Because she moved with the mystic grace immanent in the flesh of those of the Favoured Blood. Because she was of a line of kings, and therefore possessed a share of divinity. She was the woman of his dreams.
On introduction, he had no immediate chance to profess his love, for three hundred others were waiting to kiss her hand. Afterwards, however, they dined alfresco, choosing food at liberty from the buffet spread beneath a marquee on the banks of the Velvet River at a spot some half a league east of Selzirk, and Sarazin shortly seized his chance to accost her. 'Amantha,' he said. 'I know my name' she said tartly.
It was not an auspicious beginning. Already she was turning away from him.
'But you don't know mine,' he said. 'It's Sean. Sean Sarazin.'
'Oh yes, I've heard of you,' said Amantha. 'You're the washerwoman's bastard.'
"No, no,' said Sarazin, desperately. You're confusing me with someone else. That's Benthorn you're thinking of. Benthorn, my half-brother. I'm Farfalla's son.'
He was close enough to breathe the perfume from the silken sachet hanging at her neck.
'I was not mistaken, then,' said Amantha. You're the son of a farrier.'
'The kingmaker's son! Farfalla's son! And – and I love you!' You what!?' she said, half gasping, half laughing. 'I love you!'
'How can you?' she said. 'I am a princess and you a peasant.' 'I must die unless I can have you,' said Sarazin. 'Die, then,' she said, indifferent to his fate. He seized her hand in his. 'Fair lady,' he said, 'I pray, hear me out.' 'Oh, what style it has!' said Amantha.
She pursed her lips for a kiss, raised Sarazin's hand to her lips – then bit it. Hard. Sarazin jerked his hand away. And Amantha, laughing, flirted away into the midst of a gaggle of hard-drinking cavalry officers.
She had a nice grasp of the political realities. While the Harvest Plains were more powerful than Chenameg,
Sarazin commanded none of that power in his own right, and never would. His prospects were zero.
A little later, Lod of Chenameg caught up with Sarazin, and asked how Sarazin had made out. 'Amantha,' said Sarazin, "bit me.'
'Oh, doubtless she was in one of her little moods,' said Lod.
Tell me about these little moods,' said Sarazin. 'How long do they last for?' 'A few days,' said Lod. 'How many is a few?' 'Any number less than twenty.'
'So she sulks, then,' said Sarazin. 'In a very professional way, by the sound of it. Has anyone tried using a whip on her?'
'Sarazin, my man!' cried Lod. What a delicious thought! You're a genius. But, alas – the world so seldom appreciates true talent. Indeed, I suspect your genius in action might get us both arrested. Come, there's no joy for us here. Let's be away.'
So the pair saddled up, quit the riverside buffet and set off for Selzirk. 'How did you find Tarkal?' said Sarazin.
Tarkal's health was of course a matter of intense interest, since only his death would let Amantha ascend the throne of Chenameg.
'Tarkal I found fiery,' said Lod. 'A dragon in his eye. Methinks my head was gripped in the jaws of that dragon.' 'Dragonising apart, how did he treat you?'
'In truth, we scarcely spoke two words. But the way he looked at me… it bodes ill for the future.' 'You still think he means to kill you?' Think!' said Lod. 'I know it! Murder is his middle name.'
On reaching Selzirk, they rode through the streets of Wake to Kesh, walked their horses through the crush of people shuffling through that gate-tower, won their way through to Santrim then rode through that elegant quarter to Farfalla's palace.
There they returned their horses (theirs to borrow, though technically the kingmaker's property) to the stables, then walked back to Kesh and then on to Lod's favourite watering hole, a smoke-sour tavern in Jone where the rough-brawling inhabitants of the city's dockside quarter came to gamble and get drunk.
In that maze of barracks, brothels, shipyards and bars, of tenement slumlands, thieves' dens and rat- rule warehouses, Sarazin was safer than when at home. In Farfalla's palace, he was ever watched by spies from the Regency – but few such would dare to follow him into Jone, most dangerous of the Four Worlds of Selzirk.
That, at least, was the theory advanced by Lod when the rascal first tempted Sarazin into the slum streets. Later, Sarazin had realised he was watched always and every- where, regardless of the dangers of his environment. Still, he had to admit he sometimes found the atmosphere in Farfalla's palace claustrophobic, and was glad to escape to the free and easy dockside life.
These excursions were not really reckless, for Sarazin was too poor to be mugged for his money, since Farfalla gave him only a trifling allowance. He was not pretty enough to be kidnapped for the sake of his flesh. He carried weapons from habit, and knew how to use them. And, most important of alclass="underline" Lod had many friends in Jone. Heavymen, bouncers and gateguards would protect Sarazin, for Lod's sake, if the going ever got rough.
For a while Lod and Sarazin sat brooding over a couple of beers, playing a desultory game of cards. Sarazin won a few dorths off Lod.
'It's getting late,' said Lod at length. 'Shall we liven the evening?' 'How so?' said Sarazin.
There's cock fighting at the Vampire's Stake tonight. Want to come along?'
'Not this evening,' said Sarazin. 'I've an appointment with a fortune teller.'
'The one to whom I introduced you?' said Lod. 'Madam Ix?' 'The same,' said Sarazin.
Idly, he wondered if Lod got a cut from the money he paid out to these palmists and shadow-thinkers. But Lod put his mind to rest by his very next words.
"You should beware,' said Lod. These people always overcharge. Never part with so much as a dorth if you're short of full satisfaction.' You're a fund of good advice,' said Sarazin. That,' said Lod, 'is the source of my pride.'
So Sarazin was certain Lod was honest. But even if Lod had been in the pay of the fortune tellers to whom he introduced Sarazin, it would still have been necessary for Sarazin to use their services. For how else could he find out why he was not succeeding in life?
There was so much he wanted so very very badly. Power. Fame. Prestige. Honour. Glory. And money money money. But none of it was coming his way. Indeed, wherever he turned his prospects seemed to be blocked by insuperable barriers. However, he knew there had to be a way to get what he wanted.
For, after all, since we have free will, all things are possible. Furthermore, possession of free will makes us entirely responsible for our lives. Everything happens to us by our own choice.
'All I want, then,' said Sarazin to himself, 'is a little advice on how to take responsibility for myself. That's not asking too much, is it now?'
Madam Ix did not dwell in the slumlands of Jone, but resided to the north, in Wake, hard up by Ol Unamon (the inner battle-wall of Selzirk). Her house was right next to the Seventh College of the Inner Circle of the Fish-Star Astrologers – just across the road from Wargol's Statue Hire and Thatcher's Slave Correction Services. When Sarazin entered her chambers, joss sticks were 66 burning, scenting the air with mysterious perfumes. Candlelight stirred shadows in dusty corners. Quarles the owl – to whom Sarazin was introduced with a consider- able degree of ceremony – sat on Madam Lx's shoulder. Blinking.
'Sit you down, young Sarazin,' said Madam Ix, patting her powdered wig, which was adorned with three dozen fishbones. Sarazin sat. What is it you wish to know?' said Madam Ix. "The future,' said Sarazin.
Then he crossed her palm with silver in the time- approved manner. It is often averred that Money, like Music, hath Powers; what is beyond dispute is that professional powers of prognosis can seldom be made to work without it.
There was a pause while Madam Ix tossed the yarrow sticks, consulted the Book, sacrificed a pinch of salt to the Sacred Goldfish, engaged in telepathic communion with Quarles the owl, then orientated her turtle-shell knife towards north.