Fanuilh Daniel Hood (classic literature books TXT) 📖

a perpetually sour look. His clothes, though sodden, were magnificent: doublet and hose of silk dyed a delicate blue, with a heavy cloak of deep purple and low boots of shining leather. Liam thought of his own boots, and the water that was even now soaking his feet through the holes left by the dragon's teeth.

For a few minutes, Liam watched the merchant and the activities he was directing .. Then, keying himself up, he crossed the slick stone of the waterfront to where Marcius stood.

"Speed, you knaves, speed! Do you think this wetting likes me?" the merchant shouted. Liam stopped a few respectful paces away and coughed politely. Marcius did not turn, but the man by his side did, showing an ugly face made worse by a long, jagged scar running across his face from ear to ear, bisecting his mouth. A bodyguard, Liam knew, and he made himself quail slightly beneath the man's contemptuous look.

"What do you want?" the guard lazily sneered, dropping a hand to the small cudgel at his belt. Drops of rain gathered on the puckered edges of his scar.

"A word or two with your master, if I might."

"Your name?"

"Liam Rhenford, a scholar."

"Well, Liam-Rhenford-a-scholar, Master Marcius has no time for you now. Be off." The guard scowled and jerked his head to indicate the quickest path of retreat.

Liam cringed and begged. "Please, sir, I've something he might find valuable, if only he'd give me a moment. It's very valuable, on my life."

"Heard you what I—"

Marcius, who, though only a few feet away, had not given any hint that he was paying attention, suddenly spoke without turning to them. "If the fool took a wetting to speak, it'd only be right to hear his piece. Speak, scholar."

The guard scowled again and moved aside, letting Liam move up to the merchant's side.

"Many thanks, Master Marcius, many thanks. You'll not regret it, I swear." The fawning sounded ridiculous to Liam, but Marcius seemed to expect it, and he kept it up. "I've come off a bad time, Master, and my situation is not very sound. I'm in a bad way, and I need money somewhat desperately."

"This smacks of a loan, scholar. Where's the value for me?" Marcius still did not look at him, but spoke impatiently. He was much shorter than Liam, who hunched himself abjectly and allowed his hands to grab each other in supplication.

"I'm coming to that, Master, soon enough. I only want to show you my position. My former master, you see, has died," he lowered his voice confidingly, "has been murdered, you see, and I am left to a hard lot."

"Murdered?" the merchant said in a normal tone, and Liam bobbed anxiously, imploring quiet.

"Yes, Master, and I'm afraid I may be marked."

"Marked, you say? Who was your master?" He still did not look at Liam, but his voice registered interest.

"Tarquin Tanaquil, Master, but—"

"Tanaquil, you say?" The merchant gave him a hard glance. "The wizard?"

"Yes, Master."

"I did not know Tanaquil had any apprentices." Marcius's eyes narrowed with interest "How far were you in the art?" "I was not his apprentice," Liam said regretfully, "just a scholar he employed for certain correspondences."

Marcius lost his interest with a grunt, turning back to the ship and irritably flicking an errant lock of his stylishly long black hair back into its damp place.

"If y'are no mage, what use can you be to me?"

The guard took this as a hint, and laid a rough hand on Liam's sleeve, but he spoke up quickly.

"Before I came into the wizard's employment, Master, I traveled a great deal. I have maps to many places."

Marcius turned slowly to him, his curiosity back, and nodded imperceptibly at the guard, who removed his hand reluctantly.

"Your name again, scholar?"

"Liam Rhenford, Master."

"Rhenford," the merchant mused, looking up at Liam with as cold an appraisal as he might have given a shipment of goods. Perhaps colder, Liam thought, wiping cold streamers of rain off his narrow nose; he would at least know how much the goods were worth.

"Rhenford," Marcius repeated. "I've heard of a scholar who sold Freihett Necquer a set of charts. Could you be that scholar?"

"I am, Master," Liam said nervously.

"Those charts brought him a bulky fortune this season. And now you say you worked for Tanaquil?"

"I was in his employ, sir, yes."

"Have you the charts here?"

"Yes, sir," Liam responded eagerly, and began digging into the satchel at his side.

"No, no, no," Marcius said with evident disgust, "don't be more of a fool than the gods made you, Rhenford. I don't want to peer at maps in the rain. Bring them to my offices, early tomorrow. You know where those are?"

"Certainly, certainly. I'll be—"

"Early, Rhenford. And bring your mappery."

The merchant walked away without another word, ignoring the stevedores, who continued their work. The guard trailed along behind, offering Liam a sarcastic half-bow and a menacing grin, horribly distorted by his scar.

As soon as the merchant was out of earshot, Liam muttered an insult. I'm no dog, to cringe and cower, he thought, and let his posture settle back to normal with a relieved grin. It was more fun to be a mysterious, self-important hierarch than a cowardly clerk, he decided, and set off in the opposite direction.

Liam climbed the steep streets that led up from the harbor to his lodgings. Dirty rainwater rushed whispering through the gutters. down to the harbor. He stopped when he was high up in the city and looked back.

The work that still went on around Marcius's carrack might have been . performed by ants, and the other ships riding at anchor might have been those of Tarquin's model, the forest of naked masts and spars mere twigs in the distance. He felt as though he might reach out and brush the leaden waters of the madstead, or pick up one of. the ships with his hand. Or, if the mist had not hidden . them, take hold of the Teeth and tear them out of the sea, roots and all.

Had Tarquin felt