This is
excellent,” I enthused again as Sahra summoned Murgen once
more. She herself betrayed no enthusiasm for the task. Tobo’s
hovering did nothing to improve her temper. “Before he does
anything else, I want to have him check on Surendranath
Santaraksita.”
“So you don’t trust the librarian after all,”
One-Eye said. He chuckled.
“I think he’s all right but why hand him a chance to
break my heart if I can avoid it by keeping an eye on
him?”
“How come it’s got to be my eye?”
“There’s not a sharper one available, is there? And
you already turned down a chance to work on the Annals. I’ve
got to do some heavy studying in those tonight. I might be on the
track of something.”
The little wizard grunted.
“I think I found something at the library today. If
Santaraksita doesn’t trip me up, I may have an outside view
of the first coming of the Company by the end of the week.”
An independent historical source has been a goal almost as long as
has been our desire for a look at uncontaminated editions of the
earliest three volumes of the Annals.
Sahra had something else on her mind. “Barundandi wants me
to bring Sawa to work, Sleepy.”
“No. Sawa is on hiatus. She’s sick. She has cholera,
if that’s what it takes. I’m finally starting to make
some real headway. I’m not going to let that slide
now.”
“He’s also been asking about Shiki.” Back when
Tobo had accompanied his mother to the Palace occasionally, she had
called him Shikhandini, which was a joke Jaul Barundandi never got
because he was not the sort to pay attention to historical
mythology. One of the kings of legendary Hastinapur had had a
senior wife who seemed to be barren. A good Gunni, he prayed and
made sacrifice faithfully, and eventually one of the gods stepped
down from heaven to tell him he could have what he wanted, which
was a son, but he was going to get it the hard way, for the son
would be born a daughter. And, as they say, it came to pass that
the wife brought forth a daughter whom the king then named
Shikhandin, a name that also existed in the female form
Shikhandini. It is a long and not that interesting story, but the
girl grew up to become a mighty warrior.
The trouble started when it came time for the prince to take a
bride.
Many of our public characters have obscure allusions or jokes
built into them. That helped make things more interesting for the
brothers playing the roles.
I asked, “Do we have any reason to snatch Barundandi?
Other than his general sliminess?” I thought he was most
useful right where he was. Any replacement was sure to be as venal
and unlikely to be as kind to Minh Subredil. “And could we
even get him out where we could touch him?”
Nobody suggested a strategic reason for grabbing the man. Sahra
wanted to know, “Why do you ask?”
“Because I do think we could lure him. If we dress Tobo up
pretty, then refuse to cooperate unless Barundandi meets him
outside . . . ”
Sahra was not offended. The ruse is a legitimate weapon of war.
She looked thoughtful. “Maybe Gokhale instead?”
“Perhaps. Though he might want someone younger. We can ask
Swan. I was thinking of catching Gokhale in that place where the
Deceivers killed that other one.” The enemy’s leading
personalities seldom left the Palace. Which was why we had chosen
to go get Willow Swan.
Sahra began to sing. Murgen was reluctant
again tonight.
I said, “Murgen should look at that joy house, too.
He’d be the best way for us to check it out.” Though,
no doubt, we could find several brothers willing to risk themselves
in an extended recon.
Sahra nodded, did not break the rhythm of her lullaby.
“We might even . . . ” No. We
could not just burn the place once Gokhale had been inside long
enough to become seriously engaged. Nobody would understand why I
wanted to waste a perfectly good whorehouse—though a few might find
a deadly fire highly amusing.
One-Eye looked like he was sleeping again but was not. Without
opening his eyes, he asked, “You know where you’re
going, Little Girl? You got some kind of overall plan?”
“Yes.” I was surprised to find that I really
believed that. Intuitively, somewhere inside, though I had not
known it consciously, I had engineered a master plan for the
liberation of the Captured and the resurrection of the Company. And
it was starting to come together. After all these years.
Murgen showed up muttering about a white crow. He was
distracted. I asked the wizards, “You figured out how to
anchor him here yet?”
“Always some damned thing,” One-Eye grumbled.
“Whatever you do, it’s never enough.”
