The Pleasure of Memory (43 page)

“You owed the Farks money?”

“Don’t give me that look,” Beam said harshly, “I didn’t steal from them, and I sure as hell didn’t borrow from them. I got jumped while taking a payment back to the Freehold. Their money was stolen from me, and I knew Lucy well enough to know it didn’t matter why I wasn’t making the payment, only that I wasn’t making it. Friend or enemy, it didn’t matter; there’s nothing Lucy likes better than throwing a good hanging party. I knew if I showed up without his gold, I’d end up swinging from Fark’s Tree before he finished breakfast, never mind our history.”

Chance snorted sarcastically. “I have to say, the simple fact you’ve made it this far in life with your skin intact seems to me a minor miracle.”

“Are you about done?”

“Bless me, more than done,” Chance said, “Nothing would make me happier than to move on. The Farks. Blood of the gods!”

“Enough with the Farks, already,” Beam said, watching him closely, “I’m going back to the story. Unless you have some other worldly observations about my life you’d like to share?”

“Pray, continue.”

“I forgot where I was.”

“The scrubs, as I recall.”

“Oh yeah. Let’s see…I had a horse at first, but once I found the graveyard, I set it free. It was too conspicuous. And it drank a hell of a lot of water, which wasn’t that easy to find in those parts.”

“The scrubs are the most inhospitable place in the three nations,” Chance said.

“You don’t know the half of it. The map didn’t clearly point out a single, specific target, and damn me if there weren’t ten thousand decaying crypts and vaults scattered through those stinking hills. It took me nearly two years to find the right one. It was so hot I could only work at night. During the day, I’d take the tonic, sleep in the vaults, and pray like hell the patrols didn’t find my tracks.

“One morning I was looking at the next crypt on my list when I actually should’ve been wrapping things up and heading for cover. This particular crypt was even more run down than most, which meant the chance of finding anything more than bones was about null. I was even considering striking it from my list.

“Then I noticed a tree carved on the round capstone sealing the door. The paint was damned near faded to memory, but as I brushed the sand free, I spotted a design. Painted in the crown was a sun, and in the midst of that sun was one of those all-seeing eyes. I swear to Calina, I couldn’t believe it. I’d passed this very crypt a hundred times and never noticed it.

“It had to mean something, and I was pretty eager to go in, but it was just too late. It was already dawn and I couldn’t risk the patrols showing up while I worked, so I resolved that it would just have to wait until nightfall. I shucked my pack up over my shoulder and was ready to head back to camp when the sunlight poured through the gap between the crypts behind me. And when the morning light hit that tomb door, I saw the rest of it.”

“The rest of what?”

“I saw the handprints.”

“The handprints? What do you mean?”

“The form of two handprints chiseled into the rock. They were painted over, camouflaged within the drawing of the tree on either side of the eye. The fingerprints and palm creases were so detailed in the sunlight, it was like someone had pressed their hand into wet mud and let it bake solid.”

“Handprints?” Chance repeated. “And you didn’t see them until the sunlight hit?”

“Are you listening to me or not? The sunlight brought them to life. They practically glowed in the rays. I couldn’t believe my eyes; I had to touch it to prove it was real. And so…well, I’m not sure why I even did it.”

“Did what?”

“I pressed my own hands into the impressions. Damn me if the fit wasn’t perfect. I mean absolutely perfect, like putting on gloves that were custom made for me.”

“And then what?”

“You’re going to think I’m a raver when I tell you this. When I put my hands in the imprints, the round stone door began to move. Completely on its own, I mean. It just started rolling to the left. Slowly. Growling like a waking beast. Scared the shit out of me. I thought someone was inside.”

“But there was no one inside,” Chance said.

“Right,” he said, “It was empty.”

“And you went in.”

“You’re goddamned right I went in.”

“And?”

“The interior of the crypt was a complete disappointment.”

“How so?”

“It was just like every other crypt I’d broken into, except maybe older and dirtier. There was a crude sarcophagus in it that pretty much filled the room. In fact, it was more like a Parhronii coffin. The cover was just plain old dirty stone, no image carved in it or anything. The face and body of a savage were painted on the lid, but it was so dirty and faded I couldn’t even make out the gender. I was disgusted. I’d risked my safety staying out so late after dawn for nothing. I could’ve sat down in the dirt and bawled. It was enough to make me want to just quit it all.”

“But you didn’t,” Chance said.

“Start bawling?”

“No, fool! Quit.”

“Oh, hell no!” Beam said with a laugh, “I’d come too goddamned far. No, I pulled out my bar and pried the coffin open anyway. I’d gotten it about halfway open when the crypt’s stone seal started rolling back into place behind me. Damned near had heart failure at the sound. Thank the gods I’d brought my pack in with me. It would’ve been a ‘dig here’ sign to the savages if they’d found it outside.”

“Of course.”

“So there I was, sealed inside with only myself and a moldering corpse for company. I honestly didn’t think I was leaving that bloody tomb again. Those round doors are murder to move from the inside.”

“But, you did get out.”

“Figured that out by yourself, did you? Why, you’re a regular astronomer!”

“There’s no need to be an ass.”

Beam laughed. “Well, I couldn’t do anything but take a slug off the tonic, which, thank the gods, I already had out because I figured I’d be needing it. Once the vomiting subsided, I fired up a torch and finished prying that coffin open. And you know what? It only took one look inside to know I’d found the right crypt after all.”

“Because there was no corpse,” Chance said.

Beam stopped walking. He looked up at the man and tried to see the trick through his words. “What did you say?”

Chance looked like the cat that’d eaten the family chicken. “I would speculate that it wasn’t a coffin at all,” he said coyly, “I would further speculate that it was a passage. And were I to elaborate on that speculation, I’d say there was a stairway inside it that led to a lower chamber.”

