Zallin had stayed on, putting up with Vond’s behavior, tolerating his…his evil, in hopes of getting his own warlockry back, but now that he had had time to do some serious thinking about this, and some serious drinking to try to make it work out, he was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that if serving Vond was required to be a warlock again, it wasn’t worth it. Not even if the oushka held out, which didn’t look likely.
Right now Vond was on the other side of that tapestry, but he might reappear at any time and start ordering Zallin to run his errands again, and Zallin did not want to run the emperor’s errands.
Sterren had not wanted to serve Vond anymore, so he had simply disappeared. He had taken his luggage and vanished into the city streets. Vond had complained and called Sterren a traitor, but he had not done anything about it. He had not gone looking for Sterren, or demanded his return. Several of the other former warlocks who had initially pledged to obey Vond had also quietly slipped away. No one had wanted to be purser or envoy for the emperor; they had wanted to be warlocks. When it began to look as if, despite his promises, Vond wasn’t ever going to permit that, they had left.
If Zallin disappeared in the same fashion, would Vond do anything more? Zallin could not see why he would. Vond didn’t care about him; Vond didn’t care about anyone but himself. He wanted a few people around to run his errands, but he didn’t care whether it was Sterren, or Hanner, or Zallin, or Gerath who ran them, just so long as someone did.
In fact, now that he had his band of sword-wielding hirelings, Vond would probably find Zallin more of a nuisance than a help, and anyone Vond considered a nuisance was likely to wind up injured or dead. Zallin thought bitterly that Vond’s chief bully-boy Gerath was more likely to become a new warlock than he was.
The time had come, Zallin decided, to get out, while he had the chance. He turned and headed for the stairs.
A few moments later he was in the room he had been using since Vond usurped the master’s chamber, where he was gathering his belongings into bags and bundles. The entire time he was packing he was listening nervously for sounds from upstairs, for any hint that Vond had returned. He was ready to make a run for it without his baggage, if necessary.
But it wasn’t necessary. He was able to get everything vital stowed into two bags, a large one he slung over his shoulder, and a small one he carried in his other hand. The rest he shoved into the empty closet, in case he ever had a chance to retrieve it. Half an hour after reaching his decision to leave he was in the front hall, wrapped in his winter coat and with a broad-brimmed hat pulled down to his ears, reaching for the door.
That was when someone knocked, startling him so badly he dropped his bags. He stood frozen, staring at the white-painted wood.
When nothing more happened he glanced into the parlor, then peered into the dining room, and saw no one. He knew most of Hanner’s guests had fled, and Vond’s hirelings were all upstairs, but he was still somewhat startled to see no one else around. Uncertainly, he reached out and opened the door.
A young woman was standing on the front step, and while Zallin knew immediately that he had seen her before, it took a moment to place her. Eventually, though, he realized that this was the whore Vond had brought back from Camptown. She was wearing a long cloak that was entirely appropriate for the weather, but which hid her bright clothing and made identification more difficult. “Yes?” Zallin said.
“Hanner told me to come back for my pay,” she said. “Well, actually, he told me to go find his sister at the overlord’s palace, but I’m not about to swim out to that sandbar and try climbing up the stone. So I’m here, and I want my money.”
“Hanner isn’t here,” Zallin said. “At least, I don’t think he is.”
“Hanner isn’t the one who owes me,” she said. “That skinny warlock who calls himself an emperor is.”
“He’s not here, either,” Zallin began.
“You are,” she snapped. “And you were with him in Camptown, too. I saw you. You started to talk to me.”
“Yes, I remember,” Zallin said.
“So you can pay me.”
Zallin closed his eyes. He did not need this right now. He wanted to get out of Warlock House and away from High Street before Vond reappeared. He opened his eyes again and said, “I wasn’t the one who hired you.”
“You work for him.”
“But I don’t -”
She cut him off. “You know what? I don’t care who you are, or what you do. You’re here in the warlock’s house. You can pay me, or you can find someone who’ll pay me, or I can start screaming for the city guard – and in case you hadn’t noticed, there are at least a dozen guardsmen in the street out front. Which will it be?”
“Fine,” Zallin said, reaching for his smaller bag. He had packed up a good bit of the Council’s treasury – not all of it, because he did not want Vond labeling him a thief and finding additional motive to look for him, but more than half, since after all, no one other than himself knew how much money had been there to begin with. It wouldn’t be missed, as long as he left a believable sum. “How much?”
“Five rounds.”
Zallin closed his eyes again, and sighed. He did not bother to doubt her; Vond had almost certainly agreed to her price, no matter how outrageous it was. After all, he didn’t intend to actually earn his money; he would simply take it, since no one could stop him.
“I’m waiting,” the woman said.
“Yes,” Zallin said, opening his bag and digging for a purse. A moment later he counted forty bits into the woman’s waiting hand. He had to stop after twenty, though, so she could transfer the money to a purse of her own, somewhere under that heavy brown cloak; forty was more than she could hold in both palms.
When he had finished he tucked the purse away, and when he looked up again the whore was grinning at him. “Thank you,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder whether I’d ever really get it.”
“Well, you did,” Zallin said, picking up his baggage. “I wouldn’t suggest coming back for another night, though. I’m leaving, and I think Hanner’s already gone, and no one else around here is likely to keep his Imperial Majesty honest.”
“I wasn’t planning to come back,” she said. “Oh, it was quite an experience, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, but he’s crazy and he’s dangerous.”
Zallin nodded. “Yes, he is.”
“He smashed right through the ceiling when I was here, and hung naked in the air. It was amazing.”
“So I heard.”
She looked at his bags. “You’re leaving? Where are you going?”
Zallin opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. He frowned. “I don’t really know,” he admitted.
“I know a cheap inn in Eastgate. I can show you.”
“That sounds as good a place as any. Thanks.” He slung the larger bag over his shoulder, and together the two of them marched out the door onto High Street.
As they walked eastward they chatted idly, their breath visible in the chilly air. Zallin finally managed to remember the woman’s name, Leth of Pawnbroker Lane. He had been drunk when he heard it before, but it came back eventually.
“When Vond and I were in Camptown,” Zallin remarked, “most people were avoiding us – with good reason. Why didn’t you?”
“There was money to be made,” she said. She hefted the fat purse under her cloak to emphasize her point. “Throwing people around reduced the competition.”
“Weren’t you worried it would reduce your lifespan, as well?”
She turned up an empty palm. “Not really,” she said. “I knew he wouldn’t kill me.”