The rules called for a minimum of five sponsors, a quorum that could be mustered only by bribery. The aspirant borrowed a measure of gold from each sponsor at a ruinous rate of one sixtieth every sixday. Even in Skjar, that interest was worth having, and since the postulant would likely need several years to repay the principal, the total return was substantial.
Horth easily convinced his employer and four of the man's friends to sponsor him. He so impressed some others that almost a dozen people turned up to witness. By the rules, after the sponsors had testified that the tokens they had loaned him were of full weight and purity, the aspirant divided the five between two pots, one of gold and one of clay. Only then did he make his vows. Whatever had gone in the gold pot was an offering to the god and disappeared—holy Ucr expected to be recompensed for the trouble of attending rituals. The contents of the clay pot remained for the new initiate, who could either repay some of his creditors on the spot or use it as grubstake for his future fortune.
But it wasn't as simple as that.
Postulants seeking initiation into a mystery were never left in doubt about the blessings its members received. The price the god extracted was sometimes less clearly expressed—"written on the back of the tablet" as they said in the bazaar. Thus holy Ucr offered prosperity, while the oath that He required contained no mention of a corban, just an innocent-seeming mention that the postulant would make prosperity his "only joy." It was understood—a gentlemen's agreement between mortal and divine—that wealth and happiness would follow in the proportion of the measures in the two pots. Few candidates dared give the god more than three of the five, reserving two for themselves. To give Ucr four was regarded as foolhardy.
Horth was a man in a hurry. He dreamed of really great wealth, not mere comfort. He wanted to go home—just briefly, admittedly—to rescue his mother from her benighted poverty. He would probably also modestly assist his brothers and sisters, were he able to find them. He especially dreamed of showing his father what a rich man looked like and what a good team of bodyguards could do to repay certain ancient grudges. This being his highest ambition, he put all five measures in the gold pot.
Judging by subsequent events, the god was impressed by this offering. The mortal witnesses certainly were, to the point that many were receptive when Horth came calling a few days later to propose, in strictest confidence, partnership in a venture he had in mind. Within a sixday of being initiated, he had paid off his inaugural debt completely by borrowing more at much lower rates. Within a year he was free of debt and two of his sponsors had become his employees.
He never found time to revisit his birthplace. When he finally got around to sending someone in his stead, the man returned to report that Master Wigson's parents had been dead for some years and no one knew where his brothers and sisters were. As usual, tomorrow's joy had failed to materialize. Today's work soon drove it from his mind.
♦
Vicious cramps were knotting his legs and pain made his eyes water under the blindfold. Tears were for trivia, not for real grief. He had not been able to weep when Paola died, and he would not if they took Frena from him now. Corpses shed no tears.
Poor Frena! He had so wanted to give her a splendid day!
Tomorrow's joys and yesterday's,
Are sweeter than today's.
Where did that come from?
♦
The two great joys of his life had come to him late one afternoon a few years after his initiation, when he received a caller—a young Florengian woman with black hair in ringlets and fierce, dark eyes. He was upstairs in his counting room and had given orders that he was not to be disturbed, yet somehow she won her way past the doormen, walking in and taking a seat without being invited. She had a girl child with her, a toddler who stood by her mother, holding on and staring at Horth in silence, with unfathomable eyes.
Horth stared back, for he trusted the instincts the god had given him and they said there was profit to be made from this woman.
"What can I do for you, mistress?"
"Much. And I can do much for you."
He waited. The dark eyes grew even fiercer.
"This child is a hostage from an important city in Florengia."
"If you expect me to help you extract ransom from the children of Hrag, then you are sadly deranged."
She shook her head contemptuously. "I was hired as wet nurse to bring her here." She had remarkably little accent if the story was true, for the war was only a year old, so she could not have arrived in Vigaelia more than a season or so ago. "Later they tried to take her away from me."
"It is customary," Horth said, "to guard hostages closely. Granted that one so young would not think of escape, her guardian might."
"Her guardian did." She smiled grimly.
"When and where? I have no wish to find a pack of Werists clawing their way in through my window." He was puzzled by his increasing certainty that she would bring him profit; it was a feeling he often experienced when looking at a cargo of copper ore or swan feathers, and it was never wrong. But he could not see the means yet.
"Jat-Nogul."
"Ah!" The fish began to bite. "Rebels? The palace was burned in the sack, I understand. Satrap Karvak died."
"Yes, he did." The woman's smile sent a tremor of dread prickling all the way up his backbone. Surely not!
That possibility changed matters considerably.
But why not? Two gods might be better than one.
He took a moment to think before saying, "I do not view the slaying of any child of Hrag to be a crime. If anything, the reverse. Public statues may be in order. Do you know any of the details?"
"Yes."
"Are you—"
"Do not ask."
They stared at each other in thoughtful silence. She was no longer smiling. He who fences with the Old One needs a long sword, as they said in the bazaar. On the other hand—and Horth could play more hands simultaneously than almost anyone—his god was still whispering "profit" in his ear. Two gods would be better than one.
"You want sanctuary here, or transportation home to Florengia?"
"Marry me. Adopt the child. You are rich and going to be richer. You can afford a wife. I make a good wife." She smiled mockingly. "Wet nurses are seldom virgins."
"I suppose not." Horth, to his astonishment, felt himself returning that smile. She had an undeniable attraction, in an earthy sort of way. He had been meaning to look around for a wife but had never found time. "And what else do I get out of this, apart from your very appealing company?"
"We look after our own."
"Wives are expected to. Be more specific."
"Prosperity to you and ruin to your enemies."
"I do not approve of murder, if that is what you mean." She had endangered herself by saying as much as she had, and he was now in peril, too. If he refused her and she were genuine, she might put the evil eye on him. And if he did not report her, he might find himself an accessory to charges of rebellion. Or worse. Since holy Mayn's Witnesses would not testify in chthonic trials, holy Demern's Speakers could not pass judgment, and justice belonged to the mob.
"I am not in the habit of killing people," she said huffily.
"Can you offer me any evidence that you are what you are hinting you are?" He could not bring himself to say the word.
"I found you, did I not? Your lackeys let me pass, didn't they?"
He nodded. Those were convincing arguments.
The child turned and held up her arms. The woman lifted her onto her lap. "I have made you a fair offer. Do you accept or not?"
He took one more moment to think. He considered throwing her out—assuming he was able—but the prospect felt very wrong. "Marry you?"