“It can be done,” Goblin admitted. “But I
still don’t see why we would want to.”
“He hasn’t been very cooperative. He doesn’t
want to be here. He’s losing his connection to the real
world. He’d rather sleep and wander those caverns.” I
took a stab in the dark. “And put on his white wings. Be
Khadi’s messenger.”
“White wings?”
They did not read the Annals. “The albino crow that turns
up sometimes. Sometimes Murgen is inside it. Because Kina puts him
there. Or used to put him there and now he keeps stumbling back in,
the way he kept stumbling around in time once Soulcatcher got him
started.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read sometimes. And once in a while I even read the
Annals and try to figure out what Murgen didn’t tell us. What
he might not actually have known himself. Right now he may be
enamored of being the white crow because that way he gets into
actual flesh that ranges outside the caverns. Or he may just be
falling under the influence of Kina as she wakes up again. But none
of that ought to matter much right now. Right now we have a bunch
of spying we need him to do. I want to be able to twist his arm if
I have to.”
The mission comes first. Murgen himself taught me that.
Sahra said, “Sleepy’s right. Anchor him. Then
I’ll grab him by the nose and kick his behind until
I’ve got his undivided attention.” She seemed suddenly
optimistic, as though taking a direct approach with her husband was
some totally new concept fraught with unexpected hope.
She went straight to outright confrontation, drawing Tobo in to
support her.
Maybe she could rebuild Murgen’s ties with the
outside world.
I turned to the others. “I found another Kina
myth this morning. In this one her father didn’t trick her
into going to sleep. She died. Then her husband got so upset that—”
“Husband?” Goblin squeaked. “What
husband?”
“I don’t know, Goblin. The book didn’t name
names. It was written for people who grew up in the Gunni religion.
It assumes you know who they’re talking about. When Kina
died, her husband was so grief-stricken he grabbed up her corpse
and started doing that stomping dance Murgen talks about her doing
in his visions. He got so violent that the other gods were afraid
he would destroy the world. So her father threw an enchanted knife
that cut her up into about fifty pieces and every place one of the
chunks fell became a holy place for Kina’s worshippers. Just
reading between the lines and guessing, I’d say Khatovar is
where her head hit the ground.”
“I got a notion One-Eye was on the right track back when
he was going to desert and retire.”
One-Eye gawked. Goblin saying something positive about anything
he ever did? “The hell I was. I just had an attack of
juvenile angst. I got over it and got responsible again.”
“There’s a new concept,” I observed.
“One-Eye responsible.”
“For catastrophes and afflictions, maybe,” Goblin
said.
One-Eye said, “I don’t get the Kina story. If she
died back at the beginning of the world, how could she be giving us
trouble for the last twenty or thirty years?”
“It’s religion, dimwit,” Goblin barked.
“It don’t got to make sense.”
“Kina is a goddess,” I said. “I guess gods
can’t ever be completely dead. I don’t know, One-Eye. I
didn’t make it up, I just reported it. Look, the Gunni
don’t believe anybody dies really. Their soul goes
on.”
“Heh-heh-heh,” Goblin chuckled. “If these
Gunni got it right, you’re in deep shit, runt boy. You got to
keep going ’round on the Wheel of Life till you get it right.
You got a lot of karma to work off.”
“Stop. Now,” I snapped. “We’re supposed
to be working.”
Work. Not the favorite swear word of either man.
I told them, “You get Murgen nailed down. Or chained down.
Whatever it takes to keep him under control. Then you help Sahra
try to get through to him. I have a suspicion things are going to
get exciting before long and we’ll need him wide awake and
cooperative.”
One-Eye grumbled, “Sounds to me like you don’t plan
to be here looking over our shoulders.”
I was up already. “Clever man. I have some reading and
some translating to do. You can manage without me. If you
concentrate.”
One-Eye told Goblin, “We got to get that little bit into
the sack with some guy’ll pork her brains out.” His
cure for all ills, even at his age.
I paused to say, “When he’s given everything else
the once-over, have him search for Narayan and the Daughter of
Night.” I did not need to explain how badly we needed to keep
those two from achieving their ends.
