The Floodgate

An hour later, Matteo strolled into the pink marble palace that housed the city officials. Several of the guards and scribes recognized him, nodding respectfully as he passed. He walked unchallenged into the lord mayor's suite and made his way down the corridors to the domain of Procopio's head scribe.

As he expected, he found the man at a writing table. His duties involved summarizing each of the lord mayor's missives into a single line so that Procopio could scan the day's news and decide how best to order his time.

"Greetings, Shiphor," Matteo called softly.

The scribe glanced up, startled. A pleased smile crossed his face. "Matteo! Please tell me you've been demoted to our level!"

Matteo acknowledged the jest with a chuckle and glanced around Shiphor's small, paper-clogged room. "Your level? This is the heart of the city. Its lifeblood flows through your hands."

"At least one man recognizes my importance," the scribe said dryly. "Because you show such remarkable intelligence, I will save you the necessity of further flattery and simply tell you whatever you wish to know. Not that I'm not enjoying this, mind you."

The jordain gri

Shiphor promptly drew several sheaves of papers from various stacks, as unerringly as a mother hen might pick her own chick from a barnyard crowded with yellow peepers. Matteo glanced at the summaries and started in on the new messages. He leafed through until he caught a glimpse of Kiva's name. As he read, his already dark mood turned a deeper shade of black.

Kiva had already been declared traitor, but apparently Procopio had not deemed that sufficient. She had been excommunicated by the church of Azuth. Matteo repeated one of the oaths he'd recently heard Tzigone employ.

The scribe looked up sharply. "Problems?"

"Halruaa is full of them, it would seem," Matteo said grimly. "With your permission, I would like to bring a particularly troublesome one directly to Lord Procopio's attention."

Shiphor took the page Matteo handed him and sca

"Why pad it?" Matteo demanded. "Procopio has earned a hit or two."

The scribe sat back and regarded the angry jordain. "You'll get no argument from this quarter. Go with my blessing-though you'd be better off with Mystra's."

Matteo was already gone, too furious to consider either the warning or the possible consequences.

This writ of excommunication meant that contact with Kiva was proscribed. Any questions asked about her would be viewed with an extremely jaundiced eye. Matteo could think of no more effective way to squelch inquiries into the magehound's whereabouts.

He brushed past the guard at Procopio's door and burst into the room. The wizard waved away the guard.

"Your troubles must be great, jordain, to urge you into such imprudent behavior," he observed with measured calm.

"What have you done about Kiva?" demanded Matteo.

"Kiva?" Procopio echoed blandly.

Matteo took a steadying breath. "We are neither of us fools, but treating with me in such fashion casts shadows of doubt upon us both."

Procopio acknowledged Matteo's words with a curt nod, motioning Matteo to a chair. The jordain shook his head and remained standing-yet another lapse of protocol.

"I can see this matter is of some importance to you," began the wizard.

"Kiva," Matteo cut in pointedly, for he knew well the wizard's skill at wandering from the matter at hand.

Procopio smiled faintly. "To the point, then. What have I done about Kiva? In a word, nothing."

He held up a hand to cut off Matteo's indignant response.

"I will admit that my negligence is pure selfishness. Surely you realize that as Zephyr's patron, I was tainted by the elf's treachery."

Matteo nodded.

"There has been talk of need for a new lord mayor," Procopio went on. He gestured around the fine study and the wide window that overlooked the king's city. "As you see, I have much to lose. But when I become more concerned with my own success than with the good of Halruaa, perhaps it is time I stepped down."

This disarmed Matteo. Never had he see the arrogant wizard so humble. It occurred to Matteo that Procopio was merely taking another sidetrack. The manipulation was insulting, but he took the wizard's lead to see where it went. "That would be the city's loss, my lord."

Procopio's answering smile was faint and self-mocking. "You no longer serve me, Matteo. You no longer need trouble yourself to find soft words."

"When did I ever do so?"

The wizard blinked, then burst out laughing. "Well said! You were ever quick to tell me when I was wrong. Perhaps, then, I should trust in your judgment when you tell me I am not."

"I would not go quite that far, my lord," Matteo said coolly. "Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but I have neither time nor patience for games. Did you persuade the church of Azuth to declare Kiva excommunicate?"

The color vanished from the wizard's face, leaving it slack and gray. This was answer enough for Matteo.

"Are you certain of this?" Procopio demanded.

Matteo handed him the writ. The wizard's face hardened as he read. "This is no doing of mine. I give my wizard-word bond on it," Procopio said grimly.

"That is not necessary." Matteo bowed. "If I have offended, my lord, I beg pardon."

"You have enlightened. Enlightenment, while often a

"It is an honor I could hardly turn aside when it was offered," Matteo hedged.

"Nor could you turn away from it now, I suppose," Procopio said. "A pity. You are a fine counselor, yet it appears that your most important work is outside your patron's palace. I could support you in these efforts. Be warned, though, not everyone you encounter will be of like mind."

"So I have learned," Matteo said dryly. Claiming the wizard's offer of assistance, he briefly described the attack in the icehouse.

The wizard nodded thoughtfully. "Titles and deeds in his city can be complicated, but it should not be too difficult to trace the owner of that building. I will see to it."

After Matteo left, Procopio Septus sat calmly and listened to the young man's footsteps fade into silence. When he was certain that the troublesome jordain would not return, Procopio leaped to his feet and flung both arms into the air. Brilliant light burst up from the floor like a gout of dragonfire, engulfing the angry wizard. In a blink he traveled across the city and into the opulent gray world of Ymani Gold.

He caught the priest in the midst of one of his favorite indulgences. The young acolyte, startled by the lightning flash of Procopio's entrance, fell away with a squeak. She snatched up her robe and scuttled toward the back door.

Ymani, on the other hand, did not seem put out by the interruption. He adjusted his robes and settled down behind his writing table. "There's no need for such theatrics, Lord Procopio. I told you I would deal with Kiva, and so I have."

"There is an old proverb," Procopio said, black eyes spitting fire, "that those with talent become wizards. Those without talent spend their lives praying for it."