Mage's Blood by David Hair

death in the eye and survived. Raz’s woman had stayed with him,though Raz was ravaged by fire, and borne him two children before she died. They had shared much together, Ispal and Raz, and now Raz’s son was pledged to Ispal’s daughter, to seal their bond in a way that would surely please the gods.
    That morning, as usual, he left Raz in his favourite place, watching the river from the shade. He left a wad of tobacco, heavily laced with ganja, and a flask of arak. Other friends would look in on Raz, spend time with him. He might be a fearsome sight, but he was familiar, part of the community.
    Ispal walked the market, sniffing out the new produce. Carpets from Lokistan were arriving, bearers unloading them under the watchful gaze of Ramesh Sankar. Ramesh saw him, calling out, ‘Ispal, you old rogue, would you like to buy a carpet?’
    ‘Not today, Ram – maybe tomorrow. Good quality, hmm? Safe this time?’ They laughed together, for Ram’s previous shipment had included a cobra, sleeping inside one of the carpets. A snake charmer had calmed the frightened serpent and kept it, so all was well for everyone.
    Together they watched other shipments being unloaded. Neither man had a shop – they dealt in bulk from warehouses nearby – but it was here the deals were cut. More traders gathered, men who knew each other like brothers, to inspect all manner of goods as they arrived, bidding for whatever interested them: spices and tealeaves from the south, their earthy fragrances wafting through the warm air. Sacks of acrid chillies, cardamom and cinnamon, all laid on blankets on the ground by women with sun-blackened skin. Men roasted peanuts on smoking braziers. One did not stride here, one hopped from space to space. More and more people kept pouring in. This was the cradle of life; its cacophony hung in the air, thicker than the smoke of the cooking-fires. Music played, monkeys performed tricks, out-of-towners gawped: easy marks for the unscrupulous, and there were plenty of those.
    The market was busy today; tomorrow was the last day of the Amteh Holy Month and Amteh worshippers – about a quarter of the people here in Baranasi – were making their final obeisance to Ahmon this last day of privation, in which they took neither food not drink whilst the sun was in the sky. But tomorrow night would be insane: drink would flow, food would be consumed by the wagonload, people would sing and dance to celebrate Eyeed, the Feast of Thanksgiving, and the traders would all make small fortunes selling the provender to facilitate this happiness.
    ‘Ispal – Ispal Ankesharan!’
    Ispal turned to see Vikash Nooradin making his way towards him, waving a hand. Vikash was slender, with wavy hair and quite pale skin for a Lakh. He was more rival than friend. Ispal patted Ramesh farewell and greeted Vikash cautiously. ‘Vikash, how may I help?’
    Vikash glanced at Ramesh, then drew Ispal close, his narrow features more animated than Ispal could ever remember seeing them. ‘My friend, I have news of a deal that may interest you. An
exclusive
deal.’
    Ispal raised his eyebrows in surprise. Vikash Nooradin was not the sort to share knowledge of deals with the likes of him. ‘What sort of deal?’ he asked curiously.
    Vikash met his eyes frankly. ‘The deal of a lifetime, Ispal – and only you and I can pull it off.’ Vikash put a finger to his lips, and didn’t speak more until they were well into the alleys, in a shadowy doorway where they could not be overheard. He huddled closer to Ispal. ‘My friend, there is a stranger in town. He is looking for something that only you have.’
    Ispal cocked his head, bemused. ‘What do I have that no one else has?’
    ‘A wife who produces only twins and triplets, who was daughter and granddaughter of women who produced only twins and triplets.’ Vikash leant closer. ‘This stranger desires such a wife: he is
very
rich, and he is in urgent need. I have spoken with his agent. His needs