Storm Season

Lalo wondered that the Commissioners had consented to it. Since they came they had been busy with inspections and meetings, and listening to interminable reports. Perhaps they were glad of a chance to sit still. Or perhaps they feared the consequences of refusing to contribute to a gift for their Emperor, or possibly they really were eager to have their visit to this outpost of Empire immortalized. Raximander, at least, had appeared to take the sitting as tacit agreement from Lalo to paint another portrait which the Commissioner would be allowed to see.

Now the picture of the Archpriest was almost complete beside Lord Raximander's. If the thing had been meant seriously, Lalo would have wanted several hours more to work on the finishing of the gown and hair, but it was already sufficient for the Vizier's purposes. Lalo looked at it with normal vision for the first time and repressed a sigh.

Why had he dared to hope that just because the man was a priest he would be virtuous? But Arbalest was not a pig-more of a weasel, Lalo thought, noting the covert cu

"If you are tired we can end the sitting now." He bowed to the priest. "I will not need your presence for what remains."

When the priest had gone Lalo refilled his mug from the pitcher of beer provided by Coricidius. Aside from the infamous ma

But the painting was an abomination. Lalo forced himself to look at it again. He had sketched in columns and a carven ceiling just in case someone should catch a glimpse of the canvas from far away. But the faces with which he was filling the foreground made the rich surroundings seem a travesty.

Everyone at the Palace appeared to believe the tale that the painting was a bribe to the Emperor, and some, believing that this must give Lalo some influence, were already toadying to him. Even to Gilla, Lalo had had to pretend that the midnight arrest was a mistake and the commission real. But if she did not believe him, for once she had the sense to let the subject alone.

Would others do the same? What if the project became so famous that people insisted on seeing the picture? What if one of his sitters proved nimble enough to get a good look before Lalo could call the guard?

Lalo sighed again, drained his mug, and told the Hell-Hound currently on duty to bring the third subject in.

Lalo sat oh a low stool next to the table where he had laid out his painting things, waiting, like them, for the fourth of the Commissioners to arrive for his sitting. He supposed that he had been lucky to get in Arbalest and the royal relative yesterday-he glanced at the third picture with distaste. "Something oxis," the man's name was, but already he had trouble remembering. Not surprising-his portrait revealed a bovine complacence that avoided evil mainly through lack of energy.

And these are the pride of Ranke? thought Lalo. He found himself almost grateful to Coricidius. I would never have known-he grimaced at the painting again-I would have uprooted my family to seek my fortune in the capital, i

From the courtyard below he could hear the even tramp of bullhide sandals-the Prince's Guard was drilling again. These days, even the City garrison marched and polished their armor, but whether it was in hopes of being sent to the war or the opposite, he did not know. Nor, at this moment, did he care. He found it hard to believe that any new invader could make things any better, or worse, in Sanctuary.

Still, the incessant marching made him nervous, as if his former certainties were illusions, and just around the corner lay some new threat that he could not see. Restlessly he paced to the window, and was just turning back when the guard brought the fourth sitter in.

"My Lord Zanderei!" Lalo bowed to the man to whom he had spoken at the reception. "Please be seated-" he indicated the sitter's chair.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Master Limner," the man said plaintively, settling himself. "I was detained at the warehouses. There seems to be some confusion regarding the grain supplies set aside for the war ..."

Lalo busied himself with his paints to hide a grin. He could well imagine that the web of bribes, kickbacks, substitutions and out-and-out shortchanging characteristic of business in Sanctuary would make "confusion" an understatement. Why had they sent such a clerkly little mouse to deal with the situation here? Glancing at him again, Lalo realized that Zanderei had one of the least remarkable faces he had ever seen.

I suppose it comes of a life-time of deference, he thought. The man displayed no individuality at all. But for the first time in this project Lalo found himself eager to set brush to canvas, knowing that once he did, no dissimulation could hide the truth of the man from him.

"Am I posed correctly? I can turn my head the other way if you like, or fold my hands ..."

"Yes, clasp your hands-your head is very well as it is. You must relax, sir, and think how near your business is to its conclusion..."Lalo poured thi

"Yes," Zanderei echoed softly. "I am almost done. A week or less will show me if I have accomplished all I was sent to do. The conflict draws very close to us now." His thin lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

Lalo's eyes narrowed. He drew his brush through the light ochre and began.

A half hour went by, and an hour. Lalo worked steadily without really being conscious either of the passage of time or of what he was doing. Zanderei was light and shadow, color and texture and line-a problem in interpretation. The artist adjusted to the changing light and even gave his model permission to move from time to time without emerging from the trance which was his art and his spell.

Then, from the Hall of Justice below, the gong for the fourth watch began to toll. Zanderei got to his feet, grey robes shifting like shadow around him. Lalo, fighting his way back to awareness like a man awakening from sleep, saw that dusk was begi

"I am sorry. I must go now." Zanderei took a few steps forward, more smoothly than Lalo would have expected, considering how long the man had been sitting still.

"Oh, of course-forgive me for keeping you so long."

"Are you finished? Will you want me to come to you again?"

Lalo looked at the picture, wondering if he had captured the reality of this man. For a moment he did not understand what he saw. He glanced quickly at the other portraits, but they had not changed, and paint still glistened wetly where he had given a last touch to Zanderei's hair. But he had never been unable to recognize the model in one of his portraits before...

He saw a face like stone, like steel, a face with no life but in the eyes, and there only an ancient pain. And in the hands of this image, a bloodied knife was gripped fast.

Coricidius wanted to see these men's weaknesses-but I see death here!

And like the canvas, Lalo's face must have revealed the tumult in his soul, for now Zanderei was blurring towards him in a swordsman's swift rush that brought him past Lalo to comprehend the picture in one searching stare and still in the same motion to whirl and flick into the throat of the oncoming guardsman a knife that had been hidden in his sleeve.