"That ain't a him, Timmy. It's two hers. Gossamer and Spidersilk. Top blades from Charm that just took over."
Timmy wasn't listening. "You hear what I said, Timmy? We got two bitches here straight from the Tower. Came in last night. Bad mojo. They're supposed to find out what happened up to the Barrowland. Tomorrow or the next day they're going to borrow a battalion of Nightstalkers and head up there. It's all over town."
Timmy still did not listen close enough to suit.
"You get it? They're going to get up there and find out that somebody messed with that tree. They're going to be out for blood, then."
Timmy ground his teeth a moment, said, "Be good advertising."
"What?"
"Fish says he don't think there's any way they can trace us as long as we just sit tight and keep our mouths shut. Meantime word gets around to all the wizards. Them that's interested will get here and start looking for the spike. Then we put it up for bids."
Smeds was less fond of that idea all the time. Too damned dangerous. But the rest of them, even Fish, were convinced that a sale could be made safely. They didn't believe that all wizards were crazy-mean and liked to screw people and hurt them just for the fun of it.
"It's just a business deal," Tully kept saying. "We sell. They pay off and get the spike. Everybody's happy."
Dumb shit. Everybody would not be happy. There were a skillion wizards and only one silver spike. Every damned one of them was not only going to be trying for it for himself, they were going to be out to make sure nobody else got it first. Whoever did get it might want to cover his tracks so nobody came looking to take it away from him.
Tully kept saying bullshit whenever Smeds started worrying. Even when Smeds reminded him that that was the way wizards carried on in every story you ever heard.
"I think I know where's a guy who can work on your hand, Timmy." Smeds recalled one of his aunts talking about a wizard down on the South Side who was mostly pretty honest and decent as long as you paid him what you owed him.
The street door opened. Light spilled inside. Smeds glanced around, saw the Nightstalker corporal and a couple of his buddies. The corporal raised a friendly hand. Smeds had to reciprocate or look like a shit. Then he had to stay there talking awhile so it didn't look like he was walking out because a bunch of gray boys had walked in. He used the time to tell Timmy about the wizard his aunt knew.
"So you want to try him?" "I'm ready to try anything." "Let's go, then."
The wizard was a smiling, tubby, apple-cheeked little dork with thin white hair that stuck out every which way. He came on like he'd spent his whole life waiting just for them. Smeds understood why his aunt liked the man. She was so sour and ugly that a blind dog would not wait for her except to go away.
Smeds did most of the talking because he did not trust Timmy not to blurt out more than he needed to in his eagerness to get rid of his pain. "Some kind of infection that's turning his hand all black," Smeds said.
"And making it ache," Timmy said. There was a hint of a whine in his voice. Timmy Locan wasn't a whiner.
The wizard said, "Let's open her up and look at it, then." He pulled Timmy's hand down onto his worktable, went after the bandage with a thin, sharp knife. He smiled and chattered as he worked and when he laid the bandage open he said, "It does look a bit nasty, doesn't it?"
It looked a lot nasty to Smeds. He had not seen Timmy's hand unwrapped in a week. The area of blackness had tripled in size. It now covered Timmy's whole palm and had begun to creep round to the back. The blackened flesh had a puffy look.
The wizard leaned down, sniffed. "Funny. Infected flesh usually smells. Close your eyes tight, son." Timmy did and the pudgy man started poking his hand with a needle. "What do you feel when I do this?"
"Just a little pressure. Ouch!" The needle had pricked unblackened flesh.
"Strange. Very strange. I've never seen anything like it, son. Try to relax." The wizard went to a shelf and took down a baroque brass doohickey that was not much more than a one-foot empty circle supported by six eight-inch legs. This he placed astraddle Timmy's hand. He pinched powders and dribbled drops into pockets in the brass gizmo, made with some mumbo jumbo. There was a flash and a puff of noisome smoke. A shimmer like heat off pavement appeared within the confines of the circle. The wizard stared into that. Smeds could not see that it made any difference. But the wizard's smile went away. The color left his cheeks. In a squeaky voice he asked, "What have you boys been into?"
"Huh? What do you mean?" Smeds asked. "Surprised I didn't see it sooner. The mystic stench is there. But who would have thought it? The boy has had his hand on something polluted with the essence of evil. Something pregnant with the blood of darkness. A powerful amulet, perhaps. Some periapt lost in ancient times and just now resurfacing. Something very extraordinary and hitherto unknown in these parts. Have you boys been grave robbing?"
Timmy stared at his hand. Smeds met the wizard's eye but did not say anything.
"You wouldn't have been breaking any laws digging wherever you ran into whatever caused this. But you could get in deep if you don't report it to the imperial legates." "Can you do anything for him?" "They pay good rewards."
"Can you do anything for him?" Smeds demanded. "No. Whatever caused this was created by someone far greater than I am. Assuming it to have been an amulet, the burn can be cured only by someone greater than the man or woman who created the amulet. And that someone would have to have the amulet itself to study before trying to effect a cure."
Shit, Smeds thought. Where were you going to find somebody big enough to undo the Dominator?
You weren't. "What else can you do? If you can't just fix him up?"
"I can remove the tainted flesh. That's all." "What's that mean in plain language?" "I can amputate his hand. Here. At the wrist would do it today. If that's the way you decide to go you'd better do it soon. Once the darkness works its way into the larger bones there won't be any way to tell how far or how fast it's spreading."
"What about it, Timmy?"
"It's my hand, man!"
"You heard what he said."
"I heard. Look, wiz, you got something that will stop the pain long enough for me to think straight?"
The pudgy man said, "I could put a blocking spell on that would help for a while, but it would hurt worse than ever when that wore off. And that's an idea you'd better get into your head. The longer you stall, the worse the pain is going to get. In another ten days you're not going to be able to stop screaming."
Smeds scowled. "Thanks for just not a whole lot. Do the painkiller thing for him and let us go talk it over."
The wizard sprinkled powders, mumbled, made mystic passes. Smeds watched Timmy relax a little, then even manage a feeble smile.
Smeds asked, "That it? Come on, Timmy. Let's hit the road."
The wizard said, "I need to wrap that again. I don't know that it would, but it if came in contact with someone else it might communicate itself. If the original evil was potent enough."
Smeds's insides knotted and curled as he tried to recall if he had ever touched Timmy's hand. He didn't think he had.
He barely waited to get Timmy outside before he asked, "Old Fish ever touch that when he was taking care of you?"
"No. Nobody did. Except that doc I had look at it. He poked it a couple times with his finger."
"Unh." Smeds did not like it. It was getting complicated. He did not like things complicated. Trying to untangle them usually made things worse.
They had to have a sitdown with Tully and Fish. He knew what Tully would want to do: drag Timmy out in the country somewhere, cut his throat, and bury him.
Tully had the soul of a snake. He had to break loose.
The sooner the better. Right now probably wouldn't hurt. Except then how would he get his cut of whatever the spike went for? Shit.