The Face of Chaos

'Interesting,' Jubal murmured. 'How did you arrive at that system?'

'Well, once I knew that he was scared enough to pay, I suddenly realized that I didn't know how much to ask for. If I asked for too little, he'd get suspicious, but if I named a figure too high, he'd either ruin his shop, trying to pay it, or simply refuse ... and then I'd have to try to make good my threats.'

'So what portion did you ask for?'

'One in five. But, you see, linking his payment to his sales, the fee would grow with his business, or adjust itself if times grew lean.'

The hawkmaster pondered this for a time.

'What is your name, boy?'

'Cidin, sir.'

'Well, Cidin, if you were in my place, if you caught someone using your name without permission, what would you do to him?'

'I ... I'd kill him, sir,' the boy admitted. 'You know, as an example, so other people wouldn't do the same thing.'

'Quite right,' Jubal nodded, rising to his feet. 'I'm glad you understand what would have to be done.'

Cidin braced himself as the ex-crimelord reached for the sword on the table, then blinked in astonishment as the weapon was returned to its scabbard, instead of being wielded with deadly intent.

'... fortunately for both of us, that isn't the case here. You have my permission to use my name and work as my agent. Of course, two thirds of what you collect will be paid to me for the use of that name. Agreed?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You might also think of recruiting some of your friends to help you ... if they're as quick of wit as they are of foot.'

'I'll try, sir.'

'Now wait here for a moment while I fetch my aide. I want you to tell him what you told me about portions instead of flat fees. It's an idea worth investigating.'

He started for the door, then paused, studying the boy with a thoughtful eye.

'You don't look like a hawkmask... but then again, maybe that's what our rebuilding needs. I think the days of swaggering swordsmen are numbered in Sanctuary.'

'Have you reached a decision yet on Mor-am and Moria?'

Jubal shook his head. 'There's no rush,' he said. 'Mor-am is ours anytime we want him. I don't want to eliminate him until I've made my mind up on Moria. Those two were close once, and I'm still unconvinced she has totally quelched her feelings for her brother.'

'It's said she has developed a taste for wine. If we wait too long, she may not be worth the recruiting.'

'All the more reason to wait. Either she is strong enough to stand alone, without brother or wine, or she isn't. We've no room for employees who need tending.'

'They were good people,' Saliman said softly.

'Yes, they were. But we can ill afford generosity at this time. What about the other? Is there any danger our spies in Walegrin's force will be discovered?'

'None that we know of. Of course, they have an advantage over the rest of us.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Only that they're exempt from the order to assist the Stepsons, whenever trouble arises. I've told you before, it's a dead giveaway to come to the aid of those mercenaries every time they get into a scrape. No one else in town likes them, except the whores, and it breeds suspicion when one of ours takes their side in a quarrel.'

'Have they honoured their pledge not to hunt the old hawk-masks?'

'Yes,' Saliman admitted grudgingly. 'In a way, they still go through the motions, but they have been notably ineffective since the alliance.'

'Then we'll honour our side of the bargain. If our forces are drawing unwanted attention, instruct them to be more subtle with their assistance. There are ways of helping without openly taking sides in a brawl.'

'We tried that, and the Stepsons proved inept in battle. You were the one who said we must do whatever necessary to keep them alive.'

'Then keep doing it!' Jubal was suddenly tired of the argument. 'Saliman, I fear your dislike of this alliance has slanted your reports. Those "inept" Stepsons drove our entire force out of our mansion. I find it hard to believe that they are suddenly unable to survive a simple street skirmish.'

The small snake raised its head to study its captors, then went back to exploring the confines of its jar with the singleminded intent characteristic of reptiles.

'So this is one of the dread beynit,' Jubal mused, resting his chin on his hands to study the specimen. 'The secret weapon of the Beysib.'

'Not all that secret,' his aide retorted. 'I've told you of the bodies that have appeared marked with snakebite. The fish-folk are not always discreet in their use of their secret weapons.'

'Let's not fall victim to our own tricks, Saliman. We were never above scattering a few extra corpses around to confuse the issue. I don't think it's safe to assume that every snakebit body is the work of the Beysib. You're sure this snake won't be missed?'

'It cost the life of one of their women, but that's unimportant. Hers isn't the only life they've lost lately. They seem remarkably stubborn about not adapting to Sanctuary's nightlife. Wherever they come from, they're used to being able to travel the streets alone.'

'Their carelessness may give us the advantage we need,' Jubal said, tapping the side of the jar to make the snake raise its head again. 'If we can unlock the secret of this venom, we'll be that much ahead if we ever have to confront the fish-folk.'

He straightened and pushed the jar across the table to his aide.

'Pass this to someone well-versed in toxins and include enough money for test slaves. I want an antidote for this poison within the month. Too bad Tempus revenged himself on Kurd. We could use the vivisectionist's services.'

'Tempus has a knack for making our life difficult,' Saliman agreed, dryly.

'That reminds me. How are things going with the Stepsons? You haven't said anything lately, so I assume the situation has stabilized.'

'No, it hasn't. However, you told me in no uncertain terms that you didn't want to hear any more complaining about the Alliance.'

'No more complaints, but that didn't mean I would reject all reports.'

'Yes, it did. All I get is complaints about the Whoresons and their inability to save themselves from the simplest of conflicts.'

'All right, Saliman,' Jubal sighed. 'Perhaps I have discounted the reports too much. Now, can you give me an impartial briefing as to what has been happening?'

The aide paused to collect his thoughts before reporting. 'The Stepsons, as we knew them when they first arrived in town, were hardened warriors, able to not only survive but triumph in most situations involving armed conflict. They were feared but respected by the people of Sanctuary. This has changed radically since our alliance with them. They have grown more quarrelsome, and their ability to defend themselves seems to have diminished nearly to the point of nonexistence. A major portion of our agents' time and energies is being diverted into keeping the Stepsons out of trouble, or saving them when our preventive measures fail.'

The ex-crimelord digested this. 'We both know that field soldiers left in town too long become troublesome as their fighting trim and discipline deteriorate. Is this what's happened to the Stepsons?'

Saliman shook his head. 'Such deterioration would not be so rapid or complete. These warriors could not be more ineffectual if they were trying to lose.'

'You may have the answer there. We know the Stepsons to be fearless, willing to follow Tempus's orders even unto death. They could be testing us, deliberately exposing themselves to danger to measure our intent or ability to honour our alliances. Either that, or there may be more to Tempus's leadership than meets the eye. It has been established that he derives support from at least one god. Perhaps he has found a way to transmit that power to his troops ... a way that has grown tenuous operating at such a distance.'