“We’ve drawn the third slot for tonight!” she announced, sure that her news bore the same critical importance for them that it did for her.
For her sake they both pretended it did and joined her in the harsh green limelight to begin warming up their voices. A few moments later, Pelmen slipped quietly away to paint his face the color of the moon.
Pezi belched. Now it wasn’t unusual for the obese merchant to belch in fact, some of those who knew him argued that he never uttered a sentence without punctuating it with a burp. What was unusual was that Pezi had a miserable bellyache. Pezi’s stomach rarely ever bothered him it had swelled to enormous proportions long ago to accommodate the triple platefuls of food the merchant gorged down at every meal, and it no longer troubled to register any protest at such routine ill-treatment But Pezi’s latest hinge had been monumental. It had amazed every occupant of Tohn’s castle. Nor was it over; a half-empty platter of roast beef lay on the bed beside him. On the floor next to his bed sat a pitcher of ale. On the cabinet just beyond the pitcher, a towering sandwich leaned, threatening to topple at any moment. In his hand was a raw white onion, which he munched between belches as if it were an apple. Pezi had a problem. And when he had a problem, he ate.
Like most of Pezi’s problems, this one concerned his uncle Flayh. He and his uncle fled Lamath on the day. the dragon died, fearing reprisals from Pelmen the Prophet Since they were merchants of the House of Ognadzu, they had found refuge here, in the family castle administered by Pezi’s uncle Tohn. The ensuing months had been tense, as Flayh and Tohn had wrestled for control of the family’s fortunes, but it had really been no contest. Though this was Tohn’s castle, and its occupants were from his line of the family, Tohn suffered from a weak heart. The combination of a harsh winter and unceasing tension proved too much for the old warrior. They’d buried him in the snow.
Once firmly in control again, Flayh had returned with a passion to what had once been his favorite hobby he’d involved them in the politics of Chaomonous. Not that Pezi minded that at all he rather enjoyed dabbling in politics himself, and staunchly believed that the House of Ognadzu needed to reassert its dominance over the Chaon markets. While he and his uncle had been manipulating events in Lamath or trying to the rival House of Uda had established a virtual monopoly in Chaomonous, and it truly irked Pezi to have to buy his favorite candies from the competition. This very moment, a plot launched by Flayh was supposed to be bearing fruit they’d contracted with Adraon Faye to steal Bronwynn from the dungeon of Queen Ligne. But that was Pezi’s problem. Where war Ad-mon Faye? And why hadn’t he contacted them?
Pezi got up to pace the floor. Two paces convinced him he’d better lie back down again. Three days ago, Flayh had told him, “Keep me aware of every development.” Then he had disappeared into Tohn’s old library and hadn’t come out again. That concerned Pezi. Before they left Lamath, the old man had been showing definite signs of mental instability and also signs of budding shaper power. It really didn’t matter to Pezi whether the old goat was a power shaper or was crazy both possibilities gave him the hives.
“Is he in there practicing his magic?” Pezi belched at his onion. “Or has his mind come unpeeled?” Or, he thought without saying it, has he gone to join Tohn wherever the dead gather? He stifled that thought which was really more of a hope and tried to fill his mind with something else. Flayh had also learned a bit about reading minds.
So what was Pezi to do? Interrupt his uncle to inform him merely that there was no news? Keep waiting until Admon Faye chose to notify them of his success or failure? Eat another sandwich? Truly a dilemma.
Pezi definitely did not wish to interrupt Flayh. He thoroughly enjoyed his uncle’s periods of absence. Yet if he didn’t interrupt him, and Flayh was expecting him to… Pezi sighed. Then he rolled off the bed and waddled toward the door, shoving piles of wadded garments aside with every step. He stopped with his hand on the door-latch did he really want to do this? “Might as well,” he grunted. He knew if he lay back down he’d only have to eat some more. He took one more bite of his onion and stuffed the rest into his pocket. Then he shuffled out into the hall and made his way to the door of Flayh’s study. He hesitated there, steeling himself against the expected flood of colorful curses that always greeted him when he disturbed his uncle, and knocked on Flayh’s door. No reply. He knocked again, a bit louder. Still no reply came from within the room. He crouched down to plant his ear on the keyhole, but could hear nothing. Straightening himself back upright no mean task in itself he put his weight behind the blows and pounded a chubby fist against the oaken barrier. Then he stepped back out of the way, so he wouldn’t be clobbered when Flayh came boiling out.
Nothing happened. Pezi began to be concerned. He tried the door latch with little enthusiasm, sure that Flayh had locked it from within. As expected, it was locked.
“Now what am I going to do?” Pezi mumbled. Then he recalled seeing a ring full of keys dangling from the belt of the castle’s seneschal. He hurried away to find the man. He was trying not to get his hopes up
… He puffed around the corner into the seneschal’s office, his cheeks turning the color of ripening plums, and skidded to a stop before the man’s desk.
“Yes?” the seneschal asked rudely. Flayh’s treatment of Tohn mod Neelis had created an abundance of ill will toward Pezi and his uncle.
The castle staff feared Flayh far too much to reveal it to him. The bumbling Pezi felt the brunt of their displeasure.
“I need your keys,” he demanded, thrusting his palm in the seneschal’s face.
“My keys!” the man snapped. “Whatever for?”
“My uncle’s been locked within the library for three days. He could be dead for all we know.”
“I’ll turn blue before I give you my key ring!” the seneschal spat savagely.
Pezi shoved his nose into the man’s face and bellowed, “I said, give me the keys!” Pezi didn’t expect the reaction he received, for the seneschal very nearly did turn blue. He choked, coughed twice, then thrust his keys into Pezi’s palm and bolted from the room. Pezi straightened up, a bit puzzled but thoroughly pleased. “I guess I told him,” he muttered as he turned to saunter back down the hall, his confidence boosted by this quick response to his firm authority. He never gave a thought to the onion in his pocket that had made it all possible.
After several attempts, he found a key that turned the lock, jerked open the door with a mighty heave and stepped inside. He knew immediately it was a mistake.
Candles and smoke were the first things he saw an abundance of candles that filled the room with flickering light. Then he glimpsed Flayh, who had for the first time noticed him. The old man’s bald pate glowed in the eerie illumination, and so did his beady eyes. Flayh’s expression in that first brief instant was one of desperate surprise Pezi had caught him with his magical pants down. A split second later a horrified Pezi stared down the throat of a savage dog, who hurtled through space toward his neck. Pezi shrieked and fell backward. To his great good fortune, the lean gray animal slammed nose first into his tummy and bounced head over heels into the courtyard. Pezi saw the dog bounce out, but it was Flayh who rushed back inside, slamming the door behind him. He regarded his nephew with wide-eyed surprise.
“I did it!” he gasped.
“You almost did it,” Pezi gasped back, as both hands sought out his threatened throat. He had to plow through a series of chins to get to it.