The Face of Chaos

'Either way, we're still investing too much of our time maintaining a bad alliance.'

'But until we know for sure, we can't tell if it's more to our advantage to keep or dissolve the agreement. Find me the answers and I'll reconsider. Until then, we'll maintain our current position.'

'As you will.'

Jubal smiled as Hakiem was led blindfolded into the room. It was not necessary to wear the hawkmask for this interview, and he was glad, for he wanted an unobstructed view of his guest. Had he not been forewarned, he never would have recognized the old storyteller. He waited until the blindfold had been removed before making his examination, walking slowly around the tale-spi

'I have a job,' the storyteller broke the silence, almost embarrassed by his newfound wealth.

'I know,' Jubal said. 'In the new court, as advisor to the Beysa.'

'If you already knew that, why'd you drag me here all blindfolded,' Hakiem snapped, returning momentarily to his old gutter temper.

'Because I also know you're thinking of quitting.' There were several heartbeats of silence; then the storyteller heaved a sigh. 'So instead of my asking why I'm here, I guess the question is "Why am I quitting?" Is that it?'

'You've put it a bit more bluntly than I would have, but you've captured the essence of the matter.'

Jubal sank into a chair and waved Hakiem to take the seat across from him. '... and help yourself to the wine. We've known each other too long for you to stand on ceremony.'

'Ceremony!' the old tale-spi

'Money pays for much patience, Hakiem,' Jubal observed. 'That I've learned from this town. Besides, I've had call to discover your begi

'And what business is it of yours? Since when did you concern yourself with my thoughts or livelihood?'

'Information is my business,' the ex-gladiator shot back. 'Especially when it concerns the power structure of this town. You know that. You've sold me rumours often enough. And besides ...' Jubal's voice dropped suddenly, losing its edge of anger and authority. '... Not long ago I considered changing careers. Two men, an old friend and a pe

Hakiem stared into his wine for several moments. 'I love this town,' he said finally, 'as you do, though we love it differently and for different reasons. When the foreigners ask me my opinions of the townfolk, to appraise their trustworthiness or weakness, I feel I'm somehow betraying my friends. The gold is nice, but it leaves a slime on me that all the perfumed baths in the world ca

'They ask no more than I did when you served as my eyes and ears,' Jubal suggested.

'It's not the same,' Hakiem insisted. 'You are a part of this town. like the Bazaar of the Maze. Now I deal with strangers, and I'll not spy against my home for mere gold.'

The ex-crimelord weighed this carefully, then poured them each another round of wine.

'Listen to me, Hakiem,' he said at last. 'And think well on what I say. Your old life is gone. You know you could no more return to being an i

'What you tell the invaders, they would learn whether you supplied it or not. As a fellow gatherer of information, I swear to you this is true. There is always more than one way to learn any fact. If, however, you were not there, if they chose someone else to advise them, there would be a difference. Another would be too swelled with his own importance, too in love with the sound of his own words to hear and see what was actually going on around him. That, storyteller, is a weakness you have never had.

'What goes on in that court, and the logic that the newcomers use to arrive at their decisions, can be of utmost importance to the future of our town. It worries me, but not so much as it would if anyone but yourself were monitoring their activities. Trading information we know for that which we do not is a fair enough bargain, especially when what we gain is so valuable.'

'All this talk comes very smoothly, slaver,' the talesmith scowled. 'Perhaps I've underestimated you again. You didn't bring me here to ask my reasons for quitting. It seems my thoughts were already known to you. What you really wanted was to recruit me as your spy.'

'I suspected your reasons,' Jubal admitted. 'But spy is an ugly word. Still, the life of a spy is dangerous and would command a high wage ... say, fifty in gold each week? With bonuses for particularly valuable reports?'

'To betray the other powers of Sanctuary while feeding your strength.' Hakiem laughed. 'And what if the Beysib ask about you? They'll grow suspicious if there is a blind spot in my reporting.'

'Answer them as truthfully as you would when questioned about anyone else.' The ex-gladiator shrugged. 'I'm hiring you to gather information, not to protect me at your own expense. Admit everything, including that you have ways of contacting me, should the need arise. Tell the truth as often as you can. It will increase the odds of them believing you when you do find it necessary to lie.'

'I'll consider it,' the storyteller said. 'But I'll tell you the only reason I'd even think about such a pact is that you and your ghosts are one of the last effective forces in Sanctuary, now that the Stepsons have left.'

Something nickered across Jubal's face, then was gone.

'The Stepsons?' he asked. 'When last I heard, they still ruled the streets. What makes you think they're gone?'

'Don't toy with me, Hawkmaster,' Hakiem scolded, reaching for more wine, only to find the bottle empty. 'You, who know even what's going on in my own head, must know that those clowns in armour who parade the streets these days are no more Stepsons than I'm a Hell Hound. Oh, they have the height and the hair of those they replaced, but they're poor substitutes for the mercenaries who long ago followed Tempus off to the Northern Wars.'

'Of course.'Jubal smiled vaguely.

A small purse found its way from his tunic to his hand, and he pushed it across the table to the storyteller.

'Here,' he instructed, 'use this to buy yourself a charm, a good one, against poison. Violence in the courts is quieter, but no less rough than that you know from the Maze, and tasters are not always reliable.'

'What I really need is a guard against their snakes,' Hakiem grimaced, making the purse vanish with a wave of his hand. 'I'll never get used to having so many reptiles about.'

'Check with me next week,' Jubal answered absently. 'I have people working on an antidote for that particular poison. That is, of course, assuming you decide to retain your position. A street storyteller has no need of such protection.'