This is
excellent,” I enthused again as Sahra summoned Murgen once
more. She herself betrayed no enthusiasm for the task. Tobo’s
hovering did nothing to improve her temper. “Before he does
anything else, I want to have him check on Surendranath
Santaraksita.”
“So you don’t trust the librarian after all,”
One-Eye said. He chuckled.
“I think he’s all right but why hand him a chance to
break my heart if I can avoid it by keeping an eye on
him?”
“How come it’s got to be my eye?”
“There’s not a sharper one available, is there? And
you already turned down a chance to work on the Annals. I’ve
got to do some heavy studying in those tonight. I might be on the
track of something.”
The little wizard grunted.
“I think I found something at the library today. If
Santaraksita doesn’t trip me up, I may have an outside view
of the first coming of the Company by the end of the week.”
An independent historical source has been a goal almost as long as
has been our desire for a look at uncontaminated editions of the
earliest three volumes of the Annals.
Sahra had something else on her mind. “Barundandi wants me
to bring Sawa to work, Sleepy.”
“No. Sawa is on hiatus. She’s sick. She has cholera,
if that’s what it takes. I’m finally starting to make
some real headway. I’m not going to let that slide
now.”
“He’s also been asking about Shiki.” Back when
Tobo had accompanied his mother to the Palace occasionally, she had
called him Shikhandini, which was a joke Jaul Barundandi never got
because he was not the sort to pay attention to historical
mythology. One of the kings of legendary Hastinapur had had a
senior wife who seemed to be barren. A good Gunni, he prayed and
made sacrifice faithfully, and eventually one of the gods stepped
down from heaven to tell him he could have what he wanted, which
was a son, but he was going to get it the hard way, for the son
would be born a daughter. And, as they say, it came to pass that
the wife brought forth a daughter whom the king then named
Shikhandin, a name that also existed in the female form
Shikhandini. It is a long and not that interesting story, but the
girl grew up to become a mighty warrior.
The trouble started when it came time for the prince to take a
bride.
Many of our public characters have obscure allusions or jokes
built into them. That helped make things more interesting for the
brothers playing the roles.
I asked, “Do we have any reason to snatch Barundandi?
Other than his general sliminess?” I thought he was most
useful right where he was. Any replacement was sure to be as venal
and unlikely to be as kind to Minh Subredil. “And could we
even get him out where we could touch him?”
Nobody suggested a strategic reason for grabbing the man. Sahra
wanted to know, “Why do you ask?”
“Because I do think we could lure him. If we dress Tobo up
pretty, then refuse to cooperate unless Barundandi meets him
outside . . . ”
Sahra was not offended. The ruse is a legitimate weapon of war.
She looked thoughtful. “Maybe Gokhale instead?”
“Perhaps. Though he might want someone younger. We can ask
Swan. I was thinking of catching Gokhale in that place where the
Deceivers killed that other one.” The enemy’s leading
personalities seldom left the Palace. Which was why we had chosen
to go get Willow Swan.
Sahra began to sing. Murgen was reluctant
again tonight.
I said, “Murgen should look at that joy house, too.
He’d be the best way for us to check it out.” Though,
no doubt, we could find several brothers willing to risk themselves
in an extended recon.
Sahra nodded, did not break the rhythm of her lullaby.
“We might even . . . ” No. We
could not just burn the place once Gokhale had been inside long
enough to become seriously engaged. Nobody would understand why I
wanted to waste a perfectly good whorehouse—though a few might find
a deadly fire highly amusing.
One-Eye looked like he was sleeping again but was not. Without
opening his eyes, he asked, “You know where you’re
going, Little Girl? You got some kind of overall plan?”
“Yes.” I was surprised to find that I really
believed that. Intuitively, somewhere inside, though I had not
known it consciously, I had engineered a master plan for the
liberation of the Captured and the resurrection of the Company. And
it was starting to come together. After all these years.
Murgen showed up muttering about a white crow. He was
distracted. I asked the wizards, “You figured out how to
anchor him here yet?”
“Always some damned thing,” One-Eye grumbled.
“Whatever you do, it’s never enough.”
