"Pretty yourself," the old woman said. "I'd rather have yer warmina€™ me bed than take your money!"
Sinch laughed with much good nature, giving the granny a kiss on her dirty cheek.
A legless man in a push cart knuckled his way forward, crowding close to Khysmet. Renor stepped in to block his way gently and tossed three silver coins on the beggar's cart.
The man opened his mouth to thank Renor, displaying rotting teeth and a short stump of a tongue. The wet smacking sounds of thanks that came from his mutilated mouth were a horror to someone of Renor's inexperience. Like all Kyranians he'd lived such a sheltered life in the mountains that such things were unknown to him.
Renor suppressed a shudder. Then he felt overwhelmed by guilt for his reaction and pressed two more coins into the beggar's hands.
More horrible noises followed as the legless one pushed in closer. Another beggar stumbled over him, making him lose his balance and reached out wildly, grabbing Khysmet's tail.
The stallion grunted in protest at the rude handling, jerking forward. Several long strands of snow-white hair pulled loose: the legless beggar waved them in Renor's face and spewed more obscene sounds, as if the horse hairs were a fabulous gift.
To Renor's surprise, he heard Palimak shout to him: "Hold that man!"
It was as if all of Renor's brains had run out of his head, because for the life of him he couldn't figure out what Palimak was asking. He gaped about, dismissing the amputee from his mind to look for a man with all his parts.
Then Palimak came rushing up. "The beggar!" he shouted. "The one in the pushcart. Where did he go?"
For the life of him, Renor couldn't figure out why Palimak would be upset about someone so unfortunate that he even lacked legs. But he looked around as he was commanded and to his surprise he realized that the man he'd been ordered to find was gone.
In his stead other beggars were crowding in, crying, "Alms! Alms for the poor!" And, "Baksheesh!
Baksheesh!"
Then he heard Safar call out, "Palimak! Get over here right away!"
And then the whole column became a confusion of soldiers and beggars that tied the road into a knot of chaos.
Tabusir was a patient spy. He didn't mind waiting for his prey to come to him. As a matter of fact, he quite enjoyed the wait, planning many plans, anticipating the split second of enjoyment that came when he snatched a secret from beneath the very noses of his enemies.
Then there was the escape to dream about. The greater thrill was to slip away undiscovered and keep the secret of the encounter deep within your breast. Less exciting was to be discovered and to have to wrest yourself from the wrath of the discoverers.
Oh, to be sure, there was the thrill of the chase. But Tabusir had always considered a chase to be the result of his own failure to remain unobserved.
As all spies know, the ultimate value of a secret diminishes in proportion to the number of people who know it. And it is vastly diminished if the enemy realizes his secret has been revealed.
And so it was that when Palimak shouted, "Hold that man!" Tabusir felt diminished. He'd spent three days and two nights waiting for his chance to steal the secrets of the Timuras.
His scant knowledge of the local customs and dialect had only made his planning more exciting. All he knew came from the fishermen Rhodes had captured and tortured. Although Tabusir considered himself a master at language and its local nuances, the screams and groans of men in pain was no way to learn it.
Instead, he'd concentrated on the looks of the men. Ignoring their pain-twisted countenances, he had focused on their thick dark hair and sun-bronzed bodies. One of the men was toothless and his painful babble could barely be understood. This was what had given Tabusir the inspiration for his disguise.
If he pretended he couldn't speak, Tabusir reasoned, then he wouldn't be able to give himself away by using a faulty accent. To make sure people would think he was mute, he made a little device to fit over his tongue which gave it the appearance of being a stump. To further revolt anyone looking at him, he blackened his teeth with charcoal so they looked as if they were rotting.
Then all he had to do was dye his hair and stain his body with walnut juice so he'd look like a native and be able to mingle with the other beggars of Hadin. The cart, which he'd carried with him from Syrapis for just this purpose, had a false bottom that hid his legs.
Tabusir had landed on the island at night and had hidden the little boat among some rocks. Then he'd waited for Safar's arrival. It was the main topic of conversation among all the beggars. There was much excitement and anticipation of how charitable the great King Timura would be. Everyone also knew their queen would escort Safar to the Castle of the Two Kings and there was much dispute over the best place to wait for him.
When the day finally came, Tabusir followed the other beggars up the long road and took his place among them. When they'd seen his mutilated tongue no one questioned Tabusir's right to be with them.
As the grand procession moved past the beggars it had taken the sharp-eyed spy only a few minutes to realize that Safar was blind. It was the way Timura carried himself that'd given him away: a certain stiffness of the head, with the eyes staring blankly forward no matter what happened.
For instance, when he'd called his two men forward to disperse the silver coins, he hadn't looked at them when they came running up. Nor had he looked left or right as the beggars crowded close, crying for alms and singing Safar's praises.
The moment he caught Safar out, Tabusir had realized that even if he came up with nothing else for his king Rhodes would be mightily pleased with the outcome of Tabusir's mission. The spy smiled in anticipation of the fat purse of gold he'd receive as a reward.
Rhodes had also directed Tabusir to try to get his hands on some personal item from either Safar or his great horse. The coins the soldiers had dispensed might not meet that qualification, since there was a chance Safar himself had never handled them.
So he'd gone for the stallion, pretending clumsiness, then grabbing a few long hairs from the animal's tail as he struggled to regain his balance.
But then he'd heard Palimak shout and his perfect mission had been spoiled.
Now, as he sprinted down the road toward the place where he'd hidden his boat, he burned with resentment. What could have given him away? How had his clever disguise failed him? Then it came to him that Palimak-well-known for his powerful wizardry-must have used magic to ferret Tabusir out.
Yes, that was the answer: Magic.
Still, it didn't make him feel any better. Perfection was his constant goal and Palimak had marred that perfection. But then, as he pulled the boat from the rocky cove, he wondered why no else had pursued him? It didn't make sense. Palimak had somehow discovered Tabusir's presence and yet he hadn't sent anyone after the spy.
Tabusir pondered on this while rowing toward Rhodesa€™ island hideout. The only answer he came up with was that something more important must have distracted Palimak.
The spy cursed himself for running away so quickly. He should have found a hiding place nearby to see what was so important to the young prince. As he thought about this he recalled Safar shouting something to Palimak. But Tabusir had been too busy getting away to hear what was being said.
He stopped paddling. For a long moment he seriously considered turning back. He could easily adopt some other disguise and again attempt to get close to the Timuras. But then he thought of Palimak's magic and decided against this plan. The young prince would be wary now he knew an enemy had come within assassination distance of his father.
Tabusir started paddling again. He wouldn't tell Rhodes about being discovered. There was no sense in spoiling his king's respect for his abilities.