"Of course," Worth answered, stabbing his thumbs into the shiny, expensive vest that stretched its way around his prodigious middle. "That was our agreement, was it not?" Looking down at the rug again, he smiled, then twisted one of the ends of his mustache. "It's in there, isn't it?"
Checking to see that no one stood too near to them, Marcus beckoned Worth and Rebecca closer, until they all stood crowded around one end of the rug. From this position, even if someone walked directly behind them there would be little to see.
Slowly, carefully, Marcus removed the rags from the end of the rug, grasped the golden rod at the base of the scroll, then pulled it free a short distance. It was just enough to give Worth a taste of the glories promised within.
Worth gasped. He had never seen such a treasure of the craft. To his mind it was easily worth tenfold the entire contents of his shop. The glistening, golden rod and its end knobs alone were worth a king's ransom, to say nothing of the historical value of the elegant Old Eutracian script.
Knowing he had succeeded in whetting Worth's appetite, Marcus quickly slid the scroll back into the relative safety of the rug. "How much?" he asked, coming straight to the point.
Sweating, Worth ran a pudgy index finger around the inside of his shirt collar. "Six-six thousand kisa," he stammered.
Marcus thought he might faint. Six thousand kisa was a huge sum-more than he might earn in an entire lifetime of honest labor. Still, he tried to retain his composure.
"Twelve," he said sternly. Rebecca's eyes went wide. She was quite sure her brother had just lost his mind.
"You just doubled your price!" Worth exploded. "That's not how we negotiate where I come from!"
"Then we obviously don't come from the same place," Marcus countered boldly. "Besides, I didn't double my price. I never set one. I simply doubled your offer. Saves time."
Looking around again, he moved one corner of the rug back a bit to reveal another hint of the golden end knob, letting it shine in the sun. "You're wasting my time, and you're not the only artifacts vendor in Tammerland." He looked hard up into the man's eyes. "The price just went to fourteen."
"Ten," Worth found himself saying.
"Sixteen."
"Thirteen," Worth answered, hardly believing his own bid.
"Is that your final offer?" Marcus asked him. He began to sense resignation in the other man's eyes.
"I fear it must be," Worth answered. "It is all I have."
"Then I shall consider it," Marcus answered. "But as I told you before, I mean to speak to other interested parties." After replacing the rags in the open end of the rug, he picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow.
Worth took an anxious step forward. "But how will I know if it's mine?" he asked urgently. His forehead was bathed in sweat.
"I know where you work, remember?" Marcus answered. "You will hear from me. But in the meantime, I am leaving. If you ever wish to see the scroll again, you will now leave the plaza by walking away in the opposite direction."
Worth nodded. "But if someone outbids me, you will allow me the chance to make a better offer, will you not?" he asked desperately.
Marcus only smiled. "Why would I bother?" he asked bluntly. "Thirteen thousand kisa is all you supposedly have, remember?"
Marcus watched as the beaten vendor walked away. As they had planned, he and Rebecca headed the opposite way from their shack, ducked into an alley, and waited there for a long while. When they were sure they weren't being followed, Marcus began pushing the wheelbarrow toward home, his mind roiling with the unimaginable prospect of having thirteen thousand kisa. But he also knew he was playing a dangerous game, and that his luck couldn't last forever.
It was just then that the scroll began to glow.
From out of the folds of the rags at each end again came the unmistakable azure hue of the craft. Worried, he picked up the pace as fast as he could with 'Becca limping beside him. As one of the rags in the front came loose, he stole a glance up at the sky, to see that darkness was already falling.
As the glow bled out into the coming night, it would be a miracle if someone didn't notice.
G rizelda, Krassus, and Janus stood together on the rooftop of the Citadel, watching the blue streaks of the gazing flame dance in the darkness of the night. Grizelda tossed a few more of the herbs stolen from Shadowood into the fire, and the viewing window in the center started to take form.
Now that she had all of the goods she could possibly need, the only limits on her search for the scroll would be her personal endurance, and Krassus had insisted on her trying every two hours. This most recent viewing was her eighth such attempt in a row, and she was tired. Nonetheless, she did her best to persevere.
As the viewing window came into sharper focus, it changed shape, turning into a ragged circle. From within the circle could be seen not only one of the gold end knobs of the scroll, but also what lay past it. It was apparent that the scroll was at least partially hidden, and someone was taking it through a city. But which one?
And then, finally, Krassus saw a group of unmistakable statues. This was without doubt the Plaza of Fallen Heroes. The scroll was in Tammerland. He had done it!
His joy at locating the scroll was quickly replaced by a sense of dread. Better that the scroll were in any city other than the one still inhabited by the wizards of the Redoubt. He knew that Wigg, Faegan, and Abbey would also be desperately trying to find it, presumably through the same methods he was employing. True, he had set their labors back by destroying those herbs and oils that he had not stolen from Shadowood, but the wizards were exceedingly clever, which meant that there was no time to lose. He turned to Janus and Grizelda.
"The two of you are to leave for Tammerland on the first ship that can be readied," he ordered. "Take the supplies you'll need to continue attempting to view the scroll as often as necessary. I don't care how you do it-just get the scroll back to the Citadel! Anchor well off the Cavalon Delta, and take a small, quiet skiff up the Sippora. Your crew must stay belowdecks, out of sight, while you are gone. Demonslavers have never been seen in Tammerland, and I wish to do this quietly, not start a riot."
"You will not be accompanying us, my lord?" Janus asked.
"I cannot," Krassus answered briskly. "Wulfgar needs my full attention, as do other matters of importance here. The return of the scroll I leave up to you. Do not fail me in this."
He turned on the herbmistress. "Grizelda, do not think for one moment that you will be able to escape me simply because you are out of my sight for a time. I found you once, and I can do it again. If you make me hunt you down, it won't be to employ your talents. It will be to kill you. Slowly. Do you understand?"
Looking back to Janus, he had another thought. "When you discover whoever has the scroll, kill him," he added casually. "Leave no loose ends."
The herbmistress bowed her head in submission, while Janus nodded.
Once the gazing flame was extinguished and Janus and Grizelda were gone, Krassus walked slowly to the edge of the roof and looked out on the Sea of Whispers. The three rose-colored moons were full, painting the sea with their palette. There was virtually no wind, and the ocean looked like a sheet of magenta-colored glass.
Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his two-colored robe, he turned and descended the stairs.
CHAPTER
Thirty-three
T ristan sat looking with worry at Tyranny as she lay on the sofa in her quarters. The ever-present Scars stood by her side with an equally concerned expression on his face. She had fought bravely and survived, but she had been wounded and had passed out from loss of blood. Tristan and Scars had tended to her as best they could before cleaning and bandaging Tristan's shoulders. Then they had waited.
It had taken some time for her to come around. Like any good captain, her first concern had been for how many of her crew she had lost. Then she inquired about the general condition of The People's Revenge and the other two ships sailing with them.