Hakiem? You've never refused me before."
"You've never asked me to leave Sanctuary before," he responded, shaking his head. "I'm not a young man ... too old to learn new ways. I've had to change my life completely twice already. Once when ... I first came to Sanctuary, and again when I became your advisor. I cannot make such changes again. You sec me as shrewd and wily, but that's only because I know this town and the people in it. Take me out of familiar surroundings, and ..."
"I thought I'd find you here."
Prince Kadakithis was framed in the doorway.
"Well, let me add my congratulations to those you've already received, Hakiem." There was no effort to shake hands, but the prince's smile was warm and sincere.
"He doesn't want the position," Shupansea blurted.
"Oh?" The smile faded as Kadakithis cocked an eyebrow at the storyteller. "I should think you'd find it an honor, Hakiem .' . . not to mention a noticeable improvement in your station ... and income."
"My place is here in Sanctuary," Hakiem insisted stubbornly, his desperation making him bold in the face of royalty. "From what I understand, you yourself have questioned my effectiveness in such an assignment."
"You see?" Shupansea cried in exasperation. "I try to reward his service and do him a favor at the same time, and this is the thanks I get!" "Highness ..." Hakiem began, but the prince cut him short.
"I'm sure we can reach some kind of an agreement here," he said soothingly. "Let me talk with our new ambassador for a moment."
"All right."
"Alone, if you don't mind, dear."
"But ... Oh, all right!"
The Beysa swept angrily from the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.
"There's been a lot of water under the bridge since we first met, hasn't there, storyteller?" the prince said, making a show of inspecting the room's decor.
"That there has. Highness."
Hakiem was wary of this private audience, but he had to admit the prince had changed since that dusty afternoon he had tossed a poor storyteller a few pieces of gold- The regal brow was marked with worry lines that had not been there when he'd first arrived in Sanctuary, but he spoke and moved with a new sureness and confidence that had also been lacking in those early days.
"I'll admit I opposed the idea of your appointment when Shupansea first proposed it," the prince continued, "but after giving it considerable thought, apart from my fiancee's insistence, I arrived at the conclusion that you were not only acceptable for the post, but that there was no one better qualified for the position."
"Highness?"
The storyteller was taken aback at this revelation.
"Think about it, Hakiem," the prince said earnestly, turning to gaze directly at his subject. "In your capacity as the Beysa's advisor, you have made yourself familiar with the Beysib culture and people, both the high and the low. In fact, you speak their language better than any non-Beysib in the town or the court."
He paused while the ghost of a smile flitted across his face.
"While you may not have formal experience as an ambassador, your years as a storyteller will serve you well, as the bulk of diplomacy is making the untrue or unlikely sound plausible, if not desirable. These things count in your favor, but there are two points that outweigh all others.
"First, you are honest and loyal."
The prince quickly held up a hand to restrain the storyteller's protests.
"Oh, I know you folk from Sanctuary pride yourselves on deception and shady dealings ... which will also help you as an ambassador ... and I have no doubts that you would have no compunctions about padding a deal or slitting a throat if you set your mind to it, but in your current position you've had many opportunities to betray the Beysa for spite or personal gain, yet to my knowledge you have not taken advantage of any of them. To my mind, that makes you trustworthy ... notably more so than many of the advisors I've had assigned to me or appointed myself-
"Even more important, however, is the unmistakable fact that you love this town. While your feelings for Shupansea or myself might wax and wan, I cannot imagine your knowingly doing anything or agreeing to anything that would not be in Sanctuary's best interest.
"It may seem ironic or contradictory, but I firmly believe that you can best serve the interests of this town by leaving it ... by being our eyes and ears, our watchdog, if you will, in the Beysib court during this crucial period. Will you do that for me ... or better yet, for Sanctuary, storyteller?"
Hakiem grimaced into his wine at the memory.
Do it for Sanctuary.
If the prince ever decided to abandon his royal calling, there was a real future for him as a swindler or confidence man. While the request may have had the appearance of free will, there was really only one answer that could be given. Hakiem had had no more choice than a member of an audience having a conjuror "force" a specific card on him for the purposes of a trick or illusion.
Of course, the prince could have simply ordered him into service. In that case, Hakiem would have had the choice of leaving Sanctuary as an honored ambassador, or leaving it as a fugitive of the prince's wrath. It would seem, however, that Kadakithis had learned the value of a willing volunteer ... however unwilling that volunteer might be in reality.
Absently, Hakiem noted the contradictory, circular nature of that observation as a gauge of the effects the wine was having on him, and was not displeased at his progress.
"May I join you, old man? ... Or are you too busy with the 'preparations' for your voyage to spare me a few of the miTlions of words you spend so freely on others?"
Hakiem gaped with astonishment, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. None seemed required, however, as his visitor pulled up a chair and settled at the table like some huge black bird coming to roost.
"Jubal?" the storyteller managed at last, blurting out the question as if requiring confirmation for what his eyes already told him. "Are you ... I mean, is this wise?"
He tore his gaze free to glance nervously about the tavern's dim interior, but no one seemed to be taking notice of the figure in their midst.
"I've found that I've been out of view long enough that no one remembers what I look like." Sanctuary's crime lord smiled without humor. "Especially with the 'changes' I've undergone since I was a 'public figure.* If anything, a disguise would draw attention to me rather than avert it ... especially in the Vulgar Unicorn. Like this, I'm just another old man ... like yourself."
While it appeared Jubal was correct in his analysis, Hakiem nonetheless felt distinctly uncomfortable ... enough so to banish any effects of his earlier drinking. As long as they had known each other ... actually, as long as Hakiem had been in Sanctuary ... Jubal had maintained an air of secrecy about himself. Originally, he would not have left his mansion without a cloak and one of the blue hawk masks to disguise his features, and after the aging caused by the spell hired to help him heal from the wounds suffered during the Stepsons' raid on his holdings, he had not appeared in public at all. Ergo, sitting next to an ex-slaver in the Vulgar Unicorn, bereft of any effort to mask his identity, had Hakiem feeling that he was in close proximity to a target on one of the military's firing ranges.