Making me wait, just like he does everyone. Damn! He can get to anyone with his airs . . . even me, who first championed him at court.
At times Ladirno questioned his friendship with the younger man. They both shared the same attitudes and philosophies of life, but there was a malicious streak in Wellhyrn that Ladirno did not share.
And a self-centeredness and carelessness of others' annoyance.
He yawned, drowsy in the summer afternoon heat, and shook his head. As long as he had his place in life established and felt moderately unthreatened, he was fairly content. Wellhyrn, on the other hand, was always busy trying to keep anyone else from the same step on the ladder.
Steps sounded in the hallway outside, and Ladirno looked up.
Wellhyrn at last . . . he would recognize those footsteps anywhere. "Come in," he called out, before the knock.
The door opened. "I've got it!" Wellhyrn said with uncharacteristic fervor, stepping into the room. He opened his belt purse and took out a lump of something that looked vaguely, from Ladirno's viewpoint, like a rock.
Ladirno took the object Wellhyrn gave him. Weighing it in his hands, he smiled. "It looks good, very good. It should fool the Duke, or anyone uninitiated."
Wellhyrn's green eyes sparkled in the sunlight. "Damn right it should. It took me long enough to bury that lump of gold in mud and coat it. But it took the firings. Now, when we set up our furnace and insert this 'rock' of ours, a little tap of the tongs and we'll have gold to reward the Duke's patience."
"After which the Duke, of course, will reward us." Ladirno handed the object back to Wellhyrn. "Well, sit down. Sit down. Wine? I have a new bottle."
Wellhyrn put the "rock" back in his belt pouch, nodded, and took a chair, expecting to be waited on as usual. Ladirno smothered angry feelings: if the relationship he shared with Wellhyrn was not so profitable, he would gladly put the younger man in his place.
He got up, poured two glasses of wine, and walked to Wellhyrn's side. "It's a masterful job you did," he said, as Wellhyrn took the glass.
"Of course. After all, I am a master at what I do." Wellhyrn took a sip of the wine, then leaned back in the chair, a thin smile touching his too-handsome face. "I wonder what old Duran did when he found my two silver pieces?"
Ladirno shrugged, sitting down again, and drinking his wine. "Kept them, I'll bet."
A momentary expression of anger twisted Wellhyrn's face. "That's not what I meant, Ladirno," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "I meant . . . I wonder what he thought."
"Hard telling." Ladirno looked carefully at his companion: Wellhyrn had something on his mind, something bothering him. "Why are you so angry at Duran all the time?" he asked casually. "He's certainly no threat to folk like you or me."
"Ah, but you don't know that, do you?" Wellhyrn sat up straight, leaned forward, one elbow on the chair-arm. "I think he very well could become dangerous. You know how he talks to those damned Sabirn all the time."
Ladirno lifted on eyebrow. "That's a threat?"
"Have you forgotten what we heard at court? The Sabirn plot? The wizards trying to bring down the kingdom?"
"Gods. Sabirn with wizardry. Pigs will fly."
"Use your head, man," Wellhyrn snapped. "You and I both know that once the Sabirn ruled an empire, that they enjoyed a level of life that we haven't rivaled."
"Aye . . . but that was a thousand years ago. Their empire fell, man! What good were their wizards?"
"Did they fall?" Wellhyrn cocked his head. "Or did they somehow preserve their secrets, their knowledge? Do they have wizards who remember techniques from their past? What if—" He lifted a hand to keep Ladirno silent. "—they actually are able to do things that we can't? What if their wizards are stronger than ours?" Wellhyrn leaned forward, jabbed Ladirno's arm with his finger. "More to the point, dear colleague,—what if they have alchemists among them? What if that's what Duran's after?"
Ladirno made a rude noise and took another drink. "Rumor. Rumor on both counts. Nothing's ever been proved that alchemy ever predated—"
"Not if the secrets went with them! I'm saying 'what if.' I'm saying what if they do have such secrets—or they hold out secrets, what if that's where Duran's father got his information? Duran might make himself quite, quite something, thumb his nose at the Guild—"
"Huhn."
"Listen to me. Duran's got every reason to be angry at the ducal family after what happened to his parents. He could be involved in this plot . . . an Ancar protecting Sabirn in an Ancar city. It makes sense, doesn't it?"
Ladirno contemplated his glass. Wellhyrn might be right; the rumor of Sabirn wizards seemed genuine enough—at least that the Sabirn harbored secrets. At least that few people—save Duran—ever gave them more than an angry glance.
And an alchemist outside the guild—came up with a cure for the pox—
Plot against the kingdom aside, if Wellhyrn was right, and if the Sabirn did possess superior alchemistic knowledge, and if Duran discovered it . . . in the face of the Guild—in spite of the Guild . . .
Ladirno scowled. His position at court, Wellhyrn's, and the other alchemists, would be worthless.
To say nothing of the subterranean power Duran might wield having allied himself with subversives, plots against his own race, his own kind—
"Ah-h-h." Wellhyrn smiled coldly. "So you do see it."
"I see a possibility." Ladirno gestured sharply. "But I think you're overreacting, Wellhyrn. Duran's a fool, a virtual hermit, nothing left in life besides ministering to the poor of Old Town. He's dealt with Sabirn for years now. If they had such secrets, don't you think he would have found something more important than a pox-cure?"
"Maybe he has."
"Mmmn."
"I'm simply telling you why I think we should—contain this problem. I don't mean by doing anything—criminaclass="underline" gods know we don't want a confrontation: but just by doing little things, like leaving the silver in his shop. Keep him unsure of himself and his place in life. Keep him questioning why we're living so well, and he isn't. Let him make a mistake."
"You've got a mean streak in you," Ladirno said. "Do what you want to. I won't stop you. But I still think you're expending a lot of energy on a problem that isn't a problem."
"Yet."
"Yet," Ladirno admitted. "Yet."
Duran counted his take for the day, came up with twenty-four coppers, and congratulated himself. Tonight he would be able to eat well, to have, yes! a second mug of ale.
Dog stood up, shook himself, and ambled outside. The late afternoon shadows had darkened the street, and Dog knew his master's routine. Duran watched the animal turn down the street, nose to the ground, reading what only other dogs could read. Dog would be back before he shut his shop down for the night and crossed the street to "The Swimming Cat" for his nightly meal.
He glanced upstairs, wondering what Kekoja was doing to pass the time. He had slipped up several times to look in on the boy, found the Sabirn lad asleep, or quietly staring off into nothing. He had shared his bread and cheese with the lad at midday, made up a new pan of hot salts, and instructed Kekoja to soak the ankle again. Kekoja had complied, saying little more than necessary.