“It can be done,” Goblin admitted. “But I
still don’t see why we would want to.”
“He hasn’t been very cooperative. He doesn’t
want to be here. He’s losing his connection to the real
world. He’d rather sleep and wander those caverns.” I
took a stab in the dark. “And put on his white wings. Be
Khadi’s messenger.”
“White wings?”
They did not read the Annals. “The albino crow that turns
up sometimes. Sometimes Murgen is inside it. Because Kina puts him
there. Or used to put him there and now he keeps stumbling back in,
the way he kept stumbling around in time once Soulcatcher got him
started.”
“How do you know that?”
“I read sometimes. And once in a while I even read the
Annals and try to figure out what Murgen didn’t tell us. What
he might not actually have known himself. Right now he may be
enamored of being the white crow because that way he gets into
actual flesh that ranges outside the caverns. Or he may just be
falling under the influence of Kina as she wakes up again. But none
of that ought to matter much right now. Right now we have a bunch
of spying we need him to do. I want to be able to twist his arm if
I have to.”
The mission comes first. Murgen himself taught me that.
Sahra said, “Sleepy’s right. Anchor him. Then
I’ll grab him by the nose and kick his behind until
I’ve got his undivided attention.” She seemed suddenly
optimistic, as though taking a direct approach with her husband was
some totally new concept fraught with unexpected hope.
She went straight to outright confrontation, drawing Tobo in to
support her.
Maybe she could rebuild Murgen’s ties with the
outside world.
I turned to the others. “I found another Kina
myth this morning. In this one her father didn’t trick her
into going to sleep. She died. Then her husband got so upset that—”
“Husband?” Goblin squeaked. “What
husband?”
“I don’t know, Goblin. The book didn’t name
names. It was written for people who grew up in the Gunni religion.
It assumes you know who they’re talking about. When Kina
died, her husband was so grief-stricken he grabbed up her corpse
and started doing that stomping dance Murgen talks about her doing
in his visions. He got so violent that the other gods were afraid
he would destroy the world. So her father threw an enchanted knife
that cut her up into about fifty pieces and every place one of the
chunks fell became a holy place for Kina’s worshippers. Just
reading between the lines and guessing, I’d say Khatovar is
where her head hit the ground.”
“I got a notion One-Eye was on the right track back when
he was going to desert and retire.”
One-Eye gawked. Goblin saying something positive about anything
he ever did? “The hell I was. I just had an attack of
juvenile angst. I got over it and got responsible again.”
“There’s a new concept,” I observed.
“One-Eye responsible.”
“For catastrophes and afflictions, maybe,” Goblin
said.
One-Eye said, “I don’t get the Kina story. If she
died back at the beginning of the world, how could she be giving us
trouble for the last twenty or thirty years?”
“It’s religion, dimwit,” Goblin barked.
“It don’t got to make sense.”
“Kina is a goddess,” I said. “I guess gods
can’t ever be completely dead. I don’t know, One-Eye. I
didn’t make it up, I just reported it. Look, the Gunni
don’t believe anybody dies really. Their soul goes
on.”
“Heh-heh-heh,” Goblin chuckled. “If these
Gunni got it right, you’re in deep shit, runt boy. You got to
keep going ’round on the Wheel of Life till you get it right.
You got a lot of karma to work off.”
“Stop. Now,” I snapped. “We’re supposed
to be working.”
Work. Not the favorite swear word of either man.
I told them, “You get Murgen nailed down. Or chained down.
Whatever it takes to keep him under control. Then you help Sahra
try to get through to him. I have a suspicion things are going to
get exciting before long and we’ll need him wide awake and
cooperative.”
One-Eye grumbled, “Sounds to me like you don’t plan
to be here looking over our shoulders.”
I was up already. “Clever man. I have some reading and
some translating to do. You can manage without me. If you
concentrate.”
One-Eye told Goblin, “We got to get that little bit into
the sack with some guy’ll pork her brains out.” His
cure for all ills, even at his age.
I paused to say, “When he’s given everything else
the once-over, have him search for Narayan and the Daughter of
Night.” I did not need to explain how badly we needed to keep
those two from achieving their ends.