The Face of Chaos

'Then we'll honour our side of the bargain. If our forces are drawing unwanted attention, instruct them to be more subtle with their assistance. There are ways of helping without openly taking sides in a brawl.'

'We tried that, and the Stepsons proved inept in battle. You were the one who said we must do whatever necessary to keep them alive.'

'Then keep doing it!' Jubal was suddenly tired of the argument. 'Saliman, I fear your dislike of this alliance has slanted your reports. Those "inept" Stepsons drove our entire force out of our mansion. I find it hard to believe that they are suddenly unable to survive a simple street skirmish.'

The small snake raised its head to study its captors, then went back to exploring the confines of its jar with the singleminded intent characteristic of reptiles.

'So this is one of the dread beynit,' Jubal mused, resting his chin on his hands to study the specimen. 'The secret weapon of the Beysib.'

'Not all that secret,' his aide retorted. 'I've told you of the bodies that have appeared marked with snakebite. The fish-folk are not always discreet in their use of their secret weapons.'

'Let's not fall victim to our own tricks, Saliman. We were never above scattering a few extra corpses around to confuse the issue. I don't think it's safe to assume that every snakebit body is the work of the Beysib. You're sure this snake won't be missed?'

'It cost the life of one of their women, but that's unimportant. Hers isn't the only life they've lost lately. They seem remarkably stubborn about not adapting to Sanctuary's nightlife. Wherever they come from, they're used to being able to travel the streets alone.'

'Their carelessness may give us the advantage we need,' Jubal said, tapping the side of the jar to make the snake raise its head again. 'If we can unlock the secret of this venom, we'll be that much ahead if we ever have to confront the fish-folk.'

He straightened and pushed the jar across the table to his aide.

'Pass this to someone well-versed in toxins and include enough money for test slaves. I want an antidote for this poison within the month. Too bad Tempus revenged himself on Kurd. We could use the vivisectionist's services.'

'Tempus has a knack for making our life difficult,' Saliman agreed, dryly.

'That reminds me. How are things going with the Stepsons? You haven't said anything lately, so I assume the situation has stabilized.'

'No, it hasn't. However, you told me in no uncertain terms that you didn't want to hear any more complaining about the Alliance.'

'No more complaints, but that didn't mean I would reject all reports.'

'Yes, it did. All I get is complaints about the Whoresons and their inability to save themselves from the simplest of conflicts.'

'All right, Saliman,' Jubal sighed. 'Perhaps I have discounted the reports too much. Now, can you give me an impartial briefing as to what has been happening?'

The aide paused to collect his thoughts before reporting. 'The Stepsons, as we knew them when they first arrived in town, were hardened warriors, able to not only survive but triumph in most situations involving armed conflict. They were feared but respected by the people of Sanctuary. This has changed radically since our alliance with them. They have grown more quarrelsome, and their ability to defend themselves seems to have diminished nearly to the point of nonexistence. A major portion of our agents' time and energies is being diverted into keeping the Stepsons out of trouble, or saving them when our preventive measures fail.'

The ex-crimelord digested this. 'We both know that field soldiers left in town too long become troublesome as their fighting trim and discipline deteriorate. Is this what's happened to the Stepsons?'

Saliman shook his head. 'Such deterioration would not be so rapid or complete. These warriors could not be more ineffectual if they were trying to lose.'

'You may have the answer there. We know the Stepsons to be fearless, willing to follow Tempus's orders even unto death. They could be testing us, deliberately exposing themselves to danger to measure our intent or ability to honour our alliances. Either that, or there may be more to Tempus's leadership than meets the eye. It has been established that he derives support from at least one god. Perhaps he has found a way to transmit that power to his troops ... a way that has grown tenuous operating at such a distance.'

'Either way, we're still investing too much of our time maintaining a bad alliance.'

'But until we know for sure, we can't tell if it's more to our advantage to keep or dissolve the agreement. Find me the answers and I'll reconsider. Until then, we'll maintain our current position.'

'As you will.'

Jubal smiled as Hakiem was led blindfolded into the room. It was not necessary to wear the hawkmask for this interview, and he was glad, for he wanted an unobstructed view of his guest. Had he not been forewarned, he never would have recognized the old storyteller. He waited until the blindfold had been removed before making his examination, walking slowly around the tale-spinner, while Hakiem stood blinking in the light. New clothes, hair and beard trimmed, the gauntness gone from his rib cage, and ... Yes! The fragrant odour of perfume! Hakiem had bathed!

'I have a job,' the storyteller broke the silence, almost embarrassed by his newfound wealth.

'I know,' Jubal said. 'In the new court, as advisor to the Beysa.'

'If you already knew that, why'd you drag me here all blindfolded,' Hakiem snapped, returning momentarily to his old gutter temper.

'Because I also know you're thinking of quitting.' There were several heartbeats of silence; then the storyteller heaved a sigh. 'So instead of my asking why I'm here, I guess the question is "Why am I quitting?" Is that it?'

'You've put it a bit more bluntly than I would have, but you've captured the essence of the matter.'

Jubal sank into a chair and waved Hakiem to take the seat across from him. '... and help yourself to the wine. We've known each other too long for you to stand on ceremony.'

'Ceremony!' the old tale-spinner snorted, accepting both chair and wine. 'Perhaps that's what bothers me. Like you, I come from the streets and gutters. All the pomp and bother of court life bores me and, if nothing else, my time in Sanctuary has taught me to be impatient with boredom.'

'Money pays for much patience, Hakiem,' Jubal observed. 'That I've learned from this town. Besides, I've had call to discover your beginnings are not as humble as you would have others believe. Come now, the real reason for your discontent.'

'And what business is it of yours? Since when did you concern yourself with my thoughts or livelihood?'

'Information is my business,' the ex-gladiator shot back. 'Especially when it concerns the power structure of this town. You know that. You've sold me rumours often enough. And besides ...' Jubal's voice dropped suddenly, losing its edge of anger and authority. '... Not long ago I considered changing careers. Two men, an old friend and a penniless storyteller, ignored my temper and convinced me to examine my own motives. I haven't paid all my debts in life, but I don't forget them either. Will you let me try to return the favour you paid me? Of being both gadfly and confessor at a time you feel most alone?'

Hakiem stared into his wine for several moments. 'I love this town,' he said finally, 'as you do, though we love it differently and for different reasons. When the foreigners ask me my opinions of the townfolk, to appraise their trustworthiness or weakness, I feel I'm somehow betraying my friends. The gold is nice, but it leaves a slime on me that all the perfumed baths in the world cannot remove.'