The Empire Stone (21 page)

“My father, who was a wise man, which is why I was able to finance my businesses with a minimum of risk, had seen this coming. We fled the city before the riots, after he’d converted as much of his holdings into cash or transportable goods as possible. We stayed at an inn leagues beyond Isfahan, and we could barely see the smoke from the fires. When we returned, all was calm, although the city was a quarter ruined.

“They’d burned our house and several of my father’s businesses. But because of his farsightedness, my father was able to reestablish himself quickly. And since his funds were liquid, he was able to take advantage of many opportunities in the depressed marketplace.”

“I’d guess,” Peirol suggested, “nut bushes weren’t among them.”

“As a matter of fact, I still can’t stand to eat those meats. At any rate, I’ve been considering what is happening today, and, of course I’m wrong to even think this, to wonder about the greatness of Makonnen and the Redeemer, but a wise man takes precautions.”

“One of the most transportable and easiest to convert of all assets is high-grade gems,” Peirol said.

“Which is why I thought we might have a common interest.”

“An excellent thought,” Peirol said. “Perhaps we should adjourn to my chambers and discuss the matter further, and you might peruse some interesting examples of my craft?”

“Such would be my pleasure.”

As they reached the stairs, Nushki, very casually, pointed out six armed men as his bodyguards and said that unfortunately the taproom couldn’t accommodate all of them, so others were forced to wait outside in the back, near the stables, and in front, on the street.

Peirol gave him a wintry smile. “You’ll find I’m no less honest than those you normally conduct business with.”

“The thought never came,” Nushki said, and bowed him up the stairs.

An hour later, Peirol was fatter by two bags of gold, and Nushki, quite delighted, had a palmful of gems, one Aulard’s ill-omened opal.

In the days that followed other men and women, equally richly dressed, equally worried about Makonnen’s prophecies and what would happen if anything went awry, came to Peirol and left with jewels. They swore him to secrecy, because those who displeased Makonnen were taken to a park and stoned to death. Several hundred people had already been made aware of Makonnen’s displeasure. Peirol was more than happy to promise.

He had gotten rid of half his gems when the summons came. Four plainly dressed, well-armed men came to the inn, and announced Peirol of the Moorlands and his companion had been selected for a rare privilege. Makonnen himself was prepared to grant them an immediate audience and a blessing. Horses were waiting outside. “Trouble,” Zaimis whispered.

Peirol couldn’t think of any way to put the men off and make an escape. Besides, he thought hopefully, perhaps this will really turn out to be a blessing.

It wasn’t.

• • •

The house Makonnen lived in sat high on the canyon, near the city-circling walls. It had been given — honestly given — by a merchant prince, one of the first to accept the creed of the Redeemer. Makonnen now considered him one of his most trusted advisers. His former friends such as Nushki, of course, reviled him as a traitor to his class. But they did it very quietly. Isfahan was divided among the ardent believers, who included most of the peasants and a great deal of the upper class, the very quiet opposition, and those who simply got on with things and waited for the worst.

Peirol had expected the mansion to be laden with loot, all “gifts” to Makonnen. Instead it was bare as a penitent’s cell, although the sparse furnishings were all of the finest woods and metals. Makonnen’s household was all female, all good-looking, mostly young. Not all looked happy to be where they were.

“Godsdamned men,” Zaimis whispered, and Peirol couldn’t argue.

A bearded dignitary introduced himself as Kuphi. “You should consider it a great honor to be personally summoned by Makonnen, the One Who Comes Before the Redeemer, to be asked to gift him.”

“What sort of gift would be appropriate?” Peirol asked, hoping the payoff would be no more than a large diamond or two.

“I cannot say,” Kuphi said. “But I know Makonnen wishes the city to prepare a great gift for the Redeemer, when he arrives, and I’ve heard mention a model of the world, done in gold and gems, might be the least offering.”

Gems. Peirol tried not to let the wince show.

“I see,” he said. “I am truly looking forward to this audience, for there’s a question of a spiritual nature has been pulling at me, and only a man with the wisdom of Makonnen can answer it.”

