“Oh yes,” said Weasel. He was grinning broadly now, knowing that he had been dealt a good hand even if he did not understand all the rules of the game. The Barbarian chewed the ends of his moustaches nervously, not understanding what was going at all but sensing the excitement.
“You have them with you?”
“No.”
“Can you bring them to me?”
“Perhaps. If you are certain you want them.”
“I might take them off your hands.” Bertragh tried to sound casual but it was obvious he wanted them as desperately as a virgin boy wants his first woman. Weasel shrugged.
“There are other people who might want them too.” It was the oldest and most obvious of ploys but Bertragh went after it like a fish going for a nice fat maggot on the end of a hook.
“How much do you want for them?”
“How much are you offering?” Weasel asked.
“If the books are all in as good condition as this one there is gold in it for you.”
“How much gold?” said Weasel.
“Say one gold piece per volume.”
“Let’s say five royals per volume,” said Rik. He did not expect the merchant to go for that. One royal was more than most people would see in a year. Bertragh appeared to consider.
“Very well. I will have to consult with my patron but I think we can work something out. You will leave the volume with me, of course, so that my patron can inspect it.”
Weasel just stared at him fish-eyed.
“I will pay you the five gold for it. Consider it a deposit. If you give me a moment I will get the money from my strongbox.” He rose from the desk. There was something desperate and almost inhuman about his appearance.
Weasel shrugged again. Rik leaned forward and scooped up the book. Weasel and the Barbarian looked at him in surprise. He needed a quick explanation for them.
“The books are worth more as a complete set,” he said. “If for any reason, this deal falls through, it would be best if we had them all.”
The Barbarian looked a little shocked at the loss of his gold but Weasel gave a faint smile and an even fainter nod of understanding. Bertragh’s response was once again not what Rik would have expected. The factor looked at him with murder in his eyes. For a moment, Rik was convinced that the merchant was going to call his guards and order them to take the book away from him by force, then with an effort of will, he got himself back under control, and became almost a parody of the urbane man he had been when they entered.
“As you wish.” He appeared to consider for a moment, and then added hopefully. “We could consider the royals a deposit. I would return the book if you returned the money.”
“Suppose we were to be robbed on our way home,” said Rik. “We would be unable to repay you. All manner of things can go wrong. Best to let things stand as they are.”
Bertragh gave what he obviously hoped would be taken as an understanding nod. “You will bring the rest of the volumes tomorrow?”
“It is Solace,” said Rik.
“But we can delay the festivities for a while,” added Weasel smoothly. “Perhaps tomorrow evening we shall all have something to celebrate about.”
“Till tomorrow then, gentlemen.”
Once they were outside, they looked at each other. Weasel burst into uproarious laughter. The Barbarian joined him.
“We’re rich,” he said. We’ll see about that, thought Rik, more determined than ever to find out what was in those books. If they could get the sort of response they had from a man like Bertragh they must be worth more even than the merchant was prepared to pay for them.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“You are sure these were Alzibar’s books?” Zarahel asked, glancing at the merchant. He told himself he should not be too surprised that Bertragh had been approached. In a town the size of Redtower there were very few markets for such texts. As a lodge member of the Brotherhood of the Basilisk, Bertragh was always on the lookout for books of lore, to increase his knowledge and his standing with the other members and to add to the Brotherhood’s store of knowledge. The odds had favoured this when he had told the merchant to put out the word on the off-chance that the right people would hear it. He still was amazed it had worked so well though. Perhaps the Old Gods were with them in this after all. He had started to have his doubts.
He told himself not to get cocky. There was always the possibility of some Inquisition trap. One of the rival Brotherhoods might be involved. It never paid to underestimate the cunning of those sorcerous conspiracies. The organisations had not survived through a thousand years of Terrarch oppression by recruiting stupid men.
He thought of how long it had taken him to reach his current position, the layers of deceit he had needed to penetrate; the endless succession of oaths he had been required to swear and deadly missions he had been required to perform, the tests he had needed to pass. And he reminded himself he still had no idea how many levels lay above him and who ultimately he reported to.
He could see the sense of that. After all, of all the members of his cell, Bertragh, the leader, was the only one who knew who Zarahel was. The cell structure made the Brotherhood more difficult to destroy. No one member could betray too much.
He had to admit, he had still been shocked when Alzibar showed up out of the purple, bearing all the required signs and talismans to command his obedience. He had never expected a Terrarch to be a member of the Brotherhood although the Exalted sorcerer had swiftly convinced him of his sincerity and the actuality of his position.
Some of the things he had let slip had been disturbing though. Alzibar had been in the East, had spent time in the Dark Empire and seemed to feel some loyalty to it. Zarahel was not reassured by the thought that ultimately the whole organisation might be a tool of Sardean foreign policy, that the money and the weapons he had supplied the hill-men with had come from the East, and not secret human benefactors.
“I am sure. His mark was on the folio page. The text was written in Exalted Script. It was the third volume of a set of what I am absolutely certain is the Book of Skardos annotated by our Brother Alzibar himself.”
“And you let them walk out of your warehouse with it?” Try as he might, Zarahel could not keep the anger out of his voice. He was irritated. His familiar had started biting him. The bites themselves were not so bad; they were quite pleasurable in fact. In small doses the beast’s poison was a euphoric drug but small itchy blisters had risen everywhere he was bitten. And he wanted those books very badly. It had been bad enough when he believed them lost forever, but to know they still existed and that this fool had let them go…
“What else could I do? It was only one volume and they have cached the rest away somewhere.”
“You could have held them and sent word to me. Believe me I would have made them give up their secrets.”
“Perhaps.” For all his bookish appearance there was steel in Bertragh. “They did not look like men who would have given up without a fight. They were armed.”
“You had half a dozen bodyguards within call”
“They might have been overcome. All three of the soldiers might have been killed.”
“You might have been killed, you mean. My hill-men were upstairs. So was I. You could have sent for us. Believe me, I could have over-powered them myself if need be.”
“You told me you prefer not to be seen. And I would prefer our association to remain secret. It would not have done to have those soldiers witness a Selari factor consorting with hill-men.”
“No witnesses would have survived,” said Zarahel.
Bertragh gave him a cold smile. “Many things could still have gone wrong. If those men died you would have been none the wiser about what they knew. This way we are certain to get what we want.”