Mocker was easily frightened. Sajac had kept him afraid for years. But the constant pressure had schooled him to control his fear.
He was scared silly when he led his donkey into the encampment, pretending less familiarity with the desert tongue than he possessed.
"Go away, vagabond," a sentry told him.
Mocker just looked puzzled and, more brokenly than usual, claimed a right to use the spring. He offered to entertain the band in return for his supper.
He had learned some of the desert tongue during his half-forgotten trek down the coast of the Sea of Kotsum, and had picked up more while traveling with Haroun. He understood most of what was being said around him.
Thus it was that, shortly after the Invincible commander let him lay out his bedroll, he learned who the children were.
Malicious glee almost overcame him.
They were the spawn of the Disciple himself! Ah, but weren't the Fates playing a curious game? The general at Dunno Scuttari, el-Kader, had ordered them moved to the safety of the Sahel. He was concerned about the approach of the northern army.
What sweet opportunity! The children of El Murid! He nearly forgot his fear.
His devilish mind began darting around like a whole swarm of gnats. How best to exploit this chance encounter?
First he would have to infatuate the children and attach himself to their party.
How? The Invincibles were keeping them carefully segregated.
He opened his packs as evening settled in. He joined some of the younger Invincibles at their campfire. Sealing his eyes, he commenced the dexterity drills he had so often cursed Sparen for forcing upon him. They amounted to little more than making a common object—a copper coin in this case—appear and disappear between his fingers.
"Sorcery!" someone muttered. Mocker heard the fear in the voice.
He opened his eyes, smiled gently. "Oh, no, my friend. No witchcraft. Is simplest trick of prestidigitation. See? Coin is on back of hand. Is finger game. Watch." He pulled a short stick from the fire and made it appear and disappear, slowly and clumsily enough for the warriors to get the drift. "You see?"
Stage magicians were not unknown in the desert, but they had shown no eagerness to perform since El Murid's ascension. The Disciple's followers were too sensitive about sorcery.
"Hey! I think I saw it," said a warrior. "Do it again, would you?" The man squatted in order to see better.
"Self, am humblest of entertainers," Mocker said. "Have been perilously buffeted by winds of war."
"Got you," the warrior said. "That's neat. Could you teach me how to do it? I've got a kid brother who would love something like that."
Mocker shrugged. "Self, can try. But take warning. Is more difficult of achieving than looks betray. Takes much practice. Self, am professional, yet must practice two hours daily."
"That's all right. Just the coin trick. Come on." The warrior, who was hardly older than Mocker, produced a coin of his own. Several others crowded around, equally interested.
Within twenty minutes that fat youth had three students and an audience of a dozen. The watchers taunted the trainees whenever their fingers betrayed them. Mocker provided a natter of invented self-history with his instructions. His biography was an epic of how the war, in the form of marauding Guildsmen, had robbed him of his position as jester to a minor Libianninese nobleman. The Guildsmen, he claimed, had erroneously concluded that the knight was collaborating with the Scourge of God. They had hung the man and burned his manor.
Mocker claimed that only a miraculous escape had saved him from the same fate.
"So uncivilized, this west! Understand that war is facet of mankind. Have studied with leading philosophers and know same. But barbarisms practised by combatants here... Self, am soured on whole end of earth. Am determined to return to east of childhood, where sanity reigns supreme."
The Invincibles took no offense. He seemed to be condemning their enemies more than themselves.
Their captain heard most of the tale. Mocker kept a close, if surreptitious, eye on the man, but could not detect a reaction. His fireside companions seemed satisfied, but their opinions were not critical. The captain's was.
Then he noticed the face in the shadows. A girl's face. How long had she been watching? And listening?
"Enough of teaching now. Is boring for soldiers out in wilderness, maybeso? Self, will do show. Same being entertaining enough, audience might reward self with copper or two to sustain same during hardship of eastward journey, maybeso." He recovered the rest of his tools and props.
He relied heavily on the stage magic, but after a while broke it up with Tubal and Polo. His audience did not respond. The Children of Hammad al Nakir were not familiar with urban-rural conflicts, and were too conservative to appreciate the ribaldry.
"No fun at all, these people," Mocker muttered to himself. "No imagination. Men of friend Haroun howled at same stories."
Two faces now watched from the shadows. He returned to the stage magic, carefully playing to that select audience.
He studied the children as much as he dared, feeling for something that might reach them. He thought the girl was the one he would win. The boy seemed sour, surly and impossible to impress.
He thought wrong. The boy was the one who defied the captain's glare and came to the fireside. "Can you teach me those tricks?" he demanded.
Mocker scanned the faces of the Invincibles. He found no guideposts. He spread his hands, shrugged. "Maybeso. All things are possible with faith. Show self hands."
"What?"
"Hands. Self, must see hands to say if true skill can be developed."
Sidi offered his hands. Mocker took them, studied their backs, then their palms. "Training is possible," he announced. "Fingers are thin enough. But not very long. Will be problem. Will require much hard practice. Get coin. Will begin... "
"Some other time," the captain said. "He needs his sleep now. We've spent too long on this as it is."
Mocker shrugged. "Am sorry, young sir."
Sidi glared at the captain. Suddenly, he whirled and stamped toward his sister. Mocker thought he heard a muttered, "I never get anything I want."
Mocker turned in with the warriors, but was a long time falling asleep. What had gone wrong? Was it too late to do something more? They would travel on in the morning, leaving him here to watch opportunity vanish into the badlands... Did he dare try something tonight? No. That would be suicidal. That damned captain would cut him down before he got out of his bedroll.
The captain wakened him next morning. He had been lying there half awake, trying to ignore the racket made by the rising warriors. "Pack your things, Entertainer," he ordered. "You're coming with us."
"Eh? Hai! Not into desert. Am bound for... "
The captain glared. "So you'll make a detour. The one you were were fishing for. That's what last night was all about, wasn't it? So drop the pretense. Pack your things. You've found your new sponsor."
Mocker stared at the ground. He fought fear. This man was dangerously perceptive.
The captain leaned closer. "The Lord Sidi and Lady Yasmid insist on having you. I won't defy them. But I'll be watching, fat man. One misstep and you're dead."
Mocker shook all over. He had had no illusions before, but with the captain having voiced his suspicion he became more terrified than ever. He rushed to his donkey. He irritated the captain further when the party got under way. He was the only one walking. But Sidi took a proprietary interest in him, shielding him from the Invincible, acting like a child with a new pet.
Mocker faked smiles and mumbled to himself, "Am going to repay this patronization with compound interest, Lord."