The Pharoah Contract

The road passed the last of the catapple plantations and rose into a more pitilessly arid region, a terrain of large gray boulders sparsely distributed over flats of pink quartz gravel. Ruiz followed the track for hours, seeing little but an occasional steamwagon. These freight carriers were driven by gaunt women in faded blue robes, none of whom wasted a glance on Ruiz. He learned quickly to move aside when he saw the first cloud of dust. Twice men passed him riding striderbeasts — tall, bipedal, reptilian creatures, covered by fine scales and moving with a smooth elegant gait. One animal was black and the other a tarnished green, and both wore silver-mounted saddles and jeweled bridles. Neither rider acknowledged Ruiz’s greeting, though he saluted respectfully.

By midafternoon Ruiz was descending a potholed side road into a less barren valley, which contained extensive gardens and, at the far end where the valley was deepest, a huddle of one- and two-storied mud houses, shaded by the feathery fronds of tall old dinwelt trees. On a flat bench just above the village was a public square, the so-called Place of Artful Anguish, a standard amenity in every village and town on Pharaoh. Above that the waste began again.

In the valley, the air was marginally cooler and a bit moister, and Ruiz felt a sense of pleasant arrival.

A half-dozen small boys appeared at the roadside to stare at him with large eyes. They assembled in a line, ranked from tallest to shortest, and they held various bits of homemade paraphernalia, stickhoops and tanglestrings and improvised coin-snaps, with which they had evidently been playing conjuror. Ruiz smiled at them. They edged away slightly, but said nothing.

“Hello, noble young gentlemen,” Ruiz said.

“Ain’t such,” the boldest of them answered defiantly.

Ruiz spread his hands in a gesture of disbelief. “How was I to know, unfamiliar as I am with your lovely environs?”

“Talks funny,” said another of the urchins.

“Ought to know we’re not sirs. Sirs don’t stink of the lizard tannery, or wear cloutcloth. Sirs be riding on striderbeasts.” This was contributed by the smallest of the boys, who spoke with careful logic. The others rolled their eyes, and the first speaker tugged the smallest one’s ragged hat down over his face.

“He’s young yet,” the first speaker explained.

“I see,” said Ruiz, struggling to control a grin. “Well, perhaps you can assist me, since you seem to be well informed. Is there a decent inn here in Stegatum, for so I hear your lovely village is called?”

The boldest boy rubbed his pointed chin. “Depends what you’d call decent. How swank’re your notions?”

“Not impossibly so. A bed free of wildlife, and decent food will satisfy the most extreme of my hopes.”

“Then the Denklar Lodge comes closer than the Pougribalt Roadhouse. You staying the night?”

“Such is my plan.”

“Smart. You heared of the trouble on the Worldwall? Last night, not thirty kilometers from here, a demon came over the edge and ate a Watcher whole. It’ll be running the back country tonight, looking for another dinner. Tonight’s a good night to snooze behind a strong door, and the Denklar wins on that count too. Costs, though.” The boldest urchin delivered this speech in calm tones of relish.

“Thank you. I’ll take your advice.” Ruiz hitched up his pack and would have gone on, but the boys watched him with greater expectation than his outlandish appearance warranted. He recalled that they might expect a new bit of conjuring from a stranger who was inclined to be friendly, so he sighed and nodded.

White smiles broke out on the dark faces.

“Watch my hand, then,” Ruiz instructed them, and showed them both sides of his right hand, then slowly clenched his hand into a fist. They watched with an intensity beyond their years.

One of Ruiz’s rings budded, into the interior of his fist, a tiny bit of memory crystal, which quickly grew into the semblance of a red garnet the size of a thimble.

He opened his hand to show the gem. The boys weren’t yet impressed, though they were polite enough to wait for something more notable. “Can’t be real,” said the smallest boy, dubiously, for which he received a swat on the shoulder.

Ruiz laughed. “No, indeed, it’s not a real garnet; in fact, it’s the rare and lovely chrysalis of the fabulous ruby-winged flitterbuzz.”

“So you say,” said the smallest boy, not discouraged. But he looked intrigued, as did the others.

“Watch again,” Ruiz instructed them. He cupped his other hand over the garnet, then crushed his hands together. The crystal collapsed into glitter dust, soundlessly, unseen by his audience. His ring extruded another bit of crystal, and Ruiz felt it stir with the semblance of life. After a moment, he opened his hands, and a tiny winged insect straightened its shimmering wings. It sat on his hands for an instant, then fluttered and launched itself upward. It would climb toward the sun until its energy cell was exhausted, and then it would dissolve into drifting powder.