‘I think that one missed me, Em.’
‘The stars are fire, and fires eventually burn out.’
‘If they’re burned out, why are the priests still arguing about them?’
‘Because they don’t know that they’ve burned out.’
‘All they have to do is look, Em.’
‘It doesn’t quite work that way, Althalus. The stars are a lot farther away than people realize, and it takes a long time for their light to reach us. Probably about half of what you see when you look up at night isn’t really there any more. To put it another way, the priests are trying to predict the future by looking at the ghosts of dead stars.’
Althalus shrugged. ‘It gives them something to do, I suppose.’ He looked around at the ruined buildings and rubble-strewn streets. The robed and cowled priests were moving about singly or in small groups, but there were more conventionally dressed men in Awes as well. He saw one man who’d set up what appeared to be a shop next to a partially collapsed wall. The man had a rough table with pots, pans and kettles on it.
‘Welcome friends,’ the fellow said hopefully, rubbing his hands together. ‘Look and buy. Look and buy. I have the best pots and kettles in all of Awes, and my prices are the lowest you’ll find in any shop here.’
‘Be careful, Althalus,’ Emmy murmured. ‘That’s Khnom. He works for Ghend.’
‘Then Ghend knew that we were coming here?’
‘Maybe not. He might have just spread his agents out to watch for us. Fix Khnom’s face in your mind. We’ll probably run across him again.’
‘Was there anything in particular you were looking for, friend?’ the ostensible merchant asked. He was a small-sized man, and he seemed to be very careful not to look Althalus in the eye.
‘Actually, I need some information, neighbor,’ Althalus replied. ‘I’m not familiar with the proprieties here in Awes. Can I just set up shop in any ruined building that’s empty?’
‘That wouldn’t be a good idea,’ the merchant advised. ‘Most of the business that goes on here in Awes takes place in this middle part of town, and the white-robes who control it sort of expect a “donation” from you before you open for business.’
‘A bribe, you mean?’
I wouldn’t use that word to their faces. Pretend to be some religious simpleton. All priests love feeble-minded parishioners.’ Khnom cast a sly, sidelong glance at Althalus to see how his somewhat sacrilegious remark had gone over.
Althalus kept his face bland. ‘What are their feelings about us pitching our tents at the back of the shop?’ he asked.
‘They’d rather that we didn’t – and you probably wouldn’t want to. They pray a lot, and they’re noisy about it. The rest of us businessmen have a sort of community over by what’s left of the east wall of the city.’
‘How do these priests get the money to buy anything?’
‘They sell horoscopes to gullible people who believe in that nonsense, and they charge a fairly steep price.’
‘Good. They swindle their parishioners, and then we swindle them. I love doing business with a man who devoutly believes he’s more clever than I am. Thanks for the information.’
‘Glad I could help. Do you need any pots or pans?’
‘Not right at the moment, no. Thanks all the same.’
‘He knows who you are, Althalus,’ Emmy’s voice warned.
‘Yes, I know. He’s clever, I’ll give him that, but he’s not really a merchant.’
‘How did you know that?’
‘He didn’t once ask me what line I was in. That’s the first question any merchant asks. No merchant wants a competitor right across the street. Should we get rid of him? Eliar and I could kill him right now.’
‘No. You two aren’t the ones who are supposed to deal with Khnom. Just be careful around him, that’s all.’
‘Where do we go now?’ Eliar asked.
‘There’s a merchant community over by the east wall,’ Althalus replied. ‘We’ll set up camp there and start looking for the one we want first thing in the morning.’
‘Could you make me some soap?’ Eliar asked as they led their horses off down the rubble-strewn street.
‘Probably. Why?’
‘Emmy wants me to take a bath. Is that the first thing that pops into every woman’s mind? Every time I’d visit my mother back home, those were usually the first words that came out of her mouth.’
‘You don’t like bathing, I take it?’
‘Oh, I’ll bathe if it really gets necessary, but once a week’s usually enough, isn’t it? Unless you’ve been cleaning the stables, of course.’
‘Emmy’s got a very sharp nose, Eliar. Let’s neither of us go out of our way to offend her.’
‘You too, Althalus,’ Emmy’s voice murmured.
‘I don’t need a bath, Em,’ he silently protested.
‘You’re wrong. You definitely need a bath. You’ve been riding for several weeks now, and you’ve got a very horsey fragrance about you. Bathe. Soon. Please.’
They started out early the following morning, and after a few awkward starts Eliar became more proficient. His open, boyish face helped quite a bit as he hopefully approached each hooded priest with his question. Most of the priests, Althalus noticed, refused to come right out and admit that they couldn’t read the alien script carved into the Knife-blade Eliar showed them. Their usual response was a brusque, ‘I’m too busy for that kind of nonsense.’ Several they encountered, however, offered to translate – for a price. One hollow-eyed fanatic launched a blistering denunciation, declaring that any script that he couldn’t read was obviously the handwriting of the devil himself.
Althalus and Eliar left him in the middle of the street still preaching to nobody in particular.
‘Here comes another one,’ Eliar said quietly. ‘Maybe we can start making wagers about what they’ll say when I show them the Knife. This one looks like an “I’m too busy” sort of fellow to me.’
‘I’d put him in the “I’ll have to charge you for a reading” crowd,’ Althalus replied, grinning.
‘What gives him away?’
‘He’s cock-eyed. He’s got one eye on the sky watching for Deiwos and the other on the ground looking for a penny that somebody might have dropped.’
‘I just hope he’s not like the last one. The next one who calls my Knife an instrument of the devil is going to get my fist in his face.’
The priest approaching them up the empty street had a gaunt, hungry look about him, and his disconnected eyes and wild hair gave him the appearance of a lunatic. His shabby brown robe was filthy, and there was a powerful odor about him.
‘Excuse me, your worship,’ Eliar said politely, going up to the cock-eyed holy man. ‘I just bought this Knife and it seems to have some kind of writing on the blade. I never got around to learning how to read, so I can’t tell what it says. Could you help me out?’
‘Let me see it,’ the priest growled in a harsh, rasping voice.
Eliar held out his laurel-leaf dagger.
