The Pharoah Contract

“No, no. I put you where the walls are thickest — and the window looks out to the Place of Artful Anguish and the waste. The snake oil men sometimes scream in the night, which disturbs the other patrons. Anyone who spends the night in the square doesn’t care about the screams of others, or so I conjecture.”

Ruiz pointed the wand elsewhere, though he didn’t put it down. “Reassuring. I’ll have to remember to shriek occasionally.”

Denklar grinned, rather unpleasantly. “Not too loud, please. The local muckety, Lord Brinslevos, is entertaining two commoner doxies in the honeymoon suite. If you disturb him, you’ll end your career yodeling on an ant heap — and there won’t be a thing I can do about it. Touchy, is his lordship. I recommend that you avoid his notice, if possible, though that may not be easy. He’s a man for the oil, and he’s probably already heard about you.”

Ruiz blinked. “I appreciate the advice.”

“My job. Now,” said Denklar, rubbing his hands together, “to business. Who are you and what brings you to Stegatum?”

Ruiz brought forth his identity plaque and fingered it in a particular way. The white porcelain became transparent, to reveal a glowing golden torc, identifying him as a League agent with Uberfactorial carte blanche.

Denklar seemed impressed. His wide face showed a sheen of sweat, though the air was growing chill. “I see,” he said.

Ruiz put the plaque away. “Good. I can tell you this much: I’m here to analyze certain operational deficiencies. And when I’m done, heads may roll.”

“Not mine, I’m certain. My job description is simple and exact. I watch for unauthorized technology, I provide housing for League agents visiting the region, and I try to check the worst of Brinslevos’s impulses….”

“Oh?”

“Yes, of course — we want life to be hard for the peasants, else what pressure would drive them to excellence in conjuring? After all, it’s the only way out, for an ambitious child. But revolutions are too likely to breed unwelcome change, and Brinslevos is particularly careless of his property.”

“Ah.” Ruiz examined Denklar carefully. No doubt the innkeeper had things to hide; what League employee did not? The crucial question was this: Was Denklar a part of the faction which had tried to eliminate Ruiz, and if so, had the conspirators been able to communicate new instructions to Denklar regarding Ruiz? It seemed at least possible to Ruiz that there had not been sufficient time to formulate a policy and give the necessary orders. In any case, Denklar had reacted to the sudden appearance of a stranger at his inn with no perceptible anxiety, which argued for his innocence — or lack of information. And to suspect every League agent on Pharaoh of duplicity was probably feckless paranoia. Possibly.

Denklar shifted uneasily. “How may I assist you?”

Ruiz allowed him to fidget, while Ruiz maintained a frown of officious suspicion. “Well,” he finally said, “I’ll tell you later. For now, I’ll stay at your inn, sell a little oil, and soak up the lay of the land. Acclimate. You’ve noticed the blackout from the orbital station?”

Denklar seemed startled. “Actually… no. We have spy beads active here, of course, beaming data up to the platform, but very little downlink traffic. This is an unimportant station, after all. Any child who shows any talent for conjuring is immediately sold off to a mage school in one of the major towns, so no serious collecting occurs here.” A light seemed to switch on behind Denklar’s eyes. “You’re here to investigate the poachers, aren’t you?”

Ruiz frowned more severely. “My mission is classified. Don’t be inquisitive. The blackout I mentioned now includes your uplink; my boat is monitoring the spectrum for violations. It’s a very good boat.”

“Of course, of course. Well, count on me. What shall I call you, by the way?”

“Call me Wuhiya. Don’t alter your behavior toward me, except to permit me to peddle my wares in your common room.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. Word may get around, and then I’ll have snake oil men infesting every corner.”

“You can handle it.” Ruiz was suddenly very tired. “Go away now; we’ll talk more in the morning.”

Denklar left, clearly unhappy. Ruiz barred the door, then set out various alarms and mantraps, which might preserve his life if enemies arrived while he slept.

Just before Ruiz was ready for bed, the green moth flew into the lamp and perished in a puff of twinkling sparks.

Chapter 8

A hundred kilometers away, in the stone town of Kobatum, a man sat at a table, eyes blank, mouth stretched into a shape of soundless pleasure. Occasionally he jerked and his eyes rolled. On the table before him was a small box of black plastic, from which a flat cable led to a strapped-on inducer at the base of his skull.

Far above, at the edge of the sky, a cloud of minute objects skipped through the first traces of atmosphere. Some took too steep a dive and burned up, but the rest eventually fell safely into the stratosphere.