The Face of Chaos

A short, swarthy man came forward with a step that was more a glide. He leaned casually in front of the storekeeper, yet never took his eyes from Bantu. 'Are these boys bothering you, citizen?'

'No, these ... men were just asking about the sign on my post outside. They ... seemed to think it was Jubal's mark.'

'Jubal?' the swarthy man repeated, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. 'Haven't you heard, lad? The Black Devil of Sanctuary's dead now, or so everybody says. Lucky for you, too.'

A knife glinted suddenly in the man's hand as he advanced on Bantu, a glint that was echoed in his narrowed eyes.

'... because if he were alive, and if this shop were under his protection, and if he or his men caught you coming between him and a paying customer, then he'd have to make an example of you and your friends!'

The man was close now, and Bantu's throat tightened as the knife moved up and down in the air between them, gracefully serving as a pointer during the speech.

'Maybe your ears should be cut off to save you from hearing troublesome rumours ... or your tongue cut out to keep you from repeating them ... Better still the nose ... yes, chop off the nose to keep it out of other people's business ,..'

Bantu felt faint now. This couldn't be happening. Not in broad daylight on the east side of town. These things might happen in the Maze, but not here! Not to him!

'Please, sir,' the shopkeeper interrupted. 'If anything happens in my shop ...'

'Of course,' the swarthy man continued, as if he hadn't heard, 'all this is pure conjecture. Jubal is dead, so nothing need be done ... or said. Correct?'

He turned away abruptly, summoning his men back to the door with a jerk of his head.

'Yes, Jubal is dead,' he repeated, 'along with his hawkmasks. As such, no one need concern themselves with silly symbols scratched on shopfronts. I trust we did not interrupt your business, citizens, for I'm sure you are all here to purchase some of this man's excellent stock ... and you will each buy something before you leave.'

Jubal, the not-so-dead ex-crimelord of Sanctuary, paced the confines of the small room like a caged animal. The process that had healed his terrible wounds after the raid on his estate had aged him physically. Mentally, however, he was still agile, and that agility rebelled at these new restrictions on his movement. Still, it was a small price to pay for rebuilding his lost power.

'So the alliance is finalized?' he asked. 'We will warn and guard the Stepsons whenever possible in return for their abandoning the hunt for the remaining hawkmasks?'

'As you ordered,' his aide acknowledged. Jubal caught the tone of voice and hesitated in his pacing. 'You still don't approve of this treaty, do you Saliman?'

'Tempus and his Whoresons raided our holdings, wounded you nearly unto death, scattered our power, and have since been occupying their time killing our old comrades. Why should I object to allying with them ... any more than I'd object to bedding a mad dog that's bitten me not once, but several times.'

'But you yourself counselled not seeking vengeance on him!'

'Avoiding confrontation is one thing. Pledging to help an enemy is yet another. Forming an alliance was your idea, Jubal, not mine.'

Jubal smiled slowly, and for a moment Saliman saw a flash of the old crimelord, the one who had once all but ruled Sanctuary.

'The alliance is at best temporary, old friend,' the ex-gladiator murmured. 'Eventually there will be a reckoning. In the meantime, where better to study an enemy than from within his own camp?'

'Tempus is smarter than that,' his aide argued. 'Do you really • think he'll be trusting enough to relax his guard?'

'Of course not,' said Jubal. 'But Tempus has moved north to fight at Wizardwall. I have less respect for those he's left behind. However, their efforts to locate old hawkmasks are an annoyance we can ill afford at this time.'

'The rebuilding goes well. Resistance is minimal, and ...'

'I'm not talking about the rebuilding, and you know it!' Jubal interrupted viciously. 'It's those Beysib that have me worried.'

'But everyone else in town is unconcerned.'

'They're fools! Not a one of them can see beyond their own immediate gains. Merchants don't understand power. Power understands power. I know those fish folk better than most, because I know myself. They didn't come to Sanctuary to help the town. Oh, they'll make a big show of the benefits of their arrival to the citizens, but eventually there'll come a parting of the ways. A situation will arise when they'll have to choose between what's good for their new neighbours and what's good for the Beysib, and there's no doubt in my mind as to how they'll choose. If we let them get strong enough. Sanctuary will be lost when their chance goes against the city.'

'They are not exactly weak now,' Saliman observed, thoughtfully chewing his lip.

'That's right,' Jubal growled, 'and that's why they concern me. What we must do ... what the town must do, is to gain strength through our association with the fish-folk, while at the same time blocking their growth, actually sapping their strength whenever possible. Fortunately, this is a role Sanctuary is well suited to.'

'There are those who would confuse your zeal for self-interest rather than a defence of the town,' Saliman said carefully. 'The Beysib do constitute a threat to your effort to rebuild your power base.'

'Of course,' the hawkmaster smiled. 'Like the invaders, I work for my own benefit... Everyone does, though most don't admit it. The difference is that my success is linked to the continuance of Sanctuary as we have known it. Theirs isn't.'

'Of course, your success will not happen by itself,' his aide reminded him.

'Yes, yes. I know. Affairs of business. Forgive my ramblings, Saliman, but you know I find details tedious now that I've attained old age.'

'You found them tedious well before your aging,' came the dry response.

'... which is why you are so valuable to me. Enough of your nagging. Now, what pressing matter do you have that simply must be dealt with?'

'Do you recall the shop that was displaying our protection symbol without having paid for the services?'

'The artifact shop? Yes, I remember. Synab never struck me as the sort who had that kind of courage.'

For all his grumbling and protests about detail, Jubal had an infallible memory for money and people.

'Well?' the slaver continued, 'What of it? Has the investigation been completed, or does his shop still stand?'

'Both,' Saliman smiled. 'Synab claims to be innocent of offence. He says that he didpa.y us for protection.'

'And you believed him? It's not like you to be so easily bluffed.'

'I believed him, but only because we located the one who has been dealing in our name.'

'A poacher?' Jubal scowled. 'As if we didn't have enough problems. All we need is to have every cheap crook in Sanctuary borrowing our reputation for his own extortions. I want the offender caught and brought to me as soon as possible.'

'He's waiting outside,' the aide smiled. 'I thought you would want to see him.'

'Excellent, Saliman. Your efficiency improves daily. Give me a moment to get into this wretched mask and bring him in.'

To maintain appearances, Jubal always wore one of the outlawed blue hawkmasks, as well as a hooded cloak when interviewing underlings and outsiders. It would not do to have the word spread that his youth had fled him, nor did it hurt to capitalize on the terror inspired by a featureless leader. In an effort to maximize the latter effect, the ex-crimelord doused all candles but one and laid his sword on the table in front of himself before signalling that the captive's blindfold should be removed.