“Perhaps,” Kuphi said, “you would wish to ask me, for I’m not unfamiliar with spiritual matters, and might be able to solve it for you, so Makonnen will not have to occupy himself with matters not on his plane. I don’t mean that to be insulting, for all of us, as Makonnen has taught, think our own souls as depthy as the ocean, and perhaps we are right.”

“No, no,” Peirol said. “I know this question can only be dealt with by Makonnen. If not him, then I’ll be forced to hold it for the Redeemer’s arrival.”

“I, uh, see,” Kuphi said. “I bid you wait for a few moments, and then you will be called to dine, with Makonnen himself making the before-meal prayer.”

He bowed, left.

“So they’re going to feed us,” Zaimis said. “Hogs before the slaughter?”

“I prefer lambs before the shearing.”

“
You
can think in that manner,” Zaimis said. “All
you’ll
lose will be our gems. I might become one of this man’s chattels and spend the rest of my life, at least until he tires of me, on my back with my legs in the air. I am very tired of being a possession.”

Peirol nodded glumly.

“And what is this great question you’ve been waiting to ask Makonnen?” she asked. “And why haven’t you puzzled at it with me?”

“Because I don’t know what it is, yet,” Peirol whispered fiercely. “Maybe it’s why the hells the gods didn’t make me a magician so we could fly right on out of here. Shut up and let me ponder.”

A few minutes later, a rather dissonant gong sounded from somewhere in the mansion, and a woman came into the room and beckoned them to follow. They entered another almost bare room, empty except for a long table with chairs. Two dozen dignified men stood behind chairs, and they nodded to Peirol and Zaimis. At one end of the room sat a young woman with pen and paper.

There were bowls at each place, a spoon, a mug of water, and a half loaf of bread. In the center of the table was a great steaming dish. Peirol sniffed, smelled nothing but vegetables, which made sense. It was always good for those who prate of spiritual matters to disdain earthly things. Thus far, with the exception of the women, Makonnen was doing well.

Another gong came, and Makonnen entered. Peirol had expected a bearded, hairy charlatan of some sort, a village mountebank who’d fallen into a good thing. Such a one could be bribed with a single gem. But Makonnen was young, in his mid-thirties, sleek-haired, clean-shaven, with a handsome face, if the nose was a little large and pointed for some tastes. In keeping with the ascetic setting, he wore a white tunic, close-buttoned at the neck, white breeches, and simple white sandals.

Zaimis was looking at the man a bit interestedly.

Makonnen came to the only empty place at the table, held out his hands, palm up, and lifted them. “This day is blessed,” he said, in a voice that was pleasing, mild, “for it is one day closer to the Redeemer’s coming. I lift my voice in prayer to him, and to the gods and heavens he comes from, to give us ease, peace, and plenty, a life of great plenty, for all to savor and enjoy. For have I not written, ‘Only in the Redeemer’s graces can anything be enjoyed, and only when we are joined with him shall we know true happiness’? I now further add to that, by saying — ”

The prayer went on and on. Peirol saw the young woman writing hastily as Makonnen spoke. By the time the prayer finished, the dish in the center of the table had stopped steaming.

“Be seated, my advisers, my guests,” Makonnen said. “And allow me to serve us.” He went around the table, dishing up bowls. No one began eating until Makonnen sat down and lifted his spoon, and then everyone followed, eating at a great rate. Peirol tried the dish, found it a lentil stew of no great distinction, with too many tomatoes and not enough garlic. He’d eaten better, he’d eaten far worse.

He ate slowly, paying more attention to Makonnen than the meal. Peirol thought the man very clever for avoiding the usual traps of impostors. He wondered why no one ever thought the young could be frauds. Certainly an old charlatan must get started sometime. He was at a loss as to what he might do, and then he noticed something. There was a peculiar glitter to Makonnen’s eyes, and he never quite looked directly at anyone or anything, but beyond them, over their shoulder. He’d seen the look before, on the face of the gods-besotted. An idea formed.

Makonnen had finished about half his bowl when he put his spoon down. Instantly everyone else stopped as well. Zaimis had her spoon lifted, and Peirol had just taken a bite. She kicked him and put her spoon back down, obviously more experienced with formal state banquets than the dwarf. If this was Makonnen’s way, no wonder his advisers gobbled so hastily. Makonnen made no gesture, but women swarmed, cleared the table.

