After kissing Zolaika's hand, Chaumel detached himself from the group and steered Keff toward the next of the high magimen in the room. Engrossed in a conversation, Ilnir barely glanced at Keff, but accorded Chaumel a courteous nod as he made an important point using his wrist-thick magic mace for emphasis. A carved pedestal appeared under Ilnir's elbow and he leaned upon it.
Each of the higher magimen had a number of sycophants, male and female, as escort. Potria, gorgeous in her floating, low-cut peach gown, was among the number surrounding Nokias. Asedow was right beside her. They glared at Chaumel, evidently taking personally the slight done to their chief. As Chaumel and Keff passed by, they raised their voices with the complaint that they had been wrongly prevented from finishing their contest.
Ferngal and Nokias were standing together near the crystal windows beyond their individual circles. The two were exchanging pleasantries with one another, but not really communicating. Keff, boosting the gain of his audio pickup with a pressure of his jaw muscles, actually heard one of them pass a remark about the weather.
Chaumel stopped equidistant between the two high mages. His hand concealed in a fold of his silver robe, he used sharp pokes to direct Keff to bow first to Ferngal, then Nokias. Keff offered a few polite words to each. IT was working overtime processing the small talk it was picking up, but it gave him the necessary polite phrases slowly enough to recite accurately without resorting to IT's speaker.
«I feel like a trained monkey,» Keff subvocalized.
As he straightened up, Carialle got a look at his audience. «That's what they think you are, too. They seem surprised that you can actually speak.»
Chaumel turned him away from his two important guests and tilted his head conspiratorially close.
«You see, my young friend, I would have preferred to have you all to myself, but I can't refuse access to the pre-eminent magis when they decide to call at my humble home for an evening. One climbs higher by power . . . (power-plays, IT suggested) managed, as ordered by the instructions left us by our ancestors. Such power-plays determine ones height (rank, IT whispered). Also, deaths. They are most facile at these.»
«Deaths?» Keff asked. «You mean, you all move up one when someone dies?»
«Yes, but also when one makes a death,» Chaumel said, with an uneasy backward glance at the high mages. Keff goggled.
«You mean you move up when you kill someone?»
«Sounds like the promotion lists in the space service to me,» Carialle remarked to Keff.
«Ah, but not only that, but through getting more secrets and magical possessions from those, and more. But Ferngal of the East has just, er, discarded . . .»
«Disposed of,» Carialle supplied.
». . . Mage Klemay in a duel, so he has raised/ascended over Mage Nokias of the South. I must incorporate the change of status smoothly, though"—his face took on an exaggerated mask of tragedy—"it pains me to see the embarrassment it causes my friend, Nokias. We attempt to make all in harmony.»
Keff thought privately that Chaumel didn't look that uncomfortable. He looked like he was enjoying the discomfiture of the Mage of the South.
«This is a nasty brood. They make a point of scoring off one another,» Carialle observed. «The only thing that harmonizes around here is the color-coordinated outfits and chariots. Did you notice? Everyone has a totem color. I wonder if they inherit it, earn it, or just choose it.» She giggled in Keff's ear. «And what happens when someone else has the one you want?»
«Another assassination, I'm sure,» Keff said, bowing and smiling to one side as Ferngal made for Ilnirs group.
As the black-clad magiman's circle drifted off, Nokias's minions spread out a little, as if grateful for the breathing room. Keff turned to Potria and gave her his most winning smile, but she looked down her nose at him.
«How nice to see you again, my lady,» he said in slow but clear Ozran. The lovely bronze woman turned pointedly and looked off in another direction. The puff of gold hair over her right ear obscured her face from him completely. Keff sighed.
«No sale,» Carialle said. «You might as well have been talking to her chair. Tsk-tsk, tsk-tsk. Your hormones don't have much sense.»
«Thank you for that cold shower, my lady,» Keff said, half to Potria, half to Carialle. «You're a heartless woman, you are.» The brain chuckled in his ear.
«She's not that different from anyone else here. I've never seen such a bundle of tough babies in my life. Stay on your guard. Don't reveal more about us than you have to. We're vulnerable enough as it is. I don't like people who mutilate and enslave thousands, not to mention capturing helpless ships.»
«Your mind is like unto my mind, lady dear,» Keff said lightly. «That one doesn't look so tough.»
Near the wall, almost hiding in the curtains behind a rose-robed crone was the last magiwoman Chaumel had bowed into the room. IT reminded him her name was Plennafrey. Self-effacing in her simple primrose gown and metallic blue-green shoulder-to-floor sash, her big, dark eyes, pointed chin, and broad cheekbones gave her a gamine look. She glanced toward Keff and immediately turned away. Keff admired her hair, ink-black with rusty highlights, woven into a simple four-strand plait that fell most of the way down her back.
«I feel sorry for her,» Keff said. «She looks as though she's out other depth. She's not mean enough.»
Carialle gave him the raspberry. «You always do fall for the naive look,» she said. «That's why it's always so easy to lure you into trouble in Myths and Legends.»
«Oho, you've admitted it, lady. Now I'll be on guard against you.»
«Just you watch it with these people and worry about me later. They're not fish-eating swamp dwellers like the Beasts Blatisant.»
Keff had time to nod politely to the tall girl before Chaumel yanked him away to meet the last of the five high magimen. «I know how she feels, Cari. I'm not used to dealing with advanced societies that are more complicated and devious than the one I come from. Give me the half-naked swamp dwellers every time.»
«Look at that,» Potria said, sourly. «My claim, and Chaumel is parading it around as if he discovered it.»
«Mine,» Asedow said. «We have not yet settled the question of ownership.»
«He has a kind face,» Plennafrey offered in a tiny voice. Potria spun in a storm of pink-gold and glared at her.
«You are mad. It is not fully Ozran, so it is no better than a beast, like the peasants.»
Remembering her resolution to be bolder no matter how terrified she felt, Plennafrey cleared her throat.
«I am sure he is not a mere thing, Potria. He looks a true man.» In fact, she found his looks appealing. His twinkling eyes reminded her of happy days, something she hadn't known since long before her father died. If only she could have such a man in her life, it would no longer be lonely.
Potria turned away, disgusted. «I have been deprived of my rights.»
«You have? I spoke first.» Asedow's eyes glittered.
«I was winning,» Potria said, lips curled back from gritted white teeth. She flashed a hand signal under Asedow's nose. He backed off, making a sign of protection. Plenna watched, wild-eyed. Although she knew they wouldn't dare to rejoin their magical battle in here, neither of them was above a knife in the ribs.
Suddenly, she felt a wall of force intrude between the combatants. The thought of a possible incident must also have occurred to Nokias. Asedow and Potria retreated another hand-span apart, continuing to harangue one another. Plenna glanced over at the other groups of mages. They were beginning to stare. Nokias, having been disgraced once already this evening, would be furious if his underlings embarrassed him in front of the whole assemblage.