The words danced around in Beam’s head for a dozen beats before he could accept them. Then he whispered, “Now how in the hell would you know that?”

“I know the legend.”

“Blather, prattle, and spew,” Beam muttered.

“No need to give me such a sorry look,” Chance said seriously, “It’s my business to understand such elements of the world and its history.”

“Fine. So you know the legend. In that case, maybe you’d like to finish the story for me?”

“Heavens, no. The legend’s thin. I know a few scattered details, most of which are probably false anyway. I’d rather hear it from you.”

“No,” Beam said, his irritation growing, “Really. Go ahead and enlighten me.”

“Finish your story,” Chance said quickly, “Please. I won’t speak again until you’re done, I swear it before Pentyrfal.”

Beam felt a little spooked by the man’s knowledge. He knew it couldn’t be true, but legends be damned, it was still one hell of a string of coincidences.

“Please, Beam,” Chance pressed again, “Proceed. Finish your story.”

“All right, all right,” Beam said, “The coffin was an opening to a set of stone stairs that pretty much just descended into complete blackness. So I grabbed the torch and I climbed down those miserable fifty steps, counting each bloody one of them. Elixir or no, it was the most oppressive stinking place I’d ever entered. There was no rail to steady against, no wall, just an open slice of stone steps leading down into absolute blackness.”

“What did you find down there?”

“The largest crypt I’d been in yet. In fact, it was nothing like the tombs I’d visited before. The walls were buried under rich runes and arcane images inlayed with silver, gold, bloodstone, and opal. There were tapestries and tables loaded with household wares, mummified food, and weapons of all sorts. And there were thousands of spent candles. This was no layman’s tomb.

“But the biggest surprise was squatting right there in the middle of the room. It was a golden sarcophagus sitting on a marble base with a huge pillar at each corner. The bronze lid was cast in the form of a Vaemysh warrior. His face was inlaid in gold and his hair was black as ebony.”

“Black?” Chance asked.

“I know. I thought it was odd, too. I mean, a savage with black hair? Never seen such a thing.”

Chance squinted at him. “Seriously, Beam?”

Beam felt himself flush. “Don’t even go there,” he said firmly, “I’m half-bred. I’m no savage.”

“Of course. Forgive me my poor memory.”

“Anyway, I damned near broke my back pushing the lid off. When it hit the ground, it spooked up so much dust I could barely breathe. Seemed like forever before it settled enough to see inside the coffin. But, boil me to hell, when it did—”

“There was no corpse,” Chance said.

Beam froze with his hands in mid-gesture.

“Sorry.” Chance’s blush was evident even under the green torchlight. “I’ve heard the legend in a dozen variations. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You have a penchant for ruining perfectly good stories. It’s seriously annoying.”

“I’m confident I have my moments.”

“Well, this particular moment’s lasted two days. Is that normal?”

“Listen, Beam, I tell you what I know before you tell me what you know. If I told you what I know after you tell me what you know, you’d never believe that I knew at all. Isn’t that right?”

“Are you kidding? I’m not even sure what the hell you just said.”

Chance didn’t reply.

“Surprise!” Beam shouted, throwing out his arms, “There was no corpse!”

This time Chance flinched. And then he threw Beam a scowl he felt clear down to his spine. It was most satisfying.

Grinning, Beam resumed the story. “The inside of this coffin was lined with satin shrouds, dozens of them layered one over the other, but there was no body in them. Hidden under the rotting layers of cloth was a puzzle casket.”

“A Vaemysh puzzle casket?”

“Didn’t expect that, did you?” Beam said with a jab of his finger, “Bet your legends and stories don’t even mention a puzzle casket, do they?”

“No, they don’t. I expected you’d find the sword there.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a different chapter in the story.”

“I see.”

Beam could see he didn’t. “I’m telling you, Brother, no one could have found this place by accident, not in a decade of searching.”

“But you found it.”

“I had a map.”

“Why, of course you did. A map you couldn’t read.”

Beam studied his companion for evidence he was being played. “You think this is all some sort of supernatural plot,” he said, watching Chance closely, “Or maybe divine intervention or something, right? Maybe some elaborate scheme of the gods and long dead seers?”

“Something along that description, yes.”

“Wouldn’t it be grand if life actually worked that way? If all our little coincidences and lucky breaks could be explained as something bigger than that? Well, that’s not the way things work, Chance. Sometimes shit just happens to otherwise shitless people.”

“So, should I guess at what you found in the puzzle casket?”

“No, I’ve already shown you my hand. It was the red stone.”

“The Blood Caeyl,” Chance said, “Of course.”

Beam recognized the reverence in the man’s voice. He conjured up a deliciously sarcastic response, but for reasons he couldn’t explain, held it back. Again! Maybe he was going soft. Or maybe he’d just ridden the man enough for one day. He prayed it wasn’t some new character trait growing like a tumor in him, something akin to generosity. It was a most disturbing notion, and he’d have to think seriously on it later.

“Even if you hadn’t shown me the caeyl,” Chance said, “I’d have guessed it to be more than a handful of gold. I’ve the seen the stumps of your oteuryns.”

“And that proves what, exactly?”

“That with a modicum of creative interpretation, your story walks hand in hand with what I know about the legend of the Caeyllth Blade.”

They turned as one and continued their walk.

Beam scooped up a handful of sand as he thought about what the man had said. He sifted the sand into the open palm of his other hand, and then repeated it in reverse. He watched the grains disappear into time as he remembered back on his experiences. Finally, he brushed his hands together and laughed.

“Something’s funny?” Chance asked.