“I greet my visitors,” Makonnen said, without rising. He looked a bit past Peirol and Zaimis as he spoke. They ducked their heads, hoping that would be showing adequate respect. “I asked you to come here,” he said, “because first, I’m always curious about outsiders who come to my … to the Redeemer’s city.”

Ah. A slip, there, Peirol thought.

“My agents report that even though you two come from the beyond, you have been more than respectful about the Redeemer’s coming, and have listened with great interest to what humble teachings of mine have been presented to you. This is very good. Another reason I invited you was to ask you if you wished to become part of our family, as each gives to each, and thereby increases their worth in the eyes of the Redeemer. Each of you could choose to give a great gift, but one which will ensure your being in the greatest favor with the Redeemer, as these friends of mine here are and as I hope I am considered.”

The advisers hastily cut in with “Of course you are,” “You’re the best of us all,” and such phrases sycophants have always used. Makonnen waited until the chorus died away.

“However,” Makonnen said, “before we discuss that matter, and perhaps pray for proper guidance, I understand from my friend Kuphi that you have a question on spiritual matters you wish to put to me. I am delighted to listen to it, but you must remember, I am but the messenger of the Redeemer, and what little power of thought I’ve been given comes from him, for his great mind can more than spare the mite he’s given me, and” — Makonnen hesitated, regained his train of thought — “so it’s not at all inconceivable the answer to your question might have to wait until the Redeemer himself walks among us. But that will be no great burden, for I have been told, through my dreams and visions, we have but little time to wait, although we all know what the gods and great beings call little time might be a lifetime to a man.”

Again the chorus chimed agreement.

“Ask your question, if you will,” Makonnen said.

“As I’m sure you know,” Peirol said smoothly, feeling his palms bead sweat, “we come from a far distant land, and had intended to pass through Isfahan on our way to other lands, as our gods have dictated we must wander.”

“I’d sensed,” Makonnen said, “you were not traveling of your own will.”

Got you, you lying bastard!

Zaimis was doing an admirable job of keeping an even face.

“We knew nothing of the Redeemer, nor of yourself. But even before we knew of you, Makonnen, just after entering this country where Isfahan is a dreamed-of paradise, we noticed the peasants and villagers we met treated us strangely.”

“Not surprising,” Makonnen said. “By now the two of you — one so fair, the other so unusual — must be used to curious looks.”

“Of course we are,” Peirol said. “But this was very different. Finally, in one village, we encountered a wonderfully knowledgeable village witch.”

“I hold but little with magic,” Makonnen said. “As I have written, ‘Once the Redeemer arrives, such mummery and illusion will fade, and we shall all rejoice in the clear light of day.’”

Peirol waited until the claque finished.

“I know little of that, for I have nothing of the Gift. But this witch, who later told us of your coming, and the gifts of comfort and knowledge you’ve brought, explained why we were held in such, well, I don’t like to sound cocky, but the only word I have is awe. She said it was the legend, or rather folk-poem, called ‘The Dwarf and the Lady.’ She said it was very old, hundreds of years.”

“Since I, like yourselves, am not a native of this land,” Makonnen said, “I know the legend not. Do you, Kuphi? Before I came, Kuphi headed the Colleges of Learning, and it was said that he knew everything.”

“So it was put about,” Kuphi said humbly. “But then I met you and realized the depth of my ignorance, Makonnen.”

Makonnen smiled, pleased. “Well, what of this legend?”

Kuphi furrowed his brow, pretended to think. “I heard it years and years ago, either in my childhood or as a young student. I’m afraid the details have slipped my mind. But it is a very definite ancient country legend.”

Peirol kept from grinning. “The witch taught us the rhyme that would begin any of the adventures of this dwarf and lady, which she said was always the same. I memorized it as a curiosity. But then, when I learned of you and the Redeemer, I determined I must, when we reached Isfahan, seek you out and ask what it means, for surely a legend that old must have some merit. My friend here and I vowed we would mention the rhyme to no one until you offered your wisdom,” he said. “The verse goes, and I think I’m quoting it precisely: