Shadow Of Sanctuary

'I can't just...'

'You ask too many questions. Does he know you ask so many questions?'

That final question of the Old Man's cowed the retainer, confirming Hort's town refined suspicions that most of the slaver's business was covert rather than overt.

They were finally ushered into a large room dominated by a huge, almost throne like, chair at one end. They had been waiting only a few moments when Jubal entered, belting a dressing-gown over his muscular, ebony limbs.

'I should have known it was you. Old Man,' the slaver said with a half-smile. 'No other fisherman could bluff his way past my guards so easily.'

'I know you prefer money to sleep,' the Old Man shrugged. 'Your men know it too.'

'True enough,' Jubal laughed. 'So, what brings you this far from the docks so early in the day?'

'For some the day's over,' Panit commented dryly. 'I need money: six silver pieces. I'm offering my stall on the wharf.' -

Hort couldn't believe what he was hearing. He opened his mouth to speak, then caught himself. He had been raised to know better than to interrupt his father's business. His movement was not lost on Jubal, however.

'You intrigue me. Old Man,' the slaver mused. 'Why should I want to buy a fish stall at any price?'

'Because the wharf's the only place your ears don't hear,' Panit smiled tightly. 'You send your spies in - but we don't talk to outsiders. To hear the wharf you must be on the wharf- I offer you a place on the wharf.'

'True enough,' Jubal agreed. 'I hardly expected the opportunity to fall my way like ripe fruit...'.,..•.

'Two conditions,' the Old Man interrupted; 'First; four weeks before you own my stall. If I repay the money - you don't own my stall...'

'All right,' the slaver nodded, 'but...'

'Second: anything happens to me these next four weeks you take care of my wife. It's not charity; she knows the wharf and the Nya - she's worth a fair wage.'

Jubal studied the Old Man a moment through hooded eyes. 'Very well,' he said finally, 'but I sense there is much you are not telling me.' He left the room and returned with the silver coins which rattled lightly in his immense palm. 'Tell me this. Old Man,' he asked suspiciously, 'all these terms - why don't you just ask for a loan?'

'I've never borrowed in my life,' Panit scowled, 'and won't start now. I pay as I go - if I don't have enough I do without or I sell what I must.'

'Suit yourself,' the slaver shrugged, handing over the coins. 'I'll be expecting to see you in thirty days.'

'Or before.'

The silence between father and son was almost habitual and lasted nearly until they had reached the town again. Strangely, it was the Old Man who broke the silence first.

'You're being quiet, boy,' he said.

'Of course,' Hort exploded. 'There's nothing to say. You order things we can't pay for, sell your life-work to the biggest crook in Sanctuary and then wonder why I'm quiet. I know you don't confide in me - but Jubal! Of all the people in town ... And that talk about conditions! What makes you think he'll stand by any of them? You don't trust soldiers but you trust Jubal!'

'He can be trusted,' the Old Man answered softly. 'He's a hard one when he's got the upper hand - but he stands by his word.'

'You've dealt with him before? Nothing can surprise me now,' Hort grumbled.

'Good,' his father nodded, 'then you'll take me to the Vulgar Unicorn?'

'The Vulgar Unicorn!' He was surprised.

'That's right. Don't you know where it is?'

'I know it's in the Maze somewhere, but I've never been there.'

'Let's go.'

'Are you sure you want the Vulgar Unicorn, Old Man?' Hort pressed. 'I don't think a fisherman's ever set foot in there. The people who drink at the Unicorn are mercenaries, cut-throats and a few thieves thrown in for good measure.'

'So they say,' the Old Man nodded. 'Wouldn't be going there if they weren't. Now, you leading or not?'

All conversation stopped as they entered that infamous tavern. As he struggled to see in the darkness, Hort could feel the eyes of the room on his, sizing them up, deciding if he was a challenge or a victim.

'Are you gentlemen looking for someone?' The bartender's tone implied he didn't think they should stay for a drink.

'I want some fighting men,' the Old Man announced. 'I've heard this is the place.'

'You heard right,' the bartender nodded, suddenly a bit more attentive. 'If you don't know who you want, I'll be glad to serve as your agent - for a modest fee, of course.'

Panit regarded him as he'd regarded his fellow fisherfolk. 'I judge my own people - go back to your dishes.'

The bartender clenched his fists in anger and retreated to the other end of the bar as the Old Man faced the room.

'I need two, maybe three men for a half-day's work,' he called loudly. 'A copper now and a silver when it's over. No swords or bowmen -just axes or pole-arms. I'll be outside.'

'Why are we going to talk to them outside?' Hort asked as he followed his father into the street.

'I want to know what I'm getting,' the Old Man explained. 'Couldn't see a thing in that place.'

It took most of the afternoon but they finally sorted out three stalwarts from the small pack that had followed them. The sun was dipping towards the horizon as Panit gave his last man the advance coin and turned to his son.

'That's about all we can do today,' he said. 'You run along and

see your friends. I'll take care of the trap.'

'Aren't you going to tell me your plan?' Hort pleaded. 'Haven't got it all worked out yet,' the Old Man admitted, 'but if you want to see what happens, be on the dock at first light tomorrow. We'll see how smart this monster is.'

Unlike the day before, Hort was at the dock well before the dawn. As the first tendrils of pre-dawn light began to dispel the night, he was pacing impatiently, hugging himself against the damp chill of the morning.

Mist hung deep over the water, giving it an eerie, supernatural appearance which did nothing to ease Hort's fears as he alternately cursed and worried about his absent father. Crazy old man! Why couldn't he be like the other fishermen? Why take it on himself to solve the mystery of the sea-monster? Knowing the best way to combat the chill was activity he decided to launch the family's boat. For once, he would be ready when the Old Man got here.

He marched down the dock, then slowed, and finally retraced his steps. The boat was gone. Had Sanctuary's thieves finally decided to ply their trade on the wharf? Unlikely. Who would they sell a stolen boat to? The fishermen knew each other's equipment as well as they knew their own.

Could the Old Man have gone out already? Impossible - to be out of the harbour before Hort got there, the Old Man would have had to take the boat out at night - and in these waters with the monster...

'You there!'

Hort turned to find the three hired mercenaries coming down the pier. They were a sullen crew by this light and the pole-arms two of them carried gave them the appearance of Death's own oarsmen.

'We're here,' the leader of the trio announced, shifting his battle-axe to his shoulder, 'though no civilized man fights at this hour. Where's the old man who hired us?'

'I don't know,' Hort admitted, backing down from this fierce assemblage. 'He told me to meet him here same as you.'

'Good,' the axe-man snarled. 'We've appeared, as promised. The coppers are ours - small price for a practical joke. Tell that old man when you see him that we've gone back to bed.'

'Not so fast.' Hort surprised himself with his sudden outspoken courage as the men turned away. 'I've known the Old Man all my life and he's no joker. If he paid you to be here, you'll be needed. Or don't you want the silver that goes with those coppers?'

The men hesitated, mumbling together darkly.