priests?"
"A few of them survived. But, of course, they will not be able to use their magic unless the spell in the altar is unbound, which is ever so slightly impossible. Nothing has been heard from them since then. I expect they've died out."
"Of course," said Dashif. To himself, he added, Once again. Pitullio. you act the fool. If they'd died out, and the altar cannot be unbound. it wouldn't be necessary for you to give me this history, would it? "Did the agent survive?"
"Yes," said the Eminent Pitullio, "I did. Questions?"
"Where is the altar now?"
"In the ruins of their temple. We keep a small guard there in case anyone shows up to worship the dead, as it were. You are aware, I'm sure, that there is almost no way to destroy such a thing. Any other questions?"
"No."
"Very well." Pitullio pulled himself out of his chair and showed Dashif out.
"Luck," said Pitullio.
Dashif had no response. He returned to the waiting room and polished his pistols for a few more minutes. Finally, a servant announced, "His Scarlet Eminence will see you now."
Dashif replaced his pistol, made sure the smudge had been thoroughly cleaned off his cloak, ran a hand through his long black ringlets, and followed the servant. When the door closed behind him, he was in a plain, bare office with two chairs and an oak desk. His Scarlet Eminence looked up from the papers he was signing and nodded. Dashif bowed. "I am ready, Your Eminence. "
"Several Gold priests have been trying to gather funds," said the other, with no preamble. "If they gather enough, they may be able to buy the services of a wizard powerful enough to release the magic bound in their altar. There are indications that they have found a wealthy backer. We cannot tolerate civil disturbance of any kind at this time. A resurgence of the Gold Faith could be disastrous for the city. You will prevent this, without involving the Levar or the Faith of the Twin Forces in any way."
"Yes, Your Eminence."
The Regent handed him a heavy purse. "That is all."
Dashif tucked the purse into his cloak, bowed deeply, and backed out. Once out of the door, he touched the butts of his pistols for comfort and the hilt of his rapier for strength. Then he set out through the labyrinth of the palace. He returned to his chambers long enough to write a note, seal it, address it to His Scarlet Eminence, and set it out on his bureau. Then he found his favorite small side door and stepped back into the heat of the late afternoon.
•
Wizard's Row consisted of two long blocks of short, squat houses, garishly painted, set in a wide street in Old Town, near the canals. Number 17 was taller than most and identifiable by the huge wooden door, bound with strips of iron, with a doorbell in the form of a brass gargoyle head.
Dashif found the house with no trouble, and pulled the tongue of the gargoyle. When he released it, it snapped back into the mouth. The eyes opened and the mouth moved, emitting a deep, metallic, yet faintly feminine voice.
"Yes?"
"You know who I am, Gogo. Tell your master who is on your doorstep. I have money."
"Yes," said Gogo, and the doorbell became a mere doorbell again.
Today a man opened the door. He wore the subdued colors and subdued manner of a butler, and today the hall was narrow and dark. Today The Magician's office was the last door on the left, and today the office was small and bare. The client's chair, the only constant item, was just as soft and comfortable as ever. The servant bowed him into the room and Dashif turned his attention to the man who sat behind the desk.
The Magician kept his own looks constant. He appeared to be in his early twenties—a small fraction of his true age, which Dashif could only guess at. Two hundred? Two hundred and fifty? More? Probably more.
"Please sit down, Count Dashif. What may I do for you?"
Dashif seated himself and readjusted the position of his pistols so they didn't press into his legs or stomach. After that, he was careful not
"A few of them survived. But, of course, they will not be able to use their magic unless the spell in the altar is unbound, which is ever so slightly impossible. Nothing has been heard from them since then. I expect they've died out."
"Of course," said Dashif. To himself, he added, Once again. Pitullio. you act the fool. If they'd died out, and the altar cannot be unbound. it wouldn't be necessary for you to give me this history, would it? "Did the agent survive?"
"Yes," said the Eminent Pitullio, "I did. Questions?"
"Where is the altar now?"
"In the ruins of their temple. We keep a small guard there in case anyone shows up to worship the dead, as it were. You are aware, I'm sure, that there is almost no way to destroy such a thing. Any other questions?"
"No."
"Very well." Pitullio pulled himself out of his chair and showed Dashif out.
"Luck," said Pitullio.
Dashif had no response. He returned to the waiting room and polished his pistols for a few more minutes. Finally, a servant announced, "His Scarlet Eminence will see you now."
Dashif replaced his pistol, made sure the smudge had been thoroughly cleaned off his cloak, ran a hand through his long black ringlets, and followed the servant. When the door closed behind him, he was in a plain, bare office with two chairs and an oak desk. His Scarlet Eminence looked up from the papers he was signing and nodded. Dashif bowed. "I am ready, Your Eminence. "
"Several Gold priests have been trying to gather funds," said the other, with no preamble. "If they gather enough, they may be able to buy the services of a wizard powerful enough to release the magic bound in their altar. There are indications that they have found a wealthy backer. We cannot tolerate civil disturbance of any kind at this time. A resurgence of the Gold Faith could be disastrous for the city. You will prevent this, without involving the Levar or the Faith of the Twin Forces in any way."
"Yes, Your Eminence."
The Regent handed him a heavy purse. "That is all."
Dashif tucked the purse into his cloak, bowed deeply, and backed out. Once out of the door, he touched the butts of his pistols for comfort and the hilt of his rapier for strength. Then he set out through the labyrinth of the palace. He returned to his chambers long enough to write a note, seal it, address it to His Scarlet Eminence, and set it out on his bureau. Then he found his favorite small side door and stepped back into the heat of the late afternoon.
•
Wizard's Row consisted of two long blocks of short, squat houses, garishly painted, set in a wide street in Old Town, near the canals. Number 17 was taller than most and identifiable by the huge wooden door, bound with strips of iron, with a doorbell in the form of a brass gargoyle head.
Dashif found the house with no trouble, and pulled the tongue of the gargoyle. When he released it, it snapped back into the mouth. The eyes opened and the mouth moved, emitting a deep, metallic, yet faintly feminine voice.
"Yes?"
"You know who I am, Gogo. Tell your master who is on your doorstep. I have money."
"Yes," said Gogo, and the doorbell became a mere doorbell again.
Today a man opened the door. He wore the subdued colors and subdued manner of a butler, and today the hall was narrow and dark. Today The Magician's office was the last door on the left, and today the office was small and bare. The client's chair, the only constant item, was just as soft and comfortable as ever. The servant bowed him into the room and Dashif turned his attention to the man who sat behind the desk.
The Magician kept his own looks constant. He appeared to be in his early twenties—a small fraction of his true age, which Dashif could only guess at. Two hundred? Two hundred and fifty? More? Probably more.
"Please sit down, Count Dashif. What may I do for you?"
Dashif seated himself and readjusted the position of his pistols so they didn't press into his legs or stomach. After that, he was careful not
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